A laundry list of sadness

I'm still feeling good, and waiting for the hammer to come down. (Sorry, Mable, I haven't read your link yet.) I know I have to change that way of thinking. There is also the quote that you can view the Universe as either friendly or hostile, and whichever one you view it as is what you get. Of course, the writer didn't mention neutral.  :)  I've felt it was hostile since I was very little.

I'm not sure if it's more useful for me to talk about my issues in the order that I'm doing them in therapy, or just as they come to my head. I'm OCD enough that I want order. I'm an Air sign, which means spontaneity. It's very confusing.

Okay, why I think the hammer will always come down and destroy my happiness. The facts:

I was molested by a cousin starting when I was 2; the first time it was him, age 5, and another cousin age 8. My mom and aunts found us in a closet and laughed it off as playing doctor, as if a 2-year-old had any choice in the matter. 

My cousin continued off and on until I was 11. His final act was to say he wouldn't bother me again until I was 17. Way to keep me in fear. That 3 year difference was always a huge power differential, and since the first, I was completely in his control, and knowing it was wrong and uncomfortable. My parents had told me, in front of him: do what he says. He knows more than you. I was to always do what anyone older than me said. Way to go with the protection, Mom and Dad.

He wasn't happy just touching me and stuff. He also had to terrorize me with terrible things that would happen to me. Monsters, when we were little. Psychopaths when we were older. I think my cousin was a sociopath.

My grandfather molested me once when I was 11 or 12. I was glad he died the next year.

I never told anyone about any of this until I went to therapy at 23. Then I eventually told my mom. She didn't take it well at first and it took her a year or so to be able to talk to me about it without making it kind of my fault for not telling her and Dad.

There's some less horrific stuff in between.

When I was 16, we moved 1100 miles away from everything I'd ever known. Nine months later my father died. He had a major heart attack while playing catch with my little brother in the backyard. Our neighbor had CPR instructions on a card and tried to do compressions. I'd had first aid two year previously and I did mouth-to-mouth. He died anyway.

Five years later, just before my mom remarried, to a guy I disliked from the first, my little brother, my treasure, committed suicide five days before my 22nd birthday.

The rest is fairly basic, and then there is Mom from last year. When things start going well, something horrible or simply bad happens. I have very little trust, for good reason, even in myself.  So it's an uphill battle in sand.

Now you know more. Ah, so much work to do, it can be daunting. It tires me out. And that's all I can manage to write tonight.

Wow. I used to be able to do this like it was a news report. Apparently no longer. My stomach hurts now and I'm feeling very emotional. Such a major change for me, and I think this is supposed to be a good one. Wish it felt good.

How did the day get so good?

The past several days were saturated with gradually worsening feelings — mental and physical. Sometimes living isn't better through chemicals; it's worse. 

The pharmacist let me off the hook for my latest medication ("It's okay to quite that one cold, so go ahead") and I finally spoke with my psychiatrist at the end of the day today. She didn't think that anything I was on should cause my symptoms. Or that maybe something I'd been on for awhile, or maybe that medication I'd gone off of over two weeks ago .... 

Me: Yes, but I'm feeling better since going off the Abilify.

Her: Well, that's a good thing, but I don't think ....

Me: I feel better. We can talk when we meet again in a couple of weeks.

What I don't understand is why medical professionals get so bent out of shape when a person falls outside of the box, or in this case, outside of the bell curve. It happens to me all the time. I've had diseases I shouldn't have had (because only adults get pittiriasis and I was a child) or couldn't have had (because no one else had had scarlet fever, except my brother two months earlier, and we didn't know how he got it either). I've had symptoms that made doctors uneasy enough to give me expensive tests and angry enough to hand me to another doctor and wash their hands of me. Occasionally I've been fortunate enough to have a doctor who considered me, rather than the literature, as being the expert on my responses and needs. And who were interested in my odd reactions and symptoms rather than frustrated. Those are the doctors I keep and are unhappy to leave if I move.

I think I may have problems with my current psych. She's obviously an in-the-bell-curve doctor. I am a not-in-the-bell-curve person. 

Today I am feeling quite good on all fronts. I am also quite wary — as we've seen, my base response to good things is to wonder when the hammer is coming down to smash it (or me). 

I didn't need a nap. I got excited about a project. I had dinner with a good friend. I didn't feel like throwing up and I didn't feel on-edge. 

I still gave in and bought treats on the way back from dinner. And I still gave in and ate several of them. However, I didn't eat them all and I even put one of the small ice creams (the last of four, I admit) back in the freezer for tomorrow. That's pretty good for me.

Chaos is still making its home in my apartment, and I think it is having little chaos-demon babies in the tub and bathroom sink. When I conquer the clutter-chaos, I will hire a chaos-demon-slayer (aka house cleaner) for a nice deep slaying. Then I can start from the beginning, base level once more, yet without having the specter of unopened boxes coming into my home.

I need to feel this good, and I need to become organized. I have some new challenges coming before me and I need all the self-actualization I can scratch together.

Drugs

My medications are not doing me much good right now. I started Abilify on Friday to give me that extra kick, but I think the only kick I got was in the face. I feel like hell: jittery, mood up then down, a slight tremor in my hand, slightly dilated eyes, and exhaustion and sleepiness. I took a four-hour nap yesterday and a four and a half hour nap today. I only napped because i suddenly Could. Not. Stay. Awake. Even when I'm not ready for a nap I just feel off.

In addition, my typing skills have deteriorated to the extent that I might do better using the two-finger method. My spelling skills are likewise effected.

I left a couple of messages for my psychiatrist but received no calls back (one email to the front desk, one voicemail to the front desk). So I called my pharmacist. She was great. She asked about what each drug was being used for and how long I'd been on it, dosages, etc. and decided I should go off the Abilify. The Pristiq may be causing the jitteriness, but possibly the Abilify is increasing that. And the dilated eyes have her stumped, the way they stumped everyone last year when my previous psychiatrist was trying to find something to handle my anxiety and social anxiety. Dilated eyes is not a typical side effect of any of my drugs, singly or in combination. It might be time to find my old MRIs to compare to the new MRI that's probably coming. Why? Well in addition to the dilated eyes, one eye is dilated more than the other.

I will call my psych again tomorrow morning. I also have to take my car in for a few things. Maybe I'll get lucky and get to talk about mental health and medication issues in the sitting room of my mechanics!

This is all the post I can manage tonight.

Good night.

My moods ride a bicycle. Get out of their way.

Today I felt damned perky (sorry, Julie). The last couple of days I have felt myself coming up further from the Abyss, not really in the "happy" area yet, but not in the depressed area.

In fact, I felt beyond perky. As the morning went along, I felt the edge of mania* coming on. My mood and energy began to develop an edge. It felt to me there was a thin, electrical edge to my mood. My body developed a tremor and I felt ill. I felt nauseated and irritable.

My mood and physical feelings deteriorated quickly from there and I had to miss a commitment (but was able to email in what I needed to).

I wasn't expecting this. I'm on more and greater amounts of meds — twice as much for Pristiq (for anxiety), and half again as much for the Lamictal (mood disorder, cycling). And then my added Abilify (boost the other two). Plus, I have Lorazepam for sleeping and for taking off any anxiety that the Pristiq doesn't handle. This quick plunge made me feel — again — like I'm not on any meds at all. So I wonder what would be the effect of taking me off of everything and slowly bringing me back up? Cuz this isn't fun. And it's so reminiscent of the old days.

I was going to talk about my meds and my history of being on them, but I'm far too distracted and buzzy to write. At all. I'll write more later.

*Not the Bipolar I (Manic-Depressive) Mania. Something that is much, much less explosive. I might stay up extra hours, not days. I might spend a couple hundred dollars, not ten thousand.

Alphabet soup

OCD. PTSD. ADD/ADHD. MOUSE. Some days I think my own name ought to be something like THX 1138. (Geeks will get it.)

OCD: Basically, I feel obsessed about certain things, or compelled toward certain actions, or both. For me, it's tidiness and organization. So why is my apartment chaos incarnate? Just look at my mind and my heart: I'm a total mess, paralyzed with pain and anxiety and depression. The worse the untidiness and disorganization, the more it pains me and makes things worse. When I make even one small area clean and tidy, I feel the very muscles in my body relax noticeably. 

I also have an compulsion toward collecting things. That one I've been controlling, until now. I have so many catalogs and magazines I haven't even read yet. Oh, and I collect notebooks and blank journals. When I go through my storage, I will find a large box of them. Mom hated my collection of them, but I stood my ground and would let her make me get rid of the better ones. Collections make me feel stable and rooted and protected.

Lost in the aisles

In therapy today, we wandered. I neglected to do my homework last week due to the usual, plus some days where I couldn't sleep until 3 am. (I am feeling somewhat better, which means I cannot get away without my homework next week.)

Instead of homework, we talked about other things. Last week, when I was making a comparison to illustrate how I felt at one point, I told her a story about something that happened when I was a child. It happened several times: I lost my parents in a department store. I would stop to look at something and when I was done I'd look around and they would be nowhere near me. I'd go from aisle to aisle looking, panic growing inside me. When I was too short to look over the top of the aisles, it was like I was caught in a maze; even when I went to the same aisle again (in case my parents were looking for me), it looked different. And I never asked another person for help. 

I always found them. And every time they'd say "Oh? You were lost? We didn't know that." Way to go folks. Kind of lost parenting points there. Even to this day, I stay close to friends when I'm shopping with them because I feel that panic start to rise if I cannot find them immediately.

Since my mom's death, I've experienced a lot of that lost, panicky feeling. Today my therapist told me something she'd forgotten to say last week, which was that she sees me being in that place of being lost and unable to find my family — permanently. And now I have to find a way to become okay with myself and with being here. Without my parents, my brother. Just me.

The idea of being lost in the department store for the rest of my life punched me in the stomach I know she didn't mean it that literally, but I am a literal person in unexpected ways. And I kind of do feel as if I am lost in the department store. One of the darkly funny things about that is that some of the scariest movies I've ever seen — seen when I was a kid — took place in department stores.

Have you ever been lost? Did you look for your parents, or did they look for you? Who was panicking and who was calm? I've known kids who felt it was their parents who were lost, not themselves. No panic. Just hanging out doing what they wanted until their parents came running to find them. These kids didn't understand why their parents were so upset. I suppose I have to become that kid, because no one is going to run around looking for me.

What do you think are the qualities a person needs to adapt to the department store, to being alone? Yes, i know I have friends, good friends, but in the end, it is me and my aisle in the store and no one running around trying to find me. I've got to get home by myself this time. I'm not sure how.

OMG! I DID STUFF!!!!

It's entirely appropriate language and punctuation to use.

Today was a typical Sunday. I stayed up until almost 3 am because I couldn't sleep; finally took a pill. Then I woke up at 11 am.  At least I slept for 8 hours, which is good for you, right?

I dawdled, knowing I had so much work to do that I'd put off since Friday (down heah in the South, folks take Good Friday off, including school and gov'mint offices, y'all). Almost all of what I had to do was work-related — a press release I'll get paid for as the contract progresses, and the work samples for the potential contract, plus updating my professional web site.  I also have my therapy homework. I just couldn't start.

I wrote emails. I checked blogs repetitively. I drank two large mugs of tea.

Finally, I ran out of ways to delay myself and I started. Nothing like a tight deadline to motivate one! And then something weird happened. I. Got. Productive.

Here's the list of what I accomplished today:

• edited a press release
• added 6 or 7 PDFs to my portfolio on my computer
• added the same 6 or 7 PDFs to my web site area
• updated my web site: made minor changes to 5 pages, major changes to 2, added 13 or 14 new pages, included all the correct links (and tested and tested), tested and fixed some more (uploaded and tested and fixed and uploaded)
• via email, asked for testimonials/recommendations (from probably 7 people) that I can post on my web site (have received 4 yeses and no noes)
• swept the deck, including the deck chairs and around the door
• took took the two large boxes that have been lingering in the living room out to the storage closet on the deck
• paid a bill
• boiled some eggs
• ate some eggs for dinner when I realized it was almost 8 pm

In between were at least 30 texts with friends.

I guess the drugs have kicked in.

I hold my breath

I found out, only within the past decade, that I shared a rather odd trait with my mother: I hold my breath when I am stressed. Given how much stress I've experienced the past several years, I seem to spend much of my life suffering from oxygen deprivation.

When I'm emotionally tense — which is most of the time — my muscles are tense. All of them. It's probably the only reason I have any muscle tone at all. If I'm going to die of asphyxiation, at least my core muscles have enough structure to keep me upright until rigor mortis sets in.

I don't notice when I stop breathing; I notice when I start breathing again, or when I need to start breathing again. This goes on all day, off and on. I have no idea if it happens at night, but I wouldn't be surprised. 

When I was little, I had nightmares fairly often. Sometimes they were about monsters, but one repeated for years. Each time, I would wake up, my heart beating so hard and fast I thought I could see it against my chest. My room was dark and my covers were over my head. I was absolutely convinced that a huge black dog was sitting next to my bed, waiting for some movement, some sound, that showed I was awake. Once that happened, I knew it would pounce on me aand rip my throat out. So I would breathe as shallowly as I could and I would hold myself absolutely still. I probably didn't fall back asleep so much as pass out.

When I grew older, the big black dog changed into home invaders, but the concept was the same: any indication I was awake would result in a horrible death.

By the time I was in my mid- to late-30s those nightmares were infrequent, and I rarely have them now. But the feeling is the same: if I don't succeed in whatever I think I need to do, whether it's act like I'm asleep or make enough money to support myself, I will die a horrible death. I have to make the macabre observation that now it appears my nightmare occurs in the daylight.

I'll admit that dying doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore, now that Mom is gone, but that might simply be because I'm not staring into the eyes of Death at the moment. A horrible death, however, is still to be avoided.

It's easier to tell someone else to breathe. To tell myself to breathe, I first have to be aware that I am not doing so. Maybe I need a small looped recording, some sound chip I can wear in an earring or a necklace. Over and over will be a voice, a calm and relaxed voice, saying "Breathe, honey. Just breathe."

Temporary

Having my belongings packed into moving boxes indicates to me a temporary state, a state where I know I'm going to move again. I have lived out of boxes since 1991 when my now-ex-boyfriend and I moved into a house that turned out to be dirty and too uncomfortable to live in. In our next apartment, we kept boxes packed in the second bedroom, even tho' the apartment was more than comfortable. If I had lived there alone I might have kept it. But I left it when I left him. Perhaps we knew the relationship was, by that time, temporary.

When I bought my first house, I left a roomful of boxes packed, taking up the space in my second bedroom for far too long. Then I moved them upstairs so I could at least inhabit that bedroom as an office and a comfy place to hang out, with a twin bed in the corner where I could look outside into my back yard. I lived there for eight years — hardly temporary. When I moved almost 300 miles away because everything had changed, all I cared to take with me permanently was that house, something I long for even now 10 years later.

"I had a good day," she said with surprise in her voice.

The day was sunny, but the sunshine is not the reason I had a good day. I held few expectations for myself — just a small list of things that must be done —, but keeping my expectations reasonable was not why I had a good day. My period hit flood stage, which is definitely not why I had a good day.

The day was sunny; I accomplished all my tasks; my period almost I survived being away from home for over three hours with a heavy period; I bought a few snacks and ate all of them (two steps forward, one step back); my brain whirred — the  title for this post came to me, I imagined a potential title and signature graphic for another blog if I choose to illustrate and sell greeting cards and other of my works, and ... I should use my digital recorder in the car because I have forgotten for the moment; my body sucked in the heat and the Vitamin D; I posted comments on blogs, I read blogs, I emailed, FBed, and Tweeted with friends; many ideas for all the writing aspects of my life ran in rivulets through my brain, just behind my eyes (where they are running now, like visual music tracks in color and motion).

None of these things is the reason I had a good day. Not one single thing made me feel better — it was the gestalt of all of them combined that lifted my spirits and the corners of my lips. On my mood spreadsheet for today, I will actually go positive on my Depressed/Happy axis. (Yes, I do keep a spreadsheet of my moods and any typical things that might have an influence on them. Then I create charts to see if there are obvious relationships. Thank Gates for something useful!)

I feel potentially productive. What this means is that my mind is churning on all the projects that I have to do and all the projects that I want to do. I can see them and hear them and feel them. (This may be my own form of synesthesia.) 

Tangent — A previous therapist of mine was quite concerned that I was wasting too much of my energy on a fantasy life I imagined every day. Finally I told her all about it, in the same amount of detail that I used in imagining this life and she was astounded. "I understand now," she said. "This is why you need to leave, to go somewhere more stimulating. If you can run your normal life and a whole yet imaginary life, your mind isn't getting anything close to the amount of stimulation and outlet that it needs." Which was entirely true, and which has continued to be true off and on — few jobs can occupy my mind fully for any great length of time. I get bored and wander off to something else. At least I give two weeks' notice before wandering off.

What this tangent means is that my mind was more awake today, more alive, and thus able to begin creating and reaching out for what it needs.

I endeavor to avoid becoming too excited over singular positive changes — they are too easily overset. I will save my excitation for an actual upward trend. (But I will continue to feel optimistic!)

Melodramatic Me

Today I'm doing something completely different. Today I'm sharing something I wrote for my previous therapist a few years ago. It is not out of date — it is the most articulate statement of something I have felt off and on for my entire life. I'm sure there are many simple and complicated reasons I am sharing this with you right now, but I don't have any interest in exploring them.

Warning: This post contains raw pain and a point of view that most people that most people would rather not see. It is a bit melodramatic, which I am somewhat ashamed to admit is part of my make up — I would much rather be practical and down to earth. It is honest, sad, and dreary. It's also very long. So read at your own risk. It's okay to skip this one.

I used to be so good

When I was younger, I was a morning person. I kept my living space — bedroom, dorm room, apartment, house — clean and organized. When I made a commitment, I met it.

When I started having problems with anxiety and depression, particularly in my early 30s at the Job From Hell, I started calling in sick when I didn't want to do something, mostly because of severe anxiety or depression. I began backing out more and more. It became more routine for me to break a commitment rather than to meet one. 

Over the course of a couple of decades, I became a person different from the person I knew I was. Knowing this added to my feelings of depression.

When I determined that I would change my life, I determined that I would change that aspect, too. And I did ... for awhile.

I called in sick a couple of times to a new job last summer, and I'm not sure why. Stress. But I got back to doing better. 

Then I was two weeks late for a project quote because I let my mental state command me. And today I backed out of a meeting and let someone else keep notes for me. I have yet to talk to her about it because I slept for four hours this afternoon — another way I have of avoiding what pains or stresses me.

I'm late on every one of my bills and those of the estate's. I owe money to the Steps to cover their tax burden from one of our bequests. I not only didn't get my taxes done, I didn't manage to file for an extension either.

I can barely breathe.

At this rate, it wouldn't be difficult for me to simply take to my bed for a few weeks. Except that I do need to at least pretend I'm looking for work. 

Dear god I hope the house sells soon. I don't know if a bit more financial security will make a difference in my personal integrity or not. I'm not sure what will.

Exploring pain

Therapy was rough today. In fact, it hurt like hell. And this is going to be a very long post explaining why.

I told Karen that she needed to be the leader, because if left to my own devices I tend to wander, especially if I dread the topic of the day. So today we jumped back into the trauma therapy and continued to read the first section I'd written about.

Now, this first section only covers from the point I found out about Mom's cancer to the point where I got on a plane to fly home.  There is a lot more geography to cover, hills and valleys and even fruited plains (truly — there were clover fields between Mom's house and the cancer center that we watched go from green to greener to magenta to ... mowed, and I didn't manage to get a photograph, even though I passed those fields five days a week). Given such a small section of the whole, it seems reasonable to think that there could be only a small amount of emotional trauma to discover. Even as I read through what I'd written, I felt little emotion ... until near the end when I spoke of the fear I felt. That's when I began to weep.

I expected that, from our last session doing trauma therapy. Weep a little, recover a little. Before we began, I grabbed a tissue because I knew I'd need it.

Then Karen began working me deeper into my experience and my feelings from that time, almost a year ago. I went through a second tissue and started on a third. She asked about my mom and about our relationship and meaningful conversations we'd had. We laughed at one or two of my stories.

I had no idea how deep we could go, how far back emotions can connect and resonate. We reached the topic of how I feel with Mom gone, how mothers can be anchors, which mine was for me, and so on. What came to mind for me was what happened from time to time when I was a child. 

Did you ever wander off in a store as a child? Did your parents panic when they didn't find you, or did you? I had a tendency to stop to look at something more closely, or to keep going when my parent(s) stopped. Eventually, I'd look up and not see my parents. A touch of panic would grab me right away. I'd look in the next couple of aisles and not see them, then the real panic would set in. I never called out, I never cried, I just felt dread and fear squeeze my insides as if wringing out a wet cloth. 

I always found them. They would be looking at something and had no idea that I'd gone "missing." They'd even tease me about worrying. "We're here," they'd say. "We wouldn't leave without you." But I'd always end up doing and feeling the same thing.

This panic went deep. Even within the past few years, if I lost track of my friends in a store, I'd feel the panic and look for them. This sense of being lost and alone generally led me to stay close to them, whether what they were looking at interested me or not. In fact, that behavior has become routine for me. If I am in a crowded situation with someone, I will hold onto a piece of their clothing, if I cannot hold their hand, so I don't get lost.

"So how do you feel now," asked Karen. "Now that your family is all gone?" All the fear and the sense of isolation and panic and the knowledge that my fear I would end up alone has been completely validated surged up and out of me, first in words then in tears and finally in sobs that shook me so I could barely breathe — I don't know how long that lasted. I do know I went through two more tissues.

I knew this work was going to be difficult, and I knew I would cry. I did not know that I would actually sob my heart out in this woman's office; I have only done that in front of one person ever in my life (at least in my memory). I hate feeling this much pain, I hate crying, and I particularly hate sobbing where my body shakes and I can't keep noise from coming out of my mouth — the part of me that stands aside and observes always comments on how stupid those noises sound. I hate them. Doing this in front of another person simply added to the intensity and distress.

We talked me down and I was calm and tear-free when I left. I even took a walk at the park. But I'm going to have to figure out a different strategy: I also went to the grocery store because I needed a few things. Unfortunately, not only do I not manage lunch before my appointment, I also feel a sense of need for comfort after pouring out my tears. I bought goodies. And ate them all. Even if I'm burning off calories by crying and by walking, they aren't enough to balance out the comfort foods.

After an intensely emotional event, I generally move to a phase of "reduced affect" where I feel and display very little emotion. I have a polite and civilized aspect, I think. Given enough of these events over time to think about them, I've concluded that the follow-up phase functions both as a self-protective mechanism and a control mechanism. When I experience such intense emotions, I fear that I will lose control completely, and then what?  Therefore, after such events, my mind and body shut down to limit me and protect me from that intensity for a little while so I can recover. After today, I wouldn't be surprised if I shut down for the next week.

Cognitive therapy has nothing on trauma therapy. Nothing.

Day Two of near silence

Big accomplishment of the day: getting out of bed.

No point in pushing my luck.

Too. Tired. To. Post.

Really.

No good title

I started with a shitty title, because my day is still that.

Nothing new is happening. It just hasn't stopped and I'm tired. 

But then the content got better and the shitty title didn't fit.

Good note: I ate a decent dinner/dessert tonight. Plain, whole-fat yogurt, local honey to sweeten it a bit, fresh blueberries, fresh strawberries. It made me feel better and reminded me how good I feel when I eat simple, healthy foods.

Tomorrow I must leave early to do something. On the way, i'll buy a hot, fresh-out-of-the-oven Shipley's donut. 

A healthy life requires balance, after all.

This. Day. SUCKS!!!

Taxes

There should be a hardship extension where you can just ask for the extension and get no penalties for not paying money. I don't have all my information; it turns out what I have is mostly Mom's. I'm not sure how to get some of mine. The H&R Block people didn't get back to me to answer the question of what happens if I just don't file yet. The other, highly recommended accountant I called didn't offer me anything more than that they can't help me because it's too late and they are busy. Fine. I'm in trouble either way.

I feel completely incompetent because I haven't handled my taxes in a timely manner.

Medication & Insurance

Insurance didn't pay for one of my new medications and I don't know why. I didn't buy it because it was $255.

I need to find out how much of my deductible I paid last year, and how much I've paid so far this year; I may find it best to double the deductible and decrease the monthly payment.

I feel incompetent because I don't know how to figure out the math to determine the best course of action regarding deductibles and monthly payments. I feel overwhelmed because there seems to be so much to do.

Anxiety through the roof

Interestingly, my anxiety was very high today. How odd. ::insert sarcasm emoticon here:: I took my new drug, which I prefer to the previous one for the over-the-top anxiety. I spent some time on Twitter and Facebook and IM chat with friends and had a very good time. However, I can feel the edges of feeling manic.* I can feel this kind of electric fizz zipping up and down my edges. There is a rushing in my ears as if I've been inside a rock concert or taken too much aspirin. I feel both hyper and exhausted. Kind of getting slugged in the gut by a bolt of lightning.

My anxiety also provides me with an added benefit of paranoia, the kind where I feel left out. On purpose. (There's this story from when I was in 4th grade, but I won't tell it right now.) I know the online community I'm part of is full of people making friends in their own ways and at their own rates. I just feel ... slow. Inadequate. I have one full-blown friendship, and another two that are growing. But the other people know all kinds of stuff about each other that I don't. About lots of the others. 

These factors bring me back to my feeling that I am broken or missing some important psycho-social developmental step.

Additionally, my PTSD is having a good time. Hypervigilance is not my friend. I cannot relax completely. I see things out of the corners of my eyes. When I'm in the shower I think I hear someone at the door, or I fear someone important will come to the door or that I will miss an important phone call. And I fear bugs, because I'm not tossing all food wrappers every night and I'm not putting my dishes into the dishwasher every night. When my therapist asked me if I startle easily, I laughed.

Solitude

Since my best friend in Houston had a cardiac arrest this fall and decided to redevote himself to his marriage in his usual laser-focused manner, I never see him anymore and talk to him seldom or only in five-minute chunks. He's been too busy for lunch or for the occasional wandering off or even a walk in the park.

My two girlfriends locally have become too busy to even return email much. One of them I have not seen in months.

My best girlfriends far away don't call and seldom write, unless I initiate. They were like that when I lived near them; I don't know what made me think they would change. They love to see me when I'm there, but they don't think of me much in between. And Facebook really isn't a forum that encourages actual emotional intimacy.

Therefore, I'm developing some online friends, but expecting them to fill much of my need for emotional intimacy, especially given my extreme needs and intensity, is unreasonable.

I'm feeling ridiculous because my feelings are childish. I'm feeling incompetent at making friends and at being an adult.

Other than the online conversation I had, it's been a shitty day. 

* I am not manic depressive, but part of my lovely brain and mind is that I do get periods of what psychotherapists and psychiatrists call "hypomania," meaning that manic feelings and behavior that are not the bipolar I kind. They are lesser: I won't go out and spend $10,000 on a shopping spree, but I might spend $300-400. Or behave over the top. Or drink. Or just be excessively hyper and talkative.

Positive thinking --- what do I want?

The owner of a blog today gave us a topic to discuss and apply to our own lives.

"Think positively – and by positively, I mean simply “I want this,” instead of “I don’t want this,” – about one specific thing you want for one week. Then, next week, we’ll check in, and see what kind of progress has been made.?

I considered this and realized I was up against two of my issues: being positive, and asking for what I want.

When it comes to being positive, I've come to a place where what I think and say tends to be a negative: I don't want to run out of money, I don't want to be unemployed, I don't want to be depressed. It's like saying "don't forget your keys:" your mind skips the "don't" and hears "forget your keys." Kids do the same thing, so it's recommended that you start statements to them in the positive: "remember your coat."

As for asking for what I want, I run into a couple of difficulties. First, if I ask for something big, like enough money that I don't have to work if I don't want to (such as by winning the lottery), I then tell myself that many other people need it as badly as or worse than I do, so what makes me so special, what makes me think I deserve that? The other main issue is thinking maybe the Universe doesn't want me to have what I want. I am a non-diest and I don't believe in a pre-planned life or destiny/fate.  Yet, I am having problems because I think the Universe is playing against me, which then makes me feel that it is hopeless even to try, to want, to wish — impossible to win.

I've spent the day not being able to state my want for the week. Plus, there are SO many things I want; however, most of them require me to do something, and I will cover under a different experiment.

Here is one want that has to come from outside of me. I want to be offered work within the next week, where I can work at least part-time from home often, and that pays me my preferred rate.

I've written this and sent it out to the quantum particles of the universe. I'll come back in a week and let you know how it goes.

More

Writing a post every day is about as difficult as I expected it to be. But the posts were coming from me so quickly, I grew cocky. I found that sometimes the words aren't flowing. Sometimes I'm far too tired to want to put in the effort or the time. Sometimes I just don't feel like it. And in the past, if I didn't feel like doing something, I'd cancel it, call in sick, blow it off.

I've realized that I wasn't giving myself much credit for writing this blog daily. And not only this blog, but the occasional post on my other blog, and now I'm starting a third, for professional conversation.

Even though I have been so anxious and depressed and purely, miserably in pain during the past month and 2 days, I've written for this blog every evening. And I've turned out another couple of posts for the other blogs.

I don't give myself enough credit.

Today, I dressed in nice clothes and went to a meeting, which was energetic and loud. The sun shone. The weather was hot and not too humid. There was traffic. I didn't have enough water to drink and was parched all the way home. I'm tired because I'm so introverted and I've spent entirely too much time alone inside my home, because I'm out of driving "shape," and because I became mildly dehydrated.

Yet, here I am, writing a post for tonight, even though I am tired and my knee hurts and my ears are still ringing from the talking (we are a loud group). I'm writing even though I have clothing spread all over my bed that I need to put away before I can go to sleep. I'm writing even though all I planned to do was write "Sorry, no post. I'm tired."

Writing a post every day is more difficult than I thought. And much easier. I need to give myself more credit.

Big love, bright life

Today I was drenched in prayers and good wishes from many friends in my extended community and now I feel light and shiny. 

How different from just a day or two ago!

I still have my depression and anxiety, but today I am feeling noticeably lifted above them. It feels good. Between good therapy and an amazing response from these friends, yes, it's a good day. This good day feeling directly recalls yesterday's post about the feel-good brain chemicals produced in women's conversations.

Along with the light and shiny feelings comes exhaustion. I conjecture this exhaustion comes from the emotional outpouring I made, and the emotional inpouring I received. How amazing the power that can be transmitted via email and cell phone!

One message that friends told me and told me was that Depression Lies.This message aligns with what Karen and I discussed in our session today. She said that whether or not I have some social developmental problem doesn't matter. The fact that I believe I do makes me act as if I do: I feel awkward in social situations, I don't know how to make small talk, I feel clueless and am tense, sure that I'll say or do something foolish or stupid (and in the past, I often have). Belief can create reality. (Julie, no crowing!)

Thus, I have another task, trying to change my belief and hoping it changes my behavior and thinking. I'll put it on the list.

I'll leave off some of the other things we talked about in today's session, because I don't want to bring down the tone of this post. 

I feel good. I feel a remembrance of when I was an optimist and rather bouncy. I can't wait until I get my new med — it may take me back to that place where I feel confident and calm. I'll hold onto today's light and shiny feeling for as long as I can, and I'll come back to this post to remind myself, when the dark days come, as they will do as I continue my therapeutic journey.

Thank you, my friends, for everything.

Signed,

Tinkerbell

Feel-good chemicals in the brain

Today a friend told me that women develop "feel-good" chemicals in their brains when they have long talks with friends. Given that I'd already had two long talks prior to electronically "talking" with her, and that I was feeling better, I'm predisposed to believe her to some extent. (I'd like the citation, though.) Then I spent quite some time online with her; anecdotally, I have to say that online talking provides feel-good chemicals as well.

If this information is correct, it would explain why many women enjoy talking for hours with their friends, especially their female friends: they are all getting the same happy drugs in their heads. 

I remember spending about four hours one evening last spring talking with a couple of girlfriends outside a restaurant. The restaurant was the kind that you order at the counter, then sit where you want. No waitstaff. It was a weeknight and the place wasn't crowded, so we sat at a table outside in the warmth and talked. The first friend had to leave about half an hour after friend #2 arrived; friend #2 stayed for nearly 3 hours ... until 9:30. We talked about many different things, most of which I don't remember now because they weren't long-term-memory topics; the important thing was the talking. The bonding. Feeling terrific.

The majority of my conversations and contacts currently are online. I do talk on the phone to one friend about every other weekend or so, but we'll talk for two hours. I talk on the phone to my BFF off and on; sometimes we'll talk every day, sometimes two weeks can go by and all we'll exchange is a few texts and some quick emails. My best girlfriends from way back don't call and they don't write, but if I come to town they seem happy to see me and spend time with me. I don't understand that, but I am rather clueless about many intersocial things. (Karen the therapist and I think it's due to my missing out on some important developments at key stages in my early years.)

I would love to add more friend conversations to help with both my brain chemicals and my social development. Given the recent boom in online-friend-making that I've come into, more long talks with friends may be a possibility. I'd much rather talk than take more medications. Good conversation seldom leaves me feeling drugged or hungover.

I don't think it's worth asking what gives men feel-good chemicals in their brains.

Note: Oftentimes, writing a coherent piece — be it blog post, non-fiction, or fiction — takes time and many revisions to make the piece logical and flowing. Sometimes — this time — the piece writes itself and requires very little editing or revision. Of course, maybe I'm seeing it that way due to the medications ....

No point

Write another blog post after yesterday? Really?

I don't think so. There's nothing more to be said right now.

That sinking feeling

I did nothing today. I take that back; finally, at the end of the day, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and started it. I shook out the toaster crumbs. And I wiped down the parts of the counter I have access to, as well as the inside of the sink. And I only did that because there are these small brown insects flying around, bothering the shit out of me. I want the place cleaner before I complain to the office.

I haven't checked on the as-yet-unplanted plants in a few days. They are probably dead and I'll need to replace them. I haven't even sat out on the deck in the recycled-plastic adirondack chairs I bought in January.

I didn't leave the apartment.

One of the sites I visit, JulieLand, had a very interesting tarot card and explanation on it from last night.  It talked about having a scarcity mindset, among others things, and that spoke to me. I am practically screaming with anxiety over the scarcity of money in my life right now. In fact, I'm so anxious and downright terrified, that I wondered if I wouldn't be better of dead. No, I'm not going to hurt myself. But I've been wondering what's the point of my life anymore?

I have no family that I grew up with anymore: my entire nuclear family is dead, and my extended family is no family. I haven't spoken with most of my extended relatives, some of them for almost 2 decades.

Yes, I have friends who count themselves as family, more or less, and I have new friends who care. I know that there are people who would grieve if I died. But I have no real safety net. If I run out of money, I am out of luck. I have never been this close to absolute broke before. It's not like I even have expensive things to sell.

I've been out of my primary profession for long enough that I don't know the current tools, work-styles, and language anymore. And I don't want to work there either. It burn me out so much, I think it might kill me this time. At the same time, I need work.

The potential new profession is in its infancy and so far I'm not actually making money. Part of that is my fault — I haven't been learning and I lack the confidence to sell myself at this new work. I have almost nothing to show potential employers or clients. And because I am so stuck by depression and anxiety, I'm making no progress.

I am failing because I cannot function. And my failing is contributing to my lack of functioning. I'm in a death spiral.

I'm not a major part of anyone's life, except for my BFF. I'm the only one who knows him almost entirely. I'm the only one he can be himself with.

I cannot reach out for help or comfort when I am like this. I am sinking and I don't even feel like calling for a lifeline, because there is nothing that I feel as compelling me to live for.

i won't hurt myself: that would damage so many people and I cannot do that. But I'm not sure I would step out of the way of a speeding truck, either.

I know what I'm supposed to feel and think. I just don't.

I blog, therefore I ... blog

I'm posting daily, even if I don't feel like writing anything, because I'm cautiously stepping back into the concept of commitment. I used to handle commitment quite well, but that's not been the case in quite some time now.

First, there was discovering an employer does not proffer the same commitment to their employee — you — as they expect you to give to them. Then there was the boyfriend who changed the terms of his commitment — without telling me. When my life grew more difficult, my ability to commit faded. I am now very good at either avoiding commitment or at canceling.

This blog is the beginning of regaining that aspect of integrity.

And all of this is a lead in to the fact that today has been a dreadful day and I don't want to talk about it, but I did want to keep up my unbroken string.

So, good night. Enjoy whatever you are doing with whoever you are doing it with.

Faith?

I'm not very good at faith. I have a scientific mind. However, I used to be a "true believer" type: faeries, Santa, good government, UFOs, true love, and unicorns. These two aspects do create a bit of cognitive dissonance.

Life has rather kicked the faith right out of me. When I encounter others who believe in things, whether it's a deity or true love, part of me is sure that person is deluded. The other part of me is envious. I guess that makes me Fox Mulder: I want to believe. Blind faith, however, has never suited me.

Given that information, you may be surprised to hear that I think I am feeling better. I have very limited, subjective evidence, and many adjectives: kind of, maybe, a little bit, perhaps. But I felt good after therapy the other day; I felt like myself. Actually, it was a little weird. I walked like I used to walk, long swinging steps, head held high. I felt light. There was something different physically. (It didn't last long, but that's a different story.)

Add to that anecdotal evidence is that fact that I seem to be less depressed. I think I've gotten off the couch more today. When off the couch, I made movements that one might interpret as dancing. Just a little. Maybe. Kind of.

It's possible that I'm turning the corner, with my new therapy and my higher dosages of medication. But I have no actual proof, yet. Maybe if I believe, perhaps, I'll get better because I believe.

That would be really great because then I could stop taking the medications, right?

Feeling a bit under the weather

I will respond to comments tomorrow.

Trauma Work - Week 1

Warning: this is an extraordinarily long post. And it's kind of tedious.

I've been promising to tell you about my therapy. Today we began the trauma work, and it was every bit as painful and difficult as you might imagine. And yet, my therapist contrarily makes it easier to go through the trauma. 

I cried today, a lot. I normally do not cry in front of people, including myself. I hate to cry. Not just a little hate. Hate with a fervor reserved for rival drug lords. However, I felt comfortable crying in front of Karen. My stomach didn't clench. My shoulders didn't tighten.

By now you are asking yourself, "Sure, sure, but what the hell is 'trauma therapy'?"

I believe that now I begin the end of my anonymity among those who know me IRL.  As long as employers and clients do not find me --- and I'm not sure how they could --- that is fine with me.

By mutual decision, Karen and I decided to start with my latest and most debilitating trauma: the death of my mother. Her death resonates with earlier deaths, but I believe I need to deal with Mom's death first.

I began with the beginning, because I am OCD enough to like to do things sequentially. Beginning with when I first found out she had cancer, I listed what I consider the major points from beginning through her death. Then I wrote the facts for each point, including my own feelings and the dates of those facts where I have them.

Today we began the next step: I read the points for one portion of the story. And as I read, my emotions came flowing up, along with tears. Karen interrupted here and there to question feelings and to tell me how she felt and to mirror my feelings back to me. After I finished reading, we continued talking about that portion of the story and my emotions. She continued to mirror back and to question for further depth my emotions, and to tell me what she felt and thought as I read. I told her feelings I haven't told anyone. We talked about the multiple layers of how I felt. And I continued to cry. I even hit the point of gasping. Thankfully, I avoided sobbing, but I can see the potential for this. That will suck big time.

We switched to a more intellectual perspective that allowed me to calm down before I left her room. I may have had red eyes, but there were no tears pouring down my face.

As I drove away, I found that I felt odd. It seemed that I felt lighter and calmer, but I questioned those feelings. Still, that was how I felt. As I walked from my car toward the grocery store, I found myself walking differently, looser, and feeling a bit like my old self. Could just one little bit of this therapy truly have that much of an effect on me? Not sure.

Perhaps I'd still be feeling and wondering, if it weren't for the buzz kill. When I got was in the store, I received a call from my apartment complex office. Checks had been stolen from their drop box, and the boxes of the nearby complexes. And my check was among them.

I feel angry. It's as if the universe is keeping a very close count of my happys and sads and making my life balance on a very tight schedule. This happened after I jumped off a bridge and felt strong and confident --- five days later my car slid on the ice and ended up half in a ditched, totaled, and that event stole those feelings from me, leaving me feeling fearful and powerless. A year and a half ago, my mom was finally free to travel and do anything she wanted, mostly with me --- then she died of cancer.

Yes, I feel angry. And my world view that the universe has it in for me has not changed. Sorry, Julie. Maybe later.

Time passing

When you spend your days trying to ignore them because they hurt, time just seems to slip away. You think I need to do this. I'll do it later, then suddenly the day is over and it's time for bed. Even if bedtime comes at 2 am.

How did it get to be April? Why is my life still so dark and painful? Because I'm ignoring my life. When I pay attention, I feel the pain. My pain. By not owning it, by ignoring it, I won't get past it. Oh lord, I hate to cry.

I forget things easily. If I don't return a text message immediately, I immediately forget it. Same with emails. In addition, I've let my email on the server pile up so high, the friend who so generously hosts me on his server is going to become cranky quite soon.

I wish I didn't have to handle all of this alone. Although I have friends, they are online. Even though I have some friends who live nearby, they are busy or we forget to finish creating plans. Thus, I am handling my life and all that is rough, unfinished, or painful alone. I don't think I'm handling it too well, either. Handling my life alone points out how alone I am, how solitary my life is. I don't want to be solitary. I want a full, active, joyful life, surrounded by people I love and who love me. This doesn't seem too much to ask, but the Universe seems to disagree.

Finding the positives just seems like too much of a burden right now. It feels like an impossibility.

Firefox vs. Blogspot

For some reason, when I use Firefox, I cannot post on a blogspot blog, not even my own. A friend has reported the same thing. Are we the only ones having this problem?

In addition, it bothers me that on some blogspot blogs, I am required to sign in before I comment, rather than being able to use the Name/URL option. I presume the author does not want anonymous commenters.

Therefore, I am asking anyone who reads this to let me know what browser they are using, via the poll to the right. Unfortunately, it wants you to log in to comment.

I'm beginning to hate blogspot. Many of the blogs I read are created in Wordpress. Is it difficult to use? Is it difficult to set up?

And if you have read my blog and commented and your comments never showed up, then perhaps you are using Firefox. Because I am not deleting any, and none are going into my spam folder. If your comments were eaten, I apologize for blogspot's behavior. If you have the option, try another browser and see if that helps.

Thank you for your patience.

Another over-stimulated day

Exhausted again, which also means an early(er) bedtime, which I hope will lead to an earlier wake-up time.

Lots of sunshine, and my car's sun visor is missing a screw, so I cannot effectively use it on the side. That doesn't matter so much because the sun was hitting my arm more than my face.

Then there was the large amount of people contact. Loud people contact. In breaks during that, I received two phone calls that I really wanted to take, including an invitation to lunch by a good friend, to go to our favorite restaurant. ::Sniff::

In addition, I'm experiencing some body sensory overload. Pain, tiredness from being on my feet for a large part of the day. Even my skin feels overstimulated, possibly in part due to the sun, sunscreen be damned.

I want to be quiet, but my home needs cleaning. And I'm hoping the not-lunch friend wants to go out adventuring one day this weekend. The clutter and dirt makes me tired, going out in the sun and who knows what will also tire me. I hope it will be a good tired. Besides, this friend is one who gives me energy when we are together.

No major insights or progress tonight. Just a body that is ringing like a bell.