Morgue’s Non Excellent Adventures in Anxiety

(Prelude to actual post, skim beyond if you wish.)


The panxiety is returning…

The neighbor dudes down the street just had a screaming cursing match which sets my anxiety off. So I sit and breathe and remind myself, it will be okay.
Too bad my brain doesn’t believe me because something’s triggered the fire alarm again.
I do my best to keep a lid on it. This will not kill me, it’s just for now, not forever. (Except it always returns so in a way it is forever.)
But my nerve endings are all on fire with anxiety and worry and “the sky is falling” thoughts. To my credit, though, much as scumbag brain wants to sell me on the doomed scenario…I am holding my breath, and judgments, until my fears are either debunked or confirmed.
I’m not feeling hopeful at the moment.
At least I am making a conscious effort to wait and act on information rather than allow the panic and fear to convince me otherwise based on misfiring chemicals.
It’s progress for me. I failed yesterday. Today…I’m back to fighting shape.
But ya know, even if it just *is* anxiety…It doesn’t change the buzz under my skin, the chills, trembling, feeling like bugs are crawling all over my skin, my body itches and I think it’s some fatal malady or bad juju.
I don’t think mundanes could possibly understand. In fact, I think the sensation of bugs crawling all over your skin would be enough to send most mundanes off the deep end.
It’s not dying down. Again. I feel as if the world is spiraling out of control around me, yet I know it’s just my own messed up brain sending out bad intel.
Why can’t I fight it? Conquer it? Why am I so fucking weak? (More lies from the bad brain juju, I am anything but weak.)
3 hours post xanax. I picked my kid up. Started reading more of my book. I feel less rattled now, but I can’t shake that bug crawly paranoid feeling. Like if I stop thinking about it, it will be the catalyst to bring about doom. So I read and try not to think about it but my skin is itchy and wtf? If one could deny itchy skin anti histmanines and topicals wouldn’t be a lucrative business.
I can’t win.
I just keep battling, Even if it seems futile.
I keep checking my mail box. Power bill should be coming. I need to know how much it is. That’s always the variable for my budget. I know what my rent and net bill will be every month. That power bill scares the fuck out of me. And not even the power so much, I use about ninety bucks a month with all my computers running and I can own that. But when it’s two hundred dollars’ worth gas for heating and we’re still wearing layers because the duct work is fucked up and we’re still freezing…
It’s insult to injury.
I just wanna rip the band aid off.
Which is odd because last month, it took four days and a couple of drinks to work up the nerve to open the damned thing as I could only envision not being able to pay it and having my service shut off.
THIS is where the mental illness is distinguished from simple messed up personality.
My ability to cope hinges on my mental state.
Last month I was too fragile. Now I’m fragile but in a different way. I wanna know so I can start budgeting for the next month.
If that were personality, it would not hinge on mood cycles or the panxiety.
I don’t give a damn what the professionals and naysayers think. I live it, I know me better than anyone else could.
And frankly, having it insinuated that it’s all personality is as insulting as telling a diabetic their blood sugar is wonky because they want it to be.
Clown shoes.

For once in my miserable panxiety/depressive state I told my kid we’d do something…and actually went through with it, even if her constant fussing, squirming, and sassing really should have cost her TV privilege. Maybe I did it for me, because I needed a good retro laugh.
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
Not high brow but as a child of the 80’s it was very amusing.
Less so with a yapping squirming child asking questions,literally, every ten seconds, even though she already knows the answers…
But I carried through with a plan. I didn’t let mood or anxiety kick my ass.
Well, okay, it got some good kicks in, but for whatever reason, I am feeling more resilient today.
Yesterday I was a bonefide basketcase.
Today I’ve been jumpy, jarring at every sound even next door or on the road. The cats were climbing the curtain and scumbag brain tried to tell me someone was breaking in through the window.
Grrr.
Some days I can convince myself it’s the illness distorting things.
Some days I can’t.
Considering I spent yesterday in my bubble, alone, very little stimuli, and yet I crumbled into a paranoid panicky mess…But today I have yapping kid and cats and neighbors and I’m shaky but psychological shrapnel isn’t in danger of flying.
Night is young.
I’m not a pessimist, I am a realist.
My biggest enemy is allowing myself to brainwashed into the whole optimist thing. If you occupy that space and bad shit hits you, you don’t know how to cope.
But if you recognize patterns (cycles of anxiety and bipolar,esp) then you know no matter what sunshine you blow up your own pantaloons, the bad will happen. The cycles will shift. And being prepared is just smart, not pessimistic. Knowing it can get worse isn’t the same as being convinced it will. It’s just reconnaissance. Know your enemy, anticipate its moves. Forewarned is forearmed, blah blah blah.
Cautious optimism, the old (old and best) counselor I have had called it.
In this day and age, his method is considered wrong because it doesn’t spew sunshine and denial.

Works for me and I don’t fix things that aren’t broken.

In other news…I finished the book I was reading. It had this bizarre psychological pain management therapy, given by a woman with a genetic condition making her unable to feel physical pain…And while it may or may not work for some, I find a metaphor for psychiatry and psychology.
Teaching people to “cope” with something yourself can’t feel is hypocrisy.
And I am NOT naming my mental pain and talking to it. I LIKE cursing the bipolar and anxiety and all the other nasty little bitches in my brain wiring.

But I am definitely going to do some research on this whole notion of controlling physical pain psychologically. Because while stubborn,I am not unwilling to learn and hell, maybe even test drive the notion.
I tried cognitive, hypnosis, chakra therapy, aromatherapy, sound therapy, light therapy…
I’d try acupuncture if I could afford it.
It’s not that I don’t want to get well.

It’s just nothing ever works in concert and keeps working in concert.

No magic bullets or excellent adventures for me.

Party on, dudes.

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3 Responses to “Morgue’s Non Excellent Adventures in Anxiety”

  1. “I’m not feeling hopeful at the moment. At least I am making a conscious effort to wait and act on information rather than allow the panic and fear to convince me otherwise based on misfiring chemicals.” Very wise, Niki. Something I will try to learn from.

    Prelude – what a powerful, raw, and transparent account. Your words and vulnerability make me feel like we share the same experiences though maybe different diagnoses, huh?

    “I told my kid we’d do something…and actually went through with it…” – HOORAY for you! You are a champion because you won a victory. I know how BIG that can be, to go out when you feel like Red Boxing it on the couch.

    “Resiliency” and “cautious optimism” were excellent topics, too. Thank you for the excellent writing and for a spark of hope.

  2. Reblogged this on surviving the specter and commented:
    An excellent post that makes me feel like I am not crazy. Appreciate this one and am reblogging, Niki.

  3. My therapist is the same. I call it honest, and most aren’t that way today. Party on.

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