Daily Archives: September 17, 2012

certifiably panicked

My day never did get better. The anger melted into depression where I was just putting on the mask.

Couldn’t wait to get home.

Only to come home to a pink slip in my mail box saying I have a certified letter I must sign for at the post office.

Then my kid knocks over a bottle of soda so I have half a two liter of Dr Pepper coating my hair and my freshly formerly waxed floor.

I am a fucking wreck.

While I don’t know what the certified mail thing is, I know it could be the divorce papers from the donor.

Or the “bunch of b.s.” he basically promised if I didn’t sign his do it yourself papers.

And I can’t do a fucking thing about it,at least not know for sure what awaits me, til at least 8:30 am tomorrow.

By then I am going to be a fucking lunatic of paranoia and panic.

I am well on my way now.

I keep reminding myself I am strong, I have friends, I can handle whatever bullshit he cares to throw my way…

But the thing is, I don’t know that I can.

Especially if he’s choosing to fight dirty.

I am running on fumes here. Fighting so bloody hard to balance everything and keep my shit together. With reminders everywhere of what a fuck up I have been all my life, as if to tell me I started getting my shit together too late and I am out of luck.

I go over in my mind the possible things it could be waiting for me at the post office if it’s not the divorce papers.

With that man, god only knows what minor details he dismissed that could end up biting me on the ass.He was a “fly by the seat of my pants” person,so the possibilities give me a stomach ache of ulcer-esque proportions.

Oh how I wish I could be one of the normal people who’d just put it out of their minds then deal with it in the morning without their heads spinning or stomachs rolling or heart pounding or pits sweating.

Like when R got a “third and final” notice from the IRS and took it with a grain of salt, like it was nothing more than junk mail.

God, I want to have a non ocd mind and nerves of steel.

I want that sooo bad.

I don’t want to be a basketcase.

Funny how a five minute span of time can cause you to come totally undone.

That’s what it took, finding that notice in the mail box and getting a Dr. Pepper shower, and the next thing I’m in the kitchen whimpering, “Nooooo, I just got this floor shiny!”, practically in tears and ready to curl up in a ball.

It would be so much better if I could just go get the damned thing from the post office NOW. Knowing is better than wondering. My imagination is pretty disturbing.

And if it is the divorce papers, what if he has suddenly decided to ask for custody or claim I am unfit or….

Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE!

I feel like my insides have had battery acid poured over them.

My central nervous system is on overload.

I may as well be facing a man in a hockey mask with a machete as opposed to a piece of mail.

But today proves why every day I come home looking at the mail box like a bomb ticking away.

I had a week or two respite.

Now that bomb is back, in my hand, so to speak, tick, tick,ticking away.

Tick

tock

tick

tock.

I am such a freak!

Why can’t my freakishness be removed like a bad spleen?????

I keep telling myself to do something, distract myself, focus on something else.

My ocd brain comes back to the one thing, like I cannot breathe until I know for sure what the hell this certified mail thing is.

Woulda been nice of the post guy to write who it was from on the slip, give me a fucking clue.

But nothing good ever comes certified mail.

I am soo scared.

Everyone tells me I was right not to sign the papers he sent me.

Now I am starting to wonder.

What if I brought a ton of bullshit upon myself and my kid by refusing to acquiesce?

I want my central nervous system removed, I cannot stand this anxiety, even my pancreas is having a panic attack.

And worst of all is, I may have friends, but I don’t have anyone who understands the mood and panic stuff. I am so very alone in this.

And it’s scary.

And I am scared.

I should have just signed the fucking papers.

I cannot lose my kid.

People keep telling me he doesn’t want her.

No, I don’t think he does, but I think he’d chew his own arm off to avoid having to pay me child support.

I underestimated him before.

I won’t do it again.

God, I wish I had someone to call who could understand and would come talk me down from this panic ledge.

Alas, there is no one. The people I know would roll their eyes and tell me to grow up and not to freak out til I know exactly what the certified mail is.

Which is a stellar notion.

Wish someone would let the panic disorder in one it because it ain’t listening.

Tick

tock.

I am so very scared.

I don’t care if it’s illogical or ridiculous.

I

am

terrified.

 

 

 

 


The Reality of Reality, Mid-Afternoon Mental Moment

I need another day to sleep in. Well just sleep would be fine actually.  And it doesn’t really matter because The Day That Shall Not be Named shall always feel like you are getting cheated out of something, be it an extra hour of sleep, unless you hit snooze too many times which then would … Continue reading

Choke on a chicken bone!

Yeah. Choke on a chicken bone! That’s how I am feeling this morning. I have the monthly curse (overshare? not really, hormones really fuck you up when you already have a chemical imbalance going on, so it’s relevant!) and my head hurts and it’s foggy and gray outside and my kid woke me up six times last night…

AND I DO NOT WANT TO BE CONSCIOUS, LET ALONE GO PRETEND TO BE IN A SOCIABLE HELPFUL MOOD.

I know, call the waaahmbulance.

Most people can “snap” out of a mood with a cup of coffee or a jog or whatever.

My moods cling like stubborn mildew that won’t go away no matter how long you soak it and scrub it away.

This is NOT going to be a good day for me, since I am walking out the door with a chip on my shoulder (pissed off mood swing.)

I have NO clue what I am pissed off about is the thing.

Why do I want everyone to choke on a chicken bone? It makes no sense. But it’s severe enough that the teeth gnashing has begun and my stomach is in a bit of a knot and my nerves are already frazzled just by the noise of my kid playing with the cats.

GAHHHHHHHHH.

My own brain really pisses me off, what is its fucking problem? Why can’t it get with the fucking program?

And what pisses me off even more is that I know this mood, as vile as it is, probably won’t stick around all day. Nooo, the usual aftermath of this type of mood is…down in the dumps weepy depression.

I HATE when that particular mood swing occurs in public. I am prone to burst into tears at any time, with or without provocation. And people are NOT very empathetic or understanding.

Days like this one should be allowed to call off work, taking  a”mental health day”. Because the toxicity of my mood is kind of a public safety concern.

Might be contagious.

Good. Let me infect those around me.

Let them choke on chicken bones.

Ray of sunshine, ain’t I?

I can feel the anxiety creeping up. Ready to pounce and seize me. Because I know this mood is not me, this is one tiny facet of all the facets the comprise the shattered mirror that is my psyche and personality. I’m not quite myself, and it makes me nervous. When I am in bipolar mode, I tend to say things, do things, react (overreact) in ways that are not favorable.

Bloody hell, it’s ten til 8 and I’m not even dressed yet.

And I think my gums are bleeding from gnashing my teeth.

And my kid is emitting a shriek that could pierce eardrums and cause ear canal bleeding.

Oh please please please can I choke on the chicken bone????

Yeah, I know. I’m certifiable.

I’ll be sane again next mood swing.

Time to put on my mask and fake my way thru another day.

wish me luck.