At my core, I’m an overanalyzer. I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking about what my reactions to different things mean. And so I’ve been doing that a lot as I come to terms with my psoriatic arthritis diagnosis.
The truth is, it doesn’t feel like I’ve been handed bad news or that life as I knew it is suddenly going to change. Sure, I may need to do things differently, especially when my joints flare up. I’m going to be on medication for the rest of my life, and I will need constant monitoring to make sure that the medication is working well. I’ll have to see a rheumatologist regularly, a new specialist visit to add to my bingo card.
But honestly? I’ve been here before.
In 2017, I was living in a constant state of anxiety. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. It felt like I was constantly standing on the edge of a cliff, just wanting for a gust of wind to tip me over into the abyss. Every morning felt fragile, and every evening felt heavy.
And then I talked to my doctor, started Lexapro, and gradually, the pressure on my chest eased, the cliff fell away to solid ground, and I could greet my days without fear.
After spending quite a few years on Lexapro, I thought it was time to wean myself off the medication. I was fine now. I had been in therapy! While I didn’t begrudge anyone who needed to be on anti-anxiety medication long-term, I didn’t think I was one of those people.
Reader, I was one of those people. Without Lexapro, I was a mess. My anxiety was through the roof, and it also led to depressive symptoms. Things were so bad that when I called the pharmacy about the prescription my doctor had called in, and they said they may have to wait until Monday to fill it, I burst into tears on the phone. I am not a crier, and especially not on the phone with a stranger, but I was in such a heightened emotional state that waiting even a few more days to restart medication felt insurmountable.
This is when I recognized that generalized anxiety was always going to be a part of my life. I would have to take medication for the rest of my life to balance out my fucked-up brain chemistry. I would have to do things like go to therapy and get regular exercise to maintain my mental health. And I would have to live with the knowledge that sometimes I could do everything right and still, my brain could decide to trip up a neurotransmitter just for shits and giggles.
Last year, I switched my anxiety meds from Lexapro to Prozac. I was on a high dose of Lexapro, and my psychiatrist wanted me to try something else to see if it would help with my obsessive, spiraling thoughts. And while the weaning and ramping up process sucked, I am doing so much better on Prozac. It’s a reminder that my generalized anxiety disorder is not a static thing. It is a living, breathing part of me that I have had to monitor continuously for the last eight years (and really, longer than that since I have dealt with anxiety my whole life).
And that might be why this diagnosis didn’t scare me the way I expected. It’s not my first rodeo when it comes to chronic illness.
As I was driving home from my rheumatology appointment on Thursday, I had a lot to think about. My rheum confirmed that I have psoriatic arthritis and threw an insane amount of information at me: bloodwork numbers, medication options, what it means to be immunocompromised (once I’m on medication), follow-up testing plans, etc.
I wondered why I didn’t feel more overwhelmed by the reality of having a chronic condition that I will need to treat and monitor for the rest of my life. And maybe it’s simply that I have already been through this, and I have a good idea what to expect moving forward. Of course, these are two very different conditions, but the treatment isn’t too dissimilar: take my meds, monitor my symptoms, and report any oddities to my doctor. And just like with my anxiety condition, where engaging in self-care rituals helps me stay sane, I know that engaging in certain routines will help my PsA symptoms. Things like regular exercise, eating an anti-inflammatory diet, and getting enough sleep will all help how I feel in the long run.
Another reason I haven’t been too overwhelmed by my new diagnosis is that I was in so much pain and things felt so wrong in my body for months and months that it feels like relief to have an answer. I was trying everything to help with my pain and spending so much time Googling my symptoms. Nothing worked, and I was feeling so hopeless that I would ever feel good again. It is so wearying to be in constant pain with no end in sight. I was in my late thirties and struggling to climb stairs or even stand up without pain. None of that felt normal, but I had no idea what was wrong with my body.
I could always wish this had never happened to me, and sure, I definitely didn’t want to have another chronic condition to deal with. But I always find that kind of thinking to be unhelpful. It has happened, it is my reality. Treating my generalized anxiety symptoms for almost a full decade before this condition showed up has helped me understand what it means to have a chronic condition and the ups and downs that come along with it. The truth is this: I could wish it away, but what’s actually helpful is to accept the condition, feel grateful that there is a treatment to help me feel better, and do what I can to keep on top of my symptoms.
Not every day will be a good day (for example, I typed this up on Sunday and as I’m editing it on Monday, I’m not feeling as optimistic since I had a bad symptom day), but I know how to handle the ebb and flow of chronic illness. This isn’t my first rodeo, but hopefully, the Universe can now take a breather and leave me alone. Please and thank you!




