Pseudo Functional But The Panic Is Working Fine

Like the spineless coward panic attacks make me…I am hiding. From a phone call. I feel pathetic but my heart is hammering, my head is light, and the thought of venturing not just into the dish again but into an even bigger faster paced dish trapped in someone else’s car with Mrs. R…I’m getting shooting pains in my arm. I can barely breathe. I feel like I have done something wrong because I simply am not in the shape to go do the social butterfly bit. And because the world is not cool with mental sick days so being honest is as daunting as facing a firing squad.

So what do I do? Nothing. Hide like a wussy. I should pick up the phone, make the call, say firmly that I’m just not up for it today. I mean, what’s the downfall? I irk someone by being my flaky self?

I am normally not so spineless. The anxiety, and now the panic that had gone away for the longest time, are turning me into a basketcase. Xanax is being scoffed at. So I am in this hellish limbo, wanting to be my balls self and tell it like it is, yet feeling so fragile and ashamed for being fragile and fearful, I avoid. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

What a hypocrite I am. Blasting others for not having the balls to be honest with me while here I am hiding from a brief conversation that would result in what, being replaced by someone she likes better anyone and who can afford to buy their own lunch?

Because ya know, there’s another bad part to having “friends”. I’m always the one who can’t buy their own lunch. Or do any shopping. Or enjoy the outing because every fiber of my panic riddled central nervous system is interpreting it as an attack against me rather than, well, a pleasant outing.

This isn’t panxiety. No, I passed panxiety this morning and landed straight in ALERT ALERT PANIC PANIC zone. Why? We did the yard sale thing and I thought, hit the block sale, save on gas and stops, etc. Yet scumbag brain decided that all the traffic and people and the noise from the nearby steam show (whatever the fuck that is, something rednecky I am sure) were an assault. I was under attack. I tried to tough it out, oh, I did try. But at one point I got so overwhelmed, and my brain was short circuiting from the panic (which may have just been me not taking in enough air due to the panic) but I had to pull the car over, park, and just take a few minutes. I was beyond rattled. That wasn’t anxiety, that was pure panic.

I decided to get the fuck out of that area and maybe en route home find a couple of non crowded sales. Because while I had to rearrange my plan, I was determined not to let the psychotic panic rob me of the entire plan itself. So once out of that mayhem and in a less area, we stopped a couple of more times. It was serendipitous, too, because at one sale…I got my kid about ten new shirts and ten pairs of pants, all for five dollars. She has the winter hookup now. 25 cent each sales RULE. If I’d let the panic run me home, I’d still be sweating that bullet. So I toughed it out and now I have one less stresser to freak me out, my kid will not freeze this winter.

Still, had to come home and just chill. It was rattling. Like, nausea inducingly so. And of course the shiny happies will chirp, “But, LOOK, you did IT” then assault me with their pompoms made of unicorn fur and puppydog tails…Yeah, I did it. But I am resentful that I have to give myself pep talks and view such a normal thing as this major “I am woman, hear me roar” success. No one should have to operate from this place on a daily basis.

Having said that…THIS is why I am being a spineless wussy hiding from a phone call.Because I already had a meltdown in public today and I don’t relish another. And I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to avoid a possible trigger. I faced down the mental demons and sort of triumphed once. I don’t want to tempt fate and it doesn’t make me some weak malingerer letting her illness get the better of her.

Yet society has programmed even rebellious Snarkasma into doubting herself at every turn. I am told to take care of myself cos I can’t be  good mom if I am not well. But when I do the things that help me be well, the cognitive nazis say I am just avoiding.

The phone call I am avoiding, yes. I keep waiting for that recent Xanax to kick in and give me the courage to make a call and be honest.

Because yeah, panic disorder is that bad, is like that. You  need courage to do the most basic things because your stupid brain is interpreting every tiny thing as this debilitating assault. So it doesn’t matter what a bad ass you are most of the time. There is only *this* moment where you feel naked and vulnerable, like you’re armed with a water gun and everyone else has assault rifles.

It should be so easy as “rip the bandaid off.”

And the horrifying possibility that she could just come to my door and that’s even worse than a call and yet…

My brain is short circuiting.

There are times I actually ponder causing myself physical injury, benign but relevant to current requirements, just so I can get out of this social stuff when my mind is weak. It’s not Munchausen’s. I don’t want attention. I just don’t want that age old “Oh, come on, get out, get some fresh air, that’ll snap you right out of it!” Every. Fucking. Time. I am honest and say, “I’m just out of sorts, my mood is vile, my anxiety is hide, maybe another time?” Then comes that sunshine spewing “your needs are not important to me so do it my way” speech.

Seriously, if you want to cheer up an anxiety ridden depressive…DON’T drag them outside and insist it will fix them. Instead, offer to bring some food and a movie over and let them ride out the rough patch then maybe when they do feel stronger, they will want to go out rather than be blackmailed into it.

Pfft.

We all talk about the pitfalls of bipolar/anxiety. I think the self loathing it brings when we find ourselves behaving in a way contradictory to our normal personality, is one of the worst. Because in two hours, ten hours, a day…I may not even remember why I was feeling this weak and terrified. Yet at this moment, even fighting with all my might because I get that it’s distortion, it simply is what it is. It is real to me and I am terrified.

Terrified to the point of paralysis.

 

 

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3 Responses to “Pseudo Functional But The Panic Is Working Fine”

  1. If fuckbook can create a dislike button why can wp?? Dislike this whole situation for you :(( Yes you got out and got Spook clothes-but at what cost? You are now cowering in the corner with the blankets over your head looking like Gollum “Not listening!” If I were close it’d be pizza and movies-well movies for you. I’d probably clean because I can’t concentrate. Yay. No amount of “deep breath” from me will help-you know its a distortion and your brain is fuckered up-that’s more than a lot can recognize. Doesn’t make it any better knowing. Where’s you Xanax lollipop?

  2. Geez, with friends like that – ! Sad to hear the people physically close to you treat you this way. I’m with sassafras; pull out those movies and order in the pizza. Momma’s gettin’ worried, child.

  3. The part about it not mattering what a badass you can be because you can’t be one right now really resonates with me. Unfortunately, my depression has kicked in and the best I have for you is “that sucks”. Sorry 😦

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