***I was gonna relax and not put on pants for awhile. Unfortunately I kept hearing car doors and got paranoid someone was going to be at the door and so..I opted to rush and put on pants. No one showed of course. But the faulty wiring sends faulty messages.
***My kid is in Uzi mode, rapid firing questions, inanity, screeching that damn Frozen song…And my nerves are crying out in agony because I am not in a space to deal with this right now. I took 1 mg Xanax and I’m still all panxiety twitchy. It defies explanation. And my doctor doesn’t seem to believe me, even though I told him many on the blogger network have taken a liking to the term because it’s an accurate description. He also didn’t seem to put much stock in my assertion that blogging and reaching out to others with mental health issues is a better support system than therapy. Seriously, I spend more time almost daily swapping comments with other bloggers and it adds up to far more time than what the counselors spend with you in a month. And his failure to understand what works best for me sparks sheer panic and terror because if your doctor won’t believe you and work with you in a way that has the best results for you…Prognosis not good.
***My paranoia and jumpiness has me unfocused. I just feel bad juju, that bad feeling in the pit of your stomach that something bad is coming. Logic be damned. It’s so bad, I have pretzel gut, I can’t stop sweating in spite of three applications of anti perspirant and the fact it’s not all that hot or humid today.
***Spook has decided to be at my elbow watching every word I write. I cannot stand to be watched when I am doing stuff, it’s nerve racking. I don’t even like being watched doing dishes or cooking. Probably why the only job I ever flourished at was when where I was basically my own boss once the manager left and I was in charge of the store. I make so many typos and lose train of thought when I am being watched and normally I am exceptional typist. Put some eyes on me and I become utterly inept.
*** It just hit me my kid’s birthday is a month away. That involves being around my mother. We’re going out of town to Chuck E Cheese. Outside my bubble. Unfamiliar place. Noisy kids and games and being stuck with my family…A month away and I am already sweating it. I should think, oh, it will awesome to see Spook so happy. Instead, I’m worried about losing it in public because the anxiety is that bad. I won’t relax full until it’s over and I am safely back in my bubble. Then starts the start of school madness, paperwork and more paperwork (even though they let you register on line, wtf.) The anticipation is awful. I’m not fond of surprises but being given time to dwell is even worse.
***I am hungry yet the anxiety has me so rattled, I can’t eat a thing. Not so much as a saltine. My stomach is churning far too much to even contemplate food. I don’t know about you, but when a condition affects your sleep, your ability to enjoy things, and even keeps you from eating…It’s a damned disability. It’s a problem. Mental health professionals need to get it through their heads.
*** I have also noticed that during the worst panxiety, I pick up on smells and I’m never sure if they are real or imagined. Today, I smell like, perm solution, ya know for hair. The last few weeks it’s been fire and some and it sets me off on a terror stricken search through the house for anything that could be burning. Turns out it always a neighbor cooking out. I guess because I woke up with my home on fire that time, I am super sensitive to smells like smoke or things burning.
*** Earlier I also hit on how easily I am scarred. If something happens even once and leaves me reeling…I become petrified of it happening again. I go on with life, but I am always terrified of history repeating itself. Just once is all it takes to scar me for life. That would make it seem like I have a weak mind and weak will and yet it’s not like that at all. This is specific to the panic. Every time I ignored that gut sensation…I was caught unaware by the bad things. Tis better to be aware of the possibility it could happen again and be on guard than to risk being knocked for a loop. Dysfunctional perhaps, but forewarned is forearmed.
*** An added suckage to panxiety is that I break out in itchy hives. I get this from my mom’s side of the family her and her mother have (had) the same thing. Pretty sure breaking out in hives is not normal and it sure isn’t optimal. Anti histamines are useless against the anxiety rashes.
*** I’ve been avoiding contacting R even though he asked me last night to take his glasses to get fixed. He and the Mrs got into a big fight because of him always being gone and helping people and frankly. I don’t want put in the middle of it in the event they haven’t made peace and she might view me as one more person taking away time with her husband. I just can’t handle any drama today. None. So let him contact me.
*** We were behind a cement mixer in traffic…And I had these horrible images of concrete pouring out and bury us in the car. I don’t know where shit like that comes from, but without saying a word aloud…My kid had the exact same thought. Bizarre.
*** It’s one of the truly wretched panxiety days. I feel like I have bugs crawling all over me and every tiny sound makes me feel scared and I am twitching and itching and I just have this sick feeling in my gut which is pretty much keeping me glued to my chair.As if getting up and moving around will result in some epic proportion calamity. Every time I try to defy it, fight it, it just makes it worse and I feel even more paralyzed. No one should have to feel like this. And the damned doctors should give enough of a damn to figure out what causes this shit so it can be properly treated.
*** Of course, my reclusive child decided today would be a good day to play outside. My nerves are frayed, getting up to check on her every sixty seconds.
*** Over 8 hours in panxiety land now. I thought it was dying off, but instead, it’s making a comeback. No trigger. I’d rather be asleep than feel this shaky and paranoid. And as if I’m not feeling shitty enough, I get to hear all about how others are doing better (good for you, but I’m not so a little bit of empathy?) I want to be supportive rah rah girl…Yet all it makes me feel is resentment because bragging about how great you’re doing when you know others aren’t…seems like hubris. Like someone who quits smoking and keeps bringing it up even when you’re still smoking. Could be the paranoia and I know it’s not targeted at me and people should have the right to wave their pompoms when all the mental health planets align…It just sucks to not even be able to feel supportive and encouraging because I’ve got nothing to give.
I’m a shitty person. I can live with that. From a dark quiet closet until that spidey sense thing backs off and quits convincing me that the end is near and I should drink bleach and be done with it because this panxiety shit is like living life connected a bug zapper getting randomly zapped every ten seconds.
Panxiety. It’s a Thing. And much like the Titanic, this ship is sinking.