Archive for panic attacks

WTF IS Going On With My Brain?

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

I am ‘on a clock’ today because I’ve been enlisted to take my brother to work around 1:30. I already took my into town to camp. Once I drop him off, I will have two hours to kill before fetching her, then I am on standby in case stepmonster isn’t done with work and can’t get to town to get him…It’s very stressful for me, living in this sort of limbo. 2 hours in town with nothing to do in 90 degree heat does not enthuse me, but I am being compensated with gas money so I suppose I can’t bitch. Except I will, because anything that feeds the anxiety is unwelcome.

Problem is, everything feeds the anxiety lately. It’s this constant presence like a toxic black cloud and I can’t explain it. I think my sudden low mood that remains static can be explained to an extent as hormonal dysphoria. But the anxiety? No fucking idea. Every little thing makes it worse. We had a bad windy thunderstorm last night and that set me on edge. Normally I freaking love storms. WHY is my brain processing every little thing as some sort of fight or flight threat? I am accustomed to living with free floating generalized anxiety, but this near panic every waking moment is new. Of course, I can pinpoint when it started but why beat that dead horse and prove their point on the issue of benzos. Nothing I say is going to change this regime’s mind and those are the worst people, the ones who cannot be reasoned with or swayed by intelligent discussion.

That in itself is stressful.

I just can’t reconcile this fight or flight constant mental space. It gets worse by the way instead of lessening.

Maybe once the routine returns to some semblance of calm (ie, no double daily trips to town), I will calm down. But that’s weeks away and I am losing my mind here. Like, drink a fifth of booze to shut down the threat thoughts. Except I am not even good at self medication. I have half a bottle of whiskey that has been in the cabinet for weeks, it just tastes too bad, even with cola. Used to be one of my favorite mixes. I guess this lack of self medication is progress but it doesn’t stop the desire to do it. Living in perpetual fight or flight mode is terrifying. Knowing you’re unlikely to get any relief any time soon is hellish. Don’t need a doctor to sign off on buying booze. Except the taste has become icky and the end result-while quashing anxiety, it brings on worse depression- is undesirable.

I have no answers at this time. I just know I am altered for whatever reasons and it makes daily functioning very difficult. No wonder all I look forward to is sleep. It’s the only time I don’t feel like a cornered animal under threat and attack.

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Meth Gators, 15 Pound Rodents, And My Mental Health Manifesto

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Some days, there are such warped headlines lurking in your inbox, it’s like, you HAVE to click them just to see if it’s click bait or satire. Apparently, these are real stories involving, yes, meth gators, and 15 pound rodents. So yeah, Mississippi, stop flushing your drugs so we don’t have a mutant army of meth gators and hey, get these rodents on birth control so they stop mutating.

I took my kid to day camp today cos it is skating day and fried chicken leg day and she swooore she would die if I didn’t take her. The litmus test was if she was willing to give up two other activity days just to make this one and she was. So I took her. Then had to buy gas, grab a can of sauce to do our Sloppy Joe’s tonight. All the while my paranoid brain goes 100mph because my fear of my car breaking down is haunting me even in my dreams so it MUST be a bad sign, right? I try to talk myself out of this negative ridiculous mindspace but it is a bucket of fail.

That may be the biggest cross to bear with mental illness. NO ONE, even those with mental illness themselves, can ever quite grasp how real the distortions are. You WANT to snap out of it, shake it off, get over it. But you can’t pull it off because YOUR BRAIN ISN’T WORKING PROPERLY. It’s not just a mood or neuroses, it’s an entire mental state that colors every aspect of your existance, and it colors it negatively no matter how good your intentions are. Worse thing, you never know when it’s going to go dark that way and all you can do is roll with the punches and try to keep your head above water.

I guess my wins for the day were making my kid happy by taking her to camp so she could go skating and getting my beloved Orange Vanilla Coke.

That and a fellow blogger who IS AWESOME posted something that resonated on so many levels for me. Please read it, it’s not long but it is succinct and sincere in a way my rambling bumbling hot mess self expressive manner ever could be. I am seeking my tribe, have been for years. For awhile, I even found it, then it fell apart. But I am still looking. I still seek out those who can say ‘me too’ when it comes to these mental distortions and metastasized anxieties. Just. Read. It.

And for the love of pegacorn, stop flushing your drugs to stave off the meth gators and chip in to buy those rodents some freaking birth control!

Honestly, oddball as it is, it still beats the hell out of the actual headlines I woke up to about racism, white nationalism, and all around…politics. Possibly the filthiest word in any language. I’d rather battle the meth gators and mutant rodents. They tend to be non partisan and they…don’t…fucking…Tweet.

The Fall After The Function: Vulnerability

Posted in anxiety, panic disorder with tags , , , , , , on July 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

All my life people have opted to focus on when I am functional, or half functional. They don’t want to know the reality so I appease them by putting on the happy face and feigning my way through it. It is excrutiating.

In my previous post, I spoke of a sense of foreboding that something was going to go wrong.

People scoff and tell me I am being ridiculous.

The dryer isn’t working. And I am not bright enough, or brave enough, to discern if it’s a simple blown fuse or something far worse. And it’s not like I can have people come in and look at it and see my dust bunnies and smudged walls and cobwebs. I try to get them all but inevitably, I miss stuff. And then comes the judgement and disgust. So I don’t like inviting even family in.

I just knew something was going to go wrong.

Now you would think it would be as simple as tidy up then get someone in to check out the problem.

I am afraid after a many months long depression and doing the bare minimum it’s going to take a major overhaul before I feel comfortable letting people see the worst of it. I know this does not speak highly of me but it is what it is. My kid has clean dishes to eat from, clean clothes to wear, she has food in the cabinet and fridge, she gets bathed and her social and educational needs are met. An unwaxed floor just doesn’t seem all that important to me. Except three months of spot mopping has, well, turned it into a hands and knees scrubbing situation.

People always ask, why do you let it get so bad?

I ask, why do none of you ever notice how hard I am struggling and offer to come in and help me keep it from getting so bad?

Their answers of course are, we’re too busy, you’re a grown ass woman, grow up,et al.

Their insensitivity to my life long plight is why they are not welcome in my safe zone.

I am feeling very vulnerable tonight. VERY. Like scared and unsure. I keep being told I just need to get a job, it will give me my self esteem back.

Every job rejection is a nail in my self esteem’s coffin.

I can’t look them in the eye and say I am stable because I am not. And above all else, they want a stable employee who will show up rain or shine or panxiety attack or depressive fort blankie moment. That person is not me.

I wish I could feel safe and secure and confident but the panic attacks and paranoia just play hell on every aspect of my life. The depression sucks the joy out of the most basic things that I normally enjoy. I try to force it. I push myself harder and harder. And this is the end result. A week of pushing myself to the breaking point and there are cracks in the facade…and I have no one here to turn to.

Meanwhile a little girl doesn’t understand why mommy is always looking sad or upset, no matter how much I try to explainto her that I had an illness before she was born and I still have it, nothing to do with her. I try to slap on some silliness and interact positively with her. I am with her every moment she’s not at camp, school, or with family. I am doing the best I can, at this time.

Still, the facade continues to crackle and split.

I just feel vulnerable and scared.

And I fucking hate it.

Carnival Of Terror

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, tonight is the carnival I promised I’d take my kid to. I did not sleep well. I kept waking up from bad dreams, in a panic, counting down the hours, knowing once daylight dawned…the next time I can sleep will be after tonight’s ‘festivities’. I am terrified. Of the crowds, of the traffic, of what if the rides come apart and kill us, or what if motion sickness causes me to barf or anxiety causes me to barf…I know the what ifs are stupid, but they are still there, shouting at me through a megaphone, paralyzing me with fear and dread. I thought I’d wake up with a strong resolve and not make it about me and my neuroses, I am doing this for my child…But then I get to thinking, wow, if the disability people hear I managed to go to one carnival in 25 years, they will declare me all cured and it’s not like the psych nurse will side with me…To me, it’s all a chain of events that could lead nowhere good. I need to just focus on making it a good time for my daughter and a survival exercise for myself. I mean, two years ago, I couldn’t eat in public in crowded restaurants. Now I can at least brave half crowded ones on occasion. Maybe if I just expose myself to terror inducing situations…

Yeah, they stick their immersion therapy where the sun don’t shine. This stress stomach ache I have complete with nausea and woozy head is nothing anyone would willingly expose themselves to. Never will it cease to amaze me that we are encouraged to avoid foods that upst our tummies, yet if it’s an anxiety inducing event, well, suck it up even if you’re physically ill and in agony. What the actual fuck, society?

I have picked a battle with one of the camp counselors who has done nothing but rag on my kid all summer over her clothes being raggedy or not fitting right. When Spook said ‘she made me feel like trash1’ and burst into tears, well, I opened my ‘legit legal’ email and fired off one to the captain of the orgnization. The reply was terse and about talking to the counselors so all the kids receive love and acceptance. No mention of apology that their counselor made my kid cry and feel so bad. Not that I expected much, the counselor’s hell daughters have been bullying Spook all summer and nothing is ever done about that because ‘it’s her word against both of them and their mother’. What a collusive bunch of crap. I thought since it was a religious organization they would accepting and kind and spare the judgment and play fair because, well, in spite of my ranty misanthropy, I do tend to believe in the good of others. Once again, I am proven wrong. Yay. It’s a much easier fall to just believe the worst so when they prove you right, you tumble an inch or two. When you give them the benefit of the doubt, you have feet and feet to fall and land unceremoniously on your butt and pride. But what was the alternative? 3 more weeks of this woman singling my kid out over HER FUCKING WARDROBE? That so called counselor should have brought the issues she had to me and me alone, not to a 9 year old child. And Spook called her a fashionista and it was proven to me when my overly critical mother saw the cut off shorts Spook was wearing yesterday and said, “What’s wrong with what’s she wearing, she looks fine.” If my mother the pit viper isn’t bitching, then someone’s snotty standards are too high. I am biting back a super bitchy response about this woman’s name being a brand of banana so obviously she’s fruity…Oh, fail, I didn’t bite it back. My bad. Make my kid feel like trash and cry and the claws come out, bitch.

I’ve already had another discouraging fail today and it’s only 10:30. And it’s an annoyance, nothing life altering, but I thought I’d paint my nails for the first time in weeks…Well, the shit I used was all sheer so I painted two coats, then a glitter top coat, and it was gloppy and even after 20 minutes it smeared off half my nails. It just gets to the point of why bother trying to look or feel good about myself when I just fuck everything up?

I still need to work on the bath and hair wash thing. It would not do to go to a carnival looking too skanky, lest I see an enemy or frenemy and give them the satisfaction of putting me down for my skank level. The saddest part is, were it just me, I’d give zero fucks. But because my kid is experiencing bias on her own wardrobe, I now feel obligated to at least feign cleanliness so they can’t judge her on my behalf, too. Not that people will ever not judge even if I looked like a million bucks. There will always be some little inane thing they will relish criticizing. But being unbathed isn’t gonna be one of them even if I have to hand the water hose to my kid and tell her to spray me down while I hold a soapy loofa. And you can smirk or laugh but there are days it truly feels like that’s the only way this whole bathing thing is gonna happen. Of all the places we had to get, it had to be one with no bloody shower. I hate baths, hate hate hate them.

So wish me luck, I am gonna need it. I will try to get a couple of pics of Spook having fun and me looking like a deer in the headlights but smiling fakely. It could be worse. We could have to go with my dad’s crew, they’re seeing the rodeo tonight. I can’t stand watching them rope small animals and then there’s the clowns and….NO. I’ll take the rickety rides of doom and the threat of stampeding crowds, thank you.

Fear And Sadness

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except…depression.

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

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

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

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

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

Frozen

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on July 8, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am on edge and frozen in place in my bedroom crypt. My dad said they’d be by sometime to mow, which translates into me mowing while he yells at me how I am not doing it right and it looks shitty. This is what I’d call a triggered anxiety response. What does not make good sense is that I could have been outside an hour ago mowing it myself so I could avoid them, but then again, this yard is enormous and all I have is a push mower so it’s an hours long process by myself.

I need to toughen up and get a Teflon coating so nothing sticks to me. Unfortunately, I’ve been trying for years and failing. Things do stick to me. Like being bullied by the very man who is supposed to unconditionally love and accept me and back off when I tell him he is doing something to offend and stress me out. Instead he cusses me, calls me names, and vows never to help me again. All because I don’t flourish under criticism and yelling.

I am still devastated by the loss of our kitten yesterday. It haunts me. It was an accident but that doesn’t make it easier. Fucked up as it may sound, I don’t think I’d take killing an evil person as hard as I am taking the death of this sweet kitten. Evil people and people who put you in the position of live or die deserve no mercy.

So here I sit in my crypt on the bed, jumpy, jittery, and paranoid that if I start moving around something bad will happen. Hell, yesterday I was just going out for some milk and….the kitten died.

I am still struggling with the trips to driving to town. Every noise, every sound as the tires roll over the pavement, I am convinced I have a flat. If the car shifts slowly, I automatically think transmission is going out. (It happened to my old Grand Am so it’s a feasible fear.) I get to town and wanted to run a couple of errands but…I forgot what I needed, and I avoid the store where the donor works unless I don’t see his car there…I did stop for am Orange vanilla Coke. Sometimes those little treats are the best you’re gonna get.

What would help me most of all would be to sleep at night as opposed to waking up multiple times. I am exhausted. This impacts my mood which heightens my anxiety…And the nurse is useless to help me except with the coma pills like Seroquel and Trazadone. NOPE. I may have a good mental health day and contact my insurance to see if they cover Lunesta. I’ve never had it but 7-9 straight hours of sleep and no hangover sounds pretty damn promising.

Back to Pandora’s Box Of Panxiety.

And once again, if anyone knows of any work from home opportunities, please let me know. I don’t care if it’s $12 a week for reading email and watching videos. That little amount could help buy pet supplies so it would be well worth it.

How fucked up is it I’ve had perfect strangers donate money and yet here I am begging for someone to help me find work within my disability limitations and NOTHING. What message is that sending? I am willing to work, I am just not willing to risk my precarious mental health by working in noisy crowded triggering places. Not opposed to fetish porn at this point. Yes, I am that far down the rabbit hole and my dignity has taken a backseat to supporting my child.

Don’t judge me, I am doing the best I can.

Sweating Bullets

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on July 5, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Today has been a bucket of mental health suckage, as well as physical misery. I took Pepcid before we went to town because I could feel a stress stomach ache coming on. We grabbed a bite to eat and despite medding up, I still got excrutiating pretzel gut and acid burning. This, on top of cramps, was about more than I could juggle. Traffic was a nightmare, it was humid as hell, and by hour 4, I was crawling out of my skin with paranoia, anxiety, panic, and this bad juju vibe. I truly was sweating bullets and feeling the fight or flight swearing anger/panic coming on.

Now I am home and I’m too drained to do a damn thing. I thought I might try to write but just eeking this out is like pulling teeth from a gator. How anxiety isn’t considered a disability is beyond my comprehension, this is messing with every aspect of my damn life, and even my physical health.

I made the mistake of watching a youtube video about a guy who ran a disability scam, allegedly, and they had pictures of him roller skating and running a race et al…So because he had some good days and some bad days and his illness was ‘invisible’ they deemed him fraudulent. You can’t post yourself sporting a smile on line lest it be used against you as proof you’re fine and dandy. I guess taking my kid to camp 3 days a week and managing to get the bills paid means I am all better. nOT. Invisible illness is brutal. Some people will not be convinced no matter how genuine you are. Maybe this is why I am so devoted to writing down every mood shift, every panic attack, every bad mental state. I want it known the struggle I face daily is real.

And this inability to feel safe when in town and live only for returning to my safe space in Armpit is really wearing me down. I don’t want to become a damn shut in again, like the last time some well meaning but idiotic doctor stripped my Xanax. This is causing such a hindrance every single say that I am ready to try CBD oil or something to avoid feeling this fear and panic every day. With my luck, it’d do the opposite and make me freak out more.

It’s 7:30 and I am ready for bed. My mind is a darkened room I don’t much like and I just want to wake up, not in physical pain, and not in such a bleak black space mentally. I shouldn’t have to make a trip to town tomorrow so maybe I can regain some equilibrium. I hate this way of life. I long for something different but I am only capable of what is within my limitations right now. That I keep trying should be what matters most. Unfortunately, with invisible illnesses, even your best efforts are met with blatant disdain. Attitudes towards mental health may be slowly shifting in the U.S. but there’s still a long long way to go to erase the stigma, the doubt, and the naysayers.

If you want tangible proof that my invisible disorders much up my life, ask me the last time I did something normal like go on a date or hit a concert.

8 years. It’s been 8 years for both. Because the fight or flight terror is so real, and the darkened mind space is so crippling. Out of bed and shambling through life is not the same as having a good quality of life. This is something people really need to learn to grasp.