I am on sensory overload after a week full of sensory overload.
Every sound is like a hundred voices through a megaphone. My eardrums cringe in pain.
Most of the noise is coming from my kid. I don’t know how one 5 year old can fill every single moment with loud idle blabbing. I couldn’t talk that much if I free based speed while drinking Red Bull.
Plus I like to take a breath. She apparently doesn’t require air.
I’m grumpy. My entire body aches. I am hungry but can’t motivate myself to cook. I just feel drained.
Weekends are a time for people to go do things.
I spent the week doing things. I feel a little bruised, like I went a few rounds with Tyson.
The more noise I am subjected to the more unnerved and bruised I feel.
I do not like being this way. I wish with everything I am I could be anything but so sensitive to outside stimuli.
It’s not a behavior that can be unlearned. It’s simply the way I have always been. Even as a small child I did not want to attend large birthday parties or crowded events. It’s too much for me to process and the price I pay is high.
I have tried so hard to find a happy medium.
But it seems to be about extremes. I sit it out and stay within my tolerance zone. Or I try to assimilate even in a controlled fashion and I end up overloaded and overwhelmed.
As the morning progresses, I find myself having lulls in my agitation. They are brief respites because the instant my kid’s chatter starts up again…My ears literally cringe with pain caused by the sound. It’s an awful feeling when the sound of your child’s voice hurts you.
I hate being this way.
I don’t mind quirk or dysfunction or even imbalance.
But to be this fragile over mere sound…This is ridiculous.
Fragile…And irritible and hostile. I am snapping over every little thing. I can’t stand this. If this is what high functioning results in, then low functioning should be my goal. I don’t want anything that taxes me to the point of being a grouchy monster because this is not who I normally am.
Much as I wanted to bow out of, well, life today…I had promised my kid I’d take her to Pizza Hut so she could get her reading reward pizza. it wasn’t busy and I wasn’t panicked, but there were some men at another table basically yelling with laughter. It was obnoxious. I’m not opposed to having a good time. I just don’t think it should infringe on the ability of those around you to hold a quiet conversation. Nor should it be so loud and obnoxious an anxiety ridden stressed out trainwreck wants to leap up and stab you in the eye with a salad fork.
I had to take a xanax. I was seriously getting bent, to the point I loudly snapped, “Were you people raised by wolves?” In this town, that might get me physically assaulted.
So while we waited for our food I kept my kid busy with games of Hangman.
I am proud of her. She behaved well, not one fit. No, that would be on me this time. i hate stupid people. They are a trigger.
But we are done with the dish outing, I kept my word to my kid in spite of my own issues. Oh and we saw her sperm donor standing outside a gas station talking to his girlfriend. I said, “Say hi to your daddy.” And she asked, “Is that the one that left us?”
Meh. How he holds his head up is beyond me. I mean, I break a promise to take her to the park, I beat myself up for days. Having a conscience can suck.
So…done with the dish. Hoping no family visits. I have had a busy full week and I really need to destress.
Which means the stress is just going to keep coming at me.
And yes, I know, I have made a big display of my social anxiety issues. It is not a bid for attention. It is my way of keeping track of just how drastically the anxiety issues hinder and affect normal life for me. It’s easy for others to see you do well a couple of times and assume you’re fine, just a lazy malingerer. I want this blog to tell the truth. There are good times. There are bad times.
Mostly, it’s just a rapid moving merry go round of both and rarely anything in between.
I have a lot to be thankful for so I can’t say I am without quality in my life. It’s just diminished at every turn, by the anxiety, and the aftermath of me battling that anxiety.
Aftermath. What a way to live life.