A is for Ativan

A is for Ativan and anxiety, both of which I have.
B is for benzodiazepines, which took me years to start taking in tiny little doses because I am afraid.
Can’t you just be better yet, is treatment not working, why not?
Don’t think I haven’t thought the same thing to myself, a dozen times a day.
Eating disorders aren’t about weight.
For me, that symptom shows up when depression and anxiety have gotten bad.
God made me wrong, the harmful core belief I have held for so long.
Health is more than a number or a size or a look, but I look fine so I must be fine, right?
I smile, I laugh, I adventure; I have friends and a husband and a beautiful life.
Justifying my struggles because I have everything I could ever want.
Kills me inside because I silence my voice, afraid of hurting those I love.
Love, I’ve learned, does not always win, if you can’t love yourself, which is really just something pretty to say.
My gosh, if self love was the answer and it were only that simple.
No it isn’t, because the world is most certainly not black and white like we so often believe.
Openness about mental health is something I used to preach so much of.
Powerless am I against the demons that have silenced the stories of my journey.
Quiet I become when fear and shame take hold.
Recovery isn’t a place I’ve ever stayed in consistently.
Still fighting, still trying, but still hopelessness is present.
Twenty three years of my life to this.
Unfortunately there isn’t a single quick fix or cure all like the people who love me wish there were.
Vivid are my PTSD dreams about death and dying and violence, a side effect of not processing loss.
Will I ever find freedom?
Xenas women run in my family, but I am made with softness and sensitivity, things I have cursed, but cannot rid myself of.
You have let us hold hope for you when you can’t hold it for yourself, my team says.
Zealous for life somewhere deep in my heart, afraid of the cost, but I can’t give up now.