Daily Archives: July 16, 2015

A cruise on the SS Panxiety aka Psychological Titanic

***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.


I am going camping this weekend so I wont be posting on Saturday. So, enjoy this extra post tonight and...


I am going camping this weekend so I wont be posting on Saturday. So, enjoy this extra post tonight and...

The post ACT Now appeared first on Pretending to be What We Are.


One of my major downfalls as a person is that I am constantly comparing myself to others. Have you ever...

The post Comparisons appeared first on Pretending to be What We Are.

Mid-July Round Up


I can’t believe it is mid-July. Wait! I can. It is hotter than hell here. We are still waiting on the coil from Memphis.

So I wanted to report on my progress on my template. There have been a lot of changes in my goals. Some I have fallen face down on and some are hopeful. Some goals are embarrassing and others are exciting.

I’ve been struggling so much with my weight I am really frustrated. The Jenny Craig is helping me to hold my own but I am not losing. I am just SO hungry. I know it is my meds but I hate to change any of them. I am feeling okay and able to cope and that is a big step for me.

I got a call yesterday from my bipolar support group leader. They were worried about me as I hadn’t been there in a few weeks. I think I will go back. I honestly feel like I owe them an hour per week. When I was at the very bottom, they helped me get up. I should be there to do the same for others.

I believe I am definitely living in recovery now. This doesn’t mean things are perfect by any means. But they are coming along.

Okay, so here we go from the template. Before I start, I need to remind everyone that I traveled a great deal the first part of July. Eating well was tough.

Cooking, dinner, getting out of the house, and showering are pretty second nature now. I struggle occasionally with showering but not in a huge way. I took these off the template.

I only exercised twice during the first half of this month. But I HAVE been thinking about it.

Here’s the embarrassing part: When I was down sick on the couch, I stopped flossing my teeth. I was lucky to get them brushed. So I added flossing to my goals. I just added it and have flossed 5 days out of 5. Just having it on the template makes me do it.

I have been drinking about 3/4 of the recommended water. I have stayed on my Jenny Craig food plan 6 days out of 15. This is better than last month. I am getting better at ordering correctly in restaurants. But I still like my glass of wine. I need to skip that.

I have only cancelled 3 days out of 15. This is a HUGE improvement. I may just leave this on the template in August and then get rid of it.

I have 995 followers and want to get to 1000. I should do this in July and then take it off the template. 1000 followers is plenty. I think the blog is successful at this point.

I have gained two pounds the first half of this month. So I need to lose 6 in the next two weeks to hit my goal of 1 per week lost. I do attribute the two pounds to travel and eating out. We are home most of July and August and I can do well.

I started listening in to Overeater’s Anonymous calls. The people are so friendly. If you don’t know, it’s like Alcoholics Anonymous…just for compulsive overeaters. It’s free and not too weird, so I figure it can’t hurt. I’m just new to the whole thing so will let you know how it goes.

I started doing a ten minute meditation every day. I get these off of YouTube. It’s okay…not revolutionizing my life or anything.

I’ve been filling in a couple of apps daily. One is called “grid diary”. It’s sort of a gratitude thing. The other is a food log.

I’ve tried to either read 7 blogs a day or do a posting.

I’ve been reading my devotional every day. Really doing well here.

I haven’t been to church this month. Last Sunday did not feel like it. Other Sunday was out of town. I’ve seen six friends socially this month. Also hosted a 60th birthday party for my husband. We had 20 people. It was at a restaurant so I did no work.

I’ve checked my friend list twice. I’ve been to women’s support group once and taken the boys out alone for an activity. My daughter and I are going to see Magic Mike (ick!) tomorrow. I have appointments for my pdoc and therapist.

The biggest news is my new hobby. Quilting. I haven’t even started but found a place that teaches a beginner class. First, I need to remember how to use my sewing machine. There is supposedly a nice lady who helps you do that.

I don’t know why I picked quilting. I do like quilts and find them useful. But they look like a lot of work. However, I need a hobby. Other than exercise, I’m about filled up with other things.

I’m trying to live a fulfilled life while disabled, but I know I am missing something. Maybe I will find it.

Thanks to all reading. I love you guys.


Happy 15th Birthday, Son

Happy Birthday

Filed under: Family, Motherhood, Parenting, Photos Tagged: Happy Birthday


My Glorious Daughter,

Thirteen.  The general age for pimples and periods, for the tentative stretching for freedom and latitude, for the wild fluctuations of hormones and the raw wounds left by self-doubt and self-critique.  You have become a teenager which means that as I begin to move to the periphery of your life, I will be an obstruction, at times, to what you want, and you might resent the magnetic pull of my love.  For months, I have been walking by your room, watching you curled up like a satisfied cat on the bed, texting and emailing your friends.  What do you chat about in the shorthand?  Do you speak only in irony and whispers?  I try not to ask, to offer to space in which you can begin to understand who you are and how you relate to the world.  But still: I want to know everything about you, you who were born less than six pounds and who immediately latched on to my breast, hungry and content at the same time.  
And you have been largely content.  Easy, unflappable, resilient through my long hospitalizations, through a semester’s move to Romania, through your father’s and my divorce.  That is, until I probe deeper, and you tell me how you hated the kindergarten in Bucharest, how none of the kids would talk to you (English/Romanian divide), how you were so lonely.  Or I remember the drawing you sent to me when I was in the hospital of an enormous winged creature, fierce, with a mouth on fire, and the words, “Momma Come Home!”  Or when you tell me one night, when we are lying on your bed, that you’re used to the back and forth between my house and your father’s, but it makes you tired. 

When I was thirteen, I got drunk for the first time.  A friend and I took swigs from almost every bottle of alcohol in my parent’s liquor stash.  Vodka and Crème de Menth, Scotch and Drambuie.  It was the moment I discovered that alcohol could deliver me, temporarily, from myself.  At thirteen, I was consumed by self-doubt, terrified of not being liked, and always, always found myself lacking in beauty, intelligence, creativity, social swagger.  Alcohol became the way through the maze, and ultimately, led to a devastating dependence.  I told you about this because I want you to know that you have a choice.  Even though adolescence seems largely about reacting to decisions and expectations imposed from the outside, that you can choose to remain your essential self when the struggles of the next few years present themselves.  Chose “yes,” choose “no,” but let your decisions resonate with your best, most joyful, most compassionate self.
What I wish for you is that you stay the way you are.  Not, of course, frozen in time, forever turning thirteen, forever, still, an innocent, but that you are in possession of yourself.  I marvel at your ability to be resilient, to bend and curve around the challenges, whether they are learning a piece of music for your clarinet or teaching yourself how to use a computer animation program.  You worry about schoolwork and grades (I was consumed), but don’t wrap your self-worth up in an A or B.  You do your best but know when to ease off.  You have always followed your passions, are inspired by them, commit to them whether it was making clay dromos, a cross between dragons and unicorns, and selling them to buyers near and far, or deconstructing your stuffed animals, sewing an elephant trunk on a cheetah or a monkey’s tail on a penguin, or devoting yourself to drawing and animation, determined that this will be your path. 

And then there is the way you confide in me, wondering about boys and tampons and intricate maneuverings of adolescent friendships.  When you were born, I made an oath to myself that I would never lie to you.  That you could ask me anything and I would offer the truth.  In hopes that you might respond in kind: turning to me when you were sad or desperate or confused and I would be there, willing to listen.  I hope I have lived up to my promise, that I have helped you understand that you can be authentic, that you are good enough—a bulwark against the pressures of adolescence  and a buttress as you become who you are.  Happy Birthday!



Oseltamivir aka Tamiflu and theatrical events…

DSCN6400 DSCN6401 DSCN6402 DSCN6404 DSCN6405 DSCN6408

This is my 3rd day taking Tamiflu, my flu symptoms have gotten better, but now is something else happening? Something of the neuropsychiatric variety? Feeling depressed and weepy…wow can I not get a break, please? Does everything have to always be this difficult? Sisyphus ain’t got nothin’ on me!

Ok, so I have been in this play, which has not been a very pleasant experience to begin with, at all… then I got the flu, becoming less pleasant by the second… so I took Tamiflu and now I feel very depressed… least pleasant of all… What am I supposed to do? Does it always have to be such an uphill climb? God, does it never get any easier? Is it just my filter from when I was a child experiencing negative events, or are these events really so bad that they deserve this magnitude of a negative response from me, or is it depression caused by Tamiflu? How the hell am I supposed to know! All I know is whether because of the flu, the antiviral, or my mood disorder, my past, or present events, hell lets say all of the above, add to that the disrespect and negativity that I have encountered with this particular play, I totally feel like shit… and yet I am going to perform tonight for opening night, and then for the rest of the six performances, because that is what you do when you take on a play, you do it till the end.

Of course, I could walk out and tell them to eff off, but I won’t, I’m too responsible and too much of a miss goodie two shoes to do that. However, I am NEVER doing any more plays, ever again. I don’t trust the process, I will never put myself at the mercy of someone, who has power over me. Not after this god awful experience. Not ever again.

Sorry for the rant, dear readers. I am just very distressed and quite puzzled and… oh whatever… I’m going to take a hot shower, get my hair done and walk into the theater with my head held high and perform for the audience, perform the story that is being told. That is the important thing! Not my ego, or slights to it!

Oh and below is a link of an article of a young Korean girl who became suicidally depressed and then developed bipolar disorder (BPD) after taking Tamiflu. Coincidence? Tamiflu brought out the BPD? Can’t say.


404 Eror: Zest For Life Not Found


And that is how I feel today. It’s a cool gray day, which is a much needed break from the sweltering twin of Hell it’s been lately. Nothing traumatic has happened.  (Well, shark week arrived, so I guess that’s traumatic.) I slept on and off. Same shit, different day.

What I do have is an abundance of is panxiety and I have no idea why. I just get this overwhelming sense of dread that something bad is coming my way and logic does not work. Anxiety takes on a life of its own, bringing with paranoid visions of a doom you can’t see but feel in your bones. Trying to talk myself out of it makes it worse. Yesterday was total panxiety moron day. I read my horroscope (silly, yes, but I get bored) and it said someone close to me was going to be giving me a chilly reception and while it has nothing to do with me…Off to the races my brain went, trying to figure out why I may have offended, driven away. I am not a person open to suggestion easily and yet for whatever reason, my brain takes a nibble out of stupid stuff and turns it into this metastasizing fear and paranoia. That parasitic twin that is mental illness in there needs to GO.

Aside from panxiety…I feel nothing. No motivation. No joy. The housework keeps snowballing and I can’t be arsed. I want to do something, feel accomplished. But the dish time those two days really left me hollow and drained. And it ain’t over because R asked if I’d run his glasses out to have a screw put in them and at the time, courtesy of Mangorita, I was totally amenable. Odd that. If psych meds could just relax and boost one the way a simple drink can, no one would drink. I refuse to feel guilty for it. I got at least a couple of hours of pseudo joy where I could listen to music. I even introduced my kid to some vintage 80’s pop and the ONE song she latched onto…”Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club. Ha. That was my version of the Frozen theme, I guess, drove my parents to insanity playing it all the time. Though I think they wished I’d stuck with such drivel because once the heavy metal began to play…Ha, much more obnoxious than Boy George. (Who I still maintain has a beautiful voice and fuck you if you don’t like it.)

After Boy George and Culture club…I introduced her to more Rob Zombie. She likes. She has good taste. Kid loves “Sway” by Coal Chamber. To my credit, I do make her substitute terms like “bleepy bleepy” instead of saying motherfucker. It was nice while it lasted, sharing something with my kid without freaking out after five minutes of music. Joy is missing, zest for life is missing, but occasionally, Mistress Mangorita can lift me out of it for a couple of hours. I’ll take what I can get. Seriously, how long must you drown in spite of being fully medicated without a break in your darkness filled mind before you’re allowed to seek comfort elsewhere.

Spook has decided today is an awesome day to batter me with questions. I give answers, she asks more questions, even to stuff she knows. She is like a cat batting a mouse around but won’t go in for the kill and put it out of its misery. WHY WHY WHY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY. WHY. And my brain is another hemisphere so I don’t have answers to even simple shit. I mean, the information simply isn’t there nor is the ability to articulate it. She asked me what a riddle is. I don’t know how to explain that. Not a fucking clue. My body is alive but I am fairly sure my brain is dead.If only my nerve endings would follow suit so I couldn’t feel all the anxiety.

I have to do the dish again tomorrow. Damn friendship and doing favors just to get a pack of smokes. I should be grateful but it’s like telling prisoners of war, “Hey, at least they only stabbed you sixty times, they could have water boarded you, be thankful.” Um..Fuck you. Though I am pondering for my reward if I meet me dish goal tomorrow, finding a yard sale or two. I can probably scrape up a buck or two.

One of my cats is missing. He got sick quite abruptly and now…I think I am going to have search for a dead cat. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I am tired of burying cats. Tired of getting attached and losing them. Whatever I did in a past life to deserve all this shit, it must have been akin to the holocaust. Not self pity, just saying, how about a break from all the misery on occasion. And the saddest part of it all is…I may have a dead cat and I’m sad but I can’t work up a single tear. One would think with shark week I’d be a tear drenched mess. I am so fucking broken and sick of being broken. I don’t want fixed, I just want to be well. For more than a couple of months before going down the rabbit hole again.

I haven’t showered since Tuesday. But then I did take four showers so maybe I am due some slovenliness. I don’t even have pants on, just the shirt and undies I slept in. It’s almost 11 a.m. I should move my ass. I think I am waiting for R to call and nag at me as my motivator. Seriously, a trip to Wal-Mart? You think I am ever gonna get excited about that? I’d rather face a firing squad. I just don’t like the big store. It’s the one place that sets off my panic attacks like nothing else. Maybe my brain just senses corporate evil.

On the plus side…Um…Um..Gimme a minute…I actually dusted a shelf last night. First time in over a year. Yes, I am that gross. When getting dressed taxes you out…Dust bunnies are not a priority. But I dusted it and moved a few things around, put some colored glass by the window where the curtain came down so light streams in…It’s kinda pretty. (Yes, even the pink one.)  The newbie kittens are all healthy and walking around, curious and cute as hell. Two have names already, the Siamese looking ones. Arsenic and Oleander. I’ve got other names picked out, but they’re gender specific and it’s so hard to identity gender on such itty bitty kitties…

Damn, now my ear is itching, my nose is itching. Calls, company, someone talking about me…Damn my mother for her stupid superstitions. Like I need help being paranoid and anxious.

I’m gonna contemplate putting on pants. I don’t need a Magic 8 ball to know it’s probably not gonna happen any time soon. 404 Error: Pants Not found.

Made it Through!

So far I seem to be handling things okay.  I’m sore, even with the pain medication, but ii’s not horrifying pain so I can handle it thus far.  I spent the day of the operation sleeping afterwards and snoring like a chainsaw according to Bob.  The doctor said hat everything looked fine–I did have fibroids and they were going to be biopsied with a pathologist looking into them, so that was reassuring and scary at the same time.  Reassuring in that there really was a reason for the bleeding but waiting for the other shoe to drop of  the path report being the scary part.

I’m staying still but busy catching up on email and blogging.  My younger two daughters should soon be home; the older middle one can take care of the youngest while I’m down, so that is reassuring as well.  The middle one starts band camp next week so we wills see very little of her at that point.  I’m not sure when my oldest finishes her job–I want to say after August first but I’m not positive.  She moves back to school August 15, about a month from now.  And I start classes at some point that next week as well.

I didn’t do any reading in the hospital–I was too sleepy and knew I would not remember what I read.  I spent most of yesterday trying to empty my bladder enough to be discharged and was finally let go around 3:20 p.m.  A friend of ours brought food around 5:30 p.m. and that was delicious–chicken pie, corn, blackeyed peas, green salad, and fruit salad.  Very good and very good of her to do.  We’ll be eating leftovers of it for lunch today.  Getting all my nutrients and that sort of thing to I can heal up faster.