It's been quite a while since I've written anything here, and while I do sit down occasionally, and think about posting, I typically find that I don't know what I want to say.
For the past four (almost five now) months I've been taking medication for my anxiety. It has helped, a lot actually, but I've also found that my personality on medication is quite different than off. Not in a bad way, nor in a multiple personality way, I'm still very much me, so to speak, I just find that my attention span is a great deal shorter, and that my interest in certain things has waned, while interest in other things has peaked.
One thing I have sort of rediscovered is my passion for photography. I've always loved it, but I like to take pictures outside, of nature, trees, abandoned buildings, and when I'm depressed I tend to stay inside and/or sleep all day so I don't get to do that as much. Lately, though, I've gotten back into the habit of taking my camera everywhere.
I've also found that while I still love crafting and sewing, I just can't sit through cutting out/sewing entire projects anymore. (Or at least not all at once - I have completed a couple of things, but they were stretched out over a few days.) I spend less time reading blogs, and I can't even remember the last time I looked at Pinterest. (That's a good thing, though!)
I feel better, mentally, and physically too - I recently joined a belly dancing class taught by a friends mom and it is so fun! Meeting new people, having something that is mine, a reason to get out of the house alone that doesn't involve shopping, I think, is really a huge part of rediscovering my identity, reconnecting with aspects of my self and personality that may have gotten lost throughout this long journey of depression and anxiety.
Anyway, I know that's not much of an update, but I do plan to write more, soon, I just wanted to explain a bit why I've been MIA for so long.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
03 July, 2013
17 March, 2013
Lazy Sunday
Today wasn't supposed to be such a lazy day, we had plans to go downtown for the St. Patrick's Day festivities, but I'm just so wiped out. I'm not used to going out and doing something every single day of the week (even if it was just shopping), and then when Josh got back we went out to the club where he DJs three nights in a row! So I decided to take today to relax, wash clothes, and get ready for this next week....
Josh has to go on another trip, but since it's only to Dallas, he decided to drive and take me with him. Which means that I am currently trying to do all the laundry, and decided what I want to take, and really hoping that this sore throat and cough I woke up with today doesn't turn into a full-blown cold. I also have a doctors appointment tomorrow afternoon, so we'll probably get up, go pick up our rental, wait for Aaron to get here (Joshs brother, he's house/dog/cat sitting for us), go to my doctors appointment, then pack up and leave since Josh has to get there and immediately get to work. I also have to call and reschedule my eye doctors appointment that I had on Wednesday, since we won't be back until late Wednesday night. And then, of course, we're right back to Thursday which is Joshs night to play.
I'm not complaining. Not in the least, I'm actually glad that we've got some fun stuff (finally!) happening in this town, and I'm definitely appreciative of the fact that Josh has such a great job that allows for us to do all the things we want, and that I can go on this trip with him, it just seems like it all happened at the same time. And I'm trying to hold it together, but...it's hard. I had to deal with a lot of anxiety triggers this week, but in all honesty, I didn't have time to have another anxiety attack.
I really would like to just lay down and go to sleep right now but I still have a lot of stuff that needs to get done before we leave tomorrow, and Josh is pretty useless in that sense. I'm also worried that if I go to sleep I'm just going to wake up even sicker, and want to do less than I do now. Anyway, I hope everyone has a great week, I probably won't get back on here until next weekend.
Josh has to go on another trip, but since it's only to Dallas, he decided to drive and take me with him. Which means that I am currently trying to do all the laundry, and decided what I want to take, and really hoping that this sore throat and cough I woke up with today doesn't turn into a full-blown cold. I also have a doctors appointment tomorrow afternoon, so we'll probably get up, go pick up our rental, wait for Aaron to get here (Joshs brother, he's house/dog/cat sitting for us), go to my doctors appointment, then pack up and leave since Josh has to get there and immediately get to work. I also have to call and reschedule my eye doctors appointment that I had on Wednesday, since we won't be back until late Wednesday night. And then, of course, we're right back to Thursday which is Joshs night to play.
I'm not complaining. Not in the least, I'm actually glad that we've got some fun stuff (finally!) happening in this town, and I'm definitely appreciative of the fact that Josh has such a great job that allows for us to do all the things we want, and that I can go on this trip with him, it just seems like it all happened at the same time. And I'm trying to hold it together, but...it's hard. I had to deal with a lot of anxiety triggers this week, but in all honesty, I didn't have time to have another anxiety attack.
I really would like to just lay down and go to sleep right now but I still have a lot of stuff that needs to get done before we leave tomorrow, and Josh is pretty useless in that sense. I'm also worried that if I go to sleep I'm just going to wake up even sicker, and want to do less than I do now. Anyway, I hope everyone has a great week, I probably won't get back on here until next weekend.
11 March, 2013
Emotional exhaustion
Anxiety attacks are so depleting. They take so much raw energy, so much emotion, but afterwards, even if there has been no resolution to the problem(s) you were stressed out about, you're so exhausted from the anxiety attack itself that it's typically easier to rest then.
Or at least that's been my experience with them.
I am supposed to be gone right now. Driving Josh to the airport, sending him off on the first business trip he's had to take in two years, but instead I'm sitting home, trying to keep my knee from swelling up even more, and wishing that anxiety was a curable disease...and that I was cured.
What actually set me off is not the fact that he was leaving, though, I'm okay with that; what I'm not okay with is the idea of having to drive to and from Little Rock (I've only been once, Josh drove and we just went to Whole Foods and back) alone. I'm good with directions, and have driven all over the place, from South Texas to Pittsburgh, and everywhere in between, but usually not alone. Plus, my knee is really messed up, worse than I initially thought it was, and being in a car that long would have been terribly uncomfortable.
I feel bad about it, but in a few ways it is more convenient this way. Less gas, less wear on the car, and I don't have to be worried about picking him up, and flight delays, and what not. He'll just drive himself home when he gets in.
I won't be stuck without a car, though, my parents are coming up later today, and they'll stay until Thursday...so I'll be alone (with the animals) until this afternoon, then again on Thursday for a few more hours. No big deal. Even if they weren't coming, I don't think I would have minded being car-less for a few days, not like I'm the type to run around and do stuff alone.
My appointment with the orthopedic specialist isn't until the 25th of this month, but if things get too much worse I may end up back at the regular doctors office before then. It's not really that it's painful, in fact the only time it really hurts is when I twist it to the side, it's just uncomfortable. It feels tight, almost like it needs to pop, but it's popped multiple times and that never seems to relieve any of the pressure. The only way I can describe it is like a rubber band that's stretched too far. It also kind of feels like my thigh muscle is pushing on my knee. It's gross, and weird, and I'm tired of it.
But despite all of that I am really looking forward to spending some time with my parents this week! Hopefully I'll be able to do something other than just sit around all week, my mom and I have a wonderful tradition of shopping that I can't imagine us not participating in any time we're together. ;)
We also have to go to ReStore, I have a few bags to donate, and my mom said she was bringing a few bags of clothes that someone gave her so that I could look through and see if anything struck my fancy, and if not we'd just donate all that too. I haven't done anything else since I hemmed up those shorts last week, there's nowhere for me to elevate my leg when I'm sitting at my craft table.
Josh got to DJ again on Thursday night. He could have on Friday too, but he wasn't scheduled too, so he was drinking...and he didn't want to embarrass himself. He ended up doing that anyway, mostly just because he gets ridiculous when he's drunk, but that's not nearly as bad as messing up a music set in front of a crowd of drunk people trying to dance. Then, he passed out in the car, and only woke up to tell me what a great pace I had going, and how well I was passing everyone without bumping them. (We were the only people on the road the whole way home.) I think he's been watching too much Nascar!
I'm making pancakes for my parents this week, I think I'm going to try the apple ones, so hopefully I remember to document the recipe and post it. I'm going to go finish trying to make almond butter now, and then hopefully get some rest before my parents get here!
P.S. If you're into dance music, Josh finally made a fan page on facebook...he posted a video I took the other night, and he's going to be adding some mixes soon so check it out!
Or at least that's been my experience with them.
I am supposed to be gone right now. Driving Josh to the airport, sending him off on the first business trip he's had to take in two years, but instead I'm sitting home, trying to keep my knee from swelling up even more, and wishing that anxiety was a curable disease...and that I was cured.
What actually set me off is not the fact that he was leaving, though, I'm okay with that; what I'm not okay with is the idea of having to drive to and from Little Rock (I've only been once, Josh drove and we just went to Whole Foods and back) alone. I'm good with directions, and have driven all over the place, from South Texas to Pittsburgh, and everywhere in between, but usually not alone. Plus, my knee is really messed up, worse than I initially thought it was, and being in a car that long would have been terribly uncomfortable.
I feel bad about it, but in a few ways it is more convenient this way. Less gas, less wear on the car, and I don't have to be worried about picking him up, and flight delays, and what not. He'll just drive himself home when he gets in.
I won't be stuck without a car, though, my parents are coming up later today, and they'll stay until Thursday...so I'll be alone (with the animals) until this afternoon, then again on Thursday for a few more hours. No big deal. Even if they weren't coming, I don't think I would have minded being car-less for a few days, not like I'm the type to run around and do stuff alone.
My appointment with the orthopedic specialist isn't until the 25th of this month, but if things get too much worse I may end up back at the regular doctors office before then. It's not really that it's painful, in fact the only time it really hurts is when I twist it to the side, it's just uncomfortable. It feels tight, almost like it needs to pop, but it's popped multiple times and that never seems to relieve any of the pressure. The only way I can describe it is like a rubber band that's stretched too far. It also kind of feels like my thigh muscle is pushing on my knee. It's gross, and weird, and I'm tired of it.
But despite all of that I am really looking forward to spending some time with my parents this week! Hopefully I'll be able to do something other than just sit around all week, my mom and I have a wonderful tradition of shopping that I can't imagine us not participating in any time we're together. ;)
We also have to go to ReStore, I have a few bags to donate, and my mom said she was bringing a few bags of clothes that someone gave her so that I could look through and see if anything struck my fancy, and if not we'd just donate all that too. I haven't done anything else since I hemmed up those shorts last week, there's nowhere for me to elevate my leg when I'm sitting at my craft table.
Josh got to DJ again on Thursday night. He could have on Friday too, but he wasn't scheduled too, so he was drinking...and he didn't want to embarrass himself. He ended up doing that anyway, mostly just because he gets ridiculous when he's drunk, but that's not nearly as bad as messing up a music set in front of a crowd of drunk people trying to dance. Then, he passed out in the car, and only woke up to tell me what a great pace I had going, and how well I was passing everyone without bumping them. (We were the only people on the road the whole way home.) I think he's been watching too much Nascar!
I'm making pancakes for my parents this week, I think I'm going to try the apple ones, so hopefully I remember to document the recipe and post it. I'm going to go finish trying to make almond butter now, and then hopefully get some rest before my parents get here!
P.S. If you're into dance music, Josh finally made a fan page on facebook...he posted a video I took the other night, and he's going to be adding some mixes soon so check it out!
23 February, 2013
Friday things.
Last week, on Sunday, I told Josh to go through the list of recipes I have and pick some out for the week. Then, I made a grocery list based on that, and he went to the store and bought everything. What I did not anticipate, however, was that he picked a large number of meals that yield leftovers...so now we only have to go replenish a few things for this next week, since we still have some frozen meat, and leftovers. Crazy. I should have realized this years ago. I have forever revolutionized grocery shopping.
Tomorrow night we're actually going to have a pretty fancy, and rather seafood-heavy, meal. Spicy shrimp dip to start, and steaks with saffron & lobster mashed potatoes on the side. I'm really excited!
The doctor visit went really well today. She actually concluded that I'm not bipolar, which was nice to hear, but then she said that I am delusional, which, apparently, is it's own diagnosis. I knew I had delusions, but didn't realize it was it's own disorder. Anyway, that plus anxiety NOS is what I have. Pretty sure she hit the nail on the head, though, because she actually read me the definition of each diagnosis and it was one of those, "Oh, hey, that's me!" moments. (Well, minus the exclamation point, I guess.) We talked for a long time, longer than any other doctor has ever talked to me (usually after one or two questions they hand me a prescription and show me the door) so it was really nice. I feel really comfortable with her, and I'm glad that it seems like this is going to work out. I have two more appoints with her, plus one with the actual psychiatrist (who, she warned me, will hand me a prescription and show me the door, but it'll be in conjunction with talking to her so I'm not worried.)
Just so I have a picture in this post, here is part of what I wore today. Alice + Olivia cashmere striped skirt, black tights, my Uggs that I swore to never leave the house in (it was cold and I was running late!), and you can kind of see my purse (Michael Kors) with it's fox fur keychain. (I pet it when I'm nervous.)
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get the smell of shrimp off your hands after you peel and de-vein two pounds of them? IMPOSSIBLE. My hands smell disgusting.
While we're on the subject of Annoying Things...my sunglasses are HERE, in this town, but I won't get them til Monday because Fed Ex is stupid. (Well, I think, I don't really know if they deliver on Saturday or not.)
I got inspired to make a bracelet today! Unfortunately my desk is still a horrific mess so it may be a couple of days before I get it cleared off, and work up the nerve to open my Giant Box of Fabric, but I promise it'll happen this week.
All those empty boxes from the gluten-free stuff I've been meaning to talk about are still in my kitchen. They're stuffed in a large bowl, and they get moved around at least once a day, but I haven't really been inspired to talk about them since I've cut out processed food for the time being.
Sometimes I get really sad about the fact that there is so much beauty in the world that I'll never get to experience. I mean, even if the whole world just stopped, right this second, and I never slept again, and spent the rest of my time alive just wandering the earth and experiencing everything this amazing planet has to offer - I still couldn't fit it all in.
"Getting old is a fatal mistake."
Tomorrow night we're actually going to have a pretty fancy, and rather seafood-heavy, meal. Spicy shrimp dip to start, and steaks with saffron & lobster mashed potatoes on the side. I'm really excited!
The doctor visit went really well today. She actually concluded that I'm not bipolar, which was nice to hear, but then she said that I am delusional, which, apparently, is it's own diagnosis. I knew I had delusions, but didn't realize it was it's own disorder. Anyway, that plus anxiety NOS is what I have. Pretty sure she hit the nail on the head, though, because she actually read me the definition of each diagnosis and it was one of those, "Oh, hey, that's me!" moments. (Well, minus the exclamation point, I guess.) We talked for a long time, longer than any other doctor has ever talked to me (usually after one or two questions they hand me a prescription and show me the door) so it was really nice. I feel really comfortable with her, and I'm glad that it seems like this is going to work out. I have two more appoints with her, plus one with the actual psychiatrist (who, she warned me, will hand me a prescription and show me the door, but it'll be in conjunction with talking to her so I'm not worried.)
Just so I have a picture in this post, here is part of what I wore today. Alice + Olivia cashmere striped skirt, black tights, my Uggs that I swore to never leave the house in (it was cold and I was running late!), and you can kind of see my purse (Michael Kors) with it's fox fur keychain. (I pet it when I'm nervous.)
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get the smell of shrimp off your hands after you peel and de-vein two pounds of them? IMPOSSIBLE. My hands smell disgusting.
While we're on the subject of Annoying Things...my sunglasses are HERE, in this town, but I won't get them til Monday because Fed Ex is stupid. (Well, I think, I don't really know if they deliver on Saturday or not.)
I got inspired to make a bracelet today! Unfortunately my desk is still a horrific mess so it may be a couple of days before I get it cleared off, and work up the nerve to open my Giant Box of Fabric, but I promise it'll happen this week.
All those empty boxes from the gluten-free stuff I've been meaning to talk about are still in my kitchen. They're stuffed in a large bowl, and they get moved around at least once a day, but I haven't really been inspired to talk about them since I've cut out processed food for the time being.
Sometimes I get really sad about the fact that there is so much beauty in the world that I'll never get to experience. I mean, even if the whole world just stopped, right this second, and I never slept again, and spent the rest of my time alive just wandering the earth and experiencing everything this amazing planet has to offer - I still couldn't fit it all in.
"Getting old is a fatal mistake."
22 February, 2013
On working out
Whoa.
When we got our kettle bells, Josh and I looked up a bunch of videos to get started; we figured out proper form, and learned a pretty good variety of exercises, then sort of put together our own personal routines, and have been doing those ever since.
I focus mainly on swings, and try to get in as many of those as I can. I started with 100, by doing five sets of 20, then moved to four sets of 25, and then upgraded to 120 swings by doing four sets of 30. Today I upped the number of swings I do at once to 50. I thought I was going to pass out during that second set! It was intense! I think I'll do one more set of 25, then call it a day. (That's not all I do, though, that's just what I do the most of. I also try to get in about 50 reps of various arm exercises, as well as doing a few non-kettle bell things, like squats, jumping jacks, leg lifts, etc.) Right now I'm still using the 20 lb kettle bell - once I work up to more than 200 swings I plan to move up to the 25 lb one and start back at 100 swings. Or whatever feels right at that time.
So far I've lost 7 pounds. (Well, since I weighed myself and started keeping track. That was on Jan. 14) I think that's pretty decent progress for 5 weeks. I know that it seems slow when I watch people on The Biggest Loser losing much more in much less time, and I know that if I put in the effort and worked out 4 hours a day I might see numbers like that, but I don't want to. I want to focus on a lifestyle that I can maintain for the rest of my life. I didn't gain an extra 50 pounds in 5 months, I gained it over 5 years...and while I certainly hope it doesn't take that long to come off, I think that 10 months to a year is a much more reasonable time frame. I'm not going to stress out over it.
I can feel a change already, in my arms, and in my stomach. My muscles feel more toned, and I feel...taller, almost. Like my arms and legs are longer. I know that doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel. And it feels good!
My lung function is also improving, which is great. When I was a senior in high school, one of the things that happened during The Unexplained Illness was both of my lungs collapsing halfway...leaving me with, essentially, one lung worth of breathing capacity. A few months later, when we moved to Arkansas, I lost my little breathing machine that was helping me improve my lung function, and so I just kind of used that as an excuse for the past 7 years...I can't run because my lungs are broken, can't do cardio because my lungs are broken, and I'm so tired of it! I know very well, and have all along, that I can do breathing exercises on my own to improve my lungs, and that physical activity is good, and also helps, even when it hurts. I've just been lazy and scared of a little bit of discomfort.
I'm finding, though, that getting back in shape after so many years of being out of it, is all about being comfortable with being uncomfortable. Pushing your body to it's limits isn't always fun: it's painful, and exhausting, and sometimes even scary. But - it's worth it. It's worth it because the alternative is lying in a hospital bed, sick, scared, dying, and knowing you could have prevented it. It's worth it because the end result is a body that can run, jump, lift, swing, dance, and hike, comfortably.
Anyway, I just wanted to document all of this, because at any other point in the past, I would have already given up by now. I always thought that if I wasn't losing 10 - 15 pounds a month then why even bother. I'd get discouraged, and think that I must just be destined to be fat. I know, I know, but it's true, that's really how I'd feel. This time, though...it just feels different. There's no impatience, no feelings of discouragement because I didn't lose 100 pounds overnight. Even my motivation is different - I don't have any illusions about growing 5 inches and turning into a willowy supermodel. I know that's not how I'm built. Instead, I'm going for fit. I'll always have solid, muscular legs, thanks to both my mothers genes and my years as a gymnast. Might as well make the most of it!
I am not looking forward to going to the doctortomorrow later today. I know that I need to, because no matter how much I want to be able to control my sickness with a healthy diet, it's really not up to me. And that's not my fault. So, I'll go, and I'll explain all my weird delusions, and hope that maybe there's some way they can fix me. I'm going to show up on less than five hours of sleep, though, so I may go in there and sound so crazy they just lock me up. DO THEY STILL LOCK PEOPLE UP? I feel like that's outdated, but maybe it's just kept quiet. Great, now I'm really worried. THANKS, INTERNET.
When we got our kettle bells, Josh and I looked up a bunch of videos to get started; we figured out proper form, and learned a pretty good variety of exercises, then sort of put together our own personal routines, and have been doing those ever since.
I focus mainly on swings, and try to get in as many of those as I can. I started with 100, by doing five sets of 20, then moved to four sets of 25, and then upgraded to 120 swings by doing four sets of 30. Today I upped the number of swings I do at once to 50. I thought I was going to pass out during that second set! It was intense! I think I'll do one more set of 25, then call it a day. (That's not all I do, though, that's just what I do the most of. I also try to get in about 50 reps of various arm exercises, as well as doing a few non-kettle bell things, like squats, jumping jacks, leg lifts, etc.) Right now I'm still using the 20 lb kettle bell - once I work up to more than 200 swings I plan to move up to the 25 lb one and start back at 100 swings. Or whatever feels right at that time.
So far I've lost 7 pounds. (Well, since I weighed myself and started keeping track. That was on Jan. 14) I think that's pretty decent progress for 5 weeks. I know that it seems slow when I watch people on The Biggest Loser losing much more in much less time, and I know that if I put in the effort and worked out 4 hours a day I might see numbers like that, but I don't want to. I want to focus on a lifestyle that I can maintain for the rest of my life. I didn't gain an extra 50 pounds in 5 months, I gained it over 5 years...and while I certainly hope it doesn't take that long to come off, I think that 10 months to a year is a much more reasonable time frame. I'm not going to stress out over it.
I can feel a change already, in my arms, and in my stomach. My muscles feel more toned, and I feel...taller, almost. Like my arms and legs are longer. I know that doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel. And it feels good!
My lung function is also improving, which is great. When I was a senior in high school, one of the things that happened during The Unexplained Illness was both of my lungs collapsing halfway...leaving me with, essentially, one lung worth of breathing capacity. A few months later, when we moved to Arkansas, I lost my little breathing machine that was helping me improve my lung function, and so I just kind of used that as an excuse for the past 7 years...I can't run because my lungs are broken, can't do cardio because my lungs are broken, and I'm so tired of it! I know very well, and have all along, that I can do breathing exercises on my own to improve my lungs, and that physical activity is good, and also helps, even when it hurts. I've just been lazy and scared of a little bit of discomfort.
I'm finding, though, that getting back in shape after so many years of being out of it, is all about being comfortable with being uncomfortable. Pushing your body to it's limits isn't always fun: it's painful, and exhausting, and sometimes even scary. But - it's worth it. It's worth it because the alternative is lying in a hospital bed, sick, scared, dying, and knowing you could have prevented it. It's worth it because the end result is a body that can run, jump, lift, swing, dance, and hike, comfortably.
Anyway, I just wanted to document all of this, because at any other point in the past, I would have already given up by now. I always thought that if I wasn't losing 10 - 15 pounds a month then why even bother. I'd get discouraged, and think that I must just be destined to be fat. I know, I know, but it's true, that's really how I'd feel. This time, though...it just feels different. There's no impatience, no feelings of discouragement because I didn't lose 100 pounds overnight. Even my motivation is different - I don't have any illusions about growing 5 inches and turning into a willowy supermodel. I know that's not how I'm built. Instead, I'm going for fit. I'll always have solid, muscular legs, thanks to both my mothers genes and my years as a gymnast. Might as well make the most of it!
I am not looking forward to going to the doctor
12 February, 2013
Supressed.
This morning when I woke up I felt lighter. Like some of my worries had finally been lifted off my shoulders. I think this whole sharing thing may actually be good for the soul.
During my 13th year (7th grade) three things happened that I've never told anyone about. At the time I figured since I escaped physically unscathed that I was fine...but while we were walking through the park today I realized that the fact that one of my worst anxieties would suggest otherwise. So I'm just going to put it all out there.
The first two are the scariest: I was followed and harassed by two different creeps on two separate occasions.
The first time it happened I was genuinely terrified for my life. I was walking through an empty park behind the junior high as a shortcut to get to the daycare my mom worked at. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this guy appeared. He grabbed my backpack and guided me in a different direction, towards a neighborhood. I just knew I was going to get raped and murdered, but I kept calm and talked to him, and didn't go where he was trying to lead me. Instead I told him that I walked that way every day, and that maybe we could hang out again. For whatever reason, that worked, and he walked off after promising to wait for me the next day. Obviously I never took that shortcut again.
The second time it happened it was in a more public place. After the first incident I changed my route - it was longer, and there was no shade, but I felt safer sticking to main roads. Anyway, I was walking down Closner, which is the main street through the center of town, when this guy came out of a pizza place. He grabbed the back of my neck so hard that I had bruises from his thumb and middle fingers squeezing me. He asked for my name and number, and I gave him a fake name and the number for our church office (I couldn't make one up on the spot, I was terrified!) and walked off as fast as I could. After that, I started getting rides from friends on days that my dad couldn't pick me up.
The third thing may seem kind of funny, and looking back, I can see the humor - it was a far less dangerous situation than getting accosted by a stranger in an empty park, but at the time, it shook me up pretty bad. I had stayed after school one day to try out for basket ball, and somehow managed to be the last one to leave. I finished up and went to leave, when I realized I was locked in the locker room. I freaked out, started screaming, banging on the door from the inside, and then I became convinced that I was going to run out of air and suffocate. (Remember - 13 y'all. Give me a break.) That didn't stop my panic attack though, and eventually (it was probably all of 30 minutes, but it felt like hours) a janitor walked by. I think I scared her pretty bad too, and I'm like 95% sure that I knocked her down I shot out of there so fast, but I can honestly say, I didn't look back to find out. My dad was still there waiting on me, and he said he hadn't been waiting too long (I had told him what time to be there after try-outs) so I know I wasn't trapped all that long, but still.
I don't know why I kept all that to myself for so long. I mean, I guess it didn't matter either way, really, nothing could have been done any differently. I didn't die, nothing terrible happened, other than a crushing anxiety that makes me terrified of strangers in parks and anyone I don't know walking towards me. But hey, at least I'm not scared of getting locked in places!
Eight grade was a lot calmer in that the only thing I kept secret was the fact that I once threw up in the bleachers during a school dance. Totally ok with that being a Thing That Happened to Me.
Well, that's enough of the past for today, don't you think. See, just talking writing it out has helped me immensely. I don't know how or why, I mean, technically as I'm typing this I haven't even hit 'publish' yet, so I'm still the only one who knows...but it just feels good to let go. It's like releasing it to the internet is my way of expelling it from being bottled up inside me...
During my 13th year (7th grade) three things happened that I've never told anyone about. At the time I figured since I escaped physically unscathed that I was fine...but while we were walking through the park today I realized that the fact that one of my worst anxieties would suggest otherwise. So I'm just going to put it all out there.
The first two are the scariest: I was followed and harassed by two different creeps on two separate occasions.
The first time it happened I was genuinely terrified for my life. I was walking through an empty park behind the junior high as a shortcut to get to the daycare my mom worked at. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this guy appeared. He grabbed my backpack and guided me in a different direction, towards a neighborhood. I just knew I was going to get raped and murdered, but I kept calm and talked to him, and didn't go where he was trying to lead me. Instead I told him that I walked that way every day, and that maybe we could hang out again. For whatever reason, that worked, and he walked off after promising to wait for me the next day. Obviously I never took that shortcut again.
The second time it happened it was in a more public place. After the first incident I changed my route - it was longer, and there was no shade, but I felt safer sticking to main roads. Anyway, I was walking down Closner, which is the main street through the center of town, when this guy came out of a pizza place. He grabbed the back of my neck so hard that I had bruises from his thumb and middle fingers squeezing me. He asked for my name and number, and I gave him a fake name and the number for our church office (I couldn't make one up on the spot, I was terrified!) and walked off as fast as I could. After that, I started getting rides from friends on days that my dad couldn't pick me up.
The third thing may seem kind of funny, and looking back, I can see the humor - it was a far less dangerous situation than getting accosted by a stranger in an empty park, but at the time, it shook me up pretty bad. I had stayed after school one day to try out for basket ball, and somehow managed to be the last one to leave. I finished up and went to leave, when I realized I was locked in the locker room. I freaked out, started screaming, banging on the door from the inside, and then I became convinced that I was going to run out of air and suffocate. (Remember - 13 y'all. Give me a break.) That didn't stop my panic attack though, and eventually (it was probably all of 30 minutes, but it felt like hours) a janitor walked by. I think I scared her pretty bad too, and I'm like 95% sure that I knocked her down I shot out of there so fast, but I can honestly say, I didn't look back to find out. My dad was still there waiting on me, and he said he hadn't been waiting too long (I had told him what time to be there after try-outs) so I know I wasn't trapped all that long, but still.
I don't know why I kept all that to myself for so long. I mean, I guess it didn't matter either way, really, nothing could have been done any differently. I didn't die, nothing terrible happened, other than a crushing anxiety that makes me terrified of strangers in parks and anyone I don't know walking towards me. But hey, at least I'm not scared of getting locked in places!
Eight grade was a lot calmer in that the only thing I kept secret was the fact that I once threw up in the bleachers during a school dance. Totally ok with that being a Thing That Happened to Me.
Well, that's enough of the past for today, don't you think. See, just talking writing it out has helped me immensely. I don't know how or why, I mean, technically as I'm typing this I haven't even hit 'publish' yet, so I'm still the only one who knows...but it just feels good to let go. It's like releasing it to the internet is my way of expelling it from being bottled up inside me...
11 February, 2013
demons of the past
I just realized that all day I've been opening pages and immediately pausing the videos but my speakers weren't even plugged in.
When we lived in Austin, I went through...7 jobs? I think. We were there for five years, the last three of which I held one steady job, so you do the math. Of those, only one got the requisite letter of resignation. At most, I just walked out one day and never went back. At one, I took an early lunch because I had an anxiety attack and didn't go back until two weeks later when I had to pick up my check. Not exactly noble, but then again this isn't a story about how reliable I am. (Which, ironically, was my best trait according to the people I worked for the last three years we were there.)
Sometimes I wonder if humans have a threshold for experiences...like the people that die in the midst of having some crazy adventure, if they just hit the maximum number of adventures, and that's why they died.
When I was younger I used to write constantly. I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and just wrote. Thoughts, feelings, perceptions of my surroundings, opinions of people, stories I'd make up about strangers, anything and everything that came to mind. Sometimes I'd write notes to people in them, and then I'd give them the notebook and they'd write back. So much of my life is chronicled, captured in my own words, and I often miss doing that.
I lived in my own little world, with my words to keep me company. When I wasn't writing I was reading, and I was perfectly content to spend the majority of my time alone. The stories I could create were very real to me, and they were better than the reality of where I was.
My disdain for the region I grew up in is thick, overwhelming, and destructive. I realize that I wouldn't be the person I am today without having had the exact past that I did. I know that the experiences I had shaped every fiber of my being. I made friends there, I loved there, and yet when I think of it, the only feeling I can muster is a burning hatred that grows the longer I think about it. I dream of the places I lived, the house I grew up in and the church/school I spent 6 days a week at when I was little, and in my dreams the depths of these places is vast, and I'm searching, exploring, yearning to find the thing that will allow me to make peace with my past.
The building I went to elementary school in, where my mom worked six days a week, and where I spent countless hours being terrified that someone was going to sneak in through the alley door and murder us all is gone now, but the secrets it holds will live forever.
I'm more scared of living than dying. Seems weird, considering that all of my anxieties fixate on murderers but the real fear lies in something horrible happening to the people I love, and me being left alone - abandonment.
I believe that the same way we can have a soulmate, someone who compliments us in the most perfect way, we can also have that connection with a place - somewhere that you feel in perfect harmony with your surroundings.
While my notebook keeping tactics are clear evidence that I've always been an introvert, they also served as a support system for the onset of my depression, as well as a clever way of hiding it for so many years.
When I was 11, my brother moved away. He'd lived with us for six years, ever since he'd come back from living in Spain. He was a constant in my life, always home on weeknights hogging the TV, buying me music, movies, toys, anything I asked for really, the best brother anyone could have asked for. One day, when I walked in the house crying because my dad has refused to stop the car after I saw an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, he asked why I was upset. When I told him, he immediately took me back to the spot where we rescued the kitten and brought her home. I named her Socks, and even though she was taken less than two years later, I'll never forget the no-questions-asked willingness of my brother to just fix whatever he could in my life.
When he left, I was happy for him. He'd escaped the Valley, for a better job in Austin, and he really seemed to like it there.
Then, a year later, less than a week after finding out that her sister had died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Because there was no one else to stay with me, and I was not the kind of kid willing to stay home alone, I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and later at the cancer treatment center where my mom took chemo. My dad's way of coping was denial - my mom didn't have cancer, it was just the doctors trying to scam money out of us. Since my mom was the one that was sick, and my brother was gone, I had no real support system. I focused my energy on school, and that helped for a while.
But then, because my mom hadn't been working, my parents couldn't afford to send me back to my private school the next year. My mom asked me to try public school for two weeks, promising that if I hated it, they'd find a way to send me back to Faith. I did hate it, and I had no friends, but I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to be a financial burden, and I certainly didn't want to stress my mom out.
I think, losing an aunt, even one I never knew, followed by being terrified of losing my mom, and not having anyone to discuss it with probably should have been dealt with, but it wasn't. I didn't bother to tell anyone that something might be wrong, because I didn't really know it was, and my parents were, understandably, focused on getting my mom healthy.
That's when it started, though. Even though no one was really mean to me (except the blind girl who attacked me in the bathroom with her cane), I just didn't fit in. The kids were tougher, calloused, and uncaring. I kept to myself even more than usual, and when I did make a friend, she was just as depressed as I was, and taught me to deal with stress in the most harmful way imaginable. But no one asked questions, and I took that to mean no one cared. If no one cared, then why stop? I started to sink into a hole of depression and self-hatred so deep that I am still working to dig myself out of it.
Sometimes I can't believe I hid it all so well - I was so self-destructive, so angry at the world, and deeply depressed, but in all that time only one person ever confronted me. Ironically it was my mom who convinced him that I was ok, and while part of me was grateful to not have to answer the questions anymore, part of me also wondered why she couldn't see it.
All of that, though, kept bottled for so long, has left me an emotionally damaged, unable to hold down a job, and slightly dysfunctional adult. And I blame the place. I can't blame my parents, they're my parents, they did the best they could given the circumstances, and I love them. I can't blame my brother, he's not responsible for me. I partially blame myself, because if I hadn't had to have surgery in the fifth grade, maybe we would have moved. But then again, maybe it would have been just as bad, or worse.
No matter what the real reason for my current mental state, the truth is that if I don't let go of the hatred I have for that place, I can't move forward. The place itself didn't shape me - the people there did, the experiences I had there did, but physically, the place itself - it's just land. I think it was so easy for so long to just lump all my blame on that, but now I need to start facing the fact that I've been gone for almost ten years and things haven't really gotten a whole lot better. I'm still lost, and I need to take a step back and find the real issue, so that I can free my mind, and be the strong, stable person I know I should be.
"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea
And the East and West, the wander-thirst that will not let me be" - Gerald Gould
When we lived in Austin, I went through...7 jobs? I think. We were there for five years, the last three of which I held one steady job, so you do the math. Of those, only one got the requisite letter of resignation. At most, I just walked out one day and never went back. At one, I took an early lunch because I had an anxiety attack and didn't go back until two weeks later when I had to pick up my check. Not exactly noble, but then again this isn't a story about how reliable I am. (Which, ironically, was my best trait according to the people I worked for the last three years we were there.)
Sometimes I wonder if humans have a threshold for experiences...like the people that die in the midst of having some crazy adventure, if they just hit the maximum number of adventures, and that's why they died.
When I was younger I used to write constantly. I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and just wrote. Thoughts, feelings, perceptions of my surroundings, opinions of people, stories I'd make up about strangers, anything and everything that came to mind. Sometimes I'd write notes to people in them, and then I'd give them the notebook and they'd write back. So much of my life is chronicled, captured in my own words, and I often miss doing that.
I lived in my own little world, with my words to keep me company. When I wasn't writing I was reading, and I was perfectly content to spend the majority of my time alone. The stories I could create were very real to me, and they were better than the reality of where I was.
My disdain for the region I grew up in is thick, overwhelming, and destructive. I realize that I wouldn't be the person I am today without having had the exact past that I did. I know that the experiences I had shaped every fiber of my being. I made friends there, I loved there, and yet when I think of it, the only feeling I can muster is a burning hatred that grows the longer I think about it. I dream of the places I lived, the house I grew up in and the church/school I spent 6 days a week at when I was little, and in my dreams the depths of these places is vast, and I'm searching, exploring, yearning to find the thing that will allow me to make peace with my past.
The building I went to elementary school in, where my mom worked six days a week, and where I spent countless hours being terrified that someone was going to sneak in through the alley door and murder us all is gone now, but the secrets it holds will live forever.
I'm more scared of living than dying. Seems weird, considering that all of my anxieties fixate on murderers but the real fear lies in something horrible happening to the people I love, and me being left alone - abandonment.
I believe that the same way we can have a soulmate, someone who compliments us in the most perfect way, we can also have that connection with a place - somewhere that you feel in perfect harmony with your surroundings.
While my notebook keeping tactics are clear evidence that I've always been an introvert, they also served as a support system for the onset of my depression, as well as a clever way of hiding it for so many years.
When I was 11, my brother moved away. He'd lived with us for six years, ever since he'd come back from living in Spain. He was a constant in my life, always home on weeknights hogging the TV, buying me music, movies, toys, anything I asked for really, the best brother anyone could have asked for. One day, when I walked in the house crying because my dad has refused to stop the car after I saw an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, he asked why I was upset. When I told him, he immediately took me back to the spot where we rescued the kitten and brought her home. I named her Socks, and even though she was taken less than two years later, I'll never forget the no-questions-asked willingness of my brother to just fix whatever he could in my life.
When he left, I was happy for him. He'd escaped the Valley, for a better job in Austin, and he really seemed to like it there.
Then, a year later, less than a week after finding out that her sister had died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Because there was no one else to stay with me, and I was not the kind of kid willing to stay home alone, I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and later at the cancer treatment center where my mom took chemo. My dad's way of coping was denial - my mom didn't have cancer, it was just the doctors trying to scam money out of us. Since my mom was the one that was sick, and my brother was gone, I had no real support system. I focused my energy on school, and that helped for a while.
But then, because my mom hadn't been working, my parents couldn't afford to send me back to my private school the next year. My mom asked me to try public school for two weeks, promising that if I hated it, they'd find a way to send me back to Faith. I did hate it, and I had no friends, but I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to be a financial burden, and I certainly didn't want to stress my mom out.
I think, losing an aunt, even one I never knew, followed by being terrified of losing my mom, and not having anyone to discuss it with probably should have been dealt with, but it wasn't. I didn't bother to tell anyone that something might be wrong, because I didn't really know it was, and my parents were, understandably, focused on getting my mom healthy.
That's when it started, though. Even though no one was really mean to me (except the blind girl who attacked me in the bathroom with her cane), I just didn't fit in. The kids were tougher, calloused, and uncaring. I kept to myself even more than usual, and when I did make a friend, she was just as depressed as I was, and taught me to deal with stress in the most harmful way imaginable. But no one asked questions, and I took that to mean no one cared. If no one cared, then why stop? I started to sink into a hole of depression and self-hatred so deep that I am still working to dig myself out of it.
Sometimes I can't believe I hid it all so well - I was so self-destructive, so angry at the world, and deeply depressed, but in all that time only one person ever confronted me. Ironically it was my mom who convinced him that I was ok, and while part of me was grateful to not have to answer the questions anymore, part of me also wondered why she couldn't see it.
All of that, though, kept bottled for so long, has left me an emotionally damaged, unable to hold down a job, and slightly dysfunctional adult. And I blame the place. I can't blame my parents, they're my parents, they did the best they could given the circumstances, and I love them. I can't blame my brother, he's not responsible for me. I partially blame myself, because if I hadn't had to have surgery in the fifth grade, maybe we would have moved. But then again, maybe it would have been just as bad, or worse.
No matter what the real reason for my current mental state, the truth is that if I don't let go of the hatred I have for that place, I can't move forward. The place itself didn't shape me - the people there did, the experiences I had there did, but physically, the place itself - it's just land. I think it was so easy for so long to just lump all my blame on that, but now I need to start facing the fact that I've been gone for almost ten years and things haven't really gotten a whole lot better. I'm still lost, and I need to take a step back and find the real issue, so that I can free my mind, and be the strong, stable person I know I should be.
"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea
And the East and West, the wander-thirst that will not let me be" - Gerald Gould
06 February, 2013
It doesn't feel like February.
My watch got here. It's the most gorgeous thing ever. And by that I mean it's the most gorgeous thing until I get something else new. Because that's life, people.
Anyway. Things are...weird right now. Not bad weird, actually they're weird in the absolute best way possible. That's all I'm saying for now. Have fun wondering non-stop what I mean by that.
I have a doctors appointment for the 22nd. Apparently I get to see a therapist who then decides if I need to see they psychiatrist, the psychologist, or both...I think. I'm not sure, I made Josh make the appointment because making phone calls when I don't know the situation at the other end is a huge source of anxiety for me. (Yeah, this is one of those that confuses me too. But I just can't do it. I panic and hang up on people all the time. It's awful.) It's sort of a long way off, but now that I don't have to fly somewhere and meet people I'm ok with waiting.
Lately I've been in the mood to go do stuff, but I don't know what I want to do. I think part of it just stems from not really having anyone to do stuff with, other than Josh. Which is fine like 99% of the time, I mean, we got married because we are best friends, and could stand to be around each other 24/7, obviously, but some days I just want a girlfriend to go have coffee with, and walk around the mall and talk to. I've found that it's much harder to find stuff to do when you're trying not to eat out as much. Everything revolves around food. Or shopping, which I'm totally ok with and really good at, but clearly, we're not millionaires. I can't shop every day...unless it's at Restore. But then we'd need a bigger house to hold all my junk. Wow this paragraph really got away from me.
I just want to get out of the house more. Also, I'm about done with it getting dark at 5 pm. I'm ready for longer days. (Sure I could just wake up earlier, but where's the fun in that?!) I miss Fredericksburg.
My brain is doing that thing where it won't stop thinking thoughts but it's going too fast for me to make sense of it, so I'm going to end this.
Well except for this picture of my watch that I'm posting. :D
Anyway. Things are...weird right now. Not bad weird, actually they're weird in the absolute best way possible. That's all I'm saying for now. Have fun wondering non-stop what I mean by that.
I have a doctors appointment for the 22nd. Apparently I get to see a therapist who then decides if I need to see they psychiatrist, the psychologist, or both...I think. I'm not sure, I made Josh make the appointment because making phone calls when I don't know the situation at the other end is a huge source of anxiety for me. (Yeah, this is one of those that confuses me too. But I just can't do it. I panic and hang up on people all the time. It's awful.) It's sort of a long way off, but now that I don't have to fly somewhere and meet people I'm ok with waiting.
Lately I've been in the mood to go do stuff, but I don't know what I want to do. I think part of it just stems from not really having anyone to do stuff with, other than Josh. Which is fine like 99% of the time, I mean, we got married because we are best friends, and could stand to be around each other 24/7, obviously, but some days I just want a girlfriend to go have coffee with, and walk around the mall and talk to. I've found that it's much harder to find stuff to do when you're trying not to eat out as much. Everything revolves around food. Or shopping, which I'm totally ok with and really good at, but clearly, we're not millionaires. I can't shop every day...unless it's at Restore. But then we'd need a bigger house to hold all my junk. Wow this paragraph really got away from me.
I just want to get out of the house more. Also, I'm about done with it getting dark at 5 pm. I'm ready for longer days. (Sure I could just wake up earlier, but where's the fun in that?!) I miss Fredericksburg.
My brain is doing that thing where it won't stop thinking thoughts but it's going too fast for me to make sense of it, so I'm going to end this.
Well except for this picture of my watch that I'm posting. :D
01 February, 2013
I'm rambling. Ignore me.
Hey, remember that time I quit drinking, and then got caught up in a Cougar Town marathon and Josh and I downed a bottle of wine together? And then I justified it because the wine has been in the kitchen for like three months, and since I technically quit drinking to save money, and we didn't actually spend money on the wine it was all ok?
Or how about the time I vowed not to buy anything for a whole month, and then buckled on the last day and bought Marc Jacobs watch?
So yeah both of those things happened today. I'm sticking to my guns on the wine thing (because really, the bottle was just collecting dust, and if there was ever a show that begged to be watched with a glass of wine, it's Cougar Town.) I have no excuse for the watch, though, other than maybe I won't actually have it in January...so, there's that.
I can justify anything. It's a gift.
In other news, my kettle bell set got here yesterday and despite my body feeling absolutely wrecked today, we now have two days of kettle bell workouts under our belt(s). It hurts so good. So. Good.
I'm getting really annoyed with my anxiety (because that sounds completely normal) and so I'm going to try and see a doctor and maybe get something to help me fall asleep at a normal time...and if I get murdered in my sleep, then oh well, at least I won't be having an anxiety attack while it happens.
Today we had appetizers for dinner. And by that I mean I roasted some potatoes, then covered them in bacon and cheddar. Because I can. Also, because the only meat we had left was chicken, and we had chicken last night, and I don't even like chicken, so I went with bacon instead. It's dead pig - it's totally a meat group.
(See? Bacon for dinner - justified.)
Anyway, while I did really well this month with cooking almost daily, I didn't really have a system, so another thing I'm trying out for February is planning meals, and actually buying the stuff I need ahead of time. (It's a genius idea, really, I should probably patent it or something.) I have no illusions about it becoming a long term thing, though, because if there is one thing I am horrible at, it's following through on plans. I'm great at making them, great at making fancy lists, but then I'll inevitably forget something really important...or the list itself. It's just something I'm trying out, mostly so that we can add some new staple meals into our rotation, because while Josh is totally fine with our tacos - s'ghetti - chicken nugget - steak - pulled pork - baked cod rotation, I want a few more options.
I signed up for a trial Rdio account. I don't have any pictures to post. That's all.
Or how about the time I vowed not to buy anything for a whole month, and then buckled on the last day and bought Marc Jacobs watch?
So yeah both of those things happened today. I'm sticking to my guns on the wine thing (because really, the bottle was just collecting dust, and if there was ever a show that begged to be watched with a glass of wine, it's Cougar Town.) I have no excuse for the watch, though, other than maybe I won't actually have it in January...so, there's that.
I can justify anything. It's a gift.
In other news, my kettle bell set got here yesterday and despite my body feeling absolutely wrecked today, we now have two days of kettle bell workouts under our belt(s). It hurts so good. So. Good.
I'm getting really annoyed with my anxiety (because that sounds completely normal) and so I'm going to try and see a doctor and maybe get something to help me fall asleep at a normal time...and if I get murdered in my sleep, then oh well, at least I won't be having an anxiety attack while it happens.
Today we had appetizers for dinner. And by that I mean I roasted some potatoes, then covered them in bacon and cheddar. Because I can. Also, because the only meat we had left was chicken, and we had chicken last night, and I don't even like chicken, so I went with bacon instead. It's dead pig - it's totally a meat group.
(See? Bacon for dinner - justified.)
Anyway, while I did really well this month with cooking almost daily, I didn't really have a system, so another thing I'm trying out for February is planning meals, and actually buying the stuff I need ahead of time. (It's a genius idea, really, I should probably patent it or something.) I have no illusions about it becoming a long term thing, though, because if there is one thing I am horrible at, it's following through on plans. I'm great at making them, great at making fancy lists, but then I'll inevitably forget something really important...or the list itself. It's just something I'm trying out, mostly so that we can add some new staple meals into our rotation, because while Josh is totally fine with our tacos - s'ghetti - chicken nugget - steak - pulled pork - baked cod rotation, I want a few more options.
I signed up for a trial Rdio account. I don't have any pictures to post. That's all.
04 January, 2013
Free
One the major downsides to having a mental illness (besides, you know, having a mental illness) is the way it affects every other aspect of your life.
For example, one's physical health. I've struggled with my weight for the better part of 10 years now, and I know that there is a vicious cycle I tend to get trapped in. If I eat healthy, and work out regularly, it not only makes me feel better and gives me more energy, it also makes me feel better about myself, and in turn, I am happier in general. But when I get depressed one of the side effects is that I want to sleep all the time, and am completely unmotivated to do anything. That includes standing in front of the stove for 10 minutes to cook a healthy meal. And once I start eating crap, it makes me feel sick, bloated, and disgusted with myself for having done so...which sparks yet another bout of depression.
Like I said, a vicious, vicious cycle.
It also contributes to how clean or dirty the house is at any given time. Laundry is never a problem; I love doing laundry, and never let more than three loads pile up at once. Occasionally I'll even rewash stuff just so I can have a full load when I have a craving to do some laundry. (Yes I get cravings to do laundry. Yes I also realize this makes me one very strange individual.) Other things, though, tend to get left by the wayside when I'm depressed, mainly dishes that have to be washed by hand and cleaning random spills in the kitchen. It's gross, but when I can't really muster the strength to care about anything else, the kitchen really gets the brunt of it. And, again, the thought of how nasty it looks/is can be so overwhelming that it sends me over the edge again.
I'm pretty stable right now, as (hopefully) evidenced by my ability to articulate both a rational and coherent blog post. Unfortunately, it will not last forever. I wish it would, I really do, but I have no illusions about my disease; it is not one that can be cured, and it is certainly not to prone to just...disappearing.
For the time being I will do what I can; I will treat myself well, feed my body what it needs, and hope that it prolongs this time of mental peace. I'll avoid my triggers as much as I can, take things in stride, and not overwhelm myself whenever I can help it. I'll do what I love, what makes me truly happy, and not worry about what anyone else thinks or says. I feel so free right now, and I want to keep this.
For example, one's physical health. I've struggled with my weight for the better part of 10 years now, and I know that there is a vicious cycle I tend to get trapped in. If I eat healthy, and work out regularly, it not only makes me feel better and gives me more energy, it also makes me feel better about myself, and in turn, I am happier in general. But when I get depressed one of the side effects is that I want to sleep all the time, and am completely unmotivated to do anything. That includes standing in front of the stove for 10 minutes to cook a healthy meal. And once I start eating crap, it makes me feel sick, bloated, and disgusted with myself for having done so...which sparks yet another bout of depression.
Like I said, a vicious, vicious cycle.
It also contributes to how clean or dirty the house is at any given time. Laundry is never a problem; I love doing laundry, and never let more than three loads pile up at once. Occasionally I'll even rewash stuff just so I can have a full load when I have a craving to do some laundry. (Yes I get cravings to do laundry. Yes I also realize this makes me one very strange individual.) Other things, though, tend to get left by the wayside when I'm depressed, mainly dishes that have to be washed by hand and cleaning random spills in the kitchen. It's gross, but when I can't really muster the strength to care about anything else, the kitchen really gets the brunt of it. And, again, the thought of how nasty it looks/is can be so overwhelming that it sends me over the edge again.
I'm pretty stable right now, as (hopefully) evidenced by my ability to articulate both a rational and coherent blog post. Unfortunately, it will not last forever. I wish it would, I really do, but I have no illusions about my disease; it is not one that can be cured, and it is certainly not to prone to just...disappearing.
For the time being I will do what I can; I will treat myself well, feed my body what it needs, and hope that it prolongs this time of mental peace. I'll avoid my triggers as much as I can, take things in stride, and not overwhelm myself whenever I can help it. I'll do what I love, what makes me truly happy, and not worry about what anyone else thinks or says. I feel so free right now, and I want to keep this.
19 December, 2012
plagued.
Sometimes the world is just too much, and I just want to not exist for a bit.
My head gets clouded with thoughts, and they're messy, disconnected, and overlapping, and I can't make sense of anything. I can't focus. People's voices mix with the words in my head, and I get overwhelmed. Silence is a distant memory, and the more I try to clear my head, the more thoughts clog it up.
I start to feel like I'm falling down a deep dark hole, but I can't ask for help. My heart burns and aches but my brain turns on me and tells me that I'm not worth one minute of anyone's time, and that I shouldn't bother people. I want to call someone, anyone, and just talk, tell them how I feel but my mind won't let me.
It says that I have no one, and that people won't understand. They'll think I'm crazy, or over-reacting, or just trying to get attention. It feeds on my low self-esteem, reminding me that I'm invisible, a nobody, a faceless statistic amongst a sea of people drowning in mental illness. I start to believe it.
I doubt my self-worth. I wonder what kind of impact, if any, I've ever had on anyone's life. I speculate how long it would take before people didn't even remember my name. How long before my animals stopped wondering if I was coming home.
I feel so alone, so trapped in this illness that lies, and breaks me down, and makes me hate myself. I want to tell someone, and I want reassurance, to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but so often I don't get it. Instead I hear "just stop being sad" or "stop crying, your life is good." I know my life is good, that's not the issue. And I can't just stop being sad. This pain is real, these demons are real; I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm tired of feeling stigmatized because I can't always control my emotions. I'm tired of having anxiety attacks. I'm tired of living with this disease, and I'm tired of feeling tired all the time. I just want to...rest.
My head gets clouded with thoughts, and they're messy, disconnected, and overlapping, and I can't make sense of anything. I can't focus. People's voices mix with the words in my head, and I get overwhelmed. Silence is a distant memory, and the more I try to clear my head, the more thoughts clog it up.
I start to feel like I'm falling down a deep dark hole, but I can't ask for help. My heart burns and aches but my brain turns on me and tells me that I'm not worth one minute of anyone's time, and that I shouldn't bother people. I want to call someone, anyone, and just talk, tell them how I feel but my mind won't let me.
It says that I have no one, and that people won't understand. They'll think I'm crazy, or over-reacting, or just trying to get attention. It feeds on my low self-esteem, reminding me that I'm invisible, a nobody, a faceless statistic amongst a sea of people drowning in mental illness. I start to believe it.
I doubt my self-worth. I wonder what kind of impact, if any, I've ever had on anyone's life. I speculate how long it would take before people didn't even remember my name. How long before my animals stopped wondering if I was coming home.
I feel so alone, so trapped in this illness that lies, and breaks me down, and makes me hate myself. I want to tell someone, and I want reassurance, to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but so often I don't get it. Instead I hear "just stop being sad" or "stop crying, your life is good." I know my life is good, that's not the issue. And I can't just stop being sad. This pain is real, these demons are real; I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm tired of feeling stigmatized because I can't always control my emotions. I'm tired of having anxiety attacks. I'm tired of living with this disease, and I'm tired of feeling tired all the time. I just want to...rest.
17 November, 2012
Midnight Confessions
There is a pile of rose petals under the kitchen table that have been there for approximately a month. I have yet to vacuum them up because there is a piece of tissue paper directly in front of them that I can't risk vacuuming. Clearly I could just pick up the tissue paper, and the problem would be half solved, but...I just haven't.
On top of my kitchen table (which, by the way, is actually a folding table...but a fairly nice one) is our humidor, the bag that holds all the pet treats, and Orion's travel backpack. Under the table are two coolers and three empty cardboard boxes.
It's been close to two months since the trash can lid has actually been on the trash can.
The living room fan ispretty extremely dusty.
We finally, a year and a month (to the day) after moving here, went and got our Arkansas drivers licenses. We did not get the car registered, though, because my dad is the co-signer and the title says 'AND' instead of 'OR' which means he has to sign stuff. Luckily he'll be here in three weeks. I feel slightly less bad about it not being done now.
We typically eat meals off our TV trays, even if we're not watching TV...because of the table situation. Also, because we're low on chairs.
Sometimes I like living like this. We have a lot of open space because we don't have much furniture, and since it's just us two we don't really ever miss it. I'm not too sure about Josh, but I grew up with a brother who worked evenings, and a dad who worked nights, so my mom and I usually ate alone or everyone ate at a different time. No one ever made a big deal about eating together, or family meals or anything. It's not that we weren't close or didn't spend time together, it just didn't center around meals when we did. And now that Josh and I are on vastly different sleep schedules (his due to work, mine due to insomnia) it's even less reason to try and get the table back up to table standards.
Despite the fact that I got through part one of The Plan (for putting away my fabric) my craft room floor is still not visible. I really do need to get on it, though, since the in-laws will be here this week for Thanksgiving.
I hate that I get overwhelmed so easily. I hate it. I would love to hold down a full time job, and have a clean, organized house. I wish I could go shopping and browse through things normally, without panicking and losing my focus if too many people get near me. I would love to wake up and face every single day knowing that I was going to get stuff done, without having to worry that I might have an anxiety attack at any given point, and shut down for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.
No matter what I do to keep it clear, my counter constantly piles up with useless, non-counter related stuff. And it's typically my stuff, so I can't even blame anyone else.
I have, however, gotten better at making sure I go outside, play with the dog, and run around and get some fresh air every day. Even while I was sick I would at least go walk the perimeter of the yard and get the mail.
I really need to do something about my hair. It's terribly uneven, and bulky because the short part underneath is kind of puffy, and sometimes it sticks out through the longer strands. (Although it's not that obvious here, but you can at least see how uneven it is. Also, please excuse the post mini-anxiety attack face and smeared eyeliner.) I think I need to make Josh take pictures of the back and write a whole post on what I did to it.
I'm really bad about 'liking' and commenting on people's stuff on facebook. And then I feel bad when they like stuff I post because I'll remember that they posted something neat four days ago, but I forgot to 'like' it then, and if I go back and do it now it'll look like I'm only liking it to compensate for them liking my thing. Or whatever. I don't know if that even made sense. But if anyone from facebook is reading this, and thinking to themselves 'that Amanda, she's such a horrible person who expects everyone to like her stuff but she never likes my stuff' - I'm sorry. I just...it's just like everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but I get distracted, or, for whatever reason, just don't do things when I should.
That kind of does make me a horrible person, though, huh?
Some days I want to just delete my facebook and twitter profiles entirely, but I did that once and it did not end well. The repercussions are still being felt. On one hand I feel like it's stupid, so stupid that something that...trivial as a facebook page could really cause so much drama, but on the other hand maybe things would have just been simpler if I had just...not done it. It was hard enough adding people again once (I actually deleted my page and made a new one, rather than just reactivating the one I had) and I don't want to go through all that again.
I feel constantly as though nothing I do is ever good enough. The sensible part of me knows that that is my depression talking, but the sensible part of me is quieter and less aggressive than the non-sensible, self-punishing, depressed part of me. Unfortunate, because on those rare days when my head is clear and my heart is free, I really feel like I could do something spectacular.
Lately my depression has been affecting my eating...as in I'm never hungry. I know it's bad, but I haven't tried to do anything about it. When I get into these weird, transitional funk periods, the last thing I'm worried about is food. I'm just trying to keep it under control as best I can, not stress myself out, and hopefully get through having company without having an anxiety attack in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.
I am often conflicted, in many areas of my life. I have lots of ideas, and I want lots of things, but at the same time I want different things...does that make any sense? Take, for example, the living room situation. Some days I want a nice couch, and a matching ottoman, and more bookshelves, and a new, bigger DVD shelf. Other days I don't want anything but my ratty old wing-back chair back, just as ratty as the day I threw it away. Some days I want a mansion, a castle preferably, rooms for days, and other days I want a simple house with just a fireplace and enough room for us and a few guests. It even goes for my style; sometimes I want to dress up really nice, wear designer clothes, and make-up, and go out in style, and other times I just want to throw on some 90s grunge.
We have way too many magazine subscriptions. Josh gets Details, Sports Illustrated, Time, and Cigar Aficionado. I get Lucky, Vogue, Whole Living, Better Homes & Gardens, and Guideposts. Plus we get two monthly local magazines. They really add up before you know it, and I rarely have time to read them all before the next one (three) are in the mail. I have a huge magazine archive in my craft room. I...I can't even look at it some days. There are SO. MANY. They partially contribute to the counter-clutter situation.
I really don't miss Austin. I never felt quite...right there. I mean it was a lot of fun, we had some crazy adventures and met a lot of people. I definitely miss the people; my brother, our friends, even the people I worked for. (I was a nanny.) But not Austin itself. I feel much more at home here in Hot Springs. It's just a better fit for my personality.
Well, I don't really know why I felt like confessing all of this to the internet, but it's done, and it's nearing 5 o'clock which means that the murderers are headed home for the night, and I'm tired so I'm going to wake up my dog and make him potty (he's not going to be happy; he's currently barking/running in his sleep, huddled under his comfy blanket) and then head to bed myself.
On top of my kitchen table (which, by the way, is actually a folding table...but a fairly nice one) is our humidor, the bag that holds all the pet treats, and Orion's travel backpack. Under the table are two coolers and three empty cardboard boxes.
It's been close to two months since the trash can lid has actually been on the trash can.
The living room fan is
We finally, a year and a month (to the day) after moving here, went and got our Arkansas drivers licenses. We did not get the car registered, though, because my dad is the co-signer and the title says 'AND' instead of 'OR' which means he has to sign stuff. Luckily he'll be here in three weeks. I feel slightly less bad about it not being done now.
We typically eat meals off our TV trays, even if we're not watching TV...because of the table situation. Also, because we're low on chairs.
Sometimes I like living like this. We have a lot of open space because we don't have much furniture, and since it's just us two we don't really ever miss it. I'm not too sure about Josh, but I grew up with a brother who worked evenings, and a dad who worked nights, so my mom and I usually ate alone or everyone ate at a different time. No one ever made a big deal about eating together, or family meals or anything. It's not that we weren't close or didn't spend time together, it just didn't center around meals when we did. And now that Josh and I are on vastly different sleep schedules (his due to work, mine due to insomnia) it's even less reason to try and get the table back up to table standards.
Despite the fact that I got through part one of The Plan (for putting away my fabric) my craft room floor is still not visible. I really do need to get on it, though, since the in-laws will be here this week for Thanksgiving.
I hate that I get overwhelmed so easily. I hate it. I would love to hold down a full time job, and have a clean, organized house. I wish I could go shopping and browse through things normally, without panicking and losing my focus if too many people get near me. I would love to wake up and face every single day knowing that I was going to get stuff done, without having to worry that I might have an anxiety attack at any given point, and shut down for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.
No matter what I do to keep it clear, my counter constantly piles up with useless, non-counter related stuff. And it's typically my stuff, so I can't even blame anyone else.
I have, however, gotten better at making sure I go outside, play with the dog, and run around and get some fresh air every day. Even while I was sick I would at least go walk the perimeter of the yard and get the mail.
I really need to do something about my hair. It's terribly uneven, and bulky because the short part underneath is kind of puffy, and sometimes it sticks out through the longer strands. (Although it's not that obvious here, but you can at least see how uneven it is. Also, please excuse the post mini-anxiety attack face and smeared eyeliner.) I think I need to make Josh take pictures of the back and write a whole post on what I did to it.
I'm really bad about 'liking' and commenting on people's stuff on facebook. And then I feel bad when they like stuff I post because I'll remember that they posted something neat four days ago, but I forgot to 'like' it then, and if I go back and do it now it'll look like I'm only liking it to compensate for them liking my thing. Or whatever. I don't know if that even made sense. But if anyone from facebook is reading this, and thinking to themselves 'that Amanda, she's such a horrible person who expects everyone to like her stuff but she never likes my stuff' - I'm sorry. I just...it's just like everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but I get distracted, or, for whatever reason, just don't do things when I should.
That kind of does make me a horrible person, though, huh?
Some days I want to just delete my facebook and twitter profiles entirely, but I did that once and it did not end well. The repercussions are still being felt. On one hand I feel like it's stupid, so stupid that something that...trivial as a facebook page could really cause so much drama, but on the other hand maybe things would have just been simpler if I had just...not done it. It was hard enough adding people again once (I actually deleted my page and made a new one, rather than just reactivating the one I had) and I don't want to go through all that again.
I feel constantly as though nothing I do is ever good enough. The sensible part of me knows that that is my depression talking, but the sensible part of me is quieter and less aggressive than the non-sensible, self-punishing, depressed part of me. Unfortunate, because on those rare days when my head is clear and my heart is free, I really feel like I could do something spectacular.
Lately my depression has been affecting my eating...as in I'm never hungry. I know it's bad, but I haven't tried to do anything about it. When I get into these weird, transitional funk periods, the last thing I'm worried about is food. I'm just trying to keep it under control as best I can, not stress myself out, and hopefully get through having company without having an anxiety attack in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.
I am often conflicted, in many areas of my life. I have lots of ideas, and I want lots of things, but at the same time I want different things...does that make any sense? Take, for example, the living room situation. Some days I want a nice couch, and a matching ottoman, and more bookshelves, and a new, bigger DVD shelf. Other days I don't want anything but my ratty old wing-back chair back, just as ratty as the day I threw it away. Some days I want a mansion, a castle preferably, rooms for days, and other days I want a simple house with just a fireplace and enough room for us and a few guests. It even goes for my style; sometimes I want to dress up really nice, wear designer clothes, and make-up, and go out in style, and other times I just want to throw on some 90s grunge.
We have way too many magazine subscriptions. Josh gets Details, Sports Illustrated, Time, and Cigar Aficionado. I get Lucky, Vogue, Whole Living, Better Homes & Gardens, and Guideposts. Plus we get two monthly local magazines. They really add up before you know it, and I rarely have time to read them all before the next one (three) are in the mail. I have a huge magazine archive in my craft room. I...I can't even look at it some days. There are SO. MANY. They partially contribute to the counter-clutter situation.
I really don't miss Austin. I never felt quite...right there. I mean it was a lot of fun, we had some crazy adventures and met a lot of people. I definitely miss the people; my brother, our friends, even the people I worked for. (I was a nanny.) But not Austin itself. I feel much more at home here in Hot Springs. It's just a better fit for my personality.
Well, I don't really know why I felt like confessing all of this to the internet, but it's done, and it's nearing 5 o'clock which means that the murderers are headed home for the night, and I'm tired so I'm going to wake up my dog and make him potty (he's not going to be happy; he's currently barking/running in his sleep, huddled under his comfy blanket) and then head to bed myself.
07 November, 2012
Random thoughts pt 2
Sometimes I feel like I'm really bad at being an adult. I can't hold down a job without my anxiety flaring up. Occasionally I forget to do important things like get my oil changed. I've also been known to forget less important things like washing the dishes, making doctors/dentist appointments, or getting the mail. Some days I live on cereal and Doritos, and I stay in my nightshirt all day, and I don't even set foot outside. Which is frustrating to me because part of the reason I moved here (and away from Austin) is so that we could have a house, with a yard, and a dog. I feel like my life is wasting away and I'm not living it. But I don't know what to do differently. I've tried making lists, things to the effect of: -wash dishes, -go outside, -eat three meals; include fruits and veggies, -workout, -pick up 5 things that are out of place...is that normal? I don't think other adults do stuff like that. I think they just remember. Somewhere along the way they got the 'How to be a Proper Adult' manual and I must have thought the person handing them out was a murderer and run the other way.
I'm fairly certain I have contacted some crazy 'Monsters Inside Me' type disease, based on the fact that I have two itchy/red patches on my legs. They haven't healed for like 3 weeks, but they aren't spreading. When I die, plant a tree in my honor. If you release balloons I will haunt you and throw trash at you.
I love my animals to death, I really do, but the fact that Josh and I are both here with them 24/7 has made them very clingy. I can't walk down the hall without having two extra shadows right there with me. If I go to the bathroom, I have two extra sets of eyes watching me. (Remember how I can't close the door?) When I shower, Belle sits on the bath mat until I'm done. When I sleep, she curls up behind my knees. If I'm watching TV, she's on the window and Orion is under my feet. If I'm cooking, he's sitting in his bed chewing on a bone and watching me. Right now, Belle is napping in her chair next to me, and Orion is curled up in front of the computer desk.
I really and truly can't believe that it's November already. A month until my birthday. I just...I don't understand how time is going by so quickly!
I want to build a wardrobe full of comfy, luxury basics. Cashmere shirts and sweaters, silk nightgowns and pajamas, anything lined with rabbit or fox fur...I've realized that those are the things I wear the most, so why not invest in quality pieces that will last and make me feel comfortable and pampered?
I feel a Sick coming on. I hate being sick. HATE. IT. It makes me even less productive than usual, and I get horrible migraines and then I end up crying in bed and begging God to kill me now. (Seriously.) So I'm going to go and drink like 8458 cups of echinacea tea and try to stave this off as long as I can.
I'm fairly certain I have contacted some crazy 'Monsters Inside Me' type disease, based on the fact that I have two itchy/red patches on my legs. They haven't healed for like 3 weeks, but they aren't spreading. When I die, plant a tree in my honor. If you release balloons I will haunt you and throw trash at you.
I love my animals to death, I really do, but the fact that Josh and I are both here with them 24/7 has made them very clingy. I can't walk down the hall without having two extra shadows right there with me. If I go to the bathroom, I have two extra sets of eyes watching me. (Remember how I can't close the door?) When I shower, Belle sits on the bath mat until I'm done. When I sleep, she curls up behind my knees. If I'm watching TV, she's on the window and Orion is under my feet. If I'm cooking, he's sitting in his bed chewing on a bone and watching me. Right now, Belle is napping in her chair next to me, and Orion is curled up in front of the computer desk.
I really and truly can't believe that it's November already. A month until my birthday. I just...I don't understand how time is going by so quickly!
I want to build a wardrobe full of comfy, luxury basics. Cashmere shirts and sweaters, silk nightgowns and pajamas, anything lined with rabbit or fox fur...I've realized that those are the things I wear the most, so why not invest in quality pieces that will last and make me feel comfortable and pampered?
I feel a Sick coming on. I hate being sick. HATE. IT. It makes me even less productive than usual, and I get horrible migraines and then I end up crying in bed and begging God to kill me now. (Seriously.) So I'm going to go and drink like 8458 cups of echinacea tea and try to stave this off as long as I can.
02 November, 2012
Oops!
Well, I'm sure you noticed, but I didn't really make anything on the 31st. I was sort of busy with other stuff, other Super Important Stuff that took priority. See, I have this puppy...and the 31st was his first birthday!
Isn't that just the saddest and cutest birthday face you've ever seen?! Anyway, we spent the day pampering and spoiling Orion. We took him to Petco where, as usual, he got treats from the workers, he got to pick out a new toy, and he got his own 'birthday cake' (a pack of organic peanut butter doggie treats made to look like cupcakes).
He also got to go to Razorback Pizza with us (yes, we ate out, more on that in a sec) where he got his own super meaty mini-pizza. (Josh told him that next year, when he's two, he'll get a medium, and the year after that he'll get a large. Personally I think he could have devoured a large or two already...)
He had a great day, lots of people came up and told him happy birthday and loved on him, and even though he may not have known it was his birthday, he enjoyed the attention. :) He's such a sweet baby.
And as far as eating out goes, I went ahead with it for two reasons: One it really was our intent to thoroughly spoil Orion for his birthday, and that included taking him to one of the places in town that lets him sit on the patio and eat with us, and two I was really proud of myself for making it through the entire month of October without having an anxiety attack. October is usually the month that my SAD kicks in, and while I did have a few days where I was more down than usual, I still got up (almost) every day, and made myself be functional. I didn't let it get to me, I didn't dwell on Octobers past that have contributed to it being such a hard month, and I did not have an anxiety attack, not one. Go me!
Isn't that just the saddest and cutest birthday face you've ever seen?! Anyway, we spent the day pampering and spoiling Orion. We took him to Petco where, as usual, he got treats from the workers, he got to pick out a new toy, and he got his own 'birthday cake' (a pack of organic peanut butter doggie treats made to look like cupcakes).
He also got to go to Razorback Pizza with us (yes, we ate out, more on that in a sec) where he got his own super meaty mini-pizza. (Josh told him that next year, when he's two, he'll get a medium, and the year after that he'll get a large. Personally I think he could have devoured a large or two already...)
He had a great day, lots of people came up and told him happy birthday and loved on him, and even though he may not have known it was his birthday, he enjoyed the attention. :) He's such a sweet baby.
And as far as eating out goes, I went ahead with it for two reasons: One it really was our intent to thoroughly spoil Orion for his birthday, and that included taking him to one of the places in town that lets him sit on the patio and eat with us, and two I was really proud of myself for making it through the entire month of October without having an anxiety attack. October is usually the month that my SAD kicks in, and while I did have a few days where I was more down than usual, I still got up (almost) every day, and made myself be functional. I didn't let it get to me, I didn't dwell on Octobers past that have contributed to it being such a hard month, and I did not have an anxiety attack, not one. Go me!
11 June, 2012
Anguish
Some days I feel like such a captive in my own head. I can hear my sanity screaming at me, but for some reason it's locked behind the depression, behind the anxiety, and sadness prevails. And then, I'm even more depressed because I know that I can be happy, I know what it feels like, I had it such a short time ago and now it's slipped out of my grasp. I know it will come again, because this is the cycle that I live with, but at the same time my disease keeps on telling me that it won't. It tricks me, it lies, and it insists that this is my new reality. A life of melancholy days, and panic-filled, thought-racing nights. A life of being stuck inside because I can't bear to leave my house.
I'm sorry if this is depressing, but it helps to express my thoughts sometimes.
Other times, it's just a waste of effort.
It muddles my brain. The depression does. Or the anxiety, I don't know. I'm more easily confused, and I have these vivid memories of things that have never happened to me.
My heart aches, and my soul begins to feel like it's stretched too thin, like I've had more life than I can handle.
Which I haven't, I assure you. I want nothing more than to continue my existence, I only wish that I could do so without the fear of this. I know that without medication I'm destined to feel the full effect of every 'swing' my brain throws at me. They don't happen often, I'd say twice a year. Usually the worst one is in October, which, ironically is my favorite month...they last anywhere from a day to a week, and once I'm through it my mood will level out and stay at 'slightly depressed.'
Isn't it sad, how easily I can talk about this? I didn't used to be able to. I used to try to pretend that there was nothing wrong with me. But that actually made it worse. The more I tried to suppress my fears and anxieties, the more I focused on them, because I was so worried about them showing. Does that make sense? Kind of like if you had a bald spot in the back of your head, and rather than just let it be, you tried to hide it with a hair piece or by making a bun around that spot, but neither was comfortable, so you kept touching it, which, in turn, only drew more attention to it.
I kept it bottled inside, until I couldn't take it anymore, and then I'd have a full-blown out-of-control level ten anxiety attack. I can remember a few that I had when I lived with my parents that were just...insane. But even then, they didn't see. I'd go in my room, and scream, cry, or take it out on myself in other ways. I didn't know what was wrong with me, I didn't understand why certain things hurt my feelings so bad, or why I wasn't normal. I kept it hidden for so many years.
Then, one day, I broke down. I couldn't take it anymore. I had a horrible anxiety attack while I was on my way out the door, and I couldn't stop it. I mean, it hit me hard. I scared my parents, I know I did. They'd never seen me like that. My mom cried with me, and said she wished I had told her sooner. Eventually I calmed down enough to talk, and that's the first time I ever realized that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being sad. Sure it's deeper than your typical sadness, it's without rhyme or reason, and it has a mind all it's own sometimes, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't choose this, and I didn't do anything wrong. I haven't hurt anyone but myself.
So that helped a lot, coming to that realization. Figuring out that the people that loved me weren't going to stop just because of that. Even though sometimes it feels like it. That's part of the sickness, is having to listen to its lies, having it tell you that nobody loves you and nobody cares. Sometimes I can fight back, and sometimes I fall into it's trap, and give in to the idea that I'm alone. What sustains me in those darkest hours is my cat, Belle. Seriously. Even when I'm lost in the deepest, darkest, most solitary corner of my mind she'll find me and lick my toes or something. It was always that way. I can say with 100% honesty that if it weren't for Queenie, and the comfort she gave me, and all the times she let me cry into her fur, I wouldn't be alive today. The love of an pet is so perfect and so pure that not even depression can suppress it.
But now I'm come to terms with my reality. I'll never be over this. I could go to a doctor, and they could write me a prescription, and ask me how things make me feel, and tell me things I already know, like I should confront my triggers, and face my fears, but you know what? I don't want to. Not right now anyway.
I'm finally at a place in my life where I have come to terms with everything. Everything that has happened to me, every choice I've made, every situation that has been forced upon me, and I'm okay. I survived. I'm not always happy, and I may not be the best company at a party, and I will never participate in Black Friday, but that's me. I've accepted myself, and that was a hard thing to do, so I know that in spite of the occasional anxiety attack, or mood swing, I am making progress. In my own way, in my own time...
I'm sorry if this is depressing, but it helps to express my thoughts sometimes.
Other times, it's just a waste of effort.
It muddles my brain. The depression does. Or the anxiety, I don't know. I'm more easily confused, and I have these vivid memories of things that have never happened to me.
My heart aches, and my soul begins to feel like it's stretched too thin, like I've had more life than I can handle.
Which I haven't, I assure you. I want nothing more than to continue my existence, I only wish that I could do so without the fear of this. I know that without medication I'm destined to feel the full effect of every 'swing' my brain throws at me. They don't happen often, I'd say twice a year. Usually the worst one is in October, which, ironically is my favorite month...they last anywhere from a day to a week, and once I'm through it my mood will level out and stay at 'slightly depressed.'
Isn't it sad, how easily I can talk about this? I didn't used to be able to. I used to try to pretend that there was nothing wrong with me. But that actually made it worse. The more I tried to suppress my fears and anxieties, the more I focused on them, because I was so worried about them showing. Does that make sense? Kind of like if you had a bald spot in the back of your head, and rather than just let it be, you tried to hide it with a hair piece or by making a bun around that spot, but neither was comfortable, so you kept touching it, which, in turn, only drew more attention to it.
I kept it bottled inside, until I couldn't take it anymore, and then I'd have a full-blown out-of-control level ten anxiety attack. I can remember a few that I had when I lived with my parents that were just...insane. But even then, they didn't see. I'd go in my room, and scream, cry, or take it out on myself in other ways. I didn't know what was wrong with me, I didn't understand why certain things hurt my feelings so bad, or why I wasn't normal. I kept it hidden for so many years.
Then, one day, I broke down. I couldn't take it anymore. I had a horrible anxiety attack while I was on my way out the door, and I couldn't stop it. I mean, it hit me hard. I scared my parents, I know I did. They'd never seen me like that. My mom cried with me, and said she wished I had told her sooner. Eventually I calmed down enough to talk, and that's the first time I ever realized that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being sad. Sure it's deeper than your typical sadness, it's without rhyme or reason, and it has a mind all it's own sometimes, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't choose this, and I didn't do anything wrong. I haven't hurt anyone but myself.
So that helped a lot, coming to that realization. Figuring out that the people that loved me weren't going to stop just because of that. Even though sometimes it feels like it. That's part of the sickness, is having to listen to its lies, having it tell you that nobody loves you and nobody cares. Sometimes I can fight back, and sometimes I fall into it's trap, and give in to the idea that I'm alone. What sustains me in those darkest hours is my cat, Belle. Seriously. Even when I'm lost in the deepest, darkest, most solitary corner of my mind she'll find me and lick my toes or something. It was always that way. I can say with 100% honesty that if it weren't for Queenie, and the comfort she gave me, and all the times she let me cry into her fur, I wouldn't be alive today. The love of an pet is so perfect and so pure that not even depression can suppress it.
But now I'm come to terms with my reality. I'll never be over this. I could go to a doctor, and they could write me a prescription, and ask me how things make me feel, and tell me things I already know, like I should confront my triggers, and face my fears, but you know what? I don't want to. Not right now anyway.
I'm finally at a place in my life where I have come to terms with everything. Everything that has happened to me, every choice I've made, every situation that has been forced upon me, and I'm okay. I survived. I'm not always happy, and I may not be the best company at a party, and I will never participate in Black Friday, but that's me. I've accepted myself, and that was a hard thing to do, so I know that in spite of the occasional anxiety attack, or mood swing, I am making progress. In my own way, in my own time...
23 May, 2012
Anxieties
I've made no secret of the fact that I suffer from a severe anxiety disorder. I have a number of triggers that can set off anxiety attacks.
Some of them are the normal things you would associate with anxiety attacks; being in a closed space with too many people, and driving on a busy, undivided highway can both give way to panic.
Some of them are not as common, but are still explainable, as they are manifestations of traumatic incidents in my childhood, like my inability to be outside alone after dark, and how people driving past me with their windows down makes me uncomfortable.
Others, though, especially (for whatever reason) those that are focused on the night, are oddly inexplicable.
One of the strongest is a fear of closing the bathroom door. My brain, despite efforts on my part to convince it otherwise, has determined that if I close the bathroom door, and murderers break in while I'm in there, then I won't hear them and I'll walk right out and into their murderous plan. However, reason fails when it comes to understanding why having the door open, and them seeing me on the pot would save my life.
Another that stands out in my mind, and is equally lacking in logic is the idea that 5 AM is the magical time when murderers stop breaking into houses. If I get to bed before midnight, before Josh, or if we have company, this does not apply. (Again, this is not something I want to believe; these are simply things that my brain makes me believe, despite what I know to be true when I'm not in the midst of an attack, and can think logically.) I don't know why. I suppose all murderers have to be at work at 7 AM, and therefore they must do their dirty work before 5, so they can get home and get ready for their day job.
I'll share one more, and I don't know where it fits in exactly, because I've never really talked to other people with anxiety as severe as mine. I've read a few blog posts here and there, but it's not typically something people want to discuss, and I understand that, of course, but at the same time it's always nice to know that you're not alone in this horrible struggle. Anyway. The last thing I'll share is my fear of loud noises at night, or rather, what horrors those loud noises could possibly be covering up. Once it's dark, my TV gets turned down to the lowest possible volume I can get it and still hear what I'm trying to watch.
The rational part of my brain knows that these thoughts, these fears are ridiculous, and as I type them out I can see how silly they may sound to someone who's never felt the level of panic that I can feel over some of these things, but the truth is, when you're trapped in an anxiety attack there is no logic, no reason, it's just fear. Pure, unadulterated fear and panic, and those things are so very real in that moment. It's an awful feeling that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but I feel lucky that I have wonderful and understanding people in my life who help me through the darkness on my worst days.
Some of them are the normal things you would associate with anxiety attacks; being in a closed space with too many people, and driving on a busy, undivided highway can both give way to panic.
Some of them are not as common, but are still explainable, as they are manifestations of traumatic incidents in my childhood, like my inability to be outside alone after dark, and how people driving past me with their windows down makes me uncomfortable.
Others, though, especially (for whatever reason) those that are focused on the night, are oddly inexplicable.
One of the strongest is a fear of closing the bathroom door. My brain, despite efforts on my part to convince it otherwise, has determined that if I close the bathroom door, and murderers break in while I'm in there, then I won't hear them and I'll walk right out and into their murderous plan. However, reason fails when it comes to understanding why having the door open, and them seeing me on the pot would save my life.
Another that stands out in my mind, and is equally lacking in logic is the idea that 5 AM is the magical time when murderers stop breaking into houses. If I get to bed before midnight, before Josh, or if we have company, this does not apply. (Again, this is not something I want to believe; these are simply things that my brain makes me believe, despite what I know to be true when I'm not in the midst of an attack, and can think logically.) I don't know why. I suppose all murderers have to be at work at 7 AM, and therefore they must do their dirty work before 5, so they can get home and get ready for their day job.
I'll share one more, and I don't know where it fits in exactly, because I've never really talked to other people with anxiety as severe as mine. I've read a few blog posts here and there, but it's not typically something people want to discuss, and I understand that, of course, but at the same time it's always nice to know that you're not alone in this horrible struggle. Anyway. The last thing I'll share is my fear of loud noises at night, or rather, what horrors those loud noises could possibly be covering up. Once it's dark, my TV gets turned down to the lowest possible volume I can get it and still hear what I'm trying to watch.
The rational part of my brain knows that these thoughts, these fears are ridiculous, and as I type them out I can see how silly they may sound to someone who's never felt the level of panic that I can feel over some of these things, but the truth is, when you're trapped in an anxiety attack there is no logic, no reason, it's just fear. Pure, unadulterated fear and panic, and those things are so very real in that moment. It's an awful feeling that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but I feel lucky that I have wonderful and understanding people in my life who help me through the darkness on my worst days.
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