The Art of Focusing

As was obvious from last night's post, I am feeling overwhelmed and not at all like I'm "handling" anything. I feel my greatest accomplishments are a) not dying, and b) not screaming. The only reason I wasn't hyperventilating today was because of one of my cute little quirks I have when I'm tense: I was holding my breath.

I'm one of those people with a noisy mind. Music, musings, conversations, commentary — it's all going on in my mind all the time. My mind is rarely quiet. It's quieter when I write, but then there is frequently my "talking" as I write and there are other things in my mind that may or may not make it onto the screen (or the paper, if I'm going low-tech). One thing I've noticed is that the more anxious I feel, the greater the noise in my mind. It's like the noises are faster and more shrill, winding up like the "hamster-wheel" meltdowns I've experienced in the past. There's a correlation, but I'd say that the increased anxiety probably causes the more agitated noise rather than the other way around.

The noise and anxiety and near panic were almost making me sick today. I have a lot of stress places on my body, and my stomach is one of them. During times of extreme stress and extreme physical and mental tightness, I've actually lost a great deal of weight, even when there wasn't much to lose. I have high hopes for this phase, because I'm sure as hell not hungry and when I do eat, the food ends up feeling like a solid lump in my stomach. Add to this some exercise due to the work I've got to do back at my mom's house and I should drop a good 10 pounds easily in two weeks. If I had a scale to measure myself on today, I'd do it, but I'll have to wait until I get to the house.

The noises in my mind today seemed to be ratcheting my anxiety higher, like a positive feedback loop, and I was quickly working up from panic to screaming, so I tried some mindfulness and meditative techniques to see if they helped. I focused very precisely on exactly what I was doing. I allowed myself to hear the sounds around me, such as the refrigerator compressor or the table fan. I felt my clothing on my body and focused on my cup of tea as I carried it to the couch and as I sipped it. If a bit of song slipped into my mind, I tightened my focus, listened for sounds around me and outside. 

This level of focus exhausted me. I don't have the discipline or the skill to maintain it for very long, so my quiet moments were short and choppy. But they were there. And when I was that focused, paying that much attention to what I was doing, I wasn't aware of anything other than what I was doing: I wasn't aware of panic and anxiety and hamsters and wanting to puke. 

So there are very good reasons to practice this kind of focus. Maybe doing so will save my sanity, what there is of it. If it keeps me from puking or screaming, that's a win right there! I think the anxiety/panic connects to the hamster-wheel meltdown — they are all part of the same craziness. If paying attention in an aware way calms the craziness pieces, it's worth taking the time to practice. And it will take time and energy because my mind just is not able to focus for that long. It's very hard work.

Of course, I'm likely to forget how focusing helped me today. Maybe having it written down here will help me remember, because I have a tendency to forget things that benefit me, or things I like to do, or things that will get me to where I want to be. Makes me want a personal secretary who, while telling me what appointments I have to attend and what phone calls I must make, will remind me to pay attention and to go for a walk and who'll make sure I have salads for dinner, too.

I know, I know. Post-Its. Lots less expensive than a personal secretary but they probably won't go out and get me lunch.

Deep thoughts #1

Sometimes all that is needed to raise my self-confidence on a dreadful day or a lousy week is for one really noticeable or significant item to go just right so I can say "Yay me!"

Today, that one was making the reservation for a room for tomorrow night. It's a bit more room than completely necessary, but I am a woman of taste and grace and a small sitting area for myself and guests is a small necessity.

So, YAY ME!

Please just stop

It's sunny today; looks gorgeous outside. The birds are tweeting (they have very tiny smartphones). I've had some truly good days where I felt very, very good.

So I don't know why today I feel like absolute shit and want to crawl back in bed and into a ball underneath the covers. Not only would I be too warm under there, I would soon find it difficult to breathe do to the carbon dioxide build up. I know this from experience.

I didn't do anything differently. Went to bed at the same stupid time after letting myself stay up until I was seeing two of everything. Got my now-typical six hours of sleep. Got up at 9am or so. All very usual. Ate the same foods, did the same unproductive routine: tea, breakfast, sitting on couch reading blogs and email, taking meds, putting drops in eyes. No different than the last many, many mornings. So why were the past several days good and today is very much not good?

I feel bad today, in many senses of the word. I feel mentally and emotionally in a bad place. I've not fulfilled some very serious commitments, making me feel like a bad person. i left some comments on two blogs that i wish I could take back because in the one case I feel chastised and in the other ... I just feel like I've done the wrong thing and everyone is simply ignoring it. And because the two people who run the blogs are friends who share a house, I feel as if they are talking to each other and saying "geez, she's such a pain. And all she talks about is herself. I wish she'd go away." I feel like I wish I weren't here, not necessarily forever, but just for awhile.

The bills are all late and I think the city may have cut off mom's water. I'm a totally crappy executor. I haven't been keeping records, I rack up late fees. It's even worse for my own finances. Fifty years old and I cannot even keep track of my own money or keep up with my checkbook.

I am having a really, really bad day. I'm starting to cry. Just a self-pitying blob. And I'm not saying this to get people to feel sorry for me to to validate me or any of that. It's just how I feel: I feel like a pathetic example of humanity, incompetent, self-centered, moody, immature, can't-suck-it-up-and-cope nothing. And everyone is getting tired of me bitching and moaning all the time; pretty soon no one will want to even be my friend because I'm so tiresome.

Hell, any more of this and I'll dump me.

I want cake.

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.

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.

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.

Bad Day II

I was writing back and forth with a friend and talking about what I'm going through right now, and I became teary. Enough so that I knew I couldn't go out to an event this afternoon: I would cry in front of people. And I Do. Not. Cry. In. Public. Really don't like crying in private, for that matter. So I decided to skip it and instead melt my mind on the internet.

I don't even look for anything new, or at anything that used to interest me. I'm all tied down, and not in a good way.

So, here's to chocolate and comfort books.

Cheers!

Phoning It In

Sorry, folks, but I just don't have it in me to write a real post tonight. I was feeling better for much of this week, but began to go downhill yesterday and today my anxiety is back. I took half a pill about mid-day when I needed to function, thinking I wouldn't go out because it does make me a little loopy. But then a good friend called and wanted to get together for a little while, and we don't get together much, so I went out, feeling a little loopy. I have a commitment for tomorrow, so I have to function then, but only for a few hours in the middle of the day.

Next week I have some major commitments; I need to be able to function, focus, and drive. Go, me.

In addition, I haven't done my therapy homework yet. Nothing like waiting until the last moment!

Mixed blessings, mixed bag

Today was a good day, in the beginning. I got up before 10 am. The sun was out. I went to my therapy appointment. I went for a walk after, bought groceries. Then I was done. I'd accomplished things successfully. Didn't want to push my luck.

But in therapy we didn't get around to the trauma work. I dislike pauses and I tend to talk too much in therapy, especially when I feel nervous, which can even happen with an established therapist. I think it's when I know there is a challenging topic on the agenda. We did talk about other things, and I told her some stories about childhood, which filled in more of my history. We talked about how I've missed some developmental steps, which leave me having trust issues, clingy-dependency issues, and having very real difficulties relating to people and establishing relationships. Often times it seems I completely miss social cues, or know they are there but do not understand them. I'm not sure if I will ever really learn them, but it would be nice to get better than I am. Or else I'll be stuck having a peer group that tops out at nine years old.

Then came the less than good part. I ate ice cream. A lot of ice cream. My bed is littered with clothing (mostly pants) that is too small for me, because of the 15+ pounds I've put on. In fact, I am eating some ice cream again, late at night, near to bedtime, which is not a good time to eat.

Karen and I talked about my depression, which is something she has difficulty seeing or imagining, because I've been "up" when I've seen her. I explained to her that I'm still riding high from going birding with a good friend, and that I am feeling a little better. But also because I don't like to show negative feelings, even to therapists. I think I've cried maybe a handful of times in front of therapists, in all these many years (decades). My first therapist commented on how I really didn't fit the profile of a depressed person, because I can still get excited about things and occasionally do things.

I'm just being me, the one who doesn't fit any mold.

I have difficulties with vulnerability. I've been trashed so thoroughly by people I've been vulnerable to, since a very early age. And yet, without vulnerability, there can be no deep connection to others, and that's the kind of connections I want. If I appear to need nothing, then people aren't going to feel that I need their friendship. Or, perhaps, that I will have any to offer them.

I became so good at protecting myself and masking my vulnerability that I built an entire world inside myself, with a many-layered fortified castle. With creatures. I could describe it to you, but I won't. I may need it again.

Because being vulnerable is difficult and frightening. I'll need some place to feel safe, when the vulnerability gets me into painful places. Because it always does.