Archive for the anxiety disorders Category

Swallowing Pride…In The Name Of Love

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on October 20, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

First….this post has nothing to do with U2. I really am not into that band. For me, they rank up with Rush-ughhh. (sorry,Mr. M!)…but their song did remind me of what tonight was like for me. (***Disclaimer…I recognize the contribution both of those bands have made to the music world over the years, it’s still not the poison I’d pick.)

By some miracle I staved off the disgruntled shop customer to not take their business elsewhere til Monday (fuck you, asshole postal service,don’t tell me it’s delayed without an explanation!) Like, literally, 20 minutes before I left, all the while wishing they wouldn’t call and ask and me have to deliver bad news, again…But I guess by being sincerely obsequious (is it an oxymoron? Because, yes, I gushed gratitude for their understanding but it wasn’t at all insincere), I bought a day or two for ASS TRASH POSTAL SERVICE to do their damned job properly…(After I sent a pissy email to the ebay seller, oops, what a bitch I am!). Stress makes me panic and panic makes me an enormous bitch beast. Anyway, I miraculously held off that dragon.

Tonight my plan was to have my kid inside, bathed, and fed by 5:30 p.m.

Man makes plans, God, sacred pegacorn, and the flying spaghetti monster laugh.

I kept wondering why neighbor kids were showing up to play in their Halloween costumes..only to be informed there some ‘safe trick or treat’ shindig tonight. Which I had no notice of prior to 20 minutes before it began. And one of Spook’s friends asked if she could go and I said, yeah, long as I talk to an adult for approval. Well, that mom said no. Never mind all I do for these kids and me having them all here giving their parents a break…no, they can’t do fuck all to reciprocate. Then my kid started in. And I don’t do ‘on the spot’. In theory, spontaneous is amazing. In practice with mood swings and panic disorders….it’s terrifying and threatening.

I told her I’d research the local paper on line for details and consider it. THEN I found the article and it said last years between 5p.m. and 8 p.m OVER 1000 KIDS ATTENDERD. Which means at least 1/4 at least had 2 parents with them thus raising th crowd number…And I freaked. I told myself, noooooooooooooooo, you’re gonna end up in the rubber room.

Then my kid raised the ante and asked if her two devil girl friends could come with us. And I felt shitty cos I know (assholes they are) their parents have only one car and the mom had it at work so going with us was their only chance to attend…I said okay. Then wondered why I said okay.

I took 2mg Xanax (No, it doesn’t make me sleepy or impair me, not after 25 years) and the kids costumed up and I took them…Relieved to find a parking space I could easily escape, and also, the line was only 30 people long. I was anxious, I was terrified of losing one of 3 kids, but I was also giggling and taking pics of the Halloween displays…I overheated, nearly choked on a beloved fruit flavored Tootsie Roll, and could have done cartwheels when we finally ‘escaped’…But it wasn’t all terrible. It was stressful to an extent but I tried to bolster myself with the 3 girls’ enthusiasm.

I even let them play in the yard an hour after we got back so they could check out and swap their candy.

Then I had a generic ‘rita to steady my nerves and help me sleep because, dammit, I earned it. I have been so damned strong, so determined…I will pay eventually, but right now…I put my kid ahead of my own needs or likes, I even managed to conquer my own terror and panic for her enjoyment…No resentment. Just…

WOW! I fucking did this!!!!! Not just with my kid, but with two extras in tow! How awesome am I?

I recognize this for what it is. An aberrant manic-mixed episode where I amaze myself with my uber functionality and think WOO HOO I AM BLOODY WELL CURED!!!!

But I’m not. I am dancing on a razor’s edge. Not pessimistic. Realistic.

But, for once….I was tough enough to put my kid’s needs first and just.do.it. I will pay the price this weekend and probably be unable to stumble out of bed beyond going pee and feeding my kid but…for tonight…

I felt like Wonderwoman. It was a good feeling. I just wish mental illness gave a damn and would let it stick the landing.

(Creepy pix to follow…at some point)

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The A Word

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Yep. Another post involving The A Word. The dreaded anxiety. Free floating today. I don’t know why, perhaps hangover the week in the petri dish even if it was a shorter week thanks to many appointments for my kid and me. (My kid and I? Whatever.) Still, it was a trying week just the same, possibly because while the appointments got me out of the shop, I was actually dealing with other, far more public and populated places. It definitely took a toll.

Fortunately, not so much as to cripple me today. Still managed to drag my ass for a couple of yard sales (in part due to my kid’s relentless nagging, I think without it, I probably would have said forget about it.) We also went to three different stores for various household supplies. By the last store, I was at the end of my rope with traffic and noise and people. Especially a tense moment at the last place, which had nothing whatsoever to do with me. Some woman jumped this dude who came in on a motorcycle and I guess he was going too fast and almost ran into her and her little girl. As I have renumerated, I don’t handle confrontation at all, even when it’s nothing to do with me. I seriously thought these two were going to come to blows and it set off every panic receptor in my body. FLIGHT, FLIGHT, FLIGHT. Sadly, I’ve got too little fight left in me except for the big picture stuff. Survival and all.

There has been the added drama of my kid’s social life. First I get a note from S’s mom asking if S can stay the night with Spook, she has no phone anymore so we have to write notes. So I said okay, after 5 p.m. so I can get some stuff done. Then came the devil girls (they are oddly now allowed to play with my kid since I became the neighborhood spokesperson, getting all the kids back on the school bus route) and of course, my kid can’t play with more than one or 2 at a time and there was drama. Name calling. Thievery. S doesn’t want to stay now, and I guess she told her mom to say no and that upset my kid, who then said she didn’t want S to stay, she wanted the devil girls. I have no idea what is going on now. I will stand by my word if S does show up to stay, but otherwise…Enough fucking drama. My nerves don’t need it.

I am stressing because our kittens, Adelitas and Sachel, will not start eating solids and their shitty mom Cleo has declared them weaned and refuses to feed them. I got Kitten Chow, moistened it with water, with warm milk. They aren’t interested and I am terrified they are going to starve themselves. So I’ve taken to using a medication syringe to feed them tiny bits of the Nutri-gel, in hopes it will stimulate their appetite while nourishing them. I don’t want to lose my two little Manx kitties. Well, Sachel is a bobtail but Addy is pure Manx, not even a nub of a tail. Beautiful, sweet lil babies.

I was further distressed by a visit from stepmonster. That beast had to the nerve to gush to me how their neighbor’s car broke down so they loaned her one of their 5 vehicles. Yet these people couldn’t lift a finger when my last 3 cars went belly up. Can’t help their own fucking family, but help a damned neighbor they’re not related to. And oh, supposedly it’s cos she’s a single mom with a toddler but I know the fucking truth. It’s because she has a job and with my dad, that’s all that has ever mattered. You don’t work, you’re dirt. It doesn’t matter the reason. You could be in a coma and he’d expect you to have a job. More than being hurt, it just pissed me off. They didn’t give a damn when I was stranded, with their granddaughter and they had extra vehicles. I haven’t had any sort of accident or speeding ticket in 25 years. Last ticket I had was when Spook was an infant and it was for a stupid seatbelt violation. It’s not like I’m a terrible driver. They’re just fucking rude and cruel.

I may have my issues with my mom and sister’s zoo-esque lifestyle living together like a commune but when I had no car, my mom came through letting me have back the one I gave her, then giving me the old one Dad had passed onto hers. I just don’t get my dad and stepmonster sometimes. Everyone seems to like them but the way they treat me and Spook is rather monstrous. They’re still taking food to my mom and sister’s crew (they usually make my sis clean their house to earn it, but they don’t offer me that option, because stepmonster prefers my sister’s cleaning to mine and hey, fair enough, whatever) but mom and sis have triple the income I have, they get food stamps, and still, Dad helps them out more than us.

And don’t think my kid, even at 8, hasn’t noticed how little the whole family helps us while helping the other side so much. “I’m sorry you’re not Grandpa and Grandma’s favorite child, Mom.” FFS. Do these people not see how that belittles me in my child’s eyes? Of course, it doesn’t much impact her opinion of them, because hey,sometimes they take her places or buy her stuff or in my mom’s case, she shovels 4 cupcakes her way every other hour. What’s to not like when you’re 8.

The saving grace is that I have long been an outside in my own family, i’m pretty used to it. And taking any help from my dad’s faction is akin to taking out a loan from a loanshark, even when you’re paid up, you’re still having it held over your head. Not worth it.

I was also treated from two seperate sides on donor sightings around town. I don’t know why they bother, I don’t care if the man lives or dies. Hopefully he lives in agony until he’s a hundred as punishment for abandoning all 3 of his kids and blaming the moms instead of owning his own asshole-i-ness. Someone swears they saw him working at a gas station here in town. Well, good for him, maybe the state will enforce the child support at some point. He was also spotted at the hospital and frankly, I hope he has an STD. Yeah, I’m evil. And I barely think of the man until people start bringing him up and of course, they’re all outraged at his shitty treatment of Spook and the fact he blames it all on me. As stepmonster pointed out, he saw her and dad with Spook out in public multiple times and he didn’t even cast a longing look to his child, he actually turned away, didn’t even attempt to talk to her. And she was with them, so he can’t play the “Niki will start a scene, that crazy bitch” card.

In some cases, it’s less denial and more apathy that keeps me feeling less…volatile and spiteful. If I don’t hear about him, I forget he even exists for the most part. Wishing him ill is just me lowering myself to his level, but at some point the emotions do get the better of me and I lash out in tiny, petty ways. I’m a lowly human. To my credit, at least on the two occasions we encountered him in public, I made no scene and I didn’t punch him. I mean, if I’m so volatile and intimidating, that would be the expected response, right? But I didn’t. Because I’ve grown as a person, in spite of shitty circumstances and a misbehaving brain.

I lost the med lottery today. And it’s weird. I ate first, took my meds, ate a little afterward. And still got slammed with nausea and a headache and grogginess, not to mention acid reflux. And I had the audacity to do my usual and lay down in my dark bedroom waiting for it to pass and Spook’s posse came in and accused me of falling asleep and not supervising my kid. I was not asleep, ffs. I am able to lay down and close my eyes without nodding off 99.9% of the time. Nothing gets my dander up like a false accusation. Especially from a bunch of mouthy brats.

I am feeling better now, though 0.5 mg Xanax barely took the edge off the A word. I guess this is my new norm. I wonder if the dual anti depressant therapy could be heightening the anxiety, that is known to happen. But going into seasonal affective disorder, I can’t afford to cut back the anti depressants. Oh, and that’s one more stressor, my Medicare drug plan stuff came and they’ve changed the forumulary covering even fewer brand drugs, and they’ve made it clear they intend to to switch all of us to a similar drug that is cheaper. Which means before 2018 I’ve got to get the nurse doc’s office on a waiver so they can’t take Trintellix away from me. I am all for cheaper as long as the med has the same effect. But I’ve tried their idea of “similar” and none of them worked. If they yank out the one that helps I am screwed.

So all things considered…I guess I have many reasons to be anxiety ridden and to have spiteful or fearful feelings. And even if it’s not justified, it’s still real and it’s still a pain in the ass.

Social security disability reviews always ask for examples of how my disorders interfere with my ability to lead a normal, quality life.

The more proper question is, how don’t they?

The Carousel Never Stops Turning

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Guess only die hard fans of Grey’s Anatomy will get the title of this post, but even aside from the show…it’s a meaningful statement. The carousel NEVER stops turning. You can get ill, throw up, try to jump off, maybe you land injury free or die from a busted skull. That damned ride just keeps going, and until death, there is no escape. There is only holding on when you can, jumping off and hoping for the best when you can, and trying not to throw up on any children riding the same carousel. (Sue me for trying to inject a bit of humor into an otherwise humorless situation.)

The anxiety ninjas arrived today, about three dozen, swinging nunchuks and swords, coming at me from every direction. I’m trying to duck and cover and get in a few blows of my own but alas…Those ninjas are kicking my ass.

I always have anxiety before any shrink appointment, so I can’t say it was unexpected. The level of this particular ninja attack left me feeling overwhelmed, terrified, pounding heart, sweatiness, wooziness, nausea, headache…Yet my blood pressure was perfectly normal at the office.Inside, I swore I was having palpitations and the room was spinning and yet those damned numbers, the tangible proof society demands to prove you’re feeling what you are feeling, remained within the perfectly normal range. Talk about insult to injury. Even I start to question myself when the scientific data contradicts what I am personally experiencing.

For me, in my head space, it’s very real. It’s crippling, terrifying, neverending. The carousel ride from hell run at warp speed and that awful music blaring to the extent my eardrums shatter. But the scientific numbers remain normal so obviously…I will never be viewed as anything more than a malingerer.

One line in the sand I drew today when I finally got to see doc nurse was to explain to her that her constant clacking on the keyboard while talking to me was a big issue for me and surprisingly, she didn’t do it this time. I don’t know if I angered her because she is a trained professional, for all I know, under the smiles, she might have been plotting to have me labeled cured out of spite. (No, I don’t like the fact my brain goes to such a dark place automatically, but I guess when the dark stuff happens to you enough, it becomes ingrained to at least suspect it.)

She didn’t seem all that worried about the state I was in. Unwashed hair, couldn’t remember last time I showered, I sleep in 3 hour intervals, then can barely drag ass out of bed come morning. I left out all the stuff about the shop/R stress, figuring that would just get me another lecture about counseling or, worse, “But you are managing.” Being ambulatory and half competent is not managing, it is grasping at straws.

I am all for counseling EXCEPT for the one place in town that takes my insurance as their previous counselor screwed up my head worse and of course, R’s daughter is on staff there so she would have access to my records and has repeatedly shown an inability to respect privacy laws or show basic empathy for those with mental issues…With my pre-existing trust and panic issues, there is NO rational reason why anyone would want to risk their fragile mental state becoming fodder for this woman’s private conversations. (And it’s not a matter of maligning her, I have been witness to her lack of discretion and professionalism as she tells R stuff and he tells me, so the entire counseling program is compromised. To speak up about it, even anonymously, in this small town, would leave no doubt who and where the information came from, and that’s not merely burning a bridge, that’s setting an entire village on fire.) Suffice it to say, if the disability deities want me in counseling, they can feel free to expand coverage to a local counselor that hasn’t psychologically scarred me.

So anyway…Doc nurse had no answers about the anxiety except to blame situational (yeah, that’s some of it) and saying by taking my meds in the afternoon I am probably causing my own insomnia. I know this to have been debunked, however, as I used to take the meds in the morning and still had trouble getting to sleep at night and staying asleep. I’m not a know it al, I am not non compliant, I am simply experienced with trial and error of finding out the best way to take the meds. Maybe I can shift the Lamictal and Wellbutrin to morning, but the Trintellix is staying after a meal. That level of nausea is worse than anything lithium ever dished out.

She increased the Trintellix to 15mg, said see you in 4 weeks, or can I do anything else for you. I was dumbfounded by that last part, like I was at a convenience store. What did I forget to get a pack of smokes? Almost felt like a dismissal. But I suppose it’s typical. Anything short of saying you want to harm yourself or others is pretty much dismissed. There’s you pill, here’s a quarter, call someone who cares. (No one remembers that Travis Tritt song from the 80’s/90’s? I had to have a country song to assign to my dad as a ringtone, that one seemed fitting, cos hey, I don’t much care about your ranting…)

Ranting. I am the pot calling the kettle black. Ranting is all I seem to do. When I’m not busy rambling.

Anyway…back to the shop, took a Xanax (I needed her to see how strung out I was on the anxiety, if you go in all calm and collected, they dismiss you even more,so I didn’t take it beforehand), and now…I am supposed to blast some stereos to see if they will ‘act up’ but my noise tolerance today isn’t very high so I think I will watch Chicago Fire instead. I’ve waited 5 months basically to see how it turns out. Though the ‘will they live or die” thing likely isn’t good for my anxiety.

Just comes a point when the anxiety has robbed me of as much as I can allow it to. I can’t even get into this season of American Horror Story because it’s too realistic and terrifying. I look at this country and I see the hatred and sheeple mentality and it is become a cult, no clowns needed to terrify and repulse. Maybe in a few months I will be able to handle it. Not right now.

The anxiety has ruined Supernatural for me. Lucifer, too.

So, no, whatever shows I can work in without having a massive mental breakdown, I am gonna brave it even if I have to keep the volume down low or use the closed captioning to avoid the noise all together.

The anxiety ninjas may have beaten me down, but I’m still gonna get back up. Because that carousel never stops turning and on rare occasion, it’s a pleasant ride and I think that’s good enough reason to keep fighting.

Hexed

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Between yesterday and today, the anxiety has gone from a slow simmer to a roiling boil, and 99% without a trigger. I leave the 1% open ended cos hey, being a single mom is going to bring anxiety even for someone without the disorder.

Still, I can’t help but feel hexed here. The weather abruptly shifted again, turning from scorching to “damn it, why did I wear a tank top and not bring a hoodie, I am freezing!” overnight. With this comes the seasonal affective symptoms banging on the door. I want to hoard my acorns and go underground for six months. I know I can’t but I want to. It’s what the depression does, makes you want to function as minimally as possible.

What’s at maximum instead of minimum is the anxiety. Today, for no reason whatsoever, it is rampaging. I can’t even get caught up on the last 4 episodes of Supernatural because…Okay, this will sound super stupid, but it’s how I feel…I really can’t allow myself to watch my uber favorite shows when I am in a bad mental state lest those shows start representing my bad mental states. In other words, I don’t want what I enjoy being equated with the level of anxiety I currently feel, so I simply can’t watch the show. And it’s a damned shame, because I love Supernatural. And it’s not like I can’t watch other shows (well, I did quit Sons of Anarchy toward the end of season six because, wow, all that evil and killing and manipulation and lies, damn, my anxiety doesn’t need more anxiety), I just watched The Brave’s first episode and I quite enjoyed it. I watched Bull this morning, as well, and enjoyed it.

But Supernatural is…a long love affair I’ve had going on 12 years now and I simply cannot let my own mental damage also damage my feelings for the show. Illogical, irrational, whatever.

Welcome to the ruins left behind smoldering when your disorders continue to wreak havoc on every aspect of your life.

‘Splain It To Me, Lucy

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 26, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

For three days, I was minimally functional. Time in the petri dish just drains me. In spite of the lethary and borderline shutdown, I took my kid to a couple of yard sales Saturday morning (one was my sister’s so I kinda felt obligated to appear) and we found some cute dresses in good shape at good prices. (Spook is back on her Elsa/Frozen kick, yay. NOT.) Sunday I took her to the park and there were no kids there so she asked me to play with her…then recoiled in horror when I actually started going down slides and swinging. The minute other kids showed up, she was done with the very “family time” she had demanded and at that point we left. But hey, I kept my word and took her. After the week she had at school and her Dojo scores, she was lucky to have gone at all. Especially after Friday’s tantrum during which she tried to hurl a basket of laundry at me then attack me with a big glass piggy bank.All over, of course, being told “no”. Kid scares me sometimes but I’m not backing down these days. (How is it not creepy when a hostile 8 year old asks if you can kill someone with a butter knife?)

With the petri dish hangover came the PMS and cramps and backache and general moodiness. I find myself unfocused, restless, weepy at times, hostile at other times. I hate people. Wait, I’m bored, I should go do something in the dish. No, that car nearly backed into me, I need be at home where I am safe! Jebus, the mood swings drive me crazier, I can only imagine how hard I am to live with for others not indoctrinated into the bipolar ‘lifestyle’. That is a fucked up way to put up, as if being bipolar is a lifestyle choice.

Today I had to go to the school’s mobile dentist thing with my kid. She did well, though she still has one cavity and this dentist (he was a nice jolly guy, she didn’t attack him) told me she’s gonna need laughing gas for anyone to work on it and it has to be soon or it will become abcessed. (Yay, medicaid-find-a-doctor-who-will-accept-it time, joyous.) I was proud of her for being so brave and calm, though.

Since returning to the shop, I find my anxiety has skyrocketed. With no discernable cause. The doctors and such always insist there’s some sort of trigger for anxiety attacks and heightened states of anxiety but in my case…so often there isn’t one. ‘SPLAIN IT TO ME, LUCY. Much like the shifts in the bipolar states, the anxiety just sneaks up on me like a ninja and I feel like I am fending off nine or ten of them armed with swords and nunchuks. The feeling of being unsettled is immense, the fear palpable. I have no explanation for it other than…being out in the petri dish. Even if alone in a building, I am still subject to ringing phones, cars driving by, sirens, people talking as they walk by, construction. I guess those are all triggers but they were here earlier just the same and the anxiety wasn’t rioting then. Maybe the longer I am exposed the worse it becomes?

Not that that will help my cause any. I am so sick of feeling wussified simply for having limitations. I hate being limited, hate feeling weak, hate feeling so out of control. Noise is a fact of life. For me, it overwhelms my senses and turns me into a cowering train wreck of a human. It’s so odd how a doctor will tell you to avoid foods that upset your stomach or are bad for your health yet when you have an anxiety disorder and all the stimuli is what aggravates the condition, you’re encouraged(forcefully at times) to push yourself until you’re desensitized. Yet I don’t get desensitized. I have periods of remission when the anxiety isn’t as crippling but it’s always there. Ninja anxiety. Lurking, waiting. I don’t even think about being anxious so it’s not some self fulfilling prophecy.

Things with R are getting…dicey. His political tirades, no matter how little I have to hear them since he is so busy with both jobs, have gotten to the point where I feel belittled for every opinion I have. He’s a bully, just like Trump. His way or you’re an idiot. I told him last week I had my kid’s dental appt, I have a doct appt Friday, then Friday afternoon Spook and I both have our annual eye doc appts. He claims not to remember me telling him (feasible enough but not less agitating as he never listened or remembered even when working one job). What truly set me off was when I told him about today’s dental thing and he said, “It better not take you too long.” WTF? I’m not on a payroll here. I got no benefits from him. Who the fuck does he think he is? I know, he’s tired and blah blah. He’s never cut me any slack for being a bitch during my period or whatever bipolar cycle caused whatever behavior, so why should I show him mercy?

Honestly…Maybe the monthly curse is making me angrier than I’d normally be, but even an hour in the man’s company and I end up feeling like I could drink the special Kool Aid. His political stances have become oppressive. There is no agree to disagree, no margin of individual belief. HE’S right, I am an ignorant left wing idiot. I have no afiliation, thank you. I don’t want to have one, either. I believe in right and wrong and perhaps that makes me a naive simpleton, but if you’re really my friend….you’ll accept that and let it go. And he doesn’t accept it and he won’t let it go. And I’m not the only one sick of hearing him carry on, I’m just apparently the only one it stresses out so much I’m ready to douse the bridge in gasoline and set it on fire. I’ve got enough anxiety raising an 8 year old, I don’t need the added strain of a 50 some odd year old friend acting like a child.

To my credit…Spook started riding the bus yesterday. And thanks to me raising hell with the school there were 7 other kids at the stop, kids whose parents were struggling with the transportation issue just like I was. And because I was willing to speak up, those 7 kids now have transportation to school and all the parents can breathe a tiny sigh knowing we won’t face truancy charges simply because our car broke down or we can’t afford gas. It’s a little thing, but I’m glad I spoke up and called the school on their bullshit. I’m all for keeping the peace to ward off panic attacks but sometimes…your voice needs to be heard for anything to change.

Now…I’m going to take a Xanax because all the garbage truck noise is making me jump out of my skin and my stomach start churning. I’ve been popping Pepcid the last week because my stomach’s always churning. I was diagnosed at 14 with a nervous stomach and the doctor told my mom to minimize me exposure to stress for my own health.

Weird how once I turned 18 it suddenly became “suck it up, life gives you stomach aches so what.”

SPLAT-terbrained

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on September 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I was sailing along in neutral space (aside from the looming Reaper of Anxiety that borders on panic)…And from out of nowhere I went SPLAT. Total despair, depression, feeling hopeless. Nothing precipitated it. There was no trigger.

It’s the cycle.

Bipolar two is a special kind of evil. Insidious. Cruel. Unrelenting.

My anxiety increases with the sudden change in mental state (this is far more than a ‘low mood’, scumbag brain is sending out some pretty negative messages and I feel too weak to tune them out). A sense of foreboding lurks. Every sound seems amplified. Every tiny thing feels insurmountable.

And then I think of R working 2 jobs, and my dad rattling on about how he worked 80 hours last week and he’s 70 years old…

I feel like such a wimp. So pathetic. I know it’s the depression and anxiety filling my head with wrong messages. Maybe things are pretty rough right now, but things that didn’t register on my radar last week are suddenly running forefront this week as viable threats, potential threats, imminate threats…

I doubt the pms dysphoria is helping the situation.

You’d think as often as Splat happens, I’d be innoculated to how abruptly it comes on. Yet still, I am floored by how fast this hit me, from out of nowhere. I feel terrified and I am not sure of what. Maybe it was my kid asking if we were going to be homeless without child support. Maybe it’s because public aid still hasn’t called back about why my benefits didn’t increase when my income dropped nearly three hundred bucks due to missing child support. Perhaps it was even worsened when my sister texted me about their own dire situation, 2 weeks of nothing to eat but ramen. Dad and stepmonster refused to help them. I get when things are tough you take care of your own, and it’s asinine when my sister asks them to buy pricey cat supplies or household items. But for a father to not even offer up a package of meat to help feed his daughter and grandson…

I tossed them a four pound back of hamburger. I didn’t have it to spare, really, but family helps family. I will not become my father, stockpiling for my own sake, while my mom and sis and nephew go hungry. No matter how wigged out my brain is, I have kindness in my heart. I like to think (even naively) that karma comes around and one day when I or Spook need a hand, my sis and them will be willing to return the favor if they can. No way could I not do something, minor as it was. Not who I am.

Right now, who I am, is a woman feeling like emotional doomsday has arrived and every nerve ending is in flames and the Grim Reaper is at my door…It’s the disorders, but at the moment..

The disorders are kind of in control. It’s terrifying and yet it’s my reality. Lather, rinse, repeat.

“You’re fine.” says R.

“How are mood swings a disability?” said someone on a tv show.

“Deadbeats on food stamps and disability are taking all my money in taxes.” This, from my wonderful father.

I WANT to be fine.

But no amount of their guilt, denial, put downs- is going to change the fact that my brain is off kilter and it is disabling.

It’s scary times for those of us who have disabling disorders and need our disability income, our Medicare, our Medicaid, our prescription plans…Scary, hell, it’s horrifying. Maybe some of my anxiety and panic is warranted.

Does not explain how I went from feeling semi decent to suddenly feeling hopeless so abruptly. That’s all bipolar. The gift that keeps on taking. Like a vulture feasting on roadkill, this disorder is going to pick my bones clean one day.

Why Panic Attacks Are Dangerous

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on September 14, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Anyone ever diagnosed with an anxiety disorder knows the party line about how it won’t kill you. We all know the reality of an anxiety or panic attack. No, we won’t die. Breathing will become difficult, we will likely become woozy, maybe break out in a cold sweat, start to tremble, freeze or worse, act contrary to what you intended to do. It won’t kill you. Nope.

Whatn makes anxiety and panic disorders dangerous is that they rob you of logic. They send you into the same tail spin you’d be in if you were in a car wreck. You forget which way is up or down. You know what you should do but you either react too late or react the opposite. There is no rhyme or reason.

I have nearly put my car in a ditch twice this last week because the panic attacks have become so intense. And forget the ‘what triggered it’ question, it’s irrelevant because a disorder means there are no set triggers. In my case, it’s probably trying to ‘be normal’ so I don’t down a friend whose help I,too, need. In the course of this, however, my anxiety disorder has me in a stranglehold 90% of the time.

It’s terrifying to think that the safety of my child hinges on my ability to react properly should we be driving along and mommy gets slammed with a massive panic attack that causes her to hit the gas instead of the brakes. And that has happened several times, though not to a dangerous extent but definitely to a traffic rudeness and ‘close to illegal’ way. I will go to pull across and intersection or turn lane with a blinking light and my brain tells me to hit the brake when my foot hits the gas. Vice versa at times, too.

The anxiety feed the depression and panic disorder, and the only way I know to lower risk is for me to not try to be something I am not. I am not normal. Not in the functional sense. That’s why it’s called a disorder. A disability. It hinders my ability to have a normal life.

Panic attacks might not kill you but they might get you-or someone else-killed.

Should sufferers of anxiety be robbed of their right to hold a license and drive?

No. But it would serve those in ours lives to remember that pushing us is what puts us, and others, in danger. You’re not making us ‘snap out of it’ or ‘pushing our boundaries’ so we can some inner strength that changes everything. You’re just throwing a lit match on some liquid and hoping it’s not gasoline that lights up with a whoosh and set your eyebrows on fire.

It would be greatly appreciated if you knocked it the hell off…