Archive for the panic disorder Category

Secondhand Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders, panic disorder, Uncategorized with tags , on April 9, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

As mentioned previously,my daughter has a dentist appointment after school today. No big deal,right?

With anxiety and panic disorders,even things,like this,that are routine and don’t impact me personally,cause nervousness to skyrocket.

I call it second hand anxiety.

Back when I first consorted with the donor and he was looking for work,the mere task of driving him to get an application and return it resulted in me being a nervous wreck. And not just the usual symptoms, I also had stomach aches,jumpiness when the phone rang,trouble sleeping. It was as if I was the one applying for the job. The donor didn’t understand it and frankly he made me feel more moronic than I already did but what can I say? Triggers and second hand anxiety.

Today’s anxiety continues to mount as the appointment nears. I have little doubt this anxiety was why I kept waking during the night and why I’ve been up since before 4 a.m.

I am doing my best not to pass this secondhand anxiety onto my kid by acting cool and nonchalant, reassuring,comforting. Dentists already freak her out without my help. It’s difficult,always faking it,but I keep trying. I am sure once it is over we will both pipe down. Ya know,unless the car runs out of gas driving to or back from town and I have to call dad or stepmonster. In which case I will need 3 mg Xanax,noise dampening headphones to block the lecture,and a rock to crawl under. As if being my age and not having even ten bucks to my name to buy gas isn’t enough humiliation.

Hard to save money when every cent goes toward bills and necessities,not like I blow it on frou-frou shit.

But,digressing…Secondhand anxiety is a real thing and while irrational…

You can’t reason with an anxiety disorder. If you could,none of us with it would take pills and go to therapy.


Living With Panic Disorder

Posted in panic disorder with tags , , , , , , on August 23, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

***Disclaimer*** I am going to attempt to make this a less rant-esque post but will likely fail. Anyone who’d like to pay fo my Focalin since insurance won’t can step up and then I will stay on topic and less rant-y.***

Fairly uneventful day but not without challenges to my mental health issues.

Primarily, the generalized anxiety and panic disorders.

I recently watched a show where some ass clown character declared ‘generalized anxiety disorder is crap, grow up, it’s called LIFE.” “But, Morgue, it’s a tv show, FICTION, you do need to grow up!” Except while this particular portrayal was fictional, it is, unfortunately, the norm in widespread societal thinking. “We all have stress, we all have anxiety, hell, I fear public speaking/spiders/snakes, I suck it up.” Sad but true.

The reality is…It’s not a normal level of anxiety. It’s excessive and extreme and crippling 70% of the time, and worse when combined with multiple mental health diagnoses. It does not know reason, it does not respond to bullying by others or yourself. Not to belittle, but in some ways, anxiety/panic disorders are similar to PTSD. Not the same, but similar. It’s a condition that can turn otherwise strong, intelligent people to behave in a way contrary to logic or even their own identity. None of us choose it and the fact is, many of us don’t know why we have it, there is often no constant trigger. It’s random thus generalized.

Life with severe panic disorder is itself a hell no one should have to contend with. Many of us do have to deal with it.

This week alone, I have had several panic attacks. To my credit, I have learned to manage them, as there really is no controlling them most times…But they were episodes severe enough to stick in my brain instead of sliding off like teflon as many of my bipolar issues do.

I had a week of nightmares about losing my child to the system, reason unknown, and the other day…she was 5 minutes later than normal coming out. My brain instantly started thinking, OMFG, they took my kid, she’s not coming out, they think I am a monster, I can’t survive losing my kid to the system, I try so hard! Illogical? Perhaps. No less terrifying. And mind you, this has been a constant since she started school 4 years ago. Any time the routine deviates and she comes out late, my go to thought is, OMG THEY TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME. Honestly, it’s legit what with society’s view on mental disorders. It only takes one “well meaning” or “vengeful” person to start the ball rolling. Or a volatile fickle child who didn’t get to play until 10 p.m so she claims I am ‘mean’ to her. I stand there at the fence, waiting and watching for her to come out, year after year, and if she’s ten seconds later than the days before…Panic sets in. I become paralyzed and the terror couldn’t be more extreme or real than if being chased by a chainsaw wielding madman.

I have, over the years, learned to save any major “march to the principal and demand to know where my kid is” overeactions by reminding myself…”Susie Q is in Spook’s class, she hasn’t come out yet, so maybe the teacher kept that class late or they are just slow pokes.” It doesn’t quell the anxiery, nothing does until I see her and she is by my side, but it does give me enough perspective to NOT act like a complete ass clown. Living this way 5 days a week is miserable. Not to mentioned the crowds and the parking (lack of) and now they changed their policy and bus in the kindergartners (they used to be picked up at the office they attended) so the parking and crowds have gotten even worse…It’s a daily battle to not be an overreactive ass clown.

It doesn’t matter to the world that I have a LEGIT disorder, agreed on by no fewer than 10 doctors, since I was 20 years old. Nope, just mad as a hatter.

Another thing that set off the panic disorder/paranoia/panxiety (paranoia mixed with anxiety) is renewing paperwork for our food stamps. I finally cleared my head enough to fill it out and it said I have to interview with a caseworker. Last time I just took the papers in and they said, “Thanks, you showing up was your interview.” This time, some prickly dude at the desk decided on the spot, “Take a seat, you can talk to a caseworker” and I told him I needed to make an appt because I had ten minutes before getting my kid from school…He seemed pissy and claimed to have a caseworker call me. Whether after the deadline for losing benefits or not remains to be seen but now I feel glued to my phone.

And I am fairly certain why I suddenly need to do the in person interview. I’ve been receiving benefits ‘too long’ and they are going to demand to know why I haven’t managed to get a job and get off food stamps. The state has long been broke and my sister just had her medical and stuff cut off but hey, after 19 years with a physically and mentally able husband who won’t work but smokes his weight in pot and your kid now of legal age and not in school…Maybe in that case it’s legit.

In my case, my disability is legitimate. I WANT to work. Unfortunately, I can’t a single employer who finds a manic depressive anxiety ridden sporadically functional single mom a ‘good’ job candidate. I’ll write greeting cards, do balloon porn (oddly, yeah, it’s a thing, weird, but not as weird as foot porn), pretty much anything with a flexible schedule to work around my disabilities. In this area…Those jobs don’t exist, especially when you burned every bridge you’re qualified for years before getting a diagnosis that would explain your flaky behavior to potential employers. And considering my mental state is so precarious I can’t even bathe reguarly or wear undergarments or even take my kid to a bloody carnival cos the crowds make me spaz…I’m not touting myself as stable or desirable.

Again, the world does not care.

So here I sit waiting for public aid to call and set up an appt to lambaste and further shame me just so I can get benefits to half ass buy food for my kid. This isn’t swallowing your pride, this is cannibalizing your own soul. This was not supposed to be my life. But then, I was never supposed to be on a medication that caused brain damage, either. Which wouldn’t have happened had our local hospital been competent enough to contact my doctor (and they were presented with the bottles of my psych meds with the doctor’s name on them) so I could have been treated sooner before the mini stroke and brain damage.

Sometimes, it really IS a chain reaction of shitty events that lead you down the rabbit hole.

To anyone who says anxiety and panic disorders are ‘bullshit’…I wish it upon you not out of spite but out of a desire for empathy. You don’t know until you’ve been here and your judgement says more about you than me, or others with this malady. You wouldn’t presume to be so rude and dismissive of a cancer patient’s battle but mental health issues are fair game?

Makes me grateful that “rude and cruel” are not synonyms for “chemically imbalanced”.

Even imbalanced, I can muster up empathy.

a glimpse into panxiety attacks

Posted in panic disorder with tags , , on March 7, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

8***forgive this post, my keyboard doesn’t work right, i am not home, and this is being copied from paper because, well, you’ll see….

3/6/15 12:16 pm

The power has been out an hour. I called but so far nothing. I am so panicked I can’t discern if it’s a panic attack or some sort of stroke. woozy, dizzy,sweaty, room spinning, heart pound and one of my eyes feel ready to pop out of the socket.
suffocating. head spinning. Not even heat without electricity. I am so reliant on technology I am lost without it. I’d have died back in Little House on The prairie days.
sO I sit and chainsmoke and stare at the door, waiting for the knock. Except my sweaty palms make it icky.
just when i thought the dark depression was the worst of the day.
i try so hard to do the breathing and visualization exercises to calm myself but it’s not working.
what if my wiring is so fucked i have to move.
what if…what if…
i hate being in a holding pattern at the mercy of others, I feel so hobbled and impotent…i guess control freak is an understatement.

12.;26 pm

still no power. my eyeballs are itching and now I have all this silent time alone with my tornado of thoughts and it’s like…do i have pink eye/ is my brain getting ready to explode through my eye socket/
The noise in my head is deafening. I have no background noise to distract and dull my spinning thoughts. so that leaves me to think about every shitty thing that’s ever happened to me and how it was all my fault even if people are using assholes. it’s all still my fault because if i were mentally stable, they wouldn’t run screaming from me.

Power restored.
Now tick tock until I can go fetch my kid and be done with this petri dish shit.

dogs are barking. people are talking loudly. nerves are cannibalizing themselves.
tick tock.

this day sucks. I have a cold so I spent most of the night hacking up a lung and my spleen. I nearly choked to death this morning( no drama, I literally thought I was going to die and my only thought was noooo, i have to get my kid from school.)

The darkness that permeates my mind right now freaks me out. You can put up a hell of a fight and still end up losing.

That terrifies me.

The Good, The Bad, and The Surprising

Posted in panic disorder with tags , , on August 10, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

The bad: Bex missed her flight. Courtesy of Greyhound running ninety minutes late thus making her train trek to O’Hare run late and lead to confusion and panic. (Read about it here, in her words)

She had no phone, little cash, in a huge airport filled with people who wouldn’t help and few that would or could. She managed to occasionally contact by net and collect call. For my part, I worked from my end trying to figure something out. Since no one from the airline was available to talk to her, the best I could come up with was to get her back here. Her Visa is good til the 16th, this gives us time to regroup. Got her back by train. (FUCK YOU GREYHOUND AND YOUR INEPT SERVICE!!!!) To my credit, I found the train station fine and got back home fine, not once did I get confused or lost. I’ve always been like that. Freak out over a ringing phone or knock on the door, but when the chips are down and it’s an emergency…For some reason my lizard brain takes over.
So she’s back here with us and she zonked facedown into bed within three minutes. She has earned the rest, she went through such an ordeal. And I feel shitty because I waited and waited to hear from her but at some point after three a.m., I fell asleep with the lights on. And I can’t sleep with lights on so I had to have been ninja’d with sleep. She’s going thru hell, and I got to sleep for three solid hours. I’m an asshole.
We can’t do anything today since no one with any knowledge is in at the airline counter. So today is recovery, tomorrow is recon.

I fear I may have overstepped my bounds by writing an email to Bex’s mom. I just tried to explain the ups and downs of bipolar and how amazing Becca truly is, she doesn’t make bad choices and act impulsively as a norm, nor is she lazy or unwilling to try to fight the mental stuff. Her family seems to think it’s character weakness and I just felt…compelled to try to explain it’s not, at least not entirely. Really hope I didn’t make the situation worse. Oh, well, won’t be the first time I colored outside the lines and got told to mind my own business.

So…The good…is at least she’s out of that cesspool that is Chicago, safely ensconced in the safe zone here. Not a clue where to go from here, but she’s safe and resting. That is good.

The surprising…I reached out to both R and my dad for help getting her back since she and I didn’t really tuck money back for this contingency. We booked the bus so she arrived FIVE HOURS before her flight. That was ample time. We calculated what American currency she’d need since the plan was straight from bus, to train, to flight. So she’s stranded up there and panicking and I’m back here and panicking.

And I called R, since he’s the only one with a credit card, and he actually bought her train ticket back, not a single hesitation. Then I called my dad and explained the situation…And he drove into town today to put gas into the car (since I burned it all out yesterday getting lost).
I was surprised. It turns out, I do have real friends and half decent family who are there for me in a pinch. I need to remember this when prattling on about their shortcomings. They came through when they could have easily said, “You and Becca are grown women, you should have planned for this, you’re on your own.” But they didn’t. And I’m still a little stunned.

Life is full of surprises, good and bad.

For now…all is calm, we are all safe, and the rest..will get sorted out somehow. Just not today.

BTW…GREYHOUND SERVICE IS ATROCIOUS AND I WANT MY MONEY BACK FOR THE TICKET FOR BEX’S TRAUMA AND MISSED FLIGHT!!!!! Last time I took Greyhound (my wallet was stolen) the bus had mechanical issues so they dispatched another bus to ensure the schedule wasn’t thrown off by more than a half hour. I don’t know why they fucked up so badly this time. Like they knew this was crucial. Like the fates knew it was critical and wanted to troll us.

Becca made constant jokes about missing her bus and flight and now she thinks I believe she did it on purpose. I damn well know better. I heard the panic in her voice when she kept calling, I felt it in my bones. I know this wasn’t her doing.

I blame Greyhound. Shit happens, but this was beyond the pale of poor service. I hope they get rabies and have to be put down.


Posted in panic disorder with tags , , , on October 4, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I had a panic attack when I dropped my kid off at school today. Came from out of nowhere, no trigger, just standing there in a parking lot and WHAM! Pounding heart, dizziness, hyperventilation…

Of course, by now, I am a PROFESSIONAL at internalizing anxiety 98% of the time, so unless someone is actually studying me, they have no clue that I am experiencing a level of anxiety and disorientation one would get if they were in the woods being chased by a chainsaw wielding psychopath. I cover my mouth and breathe deeply in and out, rather than use a paper bag. I hug my sides in an effort to have a sense of control over something. I dig my nails into my palms, in hopes a mild jab of pain will distract me from the panic.

Sometimes it does. Most of the time it does not.

It passes. Generally with no one the wiser, unless it’s a massive attack, one where I have to lean over and hang my head and press my palms into my knees. Those are always fun. NOT.

I used to have spectator sport panic attacks. Sweating, hyperventilation, dizziness, vomiting. By the time my last three dimensional friend told me that going out with me was embarrassing and awkward, I began the descent into internalization. It saves me embarrassment but it’s a disservice otherwise because no one believes what they can’t see. If you’re acting a little squirelly but otherwise ok…They don’t see it as any big deal.

It is a big deal. Especially when you find yourself having multiple attacks a day. This internalization has sent me to the doctor more times than I care to admit. I literally make myself physically ill by turning it all inward. I trained myself so well, though, so I wouldn’t embarrass people I was with, that now I don’t know how to externalize.

And it’s all leading to me feeling smothered. By my overly demanding kid, by household disrepair, by money problems, by EVERYTHING. I have less than  zero desire to be near anyone right now. I accept my kid as my siamese twin, but others…Unless you’re at the end of a computer, I simply don’t want company. It’s the seasonal affect,to some extent, but it’s also the fact that this year has sucked for me and I have had four of the most stressful months of my life with the neighbor kids. (The landlord actually asked me if they were all mine! That’s how often they are there,ffs.)




I need some time to breathe.

Provided the hyperventilating panic attacks will allow it.

Deviation is beyond evil

Posted in panic disorder with tags , , on September 9, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I suppose it will seem asinine.

But to someone with my issues, it is a huge deal and it has me in a “deer in the headlights” state.

When I went to pick up my kid from school, the teacher actually refused to let her come to me like she has every other pick up for two weeks…The teacher walked her right over to me. Babbling about the color of the day for tomorrow.

At the time I thought it odd but just wanted out of all the traffic confusion and people chaos.

Now, as time has passed, scumbag brain has sent a multitude of panic attacks my way. WHAT DOES IT MEAN THAT SHE DEVIATED? hAS MY KId told some lie ab out how mean I am because I won’t let her juggle chainsaws?

What does it mean?

I am scared of my own kid because she lies.

Scared of the system because I have seen it not work as far as parents are concerned.

And I am scared of any deviation because the norm is boring but at least it doesn’t dropkick me into panic zone.

I’d rather have a gaping wound than  panic attacks. They can give you pain killers. There is nothing for the panic and all that comes with it.

Maybe it makes me a bad mom.




Dear Bipolar Disorder and Panic Disorder: I hate you

Posted in biolar disorder, panic disorder with tags , , , , on May 5, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Dear Bipolar Disorder:

You are a beast of burden. You have wreaked havoc on every aspect of my life for as long as I can remember. You have caused me to be saddled with a reputation as being “moody”, as if this is my personality, not your nifty little machinations yanking me this way and that way. Your presence nullifies in the eyes of others any good that might be within me because they simply cannot handle the roller coaster ride that comes with you. I can barely handle it myself and I wish I could have the part of my brain where you reside yanked out, doused in gasoline, burned in a fire, and have the ashes exorcised and buried. You are vile, you are evil, and you can be crippling. You are a sadist disguised as a mild mood imbalance, the depths of your cruelty most will never know. YOU are the one who has caused me to laugh at the funeral of a loved one, yet cry when my life was going perfectly well. You distort my thinking, taint my perception, and make me exist in a constant state of uncertainty and insecurity. You fill me with self doubt to the point I don’t trust myself most of the time.

You are always there when I meet new people, inspiring me to be manic and high and happy. By the time they get to know me, you throw me a curve ball and send me cascading down the waterfall of the mood spectrum into the black murky abyss of depression. At which point the people who found me so attractive and a pleasure to be around run for the hills, claiming I somehow mislead them or was simply too much of a downer to be around. You allow me stability long enough to pursue relationships…Only to reemerge and rear your ugly head once things are under way and once again, I am on the side of being accused of presenting one face yet having another. No matter how honest I am with people about my condition, you always manage to amp your game up even more to the point that stability is a joke and the roller coaster ride from hell with the joker at the helm is underway.

The doctors call you “mild”, Bipolar Disorder 2. Oh how wrong they are. You are the Marquis de Dade of mental illness, so twisted, so cruel, so hell bent on my destruction for your own personal satisfaction. You respond to medications for brief periods of time, giving the illusion of being stabilized, like I might finally be able to get on with my life…And like clockwork, you just quit responding to the meds and the medi go round starts up all over again. Doctors think I am some sort of pill seeking hound. But what I am is desperate, desperate to beat you into submission with the right drug cocktail. I want my life back. But thanks to you, it’s never really been my life. It’s been the bits of life I can manage to built around your temperamental stable periods.

I will own my idiotic choices. I will own my bad behaviors. But I will steadfastedly til my death maintain that much of it came from your influence, always sending the wrong impulses at the wrong times. Otherwise, I would be an erratic jerk ALL the time rather than just when you pop up and yell BOO at random intervals like some demented Stephen King-esque jack in the box from hell. YOU, bipolar disorder, are the bane of my existence.

And not to forget you, Panic Disorder, my constant companion since I was 8 years old. I still remember the summer I spent believing I had a bee living in my brain and having heart palpitations and panic attacks in spite of all the assurance from adults and doctors that there was no bee in my head. You alert me to danger when there is none. You paint a landscape of terror and fear when there is only everyday normal life and situations faced by every other person on the planet. They recognize the banality of the situations. Not me. Thanks to you, panic disorder, I see every little thing as a threat and my body goes into fight or flight mode. Heavy traffic? Heart rate must sky rocket, head must spin, palms must sweat, extremities must tremble….Same for first dates. To the point of puking over the side of a boat on one such stellar outing. You make me afraid to go to malls, to sit down and eat in restaurants. People surprise me and I jump ten feet in the error as if they are wearing hockey masks and armed with machetes. You tell me I have a timebomb of diseases ticking away inside of me when I do not. You tell me the new neighbors are the disciples of satan when they are not. You alert me to every possible landmine without even adding they’ve been disarmed or are no threat.

You, my dear panic disorder, are an asshole.

Yet…it is said that we are all created from that which we have experienced. And I suppose you, my mental disorders, are largely responsible for me being kind to people who are misunderstood or have other disabilities. You are why I have empathy and you are why I have learned to be cautious and to be self aware and know that I am not my disorders and I am not entirely without worth. You make me question these things I know, but ultimately, it is your very presence that convinces me that the compassionate understanding side of me is the real deal.

You make my life miserable.

Yet I am not without gratitude.

For a short time last night, you granted me a respite.

I sat here on my couch, watching a show, with five adorable kittens purring 0n my lap and my sleeping daughter curled up on my side…And if only for those brief moments…I knew what true happiness and contentment were. For this I am thankful.

But I still hate both of you and hope you die in a fire.