Although I had (still have, actually) a bottle of Lorazepam for when I had panic attacks, I very rarely used it. I was against medication, and usually my panic attacks happened at home. Or Patrick was there. So I let him deal with it (sorry, Patrick. Let me reiterate: you are the BEST).
But then, one day, it happened on the way to work. And after crying madly on public transit and honestly freaking out everyone around me (yet another thank god for Patrick – he helped fend off many questioning and irritating people), I gave in and took one on the way to work.
I remember the effects, or rather, feeling like there weren’t very many effects. I stopped crying, but I was already stopping crying. The cycle of my attacks usually involved a quieter stage after the enormous crisis, and when I was at home it usually meant I curled up and went to sleep, peacefully. But I didn’t notice that the pill was having an effect until one of my clients came up to me and said “We don’t have all the tables we’re supposed to have in the lobby. We need them now.” Instead of freaking out and taking it as a criticism I said, “Sure.” I sent someone to get tables. My thoughts were “Meh, I don’t care.”
I cannot emphasize enough how uncharacteristic that attitude is for me.
So when I saw this comic from Robot Hugs, I wanted to share it. Thank you, Robot Hugs, for so perfectly demonstrating the difference between how one thinks drugs are affecting you, and how it so often appears they are affecting you.
P.S. Patrick thought this comic was amazing too, since for once it showed his perspective on the experience. Awesome, Robot Hugs. Just awesome.