The mania calmed down but it was going to the shop that really harshed my mellow. R is on his 9/11 conspiracy kick again so it was youtube videos galore. I believe it was a controlled implosion and a massive cover up (though I do not venture to speculate who is responsible, could be government, private financiers, etc.) (Oh, bloody hell, if you can’t stand behind your own convictions…I’m sure the government was involved, just unsure on the extent of involvement.) Anyway…It saddened me when I stayed home from work on 9/11 to watch the footage and time doesn’t dull that a bit. Those poor people…People jumping out windows because it seemed a better way to die than burning alive…Cripes. THEN he showed me footage of the Malaysian plane crash to demonstrate the wreckage of a “real” plane crash…OMG. Mangled, burned bodies. For all my macabre humor, I actually teared up at those images. I can’t even fathom the family members who lost loved ones having to see those pictures floating about…
Yeah so needless to say, that really brought my mood to a crashing halt and just made me feel so sad for all the lives lost, for their families…
And he was involved in a repair so he couldn’t be arsed to give me a directive as what he wanted done so I did fuck all but wander aimlessly and watch the videos for two hours. I did run and get smokes and lunch.
By 1 o’ clock when my dr appt was nearing, my anxiety was rising. I really just wanted OUT of there because I was at the threshold of “out of comfort zone freak out”…And he says, “Can you come back after you’re done so you can do the stuff I need done?” ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, DUDE? Three hours I was there and he couldn’t be bothered to give a verbal directive but he wants me to rearrange my plans (running home to my safe zone to have my anxiety meltdown in private) to accommodate him? Cripes.
So the dr’s office had moved and I couldn’t find it. I was sitting right in front of it, as it turned out. They didn’t have a sign up so I had no clue. The receptionist commented on me being a genius. Yeah, well, panic was rising by that point so pardon me for not being particularly lucid.
They kept me waiting 25 minutes. I don’t mind a little wait, gives me a chance to read their People magazines for the latest scandals (it feels less dirty if I’m not paying to read gossip) but after thumbing through the third magazine…I was getting irked.
Finally get in. Doctor is smiley happy shiny person as usual. I ponder for a split second being honest with her, ya know, the real mental illness kind of honest.
It didn’t happen.
The happy mask went on and like a trained seal, I gave the report I know she wanted.
Dirty Little Lies.
Or half truths, depending on your outlook.
I mean, my moods have been pretty decent outside of the cycling. (Which I did mention with the hypomania tossed out) and she smiled and nodded. (On the tv screen. Telepsychiatry is both weird and awesome.) But she said hearing I was doing so well made her day, she was so proud of me and happy for me. Blah blah blah. And like a trained seal, I balanced the beach ball on my nose and clapped my flipper thingies. Or smiled and took a chipper tone and issued no complaints. Even if the anxiety has been kicking my ass most days. It’s not like she’s very useful for that but she keeps me in Xanax and it helps so I don’t wanna rock that particular boat where she whips out like Seroquel which is shit for anxiety, been there, done that, and burned the tshirt.
Dirty. Little. Lies.
I mean, I’m doing okay. As she said, I’m like a different person compared to the state I was in six months ago.
I just felt so pressured to “perform” for her since me doing better made her day.
As I was leaving, I told the nurse, “I’m glad I’ve been stable for two solid months but the seasonal affect coming is what scares me.” Most people get a little case of the blues when the seasons change to fall and winter. I fall headfirst down the bloody rabbit hole and can’t climb out for six months. It’s a legitimate fear, not a self fulfilling prophecy. It’s happened every year since I was 12 years old. The fact that it’s not viewed seriously and their solutions are “exercise and sunlight”…I have cause to be wary and fearful.
Dirty little lies it is. She set me up for three months, but if that seasonal does its usual thing…I may be hitting the panic button long before then.
Driving back to the shop, the anxiety had me crawling in my skin. I was paranoid, looking around, scared someone was going to crash into me. (No idea why my brain fixated on that.) I was trying to think of an excuse to text him about not coming back because he’d get pissed if I said my anxiety and panic disorders were kicking up. He’s not a believer in the mental illness thing unless you’re bat shit crazy and wear a tinfoil hat while licking toads or some shit. It was like…maybe I can throw Bex under the bus and claim she needs a break from the spawn. Or cramps, that’s always a good excuse men don’t tend to pursue with questions. Then it hit me…my phone was dead so I couldn’t text.
I went back, skin crawling off my bones. Thankfully, all I had to was write up a couple of tickets and contact a couple of insurance companies, one of which I can do from home since the bill has to be emailed and Mr. Business Man doesn’t even have a scanner (I got one of the all in one thingies for like $40 and I can’t afford ink for the printer, but the scanner works fine.) I like being able to do things from home, especially when the panic starts rising up.
Got home. Took a Xanax. Slowly returning to a good place. Except the kids came to play with Spook, then took off and she’s pouting, like it’s my fault. Wish those brats would just move, they’ve been threatening it for months. I’ve enjoyed not having a bunch of kids all summer like I did last year.
So…that’s my day in a very long nutshell. It’s only 4:30 so I have plenty of conscious hours to either recover from the panic attacks or ya know, get my ass kicked by them again. There’s no real trigger, which is the thing that pisses me off most. How can I learn to cope and manage if there’s never any particular trigger that sets them off, ffs? It’s gotten to the point where there’s so little rhyme or reason to it all, I’m wondering if I have a damn brain tumor making my brain go wonky. Or wonkier.
That’s another one of my things. I get a new pain in my side and my brain automatically assumes the worst. The only thing it hasn’t decided I have is ebola and I’m just waiting for that now that Ebola is being treated in the states. How long before some jackhole decides it needs to be released into the general public for shits and giggles.
I am really this nuts.
Dirty Little Lies for the shrink to make her appeased.
Bitten on the ass by reality for me.
Life’s awesome sometimes.