Daily Archives: May 4, 2015

Sorry!

For the late posting.  This week is murderous.  I have research papers to grade, finals to give, and lots of afterschool activities with my kids going on.  We actually had to sit down and plot out where we were going what day and who was picking who up from where.  And how we were going to feed everyone at a decent hour.  So today has been a little hectic and the next few days even more so.  So posting may be spotty and short.  I just want to get through the week without a major snafu.  We will see.  Thanks for continuing to read and check up on what’s gong on in my corner of the world.  Have a great week!!


Why People Get Tattoos

blahpolar:

“As people, we are regularly on the edge of an existential panic. Becker said that if you were to see the world realistically; just how vulnerable and totally insignificant you are, in terms of the cosmos, you’d go crazy. So you constantly need stories that build up your self esteem and make you feel significant, which is, of course, what culture provides.”

Originally posted on Longreads Blog:

OK, changing the subject a little: Tattooing has been around for thousands of years, we’re even finding early humans with tattoos. Do you think there is something inherent to human nature that makes us want to tattoo ourselves?
Sure. The cadaver that was found frozen and preserved in the Alps, which I think is about 5,000 years old—he’s in a museum in Italy, you can drop by and say hello—the latest research shows that his body has quite a few tattoos on his skin. They tend to be abstract designs. Based on their locations, it’s been hypothesized that they were there to distract from uncomfortable physical things like arthritis. Or possibly, that they have some kind of magical significance. If you think about it, from a certain point of view, as all of our behavior tends to be very magical in some ways. Imagine that there’s some special power in…

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Does Anxiety Run Your Life?

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It’s morning. It’s a nice morning. The sun is even shining. I have my mug of Earl Grey tea in hand and I scroll through my Facebook feed on my phone. Something I do pretty much every morning. I stare out the window and my mind begins to wander. It doesn’t go to happy places. It doesn’t enjoy the sunshine as it beams through the window. Nor does it take pleasure in the beautiful blossoms on my neighbour’s tree. Instead, it begins to torment itself.

My mind doesn’t deal well with quiet time. What should be peaceful, turns into its own plague. The worrying begins. My heart starts to race. Before I even finish my tea, I have already created several horrific situations that could arise in my life. My breathing quickens. Mostly, I worry about my children. I worry about what they’re doing. I worry about what they might do. And I worry about every little thing that could go wrong in between. If they are in a vehicle, I stress over will they be in an accident.

I brood about future events—things that may not happen for years. My son wants to be a police officer. That gives me pride, yet great anxiety. And my daughter—well, she’s only 15—15 going on 21 and every little thing that goes on there. She has an allergy to nuts, so that is a constant presence. Their lives unfold in my brain and the anxiety continues to rise. My neck tenses. Sometimes it gets so bad I can feel the pressure behind my eyes—the pressure of my tears trying to escape.

The apprehension doesn’t stop at the kitchen table. Being in a vehicle can be unbearable. It’s not a matter of whether or not I trust the driver. It’s more just a matter of the potential for what could happen. For years I was at the mercy of others to drive me places because being the driver was even more than I could stand. The level of my anxiety left me unsafe to drive.

I seem to worry about every little thing. My family jokes about it, but really it’s quite distressful. For example, I stress out over technology. If I’m doing something out of the ordinary on my computer or phone, my blood pressure seems to rise. A panic feeling sweeps over me. I just imagine losing everything on my computer or my phone becoming inoperable. I know it seems funny to others, but really it’s not.

The nights are just as bad as the mornings. I lay awake at night with my busy brain. My thoughts running wild, again with the worries of the day and the paranoia for tomorrow. If my children are out late, I can’t sleep until they’re safely home. If they’re sleeping elsewhere, I worry about what they’re doing and are they safe. I worry about the last to come home—will they put the house alarm on properly? Of course they will. They always do. Yet I fret.

This is Generalized Anxiety Disorder. There is no blood test for an anxiety disorder. And an anxiety disorder cannot be cured. Rather it can only be managed. Predominantly, anxiety is managed by medication. It can also be aided through psychotherapy and relaxation.

I have now begun a high-dose regime of anti-anxiety medication. This, along with my on-going psychotherapy and relaxation techniques, has made a huge improvement. My life has changed because of it. My mornings are more relaxing and I fall asleep with greater ease. I even drive about town on my own. Anxiety is not something to be taken lightly. It can be debilitating—stealing from you the right to a peaceful and relaxing existence. Breathe.

Symptoms of Anxiety (provided by WebMD)
Feelings of panic, fear, and uneasiness
Problems sleeping
Cold or sweaty hands and/or feet
Shortness of breath
Heart palpitations
An inability to be still and calm
Dry mouth
Numbness or tingling in the hands or feet
Nausea
Muscle tension
Dizziness

The Songstress Speaking to My Soul

The Songstress Speaking to My Soul.

Sporkitude

Sporkitude: noun;  mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty even when down to your last spork.

Oh, yes, I am making up words again. Panxiety. Pegacorn. Now we have…sporkitude. Because yesterday was an example in sporkitude that should inspire a gazillion pegacorn rebellions. I was running on empty,one spork left for the whole day. Defiant child. Visit from family. ickickick. (My dad had to come in and use the bathroom, invasion of space during crazy panxiety day, not good, not good.)

I made no great accomplishments. I did, however, do dishes. It took an hour because my crazy ass has to do everything in increments. Cups and silverware. Drain. More soapy hot water. Plates and bowls soak while I smoke. Then repeat and wash the pans. Then wipe the counter. Most people can do dishes in ten minutes tops. I…have to use a system that works for me and my fucked up brain. And therein lies the rub. I don’t think like others so I don’t work as fast and organized as others therefore…I’m like some sort of idiot savant. I’m smart but not in any meaningful way for society. I can’t keep up so I’m somehow inept. Whatevs. It got fucking done. (Odd how that argument meant very little to employers and their corporate policies.)

Goal number two reached, in spite of clinging desperately to the last spork: I cooked spaghetti and garlic bread for our supper.

Goal number three: Bathed both kid and myself.

At that point, my last spork was tarnished and bent from me clenching it in my sweaty hands all day and wielding it like a weapon at all my crazy thoughts. I put my kid to bed, not that she stayed, she’s like a demented jack in the box. “Mommy, I had a nightmeer.” (even though she never actually fell asleep) “Mommy, I’m hungry.” “Mommy, I can’t sleep.” (After sixty seconds of trying.) “Mommy, I want my allergy medicine.” (even though her allergy symptoms were under control.)

Love my child but there are days when my crazy brain really believes she’s some sort of 5 year old sadist who lives to poke me with a pitchfork and watch in glee as I come apart. I get that kids always behave better for anyone than the primary caregiver but my kid takes it to the extreme. She’s an angel for everyone but me. Me, she knows I am teetering on the edge. I implore, beg, plead, ground, take things away. Rarely I’ve given her a swat just to get her out of a tantrum. I’ve taken her to a child psychologist in hopes she’d talk about why she’s got such a problem with me. I do my best. I am not perfect. And frankly, the only time we have problems is when she’s hyper and aggressive from sugar or when I say no. Which with a five year old who wants to throttle cats and put dirty marbles in her mouth, means I am in a perpetual state of no. Last night she treated me to an hour of  “You’re the horriblest mother ever!” Because I told her to pick something up. And when she got over that, she went back to the morning’s stained skirt fiasco. I was a terrible mother for not letting her wear a stained skirt.

By the sixth time she popped out of her room, I used the Satan Voice. I do not like using it but it is often the ONLY thing that gets her to back down. I told her she didn’t have to sleep but she HAD to stay in her room because I needed a break. Guess what? She was asleep fifteen minutes later. Maybe because I told her she didn’t *have* to sleep. And that would be in keeping with my personality. Tell me I have to do something, fuck you. Let me come to it on my own, all is good. And I don’t even display this to her which makes me believe genetic programming is pretty feasible.

Finally got her down. Glared daggers at the Latuda. Took it and a Xanax, shut out the light, curled up in  bed. But it was so hot, I had to drag out another fan after tossing and turning for an hour. By then I was pissed. He tells me to take it at bedtime, it will help me sleep better.

Bullfuckingshit. Twice I’ve taken it at night and twice I’ve been awake for hours afterward. I took it at 8 last night. I was still awake at 2 a.m. I read 250 pages and finished off another book. And still wasn’t sleepy. WTF. So now I am going to try to take Latuda during the day.

And pray to the sacred pegacorn my nipples don’t leak. WTF kind of side effect is that????

Today,in spite of four hours sleep, I am less gloomy even though the weather is gloomy.I’m still aggravated and irritable as fuck but I feel less…trepidation. I think I’m starting the day with ten sporks, since I lost two due to lack of sleep and a spat with my kid right off the bat because she didn’t like any of her clothes so she had a raging fit.

Now she is schoolified, I am bubblefied, and oh, guess what. After three days of silence and not responding to my texts, R is texting  me. Wifey must have gone back to work and now I am acknowledged again. I haven’t even read the text. Fuck him. For two weeks, even as I fell the fuck apart, I was there to hold his hand and listen to him piss and moan about how hard up he is for money (if you haven seven grand in a savings account and I’m pawning dvds for gas money, you’re not getting an ounce of sympathy from me.) I didn’t begrudge him grief for Bruce’s death because that saddened me too. But to completely blow me off for three days and not even taken thirty second to reply to a text? The man’s ego and audacity boggle the fucking mind. Maybe it’s an overreaction on my part, lemme think…

Hell to the no.

This is the man who has a tantrum and calls me names if I fail to answer my phone after 9pm because I am in the shower or asleep. So if I can’t even function due to having to catch his calls, what gives him the right to use me then drop me when someone else is there to coddle him? It’s not right and I think my phone battery just went dead. Oops. Didn’t get the message. Or, volatile as I felt yesterday…I might just go off on him and his rudeness. So yeah,dead battery. Can’t go burning bridges just because I am falling to pieces.

And denial and “grrrl” power cheers aside…After yesterday…I really do feel like I am coming undone. It’s gotten to be too much. I’m “doing it” but I am hanging by a piece of frayed thread. I started thinking maybe my kid just hates me and I should go to jail or a psych ward because obviously I’m not strong enough to keep doing this shit. My mind is getting worse instead of better. Maybe institutional life is all I can handle, much as I’ve always hated schedules and rules. I suck at stability which is the one thing life requires. WTF am I supposed to do? Not like I can jog out to Walfuckingmart and buy a case of stability. It seems hopeless. Pointless. And yeah, yeah, it’s just the depression and it’s venomous lies.

Except sometimes, it’s not. Sometimes people really do get more than they can handle and they do crumble. I fear that happening to me, not because I am paranoid, but because my mental state has gotten worse rather than better. My coping skills have improved ten fold, but unless my brain cooperates, it counts for shit.

Sporkitude. It’s all I’ve got left. And believe me, I am sharpening those tines into razor points so I can stab at the panxiety next time it comes around.

 

 


Help my MOJO, Austin powers!

I want to start of mental health month by saying that I’ve been really stressing over my sexual health and it’s all because of …….

I have absolutely no idea what it is because of. 

I have been searching inside me for an answer for really long time and I have come up with nothing. I can blame it on my medicine all day long, but when I wasn’t on my medicine I felt the same way. It also could be the fact that I haven’t stop smoking and I’m taking medicine and dealing with life, it could be all of these things coming together...

Sigh

Mental illness and sexual health do not go together. They are polar opposite and it is the worst aspect of the whole deal for me.  

What have you done for your sexual health and your mental illness to come together as one? What are some ways to get over this mountain of crap?

Help my mojo


Enlightenment

A quick post to just say how much yoga and meditation have helped my fibromyalgia. It’s good to be active again, even if it doesn’t have the same endorphin rush of running.
Also, I made a huge step forward in healing. While cleaning up papers, I found pictures of my ex and various cards he’d given me. I held them in my hands a long while, then threw them in the trash. The man I loved is gone, no use in holding on to reminders.

I feel lighter, hopeful. I can only pray this lasts.

Filed under: Wellness Warriors Tagged: fibromyalgia, healing, meditation, spoonie, yoga

Enlightenment

A quick post to just say how much yoga and meditation have helped my fibromyalgia. It’s good to be active again, even if it doesn’t have the same endorphin rush of running.
Also, I made a huge step forward in healing. While cleaning up papers, I found pictures of my ex and various cards he’d given me. I held them in my hands a long while, then threw them in the trash. The man I loved is gone, no use in holding on to reminders.

I feel lighter, hopeful. I can only pray this lasts.

Filed under: Wellness Warriors Tagged: fibromyalgia, healing, meditation, spoonie, yoga

Enlightenment

A quick post to just say how much yoga and meditation have helped my fibromyalgia. It’s good to be active again, even if it doesn’t have the same endorphin rush of running.
Also, I made a huge step forward in healing. While cleaning up papers, I found pictures of my ex and various cards he’d given me. I held them in my hands a long while, then threw them in the trash. The man I loved is gone, no use in holding on to reminders.

I feel lighter, hopeful. I can only pray this lasts.

Filed under: Wellness Warriors Tagged: fibromyalgia, healing, meditation, spoonie, yoga

in the name of princess leia of planet bipolaria

May the fourth be with you.

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Here’s a … uhm … tribute?

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Dat Klimt …
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