Archive for panic


Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Psych professionals make mention frequently of compartmentalization. They, of course, utilize this concept in a healthy, proper way, as opposed to the compartmentalization, say, a sociopath would utilize. It’s sort of like this society driven division, not of personality, but of behaviors that are acceptable in certain situations. Of course, at work, you are going to be professional and work hard and whatever else your position requires of you. At church, you might genuinely believe or be a hypocrite and fake being pious and a believer. At a party, you might drink too much, or get too loud with the dirty jokes or bubbly personality. With your kids, you will be firm, loving, and consistent.

This is a healthy, normal thing, as long as it is all well balanced.

With the level of mental illness I am currently experiencing, it has ceased to be healthy compartmentalization and become a splintered psyche of insecurity, fear, paranoia, sadness, frustration, and a complete upheaval of every solid personality trait of positivity I’ve ever possessed.

I feel fractured on a daily basis. I never know if I am going to feel up and strong, or determined and energetic, or if I am going to be in that meek, terrified paranoid space where everything is perceived as threat and I can’t make sense of the alphabet even though I know it by heart but…I’m unable to organize my thoughts and recall it correctly.

This is compartementalization, exploded. I no longer have the luxury of solid little behavioral blocks, knowing how to behave in X situation versus Y situation. I no longer have the clarity to know right from wrong because it’s become so subjective, so fluid, and prey to my varying levels of mental illness. Parts of me have even started to reject traditional ideas 0of right and wrong, which isn’t exactly new for me, I’ve always rebelled against ‘the norm’ but I am in this place where “is it wrong to steal a loaf of bread” has become a confused multi part question of, “Is it to feed your kids? Because stealing is wrong but if you did it because your kid was starving, well, that’s different motivation than doing it for a thrill.” And I believe whole heartedly that like felony charges, intent should count toward misdemeanors. And it doesn’t matter if I am right or wrong or if polite society and the law agree, this is my mental space. I CANNOT DISCERN RIGHT FROM WRONG PROPERLY WITHOUT IT LEADING TO CONFUSION.

Killing someone? Wrong. But hey, were they trying to kill you first? Were you in fear for your life? Did they threaten you and you got tired of looking over your shoulder and just panicked to end the fear?


One day I am extroverted and make an effort to interact.

The next day I feel everyone is out to get me and like a threatened, cornered animal, I am on red alert, ready to slash out with words or claws or an inflatable orca.

And these mental states are so damn real, so convincing, that even when I am trying to convince myself it’s all irrational and distortion and mental illness…I’m not buying into the self pep talks anymore. I want to because deep down I know it’s logical. My current level of illness does not care about logic.

One thing I had going for me my whole life was that I could to an extent compartmentalize enough to ‘fake it’ for jobs, for social events, for family get togethers, for basic polite society.

Now I am so disturbed that it’s a perpetual struggle trying to put all the splintered pieces of myself back together enough to regain ‘me’.

I am not insane.

But I am battling a very severe bout with my disorders right now and my judgment is severely impaired, my logic MIA. Beyond the bare minimum to care for my child and keep the bills covered…I got nothing. No thoughts for the future, no hopes, no joy. Anhedonia has become the only constant in my life. That and paranoid paralyzing panic.

I feel like a shattered mirror and no super glue can put the shards back together to give anything but a splintered reflection.

May this be a temporary situation. If this is the new norm, I’m not gonna make it out alive.



Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , on April 7, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about how debilitating my anxiety is when interacting with life,and the world, because it moves at a breakneck pace I cannot process or keep up with.

I prattle about being so hugh strung and introverted yet having a hyper,uber talkative extrovert daughter. It is a lot to process hour after hour,day in and out. The child doesn’t slow down,doesn’t stop talking even to draw a breath.

So many days,like today, I find my reaction to her hyperactivity (or possibly she is just vivacious and I am listless) resulting in negative physical responses. Rapid heartbeat,racing thoughts,dizziness,breathlessness. It’s like she won’t stop to breath and that works for her but for me…I find myself gasping to take in enough air for both of us.

I don’t hold it against her,this is my damage,and was long before I had a child. What I do,however, is feel compelled to do from time to time is express to her that she needs to slow down and occasionally breath between sentences cos mom’s brain can’t process machine gun fire speech. It becomes gobbledygook in my head and the harder I try to force myself to keep up so I don’t ‘punish’ her for my own issues…the worse the physical symptoms get.

Fight or flight is my baseline for even small triggers.

Neverending motion,rapid speech,topic changes, this is all a trigger the size of a cannon. And I live in the same home with that trigger so…it’s easy to feel like I never truly go untriggered.

Today is not going well. She bounded out of bed like a bunny on crack and meth,yap yap yap,go go go. My heart rate hasn’t slowed down since and the constant babble and demands make me feel like my ears are under siege. It doesn’t make me dislike my child.

It makes me dislike myself. For not being ‘normal’, for being too ‘weak’ to process sensory overload,for my issues impacting her in any way.

I didn’t choose to be this way. I do everything I can to treat my disorders and adapt and endure and persevere.

The daily assault on my senses,though- I’m not one to live in denial and I am not prone to blaming others for my damage.

So that means every day…I end up filled with self loathing for something out of my control. Not a self confidence builder.

Now I need to gulp in as many breaths as possible and go help Spook with her fashion project. And hope she lets me have 2 minutes of peace to use the bathroom.

As I said,today is not going well. She had a tantrum first thing in,I took her crafts away til she’d calm down,and she physically attacked me with curled fists and snarling feral animal sounds.

The fact I don’t physically discipline my child,or ground her all the time,or scream at her attests to just how much effort I put into dealing with my triggers.

There are parents out there who’d take a belt to a child who physically attacks them again and again.

My self restraint in spite of my disorders has to speak volumes as to my dedication to my child and my determination to be a good parent even when my mind is constantly in fight or flight mode.

I try so hard. Maybe when Spook is older,she will look back and realize this. I just wish others old enough to comprehend this fact now could understand my efforts and give me an ounce of respect for trying so hard in the face of adversity.

Party Hearty…Not

Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 24, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My daughter is still at my dad’s house but each passing hour my anxiety rises. Why? What awful thing is impending?

My kid was invited to the neighbor boy’s 5th birthday party today from 2-4 p.m.

Now why on Earth would taking my kid to a birthday party make me anxiety ridden and panicky?

Event crowded with people I don’t really know, outside my safe zone, lots of unknown factors (like the year we were paid to leave a birthday party cos Spook was upstaging the birthday girl), rainy cold day making my depression worse…


My heartrate is up,I feel sweaty, even a little woozy. This is why I personally rarely go out to public events or even private ones if more than 3 people will be present.

The physical effects of anxiety and panic are disturbing and it takes a long while to restore equilibrium. While professionals may classify this aversion to events avoidance behavior…I have become wise enough to view it for what it is: the opportunity to make the choice to not become overwhelmed,discombobulated,and physically ill.

It’s half amusing how people with known food allergies are condemned if they go ahead and eat something that hurts their stomach or results in unpleasant bodily responses. ‘You know you can’t properly digest peppers,idiot,why’d you eat them?’

BUT if your condition is on the mental health spectrum and you avoid things known to impact your physical health negatively…then it’s avoidance and unhealthy behavior. You won’t try hard enough or push yourself hard enough.

WTF kind of double standard is that?

For myself,I can opt out 95% of the time and only feel moderately self loathing.

For my kid, I aim to barrel through the anxiety and panic so at least one of us has a happy life. Even if it means I will spend two days sick,trying to calm down and recover,I try for her sake.

I hate to admit how many times I have failed her in spite of trying my best.

This is where depression makes anxiety worse. If I weren’t clouded under a depressive bout, my anxiety would probably not be so metastasized over a kids’ birthday party. The disorders just feed on and off of each other,round and round it goes. The carousel never stops turning.

If my anxiety is as bad as any food sensitivity and even hinders my ability to go out and have a good time…

How dare anyone call it a benign condition.


Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on October 1, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I had the day/evening all to myself sans spawn.

Needless to say…I accomplished fuck all.

To my credit, I DID manage a trip to WalMart to cash the child support check and acquire some autumn clothing for my kid. (Last year, it stayed in the 70’s until late October, this year, wham!, all the summer clothes purchased are phased out by the cold weather). I did fairly well at that hell hole, around 5-6 p.m.

Given the main drag thru town was torn up by construction thus making a six mile trip feel like twenty miles of stop, start, OMFG, I almost readended that car in front of me cos my mind wanders!!!

It wasn’t til I hit Dollar Tree to buy a new $1 broom (I br0ke my old 0ne smashing roaches to death)…then the anxiety attacked like a fricking ninja. I got *most* of what I needed but I was sweating buckets. They had to open a second register and I think I line jumped just to escape the anxiety nightmare.

Also to my credit…in spite of my lack of will to ‘just do it’ I did manage clean clothes and such today and went to the shop for lunch with R. Occasionally, we share a laugh and mine was genuine. More often, he was on a pro-Trump tirade and I just smiled politely. Cos I don’t like either, and more importantly, I don’t have much use for politicians, period.

Except for Trey Gowdy, he totally calls these idgets on their (criminal) behavior.

He should absolutely be president, republican be damned. He wants TRUTH. I am down with that.

STILL not political and have zero desire to vote. Even if it means R belittles me with name calling. I’ve started to view him as I do Trump. Some valid points, BUT ultimately…an entitled egomaniac from means who has no clue what it is to be truly broke.

Just saying.

So anyway…a bumpy road today, figuratively and literally.

I accomplished nothing, really.

I guess my give a damn is decease, thank you and fuck you depression.

Why can’t I “mindfulness” myself out of this spot??? Am I evil? Lazy and in denial? Delusional?

You guys take a poll and let me know if I am a lost cause.

I remain unconvinced that I was ever found to begin with.

A cruise on the SS Panxiety aka Psychological Titanic

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on July 16, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

***I was gonna relax and not put on pants for awhile. Unfortunately I kept hearing car doors and got paranoid someone was going to be at the door and so..I opted to rush and put on pants. No one showed of course. But the faulty wiring sends faulty messages.

***My kid is in Uzi mode, rapid firing questions, inanity, screeching that damn Frozen song…And my nerves are crying out in agony because I am not in a space to deal with this right now. I took 1 mg Xanax and I’m still all panxiety twitchy. It defies explanation. And my doctor doesn’t seem to believe me, even though I told him many on the blogger network have taken a liking to the term because it’s an accurate description. He also didn’t seem to put much stock in my assertion that blogging and reaching out to others with mental health issues is a better support system than therapy. Seriously, I spend more time almost daily swapping comments with other bloggers and it adds up to far more time than what the counselors spend with you in a month. And his failure to understand what works best for me sparks sheer panic and terror because if your doctor won’t believe you and work with you in a way that has the best results for you…Prognosis not good.

***My paranoia and jumpiness has me unfocused. I just feel bad juju, that bad feeling in the pit of your stomach that something bad is coming. Logic be damned. It’s so bad, I have pretzel gut, I can’t stop sweating in spite of three applications of anti perspirant and the fact it’s not all that hot or humid today.

***Spook has decided to be at my elbow watching every word I write. I cannot stand to be watched when I am doing stuff, it’s nerve racking. I don’t even like being watched doing dishes or cooking. Probably why the only job I ever flourished at was when where I was basically my own boss once the manager left and I was in charge of the store. I make so many typos and lose train of thought when I am being watched and normally I am exceptional typist. Put some eyes on me and I become utterly inept.

*** It just hit me my kid’s birthday is a month away. That involves being around my mother. We’re going out of town to Chuck E Cheese. Outside my bubble. Unfamiliar place. Noisy kids and games and being stuck with my family…A month away and I am already sweating it. I should think, oh, it will awesome to see Spook so happy. Instead, I’m worried about losing it in public because the anxiety is that bad. I won’t relax full until it’s over and I am safely back in my bubble. Then starts the start of school madness, paperwork and more paperwork (even though they let you register on line, wtf.) The anticipation is awful. I’m not fond of surprises but being given time to dwell is even worse.

***I am hungry yet the anxiety has me so rattled, I can’t eat a thing. Not so much as a saltine. My stomach is churning far too much to even contemplate food. I don’t know about you, but when a condition affects your sleep, your ability to enjoy things, and even keeps you from eating…It’s a damned disability. It’s a problem. Mental health professionals need to get it through their heads.

*** I have also noticed that during the worst panxiety, I pick up on smells and I’m never sure if they are real or imagined. Today, I smell like, perm solution, ya know for hair. The last few weeks it’s been fire and some and it sets me off on a terror stricken search through the house for anything that could be burning. Turns out it always a neighbor cooking out. I guess because I woke up with my home on fire that time, I am super sensitive to smells like smoke or things burning.

*** Earlier I also hit on how easily I am scarred. If something happens even once and leaves me reeling…I become petrified of it happening again. I go on with life, but I am always terrified of history repeating itself. Just once is all it takes to scar me for life. That would make it seem like I have a weak mind and weak will and yet it’s not like that at all. This is specific to the panic. Every time I ignored that gut sensation…I was caught unaware by the bad things. Tis better to be aware of the possibility it could happen again and be on guard than to risk being knocked for a loop. Dysfunctional perhaps, but forewarned is forearmed.

*** An added suckage to panxiety is that I break out in itchy hives. I get this from my mom’s side of the family her and her mother have (had) the same thing. Pretty sure breaking out in hives is not normal and it sure isn’t optimal. Anti histamines are useless against the anxiety rashes.

*** I’ve been avoiding contacting R even though he asked me last night to take his glasses to get fixed. He and the Mrs got into a big fight because of him always being gone and helping people and frankly. I don’t want put in the middle of it in the event they haven’t made peace and she might view me as one more person taking away time with her husband. I just can’t handle any drama today. None. So let him contact me.

*** We were behind a cement mixer in traffic…And I had these horrible images of concrete pouring out and bury us in the car. I don’t know where shit like that comes from, but without saying a word aloud…My kid had the exact same thought. Bizarre.

*** It’s one of the truly wretched panxiety days. I feel like I have bugs crawling all over me and every tiny sound makes me feel scared and I am twitching and itching and I just have this sick feeling in my gut which is pretty much keeping me glued to my chair.As if getting up and moving around will result in some epic proportion calamity. Every time I try to defy it, fight it, it just makes it worse and I feel even more paralyzed. No one should have to feel like this. And the damned doctors should give enough of a damn to figure out what causes this shit so it can be properly treated.

*** Of course, my reclusive child decided today would be a good day to play outside. My nerves are frayed, getting up to check on her every sixty seconds.

*** Over 8 hours in panxiety land now. I thought it was dying off, but instead, it’s making a comeback. No trigger. I’d rather be asleep than feel this shaky and paranoid. And as if I’m not feeling shitty enough, I get to hear all about how others are doing better (good for you, but I’m not so a little bit of empathy?) I want to be supportive rah rah girl…Yet all it makes me feel is resentment because bragging about how great you’re doing when you know others aren’t…seems like hubris. Like someone who quits smoking and keeps bringing it up even when you’re still smoking. Could be the paranoia and I know it’s not targeted at me and people should have the right to wave their pompoms when all the mental health planets align…It just sucks to not even be able to feel supportive and encouraging because I’ve got nothing to give.
I’m a shitty person. I can live with that. From a dark quiet closet until that spidey sense thing backs off and quits convincing me that the end is near and I should drink bleach and be done with it because this panxiety shit is like living life connected a bug zapper getting randomly zapped every ten seconds.

Panxiety. It’s a Thing. And much like the Titanic, this ship is sinking.

Under Siege- Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on May 5, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Oh, yes, it’s that lovely time of my crazy cycle where my anxiety skyrockets. Phone calls, texts. IGNORED. I cannot cope at this particular moment. But then I sit here drowning in guilt for not being able to suck it up and just deal. And since it’s just a so called friend calling wanting me to drop everything to amuse him in his boredom, I should be allowed to be guilt free for nursing my bucket of crazy. But nooo, even that causes anxiety. And I am wondering if it’s tied to the Latuda which I took an hour ago and not even the Xanax is dulling the panic so maybe the insert was right and it is heightening my anxiety.
I don’t even fucking know.

The city checks the storm alarm at the beginning of every month.
Today it goes off and it seems louder than usual, seems to last longer. It’s perfectly sunny and clear out and my panicked ass is on Google, checking current weather conditions for some sort of tornado alert. Before the result even comes up, I am freaking out, thinking, I need to go get my kid. No, wait, they have a safe space for the kids, l live in a damned trailer…
Why oh why does it have to be the crazy panic? The “out of control logic can fuck off” panic that I nor meds can reason with?

And I’ve had it up to here with all the positive thought bullshit. I can no more talk myself out of these bad bouts than one can talk themselves out of the flu and avoid puking. They don’t get shit for being weak, they don’t have to feel guilty.
It’s not that I hate my life, or even myself.
I hate mental illness with every fiber of every being on the goddamn planet.
No one should have to live this way and yet, so many of us do.
I try to take comfort in knowing I’m not alone and yet when it comes to the people around…I’m less than alone. The only support I have is on the internet, which of course I am told is wrong because I’m being anti social and self isolating rather than pursuing a support system.
Yeah, what I need support for is the one thing people dismiss.
“Hi, my name is Niki and I am pretty sure the world is out to get me today and I am terrified like Freddy Kruger is chasing me, wanna be my friend?”

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
The mood levels, the anxiety goes up.
The anxiety levels, the mood goes to shit.
And meanwhile I am in this guilt ridden panic stricken limbo.
And I shouldn’t have to be, especially with a friend, who should be decent enough to understand mental health days are not optional, they are as mandatory as needing to use the bathroom. Biological function, mental misfires…It’s just as legit.
Besides which it pisses me off to be expected to drop everything and be on call for someone who completely uses me then blows me off then reappears when he’s bored and wants entertained. Bullfuckingshit.
Just because he’s been “good” to me as far as feeding my cigarette and Mangorita addictions, and yeah, he fixes my car…
What happened to being a friend, not just someone with some extra money to blow? What happened to a comforting hug or shoulder squeeze or shutting the fuck up and LISTENING? Or letting someone rant or cry if it’s what they need at the time. Or just not being a total shitheel who’s so narcissistic they think others are there for their useage only.
I’m spiraling out of control here. Panic does that to a person.
But I am scared of nothing, and the physical symptoms are there, and the guilt is strangling me and I am fucking pissed off, too. My addictions get fed with this friendship with R and yet my soul is fucking starving to death because it gets nothing.
I am supposed to accept “that’s just all he’s willing to give, you won’t get what you need from this friendship.”
I am not wrong to want to get what I give.
And if this is what I am reduced to, I’d rather have no friends.
Clown shoes.
I will come out of it but for now…anxiety has abducted me, and has me tied to a chair in a dungeon of dank darkness and I am prisoner.

If that’s insanity, then I guess I am insane in the membrane.
(God I hate that fucking song)
((How many blasphemies did I just commit in that one sentence?))
((((Riiight, I don’t mean to offend others but I also don’t subscribe to the “bad words will make you rot in hell” theory. I am already rotting in hell, in my 42nd year now, and it’s called mental ass trash fucking illness.))))

Blow by Blow Account of Panxiety Attack

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on February 9, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms


10:33 a.m.
My skin is crawling with anxiety. Paranoia is seeping in. I have no idea why. My ear itches, I assume someone is talking about me. (Thank you for that superstition, mom.) I am on edge. There was a knock at the door and all I could think is, what the fuck has gone wrong now.
I took a xanax.
Still I feel like I have bugs crawling all over me. I am itchy. Twitchy. Even my lips and scalp itch.
My nose itches, and again, thank you mom, I think someone is going to call or come by. What the fuck has gone wrong now…
It started last night, this can of crazy opening itself. I can find no trigger. It is maddening.
11:50 a.m.

I have numbed the crazy.
Last resort, of course. Truth be told, I can’t stand medicating unless I am at wits’ end.
And today I was.
The bug crawly feeling is gone. The paranoia is tuned down to two.
I feel shitty for not being tough enough to do it on my own. It keeps getting shoved down my throat that “you can control” it.
Telling someone they can control mental illness is as stupid, and dangerous, as telling a diabetic they don’t need insulin, they can just “think positively” and “will” their sugar levels into check.
12:27 pm

The bugs are back.
No, I don’t mean I see bugs.
But bugs crawling on the skin is the best analogy I can make to describe the heightened paranoia and anxiety. I am starting to think Xanax has a very brief half life. Maybe I have become immune to its properties to ward off anxiety. It works on violent panic attacks. Generalized anxiety…that turns into panxiety…Not as much.
Maybe I am allergic to my laundry soap or body wash and that’s why every inch of skin feels itchy like bugs are crawling. I have allergies out the wazoo.
But prior to having my daughter, I never had paranoia or anxiety this bad.
There’d been hope the whole pregnancy/labor/childbirth thing might shock my chemicals normal.
Instead, I think it’s gotten worse.
Thank god for my fragmented soul and compartmentalized personality. I can paste on the happy face and fool people for the most part while shielding my child from mommy’s crazy.
I just wish something would shield me from my crazy.
3:16 p.m.

Picked my kid up from mom’s. Took me ninety mins to get her to leave because there were other kids there. And when I walked in, Spook let out a shriek, “Mommy, you’re not supposed to be here, you’re ruining it!”
Yeah, I felt wanted. And I have her 26 hours to play there.
Then I get her home and not two minutes in she starts throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t let her wear her muddy shoes inside.
Then it was being told she needed pants because her dress is too short.
Parenting is a thankless job. She always acts out like this when she goes to my mom’s. My mom has no rules, everything is yes.
Not to mention all the lies she told mom (like I make her go to bed at 7pm) trying to start shit.
My anxiety was bad.
This isn’t helping.
I just wish I could find a way to reach my daughter. Firmness doesn’t work, calm and quiet doesn’t work, nothing bloody works.
I’d say for being so unstable, I am doing pretty damn well considering how difficult my child is.
Though it is no wonder my anxiety is off the charts and I am so exhausted every minute of the day. Between mental illness and a headstrong disobedient kid, it drains you.
Least the bug feeling is gone.
For now.
3:55 p.m.

My daughter wanted to videotape me using her Leap Pad.
I played along, did the zombie mommy/want brains thing.
But I am so high strung and self conscious, it made me start breaking out in hives.
This is why I don’t do video chat.
Or maybe the hives are because my dad is coming by. A visit with both parents in one day…Yeah, that’d do it.
6:30 p.m.

I wave the white flag. My kid refused to eat what I fixed for supper, threw a hissy fit even though she has eaten it many times before. I’ve had enough. Time to curl up in bed. If I am lucky, I will let her lay down in my bed and she will stop complaining.
7:00 p.m.

Starting to calm down. Fucking phone rings. Now my anxiety is up and my kid is bouncing off walls again. Fuck
8:10 p.m.

Once again, getting her to wind down…And the damned phone rings again. My mood is vile, my nerves are frayed ropes, and I am really just exhausted.
10:50 p.m.

Kid finally fell asleep. After an hour of her snoring and hogging the bed, I carried her to her own bed. Only then did I begin to relax. Truth be told, I don’t like to sleep with others. It makes me nervous. I am up and down too often and the stress of not waking a bedmate is too much.
Of course, now my mind won’t stop churning and I took the xanax.
Tick tock.
I was ready to zonk at 6:30, tapped the fuck out.
Always good to know my battery bunny neurotic brain always has the energy to hasten my descent into madness.