Archive for panic attacks

And the seasonal anxiety and panic spring into action

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on March 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Oh, yes, what a busy little brain I’ve had today with multiple posts. Consider this blog the toilet for my verbal vomit to spew forth and be flushed away. Oh, wow, I do know how to paint a very disgusting picture.

We are two days from the official start of spring. And while that should help my seasonal/winter depression some…It brings with it a whole new series of challenging disorders.

Spring and summer mean lots of triggering sunshine. Traffic, people out and about, lawnmowers, barking dogs, kids playing noisily. And of course, the start of my kid’s friends knocking on the door wanting her to for walks. I say yes since H is 12 and fairly mature and responsible but the entire time she is out of my sight…I live in panic that she’s been hurt. (This kid can get injured in a plastic bubble covered in bubble wrap.) During the winter, we have less daylight and it’s cold and inclimate so the kids stay indoors. If I know she is inside safely with me, I know she’s safe. If she’s out there…And it’s insane because I don’t think I was quite this bad about it at the trailer park where well, we had good reason to be a little scared by our shady surroundings. Maybe because this is a different town, different area and mindset, I am hyperfocused on cutting the apron strings lest some well meaning asshole turn me in for letting my kid traipse round town unsupervised.

Today has been trying on the anxiety front. The neighbor texted and asked me to get her son off the bus til she got back in town. No biggie, done it a dozen times, and they like it cos he’s comfy with me and I do his homework with him so they don’t have to… In the midst of this and Spook’s babbling, the landlord pulled up outside. Instant freak out. I went outdoors to head him off because I can’t stand my safe space being invaded. Not without some notice, at least. He walked around the house checking to see how many screens needed fixed, told me to get the twigs picked up at some point when the weather cooperates more than an hour at a time, and he asked if anything needed fixed. It wasn’t so bad, but it was actually terrifying. Because the house is at a biohazard 3 with dishes in the sink and floors that need swept, mopped vacuumed and of course, the chaos of the middle room where I’ve just piled stuff on top of stuff cos I can’t organize anything. And every time I decide to haul it all out to the shed until my brain is more focused, I get sick or my kid does or it snows or pours. It’s just chaos at every turn and my efforts to get my shit together, so to speak, are epic fails and I try my hardest.

One of the worst things for someone with an allegedly and allegedly not A.D.D diagnosis (none of them agree) is when your sanity pills have been lowered so drastically that you can barely ward off paralyzing terror, let alone count on it to help calm your racing mind and help you regain some equilibrium. For me, it’s like walking a tightrope with no net and my balance is awful. This is petrifying. And I am raising a kid alone here, so it seems to me that being calm, focused, and rational should be a priority. Not when you have shitty mental health care. Their only concern is to shove pills at you and hope they work so they don’t need to be bothered with your complex case.

I am looking forward to the depression alleviating with the season change. The prospect of 6 months of opening and closing doors, impromptu landlord visits, visits from my father’s crew, the lawnmowers, the barking dogs, the semi trucks, kids screeching, kids complaining…I am not looking forward to this. Not on 1 mg daily of Xanax. And I only harp on it cos it works so damn well, there is zero reason for this draconian policy of theirs. It’s difficult not to take offense when someone screws with your quality of life. But with any luck come June they will get their accredidation problems settled and offer at least telepschiatry and perhaps those doctors will be autonomous as opposed to under the benzo dictator’s power.

I jsut don’t feel like I ever get any kind of break from my mental disorders. If it isn’t depression, it’s anxiety. Sometimes both. Sometimes mania. Sometimes hormonal dysphoria. I never get decent sleep and what I’ve been seeing lately on TV and on line where they experiment on how alert a driver is even when losing just one hour of sleep due to daylight savings time…and it’s terrifying. I could be going into microsleeps during the day and not even know it because I sure ain’t getting the rest at night. Not with this current ass trash melatonin, it takes 30 mg to knock e out whereas the stuff with B6 only took 6 mg to help me drift off. I wasn’t staying down but at least I wasn’t spending 4 hours waiting to sleep.

Ok, end verbal vomit. I need to take a dish scrubber to every inch of my skin to be rid of this nervous itchiness and the Lexapro bugs and being out of antihistamines.

Is it really too much to ask for things to go smoothly once in awhile?

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Nobody Wants To Hear About When You Feel Vulnerable

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , , on March 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Last night’s events with my child and the following third night of interrupted sleep…I am feeling very fragile right now. Due in part to the panxiety ninjas swooping down on me. I just feel…vulnerable. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. And our financial situation makes this other shoe inevitable, not a possibility. I keep filling out applications on line and even the secret shopper and such stuff (which apparently is not done anywhere near Armpit). I am starting to think work from home opportunities are all scams. Unless you have a degree and telecommute for a company you were already with. Or maybe porn. If I were younger and prettier I wouldn’t write off that last one. Proving myself capable of caring for my kid means dignity is on hold.

I’ve been texting my sister about Spook’s meltdown and how dad and them contribute to it, telling her to change everything about herself and fit in to country life. Constantly being told you’re great as long as you change this, and this, and that…Story of my life. It’s fucking toxic and results in shaky self esteem at best. I don’t force her to see them, she chooses to, but then I get the litany of complaints about the jerks they are. So my sister will go tell our mom that I am on another tirade about dad’s crew and my mom will go all smug and say, “I knew they’d be miserable there.” DUH. I’ve always been miserably in tiny rural towns, did she think I was gonna wake up in my forties and suddenly change my view? Small towns have been the bane of my existence since I was 10, thwy have given me zero reason to not view them negatively. And since I moved out at 17 to escape mainly my dad, well, yeah, him being a pain in my ass was pretty much a given. But my kid needed a home and we didn’t have a choice, so here we are.

I hate that you can’t discuss anything in this family without it making the rounds to everyone else. And then everyone judging and gloating or getting into arguments. It’s a lonely place to have a family like this. Worse when you’re feeling weak and need someone to bolster you, encourage you, be supportive, and all they can do is criticize. My dad still brings up stuff from when I was 11 years old.I don’t know what their issue is with us having self esteem but they go out of their way to rid us of it. We’re not talking emotional shrapnel over a few recent incidents. No, this has been an insidious brainwashing process over 4 decades. It takes a toll. If those who claim to love you spend most of their time tearing you down, it wears you down.

Today I would like someone to lean on, to vent my problems to. I tried to my mom the other night but she went on a tirade and chastized me for not having money to get gifts for those kids’ bday parties so she and my sister went out and bought stuff. Which put me in a bind when C has his party later this month and I have no money to buy him gifts. It’s like anything beyond hello, how are you, and eating a holiday meal, interacting with them is just toxic to my mental health. I don’t want it to be that way. But it is, nothing to do but accept it.

Panxiety (paranoid anxiety) is a hellish experience I go through multiple times a week. I have tried to explain it to multiple providers only to get that ‘you’ve sprouted two heads and one is wearing a tinfoil hat’ look. Yet people with the problem themselves relate just fine. I just feel, even in my safe bedroom crypt, like I have a big target on me and everyone is armed with shotguns. It makes no sense but it’s been common for over 20 years. Since the Nardil incident damaged my brain. I fight it. Logic is powerless against mental illness.

So yeah, I am a very strong, tough person. Sometimes even a badass if you consider my fierce sarcasm I wield as a weapon.

Right now…I am weak. I am scared to death. I feel like bad things are coming. I feel hopeless.

But no one wants to hear about that. Some things never change.

WORD SALAD WITH A SIDE OF SOUP

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on March 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In case you don’t follow regularly or even sporadically, this post ties directly into one I wrote yesterday detailing my current struggles with my psych center.

I am still waiting for a return call, as I seem to be playing phone tag with this clinic director. Though I am beginning to get a complex and think she is purposely leaving me hanging in hopes I will get fed up and simply get out of their hair. Yea, persecution complex much? Only cos it has happened before when I complained about subpar care at a different center. I called this morning and left another message, so I might be labeled a stalker for all I know. Or needy bitch syndrome in which case they will side with their staff member no matter her errors. This is hellish. My gut is in pretzels. I had planned on going to town today for groceries but I am so scared of missing this call, I’ve been carrying my phone room to room and I just couldn’t make myself get on the interstate for that drive to town and risk another phone tag nightmare.

Once I stepped outside into the cold, windy gloom, it wasn’t exactly a hard choice to make. Tomorrow is supposed to be in the fifties even though gray and rainy but maybe I will feel up to it by then and pray to the sacred pegacorn this woman calls me back so I know where I stand, for better or worse. That is the awful part, waiting, not knowing which direction the conversation is going to take. Being further invalidated by this place is terrifying. I search my soul and memory and heart and I guess I could have handled the situation with a little more grace but I did nothing wrong. I even pointedly said I wish the NP no ill will, her detached style simply isn’t a good fit for me. Dear God, how well trained and indoctrinated are psych patients that we even question ourselves when we know deep down we are not at fault?

And the kicker is, I am not the least bit malleable or one to follow. Most stuff, I know who I am, what I want, what I like, and it’s just my personal tastes, there is no wrong involved. But when it comes to this psych professional stuff, I am filled with self doubt and I blame all the therapy. By pointing out my every failing they taught me not to trust myself, at all. That,too, is my own personal belief, not a blanket statement and certainly not intended to besmirch therapy for those who find it helpful and have kind caring professionals.

I am all shook up today. I have this little quirk where I pee a lot when my anxiety reaches fever pitch. I am so terrified of missing this call, I have even been taking the phone to the bathroom with me which is NOT my normal, at all. I am repulsed by those who think they are so important they have to take their phone to the toilet. It’s what, 90 seconds at most to go pee> Geesh. But this call tag thing has me ready to yank out tufts of my own hair so I continue to walk on eggshells with my phone firmly in hand.

So salad and soup via words is what this post amounts to. I am not blind to my own banality. Or how disorganized my thoughts are. My mind is a giant junk drawer filled with long forgotten items, and they all just spill forth yet the item you want is never to be found amidst the chaos. I also think the time change and nearing the season change may have me a little hypomanic, at least mentally. I sure as hell am not accomplishing a damn thing physically.

I am on day 11 of Lexapro and it seems the itchy bug sensation as subsided as long as I don’t take all my meds at once. Saturday I go up to 20mg. I want to think it’s having a positive effect but 11 days in at the lowest dose really isn’t a valid gauge of whether it is or is not working. So far the side effects seem to be constipation and the death of my libido but at this point, if it gets me out of depressive purgatory, I may be willing to suck it up.

Time to pee again with the phone in tow. (Grossness.) But the anxiety just has this impact on me whether I’ve had much liquid to drink or not. It’s embarrassing, especially when surrounded by people without tact or boundaries who are constantly asking why you pee so much. Low anxiety days, I don’t so, I can only draw a parallel between high anxiety and this overactive bladder thing.

If you haven’t done so, please do visit our gofundme page. I posted a short video this time as opposed to just a picture and novel length text story. It details why we need money, what I am willing to do to earn it, how I am trying to help myself in this situation, and well..it’s a hearfelt plea. All of this stuff weighs heavily on me and I think it does impact my writing and how organized my thoughts are. I am creatively starving due to all this other stuff devouring my love for written regurgitation. (And you are welcome for that mental image.)

And the mental healthcare sadism continues

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on March 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

For the shorter version…Got a call from number I didn’t recognize, panicked, let it go to voice mail. Two hours later I worked up the nerve to check said message with a pounding heart and sweating palms. It was the psych center clinic director (I thought it was the anti benzo doctor who was director, but I guess not.) She said to give her a call between 2 and 4 p.m. to discuss the concerns I raised about the center.

Hour after hour waiting. Screwing up the courage to make the call. To leave a message. Then the grueling sweaty palmed ricocheting heart and paranoia and fear. The need for it to be over with either way.

I tried two more times for it to go to voice mail again. 4 p.m. passed. 5 p.m. passed. No return call. Radio silence.

So once again I feel completely ignored, discounted, and my disdain for the entire medical field and administrators decompensates because no one with an iota of knowledge on panic disorder would put someone with said disorder through another night of anxiety, not knowing what shoe is about to drop, is this a good call, a bad call, will she even get back to me tomorrow? I feel frozen like a deer in headlights and my mood is very low and fearful and I am edgy and wouldn’t let my kid have a playdate today cos I was waiting for this call, and by not getting the call, I got more anxious and irate, could not handle another kid.

Guess the lesson to be learned here is answer every call even if you don’t recognize the number.

Or here’s a radical idea-if you say call between said hours and aren’t available and can’t return a voice mail…just don’t say you will in the first place.

But then again applying logic to a field where they charge $12 for two Tylenol and psychiatrists are now moving toward a treatment model focusing on interviewing your family, friends, and coworkers as it is more accurate than interviewing you…Logic is out the bloody window.

Much information can be gleaned that way, but they fail to recognize that others come with their own bias, their own belief/disbelief in mental health issues, and they often have zero clue what you are internalizing so placing this new level of importance on that seems ill conceived, ill advised, and well, mentally ill.

Back to wringing my hands nervously while my belly does flipflops. These people are either completely inept or they are sadists putting me through all of this crap.

The Mental Crickets Are Chirping

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , on March 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

All my life I have been forcefed upon the notion that panic attacks will not kill me. DERP. However, when you can’t breathe through them and the physical symptoms aren’t things you can hide…well, the terror is very real, whether it kills you or not. Especially terrifying is when everyday things no one else would think twice about spark a fear within you that while irrational, is nearly paralyzing.

Like getting phone calls from local numbers. I recognize the exchange but not the caller. My mind starts going to town on all the awful things it could be. Most of the time I don’t answer it, figuring if it is important enough they will leave a message. That gives me some semblance of control so that I can retrieve the message later on when not feeling all fight and flighty. That simple act of ‘ bravery’ may not come for days, though, for me.

I am further stressed out by simple stuff like knocks on the door, getting the snail mail, or even running into people I am acquainted with. It’s been this way for years. It wasn’t so bad before the Nardil incident that boiled my brain, but it’s always been problematic. Now I am a tough love personality on some stuff. If I am just edgy and squirrelly, I’ll tell myself to suck it up and get over myself. Panic won’t kill me.

What panic does do, however, when displayed with physical symptoms you cannot control, is paint an unflattering picture of you for those who witness the event. I sweat, I flash hot and cold, my stomach churns noisily, sometimes I have to flee to a bathroom because the stomach issues are so severe. I tremble, I start to talk fast, I start mixing up words, spittle flies, and I very much become like a cornered animal. Fight or flight. Logic has left the building. And one of the worst things about my panic symptoms is…when I am really stressed out, I actually start to smell bad. It doesn’t matter how much I bathe or use deodorant or perfumes or lotions.I hit a panic threshold and my body just does its own thing. Try making friends with that symptom. Try impressing someone you want to hire you for a job when your anxiety makes it seem like you can’t even be bothered to bathe and not stink.

I have tried discussing this with counselors and doctors. Most of them don’t believe it is that bad. Most of them think I am making the problem much worse than it is.

My bar for measuring how disabling a problem is, is this simple question: “Would I react the same way were I going to a live music show or amusement part, doing things I enjoy?” And the answer is, panic does not discrimimate. It riots whether it’s something you like or something you hate. For me, dating has always been the stuff of nightmares, because you’re supposed to feel some stimulation and excitement when drawn to someone but my receptors are always on overdrive so adding this to the mix usually means I sweat, emit a bad smell, get stomach aches that are noisy, and become so nauseated I have to run to throw up. Kind of makes me wonder how I ever managed to have a kid. The only thing that has ever truly helped with this ‘dating anxiety’ is booze. That’s not an answer, that is just another problem.

So with my anxiety less medicated than it has ever been in my life and my mind in a place of shaky stability where courage is absent…Basic existence has become a terrifying experience, filled more with anxiety, panic, and misery than anything else.

There are times I feel very content, don’t get me wrong. These times are almost exclusively during the evenings after the threat of phone calls, door knocks, visiting family, and mail delivery have ended. I can take a Xanax, or I can take my antihistamines in triplicate and my mind will start to slow and I will start to feel less terror stricken and less impaired. Once I am safely asleep, even if I don’t stay that way, I feel my most at peace.

Saturday when we were on dog walking duty (those cats best appreciate what I did to get money for their food), I couldn’t even eat a bite until after they had called to say they were home so we were off the hook. That level of anxiety over what shouldn’t be stressful at all has been with me all my life. Never more prevalent than with jobs, where the only time I was ever truly off fight or flight mode, was the first of my two days off. By day two, I was back in dread mode, knowing I had to go back and the nasty symptoms would return. It’s almost like if you never let yourself feel calm and live on red alert, you can’t miss being calm and feeling content and safe. But that’s no way to live, either. The goal is a happy medium.

Which is why I think I could flourish working on line whereas I have had so many failures trying to exist in normal society with such crippling mental and physical symptoms. I just need a chance. I want desperately to prove everyone wrong. That I can support myself and my child with a little outside the box thought. I don’t need to earn money in any normal conservative manner. At this point, with my dirty mind and writer’s imagination, I think I’d rock the casbah writing fetish porn or doing some sort of sex chat. The added bonus would be going to the lokels and my family and announcing I TALK DIRTY TO INTERNET PERVS AND GET PAID WELL TO DO IT. Mortifying the conservatives is just fun.

Any thoughts on how one gets into this abnormal, seedy but highly lucrative net porn thing?

I am willing to write for my supper even if the topic makes me not want to eat my supper.

Neurotica Rants

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on March 6, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Thought I’d revive a blast from my past before Morgueticiaatoms was ‘born’. Back when I first started using a computer the boyfriend at the time had AOL as a provider so I set up two accounts, one for email, one for just spewing venom and brimstone and fire. In recent years Neurotica has been replaced by my new superhero name, Snarkasma (No, I don’t wear a cape and I don’t believe I am a super hero,pfft) but after a quick but harrowing trip to town…I feel Neurotica is rioting and wants to come out and play. Or rant, as it were.

First off, last night was an unblessed hellride because no amount of melatonin was knocking me out. I eventually nodded off in the middle of Perry Mason but by then I was downright pissed off. It should not be that difficult to fall asleep, it is a basic biological function, ffs! I woke several times during the night. When I got up, I had oompa loompa ovary agony as well as feeling like my spine was gonna snap in two. I am talking real pain, not imagined or dramatically perceived. I thought in spite of needing to run to town to pay a bill (well half of it, I’ll get my disconnect notice next week) I was going to spend another day in Fort Blankie curled up in the fetal position shivering and suffering. I took some ibuprofen and it eventually kicked in enough that I forced myself out the door. I sure as hell did not want to, but I thought even if I could only pay half the heat bill at least doing so on the due date might curry a little favor. (It’s my delusion, leave me alone.) I had to make 3 stops and I could have used a couple more but I just wasn’t up to that challenge on this day. It took me ten minutes and 4 stockpeople at the store to just find the kiwi fruit my kid asked for. I was gonna get a chicken and make noodles but my god, the cheapest one they had was ten bucks. That is fucking highway robbery for non organic run of the mill chicken. I wouldn’t pay it for organic, anyway, I am too poor to give a damn about that stuff.

While out and about I got a phone call. From the school’s automated system. Get this- their basketball team is going to some sort of regional thing upstate so they are actually canceling the whole day of school so people can attend. Negative 5 degrees out, they still have school. Basketball game, they actually let school out. I didn’t even think the state allowed that kind of shit except for the actual players. Unreal. I did feel a little twinge of parental shittiness when Spook told me her classmates were pressuring her to go and she had to explain that we simply don’t have the money. 😦 She left out the most important part. I fucking hate sports. They bore the shit out of me. To each their own and all, but I remember vividly the donor having a tantrum one year because he couldn’t watch his superbowl so he only cemented my hatred for sports and rabid sports fans. Spook claims an interest in sports but as she can’t sit still 5 minutes or go 60 seconds without yapping, I don’t think it would be enjoyable. Stepmonster took her to a softball game last year and aside from the food they bought her, all she did was complain it was too hot, too crowded, too boring. So yeah even if I had $11 for a ticket and good enough tires to drive 3 hours up north…I’d be inclined to say…nope.

One thing that truly does make me feel like a shitty parent is that Spook asked my mom for school supplies for her Easter gift. She did not tell me she needed things because she knows I simply don’t have the money. I was knocked for a loop when my mom told me and I felt about an inch tall. Because my mom is happy fun ball ‘let’starve for two weeks but buy Spook lots of fun gifts’ so a child asking for school supplies was just an affront to her, well, happy fun ballness. I’m not sure how to get her the supplies she needs and buy cat food and cat litter, but I guess I’ll have to swallow pride and ask dad and stepmonster. They’re pretty good about buying necessity over happy fun ball garbage so she can get what she needs and grandma can continue to blow money on, well, garbage. To Spook’s credit, however, she has not expressed a single concern about getting stuff from me for Easter EXCEPT she is worried that we won’t be able to do our traditional plastic egg hunt. I don’t know how but I will figure out a way to get some cheap ass eggs and filled them with candy and what nots and hide them around the house for her to fund. Been doing it since she was 3, it truly is our tradition. Who knows how much longer she will be interested in kid stuff before she becomes a hellish tween and teen.

On the way back on the interstate, over the radio, I heard a loud POP in my wheel well and panic just ran riot. My heart could have burst from my chest like the alien from Alien. I have two front tires showing belt so a blow out is always on my mind. I just wing and prayered it til I pulled up outside the house. I was too panicked to even look if the tires were low or whatever, I just needed to come inside to my safe space. Likely it was a rock or something on the road and it got up in the wheel well at 65 mph and made a ruckus. Panic and logic simply aren’t friends.

I toyed with the idea of stopping at the Hell Hole Behavioral Health Center. Not because I want their crap ass services but because I really do need advice on this psych nurse deal. Least time I turned a doctor in, I got bounced completely as a client so I want to handle it wisely and in a mature, rational fashion. For all the good it will do, chances are good I’ll still end up with her nasty conclusions on my dysfunction in my file. Laughable since she’s spent 45 minutes total with me over 5 months. I wouldn’t trust her to diagnose or medicate my cats. I just don’t want to burn more bridges and I come out the one singed and blackened. I don’t know if that makes sense but it is what it is. I’m not a conformist but when it comes to medical/psych stuff, therapy has programmed me to always second guess myself so…it’s a sucky position to find yourself dealing with.

And that I guess is all for now.

If you are interested, please do read my short fiction story Final Performance. (Trigger warning.)

Indentifible Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on January 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I knew bad weather was coming but I had not anticipated it coming so abruptly or making me so anxiety ridden. The winds whistling and gusting outside my window have driven the point home, in combination with the fact that they are letting school out 2 hours early to combat a 15 degree drop over a 4 hour span. The water puddles are going to become sheer ice so I understand them wanting to get the kids home safely before that happens. Negative temps as a high is what we are going to be facing and I am nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Not only do I have an appointment in town later this week on a day where it’s going to be negative two at the time I need to be on the road, but these high winds make the furnace blower start acting wonky. It’s already started blowing cold air, indicating one of the necessary moving parts is stuck open.

One thing about living in the trailer with a constantly malfunctioning furnace is I learned a few short cuts for this sort of thing. Of course, I got dizzy with panic thinking what if this doesn’t do the trick, my landlord is stubborn and senile so he’d want to look at it himself then he’d call a repair guy but this is the season where you can wait days to get someone who is available…It’s easy for the panic to whallop you and your own thoughts carry you away.

Thankfully, I got it blowing warm air again without even having to go down to the nasty crawlspace basement. Living in trailer park skid row taught me a few tricks. It’s no replacement for the fact that the furnace here hasn’t been properly serviced in at least 2 years, if not longer, and the people before us had cats, dogs, kids, et al, so no doubt it is clogged and that is why some of our vents have such low pressure of warmth blowing through them. I am just praying we can get through this winter without needing to have it repaired professionally. The landlord might remember I didn’t pay full deposit and evict us if I bug him too much. Then again, for all I know, he may choose to terminate the lease when it expires March 31rst. I don’t know if that makes me more nervous than the prospect that at his age, with failing faculties, his kids could take over and toss us out anyway without just cause. One thing they can’t throw me out for is late rent, I’ve paid in full every month since we moved in.

Scarier still, sometimes the depression and anxiety of living here, combined with my kid’s misery at this school district, I wonder if maybe subconsciously I wouldn’t be less than offended if they did choose to evict us. We’d have no place to go but back to town on my mom’s sofa, IF her very sick roommate who owns the house would allow it. I just don’t think moving back that district is going to solve the issues my kid is having. She got spoiled in that trailer park where she had half a dozen friends over on any given day cos they all lived there. Returning to town would not mean a return to trailer park life where she has all these minions at her fingertips to entertain her and make her feel popular and complete. I keep trying to get her to explain how they are mean to her here but the best she can come up with is, “They know I pick my nose and they don’t like me.” Well, I tried to break of her that habit and warned and warned her so..she kind of brought it on herself. However, when she says she’s really not into how country they all are, well, that I can relate to. One of the teenage girls yelled at her this morning and I went outside and yelled back, reminding them who the boss of my kid really is. Of course it’s one of the local brats my stepmom and dad dote on but I don’t give a fuck. My kid, my rules. And if you’re country-ness means you’re being a domineering narrowminded bossypants, you have earned our disdain as opposed to if you’d just back off and shut up and mind your own business.

So, see, there, I have identified clearly two major forms of stress causing my anxiety to metastasize. It always helps when you can identify why you are feeling so shaky, anxious, paranoia, panicky. The times when it just comes in like a band of ninjas without a prelude, those are the truly hellish times. If you can ID the causes, you can take steps to learn to cope with them better. If you can’t ID the causes, though, that makes anxiety an invisible attacker you can’t battle.

So I accept that 1.), the impending bad weather and wonky furnace make me very wary and sort of terrified, and 2.) the intrustion of these locals who don’t know me but think just cos they know my dad’s crew they somehow have say over my child, that causes angry anxiety.

Living here, clearly, has not been mentally healthy for either of us. However, I don’t see any other answer except trying to hang on cos living on someone’s sofa in the middle of a break up could be constituted as me being an unfit parent whereas if we have our own home, it is evidence that I am providing her with a home of her own. I worry about these things, mainly because I’ve seen so many people go through ugly breakups and custody entanglements and people will use every dirty misleading trick in the book to avoid paying child support, getting custody out of spite, et al.

Earlier, I had the ugliest thought-but it also came attached to a sense of clarity. As I have no attachment to my brother or stepmom, once my dad is gone…we can leave this place forever, guilt free, and stepmonster can’t do a fucking thing about it. Guilt tripping me only works when it’s coming from my own blood. How awful is it, though, to be bullied into living somewhere indefinitely to avoid the anger of your father, blatantly expressed anger in the form of ‘if you leave this town, we won’t help you move.’ How controlling, how manipulative, how assholey of him. But again, it is exclusive to blood relatives so without him holding us under his thumb…Well, that and the fact I have no money in which to move but we had to move Febrary of last year and I had no money. But I did start getting child support once I found out where the donor was working and turned him in. I can’t wrap my brain around how small an area this is, where even the cashier selling me gas and a can of Mangorita, manages to relay word back to my dad about my purchases…how the hell can no one find the donor’s work place????? And that obnoxious stepmonster who told me months ago, “Mom has her ways, I’ll find him for you”…she’s two years younger than me and calls herself my mom, sooo idiotic and insulting to my real mom.

Ha! 3.) I learned from this post that in spite of my best efforts to adapt and acclimate, the town isn’t the problem. The family I can’t seem to shake is the problem. Their good intentions are gonna drive me and my kid into adjoining rubber rooms.

But this is progress, being able to identify the things that spark the crippling anxiety, make me paranoid and fearful, and seem to be oppressing my daughter and I both. Now, I just gotta survive this cold snap and the psych nurse from hell (not fair to her, but it makes me smile to put it that way), make it to spring, and the clouds will start to lift and I will once again feel strong and back to my hell raising ‘fuck em all’ self.

That’s the worst part of depression and anxiety, identifiable or not. It alters who you are to such a degree, badass bitches like me become meek little mice. I don’t fucking like it.

But I do accept it, identify the causes, and know that I can only hunker down for now and wait it out. I will be back, more badassery than before.

I have to believe that cos me living as a mousy meek spineless wuss makes me want to drink Drano. This ain’t me, this is mental illness.

That veered off track but…it’s honest. It’s all I have to offer.