Been home fifteen minutes. Maintenance men were next door when I pulled up. The not so nice one was griping about all the stray cats outdoors. Asked if they were mine. No, they belonged to the lady who just moved out. I inherited them. I can’t stand to see animals go hungry so I feed them. This is apparently a bad thing. Now I am freaking out that I’m somehow going to be blamed for the cat population when it has nothing to do with me. My cats are inside.
So my stomach is twisting in pretzel knots.
More so than it did all day. I was one breath from panic the whole day every time the phone rang or someone came in. It’s hard to explain “I can’t do this right now because I am freaking out and paranoid and I think I am crawling out of my skin and my brain may claw its way out of my skull.”
Nope. Plaster on the smiley face, breathe, and wait for it to be over.
Trudging uphill in molasses. Gets harder every day. People say “Well, you’re doing it, aren’t you?” Sure. Just like every other time in my life when I began to melt down. I did it…until I wasn’t doing it. By then, I was so far under the surface I couldn’t see daylight. People just don’t get the ebb and flow of bipolar and generalized anxiety disorders. If they did, then they would know I am never going to be “stable” entirely.
Read an article today that “Octomom” entered rehab to get off of Xanax. Wuss. I’ve done cold turkey four times. Admittedly there’s been little withdrawal switching from Xanax to Klonopin. Which has to make one wonder if this is ok, why do they cold turkey anyone from xanax if you can just slowly phase it all out?
The effectiveness of klonopin, for me, is so little, it’s pointless taking the pills. I do it because I said I would give it a fair chance and I am, but I honestly haven’t had anxiety and panic like this in over 16 months. Since I was put back on the Xanax. Oh, yes, “Octomom”, wants to learn to deal with the stress of life on her own without meds so she can be a better mom.
One more thing to make me feel inept. Of course, she also said she loves her kids but wishes she’d never had them, so the skank factor is high.
I think medicating my anxiety makes me a better mom. Well, properly medicating it. The Tic-Tac-a-pin ain’t doing it. I got a letter from the job lady and I have been too panicky to even open it. I do that alot, have such bad panic I can’t open my damn mail or answer a damn phone. I am so sick of being told it’s no big deal and to get over it. If I could, I would. I fucking hate anything that makes me feel weak or lesser. My disorders make me feel like such a fuck up, the true miracle is how I haven’t killed myself yet.
Probably because as long as I can one or two nuggets of hope and joy, I am determined to hold on with an iron grip. Not even a genetic code fuck up is going to rob me of my right to pursue happiness. Though with the current state of this country, my government may do it. They’re wiping their asses on the constitution.
Just…a stressful day.
I wanna rant more but I am trying to keep my posts short so people will actually want to read them instead of rolling their eyes and thinking, “does this bitch ever shut up?”
It’s probably the funniest thing. I really don’t talk a lot.
But let me write and the fingers never stop typing, the pen never stops moving.
I’m a freak.