Hey Rose…You’re Not Actually Dying Right Now

This is how my anxiety starts.  First, my legs feel a little wobbly in the hip joint.  It quickly moves on to leave me with a feeling of dead weight in my stomach and then a tightness in my chest.  And then my throat closes up and I can’t breathe.  These are all just bodily sensations related to anxiety, and I constantly have to remind myself:  Rose, you’re not dying!

Sure feels like I am though.  I think most anyone with anxiety problems can relate.  And also to the fact that, sometimes, that shit comes out of nowhere.  I mean NOWHERE.  Sometimes I can talk myself through it, sometimes I can seek comfort with DSB or my mom, but a lot of times, I just have to take a PRN Klonopin.

I used to be better at working through my anxiety or panic attacks or whatever you want to label it.  Seems like now, though, the only thing that works is the Klonopin.  Now, mind you, I’m not doing this every day, several times a day.  It probably happens two or three, sometimes four times a week.  But that still seems like a lot.  It hasn’t always been so bad.

The flashbacks, the nightmares, the negative tape in my head, the images that flash through my mind.  They are more severe now than they have ever been and I can’t exactly pinpoint why, although I think it may be that I have stopped working on those things, stopped working on suffering through them, stopped working on the in therapy.

Therapy is a joke with my current therapist.  I leave from a session, not even knowing what we talked about, because it is mostly her talking and me half-listening, and not trusting her enough to actually talk about and work on the things that are bothering me the most.

It is crazy for me to stay in therapy with her, but I have talked with my support system and they say (and  I agree) that I still need therapy, at least to some degree, for now.  Maybe I need something other than DBT therapy, maybe I just need a different DBT therapist.  I know I will not go to group, and I am firm on that.  It doesn’t help me and I don’t like it.  If that means I can’t have a DBT therapist, I am fine with that.

I have been somewhat proactive today, in that I called and left a message for Goddess of Mindfulness to contact me so that I can talk with her about the issue, maybe she can make a recommendation.  I also called a few agencies here in town and found no one that is accepting new Medicaid clients.  I will hold off on making any more calls until I speak with Goddess of Mindfulness, and am hopeful she will have a suggestion or strategy.

I am trying to do something about this before my next therapy appointment on the 9th (next Friday, one week from today).  I really don’t want to go see her and have to fake my way through another session.  I suppose I could be brutally honest and just tell her like it is, but I don’t want to be kicked out of the center and I could really use some advice first.  It is clear to me (and my support system) that I need therapy, and it is clear, to me at the very least, that my current therapist is not cutting it.  I am hopeful that something will change soon.

I’m not a religious person, so I won’t ask you to pray, but light a candle or send good thoughts my way.  I could really use them right now.

(Sneakily) Blogging by Candlelight

Here I am again, up past my bedtime, with my brain whirring.  Whir whir whir.  Yes, I can hear it.  Worse, I can see it.  I see flashes of people’s faces, movements, stumbling walks down an unknown road in the winter, fucked up on pot and alcohol and no meds.  Blithering idiot at important times, lying my ass off in the next, making it all look and seem ok.  I am ok, right?

One thing I know now, and feel now, that I haven’t felt in a million trillion bajillion years, is SAFE.  I am SAFE.  DSB will keep me SAFE.  My Mom will keep me safe.  My dogs will keep me safe.  DSB and Mom won’t let anything happen to me.  I trust in that, build my day around that.  They protect me.  But now?  Now it’s dark and the thoughts and the flashes of people and places and things are my only company.  I want to wake DSB up so he can give me a hug.  I want to call my mom so she can tell me it will all be ok.  I won’t do either of those things, though.  But I can blog.

I can get those thoughts and feelings in ink so that I can remember tomorrow to get a few extra hugs, a few more reassurances.  So I can remember to be a little more thankful for the people who are miracles in my little life.  So I can cherish that kiss, that hug, that kind word a little bit longer, and not let it go so soon.  I didn’t get enough hugs today and that was no one’s fault but my own.

I feel desperation inside of me.  To get these flashes out of my head, to quiet the insistent echoes of voices, to make my brain stop taking me down those paths every night.

I took my sleeping pill tonight, and I’m going to do something, although I don’t quite know what yet, about the therapist situation.  I absolutely have to get to the point where these memories don’t assault me with such force, such consistency, and such mean-spiritedness.  I can’t keep on like this.  I know I can’t.  Can’t tolerate it.  Something needs to happen, and it needs to happen soon.