Daily Archives: June 6, 2012



The handyman has been here for two hours almost and says the drain problem is complicated by a bees’ nest under the trailer where he needs to get to clear it. He’s also fixing my leaky sink but it’s not going easily, and every minute he is here, no matter how pleasant and unobtrusive he is, I just feel like I am walking on eggshells.
Antsy is the way I’d describe it.
And I just want the cable guy to come give me internet already.
Then I can breathe for the day. And maybe celebrate by imbibing some cake.

Make it be over make it be over make it be over.

I’m only slightly freaking out.

The hamster wheel

6/5/12 Tues 8:45 a.m.

Nervous doesn’t begin to cover it. I called for the handyman to come fix this sewer issue, and then the cable guy will be here sometime this afternoon. (I don’t do well with looming appts, especially open ended ones that could happen between this hour and that, it makes my panic kick into hyperdrive.)
I get antsy like this any time I have appts or company or have to go to a job. It’s hell on me.
As is evidenced by my sleep pattern last night. I slept from 8:30 pm to 10 pm, was up until 5:40 a.m., then crashed, and woke up at 6:30 a.m.
Nerves will do that to you.
On the plus side, I have my housework done aside from my writing room disaster.
On the negative side, I now have nothing to do all day except wait.
I suck at waiting. I have less than zero patience. I want it over with.

Which means it is going to be an interminably long day and time will drag in a grueling fashion. Yay.

I get so restless waiting, I can’t focus, not on reading or writing or doing anything that might serve as a distraction. And believe me, I do try. Hard.
I’m just this high strung,is as simple as that.
This was why it was always so hard for me to hold a job, because it would loom over my head every day until a day off,so it got to the point where I only relaxed when I didn;t have the clock ticking in my head at deafening level. Two days a week to breathe didn’t make up for five days of walking on glass shards.

I know I need to learn new coping mechanisms, but in all honesty (let the therapy freaks lambaste me) I don’t think we ever quite learn to cope with some things. I think some things are in our nature, inherent to us, like anxiety or being a worrywart. If you can’t be something you’re not, then you learn to cope any way you can. My way is to just keep getting on the hamster wheel and suffering through it.

I hate the fucking hamster wheel.

another bucket of suck

Mon 6/4/12 7:54 pm

Ever have one of those days where nothing goes right and everything you touch turns to shit and you just want to scream at the top of your lungs then crawl under a rock and assume the fetal position?

Yeah, that was today for me.

I did not sleep well.
I had an Elavil hangover, but if I don’t take the stuff, it takes me hours to fall asleep.
I forgot to take my meds and left for the shop.
Then I find someone has deliberately busted my car door handle while at the shop.
Oh, then I am informed that the whole ass end of my pants is ripped out and I didn’t have a clue I was flashing my undies to the whole world.


I just wanted to curl up under a rock and die.
It’s bad enough battling the moods and anxiety, now I am at war with my own brain, where my functionality is slipping and I am making idiotic mistakes.

The only redeeming part to this day will be going to sleep. I don’t think I can do the elavil anymore, it’s too harsh.
Not like I’m getting any solid sleep anyway.
I’m afraid my precarious juggling act is starting to falter.
It scares me. I’ve been here before.
This is not pessimism, this is self awareness, knowing the signs before you get hit head on with your own decompensation.

Oh, and I had my mom tear into me when I went to get Spook because she was pissed off that I cleaned out my shed and donated everything to Salvation Army. Why it’s any of her business is beyond me. The woman is so unpleasant at times I really wish I could have her committed, something is not right in her head. She’s all I love you, I hate you, get away from me, please don’t leave me.
It’s soul sucking.
And I know I myself am guilty of it.
Least I am aware I am guilty of it.

I’m ready for this day to be over before anything else can turn to shit.

one is the loneliest number

you would think a family consisting of 5 women might be able to figure out how to coexist peacefully–or even superficially–but that is not how we roll.  on vacations, we have to split off into groups of two or three; otherwise the discomfort and tension is unbearable.  the dynamics might even make you feel sick.  some people will never be paired, or if they are they ignore each other.  I usually prefer to spend time with each member of my family one on one, and only under certain circumstances will i be okay with two other family members at the same time.  none of us live in the same city, and the closest distance any two individuals live is an hour away on the freeway.  my mother didn’t even show up last christmas, instead spending the time with her boyfriend.

communication, as you might imagine, is shit.  traditionally, the rule is to talk to anyone BUT the person you should be talking to and to process all of your anger/grief/annoyances with the other members of the family.

needless to say i have not been looking forward to getting in contact with them.  i know whatever conversation i have with anyone will be only a fraction of the total conversation going on.  they all have doubts and they all seem to be edging away from me, my diagnosis, my behavior.  this is all while simultaneously trying to offer help.  it’s confusing, to say the least.

let’s review the cast of characters.


trying to get my bearings after a year of what look a lot like bipolar episodes topped off with a healthy dose of trauma.  in summary: a train wreck.

~my sister~

also trying to get her bearings after 10 years of physical abuse, substance abuse, an eating disorder, and myriad other emotional problems, including depression, anxiety, and a bipolar diagnosis.  she is now rejecting the bipolar diagnosis, and members of my family support this.  interestingly, she has been very sweet-sounding and patient with me, like i am a child who needs an explanation about the way things are.  it sounds a little like pity.

~my mother~

coming up with every alternative explanation possible for my symptoms and behaviors.  the only right answers are the ones that agree with her narrow worldview, which does not include having a mentally ill daughter and most certainly not two mentally ill daughters.  that wouldn’t really go with her volvo.  says she wants to talk, but spends the conversation talking about anything but the diagnosis or, if it does come up, contradicting everything i say.  is satisfied that my sister received her second opinion from a fucking MFT who is NOT qualified to diagnose a major mental illness like bipolar.  refuses to listen when i try to explain this.  i am a PhD candidate in psychology and i can’t get this woman to listen.

~my aunt~

my aunt is more like my mother than my mother.  however, she is angry with me for “alienating her” after my sister’s hospitalization (we’ll get to that story later).  even though i sent an email letting her know i was not well and needed to wait until my class was over to talk again, she still apparently felt like saying “fuck it” to our relationship and told my grandma this as well as that she didn’t think she would talk to me again when i was ready.  told me all of this.  poked and prodded around my life and my experiences; i feel more like a lab experiment than family.  said i should forget about my sister’s diagnosis, that my sister doesn’t have bipolar in her opinion and that i should leave her alone.  proceeds to “remind” me about my tendency to keep adding things to my plate and notes “that’s your mania!” but fails to recognize it when she describes my sister doing the exact. same. thing.

~my grandma~

poor thing.  doesn’t know what to make of any of it.  the DSM wasn’t even created until about 1950 when the military needed to evaluate the mental health of soldiers during World War II, so mental illness was simply unrecognized.  her motto is “grin and bear it!”

it’s interesting.  i can hear it in their voices.  it’s like they think they’re walking around some kind of ticking time bomb and they have to be reallllllllly careful because i might go all Here’s Johnny on their asses.

the stigma with mental illness starts at home, i guess.

Sanity Day

A day wholly to myself is bliss. It’s especially appreciated when it’s been delayed by the long weekend. It was lovely slacking off and being around my family, but man oh man… my sanity days keep all of us in better stead. Before I got into the habit of taking that one day a week for myself, I’d inevitably have a mental breakdown and skip months of work because I could. And as I wasn’t exactly drinking or doing anything drug-like, locking myself off from the rest of the world was just about the only thing I could do to even vaguely hold it together. I count my blessings daily that enable me to take care of myself; if karma is real, I probably earned the crap out of it from my earlier travails on this crazy ride known as life!

And it’s especially nice after something got my anxiety up yesterday. I have managed to overcome my compulsive need to say things for the most part, if only by remembering how shitty anxiety is. So whether or not I’m merely being avoidant or I’ve actually mastered a trick, I don’t know. I do know that my quality of living is better for it, so that’s kind of the winning point. So when I got blindsided by someone wanting to be angry and confrontational yesterday, it was quite a slap in the face. I’m proud of myself – I immediately politely told them I wasn’t going to speak to them anymore, and (being on a social network), I blocked them and apologised to the person whose thread/wall it was (though I got that wrong the first time ’cause my brain was frazzled and freaking out – whups!). But, being me, my brain wanted to glomp onto that and go into FULL PANIC BATTLE STATION MODE… yikes.  Buuuut I had read somewhere in the past month that one should try tricking the brain out of worry by telling said brain that it can freak out later… so I tried that. As bad as I am at fixating and working myself up, it’s worth a go. And I think I can say that it helped. I’m not completely sure – by blocking the source of anxiety, that helped cut the impact of it. And I’m still riding high enough that I’m absorbing these dinks to my psyche fairly well.

So anyways, I’m holding up okay, and I am going to resume sprawling and trying to think of nothing while I’ve got the space to myself.