Zoned Out, Freaked Out, Tapped Out

It was one of those bizarre days where I *think* I have a moderate grip and can do the functionality thing. Ha ha ha. Within five minutes of entry into the dish of petri, I was zoning out to what was going on around me.
As time passed, panxiety kicked in and scumbag brain kept telling me all this crappy shit that could go wrong and send my house of cards down around me.
As if I am not aware of this daily, hourly, the anxiety monster swoops in from no place of logic with no trigger and starts flogging my brain with all these potentially catastrophic events.
It is no easy feat to be around others, especially those who don’t think mental illness is a real condition, when your mind is in that fucked up place. You can’t focus. You’re trembling. You have to surreptitiously hide your hyperventilating. Make excuses as to why your name was spoken four times and you were in mental Disneyland and oblivious. Then explain why you couldn’t get one simple thing right. (I was to turn on a flat panel TV and um, yeah, I still use an old CRT so I’ve no fucking clue about these stupid things and their inputs and hdmi and blah fucking blah so yeah, I couldn’t even get the tv connected to flip over to cable. Ignorance is not idiocy.)
Leaving the house is the enemy. I am convinced of it more everyday. And that’s not depression talking. It’s just a fact that outside my bubble, I get worse rather than better. Just because my coping skills are better at home doesn’t mean I am some hermit shunning the possibility that “getting out there” might help me feel better.
Sometimes…Okay, on rare occasion…Forcing myself out does help with the mood. (I pay for it later.)
But the anxiety…It’s a killer. And when your anxiety comes with an agoraphobic issue, it’s living hell. Because getting out may help one faction of your disorder but the price that comes with it for another aspect of another disorder is very, very high.

Catch 22.

I will say this much…When you are in zoned out freaked out mode…every minute passes like an hour. You NEED your safe space more than you need your next breath. And sure, you tough it out, disappear into the bathroom for the water works or panic attacks (and then everyone assumes you have some sort of urinary infection) and make it through…
It is still grueling.
And no sooner than I was on my way to get my kid and escape to the bubble…My sister decides today’s a good day to grocery shop and we’d planned on it Monday. Needless to say the thought of facing the uber packed Aldi store elevated my state of being “freaked out.”
Come to think of it, Monday when I stopped in to talk to my sister and asked if she’d go to Aldi with me because “the crowds freak me out and I could use the moral support…”
Our mother rolled her eyes, snorted, and said, “You are so ridiculous.”
Ridiculous is the way women can’t go out for a meal or date without having to congregate in the bathroom together.
Being petrified of crowds is not ridiculous.
My mother is..ugh.
But I muddled through, even with the yapping I WANT THIS I WANT THAT WHY CAN’T I HAVE THIS YOU ARE SO MEAN child in tow. I must admit, it was nice to spend a little time with my sister. But she drives her mother in law’s newfangled car, the one with the button to start it rather than a key, and I kept getting locked in and it was freaking me out. Like being locked in a closet or held down with a pillow over my face. I don’t do well with the unfamiliar. Or “upgrades”. Old school suits me fine. Except for dial up internet, that is ass trash.

I am sure many who happen upon this blog, read one or two posts and go, “Even for a depressed person, she’s always so negative. Does nothing in her life ever make her not complain?”

I tried doing that blog. Being all random and quirky and stuff. No one read it. Apparently, misery is in demand. Or more so, people are just reaching out, trying to find something they can relate to. For some it’s the happy feel good “i’m overcoming this” blogs. For others it’s the “informative let me regurgitate all this information I researched on line” blogs.
I like the quirky ones. The ones that are inconsistent. One day a post about an article, new research in mental illness, a link to another blog, a sarcastic comic, an inspirational picture quote. And lots of swear word laden “middle finger to mental illness” rants.
Those are the ones that speak to me.
And maybe because those are what mine is. Inconsistent. Oddly entertaining from time to time.

It was nice to survive yet another day with the demons. And sorry for not using a more cheerful term for mental illness but…They are my demons. The word is appropriate. (Sometimes I even envision them(the multiple mental issues) as Crowley, The King Of Hell, from Supernatural, and I fight hard to wide that smarmy smirk off his/their face.)
Plus, considering some of the turbulent up down mixed states with bipolar…It can feel like demonic possession at times.
Spook and I were invited to R’s to watch Arrow tonight. I said, “I don’t know.” Because I really am not feeling the social thing. And I’m never really comfortable in his home where you have to float an inch off his wife’s white carpet and be careful you don’t shed any dead skin cells and soil the showplace. It’s just gotten to be so uncomfortable I’ve been passing on the invites. Maybe if I were in a different place mentally, I’d feel differently. I dunno anything anymore. I’ve pondered forcing myself to do it, getting out is supposed to be good for me, and my kid always has a blast playing with all the toys they have there for their grandkids…But we have a routine on school nights and I don’t like altering from it. With a hyper child, anything that might stimulate her so close to bedtime is just going to result in me suffering.
Meh. My mood may change in the next ninety minutes. I never know.
I am informed of mood swings by snail mail so it’s usually three or four days after the fact I find out.

So in the interest of being well balanced (ha ha ha)allow me to toss out a couple of (what I thought) were happy or funny thoughts.

My daughter, ever curious and questioning, got on a kick about how to tell boy cats from girl cats. She insisted only boy cats have long tails. Um…I said, no, boy cats have nards. And she asks what nards are. I laughed so hard. Told her it was a body part girls don’t have. I didn’t even think about it after that.
Yesterday, she gets this stuffed cat to pack around and I called it a boy and she gives me this incensed look. “MELISSA IS A GIRL, SHE DOES NOT HAVE NARDS.”
Even if I’m not gonna get mother of the year, that’s funny as hell.

The newbie kittens are now six weeks old. Brimstone is the fatter more social and feisty one. Castiel is very subdued, gentle, likes to sit in the chair next to my thigh.
I admit, watching them tumble about and pounce each other, as well as the bigger adopted kitten Pantera, joining in, then big chubby year old Voodoo…It’s entertaining. It used to bring such joy, like a drug. Now it’s this joy I remember, and I want to feel, but the best I can muster is a few smiles and an occasional giggle.
But hey, take what we can get.

On an ending note…
I had KFC today and I’d been craving fried chicken so it was good…But at one point I got a look at their newly designed sporks, which are more square than round, and it freaked me out. Deviation is eeevil. Sporks are supposed to be round with vicious little teeth, dammit. A square spork is just stupid. Efficient but dumb dumb dumb.
I have had this running fixation on sporks for many many years.
And no apologies, I am letting that freak flag fly.

Now…I am tapping out.

5 Responses to “Zoned Out, Freaked Out, Tapped Out”

  1. We are all letting our freak flags fly. Are you tag teaming tonight? Sometimes deviating is good, but I agree with square spiels-WRONG WRONG WRONG! *Rebel yell* DOWN WITH SQUARE SPORKS! (As she stabs herself) dammit

  2. This makes me think about how I saw a thing that’s more bullshit pushing mindfulness CBT with the ‘oh well drugs for some people, this for others’ which will quickly turn into yet ANOTHER big round of STOP DOING DRUGS YOU DRUGGIE when um, right. Mindfulness doesn’t work for everyone. I can sit there and KNOW panxiety is coming and like fuck I can stop it. I’ve busted my ass trying to beat that shit with logic for years and it doesn’t do a fucking thing. anyways.

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