Six point five hours in the dish. Six plus hours of sunlight, noise, and…ugh, other people. Nothing traumatic happened. My brain just wasn’t on board with the whole socially obligated to be social thing. It was originally only supposed to be a five hour jaunt. But nooo, his highness got to fuck about off and on and then ask me to come back, kid in tow, so he could do the shit he didn’t do while fucking about visiting and hostile fowling (angry birds). Yet he gives me shit for looking at Reddit…I brought it up on the computer just to piss him off. But I didn’t read it. Instead, I watched a talking cat video on youtube as my fuck you gesture. Hypocrites bother me, they just do. Don’t tell me to get my shit together and be useful if you’re busy talking to the neighbor dude for a half hour. My whole point being there is “keeping him on track” and it’s futile because he listens as well as my kid.
I guess my people skills are just that shitty. But it’s really not so much that or even mood today. It’s the anxiety that’s devouring me. Wasn’t so bad to start out with but man, every hour outside my bubble, exposed to dish dwelling activities…The anxiety made way to paranoia which lead to panic which lead to me growling under my breath because my stomach was in nervous knots and I was starting to freak out and melt down. Nothing to do with anyone, really, except, I’m a train wreck who cannot exist outside her bubble for long stretches of time. I try but the price is astronomical. And I have no support system to pat my shoulder and say, “It must suck to get so anxious it makes your stomach hurt and you get so scared you tremble.” Oh, noooo. Compassion? Are you fucking kidding me? I get judgment.
“You’re bitchy.” “You’re just lazy, you wanna go home and sit on your ass.” “You’re just anti social.” “You’re making excuses.” “You’re weird, get over it.” “Why are you so grouchy?”
When fight or flight kicks in, whether it will kill me or not, the fear is very real and it alters my train of thought, followed by physical symptoms that make me feel very ill and hells yeah, I get grumpy and growling and glarey like anyone else would when feeling the same things. Only difference is, maybe mine’s not so much triggered as some sort of improper impulse being sent by my brain.
I’m okay now that we’ve bee back a half hour and I got my afternoon meds on board, changed into something cooler…But even the ten minute trip home had me all but spitting like a nail gun. Traffic, traffic, kid yap yap yapping, sensory overload, panic off the charts and it seemed like I got blocked at every stop sign by a fleet of cars with right of way. GRRR. To top that off, we weren’t even in our drive before several of Spook’s friends were already running into our yard. I don’t mind her having friends. I do mind them mobbing us before we can get through the door. She wants a snack when she gets home. I can’t afford to feed four or five other kids. I’d like to come inside, go pee, take meds, et al, then worry about all the bickering and thieving (yes, they steal hers toys, thuglings) and demands…The cherry on top was before I could even get a drink and get the xanax on board to combat the panxiety…the phone started ringing. BLOOD FRIGGING HELL. I’m on overload and keep overloading and eventually the circuit will blow or there’s gonna be one big ass fire with me as the incendiary device.
I’m down to two sporks. Just..Fuck. When the anxiety hits that abruptly, that hard, and there are witnesses who lack the intellect to grasp that it’s not some show I am putting on, I really “losing it”…Is it any wonder I don’t want to go out for long periods of time. I’m not limiting myself so much as accepting that at this time, for whatever reasons, I have this limitation to respect lest I make things worse. Really no different than walking on a bum leg when told to stay off it to speed your recovery. Of course, mental illness is the bastard child of the health field so it will never be viewed as such on a mass scale. Much easier to dismiss the mentally ill as lazy and shiftless.
Now…R has put me in a pickle and he played it off as an “oopsy” but he damn well knew what he was dooming me to. Since she was with me at the shop so he could run to the bank, he throws out to my 5 year old never-fucking-lets-anything-go child, “If you mind your mom, you can come to my house and play with L” (the 3 year old granddaughter he babysits every Wednesday night. I’d told him earlier I’d see how I felt rather than commit to anything since my mood and anxiety were so raw..And he boxes me in by mentioning it to my kid damn well knowing I will suffer dearly at her hands if I back out of going so I’ll go just to spare myself. That way he can shunt the kids off on each other, bore me with more talk of busted shit, and somehow completely ruin Arrow for me so I have to watch it all over again. It’s not pessimism, it’s what’s happened every time for six months. Bloody hell.
I am trying to bolster myself with platitudes. “It will be good for your kid.” “It will be good for your mood.”
I am full of shit.The only good part might be if a Mangorita dulled things but that could be the panic talking. For some reason, when my anxiety shoots up, I become a very nasty hateful being. Perhaps the foul language lash out and glare thing is my only way of feeling strong enough to withstand the maelstrom of fucked up messages being delivered by scumbag brain. It’s never personal. I know it seems like it is, I vilify R at every turn and I am definitely wrong to do that. It’s not that he isn’t an irritating ass (we are all irritating asses, it’s the human condition), but I always have to have a nemesis. It’s just me. And it’s usually the person I spend the most time with or am bothered by the most. The only exception to this ever was Bex. We existed together peacefully because we both valued solitude and space. Most people…Cross that line. And that makes me nastier and more irate and more prone to vilify people.
I should work on that. And I will. As soon as they all start taking their “make me not be an insensitive narcissistic asshole” pills.
Bygones. Begones. Pegasporkacornapine. No idea.
On the plus side I am three full 20mg doses into the Latuda and I haven’t sprouted goat horns yet. I do however wonder if the heightened anxiety and panic are a byproduct of it. It is listed on the insert in the first paragraph that “may make anxiety and depression worse.” And ya know the shrink will just want to increase it, then bump it up again , because god knows if a million people take it with no anxiety then it MUST work that way for everyone. It’s the ass trashiest. I’m giving this stuff a shot in spite of the terror of side effects. But if the anxiety continues to worsen and the shrink tries the raise the dosage crap…I think I will suddenly develop those suicidal thoughts that are fairly common with the cross labeled drugs. I’m pragmatic. If the truth won’t serve me, I’ll lie. I wouldn’t have to if the doctors just listened to the patients instead of the pharma cult leaders.