I haven't talked much about my current state of mental health on this blog for a while, but it is still something I think about often. I lost my really intense diagnosis some time ago after a great deal of personal work, healing time, and minor emotional epiphanies that finally added up. Also dropping the doctor who seemed to believe if the low dose pills weren't working, that we should probably up the dose or add this other prescription to the regimen instead of discussing diet changes or homeopathic remedies was a pretty good move too. Nearing a year and a half of being pharmaceutical-free is pretty awesome.
So. Current status.
Pretty damn good most days. Like, really good. Maybe even, is this how normal, usually positive people experience and feel life, because they are totally on to something! Of course then I quiz myself about what is going on in my life and wonder if feeling positive in the face of unemployment and divorce is really such a great sign of mental stability...
But not to worry (or maybe to worry lots!), I still have these blistering moments of anxiety and depression so abysmal and ridiculous that I get this urge to reach up and pat my own head while saying, "whoa there, Nellie. You are gonna be just fine if you could just start breathing slower." (We have already established that I often times split into two characters when sort of losing my shit. One is sweaty, panicky, GI-track issues girl with the million-words-of-worry-per-minute-thoughts and the other is this sensible, knows I'll make it through, somewhat amused by the flurry of nervous activity the other is putting on display character. These two parts of me talk to one another. HEY I COULD SAY I TALK DIRECTLY TO JESUS AND HE TALKS BACK OR SOME SHIT, so just roll with it.)
(This is my favorite kind of Jesus. The kind that calms nervous velociraptors. This picture has nothing to do with this post really, but you aren't going to complain because it is Jesus holding a fucking dinosaur and you know how rad it is of me to have shared it.)
The longer I am not employed the more frequent these little bouts of hysteria occur. We are coming up on FOUR MONTHS OF UNEMPLOYMENT PEOPLE. I mean, I have this amazing internship that I love, love, love, but love ain't paying my damn bills. It does allow me to feel productive most of the time, but I still experience this distinct sense of FAILURE AND SUCKITUDE at being an adult.
Anxiety by definition is: Unjustified fears or concerns that are likely to meet other fears you may have and then they all start mating in rabbit-like fashion and pretty soon you have rabbits falling off all the available surfaces in your brain and did you guys know they smell funny when they get packed in tight, and how am I going to feed them all, OMG I AM GOING TO COMMIT BUNNY GENOCIDE IF I DON'T KEEP WORRYING/FEEDING THEM, SOMEONE HELP ME STOP THIS SIMILE/METAPHOR DISASTER. Well, that is my definition at least.
Okay, so I started this post like five paragraphs ago with the intention of telling a story about this totally out of hand anxiety response I had to a very minor situation that I now can laugh about. Worked out really well, huh? Whatever. Today was total shit and I just needed to vent about having a sort of loose, shaky structural feeling about myself. Like I might just collapse into a vibrating puddle of emo when I get a really kind, loving message from someone and don't feel worthy, and don't know why I don't feel worthy, and I thought I was over these internal and irrational chantings of "no one will really love you if they could see you as you really are which right now is in faded yoga pants, popping amoxicillin and pain killers for that wisdom tooth you need to get pulled but haven't, peanutbutter smeared on your cheek and a general outlook of doom and misery."
Phew.
Finally here is the story (though I doubt if I need to illustrate further that I am neurotic at this point):
I woke up the other night to the smell I realized (after nearly hyperventilating from huffing the air rapidly) was like something burning. I sat up and pointed my nose in every direction. I got out of bed and wandered around. Was a burner on? Can radiators break and suddenly turn waaay up and explode (even though I know they are water based and probably don't make smokey smells)? Not shockingly this spiraled into "SHIT WE ARE GOING TO DIE IN A FIRE IF I DON'T FIGURE THIS OUT RIGHT NOW" and "HOW AM I GOING TO GET MY GRANDMA'S HOPE CHEST DOWN THE STAIRS IF THEY ARE BURNING?!?!!" I woke the gorgeous german that was staying the night (yes, he stays the night sometimes family; don't freak out on me) and asked if he smelled it too. Yes, he did, and it smelled a bit like a cigarette he thought. I believe he turned over and had the audacity to go back to sleep not realizing that we really needed to plan our emergency exit strategy OR WE WILL DIE A FIRERY DEATH, WHY DON'T I HAVE ONE OF THOSE ROPE LADDERS LIKE IN THE ADVERTISEMENTS, FINE I WILL DO EVERYTHING. I stayed up another 45 minutes sniffing the air (which pretty much didn't smell like burning for 40 of those minutes, but I stayed vigilant) and organizing how I would corral my cat, grab my most important things, and swiftly get us all to safety only to watch the rest of what I have burn to the ground.
Um, so we didn't die and my apartment is still intact, if you are wondering. Turns out I have a new neighbor that smokes directly below my place. I am in the process of submitting a courtesy request that he knock it the fuck off so I don't have to fear for my life and wonder if I have told the people I care about that I love them enough.
This post is sooo done now.
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