I woke up this morning in a good mood. The sun was shining brightly after what was a dark and stormy day yesterday. I thought it was such a beautiful day.
Then, the thoughts and anxiety started to intrude....
I haven't been in the best of places recently anyway. This was something I addressed yesterday with Rachel. My thoughts have been wrapped up in the holidays as well as the anniversary of the death of a former student of mine who was killed two years ago while crossing the street. She was only eleven.
After delving into things, we soon realized that one of the main roots of the anxiety and depression was the thought of seeing my father if I went to the holiday dinners at my brother's.
At first, we simply thought it was my anxiety about my need to be perfect and make everyone happy. The need to create that Norman Rockwell kind of holiday. Perfectionism is a constant issue with me. We address it almost every therapy session. I'm trying to chisel away at it little by little, but it's so ingrained for so many reasons. Rachel gave me an "assignment" this session. The "assignment" was to try to fail. Well, not exactly to try to fail, but to allow myself to fail and not to judge myself for it. She doesn't want me to try to create failure. She just wants me to accept it if it happens. She wants me to allow myself to be human, something I never do.
There are two main reasons I strive for perfection. The first is to keep everyone happy. In my childhood world, when things weren't perfect, my dad could get angry, and then people got hurt. After my parents' divorce, if things weren't perfect, my brother could get angry and take his anger out on me. Even after we all grew up, if things weren't perfect, if I wasn't perfect, my siblings would be unhappy. They may be a lot less likely to take it out on me physically, but they have no problem taking it out on me verbally. My need to be perfect stems from me trying to protect myself and my family from making anyone unhappy, to protect anyone from being hurt, physically or emotionally.
The second reasons for my perfectionism also leads back to my father. This is what we really discovered yesterday. It is another reason I don't want to be around my father, at all. This reason is that I'm scared of being like my father, of turning into someone like him. He also had OCD tendencies. He especially had food contamination issues. Some of the anxieties I have, some of my obsessions and compulsions remind me so much of his when I was a child, and this scares me. This scares me because if I have his OCD tendencies, can I also have inherited, and eventually develop, his other tendencies???
I don't want to be the kind of person who would beat their spouse until I cracked their skull. I don't want to be the kind of person who would hit their children with a hammer or chase them through the fields with their pick-up truck. I don't want to be the kind of person who would put their four-year-old in the bucket loader of their tractor, raise it twenty feet above the ground, and dump it hoping that their child would fall twenty feet and land in pain. I don't want to be the kind of person who would kill their child's pet right in front of them just to see the anguish on their face. I don't want to be the kind of person who would torment the people who loved them just to get pleasure for their pain.
I'm so scared that if I inherited his genetic predisposition for the OCD, that I could have inherited his genetic predisposition for this as well. I'm scared that if I'm not perfect, that if I lose control, that this could slip out. I'm scared I'll hurt someone I love, that I'll become the kind of monster my father was.
Rachel pointed out that the fact that I even worry about this shows that I am NOTHING like him. People with issues like my dad's would never think twice about it. She said that I am not him, I will never be like him. The fact that I am willing to put myself through so much, to make myself so miserable to prevent it, just for everyone else, shows that I would never be like him.
Still, the entire idea of failing, of being less than perfect, of being human, being fallible, terrifies me. It fills me with so much anxiety, so much paralyzing fear. It fills me with anger toward my father for doing the things he did, for putting me in this position. It fills me sadness and depression for the child I used to be, the one who endured all this. It fills my mind with so many racing thoughts and images, past, present, and future...of things that were, of things that maybe, of things I wish weren't and things I pray never will be. I'm just so overwhelmed by all the thoughts and emotions, by all the fear and anger, that I'm not sure how to dig myself out and move past it all. I'm sure that after a few days, my poor mind will be able to process everything and figure it all out, but right now, I just feel stuck and helpless, and I just feel scared.
Showing posts with label abuse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abuse. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Universe Has Gone Trigger Happy
I'm sorry it has been so long since my last post and since I've been able to read through everyone else's posts. It seems that in the last week, all H-E-Double Hockey Sticks broke loose for me. Where to begin......
Let's start at the beginning. Saturday, we received a phone call from my sister. A twenty-year old boy I used to babysit and have known since he was born, died. He was born with a severe heart defect. The doctors weren't even sure if he'd ever make it home from the hospital. After multiple reconstructive surgeries, pacemakers, and even a heart transplant, Clinton's health issues finally became too much for his body to handle. He was found by his uncle, laying in one of the family's fields. What makes this even harder for me is that Clinton was the child of two of my oldest brother's best friends. Clinton was even named after my brother. His parents gave him the middle name "Scott" as a tribute to their friend who had struggled for years against his own body during his struggle with cancer and had won. This was shortly before my brother's death in an automobile accident.
Those of you who have read past posts know how difficult my brother's death has been for me. It is something I've always felt guilty about and struggled with. So, Clinton's death, coming less than a month after the twentieth anniversary of Scott's, was a real blow. Especially when combined with the fact that in a few weeks, it will be the anniversary of the death of one of my former students who was killed crossing the street to get to a birthday party. Everything just keeps piling up.
But, wait!!! The universe wasn't done with me yet. Those who know me well know that I LOVE Indy Car Racing. Being a Hoosier, I almost consider it my duty. I've always loved Indy Cars. Over the last few years, that love has grown. I've found that it is something I can turn to no matter my mood and find completely encompassing and destressing. At least I did until Sunday. Everyone who really knows my love of Indy Cars knows I have five favorites who I adore. One of those was Dan Wheldon.
So, imagine how Sunday went when I tuned into the final Indy Car race of the season, hoping to enjoy it and destress a little from everything swirling in my head and heart. Then, only a few laps into the race, a fiery crash claims fifteen cars and the life of Dan Wheldon. Not only is this heartbreaking in itself, but once the news of Dan Wheldon's death was announced, my mind was immediately shifted back to my brother's death. (the second such trigger in as many days.) Dan Wheldon's car hit a second car that he couldn't avoid and went airborne, cockpit first, into the catch fence, bursting into flames. The protective roll bar was sheared from the car and when the car came down on the edge of the wall, upside down, Dan Wheldon's helmet struck the wall causing unsurvivable head injuries. My brother lost control while going too fast on wet roads and went airborne. He struck an electrical pole with the driver's side door, shearing off the pole and crushing the side of the truck. The truck then proceeded to roll and flip several times. The impact of the accident caused unsurvivable internal injuries and a broken neck. So, while the accidents weren't anywhere close to identical, there were enough similarities to immediately send me back to that 4 am call.
The universe didn't stop when the weekend ended...noooooo....not by a long shot....
I already had a therapy session schedule for 9:00 Monday morning. Normally, I have them scheduled for the afternoon. First, I have to wait until my mom is off work to borrow her car to get to the therapist. Second, I don't do well with mornings. I'm usually running around like crazy trying to make sure everything is taken care of and prepared for the day. I had scheduled the morning appointment though as my mom was off school for Fall Break, and I had scheduled an appointment with an oral surgeon for the afternoon. Because I was already stressed, I decided to go to all my appointments alone, rather than take my mom with me. Having her with me would just make me feel as if I had to be even more careful and protective. I just didn't think I could deal with it.
So, I showed up for my 9:00 am appointment with Rachel. I told her all about the aftereffects of our last session as well as all the stress and anxiety that had cropped up throughout the weekend. I also told her how Monday and Tuesday promised to be stressful as there were lots of appointments and lots of driving and time out of the house to deal with. Monday had a therapy appointment, a quick breakfast, a trip to the library, a 45 minute drive to the oral surgeon to discuss removal of my impacted wisdom teeth, grocery shopping and a 45 minute drive home. Tuesday was supposed to have a 7:00 am drop off of the dog at the groomer, a 45 minute drive to a neurologist for my mom to have some tests done for her polymialgia rheumatica, a 45 minute drive home, and eventually picking up the dog at the groomer. Rachel helped me go through and set up a plan for the two days as well as coping mechanisms to help me through the rougher parts. We also discussed the events of the weekend, eventually working through my brother's death and into more about my father and his abuse, something that has been on my mind a lot lately. Needless to say, it was a rough, tear-filled session. Thankfully, Rachel did not assign "homework".
After therapy, the quick breakfast and stop and the library went well. I made it down to Lafayette just fine, avoiding the interstate as I knew I wouldn't be able to handle the speeds and traffic. I picked up most of the items on my shopping list before the appointment with the oral surgeon. (Nothing that needed kept cold of course.) Then I spent 90 minutes at the oral surgeon.....waiting and waiting and waiting....to find out that my oral surgery would be slightly more difficult than planned (as they would have to cut the top part off one tooth, sliding alongside and under it to push it up where they could pull it, being careful of the nerve so they didn't cause numbness and paralysis that could last weeks or even months), that I needed cleared by my doctor before I could have the surgery (meaning another doctor's appointment), that they may be limited on the amount of numbing agent they could use but knocking me out would mean that it would have to be done in a hospital OR given my heart condition, and that my insurance would pay for less than half the cost (leaving me with nearly $400 to come up with on my own).
Needless to say, I was not feeling all that confident or peaceful when I left. Still, I had a few more things to pick up at the store before I went home....including meat. Yeah, my old nemesis, raw meat. Before I went into the store, I called my mom to double check that there wasn't anything else I needed to pick up that wasn't on my list. She proceeded to tell me that she had gotten a call from the Sheriff's office that morning while I was at therapy. It seems that the parents of a pair of girls she tutors had seen a picture of a child molester and thought it looked similar to my mom. The deputy knew my mom and knew it wasn't her so was calling to get her driver's license number to pull a picture to prove to the parents that it wasn't my mom. (I'm still not sure how they thought it looked like my mom. The woman didn't look much like her at all had a longer face, different color hair and eyes, was ten years older, seven inches taller, forty pounds lighter, and lived in a different county!!!!) Thankfully, that whole mess has since been cleaned up.
Still......I managed to get through Monday. I was exhausted, stressed, and a little depressed. I went to bed early and looked toward making it through Tuesday. Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't slept well in several days by that point. I woke up slightly earlier than I needed to. I walked and fed the dog, fed the cats, etc. to get prepared for an early and long day. I was starting to freak out when my mom didn't get up and didn't get up. Finally she woke up, just as I was ready to go pound on the door and wake her up. It appears her alarm didn't go off. So, we were running late. On top of that, the dog was so excited to go to the groomer that she didn't want to eat. I had to sit right next to her bowl to get her to eat.
Finally, we got on the road and made it to the groomer....ten minutes late. No big deal, I left a little extra time in the schedule.....until I got back in the car and started to drive and smell something. Yes, on the way out of the vet's office where my dog gets groomed, I stepped in dog poop. It was all over my shoe and the floor of the car. We tried to use wet wipes to clean it up, but it just wasn't working. So I had to race back home, driving with no shoe, to change shoes and Clorox wipe the car, all the while thinking about how I touched dog poop and hadn't washed my hands.
Running 45 minutes late, we finally got on the road to my mom's neurology appointment....and we hit construction. We called ahead and let the doctor's office know we were running about five minutes late. We finally got there, got signed in, they took my mom back for her test, and I sat in the waiting room with a book. Thirty minutes later, the doctor came out to get me. She let me know that there was a little problem, that my mom had a bit of an "episode", and they would have to reschedule the test. Come to find out, the nurse placed my mom's foot, leg, and hand into pails of hot water (which weren't even clean come to find out) and left her, saying she'd be back in ten minutes or so. Twenty minutes later, no one had come back. My mom has the same genetic arrhythmia that I have and is on a beta blocker as well. She also has mitral valve prolapse and her pulse runs low. Putting her in the hot water dilated the blood pressure and set off the arrhythmia. She started feeling dizzy, faint, and nauseous. She screamed and pounded trying to get help. No one came.
Finally, near blacking out, my mom crawled to the door, opened it and started screaming for help. It was then that they finally found her. She was gray, hyperventilating (which no one noticed or helped her stop until I came into the room), and her pulse and blood pressure were fluctuating all over the place. They ended up calling an ambulance and sending her to the ER to get checked out.
Four-and-a-half hours later, my mom's pulse and heart rate had finally started to stabilize. Her chest x-ray, blood tests, etc. had all come back clean, but the ER doc was still waiting to hear back from my mom's cardiologist to find out whether she should be kept overnight or sent home with a heart monitor. Neither she nor I had eaten or drank anything since 8:00 am. It was 3:00 pm.
My sister had called while we were in the ER to tell us that she had gotten flowers for Clinton's funeral. I explained that we were in the ER. She said she would leave her phone on if we needed anything. When 2:30 rolled around, I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it back to pick up the dog from the groomer before they closed unless I left my mom by herself in the ER, which I didn't want to do given the circumstances. So, I tried to call my sister, but she didn't pick up. Her children are in college, so I called my nephew asking him if he could pick up the dog, explaining I was in the ER with "Grandma". He made an excuse about not having gas in the car. He never asked about "Grandma" or offered to get money from his mom or friends for gas or offer to try to catch a ride from a friend. So, I called my niece. She said she was rearranging the furniture and had to go into work in an hour. She also did not ask about "Grandma". So, I called my sister again, who was at work. She said she would try to find someone and get back to me. Twenty minutes later, she still had not called back. I had to rush off, leave my mom in the ER, drive like a bat out of Hades through pouring rain, to try to get to the groomer before they closed. My nephew called just as I was getting on the interstate, 30 minutes after I had talked to my sister. I told him to nevermind, I was already on my way and I'd take care of everything myself as no one had seemed to want to help and I hadn't heard back any differently and couldn't wait any longer. Needless to say, I wasn't very pleasant. This is a constant in my family. Everyone expects me to drop everything to take care of everything for them, but no one ever wants to help me or my mom or even just be there for us.
I called the groomer, in tears, and explained the situation. She very kindly offered to stay late if she needed to. I picked up the dog, tried to rush home through the rain with the dog on my lap (as I wasn't prepared to pick her up by myself), fed her quickly, prepared her crate, crated her, and flew back down to pick my mom up from the ER. She had called when I was halfway to the groomer, saying that they were going to send her home with a heart monitor. By this time, I was sobbing hysterically, overcome by anger and stress, having a full blown anxiety attack and possibly emotional breakdown. It was so bad, the nurse in the room with my mom could hear me through the phone. The nurse was great. She found out that my mom had not eaten since breakfast and quickly got her a menu to order food from the cafeteria. (Thankfully, the cafeteria at that hospital has great food.). By the time I got back, an hour-and-a-half later, my mom had been dressed, fed, outfitted with her heart monitor, and was waiting for me at the door, ending a six hour ER visit. I still had to drive home, again, another 45 minutes, through pouring rain, in the dark.
Finally, at 7:00 pm, I had my mom settled, making a multitude of phone calls to be sure everything was taken care of for her classroom the following day, and I was able to grab something to eat and drink for the first time since 8:00 am. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, yet still so amped up, anxious, and angry that I couldn't sleep.
I took my mom back to the hospital (another two hours of driving) to get her heart monitor removed on Wednesday. She has an appointment with her cardiologist next week to go over the info from the monitor. For now, she has canceled the neurology appointments and is waiting to find out what the cardiologist has to say. She is tired, but otherwise fine, and went back to work Thursday. I'm still trying to bring down all of the anxiety accrued over the weekend and first half of the week. I was finally able to get a half-way decent sleep last night. I'm hoping to get back on track and be able to read through everyone's back posts soon. It should be interesting to go through all this with Rachel next week. ; )
Let's start at the beginning. Saturday, we received a phone call from my sister. A twenty-year old boy I used to babysit and have known since he was born, died. He was born with a severe heart defect. The doctors weren't even sure if he'd ever make it home from the hospital. After multiple reconstructive surgeries, pacemakers, and even a heart transplant, Clinton's health issues finally became too much for his body to handle. He was found by his uncle, laying in one of the family's fields. What makes this even harder for me is that Clinton was the child of two of my oldest brother's best friends. Clinton was even named after my brother. His parents gave him the middle name "Scott" as a tribute to their friend who had struggled for years against his own body during his struggle with cancer and had won. This was shortly before my brother's death in an automobile accident.
Those of you who have read past posts know how difficult my brother's death has been for me. It is something I've always felt guilty about and struggled with. So, Clinton's death, coming less than a month after the twentieth anniversary of Scott's, was a real blow. Especially when combined with the fact that in a few weeks, it will be the anniversary of the death of one of my former students who was killed crossing the street to get to a birthday party. Everything just keeps piling up.
But, wait!!! The universe wasn't done with me yet. Those who know me well know that I LOVE Indy Car Racing. Being a Hoosier, I almost consider it my duty. I've always loved Indy Cars. Over the last few years, that love has grown. I've found that it is something I can turn to no matter my mood and find completely encompassing and destressing. At least I did until Sunday. Everyone who really knows my love of Indy Cars knows I have five favorites who I adore. One of those was Dan Wheldon.
So, imagine how Sunday went when I tuned into the final Indy Car race of the season, hoping to enjoy it and destress a little from everything swirling in my head and heart. Then, only a few laps into the race, a fiery crash claims fifteen cars and the life of Dan Wheldon. Not only is this heartbreaking in itself, but once the news of Dan Wheldon's death was announced, my mind was immediately shifted back to my brother's death. (the second such trigger in as many days.) Dan Wheldon's car hit a second car that he couldn't avoid and went airborne, cockpit first, into the catch fence, bursting into flames. The protective roll bar was sheared from the car and when the car came down on the edge of the wall, upside down, Dan Wheldon's helmet struck the wall causing unsurvivable head injuries. My brother lost control while going too fast on wet roads and went airborne. He struck an electrical pole with the driver's side door, shearing off the pole and crushing the side of the truck. The truck then proceeded to roll and flip several times. The impact of the accident caused unsurvivable internal injuries and a broken neck. So, while the accidents weren't anywhere close to identical, there were enough similarities to immediately send me back to that 4 am call.
The universe didn't stop when the weekend ended...noooooo....not by a long shot....
I already had a therapy session schedule for 9:00 Monday morning. Normally, I have them scheduled for the afternoon. First, I have to wait until my mom is off work to borrow her car to get to the therapist. Second, I don't do well with mornings. I'm usually running around like crazy trying to make sure everything is taken care of and prepared for the day. I had scheduled the morning appointment though as my mom was off school for Fall Break, and I had scheduled an appointment with an oral surgeon for the afternoon. Because I was already stressed, I decided to go to all my appointments alone, rather than take my mom with me. Having her with me would just make me feel as if I had to be even more careful and protective. I just didn't think I could deal with it.
So, I showed up for my 9:00 am appointment with Rachel. I told her all about the aftereffects of our last session as well as all the stress and anxiety that had cropped up throughout the weekend. I also told her how Monday and Tuesday promised to be stressful as there were lots of appointments and lots of driving and time out of the house to deal with. Monday had a therapy appointment, a quick breakfast, a trip to the library, a 45 minute drive to the oral surgeon to discuss removal of my impacted wisdom teeth, grocery shopping and a 45 minute drive home. Tuesday was supposed to have a 7:00 am drop off of the dog at the groomer, a 45 minute drive to a neurologist for my mom to have some tests done for her polymialgia rheumatica, a 45 minute drive home, and eventually picking up the dog at the groomer. Rachel helped me go through and set up a plan for the two days as well as coping mechanisms to help me through the rougher parts. We also discussed the events of the weekend, eventually working through my brother's death and into more about my father and his abuse, something that has been on my mind a lot lately. Needless to say, it was a rough, tear-filled session. Thankfully, Rachel did not assign "homework".
After therapy, the quick breakfast and stop and the library went well. I made it down to Lafayette just fine, avoiding the interstate as I knew I wouldn't be able to handle the speeds and traffic. I picked up most of the items on my shopping list before the appointment with the oral surgeon. (Nothing that needed kept cold of course.) Then I spent 90 minutes at the oral surgeon.....waiting and waiting and waiting....to find out that my oral surgery would be slightly more difficult than planned (as they would have to cut the top part off one tooth, sliding alongside and under it to push it up where they could pull it, being careful of the nerve so they didn't cause numbness and paralysis that could last weeks or even months), that I needed cleared by my doctor before I could have the surgery (meaning another doctor's appointment), that they may be limited on the amount of numbing agent they could use but knocking me out would mean that it would have to be done in a hospital OR given my heart condition, and that my insurance would pay for less than half the cost (leaving me with nearly $400 to come up with on my own).
Needless to say, I was not feeling all that confident or peaceful when I left. Still, I had a few more things to pick up at the store before I went home....including meat. Yeah, my old nemesis, raw meat. Before I went into the store, I called my mom to double check that there wasn't anything else I needed to pick up that wasn't on my list. She proceeded to tell me that she had gotten a call from the Sheriff's office that morning while I was at therapy. It seems that the parents of a pair of girls she tutors had seen a picture of a child molester and thought it looked similar to my mom. The deputy knew my mom and knew it wasn't her so was calling to get her driver's license number to pull a picture to prove to the parents that it wasn't my mom. (I'm still not sure how they thought it looked like my mom. The woman didn't look much like her at all had a longer face, different color hair and eyes, was ten years older, seven inches taller, forty pounds lighter, and lived in a different county!!!!) Thankfully, that whole mess has since been cleaned up.
Still......I managed to get through Monday. I was exhausted, stressed, and a little depressed. I went to bed early and looked toward making it through Tuesday. Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night. Actually, I hadn't slept well in several days by that point. I woke up slightly earlier than I needed to. I walked and fed the dog, fed the cats, etc. to get prepared for an early and long day. I was starting to freak out when my mom didn't get up and didn't get up. Finally she woke up, just as I was ready to go pound on the door and wake her up. It appears her alarm didn't go off. So, we were running late. On top of that, the dog was so excited to go to the groomer that she didn't want to eat. I had to sit right next to her bowl to get her to eat.
Finally, we got on the road and made it to the groomer....ten minutes late. No big deal, I left a little extra time in the schedule.....until I got back in the car and started to drive and smell something. Yes, on the way out of the vet's office where my dog gets groomed, I stepped in dog poop. It was all over my shoe and the floor of the car. We tried to use wet wipes to clean it up, but it just wasn't working. So I had to race back home, driving with no shoe, to change shoes and Clorox wipe the car, all the while thinking about how I touched dog poop and hadn't washed my hands.
Running 45 minutes late, we finally got on the road to my mom's neurology appointment....and we hit construction. We called ahead and let the doctor's office know we were running about five minutes late. We finally got there, got signed in, they took my mom back for her test, and I sat in the waiting room with a book. Thirty minutes later, the doctor came out to get me. She let me know that there was a little problem, that my mom had a bit of an "episode", and they would have to reschedule the test. Come to find out, the nurse placed my mom's foot, leg, and hand into pails of hot water (which weren't even clean come to find out) and left her, saying she'd be back in ten minutes or so. Twenty minutes later, no one had come back. My mom has the same genetic arrhythmia that I have and is on a beta blocker as well. She also has mitral valve prolapse and her pulse runs low. Putting her in the hot water dilated the blood pressure and set off the arrhythmia. She started feeling dizzy, faint, and nauseous. She screamed and pounded trying to get help. No one came.
Finally, near blacking out, my mom crawled to the door, opened it and started screaming for help. It was then that they finally found her. She was gray, hyperventilating (which no one noticed or helped her stop until I came into the room), and her pulse and blood pressure were fluctuating all over the place. They ended up calling an ambulance and sending her to the ER to get checked out.
Four-and-a-half hours later, my mom's pulse and heart rate had finally started to stabilize. Her chest x-ray, blood tests, etc. had all come back clean, but the ER doc was still waiting to hear back from my mom's cardiologist to find out whether she should be kept overnight or sent home with a heart monitor. Neither she nor I had eaten or drank anything since 8:00 am. It was 3:00 pm.
My sister had called while we were in the ER to tell us that she had gotten flowers for Clinton's funeral. I explained that we were in the ER. She said she would leave her phone on if we needed anything. When 2:30 rolled around, I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it back to pick up the dog from the groomer before they closed unless I left my mom by herself in the ER, which I didn't want to do given the circumstances. So, I tried to call my sister, but she didn't pick up. Her children are in college, so I called my nephew asking him if he could pick up the dog, explaining I was in the ER with "Grandma". He made an excuse about not having gas in the car. He never asked about "Grandma" or offered to get money from his mom or friends for gas or offer to try to catch a ride from a friend. So, I called my niece. She said she was rearranging the furniture and had to go into work in an hour. She also did not ask about "Grandma". So, I called my sister again, who was at work. She said she would try to find someone and get back to me. Twenty minutes later, she still had not called back. I had to rush off, leave my mom in the ER, drive like a bat out of Hades through pouring rain, to try to get to the groomer before they closed. My nephew called just as I was getting on the interstate, 30 minutes after I had talked to my sister. I told him to nevermind, I was already on my way and I'd take care of everything myself as no one had seemed to want to help and I hadn't heard back any differently and couldn't wait any longer. Needless to say, I wasn't very pleasant. This is a constant in my family. Everyone expects me to drop everything to take care of everything for them, but no one ever wants to help me or my mom or even just be there for us.
I called the groomer, in tears, and explained the situation. She very kindly offered to stay late if she needed to. I picked up the dog, tried to rush home through the rain with the dog on my lap (as I wasn't prepared to pick her up by myself), fed her quickly, prepared her crate, crated her, and flew back down to pick my mom up from the ER. She had called when I was halfway to the groomer, saying that they were going to send her home with a heart monitor. By this time, I was sobbing hysterically, overcome by anger and stress, having a full blown anxiety attack and possibly emotional breakdown. It was so bad, the nurse in the room with my mom could hear me through the phone. The nurse was great. She found out that my mom had not eaten since breakfast and quickly got her a menu to order food from the cafeteria. (Thankfully, the cafeteria at that hospital has great food.). By the time I got back, an hour-and-a-half later, my mom had been dressed, fed, outfitted with her heart monitor, and was waiting for me at the door, ending a six hour ER visit. I still had to drive home, again, another 45 minutes, through pouring rain, in the dark.
Finally, at 7:00 pm, I had my mom settled, making a multitude of phone calls to be sure everything was taken care of for her classroom the following day, and I was able to grab something to eat and drink for the first time since 8:00 am. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, yet still so amped up, anxious, and angry that I couldn't sleep.
I took my mom back to the hospital (another two hours of driving) to get her heart monitor removed on Wednesday. She has an appointment with her cardiologist next week to go over the info from the monitor. For now, she has canceled the neurology appointments and is waiting to find out what the cardiologist has to say. She is tired, but otherwise fine, and went back to work Thursday. I'm still trying to bring down all of the anxiety accrued over the weekend and first half of the week. I was finally able to get a half-way decent sleep last night. I'm hoping to get back on track and be able to read through everyone's back posts soon. It should be interesting to go through all this with Rachel next week. ; )
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Help! My Therapist Has Morphed Into Nancy Reagan!!!!
Ugh!!! So Tuesday's therapy session set me off a little. Yes, it has taken me two days to even get to the point where I can blog about it. It started off with the construction in the parking lot. I couldn't park where I normally do, and there was only one space available. The problem was that the cars parked on either side of the empty space were hugging the line. Once I finally got squeezed into the skinny strip of asphalt available, I had a new problem. I could barely get out of the car! UGH!!! Don't people know you're supposed to park in the middle of the space??? Come on people! Show some courtesy!
Once I finally made it inside, less than five minutes before my scheduled time, the waiting room was crowded. There was a college student near the door (blowing his nose for five minutes straight) and a flock of other people spread around the room. I had to wait in line behind a woman who must have thought she had all the time in the world, just so I could sign in. I finally took a seat as far away from everyone as possible (without being near the bathroom). Unfortunately, this was right by the reception desk, at which the woman with the temporal issues was still standing. So, of course, my body automatically leans toward the right and the other empty seats. But wait...this can't be the end of the ordeal. In walks a snotty-nosed, hyperactive little boy who immediately leaps into the chairs next to me. HELLO!!! On top of all this, my therapist was running late....fifteen minutes late to be exact.
By the time I finally got back to my therapist's office, my head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I was ready to throw up and run away screaming all at the same time. Just thinking about it now has my pulse rising. Whew.....Breathe....Okay.....
So, I finally start my session...fifteen minutes late....and my therapist asks me how I've been doing and what I want to talk about. The problem is, I can't think straight, because my mind is still out in the waiting room. So, I tell her that. Which sets off a whole, "Why didn't you ask to wait in the back?" thing. Yes, I get that plenty of people wait in the back. Yes, I get that it is an accepted thing for them. Yes, I get that it is more than okay with the staff, that they even expect it. Still, it's not acceptable for me. I try to explain this to Rachel, but I'm not sure if she gets it. Yes, the waiting room sent my anxiety sky high, but for me, waiting in the back (which I've never done) sets of an entirely different set of worries and anxieties as well as a feeling of failure and "why can't I just suck it up and wait in the waiting room like a "normal" person?".
Rachel tries to explain that waiting in the back is normal, accepted, and even expected and that removing myself from a situation that makes my anxiety flare is not failure, but a positive step. Cognitively, I get that, but emotionally, I'm not there. The entire idea of waiting in the back raises my anxiety even more than just waiting it out. Why in the world is something so simple so difficult???!!!
Anyway...this brings the entire session to the good old conversation that I feel I've had a thousand times within the last few months...putting myself and my needs first. I just can't seem to get this. Rachel and I have been over this time and again. We've talked about voicing my needs and setting boundaries, etc. I get the need. I just can't seem to do it.
It is so complicated. I can't seem to reconcile the idea that putting some focus on my need is not the same as being selfish. We're always taught to share, to eat what you are served, to give to others who are less fortunate, to be a good sport, to be there for your friends and family when they need you, etc. Not doing so is equivalent to being selfish. If this is true, then how is it not selfish when I say, "No, I can't babysit my niece and nephew this weekend" and do so for no other reason than I simply don't want to, that babysitting them drives up my anxiety until I am physically ill? How is it not selfish to say, "No, I understand that you really want chili for dinner tonight, but I don't. Let's have something else"? To me, being unselfish means giving others what they want and need and making them happy. Taking away what they want simply because I don't would then make me selfish.
I'm sure this is all just some warped idea my brain has conjured up. I just can't find my way out of it's mess right now. Rachel asked a question. Do I give in because it's easier, or do I give in because I don't think I deserve to be happy and have what I want as much as others deserve to be happy and have what they want? My blunt, truthful answer??? Both. Yes, it is easier to give in, especially with family. My family knows how to bully and manipulate to get what they want. When they do so, they prey on things that make me feel worse about myself. Of course, I want to avoid this. If the purpose of "Saying No" and setting boundaries is to avoid things that make me anxious and to make myself happy, then how is submitting to their bullying and manipulation helping??? It definitely doesn't help me avoid things that make me feel worse.
I know that this is more of my mind's messed up thought process. I can't keep everyone happy, and I can't keep everyone safe. It's not possible. I don't have that kind of control over the world. Still, I can't wrap my mind around the thought of not doing everything possible. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my saying, "No, I can't go shopping today. I know it's better for you, but I'm just not in a place, mentally, to do it. Let's go tomorrow instead..." isn't going to hurt someone's feelings and make them upset at me, or if it does, then that's their problem, not mine. That getting upset over something as little as that is their problem to deal with and doesn't reflect on me. That they are adults who can deal with it themselves and make their own decisions. That they'll either get over it and move on, or they won't, and that if they can't respect my needs, then maybe it's better I'm not around them.
All of this has made this week's "homework" overwhelming. I'm supposed to focus on putting my needs first and setting boundaries. I'm supposed to work on "Just Say No". The thought of doing so makes me physically ill. I literally started crying at the thought of this as Rachel and I discussed it during my session. Rachel noticed and asked if we needed to back off. Of course, I couldn't even say no to that. I smiled, wiped away the tears, and told her I was fine, but for the last two days, I've been in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, sick to my stomach, and just an overall mess. I know this is something I need to work on. I know it will be hard. I know it will eventually be possible. I'm just not sure how I can do this, if I can do this, especially right now.
Once I finally made it inside, less than five minutes before my scheduled time, the waiting room was crowded. There was a college student near the door (blowing his nose for five minutes straight) and a flock of other people spread around the room. I had to wait in line behind a woman who must have thought she had all the time in the world, just so I could sign in. I finally took a seat as far away from everyone as possible (without being near the bathroom). Unfortunately, this was right by the reception desk, at which the woman with the temporal issues was still standing. So, of course, my body automatically leans toward the right and the other empty seats. But wait...this can't be the end of the ordeal. In walks a snotty-nosed, hyperactive little boy who immediately leaps into the chairs next to me. HELLO!!! On top of all this, my therapist was running late....fifteen minutes late to be exact.
By the time I finally got back to my therapist's office, my head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I was ready to throw up and run away screaming all at the same time. Just thinking about it now has my pulse rising. Whew.....Breathe....Okay.....
So, I finally start my session...fifteen minutes late....and my therapist asks me how I've been doing and what I want to talk about. The problem is, I can't think straight, because my mind is still out in the waiting room. So, I tell her that. Which sets off a whole, "Why didn't you ask to wait in the back?" thing. Yes, I get that plenty of people wait in the back. Yes, I get that it is an accepted thing for them. Yes, I get that it is more than okay with the staff, that they even expect it. Still, it's not acceptable for me. I try to explain this to Rachel, but I'm not sure if she gets it. Yes, the waiting room sent my anxiety sky high, but for me, waiting in the back (which I've never done) sets of an entirely different set of worries and anxieties as well as a feeling of failure and "why can't I just suck it up and wait in the waiting room like a "normal" person?".
Rachel tries to explain that waiting in the back is normal, accepted, and even expected and that removing myself from a situation that makes my anxiety flare is not failure, but a positive step. Cognitively, I get that, but emotionally, I'm not there. The entire idea of waiting in the back raises my anxiety even more than just waiting it out. Why in the world is something so simple so difficult???!!!
Anyway...this brings the entire session to the good old conversation that I feel I've had a thousand times within the last few months...putting myself and my needs first. I just can't seem to get this. Rachel and I have been over this time and again. We've talked about voicing my needs and setting boundaries, etc. I get the need. I just can't seem to do it.
It is so complicated. I can't seem to reconcile the idea that putting some focus on my need is not the same as being selfish. We're always taught to share, to eat what you are served, to give to others who are less fortunate, to be a good sport, to be there for your friends and family when they need you, etc. Not doing so is equivalent to being selfish. If this is true, then how is it not selfish when I say, "No, I can't babysit my niece and nephew this weekend" and do so for no other reason than I simply don't want to, that babysitting them drives up my anxiety until I am physically ill? How is it not selfish to say, "No, I understand that you really want chili for dinner tonight, but I don't. Let's have something else"? To me, being unselfish means giving others what they want and need and making them happy. Taking away what they want simply because I don't would then make me selfish.
I'm sure this is all just some warped idea my brain has conjured up. I just can't find my way out of it's mess right now. Rachel asked a question. Do I give in because it's easier, or do I give in because I don't think I deserve to be happy and have what I want as much as others deserve to be happy and have what they want? My blunt, truthful answer??? Both. Yes, it is easier to give in, especially with family. My family knows how to bully and manipulate to get what they want. When they do so, they prey on things that make me feel worse about myself. Of course, I want to avoid this. If the purpose of "Saying No" and setting boundaries is to avoid things that make me anxious and to make myself happy, then how is submitting to their bullying and manipulation helping??? It definitely doesn't help me avoid things that make me feel worse.
I know that this is more of my mind's messed up thought process. I can't keep everyone happy, and I can't keep everyone safe. It's not possible. I don't have that kind of control over the world. Still, I can't wrap my mind around the thought of not doing everything possible. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my saying, "No, I can't go shopping today. I know it's better for you, but I'm just not in a place, mentally, to do it. Let's go tomorrow instead..." isn't going to hurt someone's feelings and make them upset at me, or if it does, then that's their problem, not mine. That getting upset over something as little as that is their problem to deal with and doesn't reflect on me. That they are adults who can deal with it themselves and make their own decisions. That they'll either get over it and move on, or they won't, and that if they can't respect my needs, then maybe it's better I'm not around them.
All of this has made this week's "homework" overwhelming. I'm supposed to focus on putting my needs first and setting boundaries. I'm supposed to work on "Just Say No". The thought of doing so makes me physically ill. I literally started crying at the thought of this as Rachel and I discussed it during my session. Rachel noticed and asked if we needed to back off. Of course, I couldn't even say no to that. I smiled, wiped away the tears, and told her I was fine, but for the last two days, I've been in a whirl of thoughts and emotions, sick to my stomach, and just an overall mess. I know this is something I need to work on. I know it will be hard. I know it will eventually be possible. I'm just not sure how I can do this, if I can do this, especially right now.
Monday, August 29, 2011
One Of Those Days...
So....today is one of those days. One of those days where it seems like everything goes wrong. One of those days when the anxiety and frustration are already sky high and thus everything just seems to add up faster.
First, I've been on pins and needles because of Hurricane Irene. No, I don't live on the east coast. No, I've never been through a hurricane. (Heck, I live in Northern Indiana. Hurricanes aren't really a part of our normal weather patterns.) Still, I've been more than a little anxious. You see I have many friends who live on the east coast. Yes, they are Facebook friends who I have never actually met face to face, but that doesn't make them any less important to me. They are always there when I need them. They support me, make me laugh, and deal with my frequent funks. They are some of the best people I know and some of the most important people in my life. I spent days watching CNN and waiting, impatiently, to hear of their safety. I'm happy to now know that they are all safe.
Second, I've just felt like crap lately. My bursitis has been acting up as have my allergies. It's either go about my day unable to breathe or doped up on Benadryl. Neither works well for me. Especially when coupled with the fact that my Zoloft has been making my blood pressure run low. It just seems to take everything I have to drag my butt out of bed and do my daily chores.
So, with all this I'm already way up to the top of my "fight or flight" threshold. Then I log into Facebook. They have been "updating" and "making improvements". Some improvements. First, I can't do anything without it begging me to take a tour of their improvements.....three times. Next, my buttons to post links or videos are gone. The one to "ask questions", which no one really uses anymore, is still there. I'm just not quite sure what sense this makes, but then again, I'm not Mark Zuckerberg. Then, out of nowhere, all the posts on my feed disappear. There are no statuses, no links, no pictures, no nothing. Ironically, just as I go to report the bug, they miraculously reappear.
This doesn't even take into account the fact that I've already blown a breaker, burnt my toast, and lost the sound on my tv for about 10 minutes this morning. What a day!
This is where my outlets are supposed to come in handy. Obviously, I won't be baking a cake today when my elbow feels the size of a basketball. So, I turn to the next best thing: Angry Birds. There is something very cathartic about slingshotting birdies into fat little piggies. In between shots, I focus on my mindfulness techniques, using my relaxing breathing.
Still, I just feel off...off the charts when it comes to my anxiety and frustration. "Why?" my therapist would ask. Well, the easy answer is because I'm not in control. I can't control nature. I can't control Facebook. I can't control whether or not the household appliances work to my expectations. But, why do I need to control these things? Obviously, I want to control the weather to keep those I care about safe. I want to control Facebook so I can easily connect and be sure that those I care about are safe. I want to control my appliances because, well, I hate burnt toast...and also so I can watch CNN and keep tabs on the aftermath of the storm so that I know those I care about are safe.
For me, control equals safety. I grew up in a household where I had neither, a household where being perfect was the only way to keep everyone safe. Twenty-five years have passed, and while the man who made that household what it was is no longer in my life (for the most part), I'm still emotionally living there. I'm still trying to make everything perfect. I'm still trying to protect everyone. I'm still looking for that elusive sense of safety and security that I've never been able to find.
This is what I have to remember. When it's one of those days, it's not one of those days. I'm not five-years-old. I'm not in that same household. I'm safe. My family is safe. No one is going to get hurt over some burnt toast or a few missing Facebook tabs. Scrap the toast and start again. Copy and paste the links directly into the status line. Go on with life, enjoy breakfast and friends' status updates, and know that no one was harmed in the process (or the making of this post).
First, I've been on pins and needles because of Hurricane Irene. No, I don't live on the east coast. No, I've never been through a hurricane. (Heck, I live in Northern Indiana. Hurricanes aren't really a part of our normal weather patterns.) Still, I've been more than a little anxious. You see I have many friends who live on the east coast. Yes, they are Facebook friends who I have never actually met face to face, but that doesn't make them any less important to me. They are always there when I need them. They support me, make me laugh, and deal with my frequent funks. They are some of the best people I know and some of the most important people in my life. I spent days watching CNN and waiting, impatiently, to hear of their safety. I'm happy to now know that they are all safe.
Second, I've just felt like crap lately. My bursitis has been acting up as have my allergies. It's either go about my day unable to breathe or doped up on Benadryl. Neither works well for me. Especially when coupled with the fact that my Zoloft has been making my blood pressure run low. It just seems to take everything I have to drag my butt out of bed and do my daily chores.
So, with all this I'm already way up to the top of my "fight or flight" threshold. Then I log into Facebook. They have been "updating" and "making improvements". Some improvements. First, I can't do anything without it begging me to take a tour of their improvements.....three times. Next, my buttons to post links or videos are gone. The one to "ask questions", which no one really uses anymore, is still there. I'm just not quite sure what sense this makes, but then again, I'm not Mark Zuckerberg. Then, out of nowhere, all the posts on my feed disappear. There are no statuses, no links, no pictures, no nothing. Ironically, just as I go to report the bug, they miraculously reappear.
This doesn't even take into account the fact that I've already blown a breaker, burnt my toast, and lost the sound on my tv for about 10 minutes this morning. What a day!
This is where my outlets are supposed to come in handy. Obviously, I won't be baking a cake today when my elbow feels the size of a basketball. So, I turn to the next best thing: Angry Birds. There is something very cathartic about slingshotting birdies into fat little piggies. In between shots, I focus on my mindfulness techniques, using my relaxing breathing.
Still, I just feel off...off the charts when it comes to my anxiety and frustration. "Why?" my therapist would ask. Well, the easy answer is because I'm not in control. I can't control nature. I can't control Facebook. I can't control whether or not the household appliances work to my expectations. But, why do I need to control these things? Obviously, I want to control the weather to keep those I care about safe. I want to control Facebook so I can easily connect and be sure that those I care about are safe. I want to control my appliances because, well, I hate burnt toast...and also so I can watch CNN and keep tabs on the aftermath of the storm so that I know those I care about are safe.
For me, control equals safety. I grew up in a household where I had neither, a household where being perfect was the only way to keep everyone safe. Twenty-five years have passed, and while the man who made that household what it was is no longer in my life (for the most part), I'm still emotionally living there. I'm still trying to make everything perfect. I'm still trying to protect everyone. I'm still looking for that elusive sense of safety and security that I've never been able to find.
This is what I have to remember. When it's one of those days, it's not one of those days. I'm not five-years-old. I'm not in that same household. I'm safe. My family is safe. No one is going to get hurt over some burnt toast or a few missing Facebook tabs. Scrap the toast and start again. Copy and paste the links directly into the status line. Go on with life, enjoy breakfast and friends' status updates, and know that no one was harmed in the process (or the making of this post).
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