Picking at the seal

You know those sticky tabs that seal things shut? Well that’s the therapy stage I feel I am in right now. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it because I have to face my own ugliness buried deep under the “do everything perfectly for —- (insert boss, husband, daughter, mother)” sand dune I have lived under for as long as I can remember. And the really scary part is we haven’t even peeled the seal all the way off. I had a therapy session Monday. Tuesday I was sad, teetering on the edge (or so it seemed). I replayed the session and what I should have said or the direction I should have gone. My therapist doesn’t yet know me and has jumped to a few conclusions, but I set her straight. Nothing serious but assumptions that my need to be a good wife is somehow related to me being Muslim. It’s not. It’s related to the need to never give him a reason to leave me. Not that that has ever been an issue…in my mind I’m just waiting for the axe to fall. After all, I’m a needy, anxious, chubby, restless, indecisive, old lady and who would be able to look past my faults and love me? (Insert many paragraphs as to why I should be fired from my job, hated by my children, looked at as a terrible daughter, sister, friend.). MY THOUGHTS ARE NOT REALITY.

So today I am seeing the doctor (psychiatrist). I’m not sure why other than he is in charge of managing my medications. I have met him once before and he seemed very nice. I feel like I confuse the doctor and counselor because I was not an unloved abused child nor am I unintelligent. I am told I am attractive (wow that hurt to type) and I am a good person. I think he must find it hard to understand my low self esteem. Oh sure, I had a relationship with a egotistical, narcissistic sociopath who always criticized everything I did but this goes back long before that. Hell, I probably sought him out to validate the negativity I felt toward myself. Totally my fault…again.

Nevertheless, I almost want to stop counseling after only three appointments. I feel I would rather live in my world of apathy constantly trying to improve myself by setting unrealistic goals than pull my head out of the sand and face the reality that I am never going to achieve the goal of being the person I want to be. I am who I am. And she’s not that bad (yes she is).

I wish there was a pill to stop my racing mind constantly imagining the thoughts of others as though it was reality.

I wish I could take something to erase the need to complete the errant thoughts when I’m trying to concentrate. I do not need to figure out 311-68 at that very moment, but until I do…it won’t stop. I do not need to remember whether on not I put my keys back in my purse…at that moment. But I do. And if I try to push it away, the whispering is still there, behind my ear…”just figure it out, then you can concentrate” my brain lies to me. So I do…and then the next errant must-solve-now thought starts. It is maddening.

And I really wish there was a pill to stop the tinnitus which is seemingly made worse by the anxiety the counseling-to-help-me-deal-with-anxiety is causing.

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Struggling

I'm struggling. I shouldn't be but I am. Is it possible that anxiety is a living organism? If this is my brain causing all this commotion, why can't it focus on solving world problems instead of traumatizing me?! I have been working on accepting and acknowledging with the help of a brilliant therapist (ok she's my daughter and not a therapist, but should be). But it's like the anxiety refuses to back down. It is like it is waiting for me to go to my doctor, meet with my care team for them to give me the lecture on accepting and acknowledging the anxiety. Everything is compounding. My body hurts, I have ringing in my ears 24/7 and nothing I do makes it better, my right eye won't focus, and I have headaches daily. I can't stay awake for more than a few hours and I have no bouncy morning energy as I have had in the past. Who am I kidding, I have no energy at all. I'm overly sensitive to everything anyone says and feel that good old out of control apple cart feeling. Everything is heightened. And not in a good way. I'm overwhelmed and I just want to crawl in my special corner of my closet, under my long dresses and sit in silence. Only there is no silence. Just non-stop ringing in my ears.

Seeing the other side…

of depression – and it sucks.

My husband, one of my biggest supporters with my own depression/anxiety issues, hurt his back.  He is in excruciating pain.  He is unable to work and he has no disability or leave.  He was started on a relative joke of medication for pain (after being treated like a drug seeker by the ER doc), some muscle relaxers and lidocaine patches to slap on his back (more useless than the pain med).  After 3 days of increasingly worse pain, he went for a follow up to his family doctor who gave him an Rx for a slightly stronger pain pill, more muscle relaxers and steroid treatment.  He is still not released to work.   With still no relief, he went back and was put on super-pain meds, no muscle relaxers and an order to go to physical therapy.  It was after this diagnosis that I saw it…he gave up.  He is on the couch, sleeping, expressionless.  He has no enthusiasm, no smile, no light in those beautiful eyes.  And my heart is broken.

This isn’t about me…and that it hard for my crazy mind to acknowledge.   He’s not mad/sad/upset with me.  Ok, I can accept that.  What I can’t accept is that there is nothing I can do.   My jokes don’t make him smile, my coconut banana nut cake didn’t put a sparkle in his eye, and my fancy Greek strudel chicken made with phyllo dough didn’t get a reaction (I used phyllo dough.  P h y l l o dough.  I despise that tearing, sticking frustrating-but-oh-so-delicious baking ingredient.) 

I know he’s depressed.  He is a hard working, active man and he is now acting his physical age.  He can’t stand, walk, bend or lie down without pain.  He needs help getting his shoes on and off.  I am afraid he has given up.  He won’t fight for his health.   Oh I’m sure I’m being dramatic, but I don’t know what to do for him.

Isn’t someone with “chronic” depression and anxiety supposed to know how to be supportive of someone that has slipped into that deep dark hole, albeit temporarily.  I’m completely at a loss.  I think I’ve lived with it for so long and dealt with it on my own for so long that I don’t know what to do.   Add that to my compulsive need to fix those I love and I feel helpless.   Completely incompetent.