I had a shrink appointment today. Which meant I barely slept last night due to the anxiety. Then I went today and I was such a panicky mess I was coated in sweat by the time I left and it was still cool outside. Ick factor ten! God, I don’t even want to be around me when I go so freakazoid and get sweaty and gross, why would anyone else?

I put on a happy face. It was, of course, semi fake. I think the Effexor is helping slightly, but so has laying off the booze. As much as numbness rocks, the side effect of worsened depression sucks. Fact is, I am still barely keeping my head above water here. I have learned, though, that doctors lose patience easily, and if they don’t see some improvement after so many medication changes, they get testy and start making accusations of you not wanting to get well. Been there, done that, have the emotional scars to prove it.

So I downplayed some stuff, lied about drinking (No, Dr, I can’t drink in this heat)(which is only a half lie) lied about the paranoia being better (it’s not) but I was flat honest about the anxiety. It’s free floating and I can’t stand it. It’s that damn paranoia inducing anxiety that leads me to drink in the first place.

I did okay the last five days.

Today, Mr Paranoia waltzed in with his line of “what ifs”.

What if that freckle on my arm is a melanoma?

What if that pain in my left arm is a stroke?

Oh my god, what if that stomach ache I had earlier is a sign of stomach cancer and the Donor is going to get custody of Spook because I’m going to be DEAD?????

What if that’s not a heat rash on the back of my legs but flesh eating bacteria?????


I am totally freaking out.

I HATE this part of my brain. I wish I could have it zapped dead with lasers. Yes, bad things happen all of the time, but why must my brain go all OCD about it and dredge up  EVERY possibility of doom?

I try to attack the paranoia with logic.

Logic gets its ass kicked royally.


Just after I told her the panic was pretty much under control by the Xanax.

Well, it was to be expected after five semi good days. What goes up must come down, good comes with bad, blah blah blah.

Hate it hate it hate it.

Because it makes me hate myself.

And it makes me question my sanity.

And then I start to seriously ponder these things, like what if I DO have a cancerous lump growing somewhere in my body right now as I write this and right now it’s just a speck but it’s going to turn into an inoperable terminal speck and I have to go to my grave knowing the law will hand my child over to the ogre who abandoned her almost a year ago without a thought as to whether she had a roof overhead or food in her tummy??????


And contagious, for my brain, because once one seeps into my head, a stampede of them comes out.

Logic would dictate that I go see a doctor for a physical just to put my own mind at ease, right?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Logic has no place in panic disorder. I hate doctors, and if a mere med check with a psych on a TV screen had me sweating bullets, well, the thought of a physical has me paralyzed. I try to bully myself but it does not work. Because while I could get good news, I could also get bad news and in my current state of anxiety induced hysteria and depression, I’m not sure I could handle an ugly truth, especially if it turned out to be a death sentence.

So…The what-ifs keep coming and I keep swatting them away, but every few days they add up and march in and kick my ass to the point where I am so freaked out by my own mind, I just want to take a Trazadone and not be conscious until tomorrow when my brain MIGHT find something new to obsess about.

Neurotic be thy name.

I reiterate, I hate my brain.

I hate whatever it is that makes me this paranoid panic stricken freak of nature. My god, I’m 39, why haven’t I outgrown this idiocy?

Oh, and to make a bad day worse, I was at the shop listening to Kenny eschew his thoughts on how anyone on disability for a mental condition is making it up because they’re lazy and don’t want to work.


That’s so helpful to my self esteem and paranoia issues.

Just talking about all this is giving me hives.

I think it’s time to put the evil brain to sleep for the night and hope against all hope that it is in a different space in the morning.

Does anyone else have issues with this type of paranoia? I’d really like to hear from anyone who does. The doctor seems to think it’s the auditory/visual hallucination type paranoia, but it’s not, I don’t have those issues. This is pure anxiety and panic based, and it would be helpful to know if anyone else endures this sort of thing.

As a post note to this crazy person rant, I’d just like to thank everyone who reads this blog and cares enough to click the “like” button or leave a comment. It helps to know I am not entirely alone and you are all very appreciated by me, even if my flaky butt doesn’t always reply to your comments.



2 Responses to “DIE BRAIN DIE!!!”

  1. I had to post because I can relate so much to you. I feel like I understand myself better through your words. I have never given words to the emotions, moods and fears as you have. You’re so brave and lovely to share them! I am currently trying to get up the courage to get a therapist. My doctor is tired of managing my meds. I have paranoia. I have figured (when it happens to me) that it is a protective response, your body knows when it can’t handle any additional stress and it goes “super-pro-active” mode, but that ends up being a stress in and of itself.

    • I’m glad you can relate, twas my only hope when I went into blogging about my mental baggage was for my words to resonate. So many times over so many years,I have felt so alone, and lonely, and scared. It helps to post and hear from readers so we know we are NOT alone. I won’t bore you with platitudes but believe me, I get it. Hang in there.

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