GAD

Most people that know me know that I'm an anxious person. Or maybe they don't. If they don't then most probably don't know me. I believe it's even written somewhere over on the right that I'm "anxiety ridden" and I've often half jokingly described myself as neurotic, although in reality, it really isn't much of a joke.

I realized today that most people in my life, or at least those that are close to me may not really understand what that means as I'm not sure I've ever really explained it to anyone in a way that might make any sense.  For years I, myself, didn't even know what was wrong, so really, how could I.  Once I got a diagnosis I tried a few times to explain and was met with either confused looks or loads of unsolicited advice on how I could "relax".  "You just need to calm down." became my cue to shut up. Sometimes it was cue to shut up And move on. In any case, I eventually stopped really explaining anything and just left it as I have anxiety...a very vague explanation of a very complicated disorder.

I also realized today that this may not be the best way to go about things...for me...or for those people that are lucky enough to have to experience the effects and aftereffects of the disorder. So...because I'm much better at writing things down than I am at conversation, I thought I would attempt an explanation here. One that isn't so vague. One that might clear things up a little or assist in letting the pieces "fall together".

I have GAD.  Or...Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Generalized, I guess because there is no "pin point" cause and it effects every single aspect of my life. Unlike, say Social Anxiety Disorder, in which people only have the anxiety in social situations. I have that as well, which is why, if anyone has every noticed, I cannot be in a social situation with people I know or don't know for longer than an hour without having a drink. I don't need to get drunk...one or two drinks is usually enough to use as "medicine".  But, in addition to Social Anxiety I have every other anxiety as well. Generalized.

A Generic Definition I found online goes as follows: Generalized anxiety disorder is characterized by chronic feelings of excessive worry and anxiety without a specific cause. Individuals with generalized anxiety disorder often feel on edge, tense, and jittery. Someone with generalized anxiety disorder may worry about minor things, major things, daily events, or the future. These feelings are accompanied by physical complaints such as elevated blood pressure, increased heart rate, muscle tension, sweating, and shaking.

That's a pretty good definition.  It's that. And it's much more. Explaining the "much more" is where I usually get tripped up and where people either stop understanding or start saying..."just relax" or "what are you worried about?"  This is usually where I give up and go make a drink because explaining it, honestly, gives me anxiety. As I'm trying to explain it now, I guess I can't do that. But...luckily I've already had a drink...so...maybe what's best to do go back to the name. GAD. Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I think, for me, if I could get anyone in my life to understand any part of it, even if they can't understand the whys or whats (because, honestly I don't always either) it would be that they just understand the NAME. 

I don't just worry for the hell of it. Telling me to relax won't help. This is a disorder.  I can do no more to change that than someone with ADD can stop having ADD or someone with Autism can stop being Autistic. As much as I hate the phrase...it is what it is. That would really be all the understanding I need. 

People with anxiety disorder don't get better. We learn to "manage"...or at the very least try to manage. But sometimes it's hard to do that when no one is in your corner. This is why it's always been so important for me to try to explain and for someone to understand.  I deal with this every day. Every Day. Just as someone with...say...Tourette Syndrome has to deal with their Tourettes. It effects every decision I make. Whether to go out. Whether to stay home. What I eat. What I drink. What I say. How I feel. Some days are better than others. The anxiety is not gone, I've just done a damn good job managing. Sometimes it comes in bouts. Months at a time. Sometimes I shake. Sometimes I don't. And the hardest part of all is there is nothing I can do to make it stop. BUT...I manage. And, all in all, I think I've done a pretty damn good job of leading a somewhat normal life. 

But, as I've said...it is what it is. I've seen doctors. I've tried pills. I still take some pills, but in the end, it will always be a part of me. I wish that weren't true, but hating that fact and fighting it is exhausting. Accepting it is the only option. 

I'm not sure if that explained enough, or anything for that matter, but it did clear a few things up for me. 

Hope, who is taking a page from her book of five years ago. 

Beautiful Day.

It's beautiful out today. Far too beautiful to feel this lonely. But at least I'm alone. Better to feel lonely in my own silence than to feel lonely in the silence of others.  I think maybe I'll pay attention to myself today. Focus on what I want...and what part of that, if anything, I really need to get from someone else. I think I'll soak up some sun and ignore how bad it's supposed to be for me. I might even talk to myself, listen, and respond, because why the hell not. Who's going to notice? Then maybe I'll put on something I like and tell myself I look pretty. Maybe I'll go buy myself a drink or dinner then treat myself to some retail therapy.

I think that's what I'll do.

Panic

An eighteen day lapse and here I sit once again trying to find something to quiet my mind and body. This could have been avoided tonight, but could have means shit when I'm this deep in it. My face feels like its on fire and then going numb...and my head and heart are pounding. I can't sleep because I keep getting sharp pains in my arm and my hands and toes are twitching. Everytime I get close to sleep I feel like I've stopped breathing and wake with a jerk. But mostly it's my head right now. It's stress. It's anxiety. It's the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. This will never end. I will never be able to stop it. No one can fix it. And no one can help. I have to accept that.

Just like I have to accept that the things you don't want to change eventually will, and the things you do want to change will always remain the same.

Looking to other people for what you need is pointless. Even if they give you what you ask for they will never give you what you need. Only you have the power to do that.

A lot of realizations have erupted during tonight's panic attack. What to do with them is still a mystery. But I'm ready. Ready to move on. To accept the things I can not change...to accept what is. I'm ready for something new. A distraction to take my mind off the pounding in my head. A numbing to keep me from feeling "too" much.

Im not sure why I feel the need to communicate how I feel but I do, and this has proven to be the safest place to do that. Looking for understanding in others often leads to disappointment. Here, no one needs to understand.

I'm ready. Ready to stop struggling to communicate. Ready to do more for me. Ready to let go of the pain in my head. Long term effects? Fuck em. The long term effects of living this way will surely kill me sooner than any medication.

Hope, who is lowering her expectations of herself as well as everyone else.

You've got a friend...

That used to be one of my favorite songs. I spent a whole decade pumping myself full of James Taylor. A guy I barely knew send me lyrics to that song once. Hand written via snail mail. I thought it was a really big deal at the time. Maybe it was. Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer because in this day and age friends are hard to come by.

"When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand and nothing... Oh nothing is going right..." well, I usually just grab a beer. Because lets be honest...who the fuck am I gonna call? Me? Who in their right mind wants to hear my bullshit. I don't even want to hear my bullshit. And it hurts too damn much to poor your heart and soul out and get only silence in return.

So fuck it. I blog. And I drink. Not necessarily in that order. Fuck the past. Fuck the present. And fuck the god damn future that may or may not decide to rear its ugly head. Fuck exes. Fuck their fucking bullshit. Fuck the fact that I'm only ever going to be the silent partner. Fuck people who can't listen. Fuck em harder when they listen but can't hear. Fuck everyone always taking and never being willing to give. Fuck meeting everyone else's needs and continually ignoring your own. Fuckitall. How's that for honesty?

"Just close your eyes and think of me and you know that I'll be there to brighten up even your darkest nights."

Bullshit. It's pretty fucking dark tonight and even after asking ( yeah, asking for christ sakes) for exactly what I needed I'm still sitting here. Alone. In the dark. I don't ask for much. I really don't. Or at least I don't think I do. I hate asking. It makes me feel weak. But when I get to the point where I have to it's serious. It's out of need not desire. And never in my life have I ever asked for anything unreasonable. But i swear to Christ nine times out of ten when I ask I get shit.

Fuck that as well, seeing how I'm on a roll. I rarely deny anyone anything they ask for. That, I know, is a flaw. I'm sure it stems from the whole alcoholic mother thing, and wanting to please, and fix and be loved and blah blah fucking blah. I'm sick of it. So essentially I'm sick of who I am.

Or perhaps tonight I'm sick of everything.

"...people can be so cold. They'll hurt you and desert you. Oh they'll take your soul if you let them. Oh yeah, but don't you let them. "

Like that's an actual choice we get to make. But hey...

"ain't it good to know... you've got a friend?"

Words.

It's been a while as usual.  Partly due to the busy Holiday season, which went swimmingly...at least the parts that I can remember...and party because I've been at a loss for words.  Tonight I got a visit from my long loss friend, Insomnia.  So...here I am. I keep thinking maybe I could just sleep. If I lay down. If I try to close my eyes. If I try really hard. Or maybe I should use this time to my advantage. Do some writing. Not this, of course, but some real writing.  I have a lot of ideas. A flood of ideas, actually, but instead, here I am.

I have a lot going on all at once, so this sudden flood of adreneline is really no surprise.  I have a lot that I could worry about, but ironically and almost suddenly, I'm not really that worried. I'm just kind of sick of having a lot going on.  New Years Eve pretty much brought all my worries to a head. And the bits and pieces that I can recall changed everything.  With New Years Day came a sort of forced acceptance. Of everything. Of who I am, what I've done, what's ahead. I've just accepted it all. Fighting it has been exhausting.  I feel better now. 

I'm going to be forty in a few weeks. Forty. A milestone...or so they say.  I'm not really as freaked out about that as I thought might be. I don't really mind getting older...I just wish the average life expectancy was more like 200 or 300...that's all. The most noticable thing about being almost forty is that if by some chance you're lucky enough to get another 40 years...well...it's still half over.  That part sucks. The other part that sucks is I haven't spent nearly enough of those 40 years doing the things that I want to do. I can see why the mid life crisis is so popular.  But as for the rest...I'm taking it in stride. My body that will never be the same...my thinning hair...my face and the fine wrinkles that keep getting deeper and deeper with each passing year.  These things I'll wear like a badge.  Like each line and aching bone has been earned. Because it has.

I didn't make any official Resolutions this year, but so far, without too much effort, I've been able to let myself relax. On the inside and out. It's probably that acceptance thing, or maybe the realization that in the end not much of the little shit is going to matter.

Hope, who knows that once she gets over the hurdles...this is sure to be the best year of her life.

Tis the Season...

I know last time I promised a pretty peek into what happens when you stop taking the "take every 4 to 6 hours as needed" drug, but...it's Christmas. Almost. And my body and nervous system have basically recovered and moved on to new exciting things.  Like my left ovary. I would love to be able to say that after two ultra sounds and a doctors visit we know what the problem is, but of course that isn't the case. It never is.  I remember years ago an RN friend of mine saying..."People think medicine is a Science...it really isn't. It's more like an Art."  She was right. It's an Art and often times a Guessing Game. So rather than knowing what's wrong exactly, we don't. We know what it might be, but don't know what it is. But whatever it is, it's on my left ovary. Basically my three options included...the "let's wait and see if it grows"...the "open me up and try to remove it"...or the "go through the belly button and removed the whole ovary."  Because there is no real way to rule out the C word and I don't plan on using that part of my body again, I chose option 3. So that is what I'll be getting for my 40th birthday. Fabulous. It better include percocet.

I do feel somewhat proactive.  I mean, why wait and see?  Maybe if I were 20 and wanted a boatload of kids, but at this age the wait and see method takes on a whole new meaning. Time is precious and in thinking about the "what ifs" over the past week, I realized I don't really want to waste much time waiting for anything. I want to enjoy as much as I can, and if I don't enjoy it...I don't want to do it.  It's pretty simple.  I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to stick to that, given my personality and make up...BUT...I do know that the world won't end if I start taking time to enjoy my life.

But despite all that and some family drama that kind of crept up on me...I am managing to enjoy the season. My wallet isn't enjoying it, of course, but my wallet is a huge scrooge most of the time anyway.

My son is waiting with great anticipation for Santa to bring him everything on his list, which he will of course. He always does, because Santa is friggen awesome!  This might be the last year of believing. I hope not. Life is never as sweet as when you are a child who can believe in the unbelievable. I want him to hold onto that. I want to hold onto that in him. So I will.

Merry Christmas to the rest of you out in Bloggerville! 



Hope, who will continue to take it as comes, and fa la la la ...la la la la.

One day in the life of...

Once again I've been MIA from the world of "blog about it because you're really the only one who gives a shit".  I'm sure there's a reason I haven't been around. I've probably been busy or something.  Honestly I've sat here for a half hour trying to compose my thoughts in a way... so that what I write... won't sound crazy. I haven't gotten very far with that. Then somewhere between thinking, nervous twitching, and sipping on a mid-day white russian my eyes stopped on the title of my blog. Crazy. It's right there in the title. So who gives a shit. (I believe we've already established that. Me.) 

Another problem I have with this entry is how to write what's on my mind, without really writing what's on my mind. You know what I mean?  No. You probably don't. Sometimes I want to write what I'm really thinking and really feeling, right now...at this very moment. But doing that would most likely leave a mark. A scar. A bruise. It would most likely cause more damage than healing and I'm here for healing, I think. Not damage.

I'm damaged. There is no doubt. I've damaged myself. I've been damaged by others. Mostly I'm glued and taped and forced back together, but each new scrape always opens an old wound. That's how damaged I am. So much so that it pisses me off.  Expecting anyone to understand this is pointless. Expecting someone to understand that when they hurt you they set off a chain reaction of all the other times they hurt you and all the other times others hurt you...is pointless. People don't understand this. Unless of course, they too, are damaged.

I don't know how to fix anything. I never have. Once it's been broken, it's always broken, isn't it?  I've been trying mostly to just fix me. Okay, not really "fix" me. I've been trying to do what I can so I don't fall off the edge. I'm right there. I can feel it. And when some outside force, or something someone else does affects me, I teeter. I get dizzy and lose my balance and then even think about jumping,  but remember my son, and know that I can't.

Right now I would give anything to just erase the shit in my brain and start over. It's not doing me any good. I can guarantee you that much. But I can't. My 9th grade science teacher told me so. She also told me I wouldn't want to forget. Fuck her.

I'm rambling, I know. It's the crazy. Maybe I just have too much on my mind. In my mind. Maybe I expect more of people than they are able to give. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Any of this. Relationships. Motherhood. Life. Giving a shit. Maybe I wasn't. Judge me if you want. I'm just being honest. Brutal, maybe, but still honest. Some people are cut out for it. They relish is doing and giving to others. They participate. They volunteer. They go, go, go. They wash their husbands/boyfriends underwear while turning a blind eye to the fact that he's fucking or desperately wants to be fucking someone else.  Then they talk about how blessed they are. Some people are really just "cut out for it". 

I think I lost my train of thought. Too much on my mind, like I said. Along with some Anger. Can you sense the Anger?  I think I'm going to learn how to shoot a gun. Not to kill people of course, because that would be really crazy. And I'm only crazy enough to say shit no one wants to hear. I want to shoot a gun because so far nothing else has really worked, so why the fuck not? 

I should probably stop rambling, but honestly I'm a shitload less anxious now. I really am. So, I guess it doesn't even matter what I wrote or how crazy it sounds to anyone else because...I feel better. And that is what this fucking blog it about. Tune in next time for "Anxiety: what it really fucking feels like...and the symptoms of Lorazapam withdrawals."

Hope, who feels a little like the female Holden Caulfield...and regrets never being able to have lunch with J.D. Salinger."