I have.... questions

This blog is supposed to be about my mental health struggles/revelations/recovery, but since I started the day by literally vomiting after seeing the election results and taking a Xanax, my political concerns belong here. Comments of an abusive nature will be deleted.

I figured I should publish this before my 1st Amendment rights no longer protect me from publicly denouncing the government.  I guarantee this post will be considered treasonous before 2020.

My country and my fellow citizens have done things that I haven't agreed with in the past.  We've always been an interesting case study in cognitive dissonance, confirmation bias, and hypocrisy. We've waged war in other countries claiming it was for Peace and Freedom.  We've criminalized behaviors that should have never gone before a judge. We've picked and chosen which Constitutional rights apply to certain groups and which do not.


This.... this time it feels a little different.  I've been embarrassed to be American before.. but I've never been this fearful.

We... somehow?... elected a person who sees nothing wrong with criminalizing a religion.  He demands that everyone needs pay their fair share, but finds every possible way to get out of that himself.  He demonizes anyone who isn't white or not an attractive woman--- the attractive women are just there to please him.

There will a bevy of think-pieces exploring, once again, "not all Trump supporters".  I've said it before and I'll say it over and over again. If you have to defend something by saying "but not all_____", then you are either delusional or too fucking scared to look at yourself.  The non-selfish citizens of the United States just lost their federal government.  This isn't a Democratic vs. Republican statement; there are extremists on both sides.

Yes, I'm lumping anyone who voted for Trump as selfish. It's possible you may also be a misogynist, a bigot, a xenophobe, and/or a fascist.  But you are, without a doubt in my mind, selfish.  I really don't care if we've been best of friends or if we're family. You've shown your true colors and those colors disgust me.

Third-party voters?  I understand why you did it. I only hold you indirectly responsible for the next four years.  But you voted to make a difference and you tried to be ethical by not participating in the "lesser of two evils voting".  I don't agree with you-- even though all the polls seemed to point to a landslide Democratic win and a third party vote would express your discontent in reasonable way-- and I still respect you. Thanks for trying.

I'm part of a demographic who really shouldn't be all that affected by the Trump Administration.  I'm upper middle class, educated, white, and a housewife.  I'm also part of a demographic that could be affected:  I'm a woman who is currently disabled, fat, and a person who has a higher probability of developing one or more types of cancer.  My health and healthcare will most likely suffer under Trump's Administration and a Congress controlled by Republicans.

But, hey.... I'm a housewife whose childbearing years are ending so.... it's not like Trump or Congress would care anyway.

Overreacting is definitely part of my alphabet soup of disorders.  However, I've thought long and hard about all the possible problems of a Trump Presidency.  I've done research.  I've looked for trends.  I've tried to disprove the trends I found.  It's hard to not be biased, but I swear that I've done everything I could possibly think of to be objective. In no particular order, here are my main questions about what happens next:

1. Will my gay friends be allowed to remain married?
2. Will the fabulous gay couple who has adopted a bunch of underprivileged children be allowed to continue doing good?
3. Will my loved ones who have pre-existing conditions be able to afford the treatments they need?
4. Will anyone who isn't white be required to present documentation of their status upon request?
5. Will Muslims be allowed to live here?  I'm not questioning if they can come into the country, I'm asking if they will be allowed to exist within our borders.
6. Once Social Security is privatized or dismantled, will we have any rights at all to the money we've pay into it?
7. When the 1st Amendment is modified, will we still be allowed to read foreign news sites to learn what is really happening here and what we're actually doing abroad?
8. When the ACA is repealed, can my two children under 26 still be permitted to be covered on our insurance?
9. When the ACA is repealed and our premiums still don't go down (because why would insurance companies mess with their not-for-profit profits), who's fault does it get to be then?
10. Will women still be permitted to legally obtain birth control once abortion access is gone?
11. Will miscarriages be criminalized?
12. When we put America First, does that mean our education system, social services, and domestic humanitarian efforts will improve?
13. Will we have to pay for preventative care again?
14. When our economy tanks... oh wait. See question 11.  That's all related.
15. When Medicare and Medicaid are revamped.... oh wait. That's under question 11 too.
16. Do we even know what Law & Order really means?  Will arguing a speeding ticket become a felony?
17. Will we no longer have freedom of religion?
18. Will we have an official language?
19. What kind of protections will we have if we aren't white, male, cis, able-bodied, and of a Judeo-Christian faith?
20. If Trump is assassinated or decides he doesn't want to be President, will Pence really try institute conversion "therapy"?
21. Will the consequences for women not smiling on command be legal?
22. Will back-to-school shopping lists include Kevlar?
23. How long will my prison sentence be for not standing for the national anthem or refusing to pledge my allegiance?

None of these questions is snark.  I'm dead serious. I've heard every single one of these issues be discussed by those who support the extremes.

Make no mistake:   As of 1/20/2017, we are a nation of extremes and once Trump's Cabinet appointments are confirmed, there will not be a moderate in the line of succession as far as the eye can see.

Before you comment with "if you don't like it, leave", take a civics class.  If you don't like my position, then don't listen.

The Language of the Unheard

Disclaimer: I know not many people read this and those of you who do know me fairly well.  However, in case this post makes its way onto the screen of a stranger, let me clarify that the Black Lives Matter movement was part of a discussion during which I learned something about myself and should not be addressed in a comment.  This blog is supposed to be about how I’m processing the insights into the roots of my disorder. While I have some political ramblings on here, I’m trying to focus on what’s going on with me.  If you want to read and comment on my thoughts on our world, you can go here.

I tend to have extreme emotions to begin with but, my reactions to Black Lives Matter and Trump’s campaign have been completely over the top.  The demonization of BLM and the elevation of Trump’s ideology du jour feels like a personal attack on me, which is ridiculous.  The only targeted demographic that truly affects me on a personal level is Trump’s misogyny.  Still, the intense anger that overtakes my rationale when discussing either topic is perplexing.  My support for BLM and against Trump is justified on a logical level;  if I’m presented with a point by point list of each agenda, I can show-- calmly, rationally, respectfully-- where I stand on each and why. But when it comes to a verbal discussion, all sense of logic flies right out the window and doesn’t boomerang back until a mushroom cloud appears.   That’s not the best way to bring understanding and compassion to a subject.

A mushroom cloud appeared when I embarrassed myself, and probably my family, yesterday.  If you have seen any portrayal of an Italian-American family dinner and have gaped at how loud and intense the conversations can be, let me tell you, this really happens.  Yelling is how we communicate. About everything. Right down to who brought in the mail.  My role in the family is The Kid.   My cousin is also The Kid.  Respectively, we are 42 and 21 years old, but we are the youngest members of the local clan.  We are also much more introverted than the rest of the family. ( I’m going to pull my cousin out of this post for now since I cannot speak for her but wanted to mention that I’m not technically the youngest of the family.)  The Kid’s role in the family is to remember to “shut up and let the adults talk.”  While this is never actually said, it’s implied by various actions such listening to the first few words of my sentence and then either redirecting the conversation to someone/something else or cutting me off before I actually finish  my comment. Both actions have been happening to me at the dinner table my entire life. 

Most of the roots of my disorders need to be cut by being my own person. It is ok to assert myself I need to be confident in my thoughts, actions, and words.  I need to internalize that I am within my rights to express myself on any topic.  In return, others are allowed to dispute my points of view with their own.  This is how we learn.  This is how we come to understanding each other.  This is an integral part of a functioning society. Whatever label it’s given, conversations, discussions, debates, or fairly fought arguments over disagreements need to happen and they need to happen with respect.  If you are shown any disrespect, end the conversation and walk away until tempers have been controlled.  This is how I prefer to conduct myself. I’m not always good at it.  In fact, I failed miserably at my self-imposed decorum yesterday. 

However, my failure wasn’t because we disagreed.

A troublesome side effect of having Scrambled Brain is my lack of impulse control and how it likes to present itself at the most inappropriate times. I feel there’s a difference between acting inappropriately with someone who knows you well and someone who is an acquaintance.  Both deserve respect. However, if your manners bolt out the door with the former and if that’s not a habit, it’s easier to reconcile.  The latter isn’t aware that temper tantrums isn’t really your style.

Prior to this full-blown disorder, I would approach a debate with facts and logic:  “no, this is what the research states” and “explain to me why you believe that”.  Scrambled Brain has not only created a mess of the facts, but it likes to flip my Assert Yourself! Switch firmly into the On position.  That in itself isn’t a bad thing.  The problem is when my unconscious decides to fight a battle that isn’t the topic of discussion.

The discussion turned to Black Lives Matter and my opinion was in the minority of those voiced.  (DH feels the same way I do but he’s healthy enough to know when to speak and not.)  The discussion was heated— though, I honestly don’t think it’s easy for anyone to remain calm on this subject.    When I look back on it, I was the person I usually want to slap.  I wasn’t listening.  I wasn’t trying to understand.  I was more interested in saying what I had to say and dare anyone to tell me why I’m wrong.  That’s not who I want to be.  Ever.  About anything.   I was on the other side of how I expect myself to act. I was the disrespectful one and the gentleman, who, mind you, had some really good insights and points on the subject, did the adult thing and walked away.  Then I continued to argue with no one, but I was no longer talking about BLM. I was spewing frustrations over being told I’m wrong or dismissed before I finish expressing my point.  Let me get to that period or exclamation point and then have at it.  Please.

Yes, I apologized to him.  He did nothing wrong, really.  If I were in my right mind, I would have calmly requested that I be permitted to finish my comment and, from what I’ve observed, he probably would have complied. Instead, I raised my voice and slammed the table with every word.  The only thing good I can say is that my punctuated words were the rest of my statement rather than an attack on him.

I spent the next two hours crying and dissociating in and out before fell asleep for the night.

Aside from making a fool of myself and trying to explain this crazy disorder for the nth time in 4 years, I figured out why I become so blindly enraged when BLM is criticized.  I understand their frustration on a nonracial and nonlethal level. They aren’t Being Heard either. With every retort of ALL Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter,  the fear and grief of the Black community is being dismissed. Yes, all lives and blue lives matter.  Of course they do. But when those phrases are used to drown out voices rather than addressing the matter at hand, they become nothing but a three word silencing mechanism.  Any response other than “I agree” to Black Lives Matter is morally, socially, and ethically flawed in some way.  The reason for that flaw will vary from person to person and has no place in this post. (Maybe I’ll write another on Medium…)

Trump does the same thing through different tactics. When his statement is challenged and he cannot provide backup for his belief, he turns to mockery, insults, and fearmongering.  Anyone who doesn’t agree with him is fair game. Believe it or not, I would actually have a tiny bit of respect for him if he didn’t constantly stoop to lower and lower levels in his attacks. (Side note:  I do NOT agree with him on anything. “Respect” is meant to convey that I’ll agree to disagree.)  His popularity enrages me.  The fact that I have family and friends who would actually vote for him brings me to terrified tears.  Trump’s form of dismissal is dangerous for every single living being on this planet.  

People love to quote Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. during national racial conflict.  I’m going to stick with this one:  “A riot is the language of the unheard.”  If you are dismissing this statement with “I’ve never been so mad that I’ve rioted”, a) good for you; and b) you’ve never lost your temper and yelled at or punished your kids for not listening to you?  I’ve spent my entire life not Being Heard. Being Heard does not require agreement.  I require my point of view to be heard and considered.  I agree that I need to make sure Scrambled Brain doesn’t interfere with giving the same consideration to others.  My outburst yesterday, and in past arguments on a variety other subjects, stems from almost constant dismissal when trying to join a dinnertime discussion for as long as I can remember.  

A riot is the language of the unheard.

I think it’s time to hear each other.

The Art Of Self-Sabotage

I’ve been participating in a writing challenge for the month of June.   The goal is to write 50,000 words in the 30 day period. I’m neither a joiner, nor a finisher, and June is traditionally a busy month for me.With this in mind, I had several predictions for myself:  The first was that I’d be strong out of the gate.  I knew there were days I wouldn’t be able to write, so I adjusted my daily target to 2,273 words per day for the 22 days I expected to be somewhat productive. By the end of the first seven days, I had written 13,326 words. Prediction #1?  CHECK.  The second was that I’d veer from my initial goal of only counting words added to my current WIP*.  Hello, blog posts! Prediction #2 CHECK.  My third and final prediction would be that I’d give up somewhere around mid way through because “what’s the point” and “I can’t do this.”  Prediction #3?  Let me explain.

I have a few demons when it comes to certain things. They emerge from the depths of my mind in the form of echoes and paralyzing fears.  It’s not enough to recognize a demon and where it came from.  It needs to be dealt with. I’ve begun to pick them apart, one by one, demystifying them and attempting to stomp them out into oblivion.  It’s not as easy as the self-help books claim:  just face your fear and beat it into submission!!  Bull.  We’ve been conditioned.  All of us.  The little consistencies in our upbring manifest into how we handle the world as adults.  Even if a parent is consistently inconsistent, it affects the adult’s world. I’m incredibly hard on myself. When I look back at things now, I see I was being pushed to always do better.  The adult in me understands that.  However, the push wasn’t from encouragement.  It was always a challenge.  Challenges are fantastic unless they are interpreted as “you’re not doing your best and, therefore, you aren’t good enough.”  I developed that interpretation somewhere along the line and it’s been screwing me up for years.  Challenges aren’t necessarily from parents; you can get the same type of feedback from teachers and peers. I was always a good student and was always told I wasn’t “working to my full potential”.  That may have been true.  As an adult,  I see that I wasn’t really applying myself in grade school.  Everything came easy to me. I was one of those kids who would pick up exactly what the teacher said immediately and really only made mistakes from being a careless kid who wanted to go out and play. So, Sr. Rita, you were right.  I wasn’t working to my full potential and eveyr perfect grade I got wasn’t really earned because your lessons were too simple for me. You, and a good number of your fellow teachers, saw I was capable of more. The problem is that I did all that was asked, including the extra credit assignments. Was a seven year old supposed to approach her teacher and say “this is too simple for me” or “you need to challenge me more”?  I don’t remember that ever being encouraged. In fact, I think I would have been punished for being flippant if I said that.  The purpose of this line of thinking isn’t to complain that my teachers failed me in some way.  School has been over and done for more years than I choose to admit.  This is only an example of where I got the idea that no matter how well I did, the sum of my effort would never be good enough.  The Demon of Inadequacy is one of my most formidable foes. It shows up without a sound, just nudging a little fear in. There’s no real thought that forms. I just look at what I’m doing and decide it won’t be “right”, it won’t be “good”, it won’t be “enough”… so what’s the point in trying?

The logical, adult(ish) part of me says that’s a ridiculous way to think.  I’m still working on believing it only really matters if I give whatever it is a fair shot. I need to believe it in the same way that I know it’s raining and I’m not expected to make it stop. If I didn’t do something right, then so what? I’m not attempting anything of real consequence— no one will be hurt, killed, or even really disappointed if I don’t get whatever I’m doing “right”.  What I’ve actually accomplished is that I’ve mastered the art of self-sabotage. I’ve become so good at this that it doesn’t even require a conscious thought to end a project.   I’ve been paying attention to my psychiatrist and I’ve learned a lot about myself in 16 years of therapy;  I could have bet money on my triple crown of predictions.

At mid June, literally the 15th, I was at 25,160 words. I’m typing this on June 27th. I don’t know if it’ll be posted tonight or tomorrow just yet. The number of words here, as of this sentence, is 796.  That brings my total word count for 27 days to 33,796 (without counting any edits as I type here… don’t go counting words on me, please).  I can honestly say I haven’t written this much in one month in decades.    I’ll continue to write each day until the end of the month (and probably beyond) but I will not make the 50k word goal.  I’m seeing posts by others who are participating in this challenge, already admitting defeat and explaining why they didn’t meet the goal (and, if you’re wondering, there have been plenty of writers who have surpassed the 50k mark… I am impressed by and in awe of these individuals).   I am torn between the need to justify why I will not make 50k and knowing that it really doesn’t matter.  My goal was truly to write and write intensely. I made time for it, I worked at it, and I didn’t give up, even when I had good reason to.  So prediction # 3?  A little itty bitty tiny check.  There were three days I didn’t write, or didn’t write very much, as a result of my fear.   Today was almost one of them.  I was able to send the demon to back to hell. I’m probably being too hard on myself for even acknowledging a tiny check for #3.  I think it’s important for me to recognize that I had fearful days.  It’ll help me to remember that it doesn’t matter.  It’ll help me to remember that I didn’t really give up.

I’m disappointed I won’t make the 50k mark— I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to type that much unless it’s all nonsense. I adjusted my official expectations to 40k  about a week ago and that’s what I’ll work towards these next few days.  It’ll be a challenge… but it won’t be a statement of my worth.

Total count for this post before edits: 1128.
Total count for the day: 2016

*WIP= Work In Progress

## Edit:  Super special shout out to  Erin Jeffreys Hodges for her encouragement.  She's a fabulous person with a knack for lifting spirits and putting things in perspective.

Ghosts of Birthdays Past

I woke up during a nightmare this morning, flailing around, upset and angry. It wasn’t what you’d think.  No boogieman. No clowns.  No monster under the bed.  Just a monster in my head.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll be 42.  According to Douglas Adams, 42 is the answer.  I’m looking forward to an entire year of ultimate knowledge and wisdom. It’ll be a welcomed change from previous years, as I’m still waiting for that instant moment of clarity and comprehension as promised in the Adulthood Brochure.  I’d like to wake each morning knowing my exact place, the world’s expectations from me, and seeing I have what I need to meet them.  I miss school in that respect. There was a schedule, an outline and a clearly defined path:  if I knew the material, I’d get an A;  if I complete this project according to this list of must-haves, I’d do well.  Everyone would be pleased.  Everyone would be happy.  Everything was safe.

This was actually DH’s observation.  He said that the skills a person needs to excel in school are the willingness to follow the rules, behave, pay attention, and complete the assignments given.  The students who did those things, day after day, year after year,  were the gems of the school; we speak from experience.  He also observed that the skills to succeed in school do not help a heck of a lot once you’ve graduated.  It seems the bullies, the cheats, and the bull shitters are the ones in charge.  They are our CEOs, our middle managers who never did the job they manage, and candidates to be Leader of the Free World.  The ones who got by on a wing and a prayer in school, the ones who relied on charm and manipulation, they somehow became to whom we, the rule followers, are answering. They insulate themselves with yes-men, fully aware of the smoke being blown, and redirect that smoke to join the mirrors.  They are the ones in charge of the rules and keep changing them to stay on top. We liken it to a game of chess…. But chess requires strategy, not narcissism and manipulation. The chess players of the world are usually from the good-guy gene pool.  Let’s not insult them.

Let’s go back to where we know which path will lead us to our destination.  That’s what I’m hoping for in Year 42:  The answer to Life,  Universe, and Everything.

It’s been a very busy week for me.  I’ve been baking like crazy for a party, trying to keep up with a writing challenge, and teaching our youngest the ins and outs of job hunting.  While I’m happy to do all of that, it’s very stressful and stress, good or bad, triggers my symptoms. The best way to avoid a bad breakdown is to space out my activities but I haven’t been able to this week. Today will be my lightest day: 2 more loaves of bread and a cake, arrange an appetizer plater, write at least 3,000 words to keep up on the challenge, get the dog to the vet, and check that all applications for employment sent are followed up. This would have been a drop in the bucket before I got sick. I would have motored through without batting an eye. It’s really not a lot, except for the writing, which takes time and concentration. I was in tears last night and I’m willing to bet on an encore performance tonight.

That brings me to the nightmare. My dreams are always complex, symbolic, and makes me question the legality of baked goods I get from a friend…but I’ve always had strange dreams so I think she’s in the clear.  My nightmares are psychologically  terrifying, because scaring myself with a clown or a shark in the pool would be too normal and and far too easy.

I dreamed DH wanted to divorce.   Yes, that is terrifying to me.  It plays on my fear of inadequacy.  Much of the dream was me pleading with him and reminding him that he had “just said yesterday we were good”.  I threw things at him with the force and efficiency of a whiffle ball, frustrating my dream self even more. I woke up physically biting my arm and my heart pounding as if I just completed a Zumba class. NOT a good way to start a busy-for-me day.

But where did this come from?  DH is fabulous and I do not doubt his love and devotion.  Not. One. Bit.  Of all the people in my life, he is truly my safe place.  I know I’m feeling inadequate about how I budgeted my time this week.  It was well planned on paper. I wrote at breakneck speed last week but didn’t complete a fraction of my goals this week. Inadequacy loomed over me when I requested a specific consideration that was ignored-- by a repeat offender-- because my few preferences never seem to matter and, therefore, neither do my efforts. But dreaming of DH abandoning me? My unconscious obviously decided to mess with me right where it would hurt the most.

Once the Xanax kicked in,  I saw the connection.  Today is June 10th. Tomorrow is the 11th.  Monday is the 13th.  In 2008, strange interactions at home on 10th and 11th culminated with my then husband announcing our divorce on the evening of the 13th. (And, yes, it was a Friday.)  His words are still crystal clear in my head: you bring out the worst in me.  My mind has a twisted sense of humor.

At the time, the termination of my first marriage was painful, humiliating, and scary as hell.  I joined a support group, I talked with my psychiatrist, I worked with a woo-woo life coach. By my birthday of the next year, I was doing well.  The split was emotionally difficult (the business end was quick and fair), but it was certainly the right thing to do. We weren’t right for each other.  I wish my ex nothing but the best.  

A week of daily stresses and my inability to deal put me back in the mode of believing I’m broken.  It’s true that I’m not equipped with the tenacity I once had to multi-task and switch roles quickly, but broken isn’t the right word anymore.  My mind cracked, then shattered,  and the pieces were put back together— though I’m not certain they are in the right order.  Unfortunately, the glue takes far too long to dry, and, like anything smashed and reconstructed, it’s never as stable as it originally was.

I need to let the glue dry.

"Just Do It" Only Works For Nike

I know it's been a long while since I've posted anything.  I'd like to say it's because I've had better things to do, but that's not true.  I've had plenty to say, but it was more along the context of politics than the introspective growth topics that I'd like this blog to focus on.

My progress with GAD and MDD has been forward a little, back a little, and stagnate at times.  I'm still doing what I'm "supposed to" (going to therapy, taking my medications, identifying and working through triggers.....) but I keep coming back to "what's the point".  Why should I bother?  It's been 4.5 years since my brain broke and I still spend Every. Single. Day. Fighting.

It's friggin' exhausting.

But I've been trained to push through.  Just do it. Keep at it.  This is what I'm supposed to do and All Good Little Girls do what they are supposed to do.

All Good Little Girls. Are you kidding me?  I'm squarely in my 40s.

That's the craziness of my alphabet soup of disorders. My adult ego hasn't taken over in the reactionary part of my brain.  I'm still the Little Girl who reached for the toy that was purchased with the Very Expensive liquid medicine, which fell, shattered and bled all over the asphalt between the double parked cars, sending my paycheck to paycheck parent into (what I recall as a) rage.  I'm still the Little Girl who actually, sincerely, seriously DID hand in the "A to Z in NYC" project Sr. Rita Marie said she didn't receive. (To any teachers reading this, I know you've heard it a million times over, but I REALLY DID HAND IT IN DAMN IT.)  I'm still the Little Girl who pulled straight A's in school and was told I wasn't working hard enough. I'm still the Little Girl who graduated 4th in her class, 80 points away from a perfect score on the SATs, acceptance to every college applied to.... but ends up at a college I didn't want to go to because I didn't get any scholarship money.  I eventually dropped out, went to another college I didn't want to go to, and got an Associate's degree I used for about 4 months.

Fast forward 15 years from graduation and beyond: I'm the Adult Little Girl who couldn't keep a marriage together.  I'm the Employee Little Girl with the highest weekly billing and 98% retention rate of hires but I'm not bringing in enough business. I'm the Parent Little Girl who can't "just make him get a job or tell him 'the door is that way'."  I'm the Homeowner Little Girl who isn't keeping up the maintenance. I'm the Housewife Little Girl who can't keep up with the dog fur and clutter.

None of this is a big deal.  None of this should put me-- or anyone-- in a dissociative state.    When I look at what I've written here, I see how pathetic it is that these are my thoughts.  Look at what I just typed:  pathetic. I see this as another failing.   The cycle is never-ending!!!


Someone who has nothing but my best interest at heart introduced me to someone in the medical field last week. "Tell her what your problem is. Maybe she knows a better doctor for you."  (That's paraphrased.)  So I explained to this professional exactly what happens to me.  Then I told her what I've learned about why it happens through therapy.  She said, "If you are this aware of your symptoms and triggers, I think this psychiatrist is doing a fine job with you."  I hugged her. I'm gonna bake her a lemon meringue pie for her birthday on September 1st.

This is where I'm at. The ideas of "just do it" and "don't let it bother you" and "get over it" would be WELCOMED if it worked. I've asked professional after professional after professional if this approach can work for some people.  Time after time, the answer is "For a very small percentage of people it might, but, for the majority, denial is only a temporary solution and not healthy."

Anxiety is a reflex. When you go to the doctor and get your knee tapped in just the right spot, your lower leg jumps. Sure, you can focus on not moving your leg if you want. If you are completely on guard, constantly vigilant, braced for every possible moment when something could tap just the right spot, you can avoid the reaction. Try this exercise:  Raise your non-dominant hand up over your head.  Reach for the ceiling or sky, wherever you may be. Now keep it there.  For how long?  Every waking moment of the day. When your arm gets tired, imagine people standing before you with their arms crossed telling you "just keep doing it"  and "if you work hard enough, you can do it"  and "if you really wanted to beat this, you would just do it."  Now do this every day for 4 years. No breaks.  Every day.  If you are lucky, you might build up enough strength to hold that arm up.  It's more probable that you'll damage your muscles and lose reasonable use of your arm.   Living in a state of hyper-awareness is a one-way ticket to more health problems.

And it's friggin' exhausting.

Know Thy Self (Sorry, Not Sorry)

Fourth grade flew by and I’m convinced it was because of my teacher. She had a way about her that got right to the heart of the matter and we kids responded well to her.  She was unconventional and did things that would probably land her in court these days--- nothing horrible, but parents overreact when it comes to their kids.  I remember a specific moment, maybe a screen memory, where we were all huddled around her.  She explained how even when we are joking around with each other that our words can hurt and unintentional hurt is just as bad as a conscious blow. I was teased a lot as a kid (and as an adult) and I remember desperately wanting some of my classmates to acknowledge how badly they’ve hurt me.  Being that I’m sensitive, I’m sure some of it was unintentional. My need for acknowledgement was so great that I decided to prompt apologies with my own.  I told everyone that if I ever hurt them unintentionally, I didn’t mean it and that I was sorry. No one else said anything. I looked around at our group who seemed to have heard me but weren’t self-aware enough to follow my lead. Our teacher looked me directly in the eye and thanked me. I think she was glad her words impacted at least one of us.  It didn’t help my own hurt.

My adult ego tells me that while an unintentional hurt is bad, I’m not responsible for how people interpret my words and actions. Years of therapy has developed a self-awareness in me that the average person who has never been in intensive therapy just doesn’t have. It is difficult to be able to pinpoint an emotion, know it’s origin and be able to infer what’s behind the words and actions of another. (The latter isn’t always accurate.) I’m torn between believing if it’s the reaction or intention that truly matters in society.  I’m sure it’s some combination but I don’t know how much weight to put on each part.

I still want acknowledgement. I still want those apologies for unintentional hurts. I don’t know what getting them will accomplish. It feels both necessary and empty.

I want to find the balance between caring and caring too much. I feel that I’ve gotten past Worrying What Others Think Of Me but I’ve noticed my reactions don’t match yet. My therapist recently asked me that if I don’t Worrying What Others Think Of Me, then why do I push myself to the brink of (and sometimes actually) breaking down to please them?  My current answer is that I’ve been hurt so much that I do not want anyone I love to be hurt by my words and actions.  I know what it feels like and I just don’t want to be responsible for inflicting it.  This brings me back to the intention/interpretation question. Where is the line?

It’s a brand new year. Normally I think it’s fairly ridiculous to consider this as a mystical clean slate. They don’t exist. We can’t ignore our past to “start again”.  I prefer to embrace the past.  It makes me who I am and without it, I won’t be able to know myself.  I’ve made a lot of progress this year and in order to keep that going, I need to practice a little more self-care. When I feel my anxiety rising, I need to ask “What is best for me?”  The potential problem will be that I’ll say “no” more than I have in the past and people aren’t used to that from me.  I’ve already started.  I declined to attend a party that I know was very important to people I love.  I’ve been very symptomatic this week. I think it would be better for me to bow out than to force myself to go, have an anxiety attack, make others uncomfortable, and then beat myself up over something I can’t control. This is the pattern I have. It’s a pattern I need to break. I’m willing to bet my intention behind staying home and the interpretation of  my decision will be completely at odds. I’ve decided (right now this minute) that unless I’m asked, any false interpretation isn’t my responsibility.  There.  I feel healthier already.

Until my OCD kicks in, of course.