|08:09AM | Tue, November 8th | 2011
|Is This Creepy?
Ever feel like parts of your mind and psyche have gotten all dizzy swirly brittle and broken, enough so you could reach inside, grab a piece and it'd cut you? My brain hurts like that right now - well, my mind.
Went to bed 'round three, thought at the least I'd take a nap; if not, sleep straight through till morning. Woke up, it was 6 o'clock, thought, huh, I can sleep for another two hours. Woke up again it was 12am. Realized the prior 6 o'clock had been 6pm; the evening. Well now, there was nothing for it but to try and sleep till morning.But I'm up now. No more sleep just yet. Still, twelve hours to recover from yesterday and I feel much, much better.
My thoughts on anxiety tolerance/endurance have evolved into, well, the spoon theory. I only have but so many 'spoons' worth of anxiety and stress I can deal with and then -> exhaustion. Utter exhaustion which makes accomplishing anything else a near moot point; and it makes thinking horribly difficult. That's my level. That is what I can handle. And whatever therapeutic tools I gain, help me handle what spoons I do have in the most efficient way possible; help me realize that there are spoons and limited spoons at that (or knives or ladles etc). Maybe I'll find a medical doctor willing to pay attention to how trauma has affected my physical/physiological reactions to stress. Maybe. Until then, there's nothing for it than to do my best with cognitive behavioral therapy and the odd vitamins and supplements that help a body physically recover from or better handle the flood of hormones and chemicals that come with stress.
And I have done better, am doing better. Once upon a time some things would knock me out for a week or more. This stuff, I needed the rest of the day to mentally unwind, and 12 hours sleep and possibly the rest of today - though I might be capable of leaving the house today. We'll see. A judgement call is different than being physically too wasted to do a thing, however. The ability to make a judgement call, to ponder if I really am feeling better other than knowing I flat out couldn't do a thing; that's improvement.
So I hold on to that. And the tangible aspects of people being different and illness and factors and circumstances, making people even more different from one another. I've mostly moved past thinking of physical things meaning I'm broken beyond repair. They just are and I deal with them; whether my body can overcome and heal eventually (gain more spoons) or not doesn't change the fact of my current needs. If I could try and think that way about anxiety and stress and panic...? My mental health would be starting from somewhere more functional, I believe.
ETA: Notes inspired by Ephemera
"... fun loop where my blood sugar is low enough to make me feel like I'm thinking in slow motion and my digestive system is registering it's sadness at the lack of food by making me feel faintly nauseous thus I don't want to eat anything and can't decide what to do about it... doesn't take much in the way of conscious decision making "
That's what my 3 ring binder was going to be, a foody manual of me. I need to make that a physical reality. The Kindle's had 2 opportunities this year already to be a life saver; no power, and then no PSU for the comp. It will NOT be wasted money it didn't work for a foodie manual of me, and I need a 3 ring binder, some paper and a sticker or 2.
Knowing oneself is half the battle. I can't keep forgetting or getting distracted and muzzy headed about simple facts of me; food to blood sugar, to how/why I handle panic, stress and anxiety, to my relationship with exhaustion, etc....
Answering a comment somewhere else, I was reminded of the moment I realized how/that one could study to become a librarian; that library sciences was a thing. It could happen. I remember how excited I was. And then I remembered how my mother absolutely crushed any possibility of me switching majors to that, or following through with that. Because, according to her, 'How could I forget how much I'd always wanted to do medicine'. And at the time, I had not been in a place at all, to properely recognize that as a person who loved books, who felt safest and at home in libaries, who thought librarians were the coolest cats ever, and that research rocked and OMG you could get paid to help people do research and connect to systems all day long! Medicine was the last thing on my mind. Medicine was the thing that I felt I had to do to make my mother happy and maybe when she finally was, when I was forty or fifty or so, I could go live my own life at last.
Sometimes being consciously, theoretically aware of my mental issues, and coming face to face with a memory that's so painful and frustrating and entangled in other emotions it makes me hiccup and weep - I'm aware of why my brain walls this stuff away and sets me to forget it.
I'd always admired librarians. Always. They seemed like mystical magical protector warriors of information mixed with the religion of books. Librarians were TEMPLARS to me. But that love, and like and interest had to be suppressed. I, had to be suppressed.
Up to last week I was telling my sibs that there was nothing I could get a degree for in college that would entice me away from self learning, into dealing with institutional rigmarole. Except... maybe. But who knows if I'll remember this tomorrow. Who knows if I could cooperate with myself to do anything. Maybe I'm just feeling the crushing weight of disappointment now that was about how I felt then. About how my mother focused on what would make money and what was a 'real career'.
I think maybe this is what I've been dealing with all this week (2 weeks? - I've been losing time in chunks) - this aspect of being broken and me having no where to put it - of how suppressed, still, parts of my personality are, how disconnected and fragmented, seed motivations to endurance action and the like. I don't usually have blamefests for my Mum. I vent, but I 51%, maybe, understand she was doing the best she could in various circumstances as a single parent who wanted the best for me. But I don't think I was ever what she wanted in a child, and I think watching my brother go through similar; being pushed and prodded to take certain courses and perform certain tricks and just be told to try harder, study harder, do better, has seriously triggered me.
He says he's stopped trying to please her. But even so, he's unwilling to set her off, and so the end result is almost the same. At least practically. Maybe mentally the difference is greater, and he's more aware that actions are self protective? If so, I feel horribly jealous of him, and yet grateful for him if that's the case.
I just, I feel horribly, horribly broken. Like my mind, my psyche is bits of solid pieces in soup, and I keep leaping from piece to piece and barely holding on and trying to remember the path I took and the path I want to take.
I'm trying to conceive of what it must be like for those people who know what they want to do and have that inner motivation and love and drive. I've only ever had that for writing, and even then I struggle really really hard against the prior messages (sometimes currently messages) that I shouldn't - that I am incapable of doing anything worthwhile and will never measure up to standars , though it's a nice hobby to have on the side.
Ok, brain spooling out now.
I admit it. I am not in a good place. I've faked it pretty well for a week? Two weeks? But I haven't been around much. I've been sleeping like whoa, near 12 hrs a day or more. And I don't feel like I'll be safe to go out in a street this unfocused. So official writing about in journal per promise to Dr. Trust.
You know the way in which you think everyone around you is just like you? I'm not talking about assuming everyone experiences the same thing you do and thus are just like you - or maybe I am and this is just another facet. What I'm slowly realizing is that I thought everyone performed sexuality; and thus I've always thought the reason trans individuals make the general public so uncomfortable, was that at their base, the fact that everyone was performing sexuality wasn't a thing to be mentioned or talked about and now here were people talking about not just the performance of sexuality but the performance of gender --
Wait, no. I think I thought everyone performed humanity, and humanity had subsets of performance; sexuality, gender, cultural identity and the like. There were things you put on, but weren't really a part of you. Like a ... Lego block that proclaimed you part of the human race and if you took the block off....
I've known, theoretically, that I was very, very, far away from, well, the world. And that I've gotten better. But I feel like this is yet another way in which it's hitting me just how very far away I've been. Here I am, thinking that part of behing human is acting in certain ways and no one's supposed to talk about the parts of themselves they perform vs the parts of themselves they just feel. And I never stopped to think about why I felt any of that - not even after years of therapy. It's so ingrained, I never thought about how many ways in which I tried to fit in, and what other ways I might have been trying, or unconsciously still trying.
It's all very....
I keep hitting the word 'puppy love' and my (feels like) lifetime loathing of it. This assumption that whatever you were feeling, if you were a certain age, it didn't count, couldn't be important, wouldn't really hurt if it were mocked or you lost that person, because well, you weren't capable of feeling the 'real' thing yet - whatever that was. I can remember telling myself, over and over again, that I would NEVER forget what it was to be a kid and so discounted, because I didn't want to do that to any children in my life (back then I thought I'd have children of my own).
I remember part of the reason I decided to just not listen to what my elders had to say about what they deemed 'homosexuality', was because they all, ALL OF THEM, had what I found to be very intimate same sex friends. Sometimes such friends were blood relations, sometimes they weren't part of the extended family that counted as family, blood relation or not; sometimes they were absolutely outsiders and it became a 'thing'.
( Cause this probably needs a cut tag )
Brown Rice: in myriad forms, does crust my eyes over the morning after, may induce itchies and possibly contributes to depression the morning after. Will I check with plain white rice? Decision currently unknown.
Movies: I did enjoy Attack The Block. I did not enjoy the volume. I spent much of the movie feeling accosted by the noise. It made listening through the accents difficult. Everytime I thought I was hearing people's words and started to relax, the music or atmospheric sound would swell, the speakers would get all 'happy' and I'd end up with my fingers over my ears, or trying to cover my ears with my shoulders (hunching down) and it was ugh. So I like independent theaters, I especially like the old fashioned large ones with curtains to swing back before the show begins, but I loathe the volume. I've noticed this before and somehow forget it. But it was so uncomfortable, now. I did wonder how everyone else wasn't feeling assaulted by sound waves.
I realize some people have been responding to this tumblr post as if it were the asexual version of 'The Nice Guy'. That is not at all how I read and interpreted it. I saw it as an example of one of those times people think they're all speaking the same language, because they're using words they think each other recognizes, but in actuality the definitions are completely different, and thus the language is different and thus misunderstandings, hurt feelings and more occurs. This is the short version of what that tumblr post inspired in my brain: I have friends and I have people I care about very deeply in a myriad of ways, and most of the time only one of those myriad ways intersects with the way society tells me I should treat people who are not blood family.
( The Long Version )
PSU In. Am now freaking out SO HARD. I can't even - I'm in tears.
Note: I should have a live linux cd somewhere, but if not, I'll make another one and put it somewhere even more obvious (thank you for the suggestion, Yeloson).
Didn't expect to freak when it showed up, and thus need 6.5 hours to put things together because my brain/memory wouldn't work when it came to how things hooked up. Don't think I can order groceries tonight for delivery tomorrow and I am SO out of food, one meal left I think. Maybe two if I count some eggs.
ETA: I have thoughts. Lots of thoughts. And long hand SUCKS for journal writing. It hurts, which is something my therapist was looking into but which I now have to remind him about. Cause damn.
I need to see my therapist this week. Unfortunately, I think the moment I get there, I'll sit down on the floor and be unable to say a word. There's just too much. As proud as I am for figuring out I was having an abreaction, there's still too much. And it's sharded and broken in my head, unable to match up to my idea of myself, because that idea was never true anyway. That's an idea of oneself not an idea of myself (plural). Of me (plural).
Seeing as things have sorted themselves out at least to one degree, I think it safe to admit that my depression was, uhm, deep. Deeper than I let on. And that's as much as I can make myself talk about it at all. My head's still cloudy and foggy and I'm dealing with the demoralizing realization of just how unfit for (the word is not prescribed or proscribed, what is it?) accepted work I'd have been last week or going into this week.
It certainly wouldn't help that I'm back to wanting to behead strangers with my teeth - uhm yeah, head haze is kind of 'violent' with me; at least image wise in terms of feeling cornered and flipping over/switching over into self protective 'Feral!Willow'. Ugh.
I figure my therapist will say that people are NOT detrimental to my mental health. I've no idea what back up bullet points he'll give. But I sense this is a thing that he (and people inclined to his pov) will try and put across.
It's moments like this I end up thinking my mother really is the only one who understands me. Yes, I know. I know. That's a total delusion. I can taste it even when I type it or think it. But the problem is, not all of me ever believes that anyway. It takes a majority and well; imagine the politics in my head right now, why don't you.
Heaven's I miss pizza. I miss it so hard. I miss ice-cream. I miss comfort food. If I could find a way to trigger comforting memories maybe I'd snap out of this.... place. But food's always been easiest and nothing else is working. And all I have left is making myself type up my thoughts so they're public. If I'm still doing that...
In a way it's a pity multiples are all unique individuals. And not all are at a place to recognize things in themselves far less in others. I can't even trust my therapist to 'get' things (he's not the expert, my former therapist his mentor was).
Anyway, if I get anymore confused or depressed or despondent or any other C or D words, I promise to mention it.
So I write it down here quickly before I forget; I've been teasing out my anger over certain issues, just kind of poking it once I admitted it was there. And I've realized that yes, the cookie seeking was annoying me and the OH NO! NOT IN OUR COMMUNITY was some seriously annoying BS. I don't walk around thinking that ever, about any damn space. So, that was a measure of privilege that was just jabbing me. But, the anger had more to do with me (as I had originally suspected and put in my title and mentioned); and I've begun to suss out why.* -- *
I am angry at my past and what I went through and the hoops I was made to jump through, some of which I've spoken about here or to individual people who might possibly read this. I was remembering those hoops and the questioning and the disbelief. And my anger, which had never been at the survivor (other than my confusion at letting other people speak for them and people using the term victim // **rolls eyes at the people who betrayed my trust, in them**) but that the times and circumstances did not allow for me (and many many others, and STILL many others) to remotely get that support. Any support.
You shouldn't have to belong to a particular community and one feeling shocked 'that such things could happen to one of them' - in order for people to wake up to boundary crossing and moral impasses and ethical no'es. I know I mentioned my rage at it all. At what wasn't happening and what was happening. At the unfairness. And now I can consciously pinpoint it all down; That feeling of betrayal I'm currently feeling due to .... circumstances. It's very close to what I felt then. And when I pondered why I felt betrayal, boom. Memories.
It was a kind of jealousy. But it was also an abreaction*. Which would explain why my subconscious knew I had to write it out, in order to work through it. And this is my processing space; to say I'll write some things pflocked - they don't actually get written. Cause my brain will think it might as well as just be thoughts in my head.
In other related news; Yes. Betrayal. I am really really angry and sick and tired of people who befriend my littles and then walk away from them. Little kids don't need abandonment issues. They didn't do anything wrong. It's an issue between adults (mostly). But then again, that boils down to being treated like a singleton when I'm not.
To folks who've worried; I'm, ok I'm not doing ok. But I'm not dead or dying or gonna die, I don't think. I just feel like crap, utter, utter, horrible, sun luke warmed crap. But I know theoretically, that if I put one foot in front of the other, I can manage this. I'm just in shock and hurt, and the littles feel betrayed and I'm doing that mental wrestling about if it's worth it to let people in. And I'm exhausted and depressed.
*Abreactions don't seem to have good definitions in dictionary.com or Wikipedia. My former therapist explained it to me as an emotional flashback. And a flashback was precisely what I'd been experiencing; intrusive thoughts, wellspring of emotions I couldn't find the corners to deal with, and of course no idea what I was feeling was then
and not so much now
. Considering I didn't have therapy this week (Dr. Yoda's on vacation), the fact that I figured this out on my own feels big.
It also hammers home to me I (still) don't regret at all writing what I did and that the various leaps to judgement over a person's feelings
, just adds more trauma to someone already experiencing a trauma. Yes, someone else's violation affected me. And I wrote about it affecting me. I didn't 'make their violation all about me'
. It could NEVER BE ALL ABOUT ME. I could only ever react to and deal with and wrestle with my own stuff
. It's that whole thing where actions in a world have context and ripples and are never done in utter vacuum isolation. If that wasn't a factor there wouldn't have ever been
that reaction of 'Oh noes! Not in our community'.
Oh yeah. And the door is STILL over there. Uncheck the box as needed.
|03:02PM | Sat, July 30th | 2011
|This Is About Me. Only Me. There Is Stimuli & I Have A Reaction. This Is Purely About Me.
| not nice|
|health: mental, question everything|
Everywhere I turn around on my reading list on DW, I'm seeing **** triggers and lots and lots of 'I side with the victim'. And it makes me twitch. And it's been highly, HIGHLY upsetting. And I've tried to avoid it and just move on. Cause how I feel, feels really, really, wrong - though if I could make myself read any of it, maybe I'd get the missing pieces to fill in the parts that do make me twitch. Maybe I wouldn't end up thinking, it's great people are so supportive but is anyone else even pondering the timing of it all? Maybe I'd find out why there are people speaking for the survivor (the whole use of victim makes me want to rip my skin off and I've yet to figure out why - other than with people speaking for and the constant use of the world victim I end up wanting to stab things).
( Stream of Conciousness Evaluation Of Emotions )
Sometimes being multiple, means have a memory like a fluid jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are there, but they don't necessarily all line up at any one time to give the full and proper picture. Sometimes there has to be repetition to get a point across. So last night I had 3 bites of peanuts. I was nervous about it, but also really wanted to see if it WAS the peanuts. Somehow I could believe gluten had been damaging my insides for years, but peanuts? And that's despite the fact one of my sibs developed an allergy to peanuts - last night I wasn't seeing the picture. And that's despite having come to the realization that the heavy dark shadows that have been under my eyes for years, were allergy shiners; which have faded bit by bit as I've given up gluten and dairy and had my eyes looking even brighter when I quit it, with the peanuts.
Last night I had three bites of peanuts. Not 3 peanuts. But three small, half or quarter mouthfuls. Three bites. And immediately, though I thought it psychosomatic then, my eyes began to feel strange, the vision in the eye that I am now confident had been scratched, got blurry. The eyes themselves slowly began to feel itchy; lid and eyeball. Then the inner ear itching began - though I was not seeing the whole picture and didn't understand until this morning that that itching was REALLY SIGNIFICANT. I was just very annoyed and grumpy and feeling unwell. I was also feeling oddly bloated and swollen, there was soreness in my joints - which now I'd describe as extra achiness. My stomach felt a little gassy.
And now today, when I woke up, my eyes were all over sleep crud - just as how I'd reacted as a child to extreme dust, and still react to poofing clouds of pollen.
But there's more.
I couldn't sleep well last night and have just awoken (yes, wont' be making therapy after all) in full panic attack mode. I can type, but I can't speak. My heart is racing. I'm feeling jittery out of my skin. My chest is tight. There's something I'd never, ever, considered before; panic and anxiety as a response to allergens - food allergens. I mean, who'd have thought it. The panic that comes with a bee sting if one KNOWS one is allergic, well, isn't that justified? And if one doesn't know? Well, if one is in severe pain and a limb or body part starts swelling, wouldn't there logically be anxiety, trepidation and perhaps panic?
But what if (and I shall surely search engine look to find out) allergens in and of themselves CAUSE panic. A fact if this is widely known, several people with allergen reactions must SURELY be going 'DUH' right now as they read my little revelation. But it's news to me; it is news. to. me.
It's been several weeks since I felt panic even come near to hitting me out of control. Even the altercation with 4 door blue car and loud music didn't set off the jitters and shakes as I would have thought it would once I was safely home again. After all, it was also a strange man cussing at me. But instead I was wary that I could have gotten myself into trouble, hoping he would not enact a campaign, angry at his rudeness and uncouthness but not hypervigilant scared out of my mind that I'd gone waving someone's knife to my throat.
And this can't be the meds, cause I took them! This isn't lack of anxiety/blood pressure meds.
And wow, also to this feeling, this skn is tense, muscles are tense, mind is jittery feeling. I remember this feeling. I remember the twitchy prelude to muscle spasms and cramps. Wow. Just. Wow.
ETA: And today will be a tissue filled day, whereas again, have not had a tissue filled day in a good couple of days, possibly weeks.
I have some posts that somehow didn't get posted yesterday; Apple, Pillow. Will backdate them. Yesterday was kind of; focused, obsessed, intense..
And at the end, while I thought I'd figured out how to support my neck and head without buying anything or maybe with a better clue as to WHAT to buy. Today I'm back to square one again, my neck and shoulders hurt, feel tense, my shoulder blade is in pain, and I"m kind of foggy.
Other current irritations? Losing my bookmarks bar with relevant bookmarks - luckily PaleMoon does backups -but WTF is up with that?
Today hasn't been an 11+ obsessive day, closer to a 6.5 or so. But still consuming. Something's going on in my head, no doubt, to have so much fos be on organizing minutia on the computer and other areas of my life. Spending hours without rest because I have to get everything calm. Oh mental health, and people thin it's so easy to maintain.
I need to make myself something to eat - see of I can get to therapy tomorrow and try to take it easy. How successful I will be? I don't know.
I'm feeling a touch self conscious at the moment as I deal with food and health issues, so cut tag so I feel less like people are rolling their eyes. Though if you are rolling your eyes? Defriend/ click off the feed and go away.
( This is a cut tag )
Trying not to eat flour is very taxing and difficult. More taxing right now when I've been woozy and sleepy all day and slept all day and woke up late at night and cannot hazard mind or body to try and make anything and am existing off bananas. I should probably ask my doctor when I get there if she had asked for tests to do with wheat allergies etc... And of course all I want right nwo is bread; grilled cheese, tuna fish sandwich, egg sandwich...
I'm going to go back to sleep, wake up, and try and deal with the world.
Making the wrong choice in buying a bed and spending $50 - if that is what happened, but right now is unconfirmed because I am hungry and anxious and not thinking properly or focusing properly - will NOT lead to death, maiming, dismemberment, abject poverty or worse.
Neither will buying take-out, no matter how many other times this week I bought take out; because I should not be near sharp objects & fire right now.
ETA: I remember being multiple, I think I forget and maybe I do 5% of the time. But I remember being multiple. It's the damn PTSD that I think I'm 'getting over' that I really am not. Oh flashbacks. I want to hit you with a mac truck.
I am having an AWFUL - can't stand friction or texture against my skin day. Part of me wonders if this is the result of me trying to pay more attention to my body. If it is? Now I know why I don't pay enough attention to my body. If road rash mated with low pulsing vibrating sounds - it would only be maybe a 1/3 as annoying as what I'm currently feeling where every surface and fabric and texture makes me want to peel off my skin and scream. This includes by the way, my own skin, all tickles and itches are being treated with a pen cap at the moment.
Dear friends of mine.
I will NEVER call the police on you if you tell me you've been having some suicidal thoughts.
Ok, no more internet for me. Too. much. ignorant, selfish people.
So it's reached the point wherein my therapist (TNG aka Dr.Yoda - and huh, I only just realized The New Guy is also The Next Generation / TNG. Hee) has to remind me to use my journal to deal with current mental health difficulties. That journaling could help.
And then I stopped and realized my journal is adding to my anxiety (the new flavour in my Mental Health. I've moved from Blue Depression to Orange-Red Anxiety).
And I stopped because iJay feels less and less stable with all the sales (dear squeaky iJay needs hands-on-deck- to deal with spammers & fixes, not new servers to take up the slack every couple of months) and DW doesn't let me save comments using LJ-Archive and yeah, figuring out what's wrong with my account (having transferred over my LJ entries) isn't a priority because it relates to a third-party device.
Yeah, I'm going to be bitter about that for a long, long, long, time. I can like Denise and still positively despise how journaling as a therapuetic tool and thus needing archiving isn't a priority to her unless she and hers create the archiving tool.
Of course it means having conflict over posting and hesitance over where is safe to post and get into dialogue to work through issues with a support network etc, has meant I just haven't been posting my thoughts freely the way I used to. Heck I haven't even been commenting the way I used to, because it means interacting on a site wherein I tend to feel like crap that my own words aren't stored there.
And everytime someone friends/adds me over there, there's another wave of ugh - cause they can't read my past history - I had to shut off comments completely so I wouldn't lose conversation. They can't read current history because I dont' post there. They're just basically trying to say they'd LIKE to read me - but they won't, because it's troublesome to click an post on another site. And it doesn't help that iJay has problems with openID (it doesn't notify openID comments have been posted and it doesn't notify OpenID accounts that they have replies - so much for email verification).
The point of this wasn't to complain about the crappy situation. But to admit the crappy situation has stopped up my writing. There's all sorts of emotion and emotional baggage and tension etc when I got to journal my thoughts now.
So what's the solution? Give up my name and history on DW and try for another journal? Asking, maybe, that my comm be turned back into a singular journal? Except, that I deleted all but specific journal entries I'd wanted to save, so would I have to make a request to clean out the entire journal? In which case it wouldn't matter to have it saved on LJ-Archivel. I'm getting cramps in the stomach just thinking about wiping out my history like that.
Yeah, the solution might just be to find another journaling site. Except I loathe blogger for personal things and interaction. And I went through it all before - the hunt, the search. I could turn back on specific entries on LJ and keep the history there, and let them make whatever money they can off my words - which... is another set of stomach intense sensations.
1. The futon sucks. It's lumpy. It won't fit properly. It's STILL making me sneeze (washed and dried, outer covering and stuffing).
2. My mom says she has a futon bed she can try and send my way (I haven't asked her what size it is yet. I'll do that later now I've remembered that's a valid point). But I'm so effing upset. I do NOT have the money to buy new living room furniture.
3. Reason I got it together to put the futon back together - the hateful woman from last year who so upset me, wouldn't let me explain how ill I was and then ticketed me for still being unpacked several months after a move is coming again sometime later this APRIL. My emotions on this subject are beyond volatile.
4. (Just called the landlord - well an hour ago in the middle of first writing this) to let her know how much that woman freaks me out. Things have been postponed until June 14th.
* Watch Willow go - KETHUNK* I'd thought I wouldn't have to deal with her until then, and now I don't. Thank. Heaven.
5. Gonna collapse now, have the last of my lamb and see if I can call the new guy therapist and finally explain why I've been avoiding him.
5b. Yeah, might just ban mom from calling me at all. It's too often. Multiple emails are not the same as multiple phone-calls.
5c. My attempt to bake turnips is not working out - le sigh. Hate wasting food.
Landlady didn't contact me to go to the market with her today. I probably should have called - though I emailed really early this morning; near 7am. And have been battling the anxiety about going out all day. Now I'm wiped, and can't even convince myself to leave for a treat. Actually been battling anxiety to leave the house for a week or so now. I've been feeling drained psychologically - my mother calling several times a day can't be helping.
I have to figure out how I want to manage that.
Physical energy is fine and great and dandy. But I need to be able to focus on mental tasks.
For right now, I want to crash to bed. Will try to figure out something I even feel like eating when i wake up. Since right now the thought of cooking has me wanting to pull out hair. Too many suggestions/rules/advise all at once. And I'm going to try not to be mad at myself, because my mom's intercession DID help. I just... can't take more than a little bit of it at a time.
And I'm not going to wait on anyone - but order groceries delivered and pick up extra when I can.
Grr. Fuck. When it's not physical health, it's mental health. And right this second I'm feeling so emotional and want to cry - and so frustrated and angry and upset at myself. Choosing the right people to lean on is so fucking important. Now to figure out how to tell my mother ENOUGH - you're smothering me.
More thoughts, but too upset to write them. Fuck damnit, I want a healthy balance. Physical energy AND lack of brain fog/anxiety/etc...
Hypothyroidism -> Nutrition Malabsorption -> Amino Acid Deficiency (leading to increased protien intake) + Essential Mineral Deficiency + Vitamin D Deficiency -> Fibromyalgia Symptoms (exhaustion, fatigue, sleep disorders, increased pain response/chronic pain, depression, fugue/fog in the brain/difficulty thinking concentration)
The thought that things have been bad, and getting worse for 2 years because my current PCP thought I was 'within specs' and didn't do a full panel of thyroid tests just infuriates me beyond words. My mom has me taking iodine while I'm here. It's SNOWED. 8 Inches. I'm walking about in something other than fleece, with my pain in the 4's and 5's despite the precipitation. I've had enough energy to keep up with my siblings. Granted my mother's making sure I get extra amino acids and minerals - but....
Fucking MEDS! The minute I agreed that making sure there was no organ damage was important and so I"d take something to ease symptoms - my doctor STOPPED LOOKING.
I need to find a new PCP. And I need to accept that my food budget's going to be stretched so I can buy things like iodine, and multi mineral pills. But maybe I'll be able to cut back on meat and only buy humanely butchered meats like I've wanted to.
But that's not the major thing on my mind. The major thing has been how much more tired and weaker I've felt. I've been thinking it was compounded stress/anxiety and not considering the anxiety and stressed feelings might be another symptom of what's wrong with me. Though even if it's probably both, how lost I felt all 2009 - the longest recovery period ever.
So many words, but none really in coherent order.
Haven't been to sleep yet. Fending off a panic attack. Sent my landlady an email yesterday only to get an auto-message that she's out of town and doesn't come back till sometime today. So that's more waiting to find out what's what'.
Stayed up reading some Jim Butcher, which was nice. And my head's in a nice place re: writing, which is so desperately a good thing.
But I'm trying to coax myself to leave the house becayse therapy would be not only good, but I could return library books and pick up medicine (really needed) and buy some more pancake mix. It's become the current comfort food.
( And now to possibly triggering conversation. )
I just woke up from a dream that got me so angry, that my head was pounding when I woke up; shoulders and neck tense, the whole deal.
In other news - depression + lack of cope = :(
I'm not in a bad mental space - or at least it doesn't feel like that. It just feels like I've stopped the world cause I had to get off. I think I'm going through a period of just being so damn fed up with my health, with something always being wrong. With always having some kind of pain or discomfort and no sign of relief. The whole medication taking hasn't helped and right now the thought of going to see more specialists is affecting my mental health. Strangers - can't deal with the thought of anymore strangers.
Yeah, I don't know what to do. I've been taking a break. How much more break do I need? What else do I remove from my life to see if that helps?
I probably need food right now. Will go do that.
No matter what happens with me and my mom - a whole lot of control issues and other stuff - it's not just because she's my Mom that I feel ties to her despite everything. It's because my mom and I have been that odd couple against the world. Us vs them. And it really is one of those experiences where no one but the person who lived it with you can ever really understand. That's what ties us together more so than the fact that she's my mom and I'm supposed to love her.
I can't help loving the person who held my head above water in some really dire situations, even if in other situations they may have been holding my head down.
When you make a decision about something, feel relieved because stuff just seemed to click, and then find yourself having an uncontrollable crying jab. Ow, my freaking head. I have no idea what this means or why it feels like panic and terror. *sighs*
Realization as I was salvaging chicken meat - when cooking it, I'd forgotten worcestershire sauce (and some other spices/ingredients) and to modify the recipe because I was using a different container. In other words, there was a functional adult present to let me use the stove and oven - but that adult was incredibly not a cook, couldn't modify an already loose recipe on the fly. Heck there were slight pink spots (very slight) right down at the bone.
Suddenly 'burgers' make so much sense cause there's absolutely no finesse in making sure it doesn't burn and slapping it between two pieces of bread(like substance). Add to which, brown rice is a 'grown up' flavour and a couple other things wherein my food was not non adult friendly and I see a method to all of this.
On the one hand, it kind of shows I'm used to believing there's a relevant adult at hand per task and it's been a very, very long time since that wasn't the case. But right now my brain and system is, I guess, rebooting and things need to go easy for a while. Easier than I'd been prepared for. I really should have caught the clue with the smoothies I ended up not drinking - it wasn't, as I'd been thinking, a matter of tweaking.
My scattered concentration is more aptly explained now as well.
Going to crash and will hopefully be able to wake up later and cope with more compassion and understanding for myself(s).
Need more cope.
PS: There's another storm on.
... Somehow I totally forgot to add the burgers into my order. Don't ask me how. I remember not finding it to put in the cart and writing it out. But somehow that writing didn't make it into the thrice damned order. So I guess come Tuesday I have to try and pick up some burgers from somewhere, since I can't afford to pay another delivery fee.
And as for eating something tonight - I don't even know.
I could scream, but that would take up energy I need now to save to go grocery shopping, with a fucking cane, on Tuesday.
I hate my fucking brain.
Edit: Originally written for 100_willow but then realized it fit far, far more in my regular journal.
I'm currently watching the anime version of Hunter x Hunter. And I realized I was tensing up as we get closer to the scene in which the character (I've just realized I identify with the most) fails at a task due to manipulation. Of course it's not confirmed to be manipulation in the manga until several books/volumes/chapters have passed.
But I loved the scene when it is confirmed. It's redemptive like whoa in my eyes and explanatory and just ...
I love it.
And I've just realized why the whole situation froths me so; why I think on it, why it's so important to me that at some point it be acknowledged the character was manipulated.
( Emotional Stuff + Spoilers )
Staring at a list of authors, contemplating who I might want to collect this week - should I attempt an excursion out of the house (right now falling down seems probable) and I'm hit with a tight knot of anxiety panic in my stomach and the urge to curl up in a ball and cry. If this is a stronger aversion to speculative fiction brought about by non-stop racefail then - ow.
Seriously - ow.
It's freaky as hell to find myself in panic and near tears at the thought of reading something. And I seemed fine this past weekend. Last week I collected another Shannon Hale book, got the unexpected surprise that it was a graphic novel and polished it off despite everything else going on. It was enjoyable too. There were black people, latinos and indigenous natives in her fantasy wild west. (Eat that, P. Wrede). And wow, a really nicely done fairy tale retelling.
I can even turn around and look at the book on the top of the bookcase and go 'Would read again'. So why panic now? Has 2009 been one long session of aversion therapy? Should I feel lucky that certain Mercedes Lackey books still make me feel like hugging them to my chest like a stuffed animal?
Am I just afraid to read anyone new because I don't know how much fail they have dangling from their butt?