Tag Archives: indecisiveness

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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Filed under General Musing

WTF, a Panic Attack?!

I’m overweight. Lately, I’ve been reading stories about warning signs for panic attacks and how they can happen to anyone at any age and blah blah blah.

When I was at work earlier today, I started to feel sick. I was in a cold sweat. I felt short of breath and faint. This continued on and off for the next few hours.

Fast forward to la few hours later. I began to have heart palpitations. My chest didn’t hurt, but it felt like my heart was trembling and that this trembling radiated from that center to the rest of my body. All day, I’d been feeling bile rising in my throat but not actually throwing up. I felt that again and some light-headedness.

I became paranoid. What if I was having a heart attack?! How would I know if I was having a heart attack?! After an hour of heart palpitations, I betook myself to the ER, afraid that a heart attack might be the culprit. It’s not that far-fetched. I am quite obese. My mother’s father had his first heart attack at about 30.

My hands also kept feeling numb, like they were cold. My hands and feet do that sometimes; it’s a condition I’ve had my whole life.

At the ER, I became unsure of myself. Did my chest hurt? I wasn’t sure. Were they palpitations? I wasn’t sure. My indecisiveness kicked in big time, and I couldn’t give solid answers about anything. Still, I tried my best.

I spent three hours in the ER. They did an EKG and some other tests. I had slightly high blood pressure, but for the most part I was fine.

I actually had to dress in a hospital gown, and they covered me with a blanket. My eyes focused on a speck of dirt on the blanket; I tried to brush it off. Turns out it was a permanent stain. Everything felt icky all of a sudden, and I wanted to scramble out of there.

Unlike with my suicidal visit to the ER, this time no one talked to me about billing. I guess I’ll just get something in the mail, then.

At the end, they told me that, given my history, it was probably a panic attack. But I don’t understand. None of my other panic attacks have ever been like this. They’ve been intense for a short duration then subsided. They haven’t been this sustained. They involved more hyperventilating. I don’t recall ever feeling anything in my heart.

You’re telling me I went to the ER just for a panic attack?! Now I feel like an idiot, and I could’ve used those three hours to do something else.

Why would I have a panic attack different from my usual ones? Why would I have one now, probably the least stressful time possible? How will I ever handle real life if I get panic attacks even at the best of times?

My eyes hurt, and I suppose I need to relax, given that I apparently had a panic attack. I have an early morning therapist appointment tomorrow, so I must turn in for the night. I do care about your blogs, even if it takes me a while to read them.

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Filed under Mental Health

Spillover 6667

Further ponderings from yesterday (and the past few days) that I didn’t mention:

There are quite a few ants in the house. I’ve started putting opened food in the fridge to keep the ants out. I had some donut holes a couple of them got into. I put out ant traps, but they’re still there. A couple of days ago, I felt chafing on my nose, so I swept my hand over it. There had been an ant crawling on it! I also have a lot of mosquito bites. They usually don’t bother me that much, but a couple of these hurt. Any time I feel a sensation on my skin, I brush my hand over it in alarm. I keep being paranoid that there are ants all over me. Most of what I feel are the mosquito bites, but there have been ants on me a couple of other times, too.

In public, I’ve always been pretty paranoid about dirt. Sometimes I walk around a fast food restaurant examining all of the tables before I sit down. I do this slowly enough to scrutinize them. Occasionally people give me weird looks when I do it. Well, lately I’ve become even more paranoid about dirt. Sometimes I think I see specks of dirt on something when there’s nothing there.

I feel myself retreating into indifference via indecisiveness. Indecisiveness has long been a problem of mine, but it’s been even more pronounced for the past couple of days. Any time someone asks my opinion, I become so uncomfortable at commitment that I contemplate the issue for a while then blurt out that I don’t know. Even asked about something as simple as what I’d like to drink, I find myself distressed at having to make a choice.

I just finished Hilary Mantel’s Bring up the Bodies. It’s the sequel to Wolf Hall. They’re both about Thomas Cromwell, a figure from the Henry VIII era. I love both books so much. I find them droll but poetic. It’s the sort of mood I would like to convey in what I write. I also love Mantel’s A Place of Greater Safety, which is about people involved in the French Revolution. The ending made me cry. It wasn’t even written to elicit that response. It’s just the way the contrast is . . . juxtaposed snippets. It’s kind of sudden,  but not unnaturally so. It follows logically from what’s happening.

Books don’t usually make me cry. Movies and TV shows often elicit that response; I think it’s because the emotion is visually conveyed. I’m more absorbed in a novel’s world than a movies or TV show’s world, especially if I’m immensely enjoying the book. I would think that I’d get more teary if I’m more immersed in the experience. Perhaps the cerebral aspect of reading usually balances it out.

I have this weird headache on the left side of my forehead. I feel like it’s in a crescent moon shape. The book club I go to once a month meets tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll go. I have work as an excuse; it’ll bleed a little into the time. But I really don’t feel like socializing. I feel like I need more alone time.

I’m tired. Time for sleep. I guess I’m doing the usual . . . saving my blog reading for the weekend. I feel like I’m able to give it more of the attention it deserves on weekends.

Ugh. I just felt faint echoes of the headache on the right.

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Filed under General Musing

I’m on Twitter!

I felt like writing. I thought I had something to say here, but when I sat down to write, I drew a definite blank. Therefore, I have created a Twitter account!

My user name is “angelfractured.” Some poseur already took “fracturedangel,” lol. My display name is “Angel Flatley.” Not my real name, but a pen name. I actually don’t feel the need to have a plausible-sounding pen name right now, but I thought I would go ahead and lay claim to it just in case. The “Flatley” comes from a dream I mentioned in this post, ha. And the “Angel” . . . the origin of that should be obvious. For continuity’s sake, I’ve also decided to include it as my pseudonym on my “About” page.

There’s no telling whether I will use Twitter regularly or not. Expect a lighter side, although its connection to this blog will mean that mental health is a regular topic there also. My one-liner thoughts will go there. Frankly, for a long time I thought Twitter was one of the most pointless things ever. But now I see the value in it; it’s sort of fun to read and post micro-snippets.

I’m a little nervous about Twitter, to be honest. I could never really figure out those hash tags. I know what they’re for, but for some reason every time I see them, I feel momentarily confused. I’ll learn as I go (for I learn best by doing).

There’s a link to my Twitter account on the sidebar. Also, here. Follow me! (If you want to.) I promise to follow you, too!

(Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, I also have a GoodReads account on the sidebar. If you care about what I’ve been reading since the beginning of 2012, you can find out there. Also, if you friend me there, I will friend you back! Hmm. Is all of this TMI? A part of me can’t help but wonder who would care? But they’ve been created, so they stay.)

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Filed under Writing