I Miss The Boy

Today, Doc wanted to talk about my little brother. I don't talk about him much, I don't really think about him either. I've not seen my little brother in about three years, haven't spoken to him for a bit longer. All we ever do is argue, though we've been known to get into fist fights.

I miss the boy he was. I'm not terribly fond of the man that he's become.When he's on his meds, he's not really too bad. Brutus has bipolar disorder and he can go rapid cycle so its hard to keep up with him and damned exhausting.

Now I'm on edge from thinking about him all day. He's not a nice person, or he wasn't. Not sure the type of person he's become now. I'm tired... old, well I feel old. Only 30 and I feel much older. My life has been one gigantic screw up and I get hit with the worst of it.

This is a short post because I want to get thoughts out of my head and then hit the sack. Maybe read for a little bit as the tv drones on about the universe.

What came first?

How did this start? How did this tail spin begin? I started thinking this morning, wondering what came first, the depression or the anxiety? I always seem to remember being rather vigilant, watching everything and everyone. To me that's normal to watch and be aware. Now I have a chicken and egg thing, which came first?

I can say that I remember being and feeling depressed starting about age 12. Many things happened that year. New school with constant abuse, my trailer was demolished by a dump truck and my mother was thrown and hit a tree. We didn't have much money, never did... there was nothing but stress and sadness. I seem to have carried it all my life. I think the anxiety came from those events over the course of that year, and the things that happened after. Must have triggered the anxiety, PTSD, whatever... They say that PTSD can appear sometimes years later. Guess what?

I have an appointment with my GP in a week that I plan to use to see if I can have my meds changed, the last one didn't help for squat. I need to get my condition under control before the conventions this summer, before I go to New York. I want my life back and if medication with talk therapy is the way to do it, then so be it.

Sucky Saturday-- an email to my therapist

Hey, Doc.

Its 8.20p on Saturday, and it has been one hell of a day... I'm still not stable, though my hands have stopped shaking. Do I start at the beginning or the most interesting?

Woke at about 1am to a strange dream then couldn't get back to sleep. Alarm went off at 5a and I scrambled to get ready for early morning service, only to remember that on Saturday's it starts at 7a, not 6a. Next I had a woman who sucks at planning make the reception after a memorial way more complicated for me than it needed to be. The reception was a blast... guess who had a panic attack? Yep! This girl. OH!! And guess who's meds aren't strong enough? Yep, me again. You're so good at this game, Doc.

But wait there's more! There was a second gathering this evening. I went from a panic attack that lasted,  in varying degrees, about an hour and a half. I had enough time to go home, shower, make coffee, then leave for the next one. I couldn't eat anything beyond a small piece of chicken and a small salad.

Right now I am fighting the overwhelming urge to scream. This day has exhausted the hell out of me. And I get to start it over again tomorrow? Tired, edgy, and a headache from crying all day. I hate these damned attacks. I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I want it back...

I tried breathing, over thinking items (that actually helped some). I now know that the grip on my Bubba mug has ten dots down and 14 around.

Is this what the rest of my life is going to be? Am I going to have to remember all this forever, all these little tricks? I don't want to live this way, this isn't living... its just converting oxygen and nitrogen into carbon dioxide. I scheduled an extra appt this week. I know I need it, though I hope you don't mind.

See you Tuesday...

Three in Three

So the last post was from October, it was the day after a little boy's death. So much has happened since then.

In November, two of my friends were in hospital for various reasons. One had a quadruple bypass and is fairing much better. The other sadly died on the 22nd. She was loved and young! Only about 45-50. I stayed with her two grown children for the first week, mostly to keep the house up and make sure they ate and slept. It was a trying month, November.

December wasn't much better. An elderly man in my congregation was having complications from his chemo. After a long battle, he died on the 30th. He was about 60-70. I liked him, he was nice and sweet, funny. His wife is devastated. She kept telling him to not die first, that she didn't want to be a widow. In the end, his body couldn't push itself any further.

So there we have it. Three deaths in three months. All of whom were members of my congregation and we are a very close knit group. These last few months have been very hard on all of us. I'm not dealing well. I've become emotionally involved with them all and I never really meant for that to happen.

I remember when I felt nothing, I was numb. But of course I was also a damned zombie, not sleeping, barely eating, just going through the motions of life. Now I actually care, and seeing their pain rips me apart. I have nothing to say, no words can take the pain away. Nothing can make it better.

I'm not sure which is worse: Feeling nothing, or feeling too much.