Archive for August, 2019

Flailing and Failing

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on August 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It was…a trying weekend. Mostly in part because my father called Friday night to INFORM me they’d be over bright and early Saturday morning to ‘help’ mow my lawn. Which meant I drained quickly and went to bed early but couldn’t stay asleep because I was living in dread. I told him multiple times, no, thanks, I will get to it…But then I remembered, my lawn is all about him and what people say about him because I am his daughter thus reflects badly on him…Geesh, it’d been one week, in spite of all the rain it wasn’t that damn bad. THe lady across from me let hers go a month, the mayor’s sister’s lawn is so overgrown her kids can’t even get to the swingset cos it’s waist high on them…So I slept like shit, I woke up filled with dread…

And I wasn’t wrong. First thing, in spite of me and Spook picking up the yard first, some shred of whatever got caught up in the rider so they yelled and tantrumed and had to take it home to ‘fix it’. They left my brother and his push mower and frankly, I did 3/4 of it by myself even with his help. Only for them to return with the rider and to start screaming that I didn’t mulch it up, I missed this spot, and that spot. Christ! Lawn nazis. If you ASK for help, then maybe they can bitch. If you insist you DON’T want help and they force it on you…then shut the fuck up. I was PROUD that I did so much of it with minimum help from my brother (though he did help) and they couldn’t even let me have that. Ass trash.

Meanwhile, my mother is still in agony with her spinal stenosis and her doc submitted the X-Rays to the spinal specialist last Monday, marked urgent…and it’s been a week, she can’t even walk or bathe or use the toilet alone cos she is in so much pain, so my sister has been busting her ass to take care of mom and her elderly roommate…And dad is all worried about my sis, but her and her husband left a friend in charge of elder care to spend the weekend at Six Flags….AFTER guilt tripping me about all their bills and how much mom’s anti inflammatory cost…

GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Family is another word for hell.

At least Spook and I are getting along. Even though she is getting rightly fed up with how low functioning I am. She wants her friends to come over and play inside and I just…can’t. Since they lowered my Xanax and yanked the Wellbutrin, leaving me only 50mg daily of Zoloft…I have gone down the drain. I have been trying to make it up to her by making it a nightly ritual for us to lay in bed and watch Frasier together and snuggle buggle…But of course, it’s picture time, it’s book fair time, now she wants to join band…and I can’t afford any of it. So I get to be the bad guy, yet again, while the donor drags his heels for the third straight year on signing THE FUCKING PAPERWORK HE PRACTICALLY GOT ME TO SIGN ILLEGALLY IN THE FIRST PLACE. Guess making it legal is too scary for the spineless wonder. Or he knows it’s pissing me off and it’s his last card to play. Which is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die, so yea, 187 IQ, my ass, donor.

I feel reality slipping away more and more each day. The anxiety never dies down, just climbs. The mental space never lightens, it just grows darker. I am at wits’ end. I am flailing and failing here. And failing my kid would break me, I’d never recover from that. She has already had high anxiety over those brats across the road accusing her of trying to kill herself when she was doing no such thing, but now she is terrified they could report it and an adult could report it and get her taken away…Every call, she asks, are they taking me away? I hug her extra and she asks, are they taking me away? I am failing, big time. Though we all only ever wanted to make her stop dramatizing and lying, we never meant to create an insecure basketcase. And the fact I’ve told her that her messy room is more likely to deem me unfit than all else and she still doesn’t give a damn to clean it…I think it’s a combo of fear and drama, and less us tainting her.

I see the NP this week. I am already in dread. I thought about skipping bathing for a week and showing up in jammies. But this woman is fucking clueless, she can’t even accurately figure up a month supply count of medication. And I am super pissed off that I am not able to accomplish stuff around home because I am just too high strung and mentally beaten down. Oh, and my lack of enthusiasm for Halloween…they might as well have stabbed me in the heart, gut, and skull. Their conversative menthods have SCREWED me over royally. I am doing my part. They are doing fuck all.

So yeah…I am trying but…I’m drowning here, flailing in a current I’m not gonna survive, and just trying NOT to fail at being a mom in the event I come out the other side. That feels like a big IF right now. You can’t always control mental health issues or nervous breakdowns. No matter what ‘behavioral health’ zealots claim.

My Brain Is Stampeding Today

Posted in anxiety, Attention Deficit Disorder with tags , , , , on August 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I can’t find any clarity today. The thoughts are coming too fast, too furious. Racing thoughts freak me out even if they are frequent. I had hoped for an ounce of clear thought so I could accomplish something around the house. Or at least find some solace in a quiet mind.

It is not to be.

Two shrinks said ADD comorbid with the bipolar two disorder. The others say it’s anxiety byproduct and will abate once the anxiety is in check. Which isn’t going to happen when they keep lowering the anti anxiety meds which is the ONLY thing other than Focalin that slows my mind enough for clear thought. To say I am confused and frustrated is an understatement.

I am thinking so unclearly these days, I literally had to call the shrink’s office on my kid’s behalf and ask them to do the math on what day I can pick up her script (they have a 3 business day policy from when you call it in to when you can fetch it) and also when the insurance would pay for it. I literally could not wrap my brain around the math and I can’t risk my kid experiencing withdrawal if I screw it up. The nurse there was very nice and helpful and set it all up for me, thankfully.

This reminds me of trying to help my kid with her 5th grade math. This common core bullshit is, well, fucking bullshit. Six steps to do what I can do in three. And it HAS to be done their way and as core math was never taught, or even mentioned, when I went to school, I am a bit lost. Fact is, highly educated as R and his wife are, they saw her 3rd grade common core math and even they had trouble figuring it out because it is so convulated with more steps than are necessary. I know there is a method to their madness but I can’t fathom it.

I am starting to think my NP also has problems with math. When she filled my Zoloft, she put it down for 155 pills. Well, seven days with one pill, then 21 days with 2 pills ain’t 155. And she is constantly giving me 90 days worth of other meds when they should only be a 30 day supply, then she renews the script so she isn’t thinking ahead. Her math is fucked up. I turned her in and it did no good at all.

See how fast the thoughts are coming? It is like a stampede in my brand and it is terrifying. I don’t know what to do with this chaos. I can’t even focus on watching my shows, which for the last several days were keeping me fairly focused and calm. That is out the fucking window now.

I am also itchy and twitchy with the superstition mom installed in me for itchy ears and nose meaning calls or visits and people talking about you.

If this is sanity and stability, I think I have a pretty good malpractice case against the psych center. When the head shrink asked if I was willing to keep seeing the NP, I should have said NO. I just didn’t want to make too many waves. Which was how I lost access to my fave competent awesome shrink and ended up with NP number 1 who was useless. I wanted to be agreeable because I know their staffing issues. My compassion and empathy fucked me royally. And the awesome doc left so likely I’d have ended up here anyway. Though had I stayed with him even the year he remained, I might have been on a better path. Then again, with my med resistance and sensitivity, I can’t really blame them as long as they are willing to go to the wall for me. Which current NP is NOT because she is so concerned with keeping the conservative regime set out by her overseer. Less pills would make me elated. Less pills are not what I need now. I need HELP. Aggressive help.

My kingdom for something to calm my mind right now. You’d think with all this madness in my mind I’d have all sorts of energy and get up and go but I am still wearing the same clothes from two days ago. I did a load of laundry but I have no energy to hang dry it since my dryer is broken. And the washer is making unfamiliar sounds so it will probably be next. I can’t catch a damn break here without everything going wrong.

I dream of a quiet mind. Instead, I have perpetual mental chaos. My luck is shit.

Depressive Discombobulation: What Day Is It?

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , on August 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, this has been a very long, very discombulating week. I wake up every day, not sure what day it is, convinced it must be the weekend…but it’s not. Yesterday I was lucky to spontaneously wake at 6:47 because I had turned off my alarm unknowingly the day before. I have accomplished nothing this week. I am just not feeling up to it. My body is leaden, my mind is cloudy and confused. The trip to town the other day was ninety minutes of my life and yet it has taken me 2 days to recover. I am not doing so well here. I see the NP next week but I already know what she will say and do. Conservative professionals are so bloody predictable. She will want to max out the Zoloft and leave me hanging on monotherapy…

Just as the temps drop enough to make it cold in the mornings, which signals oncoming seasonal depression. It’s like some internal switch in my body flips the nearer it gets to season change, but not in a good way for fall and winter. I’m not even excited for Halloween. Usually by now I’ve bought a few dollar decorations and am gearing up. Not this year. I am JOYLESS.

The only joy I get these days is sleep or getting lost in TV shows. And it’s escapism, not true joy.

It’s impacting my kid, too, which pisses me off. Last night I was so tapped out we both went to bed at 8:15 and she was not amused losing her extra 15 minutes before normal bedtime. But I really just couldn’t stay awake…

And I couldn’t stay asleep. I was able to quickly get back to sleep every time I woke, and I had a couple of ‘aww yay, I get several more hours of sleep’ moments…But then when I was having a really wickedly pleasant dream…I woke up and it was 6:15 so I just stayed in bed until the alarm went off. After that, no chance of going back to sleep.

Sent my kid to the bus stop with ANOTHER fucking train stalled on the tracks, just like yesterday morning. Between that and my internet unreliability, I am fucking sick to death of living in this fucking armpit.

I have GOT to find a lifeline. But it’s not gonna be today because my back hurts, my ovarian cysts are causing me pain, and my head aches. Oh, and I need to bathe again, ffs. Sink full of dishes, laundry piled up. No hope on the horizon. I just want to go back to sleep.

I know I’ve been in bad depressions like this before, but usually I am writing or the anxiety is reduced. I am not writing and my anxiety is still off the charts as is my paranoia and the panic attacks. I am trapped in my own mind and I don’t know how to break free or change anything. Until my perception changes and my brain sends proper messages…

I feel more trapped than if I were on 23 hour a day prison lockdown.

NOPE Is Not An Option

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I need to go town. My immediate thought is NOPE. The trips to town are taking so much out of me, with the panic attacks and paranoia, and I am not feeling energized this morning in spite of decent-ish sleep…But I’ve put it off as long as I can. The cats have half a cup of food left so…I can’t nope this one away. I think I missed when I simply didn’t have the money to go to town so when I said nope, I had a legit excuse other than…I’m fucking insane.

And make no mistake, I am feeling insane. In the space of a few weeks I’ve gone from ‘feeling okay-ish’ to feeling like “If I don’t wake ip tomorrow, that’s okay”. If this is my NP’s idea of improvement, maybe she’s the insane one. And what truly pisses me off is that if she had just left me on 300mg Wellbutrin WITH the Zoloft, I might not have gone downhill so fast. At least not with the depression. The panic attacks have turned me into the former agoraphobic I was for the better part of two years after a shitty doctor banned all benzos and treated my anxiety with low doses of Seroquel. That was fucking useless. And I left my apartment twice a month-for bill paying and for food. Other than that, my apartment was my prison. Because leaving caused me so much anxiety. Then my sister made some calls and found me a new shrink in town and within a month of seeing her, I had a proper diagnosis and proper medication that was helping more than it was hurting. I guess I am living for that twist, praying this center keeps its revolving door of providers and maybe one decent one will make their way in.

That doesn’t really provide me with much immediate hope, though. They’ve been talking telepsych since the start of the year and it hasn’t happened yet. I need less conservative treatment. I’ve got a Baskin Robbins of conditions that need major treatment, not dabbling by someone who thinks less is more even if it means my quality of life sucks.

So today’s task will be getting dressed and forcing myself into the car into town. Never mind the dishes and laundry piled up. Just a few weeks ago I was at least managing to keep up with that. I KNEW her yanking me off the dual regimine was going to fuck me over. You can tell how agitated I am by how many times I make various usage of the word fuck. It’s offensive to many but for me, it’s cathartic. If I didn’t swear, I’d be back to smashing plates in the trash can or taking a hammer to shit to get the aggression out. I find it odd that society frowns on swearing yet somehow respects violent acts like punching someone. Fuck that and fuck them.

I really dread going to town. Damn myself for forgetting catfood when I was there Saturday. That is why I try not to shop when Spook is with me. She yaps so much that even with a list I forget stuff because I am just focused on getting it done and getting back to my safe space. I am really tired of living this way. I just don’t know how to break out of whatever this funk I am in is. Though when it’s clinical depression and anxiety, it really isn’t just a rut or a funk you can snap out of. I need my brain chemicals to start sending me proper messages, consistently. That Abilify fail really set me back. Now that I am feeling so low, I really wish I’d just tried harder to deal with the side effects. But I know I tried my best and they were just that bad.

Mental health issues truly are a damned if you do, damned it you don’t situation.

The 7 Day Disconnect Ends

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on August 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Our internet is fixed finally. Sorta. It keeps going up and down and the tech told me it could just be the weather, we had a wicked thunderstorm this morning. But the phone is working and the internet half ass works, it is never down more than a minute or two. Annoying but better than what we for 7 days. NOTHING. Oh, I had my phone data but all my kid does is stream youtube so that would have burned 2 gigs. I allowed myself only to post prewritten posts to spare the data. (Geesh, it’s gone down 5 times since I started TRYING to write this, wtf Frontier????)

I’d like to say a 7 day net purge cured all my mental issues but alas, it did not. I am battling them more than ever. Waking up multiple times a night. Constant anxiety and paranoia. Hitting snooze in the morning because getting up is too hard. Barely the energy to refill ice cube trays and run minimum errands in the petri dish. I thought last year was my worst year but this year is quickly surpassing it, mental health wise. If this NP doesn’t put me on a double antidepressant regime before the seasonal depression sets in, I am probably going to end up hospitalized. No one can shut down this much without it biting them on the ass eventually.

To my credit today, I bathed and cooked a meal for my kid and myself. That was a battle. I still need to feed the outdoor cats again and take out trash and get her into a bath. Once again, I am looking forward to bedtime. Which won’t hold because I am almost out of melatonin with B6 and the only place to get it is where the donor works. That’s a powder keg situation for me, especially after Spook drew me a picture of a heart with a hole in it and I asked why and she said that was where her dad used to be until he left…Knowing how much he hurts her really enrages me. He thinks it’s all about him and me and that has NOTHING to do with it anymore. I was over that about 3 weeks after he bailed. But I never let go of my hope that at some point he’d grow the hell up and be a father to her. Proof I am borderline delusional, I guess. I know I shouldn’t let his presence psych me out. Hell, 6 weeks ago I was in a better mental state and went in there even though he was working. I don’t think the NP has a clue how fucked up things have gotten for me over the last couple of months. And her resistance to dual therapy kind of tells me she doesn’t much care about my progress, just impressing her overseer with how few meds she prescribes. That’s a sad statement about a psych care center, ain’t it? More worried about pleasing your boss than doing your patient some good? Not like I want more pills to take, but I do need to get out of this black haze that covers my every thought.

I guess I didn’t wear a good enough mask at the family thing Sunday night. My dad called and asked if I was pissed off cos I looked mad. Well, bees were buzzing near my eyelashes and bugs were eating me alive and I was itchy and covered in welts and it was hot which makes me sweat and my sweat makes me break out and itch more…I wasn’t thrilled about being there, no, but I tried to put on the fake mask and get through it. I suppose I failed. I asked my sister if I seemed mad to her and she said no and agreed it was just annoying with all the bugs and bees.

My mom has spinal stenosis and is waiting to hear back from the spinal surgeon. She is terrified she is going to end up paralyzed. I hope they can at least get her out of pain, she’s already talking about wanting to die rather than live in that much pain.

Which of course makes me feel shitty for worrying about my ‘head problems’ because according to the entire field, it’s just ‘behavioral health’ now, implying that behavior modification can somehow fix mental health disorders. That is what the term says to me. Whoever came up with it needs smacked with a rotting mackeral. It’s as bad as any stigma. Surprises my ass trash center isn’t using that title. Thankfully it’s still psychiatric health. Though the current regime may change that, especially since they merged with the big hospital from the state capitol. I think calling it behavioral is going to keep a lot of people from admitting they have a mental health problem and a lot of people will avoid getting help because they think it’s their fault their thoughts are distorted. Very dangerous. I admit some of my behaviors could be changed, it might make a minimal improvement, but for the most part…I am chemically imbalanced and no amount of behavior modification is going to change that or help it. Implying otherwise is downright cruel and ignorant.

Did anyone miss my long rants? I know, I posted a few, but this one is coming to you live, not hours after the fact. Live insanity for all to enjoy.

I used to say I don’t suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it. Now that I an inching closer to true insanity, I am not so sure about that.

Slipping Sanity

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

We survived the cookout thingie at my dad’s. It was hellish for me between the sun, the swarming sweat bees, and the bugs biting me. Not to mention sitting between a MAGA sign and confederate flags in their yard and a sign on the tree across the road that said “I love Jesus”. I just can’t reconcile that any deity would have anything to do with the hate spewing MAGA movement. Maybe that’s my hang up, IDK anymore.

We came home and I dispatched Spook to get a bath. I found the trash knocked over and chastised Godsmack since she is the only cat inside. Then I came in my room and found all my med bottles knocked over on the wardrobe, some of them missing. I went full on paranoiac and panic stricken, thinking someone busted in for my Xanax stash or something. I went searching for signs someone had been inside, since my dad mentioned seeing the landlord riding round town today. Never mind that he never could find the back door key and has no copy of the front door key. Logic was out of the fucking ball field. I went full on NUTS, albeit without alerting Spook. Then I talked myself off the ledge, reminding myself if someone had broken in they’d likely have taken our electronics and I haven’t exactly broadcast my mental issues or medications around town so who’d know to steal that stuff? As if I have anything useful for people to use or sell other than Xanax. If someone had wanted to stealthily rummage they’d likely not have knocked things to the side or to the floor or whatever. Now who would do that and not right it? A CAT. Cats climb. And I used to keep beef jerky up there so no doubt Godsmack was probably hunting for that.

This paranoia and panic is starting to scare the shit out of me. My mind is going sideways.

Worse, I am scared it is impacting my kid. Yesterday she had a tussle with the neighbor boys and came inside bawling and hyperventilating that ‘they’ were going to come take her away from me because the boys saw her move a sharp saw my dad left here in the yard and they started saying she was trying to commit suicide. She was a wreck, and it continued into today with her freaking out when I got a phone call. She asked, “Should I pack my stuff?” I don’t think any of us have done her any good. In the course of trying to teach her not to tell lies or ‘cry wolf’ because she could be removed from my care, now every tiny thing has her scared of that outcome. It brings me great shame and guilt. It took me 2 hours to calm her down yesterday and she was all freaked out about seeing the boys at church or at the bus stop and they threatened to have some 13 year old girl punch her…The drama is like a repeat of the trailer park and I’m just like, stay inside on the tablet, at least you don’t fight with it. And I have to wonder if she is learning this bickering and not being able to get along with people from me, but then, I’d have to be around people for her to learn that. All she sees from me is avoidance of people and spending my time with her or alone and the obligatory family stuff.

Dear God, is it possible I programmed her to be anxious? She didn’t get this way until we moved. If she was going to pick it up from me, she had 8 years to acquire it. Which makes me think this place is just toxic for both of us. Sadly, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I have started to think moving here is going to be the end of me, and the beginning of Spook’s road to crazy neuroses. I do my best to shield her from the worst of it by keeping it in my head or on these pages though I must admit I’ve been a little too open to saying, “Stop that, it makes me nervous.” These days, what doesn’t make me nervous and paranoid? The knocked over pill bottles sent me into such a tailspin and panic…I felt like for a moment there, I disconnected with reality. Thinking I am so important people would break in just to mess up my crazy pills? But ya know, once you’ve had your place robbed once, it kind of sets you up to be a little paranoid and suspicious. Just because it was 5 years ago doesn’t change that it happened and it was a total invasion of privacy and space. I keep the place locked down because of this even if most people in Armpit don’t even lock their doors because it’s so ‘safe’ here.

Cripes, my ears and nose are itching and my mother’s idiotic superstitions are sending me off another flight of paranoia and panic. When I say I am scared I am losing my shit, I mean it. I’m not a danger to my kid, I don’t even spank her and frankly, we’ve been getting along very well lately. But this quick to panic and go paranoid, and my inability to shake off the dark depressive inertia that clouds my every thought…It’s frightening. And NOT my status quo.

My sanity is slipping. And I am starting to wonder if there’s going to come a point I need antipsychotics. Which if I do, I’m done, because all of them have such heinous side effects, I know I would never reliably stay on them. I can’t handle the side effects, never could. But can I handle the crazy? Then again, if the crazy is largely due to my heightened anxiety from the med reduction, would an antipsychotic even make a dent?

So much garbage in, garbage out. I just gotta keep holding on, my kid is counting on me. Though better than any prescription would be the financial means to move back to town and get the fuck out of my dad’s shadow. But since they made it clear if we ever leave they won’t help us move ever again, I’d need a lot of money to hire moving people. So we’re stuck, yet again, and it’s bad for both our mental health. I don’t think moving back to town would cure my mental issues, but I know it’d ease a lot of my anxiety. All I can do is keep going and fight like hell against the pending insanity. Because I will not let anyone take Spook away from me, we are a family and we need each other. More than that, we are very attached and love each other. Not even my own mental demons are going to rob me of the bond I have with my daughter.

I hope I’ve got a hell of a lot of fight left in me. I am gonna need it.

Babylon Files-weekend edition

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on August 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Friday August 16th
Feeling high strung. Again. Hives, indecisiveness, inability to even feed myself when I am hungry. Saving grace is at least my current med regime does not make me sick if I take it without food. I have zero desire to revisit the lithium nausea and pukefest days.
Itchy ear again. Who is talking about me? Damn my mother for tainting my brain with idiotic superstitions. It’s fucked up that I embrace the number 13 and black cats without superstition but these idiotic nose or ear itches drive me paranoid.
I settled on microwave scrambled eggs with cheese for brunch. That took a lot of energy out of me, believe it or not. Making choices is exhausting.
I am so jumpy the cat knocked a box over and I jumped, literally. When I say I am sensitive to noise and easily startled, I am not being dramatic.
I feel like I am crawling out of my skin with anxiety. It borders on perpetual panic. My ONLY TRUE PEACE comes after 8 p.m. when I know I am free of phone call threats and potential visitors. The main threat being my father and his unannounced visits and lectures. The man is gonna drive me to the looney bin even if I haven’t heard from him in almost 5 days. He’s still pissed I defended my kid against his ‘idiot’ insult. Sucks to be him, the silent treatment forever would suit me fine.

3:18 p.m. and I am dying to rid myself of the torture device called a bra. The unannounced visits from family and my kid’s playmates are why I don’t even feel comfortable in my own home doing my own thing. I used to. Moving to Armpit under daddy gloom monger’s thumb changed that. One thing about winter. You’re under so many layers people don’t notice a lack of proper undergarments and you can skip them if it suits your mood. Tank tops…not so much. And yeah, he has said something about me revealing too much. My question is, why is my dad looking at my boobs? Eww.
Irrational thoughts, 101. Paranoia just to go around the corner to the bathroom off the kitchen. It’s out of my safe space but also, it seems every time I go to the bathroom, the phone rings, someone knocks, or Spook beckons. Amazing the tension and anxiety even have my bodily functions still, well, functioning.
Sat August 17
Little bits of happiness. I got an alert to and article about Motionless In White and Halestorm performing with Alice Cooper. I love all three of them. Even though my anxiety levels have made it damn near impossible to enjoy music, I enjoyed the article and the live clip. Lizzy Hale’s story about a slumber party where her music failed to impress her pop loving friends and it just…made me nostaligic. I was metal as fuck and few others were so I didn’t fit, that was for sure. And it didn’t matter because I loved the music that moved me, not just what was popular and everyone liked it only for that reason.
TV time
Been binging the hell out of NCIS:New Orleans since the internet went down. (7 fucking days for service, ridiculous FRONTIER!!!!) It amuses me because the actor who plays LaSalle was on American Gothic as a kid, Caleb. it’s funny seeing him all grown up now. It was cool when Paige Turco appeared as Pride’s wife. She fought to become “Caleb’s” guardian on Gothic.
I met Scott Bakula once. When I was waiting tables and he was in the state visiting his wife’s family. He was very nice about signing autographs on the back of the paper placemats the restaurant had. I was the only with the balls to approach him. Figured worst he could do would say go to hell. Prediagnosis and proper meds, I wasn’t so high strung and fearful of everything. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for how helpful getting ‘professional help’ was for me. Now I am scared of everything.
Not to wear out the TV talk but I gotta say one of the things I love most about CSI and NCIS franchises is how they have these small but like family close teams. It’s like family, only you choose the people you can tolerate. I am envious of that, as much as I do like to keep to myself. I always wanted to find my tribe. It could still happen, I suppose. Ya know, if I ever get an actual doctor who can get me off the panxiety train and on a dual antidepressant regime. The conservative nazis are NOT helping me. Hard to make friends when you’re terrified of people because your brain is sending red alerts 24=7 that everything is a viable threat.
Sunday August 18
Watching NCIS:New Orleans season 3 finale. My anxiety climbs with suspenseful shows with characters I like in peril. This was the reason I had to give up horror movies and soap operas. But I am too curious about the ending to let the anxiety stop me, even if it means sporting hives.
Also have a cookout at my dad’s tonight to celebrate my kid and her cousin’s birthdays. Not looking forward to more lectures by my dad about people without jobs. He doesn’t believe anyone is too disabled to work, it’s all character flaw. I get so sick of hearing it. These family shindigs would be much easier if I could go drunk and stay drunk but with a kid in tow, I can’t do that. So I will suffer through it, even if it throws off my evening soothing ritual of watching MASH. And they are starting it so late in the evening that it will throw off my kid’s bedtime, too. Being at the mercy of others is misery.
My stomach is rioting, my anxiety skyrocketing. Less than an hour til the family shindig and I am filled with dread. Frankly, I just don’t feel like talking to people or well, seeing people. My entire focus will be on choking down the food, ignoring the gut goblins, and surviving til we can gracefully bow out and come home for bedtime. I keep thinking things are going to get better, at least how I feel mentally, but it’s not happening so I have to question the Zoloft. Of course, I am only on week two at the higher dose and it’s not maxed out but my hopes for it helping with my sleep and anxiety are shot to hell. I woke up four different times last night, in panic attacks, barely able to breathe, thoughts racing.
It really gets old feeling beaten down by your own mind on a daily basis.