Tag Archives: anxiety

It’s Happening Again

Well, hello, blog. (*Dusts it off.*)

It’s been six and a half months since I’ve updated, and I didn’t even realize it. Sorry. I’m a shitty blogging friend. But I’m still and still and still folding into myself, isolating.

I don’t expect anyone to read this, but I feel the need to document it. I don’t think I’m having another big break, but there is something that happened during the big break that’s happening again. My sleeping trends are out of whack. Then, I would be nervous and reluctant and afraid to go to sleep at night. Also, I would often sleep during the day.

That’s what’s happening again. I don’t want to go to sleep at night, and then I’m out of it during the day. My mind in general is out of it, and I feel like I’m wading through a morass to access any thoughts. I can feel myself doing a shoddy job on my tasks, and what’s more, sometimes I can’t bring myself to care. The only reason I care is that I know I would regret losing my job, that if I suddenly disappear and stop completing tasks, things would only get worse. I’d lose any source of income.

I just want to live in my own make-believe world. I feel like I can’t function in this one.

My therapist and psychiatrist have been talking about suspected Asperger’s. I realized that, when it comes down to it, my problems don’t matter. Social anxiety, anxiety, and depression. Asperger’s, which would not technically be a problem but a “difference.” I live in this world, and in this world, no one’s going to cut my any slack for mental health issues or accommodate me for any potential Asperger’s. If I have Apserger’s, I don’t even want people to know because I think they would view me through the label of that lens rather than as a person with many facets.

Anyway, my problems don’t matter, and so I have to live up to “normal” standards if I’m going to get anywhere in this world. But I can’t. Oh, I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’m not strong enough.

I just keep feeling like everything’s going to come tumbling down.

And I feel so much hatred, mostly of myself. But then sometimes I also just hate every single person I run into.

For a few months, I’ve been meaning to write a post explaining my absence and explaining why any future posts may be sporadic. It’s mostly related to my isolationist tendencies, but there’s also the factor that I’ve been gone so long that I don’t know if I could catch up anymore. (And my embarrassing new-ish Supernatural fanfic hobby.) Maybe I’ll write that one later, but for now, I’m just writing this ramble because I need to get it out of my system.

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The Me I Could Be/The Me I Could Never Be

Wow, I can’t believe I haven’t updated in so long. I really had no idea how much time had passed. Time keeps drifting through my fingers. I’m sorry that I’ve been a crappy blogging friend and haven’t been around.

I’m okay. I’ve remained cocooned in a bubble of self-isolation. My emotions seem to be a yo-yo, though.

The week before last, I visited my family. A week ago, I went back to work. For some reason, my anxiety was working overtime, and I kept thinking I was on the verge of a panic attack. I thought I could feel everyone hating me. Then I had this conversation that seemed to insinuate people there liked me. And for the rest of the week, I noticed other small signs that appeared to indicate that idea.

I went to therapy, and we talked about how I wasn’t content with the status quo in my part-time job situation. We were discussing this job I’m thinking of applying for. I doubt I would get it, but I was thinking of applying as practice. My therapist thought that would be good because I would put less pressure on myself with that goal.

Anyway, after the session, something clicked. I had this vision of the me I could be. Of what I used to be like before the big break, my competitive, success-driven self. My self that strives for competence and always achieves it. (Well, except for the pesky social anxiety, which was ten times worse in the past. I think even though I don’t take medication that strictly addresses social anxiety, it helps. Of course, I think all my problems are tied together and influence each other, but that’s a subject for another post.)

I felt this understanding that my perception of what people think of me is sharply different from reality. That if I feigned competence, people would believe it. (Because really, half the time I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.) That I could hold a higher position and do well at it.

But then something in me flipped. I knew that this vision of the me I could be was actually the me I could never be. Every time I imagined myself succeeding, I imagined myself failing spectacularly afterward. Making stupid and costly mistakes. Anytime a person wants to talk to me at work, my first thought is always I’m in trouble or didn’t do a good job. I feel like that result is inevitable. I also had urges to sabotage any success I may have. Like I can’t let myself succeed ever. Because I don’t deserve it. Because I’m always panicking, and I’m gonna choke.  I might as well prevent the future disappointment by sabotaging myself first.

Then I started thinking that if anyone who likes me really knew what I’m like inside, the terrible person I am, the messed-up person I am, they’d be revolted.

It’s just really no one’s ever liked me. For much of my life, I had no friends. I have only one now. The idea of people liking me doesn’t compute. I’m overly sensitive to it. My therapist and I once talked about my biggest trigger, rejection. Perceived rejection. I can see little things as rejection. In general, I’m just much too sensitive, like easily shattered glass.

After I realized that the me I could be was the me I could never be, all I wanted to do was cower in a corner. I can’t go through the big break again. I don’t think I could make it through another one. For the past three years, my life has revolved around laying low, my priority being to prevent any repeat of the big break. Three freakin’ years. I’m pathetic.

Even after all that time, my will is a crushed feather. I’m all uncertainty and indecision.

I’m too broken. Thus, the me I could never be.

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Marooned in Myself

It’s hard to explain where my head space has been for the past few months. I don’t know what I should be saying right now. For the past few days, I keep coming on here to post then freezing and having nothing to say.

Well, at work, a few months ago we applied to have my job become a full-time one. The fiscal year begins in July, and since I haven’t heard anything about the matter, I assume it’s a no-go.

This is going to sound really childish, but I’ve always had a belief that things work themselves out for the best. In my life, that used to seem to happen, anyway. It’s also kept me going. But for the past year, things haven’t gone that way, and I’m just afraid I’m destined to fall. That belief is stupid, anyway. Loads of people don’t have things work out for them, so why should they for me? I’m not so damn special. Plus, the world often isn’t fair.

Ideally, I’d like to stay at my current job and have it be full-time. I’m decent at it. I like it there. I’m finally starting to feel like I belong. After two and a half years, which is kind of pathetic, but still. That’s the way I am. It’ll probably take me that long to feel comfortable someplace else.

I feel like this ideal is what’s best for me and my mental health. The pressure of starting over terrifies me. The idea of interviewing and looking for a new job terrifies me. That’s why I’m not assiduous at job-hunting.

For the past few months, I’ve been isolating. I continue to isolate. It’s like I live in this dream world in my mind and ignore large concerns in favor of small ones, only living from day to day. I drift. I let my mind be consumed by stories, both my own and those of others, whether that be in the form of books, movies, or TV shows.

And I like it.

But it can’t last. Bigger concerns will no doubt crash into it all one day. Plus, I feel hollow and alone. I can’t stay like that perpetually.

But I want to stay like this. Keep my anxiety at bay. Be consumed by fantasy because it’s all I have, because I don’t belong in this world.

The more I isolate, the more anxious I do become when I have to be around people. The more I just shut everything out.

The more I don’t read others’ blogs. I feel so guilty about it. I do care about the bloggers I follow. But I fear that maybe I’m lying to myself about that, because wouldn’t I stay more caught up if I did?

Yet I don’t. I continue to remain in my bubble. And the worst part is, I’m not even doing that badly. Just isolating. But perhaps that’s why I’m not doing too badly in the first place–I’ve inured myself into a self-contained isolationist world.

I don’t know. I don’t know what on earth I’m rambling about. But there you have it: the unlikeableness of me.

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My Mind Is Bound to Ramble

I can’t believe how long it’s been since my last post. Time has been going by much too quickly.

I finished Season 8 of Supernatural. I loved the finale, but there are a few thoughts I had about it . . . but I won’t waste space here rambling about something most readers don’t know about. Plus, if you ever do watch the show, I don’t want to spoil it too much.

I’ve been working a lot on my Supernatural fanfiction story. I have actually posted it online somewhere, but it’s a bit embarrassing, so I’m not going to link to it or anything. Funny thing is that this story has helped me get my creative energy back, while my short stories didn’t. With the latter, I’d struggle with what to say. Part of it could be because I’m not as concerned about the quality of the fanfiction. Don’t get me wrong, I have a standard to maintain, but the other stories require more attention to polishing, especially if I want to try to submit them somewhere. Except I don’t even know who the audience could be for my latest short stories. I’ll keep pondering the matter, though.

I’ve finally started editing my novel, working on a chapter a day. That pace might change once I get further into the story because the chapters get longer. Well, toward the very end they get almost ridiculously short. So far, most of my editing has consisted of deleting things that are irrelevant or rewriting sentence that don’t make sense. I have a hard copy I wrote notes on, and I follow along with it, but I also go with my instinct at the moment. I’ll read a few paragraphs then look at what I wrote on the hard copy. Oftentimes, the phrasing I want to change is the same. What I want to change it to is as well. I like reading both copies as I go through the story, getting two perspectives (current and past) on the initial draft.

There have been some things I’ve been meaning to write about, like therapy, or Asperger’s, or empathy. Maybe one day I’ll get the motivation to write those posts.

Speaking of therapy, my therapist is moving to another practice. Luckily, I get to follow her. Problem is, that practice is at least 30 minutes away. But I really do think she’s the best therapist I’ve had so far, which is why I’ve been meaning to write about sessions with her. I don’t want to gamble anymore with the therapist bin; it could be years until I find another one I like, if ever. So that’s why I’m going to continue to see her.

When she told me she was leaving the place I currently go to, I teared up because the news was unexpected. More so because I didn’t want to look for another therapist. She asked how I was feeling about the situation, and I said I just felt like I wanted to give up rather than do another search. My one thought was to ask if I could see her at the other practice, but bringing up the idea made me nervous, almost shaky with panic. After me talking about how anxious I felt about what I wanted to say, I eventually made the request. I don’t know why bringing up the idea made me that panicky. I’ve revealed other things before that should’ve been more likely to induce anxiety. It probably goes back to my fear of rejection and blah blah blah.

Anyway, at the current place, she had to make sure I could get approved for meds only. Because apparently they don’t like you seeing a pdoc there if you’re not seeing one of their therapists. I was afraid of how things would go, but it seems they’re working out on that front.

Well, that concludes today’s ramble.

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Glimpses of the Past Week

This is not going to be cohesive, just a few snippets of things relevant to my past week.

I saw my pdoc Thursday. I told her about my steadily high levels of anxiety. It keeps me from sleeping at night because my jaw is constantly clenched. I have a perpetual urge to grind my teeth, and sometimes I feel a tingling in my teeth because the urge to chew is so strong. No matter what, I can’t see to relax my jaw. She prescribed me guanfacine, explaining to me some basic facts like it used to be a blood pressure medicine but sometimes it’s now prescribed for anxiety and ADHD, etc. We’ll see how that goes.

I haven’t been able to see the therapist in the past two weeks, and I’m a little sad because I thought we were going to talk about Asperger’s next time we saw each other. The first week, she had to cancel, though I don’t know why. She was out for some reason. This past week, I had to cancel because my plumbing needed fixing.

I’ve been thinking about this Asperger’s thing, and my mind has fixated on something the therapist said, that Asperger’s basically means a person is wired differently. I can’t quite articulate the import of this idea yet, but I feel like it could relate to me. Maybe this is why CBT is something that rubs me the wrong way–it assumes people inherently operate similarly, that thought structures/influences feeling. But as I told my last therapist, I can’t just believe something because I think it. I believe things only if I can both feel and comprehend them. She didn’t think that made much sense. It’s sort of like an intuitive method. I don’t believe something if I merely feel it, and I don’t believe something if I merely think it. I believe it somewhat, but not all the way. Skimming through some things on the Internet, I found something written by someone with Asperger’s, and that person said they had a similar way of forming beliefs. I can’t remember where I saw this now, but it gave me pause.

I’ve also discovered something else about Asperger’s that bothers me. There seems to be some content about how people with Asperger’s feel more deeply than others but that they just can’t express it (despite common conceptions). That sounds like me. From most of what I’ve read, though, people with Asperger’s lack empathy. As I’ve mentioned, I think I have more empathy than the average person. And if I have Asperger’s, I’m afraid it would imply that my empathy is somehow false, that my belief that I can easily understand other perspective is somehow false. What would this mean for me as a writer? Because that’s the force I draw on as a writer, and I think it’s something a writer has to possess. If I don’t have it, then there’s something not genuine about my writing. My creative writing, anyway.

I’ve been continuing to watch Supernatural. More slightly spoiler-ish rambling here. The episode “It’s  a Terrible Life” (Season 4, Episode 17) reminded me of myself in a way. The message was that being a hunter is something that’s in Dean’s blood, and he’ll find his way back to it no matter what. That’s how I feel about myself and my creative writing. It’s in my blood, and even when I foreswear it, for months or even years, I find myself coming back to it.

I think “On the Head of a Pin,” Season 4, Episode 16, is my favorite episode of all time. So far, anyway. There’s a lot that happens in it. At one point, Dean is torturing a demon, and the acting is superb. His expression is so cold, as if there’s nothing inside him. And what does it say about me that I thought it was kind of hot? There must be something wrong with me, lol.

I like Castiel a lot. Dean is still my favorite, though. Of course. And I’ve never liked Sam that much. I mean, he’s okay, but I much prefer Dean. I think I might be more like Sam than Dean, so what does that say about me, once again? However, I do think maybe I’m more like Dean than Sam emotionally. Maybe that’s why I find it easier to put myself in his place.

I think Season 2 is still my favorite season so far, but Season 4 is definitely spectacular as well.

Well, I rambled more than I meant to. I guess I just wanted to say these things.

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I’m Back

Sort of.

The next three to four weeks will probably be hella busy. It’s the last few weeks of the semester, and I’ll have tons of assignments to grade. So that means keeping my indulgence in addictions to a minimum: blogging, Supernatural, probably reading, etc. I’m often not good at juggling tasks, and I want to try to get into creative writing again.

I have two short stories to finish and a novel to edit.

Actually, what I kind of want to do, since I’ve apparently become a fangirl addict, is write some Supernatural/Doctor Who crossover fanfiction. I imagine the boys going off to investigate a case, and then there’s the Doctor. Then Dean’s like, “Ghosts are one thing, but aliens?”

I’ve never written fanfiction in my life. Maybe I need help, ha. I confess I have read the occasional A Song of Ice and Fire fanfiction, but not for ages. Once, I went through a phase where I read Horatio Hornblower fanfiction.

Last night, I watched the Supernatural episode “Ghostfacers” and now I can’t get its song out of my head. It’s one of the most hilarious things ever:

(The link won’t embed or post as a straight-up link, so you’ll have to click to go to YouTube after pressing “play.”)

My favorite line: “Stay in the kitchen when the kitchen gets hot!”

Embarrassing admissions aside, I’d like to explain a little of how I reached this point.

If you’ve stopped by here over the past month, you’d know that I haven’t been doing well. I’m still not, really, but I think I’m better. I think I can face returning to blogland again. I can stop being negligent and read a few blogs. But I can’t be as present here as I’ve been in the past. As I mentioned, I’m often not good at time management. I have other things to do like work and creative writing. And of course trying to figure out how to heal. If that’s even possible. I’m such a mess and have been for a very, very long time.

How did I get better? I’m not sure. I can trace it to a couple of instances, but I’m not sure precisely how those instances helped.

First, there was this past Tuesday. My anxiety reached almost sky-high levels, and I was a quivering mess at work. I felt as if I could barely breathe, and my head was pounding. I seriously started to contemplate quitting my job and just lying around by myself, but I knew that wasn’t realistic, obviously. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to work that day, but it’s hard for me to know what my limits are. Besides, I somehow made it through, and to me that makes it seem that my anxiety couldn’t have been as bad as I thought it was. I’m just being melodramatic.

These days, my therapist appointments are on Tuesday afternoons. Right after work, I went to therapy. So far, this therapist is pretty great. I find it much easier to talk to her than I did to talk to the other ones I’ve seen; I don’t know why. Every week, I’d brought up my anxiety, but my anxiety just kept building and building. She pointed that out when I mentioned my anxiety once again this week. I told her about how anxious I’d been all day, how shaky I’d felt. We talked about my coping strategies, and the only one I could think of was trying to steady my breathing. That’s what I do, but it’s really only a stalling tactic until I can be alone and have a panic attack. It doesn’t eliminate my anxiety, just help me delay my reaction to it.

After the appointment, though, I felt better for some reason. Maybe because I didn’t have to work to hide my anxiety, yet I hadn’t been hiding it in my past therapy appointments. I didn’t actually have a panic attack while with the therapist, so that didn’t dispel my anxiety. Don’t get me wrong; it’s still there, and it’s still strong, but it’s somehow grown more manageable. (Knock on wood.)

A few days later, the weather started getting sunnier. That made me feel better, too, though I don’t know why. I don’t like warm weather, and I don’t have seasonal affective disorder. In fact, I quite like gloomy weather. For some reason, I’ve always found it adventurous and sometimes even fun.

I’m going to see if I can snap out of my fast food binging, too. We’ll see. Maybe it’ll happen naturally; if I try to force it, the craving only grows stronger.

Well, I don’t know when I’ll get around to reading blogs more regularly. I know it will be this week, just not which day. I’m going to try to make myself write a little every day (or edit); it’s easiest for me to write if I can make myself do a little every day.

And now, I’m going to go outside and try to write. I think I’ve earned it.

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Not Belonging

I just feel like I don’t belong in this world anymore. Or I never really belonged here, really. My heart burns, and it’s in shards. It has been for some time. Nothing helps. I like to think that it gets better, but I’m just lying to myself. Even if it does, it eventually gets worse. And that’s where it ultimately stays.

I’m not going to do anything to myself because my heart burns at the emotions I imagine in my family. But oh how I feel like I should.

There’s no point to anything. Anytime I work on a task, I start to feel panicky and think, “I can’t do this.” It paralyzes me. When there are people around, I feel suffocated. When I’m driving and there’s a car right behind me, I feel pressured and threatened. I live so I can get away from everyone at the end of the day and lollygag around.

I’ve tried to start writing fiction again, and I guess I wrote a decent amount. But when I think about my recent short story and my novel, it just seems so stupid. Dumb. There’s no point to it. At all. None of it is ever any good.

I want to go lie in bed and clutch my stuffed animal.

I’m all alone in this, and it’s my own fault. I can’t reveal myself to anyone. I can’t accept help from anyone. It’s shameful and a sign of weakness. Plus it makes me vulnerable, and I know it’ll eventually be held against me. Besides, people tend to make it worse, anyway.

I’m going to go try to get a tiny bit of work done because I have to uphold the facade. I don’t know if I can be strong enough anymore, though. But I have to be. There’s no other option unless I want to ruin what little I do have.

Sorry, I’m still going to have to keep to myself for now. Indefinitely.

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