I’m struggling again.

So, I’m not going to lie… The past two and a half years have been rough. Really really tough and I needed help so I took the doctor’s advice and took medications for anxiety and for depression for a year and a half. I weaned myself off of it in January or February this year. I was doing okay.
BUT!
As Thanksgiving just passed and his birthday is coming up and then Christmas, and I’m not doing great. I don’t want to go back on the medication, because I don’t like taking them or how I feel while on them.

That being said…
Right now, going to the stores is a challenge with Christmas songs targeting my emotional weak spots like laser-guided missiles. “I’ll be home for Christmas, All I want for Christmas is you.” BAH HUMBUG!! I’m standing there frozen like a deer in headlights struggling not to cry, desperately trying not to hear the music. I have to get out of there before I end up on the Walmart People website looking like a crazy person.

FYI, you can’t hear the sappy Christmas and/or stupid lost love songs over the crunching of potato chips (crisps in other parts of the world). So I end up with a dozen doughnuts and 2 bags of chips and almost clipping another person’s cart.

And that, is how you gain 40 lbs in 2 years. Cue the need for larger clothes and the self-loathing that comes with that. Speaking of larger clothes, today I went all day with my stretchy-comfy pants on inside out, luckily for me, I didn’t find out until after I had already left the local Dollar General.

So, there’s the sad, depressing part of it…

Then Anger waltzes in like a middle-aged starlet, who had a facelift and now looks 20 yrs younger, making her dramatic reveal entrance. Now, I know life’s not fair but I still want it to be and because it isn’t I want to throw things and scream. I don’t think it’s fair that I have this hurt that doesn’t go away and that my life has been irrevocably changed by people who probably don’t even remember his name and they walk around like nothing happened. Like if he’d come home when he was supposed to, that he might still be with us. Like if they hadn’t sent him over to one of the most polluted areas and one of the top 10 worst air quality cities in the world knowing he had severe asthma. I want the person who sent me the photo of my husband decomposing in a body bag to know the pain I felt when I got that picture. I want her to be haunted by something the way I am by that photo.

I’m mad about having to struggle to make it. (Yeah so, I’m a little spoiled. What of it?)
I’m mad that I’m afraid. Afraid of crazy people preying on single women, afraid of what’s going on in this country, afraid that my cancer will come back another way and afraid I’ll lose more people that mean so much to me.

Which brings me to Anxiety… the ultimate jack in the box killer of good moods. I mean, you’re having a good time… Smiling, visiting friends, shopping…. All around the mulberry bush… trying to sleep, watching a tv show.  The monkey chased the weasel... Reading a book and all the while knowing that the stupid jack or “What if” will come popping out. You feel it coming… and things slow down. Remember trying to slowly turn the crank without setting off the jack? The *tick* mon *tick* key *tick* thought ’twas *tick* all in fun.  *tick*  *ti…ck*  ummm *ti…ck?* This is when you’re telling yourself… this is stupid, we’re okay. It’s going to be okay. What do they tell you? Count by odd random numbers? 1, 3, 7, 12, 14, 15, 19… Find something in the room that you can feel? Smell, see, and blah blahs…

And just when you think you might have managed to avoid it…  Pop! goes the weasel.
Welcome to panic attack town, population? You.

And that’s the daily routine, at bedtime it’s worse.
Logically I know he’s not coming back but my heart and soul whisper “What if’s and Maybes” late at night. We won’t go into those…

Trying to sleep, but waking up with an anxiety attack, heart pounding and wanting to cry and then it takes forever to go back to sleep. I’m going to work on little to no sleep which goes back to feed anger. You snap at someone because you’re cranky and feel guilty about it. Cue the food… rinse and repeat… and then you’re trying to sleep. Wham… what if you get in trouble… what if they fire you? *insert primal whimper here*

*Language alert*

I’m not telling ya’ll this for sympathy. I’m saying this because, as my sister put it… I have an asshole living in my head. I tell you this because I’m not the only one who has one. Many people do,  It lies, it offers a sweet lure of hope when there isn’t any. It keeps me in the house because I’m no fun to be around when I’m like this. (there’s depression and self-loathing again.) Plus the rat bastard doesn’t even pay rent! Like a bad boyfriend, he’s just there to screw things up and make me miserable while undermining my confidence and self-worth.

I think it’s important to write this down, to let people know that they aren’t alone.

Depression, PTSD, Anxiety, Mental Illnesses are no joke. (even if they are situational and/or temporary) We need to talk about it, we need to stop sweeping it under rugs. I am not a “weak” person, it’s not a matter of weakness. I just can’t be strong all the time and it’s okay.

It’s hard.
But,
I’m going to get through it.

Coping mechanisms initiated!
Anyway, with my life in utter chaos, I have discovered that I need something I can control.  There are three or four things I came up with that are healthy, mostly sane ways to handle that need.

This weekend I decluttered my house and I organized things so it wasn’t so noisy. (Clutter is visual noise.) I rearranged furniture so that I don’t feel so closed in. I rescued a fern from a garbage can fate. (It’s in intensive care to repair the freeze damage and already looking perkier. Go me! and plant 🙂 ) I created a reading and quiet space in my bedroom where I can sit and color/read while listening to music. I am starting a diet and I want to join a gym…

Also, I found some chocolate in with the pens I use to color in my color book. Soooo that diet didn’t make it out of the gate without tripping over its feet. It’s okay tho… slow and steady wins the race. I’m not in a sprint, I’m in a marathon and I’ll keep on.

I just make trip and fall, skin my knees… curl up in my lane and have a crying fit along the way.  I may feel like I’m losing my mind and entertain strange fantasies now and again and I may need a helping hand (and meds) to do it but I keep going.

I’ll make it and figure out how to evict the asshole. Or put him in a pit and make him put the lotion on his skin. You know… whichever. *shrug*