Hiya friends, welcome back. Ugh, I’m angry with myself. Here I am, having to apologize for missing a post, again. Honestly, on Thursday I just couldn’t sit at my computer for any longer than it took to finish my homework, then on Friday I was so busy, I just didn’t have the time to sit – period. I swear, I will finish these next two weeks strong.
Let’s get right into my last two days. Remember the other day, how I said I could just see Asshole sitting there, acting like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth? Yeah, I was fucking right. He came out swinging Thursday morning and was a thorn in my side all hoofin day.
Every morning I wake up at about 6am to give the Furry Overlord his insulin. Some mornings I go back to sleep for a bit, other days I just stay up, it really depends on the night before and how I’m feeling. Well, Thursday I woke up late and as I sat up, I felt the dizziness start. That was when I knew Asshole was gonna be around all day. Every person with anxiety will tell you that there is one symptom that always shows up first, for me it’s dizziness. If I get dizzy, it’s a fair assumption that I’m going to spend the day/night anxious or panicky. I proceeded to pinball my way down the stairs to administer the Meowser’s meds. While standing in the kitchen I felt the next telltale signs of the Asshole’s presence, the nausea and the racing heart. In that moment, I knew going back to sleep was out of the question.
I basically spent most of Thursday trying to get my homework done as fast as I could so I could just go relax. I also spent a great deal of time pleading with the universe to stop spinning my house so fast. By the time Hobbs got home, I’d had enough, I was over the spinning and I was just ready to lay in my bed and sleep. We got takeout because I couldn’t stand up to cook (it was fucking annoying). By the time we went to bed, I had decided to just write the day off and try to make Friday better. I laid there, propped up and doing puzzles on my laptop, until the sweet relief of sleep claimed me.
Cut to Friday morning. Wake up. Assess the dizziness…it’s gone! Yes! I happy danced in
my bedroom and then all the way down the stairs. My day was full to the brim of cleaning and moving things in preparation for our house guests. (T-minus 19 days until they arrive, and I can barely contain my excitement!!! Tiff says three exclamation points is overkill, I say she doesn’t understand my excitement.) I got my kitchen and bathroom cleaned, while Hobbs and his friend moved some furniture that was too heavy for me and my T-Rex arms (they’re basically just there for show and to carry babies).
All in all, between Thursday and Friday, I had two very different days. One was spent battling with my mind, the other was so busy I don’t think I sat most of the day. This is how my life goes. No two days are ever the same. At times it’s fucking annoying, but there are some times I don’t actually mind it. Don’t get me wrong, the anxiety and panic suck, but at least my life is never boring.
I hate to cut this short, but I have some homework to finish before I get to go to bed tonight. You guys know the drill by now, there are two numbers down at the bottom, the National Suicide Prevention Helpline, and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) Treatment Referral Helpline, use them if you need them. See you lovely lot tomorrow.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
SAMHSA: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
four, and I felt I could take on the world. This feeling happens so few and far between that when it does I fucking revel in it.
my anxiety and panic. Which inevitably reminded me that, in that time, I never thought I’d come out on the other side. Whenever Hobbs and I discuss this period of time, we just call it ‘The Dark Time’. Obviously, it’s not really my favorite thing in the world to talk about. I mean, I’d much rather talk about my family and friends, or my pets. Actually, I’d really rather poke hot nails into my eyes, then go back there again, which is exactly why I’ve decided to talk about it now. I feel this need to tell people about how bad it can get, how bad I can get.
the vest is because people look at you differently the second you tell them. There is a moment after the words come out, that you notice the look in their eyes changes. You are no longer what they thought you once were, and instead they now know all the darkness that lives inside you.
are reasons people tell you to not live with relatives, there really are. I was still rather new in my dealings with anxiety and panic, and I’ve said before, I was struggling. The only way I can describe the struggle that I was dealing with is like this: have you ever felt like you were doing everything in your power to keep your head above water, and yet you know that it’s futile? That there is something dragging you to the depths? This is how I felt everyday when I woke up. I never had four days then, and looking back on it, I was certain I never would have a good day again. Between the anxiety/panic and living with people who were constantly finding ways to belittle me, I was drowning, and I knew it.
do with me. In that time, I was seeing my life in shades of grey; nothing made me happy. I knew on some level this was happening because I was actually believing the words I was hearing, but I couldn’t drag myself out of it. I tried not to listen to them and to block them out, but nothing worked. I was constantly hearing how horrible I was, stupid, fat, worthless (I actually described myself that way to my mother one night and I’m positive she was trying to climb through the phone to throttle me).
greeted the depression. I knew something was different. I went through the day like I usually would, cleaning, laundry, cooking. Later in the day, after Hobbs came home, I stepped onto the porch for something and I heard some of his family talking about me. “The girl is no good, she’s just dragging him down.” The last things I heard were “white trash,” and that was it. I was done. I knew I couldn’t face these people anymore. I couldn’t even stand to look at myself in a mirror then. I remember sitting down to dinner with Hobbs and really giving it my all, he actually said, “You seem better today, that’s amazing.” I wasn’t better, I was gone. I drank my face off that night, I needed the liquid courage.
got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t even crying, I just felt numb. I don’t know if any of you have ever felt that but god, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I opened the cabinet near the sink and searched for the pills, they weren’t there. Now I know that Hobbs has gotten rid of them without knowing what I had planned. I was fucking angry, and I took the fact that I couldn’t find them to mean I needed another way out. I thought about breaking the mirror, I mean, they do that in movies all the time, it can’t be that hard. My next thought was how I didn’t want Hobbs to have to wake up to that. It would be much better for him if it looked like I just went to sleep, no gore, he didn’t deserve that.
floor that night, trying to figure out how I was going to do this. One half of me was begging for the calm that would follow, while the other was telling me to fight. It wasn’t until Hobbs walked into the living room and asked why I was still awake that I realized I had stayed up all night fighting with myself. In that moment, I looked at him and just knew I couldn’t go through with it.
I started seeing a new therapist within the week, on Hobbs insistence. We also started looking at new places. It took a little while, but we found a new place. We never told them we were leaving, just started packing and one weekend, moved out. It wasn’t until we had moved into the new apartment that he finally got the courage to say, “You were going to take them if you found them, weren’t you?” I gave him the only answer I could, “Yes.”
adn’t ever been to that place before, and thankfully, I’ve not been back since. I know that talking about it helped me, and I’m not saying that’s all it took, but it helped. If you are, or you know someone who is, in that place right now…reach out. Reach out to anyone, I don’t care if it’s a significant other, a friend, or a fucking stranger, no one deserves to go through that alone. The dark is scary when you’re alone. Sometimes it helps to ask a friend for a flashlight. I’ve got one if someone needs it.
Usually, I do not leave the house without my security blanket – otherwise known as Hobbs. (He tends to act as a buffer between me and the world…actually it’s more like he keeps me anchored so I don’t drown in the anxiety or panic.) As we all know, he has been home this week because he’s sick, so he couldn’t very well go to the store with me, could he? Unfortunately, his not being able to go didn’t change the fact that we needed shit from said store, so I had to suck it up and go buy said shit.
panic attacks in public. I can usually keep the Asshole at bay long enough to pop in someplace and grab a few things; I mean, he talks shit the whole time, but generally, I can control it for a bit. (Side note: if anyone could see inside my memory warehouse they would laugh at the scene. It’s basically just the Asshole and I having a Mortal Kombat style face off, with the warehouse employees shouting “finish him.”) It’s really just the panic attacks that come out of fucking nowhere that ruins the real world for me. For a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to risk it; it wasn’t worth it. Y’know when people say the risk is worth the reward? Yeah, not here. I have seen enough brain wranglers to know that I was dealing with a mild form of agoraphobia.
Up until a few months ago, I avoided leaving the house at all cost.
that, even when shit goes sideways, I’m not doing too bad. What’s that saying, “it’s a bad day, not a bad life”? I’m gonna get that shit embroidered on a pillow, and put it where I can see it every day to remind myself. (For those wondering, an embroidered pillow with the saying of your choice, is anywhere from $18.99 to $ 32.99. That’s vaguely affordable if you ask me.) Alright, it’s almost tomorrow now, so I should probably try to unwind and get to sleep before 3 am.
Basically when Hobbs gets sick, I absolutely lose it. I’m pretty sure that the way anxiety works makes no fucking sense. The thought process with this is much like the 
technically happen. The chance that it will happen, is very slim, and even if it did, I can’t possibly hold myself responsible for how germs work (those things are evil). I’m pretty sure this won’t make sense to anyone who doesn’t have anxiety, but the reason behind reminding myself that it could happen, is to keep myself from going off on the “You’re a fucking nutter” quest. Basically, it’s to stop the “Yup, I’m crazy” thoughts. Thinking you’re crazy does absolutely nothing to fucking help the situation. It’s better for me to acknowledge the ideas could happen but they probably won’t.
reassurances in the world can’t fucking stop it. There have been times when Hobbs has gotten sick and I’ve spent all night having one panic attack after another. I feel so fucking bad for Hobbs on those nights. He’s the one who’s sick and yet he spends hours trying to convince me that he’s okay. I’ll say it again for the people in the back, anxiety can be a real asshole sometimes.
Let’s see, today was pretty good. I actually did some housework, and finished my homework. Hobbs had to work this morning, but last night I knew that wasn’t going to last long when he looked at me and asked, “Did this *gestures in my general vicinity* start out as a scratchy throat?” In that moment, I knew I was about to have a man baby on my hands. He was home by noon, and within fifteen minutes of walking in, was camped on the couch in his sweats.
apologize for the brevity but I promised Hobbs we’d watch Timeless tonight.
Once I was parked on the couch (and Mr. Tiny Bladder was taken care of), I got some homework today, which was amazing. I hate falling behind; without fail I always start freaking out that I’m not going to get everything done in time, and I bet you can guess where that leads (I’ll give you a hint…his name begins with ‘Ass’ and ends with ‘hole’). I even took some time to remember the good old days, back when I could breathe without coughing. Man, I miss that. (See, the shitty humor is coming back; soon all will be right with the world.)
idea to jump in the shower (I had no idea, at this time, that being too hot would trigger anything). I’m thinking a nice steamy shower will help me relax, because that’s all I need to do, right? Relax. Halfway through the shower, I get out in full. On. Panic. Mode. I can’t breathe, this is the worst one of the day. I open the door and sit on the toilet, just trying to get my breathing to stabilize. There was still conditioner in my hair and shaving cream on my leg. Hobbs looks in and starts to laugh…until he sees my face. Somehow, I calm down, I get back in a colder shower and rinse the conditioner out – the legs are a lost cause at this point, and I didn’t fucking care – I push through the shower and jump out. I can honestly say I don’t recall ever getting dressed as quick as I did that day.
Okay, I don’t mean to end this abruptly but I’m beat, and I just want to go veg out with the Hobbs. I’m sure you all understand.
I’ve never been good at being sick. For as long as I can remember, I’ve cried my way through most illnesses. It didn’t really matter if it was something as simple as a cold, I could be found sobbing like a small child. Looking back, I can’t say for certain this wasn’t anxiety, and honestly it would explain a lot, like maybe why I still react this way.
panic is just piggybacking onto the Asshole and my already worn out body and brain. It’s really easy to spiral for me when I’m like this. If I can’t keep righting myself, it becomes almost easier to allow my brain to find the groove in the broken record and continuously replay that one spot. I also have seen enough therapists to know that, more than just illness, death is a massive issue for me. When I’m sick, in my mind, it puts me closer to that and I just lose it.
Maybe I should take the time to explain that anxiety and panic are two completely separate entities. I know that a lot of people seem to think that they are the same thing, but that isn’t true. I mean, one can cause the other, and they can coexist in the samehabitat, but they are different. The easiest way to explain the difference is that panic happens without any trigger, generally when there really isn’t any perceived danger, and can show up out of nowhere. Anxiety happens because you think there is danger, usually triggered by actual real life situations, and for the most part, you can feel it building before it hits.
Hiya friends, welcome back. Let’s set the scene, shall we? I am currently laying on the couch, surrounded by tissues, water, cough drops, and inhalers. There is also my homework somewhere under the blankets and pillows. I’ve been alternating between sleeping, watching TV (Rizzoli & Isles, I’m a sucker for crime procedural), working on homework, and reading. To be fair, that list is only happening between bouts of coughing or sneezing.
in bed just trying to keep the Asshole in his place. It’s only 9pm and I’m already debating going upstairs and assuming the position of someone who wishes to wallow in self pity. In case you haven’t guessed yet, I’m a massive baby when I’m sick. I’ve asked my mother if she agrees with this and she says she doesn’t, but I strongly suspect she’s lying to make me feel better in my feeble state.
The Biblio Feels 