The reason I may not be posting very often for the next 10 days 😊
Saw my old college roommate today for the first time since we finished school. We’ve kept up over the years but she came back to the university for a conference and was going down to see her father on the Coast and graciously offered to meet me for lunch on her way. We had such a good talk catching up on so many things you just can’t get to in a Facebook post. I keep saying that no friends are like old friends–you just pick up where you left off and share your lives with each other.
She has had a hard time of it–her husband has had cancer twice and may have it again; they’re going to biopsy next week. He also suffers from recurrent unipolar depression, which is different from my style, but we understand what the other is talking about when we talk about it. She is so much smarter than I am I can barely talk to her about work because I don’t quite understand all that she does except she works on making better storage batteries for energy. She was into hydrogen batteries for cars for a while, and now she seems to be into storage batteries for sustainable energy, Brilliant woman.
I had my homeschool class before that, and it went well. They read their essays and talked about revisions to make to them. I taught them my favorite tool for revision–using highlighters, either on paper or on the computer, to mark areas depending on what they were revising for. Today we highlighted for sensory detail, making sure all senses were represented and that they understood why they might favor one sense over the other depending on their writing goals for the piece. So that was fun.
ONly 25 more views or me to hit 5,000! Drop by a visit for a while if you want–hope everyone has a good weekend!
I thought splitting the Cymbalta into 3 30 mg doses would ward off that hypomanic burst. Nope. It makes me hypomanic blotto for an hour or so. Which is great, I’ve even faced off with IM and talked to someone today, normally not in my skillset due to anxiety. Hypomania is cruel, especially in short bursts,’ cos you think, wow, I’m gonna have a rare good day.
Then the level evens out, you come back down, and think,oh, fuck, this day is gonna suck.
One would think this would make reluctant to take Cymblotto. Yet it’s one of a handful that have ever helped even remotely, plus it kills my knee pain and gives me energy. I tolerate the hypomanic bursts. And maybe a little of it is reluctance to even mention to the doctor that another one has failed or had averse effects. Because that’s my failure, their perfect meds could never ever be the problem.
Spook channeled satan at bedtime last night. I let her in my bed, but she persisted in yelling at me and flopping about so I sent her to her own bed. She screamed and bawled bloody murder for an hour. I just wanted to sleep. So I told her to bring her pillow and blanket and made her sleep on the floor. The fit ended and she was out in ten minutes. But her screaming had me so rattled I didn’t go to sleep for what seemed like forever. And no sooner than I did, I jolted awake, more bolts of panic shooting through my heart. Night after bloody night. Lather, rinse, repeat, even with sleep meds. I don’t even know wtf that is.
I’m not sure what to do with myself now. I know I should be doing a ton of stuff but I can’t pick a point to start. And I can’t do anything without my kid attached at the hip being argumentative and loud or lovey dovey and demonstrative. Which the loving part is great, but when I’m trying to pee and she wants to sit on my lap? Um…No. Needy children, needy people, major trigger for my independent loner personality. Need..elbow…room.
I asked dad and stepmonster to keep her for a night this weekend so I could try to whip the place into some semblance of order and they hemmed and hawed cos they are such busy important people…But that was a day ago and after the Cymblotto. Now I don’t want to even attempt organization because my brain isn’t coherent enough. Truth be told, these days, I am so sub par functional outside robot mode, I have to force myself to eat and I carry a toothbrush in my purse cos I just…can’t keep up with all this shit.
Last night on the phone Spook asked my mom if they could have a sleepover…Mom said no, cos she hasn’t been feeling well. Then she said a few hours for a playdate. Then it was a sleepover. With her Alzheimer’s I don’t even know what she meant. But now dad is on the phone saying they want to keep her for two days. One day maybe but two??? Oh, well, one last blast for her before school starts. I need the break. Now I have to call my mother and tell her Spook has opted to stay with them which is gonna go over like lead bricks. Ugh…Give me stability, a job I can do without a nervous breakdown, and a one way ticket away from my crazy ass family and this stupid ass town.
Okay, Cymblotto has worn off, venom and “get the fuck outta my face” are back.
I think R is pissed at me cos I couldn’t get a sitter and come babysit him. Oh, well, sucks to be him. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, I can’t be held responsible for his whims.
I am so sick of these microbursts of “Oh, I feel pretty good” only to splat. False hope is worse than no hope. Hell, depression is better than false hope, at least it’s stable inasmuch as you’re just low, period.
Okay, off to find some Toad-zac for the Femmes to put in a punch bowl and pass around.
Bad news! The quilting is on hiatus. I had three seams to go on my weekly homework when my sewing machine froze up. Ack!
Now I paid about $100 for this machine back around 1986. I used it here and there for a few years and then it took up permanent residence in the back of my closet. So getting it fixed and serviced…well, how much do you really want to spend on an old (but not antique) sewing machine?
We debated the merits of the whole thing with several sewing friends and the consensus was that if I like using this machine we should probably try to get it fixed. There are inexpensive machines out there, but we were told they have plastic parts inside and are impossible to repair. There are good machines, but I don’t want to invest in anything fancy. That would just put pressure on me to do my quilting. I don’t want it to be a pressure thing.
So the machine is in the shop. The guy is supposed to look at it tomorrow. Hopefully he can fix it for a reasonable amount. Hopefully he can fix it fast. Then I can get my three seams done and be ready for my Tuesday night quilting lesson.
Good news! We are leaving tomorrow morning to go visit some friends up in the mountains. I think I’ve mentioned them…they have the nice cabin. We’re only staying overnight. It’s hot here so any relief from the weather is great.
We are going on a trip to Lake Tahoe with these people in a few weeks and we need to plan it. Whose car are we going to take, what are we going to see, how much stuff to take….we’ve got to figure all of that out. But these are easy traveling companions and I’m sure it won’t be too bad.
On the recovery template front, I am having a decent month.
I added “scrubbing the sink” on my template. I now scrub the kitchen sink once during the day. My son is supposed to do all of the dishes, but he won’t clean the sink. So I’ve picked that up. It’s amazing what just a shiny sink can do for your house.
I’ve tried to be more affectionate to my husband. It’s tough. I usually wind up giving him a sincere thanks for something he has done that day. He is driving me nutty as we are around the house a lot. Lots of togetherness. Which is good until you’re in the midst of it.
I’ve lost 14 pounds! I still have slips here and there but the compulsive eating is pretty much gone. I am really proud of this when you look at the meds and how they make you hungry. I’ve got a ways to go on weight loss, but at least I have a start. Even though I have lost this weight I have not stayed very well on my food plan. Only 4 days out of 14. Really not good.
I’ve been doing my blog reading and commenting on a faithful basis. Cutting it down to five blogs a day was the right thing to do. I wish I could get to more but I am trying to balance my life with how I feel NOW. I just don’t want to be on the computer that much.
I have a little spiritual routine I check off every day. I read my devotional, do my prayer beads, and meditate. I found an OA call where they meditate all together and I love that. I also have the app “Calm” on my phone.
I am a terrible at meditating. I think about everything but God or the meaning of life. Yesterday, I was thinking about clothes and dog food. I need to try to focus a bit more!
I have gotten on an OA call every day so far this month. The calls are very motivating. I report in to my sponsor every night about my day.
I exercised twice so far this month. Big deal. I am really lazy about even thinking about exercise because I am losing weight without it. However, I know this is the wrong attitude.
I’ve gotten together with five friends so far this month. I love my friends. They keep me together. They don’t care if I am fat or depressed.
My bipolar group has met twice this month and I have been there both times. Out of the 15 or so people there, I probably feel the best. I want to “give back” by being an example of recovery, but it does get depressing. I just don’t know how I should handle that whole thing.
I guess that’s about it. If my life seems sort of dull…well, it is. But I will take dull over some other alternatives.
Age, like that bus you so desperately needed to catch, just doesn’t hang about.
So much love poetry, so little time. And so few celebrating when the hands which hold are both wrinkled, and have age spots, and not tattoos.
This poem appeared in a 1991 collection titled “Spoils”. Despite the poem’s title, this is the song I was listening to when I started this blog.
Whilst the poem’s about your uncle and auntie, this blog is for you, Mom.
I hope you are well, and happy.
Think of a Beatles Tune
They asked him if he was married.
He said no, but he had a girlfriend.
So he went back to Tennessee
to persuade and collect her.
In the twenties and thirties
the young couple made the rounds
of Detroit money. Living in,
expenses were low, and they saved.
Days off, he’d take nieces and nephews
for rides in the bosses’ autos:
silver brackets for the flower vases,
best upholstery, and rumble seat.
No children of his own, sometimes
he could hardly polish the cars
what with his employers’ sons
hanging round, asking questions.
As for her, she got the castoff
evening gowns of the women
with wardrobes full of money,
and not a thing to wear.
At last enough was saved.
The farm was bought, the address
changed back to Dickson, Tennessee:
three streets, one traffic light.
By the time I knew them, the farm
was three acres, some hens, a cat.
She said they had the chairs that way
so they could hold hands, whilst watching TV.
Another day in the grips of anxiety extreme, complete with pretzel gut, paranoia, and sheer terror and dread. My kid napped briefly so I just put a sheet down on the living room floor, got my body pillow and sleep mask, and I laid down fully expecting to do nothing but toss and turn. And I did for awhile. But then I nodded off. And the cats made something fall so the loud crash woke me and sent me into a tailspin of thudding heart panic. By then, it was time to get us both cleaned up for her school thing.
I wouldn’t let her wear what she’d napped in because it was sweat drenched and she balled up her fists and hit me in the stomach. I gave her a swat on the butt and sent her to her room. Sue me. I don’t think mollycoddling the little snowflakes is doing any good, especially when a child hits the parent. Quick, call the authorities, I am the fucking devil. I still won’t let her get away with hitting me and time outs and taking her shit away are doing zilch.
We went to her school thing. We arrived like two minutes before the doors opened and there was a crowd of like a hundred already lined up. I had to remind myself to breathe and shamble on. Then we found her classroom and desk and I was reading the handbook and muttered, “Jebus, these people are nazis.” I mean, no hair dye, jewelry, make up. And the whole no “items that can be used as a weapon?” Seriously, motherfuckers? A sharpened pencil in the hand of a volatile child is a weapon and you made us buy them 48! Morons. Spook’s new teacher is like 4’11 and tiny, looks younger than my 16 year old nephew. Seems friendly enough. Hopefully she’s more communicative than the Kindergarten teacher was who blew off every parent conference we were supposed to have. On one hand, it means my kid must be doing ok. On the other, how dare your handbook tell me my responsibility is to be involved in my kid’s education then tell me there’s no need to meet. WTF?
Much to Spook’s delight, her locker is right next to the youngest devil girl, the one whose dad won’t let the kids play with her for whatever fucked up reason. If anything, they gave my kid lice three times, I should be the one banning their friendship. But I’m not an asshole like that ‘cos ya know, kids get lice, BFD. Not to mention I’d prefer my kid not hang out with spawns of morons, but it’s the not the kids’ fault. They’re being raised by wolves, ya know. My bad, that’s an insult to wolves. I am wondering how long before those idiots demand the school move Spook’s locker away from their demon spawn’s. Cooties and all that. I really wanna take a shovel to the heads of such idiotic people. (Oddly, they are fine to play with the little boy who went around bragging that his family had to move over here cos of a bedbug infestation, wtf?)
I survived a half hour, but it was harrowing. I was well dressed and made up (in black, of course) but I was sweating bullets and woozy and felt like a bag was over my head. I needed to escape. But I faked the civility thing. And fled back to my bubble. Where the child all the teachers were gushing about being so sweet and quiet and how they’d missed her…Started screaming at me all over again because I wouldn’t let her brand new dress to go play outside. She’s done nothing but complain and yell at me since 7 a.m.and to say I am exhausted and demoralized is an understatement. I thought I might get a second win since I survived the harrowing event. But nooo, come home and the kid has to continue sucking the life out of me while coming off as a respectful polite angel to everyone else. Seriously, whose cheerios did I piss in to deserve this shit:? I’m doing my best, ffs.
I’m just gonna post what I rambled on during the day because it’s pretty relevant in the capacity of anxiety disorder and its distortions. Feel free to skip that part. I’m wiped out. Crypt is calling my name. Does it really count if I “did it” when it sucks the life out of me to this extent?
Well, the internet has been down almost an hour. I am freaking out. Ya know the nagging thoughts of anxious doom. Did they cut me, off ‘cos they forgot to enter my payment in the computer? Has my neighor (again) hijacked my cable net? Was I hacked and someone’s been using my IP to download shit? Is my router broken? Is the laptop fucked? The desktop won’t bring it up either, OMG PANIC PANIC PANIC.
No, it can’t merely be that blinking lights on the modum indicate no service.The anxiety has to bring up every horrendous explanation possible. I keep telling myself it will come back up, service goes down from time to time. It was running like shit yesterday and even R said his at the shop was, too. No reason to freak out,things go wrong all the time. So why doesn’t scumbag brain believe me?
Sad thing is, I am 1.5 mg into my daily Xanax and it’s barely making a dent. I keep dreading tonight even though I know at most it will be a half hour most of it spent trying to find a parking space then get out of traffic hell. I tell myself this. It doesn’t seem to help. I try to adopt the shiny happy people, “Oh, it will be fun, you’ll see!” to no avail. I mean, it doesn’t make my pretzel gut suddenly all gone. It doesn’t keep me from breaking out in a cold sweat.
It’s like I can’t think, can’t move on to a distraction, because DAMN IT THE INTERNET IS DOWN AND THAT IS CATACLYSMIC and I have to face a crowd tonight in unfamiliar territory…
I can see why it all seems so asinine to people without an anxiety disorder, I really can.
But it’s my reality. And it makes me wish I could live in fiction.
And the net came back up. BREEAAAATHE. Ridiculous as it is…This is how I live my life. Not because I can’t live without internet, I have lots of times. It’s just my tether to the outside world, my therapy to blog and connect with others and without it, I may as well be in a unabomber shack in Bumfuck. Psychomatic for sure but logical to me.
My kid is like a hungry lion catching the scent of the gazelle that is injured, then moves in for the kill. I swear when I am a nervous wreck she can smell the anxiety in my sweat. That’s when she decides acting out is a good idea. Today has been nothing but her arguing with every word I say even over something simply like “that shirt is black.” NO IT’S NOT, MOMMY, IT’S BLACK WITH SILVER SEQUINS. She just yells at me and I correct her and she says, “I’ll be good now.” Then she starts in with the noise, the constant questions, then arguing with whatever answer I give her. Swatting her butt, grounding, her taking her favorite things away-none of it works. If anything, she runs with the “you’re so mean” thing and convinces people I am some sort of military drill sargeant.
I told her earlier I want to clean up her room. She went off and said no, she didn’t want her dresser moved. I said I was gonna move that. Ten minutes later, she’s demanding I get in there NOW and move the dresser to the opposite of the room.
WTF? Like I needed added stress.
The child therapist said it’s all me, my kid senses my anxiety or depression and thus she gets anxious and sad and I trigger her. Which is weird because I do pretty damn well wearing my mask of normality while my skin crawls off my bones. When she asks, I’ll just say, “Mom’s having a rough day” or ” I don’t feel so well.” I don’t sit around bawling, cowering, gnawing on my nails throwing out psych terms and transferring my issues onto her. That counselor is full of shit. I suppose it’s my fault, too, that she’s already broken the latch on the dvd player mom got her for her birthday. I must have portrayed an expression of destruction.
I did dishes and tossed in a load of wash. Still no pants at 1:38 in the afternoon but it’s so muggy I am gonna need a shower and it seems stupid to get all cleaned up, then by six when her thing is, be all sweaty and nasty again. Fuck it.