Daily Archives: June 6, 2018

Bitter Truth

I would swear it’s that crooked hand of time bending my reality that leads me back.  My warped memory downplaying the urgency.  It was just a handful of mistakes. Not very many really.  It’s a mere lack of mindfulness on my part.  Of course, I can fix it.  If only you would do your part and not cause me extra stress.  You know I can’t handle stress. Actually, I think it’s the loneliness.  My phone doesn’t ring.  No one seems to care. I’ve been forgotten. Always misunderstood. But, the anxiety.  THE anxiety is really the culprit. I should really talk to my doctor about it.

Drinking? No, I don’t think that’s the true problem here.  I recognize it’s not good for me. Bordering on harmful, maybe. Again. An easy fix. If only…..
Down the road of insanity I trot. These conversations playing in my mind.  The valid reasons someone like me would drink on the tip of my tongue.  The If Onlys on blast every second of everyday.  Probably, also, looking for more reasons unconsciously.  Anything to explain away what I obviously cannot control.
Let me glamorize for just a second.  The ice clinking in the glass.  Vodka splashing.  Cranberry juice splicing to make a beautiful color that lights up my mood.  The reassurance my smile will be in place. The dark thoughts will disappear.  I lean over to whisper in your ear and laughter is shared. Or, the dance floor welcomes my left foot.  Bravery fills my veins and I send that text I couldn’t before.  I feel beautiful. Comfortable in my very skin. Accepted.  Free.
When those 15 blissful minutes are up, I am lost again.  In pain again. Alone again. I know the insanity of drink has won again.  Yet, I yearn for those 15 minutes. A Lot.  The obsession is greater than me.  I have allowed the bottle to be bigger than me.  Poor, poor tiny me.
Only another alcoholic can truly understand this predicament. The desire not to drink is there. It is here. I have that desire.  Desire:strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen. In my case, wishing is not enough. Willpower is not enough.  I must surrender. I must believe in my bones that I, and especially not alone, can fix this.  It’s more than a loose screw.  It’s a big ol breakdown of epic proportions.
But, is it really?? My mind likes to ask.  Are you sure?  If only….
The incessant loop is exhausting. Which is why I need to be vigilant.  Which is why seeking out help is paramount.  Which is why I’m in Alcoholics Anonymous. Which is why I have a sponsor. Which is why I really really want to work on the concept of a higher power.  Which is why I need to open my mouth.  Extend my hand.  Listen for the message.  Let the tears flow.
All of this is why I, now gratefully, say I’m a newcomer.  Not yet holding my head high. But showing up as best I can.  My name is Rhonda and I AM an alcoholic.

Stigma of Invisible Disability

Recently read Work Ethic, a post by bpnurse, in which she discusses her life since she stopped working and went on Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI). People judge those of us with invisible disabilities. We even judge ourselves. Someone once…

The Anxiety Ninjas Are Baaaack

Today started out with cramps and a strong desire to NOT get out of bed. That’s becoming my default, which during spring/summer, is pretty unusual. I was okay for a bit and then, with no real reason other than excessive noise outside…BAM! Anxiety ninjas moved in for the kill, causing my heartrate to speed up, my paranoia to rise, and that unsettling ‘fight or flight’ sensation that feels like shark jaws devouring you.

I am so bloody sick of the ‘get over it’ speeches. So tired of being fed ‘this cured me, it will work for you’. I had my damned chakras aligned, doesn’t that attest to how hard I’ve tried to do away with the free floating anxiety and panic?

And I am not unaware that this blog is becoming anxiety-bitch-and-moan-a-palooza. But this is my life and this is what I endure daily. I talk about it to purge, to try to make sense of the stressors and triggers, and also…to let others know they are not alone if they, too, have these experiences. No amount of shrinks and meds and therapy and exercise is going to combat the anxiety ninjas. It can help lessen it, to an extent, so maybe their attacks are less lethal, but inevitably, those ninjas will close in on you least expect it and that’s okay. One day, science may actually lead to a discovery that people with anxiety have a part of our brain that’s unique and thus our ‘fight or flight’ impulse center is off kilter. I know the experts like to eschew theories about childhood trauma and such as an explanation for free floating anxiety but I’ve been at this battle since I was 7 years old. There was no trauma, no real stressor. It was just like the receptors in my brain were always sending out the wrong messages and telling me to be afraid and on alert when there was no real reason to be.

God knows how many hours I have spent over the years, examining my memory and my life experiences, trying to ‘explain’ what incident or series of incidents ‘trained’ my mind to kick into fight or flight randomly. Aside from the bullying in school, there’s really nothing. That was all after I was 11, anyway, doesn’t explain why a 7 year old became convinced a bee flew in her ear and was constantly buzzing inside despite medical evidence. And it’s long been a problem on my maternal side, grandma got hives from her nerves, as does my mom, my sister and I both experience the foreboding and panic, even my brother-different moms- has an anxiety disorder. I remain unconvinced that we’re all part of some eleborate life long scheme to train ourselves to be high strung.

Weirdest part of my anxiety disorder is, when things are REALLY scary and worthy of fight or flight feelings…I’m usually the calmest one of the bunch. Outwardly anyway, I still get the rapid heartbeat, itchiness, stomach aches, and sweating but clarity of mind often kicks in. And I am fairly certain when driving your sibling to the hospital after an overdose should make you anything but calm and clear minded. So yeah, I do buy the crossed wires theory and one day, science just might be able to prove it. They’ve already established through brain scans the difference between the mind of your non-psychopath and a bonafide psychopath. Is it really so far out there that some brains send out wrong fight or flight signals due to structural differences?

I feel better now that I have purged. Writing is my therapy even if it’s never read and considered narcissistic and self centered. It helps me, and so I shall keep doing it. Too many people start blogs then abandon them when their crisis or whatever has passed or they become bored. And I can’t say I haven’t done it,too, I’ve let my other blogs languish but it’s hard to write poetry or be funny and random when consumed by depression and anxiety ninjas. I’m not killing off any blog right now. Especially not this one. Purging here and the occasional feedback, has helped me far more than any counselor.

On a final note…

Please read this about my sister’s cat, Schmitten, surviving cancer.

Smitty, as she is called, deserves at least a social media share, she has been such a brave girl and survived so much. And honestly, what does a share cost you? My brother in law and his son told my sister no one would donate or care enough to share so…prove those jerks wrong, please. Much as I think my kid and I are a good cause, Schmitten is a better one.

Pet Therapy Ever Help With Your Disorders? Read About A Kitty Breast Cancer Survivor

Okay, second post about my sister’s cat, Schmitten and their fundraiser. The first post got zero likes and it makes my heart break. I get why people are reluctant to donate to other people asking for money, people are deceptive, greedy lying fucks most of the time.

On this one, I can attest that Schmitten did survive an awful housefire that killed NINE of their cats with smoke inhalation. She is over a decade old, and then she started getting mammary tumors and finally my sister got her to the vet and they did a radical masectomy on the poor cat to remove her mammary glands.

Schmitten before op:

And this is Smitty, AFTER the radical masectomy:

Of course, I’d like OUR fundraiser to prosper but after a month trying to raise money simply to pay the security deposit off and get trash service started, to no avail…

I am okay with diverting attention to Schmitten’s fundraiser. Stitches and staples gotta come out and she needs a vet to do it, but they won’t if sis doesn’t have the money up front.

So if you simply love pets or you have a therapy pet who simply helps you cope with anxiety and depression…Donate if you can, or just spread the pink ribbon campaign on social media. This poor cat has been through hell ten times over and she is still fighting for her life in spite of it all. She deserves your compassion, empathy and help, even if it’s just a social media share. Because, yeah, even cats get breast cancer and deserve to wear the pink ribbon and be supported.

My brother in law and nephew told my sister she was wasting her time doing the fundraiser because “no one gives a fuck about our cat, it’s stupid.” Please please please, prove those idgets wrong. Because while people may be wary of donating to other people due to rampant internet scams and schemes…Schmitten is a real, live kitty who has survive hell, and she is worthy of the respect, empathy, and effort to donate or share her story.

Find it in your heart to just visit the site and read Schmitten’s story and pass it on or donate. My little brother and I pooled change to donate five bucks (of course on my account cos his parents won’t allow him on his own computer due to a years ago social media stalking problem) and that is a start but…If your pet has helped you through tough times and keeps doing so, or you had a beloved pet with potentially lethal health issues…

Think of Schmitten.

And if you have a rebellious bone in your body and a strong dislike for dick-ish people…well, then do it just to prove my nephew and brother in law wrong about my sis wasting her time starting a campaign for her beloved kitty cat. Clicking ‘share’ for social media costs you nothing and hey, it’s for a cancer surviving cat- way more worthy than me and my kid. Not shutting down my campaign because I still think our cause is worthy but if you’re wary of people…

At least consider the pink ribbon cat campaign. That poor cat was maimed with potentially life saving surgery and now they need another couple of hundred for her next appointment to get the sutures and staples removed.

Pets give so much to us, whether we have issues that call for a therapy pet or not.

Show this cat some empathy and support, PLEASE. If Spook and I are willing to put the cat before ourselves and it’s not even our cat…That’s gotta say something. Schmitten needs your help. And a couple of douchey people need to be proven wrong and find out that some people DO care about animals.

My cats have always been my anchor (prior to having a child) so I know how crucial they are for positive mental health. Call it pet therapy, emotional support, calming your psychological demons…

Pets matter, be they dogs, cats, igaunas,snakes, or jellyfish. If it helps you get through the day during your darkest hour and you’ve done all you can to help them…

Then surely you are worthy of some compassion and help (even if just a share) as is your pet.

Show Schmitty Kitty that people do care.

Pink ribbons and breast cancer are not exclusive to human women.

Merci, thank you, and btw, this is a seperate campaign from my own, all proceeds go to my sister toward Schmitten’s vet bills. The only thing I have to gain here is…knowing I fought for my feline niece because she fought so hard to stay alive in spite of her own suffering.

Her strength and tenacity make me want to be as tough as she is. “Just a cat” is not a phrase in our world. Our pets are our family and our emotions toward them run as deep as if they were fellow humans and our own blood.

Schmitten needs you. Share, donate, pass it on by email…She’s a fighter so help her keep fighting.

Thanks, guys.

Pink Ribbon Cat Breast Cancer Fundraiser

This is my sister’s cat, Schmitten. She is over ten years old and survived a house fire. Only to be riddled with feline breast cancer. My sister shelled out close to $300 to get the kitty surgery and save her life. This is what Smitty looks like now, after an autopsy-esque surgical scar stem to stern to remove all mammary glands.

Sis is trying to raise $300 to afford the next out of town vet trip in a week to get Schmitten’s staples and stitches removed.

While Spook and I have been trying to raise funds for months for help with our unexpected move (with limited success)…I can’t in good conscience say we are the better cause. My daughter and I both adore animals and have had our share of sick pets who others have donated to on occasion. So maybe we need some stuff, but being evicted for not paying the deposit isn’t as dire as this cat not being able to go to the vet for suture removal.

If you knew me at all, you’d know my priority,always, is my child.

But my kid isn’t starving, nor are our cats, but Schmitty, the poor cancer ridden kitty, is suffering while on the mend. So in this situation, we are willing to put ourselves second. My brother and I pooled coins to donate a grand total of $5 to start out the fundraiser for Smitty…sis’s husband and son told her she was wasting her time doing the post because no one cares about their cat.

PLEASE PROVE THEM WRONG, they’re kind of dicks.

Yes. Spook and I are willing to put ourselves after Schmitten. Her surgery removed so much of her glands that her skin is stretched tight and taut. That poor old cat has survived so much. She deserves help even more than we do. And hey, even if you can only visit the link and just click share on your social media accounts… Smitty will be very grateful.

Pet therapy is the real deal, and my sister takes very good care of her pets. But no one saw breast cancer coming, so help or share if you can. Schmitten is worth it. Thanks.