Daily Archives: July 20, 2013

The anxiety monster

Whoever said the more you do something that unnerves you the easier it will get hadn’t met me.

We were invited to R’s by his wife, an olive branch in light of my sucky week.

Well, I’ve been there dozens of times and yet my anxiety is skyrocketing in spite of xanax.

It could also be the six kids running like banshees through my home heightening it.

 

I just don’t understand anxiety.

My mood has been downish  but not horrible. At this point it’s just like what is new, life fucking sucks and people suck. And the shit I take for being “pessimistic” when I am just being realistic makes me furious. I have had enough bad shit happen to me to realistically face the fact that shit does happen. Pardon me if I can’t work myself into an optimistic frenzy about it. If that’s negative, so be it.

Now. To paste on the mask of civility and go make nice.

It’s harder than it sounds, trust me.


Up The Weight Goes Again – Dammit!

Well, my Weight Watchers weigh in was this morning and I’m not happy.  I’m not surprised at all, but, I’m still not happy.  Last week I weighed 225.2.  This week I weighed 228.2!!!  That’s a 3 pound gain.  (sigh)  I’m trying not to beat myself up over it but that’s hard when I saw it coming and didn’t do anything about it.

What it all boils down to is exercise.  When I wasn’t working or going to school I exercised like crazy.  I would walk over 10 miles in a day without batting an eye.  Unfortunately, nowadays school has really put a damper on my walking regimen.  I still walk as much as I can but it’s nothing close to the amount I use to walk.  But, my lack of exercise is not the real problem.  The real problem is my eating.  When I was going on my long walks on a daily basis I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted and still lose weight.  I was most definitely eating healthier, but was still getting large portions and snacking throughout the day.  Without the exercise, that’s a luxury I don’t have.

So, here I am again, frustrated and angry that I keep gaining.  Here I am posting this to the world with the hope that putting it out there for all to see will force me to do something about it.  It hasn’t really helped that much in the past, but, hopefully this time will be different.

Now it’s a new week and I’m restarting my journey.  It’s time for a do-over.  I feel more committed than I have in a long time…though I think I’ve said that before.  I’ll keep you posted on what happens when I get weighed in next week.  I hope and pray that the weight will go in a different direction.

 

 

Stability, Gratitude… and Baby Rabies

Between my current state of health and aging, I feel the baby-craving hormones going nutters — I want another child. Not necessarily a baby, ’cause I wasn’t enchanted by the baby phase, but still another child of my own body and genetics.

Part of the pressure is my own physical health — if my maternal grandmother and aunt are any guide, I’m going to need to consider a hysterectomy soon to avoid the further ravages of endometriosis (which I keep running into brick walls on trying to get diagnosed). The time I was pregnant I experienced fantastic physical health, and it took a few years before I started to feel run down and ill. While it’s not as bad as at its absolute pre-child worst, it has gotten bad enough that I am aware of how much harder it is to get up and go. Pregnancy would offer another respite, and if I were able to get clipped shortly afterwards, then it would increase my quality of life. As that is my main goal for myself right now, it weighs very heavily on my mind.

Now, I know there are some out there who are terrified of passing on their bipolar to their children. An example from the world of celebrity is Emilie Autumn, who herself opted to have an abortion when she fell pregnant rather than risking passing on her disorder. I respect her choice — after all, I’m not in her shoes, so I cannot fairly judge her. And, I think many of us know, that many neurotypical people would perhaps consider it inappropriate of the mentally ill to procreate. Mrs. Bipolarity said it most concisely — we are deserving of creating life. Not to toot my own horn, but I like to think my genes have a lot to offer — I come from a family of gifted folks, with talents for the arts and languages, and other such things. Just because I have bipolar is no guarantee my children will get it, and I sure as heck am doing my best to provide a stable life because that is what I value, and because it will go a long way towards helping my children not have trauma that could trigger it. Having said that, I’ll consider myself successful if my child(ren) make it to and through adulthood with a minimum of therapy, hee hee.

Still, I like to think that we have a good chance of getting through another kid better than the shaky start on the first one. We know more after having her, we’ve got my diagnosis, my meds seem to be stabilizing me out enough to be of some use, and that means that my husband feels like he’s able to actually express how he’s feeling (my instability makes him feel he has to stifle it to protect me — whups). But that’s also counter-balanced against the fact that we’re all getting older and tireder; while his parents are incredibly supportive, they’re in their late 60s/early 70s.  Which also makes the decision-making ‘need’ to be sooner rather than later. I wish I could just dive into getting everything clipped and tied up and save the rest of the family having to think about it, but for now, the brain and body and hormones want what they want, which is an even number of children.

Ah well, we’ll see what happens. For the moment, at least I continue to wallow in the whole relishing how good things are!

<3

The post Stability, Gratitude… and Baby Rabies appeared first on The Scarlet B.

Fire hydrant day

Came home to find MY HOME WAS BURGLARIZED. All that was taken was the LCD tv and my laptop, but I was freaking the fuck out anyway. I love my laptop (trying to type on this tiny netbook sucks, plus the sound on it is fucked which makes it useless for the shit I enjoy.) but I don’t give a damn about the TV. My computer had all my pix of my kid, for fuck’s sake. I kept saying I was going to copy it all to an external…Procrastination be thy name.

There’s been a rash of burglaries in the neighborhood, only electronics taken. Electronics worth something for pawn, apparently, considering all that was NOT take. Joke is on the thieves though. The TV was a Vizio which is at 2 years about to reach its lifespan before needing repair. I hope it’s full of dust and catches on fire on them. Terrible, aren’t I?

My safe space was violated, that’s the big kicker. I have desktop computers and this netbook and some old tube tvs,so that stuff isn’t the big thing. It’s the pictures of Spook and the violation of my safe space that have me in full panic mode.

I called the olice, they sent an officer. He asked 5 questions, totally disinterested, said,”The burglaries are going around this neighborhood.” Like it’s the fucking flu.

I had a thought that since only the tv and my laptop were taken and the donor never returned his key that maybe he just helped himself. I don;t like to think that, though, because he is my kid’s father.  But those were the big ticket items he did pay for (tv I didn’t give a damn about, he convinced me I needed a laptop even though I said I didn’t.)  I can see him caring about the money aspect.

NO. I will not think that way. When the cop asked who else had a key I said my husband left two years ago and never gave it back but I didn’t want to involve him..And Spook blurted out his name proudly. So if they question him, I am sure there will be hell to pay for me. Never mind I’m the one who was taking the high road. It will bite me on the ass in some way.

My old friend Shane is in town for a funeral, staying at R’s. He came by the shop today and it was good to see him, he is still such a funny sweetheart of a person. R does not deserve his friendship and loyalty. I’d say neither do I, since I am so corrupt.

By corrupt I mean, I just have no tolerance for the kiddie pool that comprises the people around me. I am saying they are shallow. Vapid, even. It’s like I simply cannot relate to them because I am in the deep end, and because I want to be a better person (or devolve, as it were) I try to just bury my depth of emotion and interact in a shallow manner.

It leaves me feeling hollow and full of self loathing.

I think the worst part is that I SHOULD want the socialization thing, that;s normal right?

But the entire time R was prattling on today and pelting me with Youtube videos of bands that were relevant 20 years ago and going off on his “This reminds me” stories…I sat, looking bored, trying to feign interest, while scumbag brain screamed SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU ARE ON MY LAST NERVE AND ANNOYING ME INTO A COMA!

That intolerance is totally on me.

But I was kind of socially stunted at an early age and forced to become comfortable with my own company. I am comfortable and stimulated doing my own thing, always have been. So what others consider “fun”, ie socializing with “friends” just feels torturous to me. I guess my social ineptitude training imprinted for life.

It’s not that I think I am better or more interesting.

I just know the things I enjoy doing. None of which include cookouts, getting wasted 7 days a week, discussing various inanities about youtube videos,or listening to a 15 minute spiel about a book I have no interest in. I try to compromise and become interested because that is what is socially acceptable.

Thing is, no one seems to reciprocate. I told R that his laid back Smithereen’s songs had harshed my mellow, trying to be funny, so I wanted to listen to something I liked. And he said, “God forbid you should like anything I do.” Yet the song I liked, he hated. I didn’t snark at him, though. Geesh, I am surrounded by middle aged children.

And  I am harping on this because I keep looking at the stand, hoping my laptop has magically reappeared. It makes me sad. I buried kittens last week. Got burgled this week. My freezer is on the fritz again. I have to host a pizza party for my brother Sunday for his birthday gift complete with my whiny ass sister and her brethren being here. Or then again, maybe they will demand I bring the pizzas to her house because my place isn’t good enough for them.

Given it is synonymous with poor white trash to live where I do. Trailer parks are like that. But I like my home. It will never make better homes and gardens for sure, and I am a lousy housekeeper but I tend to focus on “tidying” rather than going apeshit with a toothbrush and Comet in the grouting.

I am sooo deflecting.

I just can’t handle knowing someone was in my home, in my child’s home. I have always felt relatively safe here. Having someone bust into my home (well, through a window with a broken lock) in broad daylight and no one sees a thing…God, it just makes me want to cry. More than that, it makes me mad. But losing my pictures of Spook just makes me sad, sad sad. I can never get those back.

FUCK.

I only flog myself on days ending in DAY.

If I had backed everything up…

If…If…If…

My kid asked me the other day why her poppy and daddy and r and kenny all have jobs and I don’t. And I felt sooo low. Because I can’t even manage the most basic thing. But I told her there was something wrong with my brain that made it difficult for me to work. She can’t understand, of course, but I just feel I need her to understand it’s not because I am lazy or without desire to be self supporting for us. I just can’t seem to get my brain to work right even medicated. I went back to my split med routine today and it resulted in low mood, annoyed mood, happy mood, low mood, then came home and went into panic mode which has lead to “scared to sleep” mode because I feel vulnerable now.

Just reinforces what I have always believed. Owning anything of value is bad because people covet and will take. From now on, I only want absolutely crappy stuff that wouldn’t bring a dollar at a yard sale.

Ok. I’m done, I am just writing to fill my mind because otherwise, I might start flipping out. Someone was in my kid’s home, my home, dirtying up the air with their evil auras. It’s almost too much for my brain to comprehend. I’ve never had a home burgled. Car, yes, home never.

Not an experience I like.

Some days you’re the dog.

Some days you’re the fire hydrant.

I do NOT like my all too frequent position as the hydrant.