Archive for generalized anxiety disorder

Flash Functioning-Basic Existence With Anxiety and Panic Disorders

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , on May 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I have briefly touched on how living in Podunk (population 400) has negatively impacted my ability to function ‘out there’ because we used to live ‘in town’ (population 19,000) I always called it the ‘petri dish’ cos my kid was healthy as long as I kept her at home, but she got sick ‘out there’ amongst dish dwellers. Now the difference between in town and out of town has become a glaring reality, nothing to do with affect or simple dislike of the place. It is making me regress in my progress (oxymoron?) toward getting out of my comfort zone and handling the anxiety or panic attacks.

We were gone a half hour today before someone pulled out in front of me and I was flipping them off and yelling ass trash motherfucker. (Yeah, yeah, mom of the year I ain’t.) But it’s frightening, knowing you have to drive for yourself as well as others, who are so reckless and distracted. By the time we left town, FOUR cars had pulled out in front of me in like, bumper to bumper seconds. One slowed reflex from me and I’d backend them and those are always the latter driver’s fault.

In town…I had a mini meltdown and felt like a cornered animal. We had to change pharmacies and the new one couldn’t get the scripts approved through insurance, then it was the computer not cooperating, and by the time I needed to swipe my card and enter my PIN, I was so anxious and distracted by the pharmacy/customer/drive through/noise activity…I had to enter my phone number and PIN four times cos I kept messing up. I got downright testy and said, “This was supposed to be a seamless transition between pharmacies, not a brawl over what is covered or not.” Then I had to confess the cashier was going too fast for me (while a line developed) for me to enter the necessary numbers and signatures. My God, if I am that scrambled on my own, what am I gonna be like on a clock? And that fucking nurse screwed up my scripts again, renewing my Wellbutrin and prescribing 150 when 300 is the max she will give. So I was stuck with that copay but had to battle insurance to get the Lamitcal 25s covered cos her and the student said it would help my depression and anxiety…I told her I was on 250 at one point and it did not good and she completely disregarded that.

If you scream in a doctor’s office, does anyone hear you? Not at this office. They all just hmm and haw and tell you that you have no choice.

I think she’s trying to overdose me so she can claim I don’t take my meds responsibly. There hasn’t been ONE month since she took over in October that she hasn’t fucked up my scripts by renewing stuff I wasn’t even being prescribed anymore. What am I supposed to think? And how can I not be concerned that she isn’t doing this for other patients who aren’t as med savvy as I am? What if she has others with a worse IQ deficit who just take what is prescribed without questioning it? I went over her head, it did no good. I talk to the staff, they think it’s just about scoring more benzos.

No one is listening.

And meanwhile, I am having such trouble with basic existence, getting totally scattered and panicked. She does not care and she is supposed to be there for me through my difficulties and I made my anxiety clear. I am tired of being disregarded.

I am tired of being scared to leave the house. Scared to drive outside of Armpit.

Just tired, cos I don’t ever get more than 3 hours of solid sleep.

This nurse could not care less.

And the fact that her carelessness could poison someone who isn’t hyper aware…

She is dangerous. I understand she’s the only option they really have since no one wants to work there so they are basically kissing her incompetent ass…But how much is too much? How long before I am justified in wanting better?

It has gotten so bad, I have a friend willing to send me a gas card if I can find an out of town doctor who will see me. Yeah, it is THAT fucking bad.

I’ve done self checks, awareness of myself, soul searching, playing devil’s advocate…

This nurse is bad medicine. And no one should have to endure that, insured or not. No one should be fully medicated and terrified to leave the house and drive. No one.

Advertisements

Brain Drain

Posted in sleep disorders with tags , , , , , on May 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I woke up almost 2 hours ago and haven’t been able to get back to sleep. I guess that power ninja nap (I didn’t see it coming, the melatonin kicked in so fast) for 90 minutes recharged me enough to be awake. I shouldn’t be surprised that I zonked the way I did. Time in the petri dish, a child with extreme ups and downs, dealing with my own abject failure as a potential employee than going to war with my father…It was all one big brain drain. Though I can’t help but wonder if I’d have stayed asleep had I not had multiple kittens playing feline death match with my legs as the arena. Claw marks are not conducive to sleep.

I kicked them out of my room because I couldn’t even eat my microwave popcorn in peace.They burgle fruit, veggies, ice cream, popcorn. The only foods I have found they absolutely won’t eat are baked beans, stuffing, and the cheap ass food I’ve been buying them. They are so adorable yet so distracting. Even now one of them is clawing at my door.

It’s raining out, I can hear it clink clink clink on the broken window AC unit. Normally I find rain a calming sound. Tonight it just reminds me I’m kind of cold. My kingdom for a 5 day stretch with sunshine and temps in the 70’s so my mood can gain some ground.

The insomnia/sleep disturbance is driving me bonkers. I keep replaying my mom jumping down my throat earlier for daring to mention being spaced out due to lack of sleep. Not liking either of my parents much right now after their treatment of me yesterday. And it’s not like it was anything new, they’re always on my case, running me down, it’s all they have ever done, all the while insisting this is normal family behavior and the way to express love and concern. That’s why when my dad came at me, I said, “A NORMAL PERSON WOULD HAVE SAID (THIS).” I know my family is not normal or remotely mentally healthy. And that was confirmed by every counselor who ever met them when my sister and I were going through major episodes and the family counseling thing was brought up. Dad appeared once, then said no more so it was the three of us, and the counselors all said, “Wow, Niki, you really are the normal one.” THAT has to tell you how FUBAR my family ties are.

I’m not particularly tired, my brain is actually starting to rapid cycle. I could use some buspar but then I’d have to open my bedroom door and the cats would stampede in and it took me long enough to herd them out.Scumbag brain keeps reminding me that 6:45 a.m. comes way too soon so I should be sleeping. But tomorrow nothing is on the agenda except puttering about the house and hoping I can get my shit together enough to do a little more chiseling at that slab of stone known as my hoarder-esque dining room. I guess that is the biggest reason I always feel so rushed to get to sleep. Because if I wake up several more times as usual and can’t get back to sleep, then I’m right back to night fucking up my day. It causes me anxiety which causes worse insomnia, round and round we go.

And there is that whole hell spawn thing, and neither of us being morning people, so mornings here can get pretty contentious. No rush for that. But it’s only 6 more days then summer break. Where the contention will simmer and stew for 3 months while she screams I’M BORED, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, MOM, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. Oh, summertime.

Maybe I’ll start getting some quality uninterrupted sleep once the rigid daily routine is off the table. Maybe pegacorns will rescue me from Armpitopia. Anything is possible, I suppose.

Non Fictional Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on July 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Over my years on disability, I’ve been asked How does your condition(s) impact your ability to function normally on a daily basis. During my years blogging about said conditions, I have received a plethora of advice telling me to exercise, meditate, use herbal supplements, envision myself calm and unaffected, be strong, be tough, blah blah blah. (Well meaning people are the bane of my existence because they really don’t get it.)

Today the enormity of my anxiety disorder/panic disorder is slamming into home plate with a cleated shoe to my face.

I’m watching a fictional tv show where most of the characters, including the cops, are corrupt, lying, backstabbing assholes and the only decent characters are all getting screwed over and gaslit by the assholes…and my heart is pounding, my paranoia is up, and it all feels like it may as well be happening to me. I feel scared, outraged, helpless, and I am about to just give up on the final four episodes (it only lived one season) because my fight or flight response is hammering at my psyche…

THIS. This is how my conditions impact my daily functioning. I can’t even watch a fucking tv show because it triggers fight or flight.

Going for a jog, doing some jumping jacks, and inhaling essential oils does not correct whatever is crossed in my brain causing inappropriate messages to make me feel inappropriate emotions and physical responses.

So while some may perservere by jogging 10 miles a day and huffing essence of pegacorn farts…

I’m not so fortunate. And I hate this shit with every fiber of my fucked up being because I can’t even date or eat in a restaurant or go to an amusement park lest the fight or flight panic be set off and send me into a sweating, pretzel gutted foul odor emitting trainwreck.

Yesterday it was the black depression kicking my ass. Today it’s the anxiety.

17 days til my next med check appointment with yet another new psych nurse. Maybe she’ll tell me to stick a spoon on my nose and walk around the block while singing “Yankee Doodle”. After being told by one well meaning person to rub patchouli oil on my pulse points as it would help with depression and anxiety but instead made me sneeze, itch, get hives, and cough until I retched…

It goes to show I’m willing and desperate enough to try pretty much anything but as usual the one size fits all mentality simply doesn’t fit me. I’m oddly propertioned psychologically, I guess.

Stripped Down Naked

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

(EMOTIONALLY NAKED, move along, perverts who thought otherwise.)

I like to think I am pretty transparent in my blog about my feelings but then, I have to come to grips with my coping mechanisms of sarcasm and macabre humor, not to mention mood-fueled rants often masking the true emotions that might actually resonate with others. Those coping mechanisms have kept me alive my whole life at times when I was being so mentally beat down I could have easily exited stage left never to return again. I treasure my mechanisms even when others don’t get it, or doctors or therapists say they’re not healthy. They’re mine and they work for me.

At the same time I realize they can mask a great many things about me that might actually be likeable. In the interest of transparency…Allow me to remove my masks and strip down emotionally bare.

I wasn’t always this angry sarcastic bitch monster. Once upon a time, I was a vivacious girl who loved watching Madonna and Cyndi Lauper on MTV and mimicking their fashion. I loved cherry Slush Puppies from the gas station. Walking to this corner hole in the wall mom and pop stand with a dollar in coins and coming out with a paper bag full of penny candy. I loved staying up late, drinking Mountain Dew, eating nacho cheese Doritos with beef jerky, watching cheesy slasher flicks. I relished warm summer nights when we had an old horse trough as a pool and the water would be so warm under moonlight and I was so free, unwatched, unjudged, just splashing and having fun.

The flip side of this would come, of course, when the depressions hit and I’d retreat within myself because no one wanted to hang with Debbie Downer holed up in her bedroom listening to sad or angry music.

It wouldn’t be til many years later I’d find out that the vivacious side of me that pondered no consequences and just lived life to the fullest when I could was actually part of a mental disorder. Mania or hypomania. I was flabbergasted. Being happy and loving life is MENTAL DISORDER,WTF? I just couldn’t reconcile with what the professionals were saying about extremes. To me, happy was happy, I didn’t know you could be ‘too happy.’

Wasn’t til after too many cycles of too happy and too sad with way too few episodes of stable that I saw the damage being done to my life, and my mind. I wanted nothing to do with medication, convinced it was all artifact of a dysfunctional family and childhood bullying. Eventually, though, I had to face that happy behavior or not- it was a problem.

Money-or more aptly, spending it, became what made me feel happy and alive. Eating would take its place when it ran out. Then when money for food ran out, it would become sexual extremes. I’d draw people to me, then become some other person and drive them away. Over and over and over. And I’d always go running to the counselor, asking why, what is wrong with me, why can’t I stop???? Why can’t you just say it’s okay to be too happy and let me ruin my life naturally instead of it happening anyway even with the damned pills? Little did I know at the time thatn while the counselors had diagnosed me manic depressive, their ancient, inept shrink labeled me dysthymic and kept feeding me antidepressants that sparked the mania episodes. It would be over 12 years before I’d find a correct diagnosis and mood stabilizers.

In doing so, I felt like I finally had an explanation for so many things. But I also felt like the vivaceous part of me was dead and gone. Depression or not, everything that had made me fun and creative seemed to get sucked up by the stabilizer meds. To some extent, I still believe that, though Lamictal is the only one I can tolerate without horrid side effects and being numb.

I have been so caught up in this cycle of mood swings and anxiety and dates that ended with me throwing up after a panic attack. Hard to see the up side of life when that is your life.

So bare naked truth.

We need money. What I value most, though, what I have always value most…are words. I guess as an avid reader and writer it makes sense. I got my first pen pals when I was 15 and my name was published in Metal Edge magazine looking for other music fans to write. Over the years, I lost touch with dozens of people, then submitted my name again, and made new pen pal friends. I wasn’t a snob, I even wrote to inmates. And some of those inmates may have been working an angle, they may have been puppy smothering goat molesting scum for all I know but…words. And some would send me artwork of dragons and such and I was in awe because I always wanted to be able to draw and…I simply can’t, even my stick people suck.

Once the internet became a thing, letter writing has died off more and more. I can’t remember the last time someone sent me a handwritten snail mail letter.

During the move, I came across my stash from an old friend I met in a mental health chat room. He would write me even when he crashed and burned and had to go into the psych hospital. I haven’t heard from him in 8 years and I miss him so very much. He struggled so hard. Every part of me hopes the silence is because he found his magic cocktail and got his life on track and not some…darker reason. But I still have his beautiful words, his amazing artwork, his stark naked thoughts and feelings that he chose not to just share on line with me, but to pay postage and send to me.

Of all the things found during the move…it’s his letters that I treasure the most.

It is difficult for me to bond with people but when I do…it’s also hard for me to unbond.8 years without a word and I still love that boy like he’s my child. What others see as words on paper, I see as a beautiful treasure I can keep for the rest of my life. Knowing at least for a bit, someone cared as much for me as I did for them.

But technology has changed everything. Much as I love the internet…I am sickened by ebooks. I want paper, ink, pages, bookmarks, I want the entire writing and reading experience sometimes. It may make me a relic but this is who I am. These are the things I treasure when I am not overly focused on money and depression and anxiety and just trying not to fail my kid.

My family was non demonstrative of any feelings except anger and hatred.

So I’ve spent my life searching for someone who feels things deeply, like I do, not just the negative. These feelings, when put on paper with pen, become a thing of everlasting beauty.

If this makes me hokey, so be it. This is me, stripped emotionally naked. I am not a money grubbing bitch beast under it all.

But since letter writing has gone the way of landlines and social media basically turns everyone into 160 character simpletons…what I value most is what I cannot have. It is sad but I am trying to change with the times.

I will never forget this is who I am, though. Retro, relic, old school, nerd-whatever label you wanna slap on me. Some values should never be trends, they should just be who you are deep down.

The Free Floating Anxiety Chronicles

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

I am not fond of posting multiple times a day but when something has me so out of sorts…it really helps me work through it if I vent so here goes…

R’s appearance, uninvited Wednesday night (to his credit, he did text first for the first time in weeks, but when my lackluster response was met with ‘since you’re so disinterested…and I didn’t reply otherwise, yet he still turned up, no desire to talk or listen to me, yeah, he’s digressed to the elitist narcissist he always was, money changes people.

Since then, I have gone back to high anxiety, paranoia, and a dark cloud of anxiety over my head. It’s impacting my sleep whereas the four days R free days I had, I was starting to feel calmer, more at peace. What this proves to me is that while much of my anxiety is indeed free floating and often without a discernable trigger…this ‘friendship’ has become toxic for me.

He will never cede to this, he will remind me how good I’ve got it, how he fixed the furance, fixed my car, gives me the credit card to put gas in the car…He will flout every kind thing he has done for me in an effort to make me feel guilty and like I am betraying him. I know this because it has happened a few times before. Do his bidding or you are disloyal and a user.

This is the very definition of a toxic relationship. The man calls himself my friend, but didn’t offer me a Christmas ‘bonus’ of $20 bucks so help with my kid’s Christmas. When I even mentioned it, he scoffed indignantly and said, ad nauseum, “I’m buying you a car, what more do you want from me?” Needless to say, this hurt. And after six years trying to atone for how poorly I treated him 20 years ago when being given the wrong diagnosis and meds…It was plain insulting. Cruel, even.

He never asked me if I wanted him to buy me a car. He just deemed mine too old, too ugly, and I AM BUYING YOU A CAR. What no one realizes is if I go for this seemingly ‘good deal’ I will never escape being under his thumb. His acts of kindness are just that, until I displease him, then I get flogged with them and made to feel like an awful ungrateful monster.

This is the epitome of a toxic situation.

I honestly thought with his wife home from her job I’d be free of his visits for the better part of a week. Oh, and before you say, Just tell him no…Yeah, last time I did that, he got huffy then spent the night texting me about needing this part and that part, even though I told him I didn’t feel well and was tapped out. If I don’t perform, be it him not wanting to be alone or jumping thru hoops to do his bidding…He turns on me. In true narcicssist form he cannot see the err of his ways. He never will.

A year or so back he demanded I come into the shop and mostly it was to fetch lunch and keep the phone from bothering him but I was crying and told him, “I have a sick cat at home, she may die and I’d like to be with her.” To which he said, “I should think you’d rather be here than watch that.”

WTF? It wasn’t about my comfort because of course I don’t want to see an animal sick or dying. But it was important to me to be there so the cat didn’t die alone and he just could not relate because his emotional IQ is so low. And yeah, EQ is just as important as IQ. Smart but soulless does not work for me. I should have abandoned ship then and there.

Instead I have let the situation metastasize and now I am at a loss how to bow out gracefully without bringing his wrath down on me. You may wonder why I care, once I am out from under his thumb, I will be free. But R seldom lets it go, he will bully me or simply write me off as if I betrayed him. It’s scary thinking just to save my sanity and lower my anxiety I have to risk blowing up a friendship. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not a friendship, not really. He doesn’t even send a birthday or Christmas text, treats my kid like an annoyance even in her own home. When he got this ‘real’ job and started making good money and now that he knows the shop is merely a side project to line his pockets…Throw in the forcefed political bullshit and it’s become an unbearable situation for me.

The fact that his reappearance, even in a social situation where he didn’t even mention the shop, is setting off alarm bills. He once bailed on me because he felt my mental health issues were dragging him down but he will never accept that the same is now true for me in this situation. So how to be diplomatic, calm, fair, and cause as little turmoil as possible…I tried to tell the psych nurse how it was breaking me down, but she could not have cared less. That leaves me on my own and just handling the whole thing has me panicking.

Top that with inexplicable free floating anxiety…I have to save myself at all costs. If he won’t accept polite, then…burn the bridge. It’s not worth it anymore being treated like the poor relation forced to do his bidding while he lords his well paying job and this magic car promise over my head.

Personally, a true friend to me would be someone who while not pleased with my choice to walk away would at least be understanding and supportive.

Sadly that has never been the situation with this person, except when he was the one ditching me for being too erratic and stressful.

Toxicity personified.

-Cidal

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on March 13, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The last couple of weeks have bestowed upon me so much anxiety provoking stress that I’ve run the gamut from patricidal, homicidal, suicidal…To say I don’t process the normal stress of life gracefully is an understatement. But it’s classified as a DISORDER for a reason, ffs.

One night a couple weeks back R showed up at my door with his friend J in tow. I like J fine, he’s cool,if  a little persnickety in that military way. What threw me for a loop was being surprised. Just…showing up. And my house is of course biohazard four.  Feeling like a cornered animal, I guess I was less than hospitable. Then R complains how cold it is inside and oh…the furnace went out again, YAY. He spent another two hours working on it even though I told him not to bother, this broken shit thing is defeating me on every front. But he fixed it and it’s been wondermous having heat.

Not so wondermous being called a jerk for, well, maybe being a bit of a jerk, but ANXIETY DISORDER. I don’t like people in my inner sanctum, especially clean freaks who judge me and gossip (oh and they do, trust me, well meaning or not, yet none of them are offering to buy me a week of maid service to help me get caught up). I don’t like being caught off guard. I go feral. I don’t want to be that way, but…No amount of Xanax and therapy have managed to break that fight or flight response to deviation and invasion of my space.

Then the brakes on the car failing…Oh, more fun. R tried to fix them Sat night, waiting until it got dark, of course, figuring it’d be quick and easy as he’s done so many brake replacements over the years. Well my beloved bucket of bolts, Aubrey, just had to be difficult and it took an hour to get the tire off only to discover…the rotor was pretty much rotted to nothing. MORE MONEY, yay! But he didn’t have the right tools so it was “drive home slowly and hope the brakes work a time or two more.”

Talk about living on a prayer!

Let me just say this…I am neurotic to the nth degree when things I need are broken, be it car, internet, heat…My entire focus becomes the one thing that isn’t working and I  literally cannot think of anything else. I feel hobbled, panicked, and until it is fixed…I am just stuck in an endless panic loop. Cranky, depressed, anxious, snappish. I try to fight those impulses but being put in the position of helplessness, as in not being able to keep my kid warm or get her to school…I freak.

It’s the cornered animal factor. Brings out the feral in me.

Not to mention how nerve racking it was to basically not be able to go anywhere (didn’t even have bread to make my kid sammiches cos the stupid cats got in the cabinet and ate my bread, fuckwads) for 3 days. Waiting for R to contact me about fixing the car, scared to take a shower lest he beckon, unwilling to risk starting to cook a meal lest he call, just…my entire being was on hold. And of course, he’s so obsessed with the shop he was there all weekend and sent me a text about needing some fuses for an amp and charming beast I am, I texted back: :”Coincidence, I need a car with working brakes.”

When it’s his needs, do it now. When it’s my needs…whenever he gets to it. That is the bitch of having people do you favors, being at their mercy and not even having the right to say, hey, I have a life, too that is being hindered…

And three days being hindered made me a very depressed nasty person.

The patricidal urge came after a ten minute call from my father informing me I have no right to ever complain about the car because I got it for free and it was only $400 and I’ve gotten a year out of it. Um…I can never say “this is broken and it sucks”. Nooo, not with my saintly asshole father. He says everything I say is accusatory to him, even my floors caving in. Um…how is asking for a few boards to put on some soft spots accusing him of being at fault?

Then he started in on how they just bought a new pick up at auction for $1600, bringing their vehicle total to 5. But he won’t loan me a car because he says I don’t brake properly thus the failed brakes on Aubrey were my fault and I don’t do this or that right and…

Oh the knife twisted further when he tossed out, “At least I’ve never expected handouts, I’ve worked for everything I have.”

That could not have been more below the belt had he physically kicked me in the shin. He damn well knows it, too. Me and my nitwit pension, humiliating him. He has to mention “well-farers” every time he speaks to me.

By the time the call ended, I wanted to utilize a Wednesday 13 verse on him: “I want a car, to run over your head, I wanna kill you, dig you up, and do it again…”

Oh but noooo. Instead I go all pathetic teenage girl chewed out by daddy and start tearing up and thinking I probably should just kill myself since my own father thinks so little of me.

But I let a few tears escape, then I told myself NO, you will NOT give him the power to do this shit anymore. Took a Xanax, rubbed on some mood lifting oil, and…it was better. I’ve decided not to take his calls unless forced to. And furthermore, he only ever sees me drive when he is at moms and I pull up or leave so what the fuck does he know about my “bad driving”? He’s a senile cockweasel who is only ever happy putting others down.

And it occurred to me I might be more like him than I want to admit as it seems I am always on Spook, don’t do this, stop that, you won’t listen..,.I try to praise her when it is warranted, let her know I love her, but damn.,..I’ve become the gloom mongering “no” (meaning you can’t do anything right) momster. But then if I don’t teach her right from wrong…I will be a failure as a parent, too.

My  brain is about to implode.

Alas, the car was taken to R’s son in law’s last night where the right tools were and it took them 90 minutes to swap out the one bad rotor and put on the two front brake pads. Thank the sacred pegacorn. R said I was damned lucky because one more trip on the bad brakes and likely it would not have stopped until it crashed.

Not being hobbled anymore really helped my mood and lowered my anxiety.

And not a day too soon cos we got 2 inches of snow last night, can’t fathom driving those old brakes on snow.

It was still dark when we had to get up this morning, wtf is that since we got the extra hour of daylight? Or is it just the gray gloom? I don’t like it.

This weather sucks. Two weeks ago, I went to my first yard sale of the season as it was in the sixties. Now we hit the 20’s and snow a week before spring begins. WTF, midwest?

Every time I think the seasonal depression might be nearing an end, this mother nature weather crap has to kick me in the shin.

I can only hope now that the car is fixed (muffler can wait, too many bills right now, to worry about it sounding pretty) my anxiety will quiet down a bit. I mean, when the xanax isn’t even helping at max dose to ward off the feral fight or flight responses…you’ve pretty much reached the end of your rope.

What galls me most, perhaps makes me feel homicidal, is just how ignorant everyone around me is. They don’t want to see the patterns, see the disorders, recognize that maybe dealing with me differently would get a better result. My idget dad says I sound accusatory so I say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I will work on that.”

Yet he gets to remain the same heartless rude bastard he;’s always been, he never has to improve or apologize.

Am I just too emotional and high strung or are most people emotionally wired like sociopaths????

If my own family can’t work around my disabilities…I have little hope an employer ever will.

Guess it’s time to start looking into that home fetish porn site thing again. Let Daddy go brag how his daughter’s not on a nitwit pension anymore, she’s on the internet sloshing her feet in cream corn for some fetish site.

That makes me smile. He makes me miserable and I want to take him along for the ride.

And ya know, throw him under the bus, run over him,  put in in reverse, and do it again…

I know, I am terrible but Wednesday 13 is just such an amazing poet….

What It’s *Really* Like To Have An Anxiety Disorder

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on November 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

The masses will all generalize things like, “I know how you feel, I get so nervous giving public speeches”, or “I’m terrified of heights, I get it.”

Actually, you really DON’T get it.

Because an anxiety disorder, complete with panic attacks and paranoia, is not related to a particular trigger at all times. Many times, it comes on without a trigger, without explanation, and boggles even those of us who suffer from them.

Imagine, if you can, the sensation of a bug flitting across your bare skin. An ant, a gnat, a roach, whatever insect of your choice. Your instinct is to shudder and shake it away or swat at it. Gross! Seconds later, even though the bug has been dealt with, you can still recall how it felt on your skin and you shudder again. But then you forget about it and move on.

Anxiety disorder is like living 24-7 with a thousand bugs crawling over your skin, in your hair, under your skin, inside your veins. You feel like you are losing your mind because, obviously, there are NO bugs. It’s “all in your head”. The sensations, however, are very real. Terrifying. Discombobulating.

You start to feel fragile. Like you are under attack from every outside stimuli. Like you have a target on your front and back and head and EVERYTHING around you is armed with a gun.

You tell yourself to “grow up”, “shake it off”, “get over it”. To no avail.

Anxiety can be triggered, sure. Often, it is not. Often, it is like a band of ninjas and by the time they strike, you’re caught unawares that you can’t do battle properly.

Just fathom living this way EVERY SINGLE DAY OF YOUR LIFE.

Imagine that fear of public speaking or heights or spiders or whatever not merely being a trigger that you can avoid or power through, but A CONSTANT COMPANION RESIDING IN YOUR OWN MIND AND YOU ARE NOT ARMED PROPERLY TO FIGHT IT.

Furthermore, think about what it’s like for those of us with anxiety disorders and the stigma and lack of understanding society deals us.

Do you consider that minor? Silly? Immature? Weak?

Ignorance, thankfully, is not contagious and CAN be cured by educating yourself on the matter, rather than making ignorant assumptions and judgments.

Trust me, judging, mocking, teasing, assuming- none of this helps us. If anything, it makes the anxiety worse and we retreat further into ourselves. Desperate for comfort, to escape our own demons for a moment or two.

Two out of four days this last weekend I was convinced I had bugs crawling everywhere. I survived a couple of hours in the dish on Friday but it was grueling. A firetruck siren went off. I felt terror pierce my entire being. Oh, my home is on fire, it could happen, it’s happened before! Oh, no, a ringing phone, what do I say with all these bug like sensations making me feel absolutely insane?

To recover from this, I did not leave the lot for the entire weekend but for a brief trip to a convenience store.

Today, the bugs are almost silent.

Almost.

But I don’t know how better to explain it than bugs on your skin, bugs everywhere.

Maybe tiny electric jolts going off under every inch of skin and tissue at random intervals. Or maybe a giant stack of amps outside your window blaring the most heinous music at all times.

Living this way is not fun and no amount of medication or therapy tricks make it any easier.

THAT is what it’s like to have an anxiety disorder.

If it still seems funny and mock worthy to you…You are  far more ignorant than I could give any human being credit for. And I pity you for your emotional intelligence stagnated around age ten.

If you want to see strength, intelligence, fortitude…

Look at those of us with anxiety disorders, including a myriad of other chemical misfirings in our brain…WE are the soldiers doing battle without weapons, without an army. WE are brave and strong and though suffering, we keep fighting.

Fighting an invisible enemy 24-7 is far more exhausting than anyone can fathom unless they live it.