Atrophy

Once upon a time I took Accutane for my adult acne. For the first few months, my skin appeared worse than it ever had before, which, I gleaned from some light Internet-searching, resulted from my skin purging. My mind dwelled on the blemishes, ruminating and researching, and going as far as to document my progress everyday.

Something similar appears to be developing when it comes to my mental health. I’m a little over a month in with my generic Wellbutrin (extended release, 150 mg). Yesterday I started generic Zoloft again (50 mg, starting with 25 mg for the first four days), which I’m eager to get up to therapeutic dose. Furthermore, I’ve spoken with my psychiatrist, who is also my therapist, four times over the course of a few weeks and each time I feel more anxious and agitated from all the muck coming up to the fore.

Yesterday two things she said stood out to me. When I was telling her how Frank sacrificed and did everything around the house, she asked me, with what I perceived to be a bit of disdain, ”Do you do anything?” She also asked me if I were a parasite. Or perhaps she was asking if I saw myself as a parasite. I feel ashamed either way and then confused because I tend to invalidate myself and think, ”Oh, surely I’m overreacting” or ”now see, this is my problem: I scan for the negative, think I’ve found it, and immerse myself in shame so thick that proper decision-making goes out the window.” In times like this I do have some CBT/DBT skills in my back pocket. Imagine the worst thing that could happen, e.g. my therapist is getting to see reality; I am actually a parasite who does not contribute to my family whatsoever; I’ve got no character and hence will inflict suffering onto myself and others for as long as I shall live. Then imagine coping with the worst that could happen, e.g. I radically accept the mistakes I’ve made, letting them go, and turning my mind to here, in this moment, having faith in what will be.