Demons

Exercising-Demons

I suppose the fact I can still joke about it means I’m not dead yet. After days like today in which my traitorous brain just goes into the stratosphere with dysfunction…I never know what could be my last post before I implode, explode, get hit by a zamboni…The exercising demons thing is just funny and must be passed on.

So, yeah…Less than four hours in the dish and…I’m coming apart at the seams. The chest cold, mixed with random panic attacks, I felt like someone had a trash bag tied around my head. And of course I am surrounded by empathetic souls. “Ya gonna live?” Never mind I am drowning in phlegm, my ribs feel bruised, I can’t stop coughing…Now the panic receptors are going haywire for no reason…
YES I AM PROBABLY GONNA LIVE BUT FOR THE MOMENT COULD YOU CUT ME SOME FUCKING SLACK???

I didn’t see this state coming. I was low but I thought I could just sleepwalk through the day. I didn’t realize something as simple as having lunch with others would send me off the deep end.
And it did. The panic attacks lead to a much much darker place.
People all around me, yapping, talking about their super awesome lives and super awesome incomes and this dude’s getting married next month and…Ugh. Having friends is just too much trauma. But then again, I hadn’t planned on a soiree, it was supposed to be a two person lunch.
Meanwhile I am trying to breathe and everything is swirling around me..And I just zoned out and start thinking -and this is no joke and it is totally out of character for me- This is all so futile and I can too weak to exist..I have all those bottles of trazadone and the xanax stash and I could so easily just opt out, my kid would be better off”…

That one single thought TERRIFIED me. You get a feel for what your norm is even when your thoughts are perpetually distorted. This thought was just…Like demonic possession, it was so unlike me. And normally even on the very rare occasion it seeps in, it’s never that dark and all encompassing. I literally couldn’t shake the feeling, like this black cloud had enveloped me. It sounds so dramatic but it was just…It blindsided me and made me wonder how many tiny triggers or one big trigger away from cracking up I truly am.

Needless to say, a simple lunch turned into a nightmare and by the time I picked my kid up, my head was spinning. The panxiety was stabbing away at my brain.
What if the house catches fire? I have no meds on me, I need to start carrying meds! And extra clothes for me and Spook…And if it’s an electrical fire, will I be responsible even though the place’s wiring is a clusterfuck and the landlord won’t do anything about? What will happen if I go to prison…..

People think it’s a joke to think so irrationally. It’s not funny. It’s grueling when your brain buys into its own distorted propaganda. It’s terrifying. Logic can bang on the door but mental illness has it barricaded and locked with a dozen deadbolts.
You’re stuck in this mind frame until the scumbag brain and its plethora of chemical misfires decides to release you.
I know it seems ridiculous. YES, I do hear the things I say and read the things I write. I am all too aware that I can, at times, come off as, well mad as a hatter. Except my madness seems intent on destroying me inwardly as opposed to me acting outwardly.

I am back in my bubble now, beaten up, shaken, and a bit broken. I know the thoughts were a crock of shit put there by the depression and anxiety…But I can never escape them so there’s never any real joy involved when I manage to ride an episode out. It will return, bigger, badder, stronger than before.
And once the self harm thoughts begin to emerge, it’s this scary precipice. If you talk about it, you’ll get locked up. If you don’t talk about it, you’ll implode. Catch 22.
So you accept it as a very bad day for your mental health and hope you cycle out of the abyss.
Personally, I think all the increase/decrease shit with the Prozac has rendered the stuff useless thus my chemistry’s altered negatively rather than positively. That, of course, is logical.

Mental illness really is like living with demons. I know I am supposed to use positive terms like “disorder” or “the issue” but I can only liken it to being demonically possessed. Because I can’t talk myself out of the bouts, it’s like an episode of Supernatural and some demon is wearing my meat suit and doing all this shit that’s really not me…
Meh, maybe that only makes sense to my own fucked up brain.
I’m not absolving myself of responsibility for being a mess, but trying to not be a mess is very much like a demon wearing me as a meatsuit and it does its evil bidding then leaves and I have to deal with the fall out.

It’s gotta get better. I mean, the focalin already has my mind slowed down enough to be able to cope. Which has slowed the anxiety at times. And the mood stabilizer is keeping me from any manic expeditions.
Unfortunately, the anti depressant is an epic fail and I am fairly sure life is useless, I am useless, and I’d like to take an eternity long dirt nap.

Depression 101.
Or is it 666.

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9 Responses to “Demons”

  1. Haha ~ my dumb ass lil’ pea brain read that you said ‘panic attacks’ & I randomly thought in my head ‘picnic attacks’ & invisioned someone in parks sneaking between trees (with “mission impossible” theme playing in the background) leaving picnic baskets & red & white gingham blankets to unsuspecting people & scurrying away snikering! LOL! Sorry, thought it was funny & had to share with you! 🙂

  2. Not sure I like “the issue” as a “positive” spin on how shitty we feel. I do like panxiety-awesome. I have the blackness when it creeps on you because we are never aware until it’s pretty much too late. 100 tiny triggers or 1 ginormous one all equal a trigger. It’s all shit. Hope your safety bubble helps dull the sound inside

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