Invalidcharactr
09-11-2012, 10:51 AM
I suppose anxiety is genetic. I used to get really irritated with my mother when she'd make a huge show of her "panic attacks" whenever we'd have to go to the grocery store, and outright angry that she'd always feel well enough to go out and get cigarettes and prescription drugs, but couldn't bring herself to take me to Walgreens for school supplies.
I on the other hand do not succumb to this weakness. For example, I have a terror of driving anywhere that I've never been before and getting lost, so I volunteer to drive whenever possible. Even into Chicago.
Crowded places like Walmart make me feel strange. I can't really say that things slow down or speed up, since they seem to do both. The only thing I can really compare it to is being inside of a large impermeable bubble. Everything is distorted outside of the barrier and doesn't quite reach my eyes and ears as it should. It kind of feels like being either really drunk without the accompanying nausea or like I'm controlling a robot body and I'm not terribly good at it yet. I either walk way too fast or way too slow. My hands get clumsy and when I try to remember what I'm supposed to be getting, all that comes to mind is a dial tone. My fiance gets really frustrated at me and often barks, "Are you high or something?" He loathes inefficiency and incapability of any kind.
Physically, I have Hashimoto's disease and discoid lupus. This means that I have to take a thyroid hormone supplement and I need to cover myself completely when I'm outside during the day. I will break out in blisters/hives anywhere that the sun touches me, so that means I have to wear a hat, gloves, sunglasses and a mask to cover my face. I am used to getting screamed at by passers by and often threatened (last weekend a car full of guys started screaming threats to "kick my ass" at a stoplight because they didn't like my mask.) It's nothing offensive; it's just a black fabric surgical mask. I get accosted by drunken strangers who demand to know what the eff am I wearing and what the eff is wrong with me. I don't avoid confrontation, but it does cause quite the adrenaline surge when I'm forced to deal with them as they deserve.
Today I called in to work because I was feeling incredibly wound up yesterday.
A little more background, I suppose is in order... Over the course of this year I've had surgery three times, twice with fairly unpleasant complications (one it turned out I was allergic to medical-grade silicone bandages, which my baffled doctor indicated shouldn't be humanly possible, and the other was a massive, massive infection that needed to be drained almost daily). My best friend, a two-year-old pitbull, died two months ago from a brain tumor, my fiance and I have been fighting terribly about all of my inefficiencies and flaws, my mother (to whom I have not spoken in three years) just got in contact with me to inform me that my uncle attacked her with a machete (he wasn't able to strike her and she is uninjured), and I've been informed that my contract is not being renewed with my current job (which consisted of me doing the work of four people because they refused to hire new people when employees moved on or retired, so I was in charge of events, scholarships, did copious academic advising, AND the work for which I'd originally been hired.) I despised that job and am glad that I'm doing other work now, but this contract is up in February, so the clock is tick-tick-ticking. Oh, and in addition to the car full of men hurling slurs and abuse at me this weekend, I was sexually harassed by another player while playing a game and then after the conclusion of the game, the harasser (who at that point I knew had a history of violence/physically attacking other players) got in my face at the after-party and refused to leave me alone until I went and got a member of staff. This person hasn't been kicked out of the game and I don't want to give up seeing my friends and doing one of the few enjoyable things that my mundane 9-5 existence allows.
I'm at a pretty constant 8 on a 1-10 scale of emotional lability. My fiance believes that I'm bipolar and is always on me to stop being bipolar. I don't think it's bipolar, since I don't meet all of the criteria for it. If anything, I have a personality disorder or something. In any case, the slightest upset will send my heart racing and my hands shaking. I'm always a tiny push away from crying, rage, or hysterical laughter. As soon as I realize I'm clenching my jaw and unclench it, I get distracted and I'm clenching my jaw, my stomach, my legs, my shoulders, etc.
To fix this, I ride my bike to work (covered from head to toe to avoid the sun), exercise, take baths, drink chamomile, breathe deeply, meditate, try to force my brain chemistry to right itself, and tell myself when I'm being stupid and overly emotional. I realize that I'm being weak and ineffectual by not fixing this already as my fiance indicated that having stress like this is "just life," and I need to deal with it quickly, effectively, and without affecting anyone's emotional state negatively.
I refuse to try any medication that will make me gain weight or affect my libido. I refuse to medicate myself to bear the banality of my daily life if it's going to destroy the only things that I enjoy. (Namely clothing/dressing up and sex). And the truth is I absolutely abhor working. I have to sit at a boring desk that I'm only allowed to decorate with safe, boring things, and send boring emails to boring people about boring things that no one cares about while wearing boring clothes. It isn't just this job, since I've worked in mental health, corrections, and now education. At least in mental health and corrections, sometimes people would commit suicide or be murdered or we'd find a crackpipe or there would be a physical fight between roommates. For all the boring, boring stuff happening, at those jobs there was a chance that something interesting would go down. Not to say I didn't hate them, too. I hate anything that traps me in one place for eight or nine hours a day and gives me a list of what my priorities should be.
Spending the majority of your waking hours doing something panic-inducing and unpleasant just to have barely enough money to pay for a place to sleep and a car to drive so you can be rested up enough to go back the next day and sit in your trap for nine hours.
See? Disordered personality. I recognize that this is immature and childish. I put on my grown-up face to go into the office and I pretend, like all my coworkers must as well, that what we're doing is meaningful and important and that we care sooo much about whatever it is we're doing, but I really don't see a point to it. Aside from making enough money so I can have a place to live.
The odd thing is, the more outrageous and actually terrifying something is, the calmer I am. I was trying out to be a police officer, but with my stupid health problems, that really isn't an option. Sitting in a frigid, calm, plastic office for an extended period of time makes my stomach clench and my legs jerk. I try listening to soothing music on my headphones, (Hard, screaming rock-- music that I find soothing, not the office-safe, easy listening stuff- that stuff makes me feel absolutely irritable and crazy). I avoid ANY stimulants; even decaf has enough caffeine to make me feel high and dissociated all day.
I also want to avoid medication because that's not REAL. That's just taking a drug to make you feel better and I might as well be shooting up with heroin, since that would also make me less anxious and labile. I'm fine with supplements, since I take St. John's Wort, 5-HTP, fish oil, zinc, vitamin C, Vitamin D (lots because of my inability to be in the sun), and some super-calming mix that has chamomile and amino acids. And again, I've submitted to anti-depressants before, and I gained SEVEN pounds last time my doctor managed to trick me into taking that fat-making poison. Thyroid problems make staying thin a REAL challenge for me, and I refuse to take anything that might jeopardize my figure like that. I also had no desire for sex at all. I really had no desire for anything last time I was on an SSRI, and would come home from work and stare or pace until I got sleepy enough to go to bed. I did well at my job, since I was a perfect, dead little worker drone. But I wanted to die, and fitting into my cog-space isn't why I'm alive.
It's very difficult for me to resign myself to working for another 30 years or so, since I can't even imagine the kind of job that would not make me hate going in every day. There's no need for professional puppy snugglers. I could easily work 4 or 5 hours a day, but wasting my entire day on things that don't improve or affect my life at all; and by the time I finally get home, I'm too tired to do anything but shower and go to bed.
Luckily, my fiance's going to be graduating soon, and I'll be able to find something part time; maybe even focus on finding something that isn't horrible rather than finding whatever place will hire me for enough money that will allow me to survive.
If anyone is STILL reading this monstrosity, I commend you.
I on the other hand do not succumb to this weakness. For example, I have a terror of driving anywhere that I've never been before and getting lost, so I volunteer to drive whenever possible. Even into Chicago.
Crowded places like Walmart make me feel strange. I can't really say that things slow down or speed up, since they seem to do both. The only thing I can really compare it to is being inside of a large impermeable bubble. Everything is distorted outside of the barrier and doesn't quite reach my eyes and ears as it should. It kind of feels like being either really drunk without the accompanying nausea or like I'm controlling a robot body and I'm not terribly good at it yet. I either walk way too fast or way too slow. My hands get clumsy and when I try to remember what I'm supposed to be getting, all that comes to mind is a dial tone. My fiance gets really frustrated at me and often barks, "Are you high or something?" He loathes inefficiency and incapability of any kind.
Physically, I have Hashimoto's disease and discoid lupus. This means that I have to take a thyroid hormone supplement and I need to cover myself completely when I'm outside during the day. I will break out in blisters/hives anywhere that the sun touches me, so that means I have to wear a hat, gloves, sunglasses and a mask to cover my face. I am used to getting screamed at by passers by and often threatened (last weekend a car full of guys started screaming threats to "kick my ass" at a stoplight because they didn't like my mask.) It's nothing offensive; it's just a black fabric surgical mask. I get accosted by drunken strangers who demand to know what the eff am I wearing and what the eff is wrong with me. I don't avoid confrontation, but it does cause quite the adrenaline surge when I'm forced to deal with them as they deserve.
Today I called in to work because I was feeling incredibly wound up yesterday.
A little more background, I suppose is in order... Over the course of this year I've had surgery three times, twice with fairly unpleasant complications (one it turned out I was allergic to medical-grade silicone bandages, which my baffled doctor indicated shouldn't be humanly possible, and the other was a massive, massive infection that needed to be drained almost daily). My best friend, a two-year-old pitbull, died two months ago from a brain tumor, my fiance and I have been fighting terribly about all of my inefficiencies and flaws, my mother (to whom I have not spoken in three years) just got in contact with me to inform me that my uncle attacked her with a machete (he wasn't able to strike her and she is uninjured), and I've been informed that my contract is not being renewed with my current job (which consisted of me doing the work of four people because they refused to hire new people when employees moved on or retired, so I was in charge of events, scholarships, did copious academic advising, AND the work for which I'd originally been hired.) I despised that job and am glad that I'm doing other work now, but this contract is up in February, so the clock is tick-tick-ticking. Oh, and in addition to the car full of men hurling slurs and abuse at me this weekend, I was sexually harassed by another player while playing a game and then after the conclusion of the game, the harasser (who at that point I knew had a history of violence/physically attacking other players) got in my face at the after-party and refused to leave me alone until I went and got a member of staff. This person hasn't been kicked out of the game and I don't want to give up seeing my friends and doing one of the few enjoyable things that my mundane 9-5 existence allows.
I'm at a pretty constant 8 on a 1-10 scale of emotional lability. My fiance believes that I'm bipolar and is always on me to stop being bipolar. I don't think it's bipolar, since I don't meet all of the criteria for it. If anything, I have a personality disorder or something. In any case, the slightest upset will send my heart racing and my hands shaking. I'm always a tiny push away from crying, rage, or hysterical laughter. As soon as I realize I'm clenching my jaw and unclench it, I get distracted and I'm clenching my jaw, my stomach, my legs, my shoulders, etc.
To fix this, I ride my bike to work (covered from head to toe to avoid the sun), exercise, take baths, drink chamomile, breathe deeply, meditate, try to force my brain chemistry to right itself, and tell myself when I'm being stupid and overly emotional. I realize that I'm being weak and ineffectual by not fixing this already as my fiance indicated that having stress like this is "just life," and I need to deal with it quickly, effectively, and without affecting anyone's emotional state negatively.
I refuse to try any medication that will make me gain weight or affect my libido. I refuse to medicate myself to bear the banality of my daily life if it's going to destroy the only things that I enjoy. (Namely clothing/dressing up and sex). And the truth is I absolutely abhor working. I have to sit at a boring desk that I'm only allowed to decorate with safe, boring things, and send boring emails to boring people about boring things that no one cares about while wearing boring clothes. It isn't just this job, since I've worked in mental health, corrections, and now education. At least in mental health and corrections, sometimes people would commit suicide or be murdered or we'd find a crackpipe or there would be a physical fight between roommates. For all the boring, boring stuff happening, at those jobs there was a chance that something interesting would go down. Not to say I didn't hate them, too. I hate anything that traps me in one place for eight or nine hours a day and gives me a list of what my priorities should be.
Spending the majority of your waking hours doing something panic-inducing and unpleasant just to have barely enough money to pay for a place to sleep and a car to drive so you can be rested up enough to go back the next day and sit in your trap for nine hours.
See? Disordered personality. I recognize that this is immature and childish. I put on my grown-up face to go into the office and I pretend, like all my coworkers must as well, that what we're doing is meaningful and important and that we care sooo much about whatever it is we're doing, but I really don't see a point to it. Aside from making enough money so I can have a place to live.
The odd thing is, the more outrageous and actually terrifying something is, the calmer I am. I was trying out to be a police officer, but with my stupid health problems, that really isn't an option. Sitting in a frigid, calm, plastic office for an extended period of time makes my stomach clench and my legs jerk. I try listening to soothing music on my headphones, (Hard, screaming rock-- music that I find soothing, not the office-safe, easy listening stuff- that stuff makes me feel absolutely irritable and crazy). I avoid ANY stimulants; even decaf has enough caffeine to make me feel high and dissociated all day.
I also want to avoid medication because that's not REAL. That's just taking a drug to make you feel better and I might as well be shooting up with heroin, since that would also make me less anxious and labile. I'm fine with supplements, since I take St. John's Wort, 5-HTP, fish oil, zinc, vitamin C, Vitamin D (lots because of my inability to be in the sun), and some super-calming mix that has chamomile and amino acids. And again, I've submitted to anti-depressants before, and I gained SEVEN pounds last time my doctor managed to trick me into taking that fat-making poison. Thyroid problems make staying thin a REAL challenge for me, and I refuse to take anything that might jeopardize my figure like that. I also had no desire for sex at all. I really had no desire for anything last time I was on an SSRI, and would come home from work and stare or pace until I got sleepy enough to go to bed. I did well at my job, since I was a perfect, dead little worker drone. But I wanted to die, and fitting into my cog-space isn't why I'm alive.
It's very difficult for me to resign myself to working for another 30 years or so, since I can't even imagine the kind of job that would not make me hate going in every day. There's no need for professional puppy snugglers. I could easily work 4 or 5 hours a day, but wasting my entire day on things that don't improve or affect my life at all; and by the time I finally get home, I'm too tired to do anything but shower and go to bed.
Luckily, my fiance's going to be graduating soon, and I'll be able to find something part time; maybe even focus on finding something that isn't horrible rather than finding whatever place will hire me for enough money that will allow me to survive.
If anyone is STILL reading this monstrosity, I commend you.