2013

The Holidays have come and gone and I'm still mostly in one piece. They went as well as I could hope for with only a minor set back. Or a reoccurring set back would be more accurate. Trust is a funny thing. Those who want it usually don't deserve it and those that would like to do it, well, we're just fucked up.

Anyway, it's a new year once again, which means what? A time for change? Possibilities? Hope? A chance to re-write ourselves and our stories? Maybe.

I was all set to jump back into work mode today but felt the sudden urge to throw things away instead. So that's what I did. I know that my need for a clutter free, clean and organized outer world has absolutely nothing to do with my outer world. I don't care. It's one of those things I need to do. A sort of cleansing ritual that helps to clear my head and all the nasty little demons inside it. It feels good and I need to feel good sometimes.

Anxiety wise, I'm about the same as before. I can go places without too much worry, although I do have to still consider where I'm going and if celexa alone will do the trick. I'm getting pretty good at it. My life, however, doesn't always allow for the same type of planning as errands do. Occasionally I'm thrown a curve ball and I have yet to find a pill that helps me deal with that. I guess that is where coping skills would come in handy. I'm putting those on my "to get" list.

As for resolutions...who the hell knows. I mean, I know what I should do, but really, don't we all? This year I'm leaning more towards what I want instead. When I figure out what that is I will be sure to write an insightful and sarcastic blog about it. For now I'm sticking with a monthly theme. This month is out with the old. Every day I will throw shit away. With any luck, by the end of the month, my head will be clear enough to dive head first into February.

Hope, who wishes you all an Enthusiastic New Year.

Tragedy and Social Media

It's been a while and I'm going to try to do this post without losing my mind or my train of thought as there are three kids swarming around me, one being less than agreeable about anything. I'm ignoring all this, mostly. Thank you, Celexa.

In the aftermath of last weeks tradegy it seems almost unthinkable right now for anyone to complain about their children, given so many lost their lives. Eventually everyone will get back to normal and stop thinking they can't let out their frustrations. But...until that happens...I'm not complaining. Not really.

I can, however, complain about Social Media and the Media in General. Because that's still acceptable. I have to admit I hadn't watched one bit of news on Friday or listened to a radio. I was busy filling custom doll orders for Christmas. Every so often, though, I would browse facebook and notice my feed blowing up with prayers, and thoughts, and tears and broken hearts. This happened all day and through bits and pieces I finally figured out what had happened. Sad. Very Sad. Very tragic. I felt no need to add my own sentiments as it seemed really unimportant to send them out to people who were not affected by this personally. Plus, I hate following the crowd.

This went on and on and on...Until...the sentiments began to dwindle and the WAR began. All of those warm thoughts and prayers suddenly turned into a war on guns and those who carry them. A war on those who believe we should not be allowed to carry. A war against anyone posting anything funny that day. A war against people saying no one should post anything funny day. By the end of the night I was ready to puke. Seriously. Let's use this tragedy to fuel our own anger and pointless arguments. That will help.

That was facebook. The actual Media can bite me. I watch the news for the weather only and that is often wrong as well. Being someone who battles anxiety on a daily basis, The News, is no place for me to be. I don't care who thinks I need to "be informed". They can bite me too, because, honestly, I don't. My life is much better not knowing most of the shit the Media seems to want me to know.

In the middle of it all, I found this

http://anarchistsoccermom.blogspot.com/2012/12/thinking-unthinkable.html

For those looking for answers...well, you probably won't find any, but you may just get a glimse into a world that, in all honesty, has nothing to do with politics, the media, or guns, but a world that has everything to do with the events that took place on Friday. Sometimes more does need to be done. But sometimes there is nothing that can be done.

Aside from all of that, I'm doing well, just busy as hell. I'm looking forward to things again and I know it is largly due to the medication, which means I'm sticking with the plan. I could still be doing better, and I know what areas need more work, but I think I'll just try to survive the Holidays first.

Hope, who is done Christmas Shopping. For real, this time!

Limits

“Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.”
― Anaïs Nin

This is true. And sometimes telling the truth is hard. Harder still on the one being told.

It's Monday and I'm coming off a weekend of kids, which is often hard for me. The Celexa reached it's limit as to what it could and couldn't do for me so unfortunately last night I needed a Devil Pill in order to keep my head from exploding, quiet my heartbeat, and finally (I don't even know when) fall asleep.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Kids are kids. They are loud. They are messy. They go non-stop. My kid tends to be a little less of all of those things because, well, I'm his mother. But for the most part I guess all of that is normal. Only loud, messy and non stop always seem to send me into a panic. I feel like I'm stuck in a tornado. There's no order. And having order is one of my main coping mechanisms when it comes to my anxiety. Always has been. Always will be. When I have order around me I can keep order within me. This is hardly worth mentioning, of course, to anyone that doesn't feel the same way.

Most of the time, I just try to keep out of the way. If I do get brave enough to say...venture into the living room of doom and clutter...there usually isn't even a place for me to sit. So I'll back away slowly, sit in the other room, maybe do something on my computer. I struggle with wanting to feel like I belong in that picture, but also knowing I'm not comfortable there. This is one of those truths that's hard to tell, and possibly harder to hear. It's one of those truths that has no solution. At least not for me.

Becoming a mother did not come naturally for me. Not. At. All. I wouldn't change it, of course, but I'm just being honest. Perhaps is doesn't come naturally to anyone who suffers from Chronic Anxiety. I don't know. Through the initial struggle, I had to learn who he was, and that made the process a hell of a lot easier.  It didn't take long for me to realize I had to tell him what we were going to do before we did it...like, going in the car...going outside...changing his diaper. Even before he learned to talk he needed to know what was coming next in order to feel comfortable. He liked order and routine. And that I could understand. I don't have a wild and crazy child. I have a child like me. Mostly quiet, not hyper, sensitive, shy, imaginative, artistic, caring, neat (as neat as an 8 year old can be), and anxious.  That, I also understand.

The rest of the worlds kids, however, send me into a fit of panic. Cute as they may be, my brain can't keep up with their constant bouncing around from subject to subject or couch to couch.  Their mess thrown all about the floor sends me into hybernation mode and I just want to hide until it's not there anymore. This is really nothing new either. I've pretty much always felt this way so why I decided to have a child of my own in the first place is one of lifes great mysteries.

So, there it is. A piece of my truth, and my next hurdle to try to overcome. Whether it's anxiety or just a personality trait, I'm not really sure. I know sometimes traits clash. It happens. We all are who we are in this world and sometimes trying to mix an odd combination together creates and less than appetizing result.

Hope, who is starting to understand herself again.

Day 13?

I think this is day 13 of Celexa. But, honestly, I'm not sure and I'm too lazy to look at a Calendar. What I am sure of is I feel better. Better than the last better, but still not as good as I probably can, with more work and perhaps more medication. It's still hard for me to take that little pill each morning, because even though I've mostly accepted the fact that I probably need to take that little pill each morning, I still wish I didn't have to. That will take some time to get over, and hopefully the better I feel the easier it will be.

So far, the medication has enabled me to go out whenever I need or want to go out without the fear of an impending panic attack. I can't even remember the last time I could do that. I was able to spend Thanksgiving day with a family other than my own (strangers) and endure some awkward silences throughout the day, without my brain entering fight or flight mode. I also only drank one glass of wine. One. I also didn't even need to drink that glass of wine. I would say that is progress.

The fear, the thoughts, and the worry are still there, however. Sitting quietly in the background. Waiting, perhaps? I don't know. The only way I can think to describe what the medication is doing is to say it's acting as a wall. All the evil doers are still lurking on the other side and even jump up to peek over now and again...but they can't actually GET over. The wall blocks them and is keeping them from reeking havoc. Something my unmedicated brain can't seem to do on it's own.

And that is pretty much all I have right now. Nothing funny. No pictures. No links to videos. I didn't even get to say the F word. But that's okay. Because I'm okay. And for the first time in a long time I think I believe I will continue to be okay.

Hope, who is looking forward to the Holidays this year, which is kind of weird really, but I'm totally going with it.

On the fifth day Celexa created...

A little peace of mind. Finally. Not a lot, but enough so that I feel like I'm slowly wiggling my way out of a scary, dark cave. I like feeling better. What I don't like is this "eh...I really can't be bothered because I don't give a shit" feeling. Well...it's not really that I don't LIKE it, because, honestly it's not so bad. It's just that it's not "in my character", so to speak. Medicine will do that. Try to fix everything, even if it isn't broken.

But, in any case, it will have to do for now or until my Doctor is back from maternity leave. I can't really stomach the thought of explaining my "situation" to anyone new right now, and seeing how I have the Celexa stocked piled in my cabinet, I'd say it's all working out swimmingly. "Swimmingly". Okay...enough with the italics and the "quotes". Not really.

My Man, (who will forever be referred to as RL, unless he cheats on me, in which case we will then refer to him as asshole.), and I have this thing we do. We talk, or rather, we just say shit. Stupid Shit. For no reason, and then we usually laugh. Because it's funny. Or, because we think it's funny, is probably more accurate.

Sound Bite

Me: Everyone kept asking what I use for Birth Control at the Doctors office.

RL: Birth Control?

Me: Yeah. I said nothing.

RL: Did you tell them you usually don't even get the guys name?

Me: Not true. I DO get their names...just not until after I've stolen their wallet.

None of that is true, by the way. Except the part about not using Birth Control. So I'm off now to heed the following warning...

Alcohol may intensify this affect

Or to possibly ignore it.

Hope, who can't be bothered with spell check.

Crap I feel like saying.

It never fails. The times when you wish the most to be invisible, will be the times you run into everyone you know at the grocery store...or at the very least...five or six people you'd rather not run into. Not because of them, of course. They're fine. I'm just not. At least not yet. In fact, I almost didn't even make it there. But I did. I won't say how though because, honestly I'm sick of talking about it.

What I never get sick of talking about, however, are pap smears and vaginas . Get them, people. They're important! The smear, I mean. Hopefully you already have the vagina. ( which is also important) Unless you're a dude. Then hopefully not. But anyway...

I got mine today (the smear) for the billionth time. They've been abnormal for the past 14 years, and I've had at least a thousand biopsies. (not really, maybe 6) No cancer yet. I'm not sure if that means the odds are with me or against me. Doesn't matter though because that is the one thing in my life I'm on top of. I've got my vagina covered. And that's a good thing or else this blog would have just turned into something different entirely.

Today, I'll leave you with this...because reading is sometimes boring without pictures, and because I took the picture.

The worlds largest Vagina Q-Tips.

Day one of a Daily Dose...

A decision has been made. I think. I wish I could say I already feel better, but I can't. I feel worse. Aside from the shakiness inside and out, I'm jumpy, I keep dropping things, my brain is in a fog, and I keep getting these electric shock feelings traveling through my body. Hands, feet, and head mostly. I know at least part of these physical symptoms are due to withdrawal from the Devil pills, so I'm just trying to get through it.

I'm hopeful. Hopeful that in a week or two I will start to feel better and I can get in to see my doctor again for the next plan of action. Therapy.

I would imagine choosing a Therapist is a lot like choosing a medication. Not every one will be right for me. I'm not looking forward to starting the process, but I think it will be good in the long run. And necessary. Even if, in the end all it does is help learn more about myself.

So, that's that. I've started. Again, I wish it felt better. I'd love nothing more than to take a Devil pill right now and feel myself go back to " normal". To get rid of this racing heart and the feeling that I want to crawl out of my own body. But I won't.

Hope, who is holding it together. Even if it is just with duct tape.