This post is really giving me fits. I want to blog about having worked the last six out of eight days, and how that has affected me, but I immediately begin to invalidate my own feelings both in the post in and my head.
“Well, you didn’t work that hard!”
“It’s not like you were always there by yourself!”
“Stop complaining! You complain too much!”
“Why can’t you just help your folks out for once and not be such a big baby about it?!”
Sigh. I feel anxious today. And yesterday and the day before, and maybe a little bit some other days, too. I hadn’t taken an Klonopin PRN in over a month, and I took one today. Just couldn’t stand it anymore and DSB was the one who suggested it. Made me feel ok about it, like I’m not a failure for taking a PRN, that it isn’t some cnegative indicator of my personal character. I love the way he can make me feel all those things with just a few simple words.
There were some positives to working so much — I got out and about, had some social interaction, was forced into showering and wearing decent clothes. On the other hand, I let things slide a bit at home, as far as not keeping up with the dishes as well, or the laundry. I also didn’t practice the DBT skills that help me “make it” every day…self-soothe, distract, PLEASE, effectiveness. I did, however, use skills that I don’t normally use, like building mastery, opposite-to-emotion, turning the mind, and willingness.
Overall, I think working some is positive for me, but that this was just a bit of a leap. Maybe next time take it a little slower. I’d like to work some this summer, but know that I can’t do a huge work-week. This realization has bounced into my head several times since I started on disability, and it always stings like a sumbitch. I can’t, and won’t, let it keep getting me down. I have to find middle ground, somewhere within myself, and I can, and I will.