Mood is slightly less gloomy and doomy today.
Unfortunately, when they “fixed” the water leak yesterday, they did something that is now causing the washer to back up in the sink and shoot water out of the hose in back of the washer. The place smells like stagnant water and sewage. Lovely. And there’s no way to reach them on weekends. I think it’s by design. They once told me I was a favorite tenant because I never complained. So if you ask for things to be fixed, it apparently means you are a bad tenant.
Although I am sure if I let things go to a certain point then asked, I’d be a bad tenant for not speaking up sooner.
The catch 22 of life pisses me off.
Since the invasion of my space yesterday, the paranoia has been rampant.
My idea of a tidy house is some’s idea of a pig sty. (Like R’s wife, who could be in an OR that is completely sterile and find something dirty about it. Freak.)
Now I am all paranoid that something I am doing or not doing is somehow “unfit” for my kid or in violation of the lease or whatever else my stupid mind can find to obsess about.
I used to have an apartment and because I had so many problems with my illnesses, the landlord made me get an independent living advisory to come inspect it every month to make sure it was tidy. She would come in, commend me on making the best use on the little space I had, and say it looked fine. Then he would come in to fix something and give me a list of complaints he had about my house keeping, my organization, everything.
So when it comes to this sort of thing, I feel justified in being paranoid.
Difference now is, I know while not sterile, it IS tidy enough and have had enough people here to testify to that so if someone tries to say otherwise, I think I’d have the ammo to fight it. Besides, this landlord is a renowned slumlord so declaring my housekeeping unfit would definitely lead to some inspections of his other properties and the housekeeping of his other tenants. I’m fucking Martha Stewart and Alice from the Brady bunch compared to some of these people.
Still….paranoid brain and panic are making me edgy and nervous. The pills are not doing shit.
Name the difference between now and 10 days ago.
Right, they’re the same drug, it’s all in my head.
Frankly, I am scared as fuck because this is the same spot I was in back when I was with the Donor, jumping at every noise, assuming everyone was out to get me, scared of people…This is NOT good. And whether it’s psychological (NOT) or what, I know it’s the klonopin. It does not work on me the way xanax does. So while the shrink can feel all good about herself for not giving me super evil xanax, I can only watch myself circle the fucking drain.
Another month like this and I will be too paranoid to leave the house. Just like last time I was taken off of Xanax. And the time before that. And the time before that.
Yet the doctors just don’t get it. They give me antipsychotics without clueing in my paranoia is born of anxiety. Treat the anxiety with that which works, and boom, paranoia under control. But because it doesn’t fit the norm because ya know ALL paranoia must be caused by some psychotic factor therefore need anti psychotics….
Monday I get to be invaded again by having this current water issue fixed. I’m jazzed. Because that doesn’t mess with my psych stuff at all.
I had a good week or two, I guess this is my punishment.
Or karma for daring to think maybe things were getting better.
Never underestimate the universe’s ability to kick you in the face.