Mental Hell-th

This is an excerpt from yesterday’s journey through panxiety forest.

I had to go out for something. And I was backing out of the drive this unfamiliar dude walked by. He smiled and all but I was looking in my review mirror, waiting to see him round the corner, as if he was going to double back and rob my place. I guess once you’ve had it happen once, it leaves an imprint and panxiety just makes it that much worse.

On the way back, there was this HUGE farm implement thing driving toward me and I felt this momentary terror, for no real reason except my brain was telling me to FEAR THIS.
The Xanax isn’t knocking the panxiety down a bit today.
In fact, I am feeling pretty crazy and out of control.
Like dodging R’s calls. I am so shaky, I fear simply explaining to him I’m “not well” today will bring on one of his “suck it up” speeches and that would set me off.
So I avoid and feel shitty for avoiding and yet…Every panic receptor is going off simultaneously and it’s been hours and it won’t fucking stop.
If this is what cutting down on caffeine gets me, I’ll just go back to drinking 2 liters of Dr Pepper everyday, ffs.

I can’t make the panxiety die down.
I thought getting out might help but if anything, it made it worse.
Why can’t I shake it off? No one is out to get me, I am not in danger.
Why won’t my brain chemicals LISTEN to my logic?
Panic is not simply in the brain, it’s a physical response as well, and this is NOT how I wanted to spend my kid free “me” day.

I was in the other room…And I heard this cough…And in spite of being home alone and the door being closed…I thought OMG SOMEONE IS IN THE HOUSE. It was, of course, the TV. Still sent me into a panic, as if I weren’t already in a shaky state.
Guess it says my speakers have pretty good sound if it sounded so realistic and near.

And another wave of panic…
I looked at the clock, saw it was 3:17, and thought, OMG WHAT IF MY SISTER FORGOT TO GET MY KID. Logically, I know had no one been there, the school would have called. (And they have their own ringtone so I always know when I HAVE to answer.)
Now I’m feeling all neurotic mommy “must call to check on spawn.”
God I need the break but it just feels…like being naked. Must be mom and have kid present.
I’m loopier than I thought.

I took a mg of Xanax, which I haven’t done in over a month. It’s gotten that bad. I can’t calm down. I can’t find a way to feel safe. It’s like something tripped a fire alarm in my brain and nothing will shut it down. Fight or flight won’t cease as long as the alarm bells are sounding.
This, in addition to the fact I can’t seem to get warm and the gloom has affected my mood…As well as this being the price I pay for high fuctionality….
It’s a complete wash for a “me” day.
Thankfully, the panxiety is only a couple of times a week,though very fucking random.
And not triggered.
I feel shitty for ignoring R’s calls and texts. But honestly, I just can’t cope. I’ve spent the day waiting for the “storm” to pass or lighten up. But I am fragile and my brain is not sending the right messages which means a common interaction could turn into some bridge burning ceremony. I don’t have many friends. I can’t burn bridges.
Unfortunately, “I’m having a bad mental health day” is not acceptable to those closest to me.
Avoidance feels like the only option I have to protect myself, and them, from whatever my fucked up brain might bring about. Not making excuses, just being blatantly honest. If people would accept the truth I wouldn’t need to avoid and fib.

I sound stark raving mad.
Days like this I wonder if I’m not completely losing my mind.

Following this extravaganza of hell, I retired to my crypt aka bedroom at 6 p.m. I wanted my warm blankies. I read for a bit after taking another mg of Xanax. And eventually, I dozed off.
Then the phone woke me at 8 and it was my mom asking me to bring Spook’s allergy meds over because she was in a state with runny eyes and nose and sneezing. (And I know the whole time my mother is hemming and hawing, she’s wondering if I’m sober enough to drive, because of course, I drink a few times a week which makes me a raging drunk.) As it happened, I hadn’t had any alcohol. Hell, I hadn’t even had a Dr Pepper. I was exhausted and freaked out and…Well, the nap helped. I went out, in my leopard jammy pants, and doped up my kid. She was actually very loving and it was not her norm. Her norm is, “Why are you still here? This is my grandma time.”
It was like upside down day. I went nutso, my kid deviated from her normal apathy toward me, R, who has gone weeks without even checking on me, seemed frantic to get a hold of me.
When I got home, I saw he’d called, as well as my dad. Which only meant one thing. My failure to answer the phone a couple of times caused him and his wife to call my dad to make sure I haven’t offed myself or something.
Bloody hell.
I called R back and explained. Well,lied. No, I don’t feel good about it, but again…If people would accept the truth (“I’m a paranoid hyperventilating mess pretty sure everyone is out to get her so I need to step back for a day or so). Anyway dead cell battery it was. Then he said he called the home phone six times.
He lies. Magicjack registers every call and he called the house once the whole day. Which meant it was all going to my cell, which I’d just told him is prepaid and down to 14 minutes so I probably wouldn’t be answering it. Of course, he was drunk when I told him that so…
But birds of a feather. I lie, he lies. Or maybe he just exaggerates and I lie because the truth isn’t good enough for those around me.
If I had the flu and just needed to lay in bed and recover, they’d offer to bring me soup and 7-Up and tell me to feel better.
But because it’s mental, somehow it’s illegitimate.

So once I cleaned up my avoidance mess (and my dad even called to make sure I’d gotten a hold of R because he was so worried, though I somehow doubt he’d have been worried had his wife not been home poking him to make sure I was okay.)
I was calmer, less paranoid. I read for an hour until my eyelids needed toothpicks to stay open.
Then I slept. I only woke up about four times during the night. It was too cold to get up and do anything, so I just huddled under the blankets with whatever lump of cat was there and listened to Forensic Files running on the desktop.

It’s gloomy today, raining, cold. Lots of lightning, though. Which means fried TVs and money for R, bet he’s giddy as fuck. I slept til 7:30, which is impressive for me. I could have slept til ten or eleven with the kid gone and yet…Scumbag brain and bladder declared it otherwise.
I have three hours before I need to pick Spook up. Much as I needed the break and the quiet, I can’t wait to get her back home. I need her to liven the place up. Maybe because she is such an extroverted happy child I am occasionally infected with her whiff of positive air.
No idea.

But yeah, yesterday was a shit day. I finally get a “me” day, rare for a single mom, and I get attacked by panxiety ninja hamsters and can’t enjoy a bloody minute of me time.
So when asked, “How is your mental shit a disability?”
It fucks up even the good stuff.
And I can’t be honest about being mentally ill because everyone thinks mental illness is a pegacorn figment of the fucking imagination.

How is not a disability to have your every thought distorted, your every effort thwarted, and know how much you to be grateful for but feel utterly weak and defeated every single day?

On an end note…After not eating all night Thursday and all day Friday…Because the appetite has just died down with the Focalin…I knew I had to eat to combat the nausea. So I battled through the paranoid anxiety that if I moved from my chair the world would implode…And I made myself a couple of mushroom swiss burgers.
Such a tiny thing and yet it feels like I climbed the highest mountain just by doing it.
Clown shoes.

Later after I get the spawn home, I am going to introduce her to “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure”.
We could use a laugh.
She may sit still two minutes. But I think the ziggy piggy and waterpark scenes with Napolean will crack her up.

***Forgive all typos and otherwise ass trash mistakes in this post as I was under the influence of Pixie Dust****
***And if you made it to the end of this post…You win your own Pegacornutopia trophy.***

And courtesy of T-shirt Hell:


3 Responses to “Mental Hell-th”

  1. I’m sending for my trophy via hamster express (as I don’t got no ponies!) Hamsters run a little slow, so when he gets there, please don’t give Chumley (his name) a hard time. PS I get the biggest trophy ‘ ’cause I read your post first ~ lol! Feel better, panxiety SUX BUTT!!

  2. PLEASE KEEP DOING THIS. I have a terrible panic disorder and reading about other people who are like me makes it so much easier to accept and conquer.

    • Glad it resonates with you. I’ve been battling it since age 8 and no amount of meds or therapy have made a dent. Talking about it, knowing others battle it as well so I’m not alone, that’s my therapy.

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