Fear And Sadness

I just returned from taking my kid into town for day camp. Each trip is a harrowing experience in paranoia, anxiety, panic, and fear. Last year it was an irritation, but it was not a dread. This year, with the reduced Xanax, it’s become a hellish experience that I am not ‘getting over’. I can’t come up with anything else that would have brought this terror response on compared to last year and all the upheaval and hell we went through. For my condition to worsen is insulting and injurious. I know the benzo nazi thinks she is protecting us from addiction but what she has done is reduce the quality of my life. And if bitching about it daily means I am an addict, DO explain why I have a 4 month supply that I don’t abuse.

Yesterday was sad. I don’t know why. I looked forward only to bedtime. My kid wasn’t acting out. Nothing awful happened. I didn’t even have to deal with my family. We’re not starving, our electricity is not being cut off. We are both in good physical health and have a home and car and computers and TVs. So why am so damn sad all the time?

The nurse and shrink seem to think upright and functioning means I am doing well.

I don’t feel at all like I am doing well. I have let the laundry pile up, the dishes sit in the sink, and about the only true functionality is keeping food in the house, bathing her and myself, and wearing clean clothes. This isn’t living, it is existing. And I know this isn’t as good as it gets, I know I am not expecting too much from a med combo. The raise in Lamictal and evening dose has done nothing to elevate my mood. I am still preoccupied only with going to sleep, even said sleep is interrupted and plagued with nightmares.

I am sad and some of it is losing the kitten the other day, it haunts me.

But I am also sad for no discernable reason, and I can’t help but admit I feel hopeless toward the future. Until I am out of this panicky depressed mental space, I don’t have a future because I am stuck treading water in the present. And the professionals’ idea of help is cognitive bullshit therapy or worse, mindfulness. I am fucking mindful that I am always down and there’s no real reason to feel that way!

Except…depression.

I am not okay. I am functioning at the bare minimum, but I am not okay.

Tomorrow night may be my undoing. I promised to take Spook to the county fair as part of her bday gift for next month and the thought of parking the car in the crowds, and navigating said crowds has me paranoid and freaking out. Everyone says get over it or you’ll do fine, but it does not help a bit.

Sometimes it’s worse when people do the tough love thing and encourage you and reassure you.

Because then if you truly do lose your shit, it’s like you’ve let them down, and it just adds to the self loathing.

I’ll say it again: well meaning people are the bane of my existence.

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