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 the last three days, I have seen two doctors, the first of which diagnosed me with an Upper Respiratory Infection, the second added on Bronchitis. For those wondering, the reason I went to the second one was because my trouble breathing got worse and that tends to give the Asshole just enough wiggle room to turn my life into a recreation of Twister. Good movie, terrible real life.
For some reason, once everything has a name, it helps shut Asshole up. He can’t convince me I’m dying of some unknown disease if I know what I have. Don’t get me wrong, this does not stop him from trying his luck. Like most of the world, I don’t like being sick; unlike most of the world, I have to deal with some of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had because I’m sick. I have been known to spend nights wide awake when I’m sick, even though I know not sleeping will just make it worse.
The past couple of nights I’ve been fighting with the Asshole, and trying to get better. Honestly, I just keep hoping to wake up and be all better. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m still holding out for it. Meanwhile, I’m popping cough drops like candy, I’ve gone through an entire box of tissues, my nose hurts, and I sound like I could audition to sing the theme song from Shaft (bring it on, Isaac Hayes). Can ya dig it?
As far as how I’ve been handling things, before today I might have said rather well. I am, however, hitting maximum handling ability, which means tonight will be spent curled up 
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.
Okay, I think this is all I have in me tonight. I’m knackered (I’ve also been watching a lot of British television) and my bed sounds really good right now. As usual, 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)
So, I woke up rather chipper this morning – it was definitely a ‘right side of the bed’ start for sure. I was basically waiting for the birds to fly through the window to help me brush my hair. I actually think I whistled as I walked down the stairs. I was at a four and loving life. On four days, things get done, people. Notes get taken to get ahead for next term, kitchens get cleaned, meals get planned and shopping lists are written. I was on a roll today. I even debated cleaning the bathrooms…granted I didn’t but honestly, no one in a good mood chooses to clean toilets.
subsequently watched me try everything in an attempt to get my brain to sit down, shut up, and be “normal.” He has also seen every high and low I’ve ever had on this journey. He asked tonight if I was going to be talking about some of the darker moments in my mental health history and recovery, “like the shitty meds they tried that I got rid of? Or the time the darkness almost swallowed you?” I told him that I was planning on being very honest, but I also wanted whatever I wrote this month to be organic. I have a list of topics that could be talked about, but I’m trying to let them tell me where they fit.
immediately on edge. I just felt like something wasn’t going to be right. Lucky me, I didn’t have to describe my feelings, because the doc had a front row seat to one of my more spectacular panic attacks. Within minutes I was in full-blown fight or flight mode, fingers gripping the arms of the chair (looking back I felt cheated there wasn’t a couch), I started to hyperventilate, my legs were shaking uncontrollably, and my stomach was churning. I was wound so tight in that moment, I bit my lip and the next thing I know, I’m holding a tissue to my mouth trying to stop the bleeding. The doctor talked me through it, I can remember hearing her voice saying “Listen to me, focus on my voice, breathe like I’m breathing.”
Cut to two months later and the magic pills hadn’t done shit. I was still crippled by my anxiety. I had spent more time face down on the carpet than anywhere else in my apartment. My dosage had been adjusted and played with, and still nothing. The next appointment, Doc decided to wean me off of those and try something else. From there, we tried two other medications, and then finally the doozy. The last pill got ripped out of my hands, by Hobbs, within a month. I was worse and he could see it. I went from maybe being functional at certain parts of the day, to being…yup I’m going to use the term…a basketcase. I couldn’t even take a shower, I would get up and go turn the water on and Hobbs would come in 15 minutes later to find me crying on the floor in the fetal position. I remember thinking one night, that it would just be easier to die in my sleep, than have to walk into that doctor’s office and try another fucking pill. I knew I didn’t want to die but I did want this feeling to stop. I wanted to stop seeing the bad outcome in everything. I wanted to be the happily married newlywed who made people sick because she couldn’t stop gushing over her new husband. I needed to feel alive, and not this shell of the person I used to be. At my next appointment, I walked in and said, “No more pills. If you can’t help me without them, then you can’t help me period.” That was the last time I saw that doctor, and the last time I ever took a pill.
adverse to meds, who the fuck know, all I can tell you is they didn’t work for me and that’s why I don’t use them. If you use them and have found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I’m very happy for you that you have. I will never judge anyone for how they choose to handle their life. Whether you take meds or you don’t, we are all on this fucked up ride together.
Let’s walk through the day because I swore to be honest. I had trouble sleeping all night, while I love the warm weather, being too warm causes me some serious sleeping problems. Basically, I get too warm and my brain translates it into not feeling well, ie being warm equals having a fever which happens when you’re sick. What’s weird is that typing that out makes me realize how outrageous that really is, but that is pretty much how the Asshole operates. He takes something completely natural, like a beautifully warm spring day, and it becomes illness and sadness. He really is a dickhead!
After a while today, I think I just took my own damn advice from yesterday and sort of wrote the day off. Side note: I did watch a crime doc show on Netflix. I basically did just enough to ensure that the dog didn’t piss in a corner of the house. I didn’t cook dinner so we ordered out. I didn’t work on getting ahead for next term. Oh, I also went for a drive in the AC (Hobbs forgot his meter at work, so I took him to get it). Screw it.
something comes along and fucks that up I tend to be left feeling extremely defeated in the end. I will second guess every single word that I’ve typed, every sentence I have uttered to anyone throughout the day becomes a sticking point in my brain. Imagine having a record player in the room you’re always sitting in, it’s always on, there is always noise coming from it, but it’s constantly repeating the same line. That is what it’s like when the Asshole decides I’m shitty at something. Particularly idiotic things I’ve said or written become immortalized in his “Greatest Hits,” to be pulled out and replayed when he decides I need to be knocked off my high horse. I have a saying that I have told everyone in my life at least one, “you can never make me feel as bad as I can make myself feel.”
I guess, the smart way to do this from now on is to just jump into my day. The first good thing I can report is that I had no anxiety last night, I actually fell asleep rather early (1:30am is early, no matter how you look at it). I woke up and did the usual mini check in with myself. In case you’re wondering what a check-in is, let me explain. Within the first couple of minutes after my eyes pop open in the morning, I take a couple seconds to take a mental inventory. I’m basically just seeing where I am along my scale. In all honesty, I try not to spend any more than a minute doing this, only because it can lead to jumping numbers. Example: I wake up at a lovely four, and then spend too long taking inventory and the next thing I know, the Asshole shows up and starts his “Greatest Hits” playlist, and hello ten.
two cents, “What if he doesn’t remember, and doesn’t bring one, then there is no marinade, which means no dinner, which means Hobbs will have blood sugar issues all night, which means he could end up in the hospital…” Logically, I know this isn’t the natural progression of things. IF he did forget, I would have just made an adjustment to dinner and we both would have eaten, no big deal. One of the fun things about anxiety is Spock (geek hint: Spock is highly logical) plays no role in it. I am constantly thinking worst case scenario. It’s pretty safe to say I’m who you want on your apocalypse team; I will make sure you are prepared for everything.
It would have been so helpful to hear just one person say that it was okay if I couldn’t always push through. Sometimes, you just need to live in that feeling for a little while, and that’s okay. Sometimes, you have to retreat inside and engage in mental martial arts with an asshole, and that’s okay. So, I’m going to tell you – the person who can’t just “go through” – what I wish someone would have said to me seven years ago: if you can’t push through today, it does not mean you have failed yourself. Sometimes, you have to take the scenic route to get to the other side, and sometimes…that’s where the prettiest flowers grow. Sometimes, pushing through looks less like smiling through the agony and more like continuously waking up to fight the same battle every day with a tear-stained face. Mental health/illness is not a one size fits all thing, we all have a different journey to take to find the happiness again. I used to think that I was failing, but now I see what I’m really doing – I’m finding my strength through the struggle.
The easiest way for me to explain what I go through to you, is to use the same explanation I give my family and friends who don’t understand how my anxiety works. I use a scale system, so for example on a typical day, my anxiety is humming in the background at about a four – maybe five – which means this is my “normal.” Really though, all this means is my brain isn’t conspiring against me constantly throughout the day, it’s a manageable annoyance. On a day where my anxiety is particularly terrible, I’ll be at a ten as soon as I wake up. When this happens I know it’s going to be a shitty day, and I’m going to be lucky to accomplish anything at all. During the bad days, just getting out of bed becomes my gold star moment.
night because that’s when shit went down. One of the things I’m very aware of is how my anatomy impacts my anxiety. I’m not mincing words here, so fuck it. When my period is impending it seems that Asshole goes off the fucking rails. Here we are (quick consult of the handy app) 4 days out from my period and I was pretty anxious last night and this morning. On the scale, I was about an eight. I tend to sort of struggle once I hit anywhere above my “norm,” the only thing that changes is how I struggle. Sometimes, it’s as simple as I just need a reset. In those times I curl up with a book or on the couch and just let the feelings pass. Thankfully, this is how my day went today. I just sat here at my computer, binge-watched some YouTube (currently watching a documentary by Stephen Fry about his Bipolarity, which I highly recommend!), worked on homework, and threw myself into writing this. Within about two hours of waking up, I could feel the Asshole backing up a little. My brain slowly came back to being mine, and the other shitty symptoms just let go. Don’t get me wrong, this is not the usual way things happen for me. I think, sometimes I just find my rhythm quicker. That’s also not to say that my anxiety and panic isn’t happening at all now. I still feel off, but I can manage it and work through it.
I guess, the best way to start this is to give you my rundown. In case you’re new and don’t know, I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), and a panic disorder. I think the anxiety and panic was always there growing up, but I was probably just too busy to really focus on it. I wasn’t actually diagnosed, by a real doctor, till about 7 years ago. My life has been a rollercoaster ride of trying to find some semblance of normalcy ever since.
I guess, in a roundabout way, what I am trying to say is that I can only hope that by doing this for the entirety of the month of May, that maybe one person will read something that resonates with them. That being said, here is my promise to you: I will be unflinchingly honest about my mental health. Whether it be good or bad, you will read it. Thrown into the daily posts, I’ll try to talk about the how’s and why’s of mine, what works and doesn’t for me, along with all of the ups and downs I’ve lived after anxiety showed up.
The Biblio Feels 