I am seeing a new psychiatrist at Duke who is super awesome. Unfortunately, he is a fellow in his 3rd of 3 years, so I will lose him next July. That sucks. But I will just focus on that fact that I have a competent and empathetic psychiatrist for the first time in many years. He put me on a new medication that is helping me a lot. It is a benzo, so it can be habit forming, and frankly, at the dose and duration I'm taking it, I will likely become physically dependent on it. And when/if that happens, all we will do is taper me down slowly when I don't need it anymore. No big deal. These drugs are literally made for situations like mine - severe, extended grief and anxiety from the PTSD.
So I decided to tell my mom that I am on this particular medication and that I am finally starting to feel some relief from the anxiety, my insomnia and I'm just generally feeling quite a lot better.
Here's what happened.
"Wow, Mad Widow, beloved daughter, I am so very very glad to hear that!"
Here's what really happened.
(insert scrunched up face here, and put on a snide tone)
"You're gonna get hooked on that ... stuff!"