When You Become Anxiety’s Bitch

I am not a meek person. I do not have a submissive bone in my body. Most have described me as formidable, a force of nature, one not to set off because I WILL assert myself. At the same time, due to panic attacks, I am often reluctant to deal with confrontations adequately and avoidance kicks in.

The furnace went out again yesterday. I called slumlord and left messages, none were returned, so there we were, once again, without heat. I beckoned R and he got it up and running but it shut down after two hours. Meaning…I would have to allow the strange repairmen all back into my home, and that in itself is anxiety times ten million.

I called the landlord first thing. He called me back and said it’s all the roaches in my home clogging the furnace which is what blows the mother boards and IT IS ALL MY FAULT BECAUSE he doesn’t bring the roaches in. I tried to point out that two years ago when my skanky neighbors moved, I’d had my roach problem kicked completely and all I asked was for his guys to spread a barrier of bug spray outside the trailer so the bugs couldn’t relocate. I spent a fortune trying every chemical and product to get rid of these things. Maybe my lax housekeeping is a part of the problem. But we complained about the bugs a week after we moved in so I don’t give a damn what he says.

My “gift” from him is that he is allegedly going to dispatch a maintenance man to spray for bugs, something they do NOT do for tenants but since I have been such a good renter, he will do it for me this one time. Gee, thanks. He also sent the heating guy over and the furnace is less functional now than it was before the new board was installed yesterday and ran for two hours, providing heat, before konking out.

So my day thus far has been spent on pins and needles with raging anxiety kicking my ass. I don’t like my bubble invaded. I know my months long depression has resulted in a hoarder like pile in some corners. I am TRYING to get back on my feet. Instead, I fear he’s going to throw me out. Because the heat guy says the furnace needs replaced but it’s only 11 years old so that’s not gonna happen with skinflint slumlord.

I feel so…invaded. So…judged and misunderstood.

Oh, and COLD. Which sucks cos the two hours R had it up and running last night we were getting warm. Then it conked.

I can’t focus on watching shows or reading or even bother to start on the hoarding piles because I am so anxious and I don’t function well when put on the spot.

So…Today, I am anxiety’s bitch, complete with the crawling skin, the racing paranoid thoughts, the feeling of my bubble being violated, the terror that I could be thrown out because depression so often buries me and yes, I hoard and pile things up. But never in main pathways, you can make way through the place just find. Just a corner here and there where I’ve stacked up stuff my disoriented brain can’t figure out how to organize. Though a bunch of organizing equipment would be wonderful. Sadly, they charge a fortune for the plastic drawers and stacking bins.

This is NOT who I am. This is the anxiety disorder. Filling me with crippling thoughts of doom. Not to mention the deviation of having people in my home and basically being told, every single time something breaks down, that it is somehow my fault.

My stomach is in knots. In spite of freezing cold hands, my palms are sweating, My skin and hair feel like bugs are crawling all over. I have tried all the cutesy exercises to calm, distract, reason with my brain. EPIC FAIL.

It’s not gonna get better until this furnace issue is resolved and I can take control over my safe haven again.

I need a drink. To calm my nerves, numb me. Good thing I am broke so I can’t give in to that bad habit. I may WANT a stiff drink, but I do not NEED one. Want and need are such separate things, it is often hard to differentiate.

So here I sit, tick tock goes the clock, my innards twisting and turning and barely able to breathe.

23 years of therapy and so rarely do their little jedi mind tricks do fuck all.

I suppose that is my fault too.

I may be able to do the breathing thing, but talking myself out of a  stomach ache and sweaty itching skin…

My doctor mentioned all the research being done with various forms of ketamine (yes, special, but it has shown amazing progress in treatment of depression, unfortunately it is short lived.) He pointed out the possibilities if the formula were to be perfected. What insurance company wouldn’t be willing to shell out for a one and done drug rather than six, seven different ones that don’t do the job? It may be several years down the road, if you can trust Big Pharma to do it right and not just to bilk desperate people out of money…

Bring on the ketamine. Calming, alleviates depression…WANT.

This current state of deviation and flux make me want to sign into a hospital and curl up into a fetal ball. Because I try to fight it and I keep losing and then I have to be guilted for not succeeding where so many others have.

Cockweasel gonads!


7 Responses to “When You Become Anxiety’s Bitch”

  1. Wow. I have lost a 5000 grant for tardive meds and it’s feeling bigger than me. I gave in to it and slept until noon. There’s so much to do…and I’ve lost my hypomania. They think I have Sjogren’s disease. Genetically it makes sense.

  2. I miss taking LSD. Never had a bad trip, and it was probably the only time in my stressful teen years that I relaxed. Might well have done good things for my depression as well, but as hindsight comes out of the arse and we’re talking almost 20 years ago…


    Boo on slumlords. I can empathise. My apartment in San Antonio went without hot water over a winter because their maintenance guy ‘couldn’t move my couch’ two inches to reach the cupboard where the water heater was. They expected 114lb me to do it instead. I did, ’cause come on shitty-ass excuse.

    • Interesting that you bring up LSD as I just saw a study the other day that small doses of magic mushroom and a carefully controlled trip has shown remarkable progress for cancer patients with depression issues. Their depression and our depression is somewhat different, but the effects of that trip last up to 6 months! Can you imagine!!!!

      • I’ve been reading about Ketamine, LSD in small doses and also psylocybin (sp?) magic mushrooms for depression. The other antidepressant in late-stage research and development is a type of opiod, buprenophrine. In the third world, they use narcotics for intractable depression. Or at least they did. And then they wonder why we had an opiod epidemic! It makes people feel good. Of course they’re gonna want more.

      • My doc is talking about all the research being done on substances such as lsd, shrooms, ketamine…And I think he has a point. If research shows an improvement, even if limited to a half hour, with ketamine…There IS hope out there for those of us who are med resistant. That is a beacon of light in the darkness. Whether it comes to be within the next ten years remains to be seen. 30 plus meds and 24 failures…I’ll lick hallucinogenic toads if it helps!

  3. Man, Z-Whack this guy already. Fuck him and the shitty furnace he rode in on.

  4. My antidepressant is new, it’s called “Trintellix.” It works on four or more neurotransmitters. Pristiq and Viibryd were also good, but just for a while. I have ‘medication fatigue.’
    I think my Trintellix stopped working though because when I wake up in the am, my first thoughts are really dark.

    They get better once I get up and get moving but god, in the morning….I hesitate to tell my therapist because being baker acted when you have chronic pain and tardive dyskinesia from most atypicals..I’m over the skill sets of most of the hospital and outpatient shrinks around here.

    I’m in South Florida and most hospital and clinic doctors are hacks at the beginning of their careers; resentfully doing their two decades of hospital and ALF rounds until they, too, can join the ranks of the 51% who are ‘all cash.’
    Oh yes, only half the shrinks in this country take Medicare or insurance anymore.
    So if you have a good one, bully for you, morgueticiatoms

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