Supersized Happy Meal For Anxiety

Anxiety has feasted upon me today, to the point of feeling foggy and scared and uncertain about every tiny thing. It’s almost like going off an anti depressant with that brain buzziness, or ya know, taking one like Lexapro or Abilify which had the same effect.Major suckage. Anxiety walked into Mickey D’s, declared itself famished, and I am its supersized Happy Meal.

Nothing catastrophic happened. There was no trigger, no underlying “well what’s on your mind that could have sparked this”. There is no logic here, nor rhyme or reason. It’s mental illness. My brain sends out mega messages of “fight or flight” and my body floods with the appropriate endorphins or whatever. It matters not that there’s no trigger. It’s a disorder because it happens this way. Every little thing set me off today. Driving. Talking to people. Interacting. I was even too squirrelly to walk across the street from the shop to a yard sale. The anxiety was that bad, the panic messages telling me I was in danger that strong. Not even Xanax was knocking it down today.

In spite of that, I still accepted an invite by Mrs R to hang out this evening. Then came the flood of their family and friends and in my current state that was as healthy as gargling Borax. R’;s eldest, Mrs Master’s Degree, saw my ankles and exclaimed, “MY god, what happened to your legs?” Um…Flea bites. Same as it’s been for oh, thirty five years now. “Well, why didn’t you get rid of the fleas?” I did. Still, one flea bite for a million others equals a hundred flea bites for me due to the fact my histamines view it as some sort of full on assault requiring them to run riot. So yeah like I’m not self conscious enough about the scabby scarred legs, I get people like that who can’t even pretend not to notice. You can go with the “she just cares” argument. Had it been anyone but her I might have been enough of a moron to believe it. The moment of richness came when she complained about an “obnoxious coworker” at the counseling center. The thing that makes this woman obnoxious? She stops by Master’s Degree’s office door and tries to talk to her every morning. And the really irksome thing- it’s the counselor I used to see, the one they, as children, saw. A wonderful woman who is not the least bit obnoxious. In fact, were you to simply exchange pleasantries then smile and politely say you needed some time to yourself, she’d have zero issue with it. Rather than do this logical thing, she of the master’s degree smiles through it then runs around telling everybody D is obnoxious.

Whereas I find her one of the most repulsive people on the planet based on personality and she has no clue that she’s even flawed because when she gets mad,  she cleans, so she’s getting therapy and everyone else is fucked up.

Why oh why do I even leave the house or attempt to be “normal”.

I stayed less than ninety minutes, especially after I mention Spook’s bad report card and yet more behavioral issues at school this week and it turned into these little digs about how “You don’t get to do whatever you want at school like you do with your mom, do you, Spook?” Um…I could buy a fucking island if I had even a penny for every time I tell my kid to be quiet. I could buy a fucking villa for every time I correct her, stand her against a wall, take her shit away, send her to her room…Fuck, I could be a Kardashian. I TRY. I just have a virulent strain of child.

As we were leaving Mrs. R mock whined, “You’re leaving already, you don’t love me anymore…”

Truth be told, by that point…I was tapped the fuck out on every level. And she asked if she decides to go out of town tomorrow to buy a new computer if I’d go with her and help her pick the best one for the best price. OMFG. NOOOO, I do not want to be prisoner in someone else’s car for fifty mile trip there, fifty miles back….Not with my anxiety. If I were manic or even in a stable place, it’d be cool, cos I wouldn’t have to drive and I could just enjoy the trip. Right now…I’d rather have a dozen root canals sans Novacaine…But stupid bitch I am, I said, yeah, sure, cool.


What I want to do tomorrow (if scumbag brain cooperates and the Hulk Happy Meal sates the anxiety) is hit the last weekend of yard sales. The town’s got some prairie bumfuck steam land engine, IDFK, shindig, so there are over 40 yard sales. I’d like to it just a couple that have Spook’s pants size listed, just to get out,do something, then die. Metaphorically. Stay inside for the rest of the weekend, no dish contact unless it’s forced on me.

On the plus side…Nervous as I was, I only had like ten ounces of this sparkling wine/juice stuff, whereas with anxiety I normally want to crawl into the bottle. It just wasn’t doing a thing. Once the stress and exhaustion set in this hard, I don’t think anything will help but the brain reboot of sleep. To my credit though, we came home at 7:30 and instead of crawling to my crypt and licking wounds…I’ve stayed in the living room, watching some “newish” show I found on Hulu. I did dishes, cleaned cat boxes, even though it took every ounce of gumption I have. I can’t believe how exhausting every tiny thing is becoming. I thought the summer was bad, but this shit…This is a whole new ball game. Dodgeball. And the balls being thrown are enormous spiked maces.

I am hoping I can just get through the first few hours of tomorrow with my mind relatively functional. I don’t wanna sit out the final yard sale weekend for six months. I don’t have much money but my kid needs pants and if I could find those cheap, it justifies the use of gas. But last week this was the plan and come Saturday morning…I couldn’t make myself go out there. No more dish, said my central nervous system. So when it even cancels out things I semi enjoy…No,Dr. Katmandu University, everything is not getting better here.

Though I did rather enjoy the season premieres of How To Get Away With Murder and Grey’s Anatomy, so I m sure that means I am totally cured.

One more episode of this show and then bedtime. Or not. I don’t know. I wanna curl up i bed and zone out. But then I feel like that’s me giving into the depression’s siren song. At which point is it okay to say you’re done for the day without it being  a cop out to avoid your mental demons?

Stick a spork in me, I’m done.




5 Responses to “Supersized Happy Meal For Anxiety”

  1. When I read the title to this post I immediately ran to the freezer and put in 10 chicken nuggets in the oven. It’s midnight. I started show binging too. I’ll need all the fictional distraction to get through the seasonal change. And also popping the antihistamines early because the seasonal allergies kick my ass around Oct – Nov.

    I’m saving the graphic.

  2. Boy I feel like I was manic compared to your day. This house is clean-I just need to put up all of NSLM’s game consoles. Today is a family shindig out at my aunt’s and I’m looking forward to it-but probably not 8 hours worth. Fuuuuck…oh well.
    At least you can concentrate on tv. I can’t. It’s only music or Harry Potter on CD. Can’t even read. Blah. I wanted to hit yard sales for you here-but no cash. Maybe I’ll take the Crown Royal change back out today…meh.
    I need to go back to’s the fucking weekend-why am i up at 7?! Fuuuuuuuckitaaaaaaallll

  3. “A virulent strain of child” oh god I love it. I wish I could have put that down on kids report cards. It sounds like the school (or at least the teacher) isn’t taking responsibility for Spook’s outcomes though. The amount of kids they get through, you’d kinda expect them to know what they were doing instead of throwing blame your way.

  4. Just stopping by to say ‘hey! & hugs. i mustered the strength to hop on here I’m physically, mentally & emotionally bled dry,,, zero energy,,, someone pulled my plug,,,

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