A few random thoughts...

I'm having a really bad anxiety attack today.

yesterday was nice, though. I had duck for dinner.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Gaiman.

I'm frustrated because there's a glitch in my website e-mail and I can't access the mailbox.

Got turned on to this highly addictive game, Kidnap, on Facebook. Now I can't stop signing in there every five minutes to see how I'm doing.

Have my therapist later.

There were more thoughts in there somewhere, but I seem to have lost them.

Happy Birthday to Me!

It's my birthday today and so far I feel pretty good about it. M. served me doughnuts ad coffee and milk in bed on a special little tray that he had built himself especially for the purpose. Later, we're going out to dinner with the in-laws. I may get dressed up for this or I may not--the style in Western Colorado is pretty casual, even when you're going someplace fancy, which we're not.

I'm 46 today, which I suppose should kind of freak me out, putting me closer to 50 than 40. But I find that every passing year I feel younger. Just this morning a Facebook friend who knew me in High School commented that I don't look any different than I did in 1980. Well, I do; for one thing, I weigh about 70 lbs more than I did the last time she laid eyes on me, back in those days of severe Anorexia Nervosa. And my hair is greying, and I haven't dyed it in a year, which I long to do (but don't on the advice of my disability lawyer). But I have good skin and no wrinkles, and come from a line of long-lived people. Besides, I have great taste in clothes. I should do all right for some time yet. As far as looks, that is.

As far as health, I don't know. I still smoke despite numerous attempts to quit. And I don't get any exercise at all these days due to my anxiety and depression. So my overall health can't be too good. I worry about it anyhow. Still, I eat healthy and drink a lot of water (which probably contributes to the good skin). I don't drink alcohol and that's probably a plus. And my dad, who got even less activity than I and was never treated for his ongoing depression still made it past eighty-four. So I probably have a good few years yet.


So, Happy Birthday To Me and Many Happy Returns off the Day.

That's All.

Pussy-whipped

We're all pussy-whipped here. That is, whipped by our cats--and one cat in particular.

I found Dacs twelve years ago last September on the first really cold morning of fall. I was walking downtown to work and as I passed by the local bar (the building that later, somewhat ironically, would become the radio station) I noticed a box sitting on one of the benches outside it. I didn't think anything of it but just kept walking.

Then the screaming started. From inside that box came the most horrible cat noise I have ever heard. So I had to look, of course. And what I found, huddled inside a scrap of pink towel, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen. It was filthy and sick, with both eyes swollen almost shut from chlamydia, but it could make the loudest noise. Well, what could I do but pick it up and tuck it inside my shirt and carry it along to work with me?

Fortunately I had an understanding employer, because I spent the whole morning trying to figure out something to do with this poor abandoned kitten. I called animal control and was bluntly informed that they would just put the poor thing to sleep automatically. Finally I called my husband and we took it to the vet. The vet didn't expect the kitten to make it, she told us later, but she gave us some medication and told us how to care for it.

That's how Dacs came to us. We thought at first she was a male--even the vet thought so--but after a year when nothing seemed forthcoming (if you know what I mean) we found out otherwise. Fortunately we had kept her in for the previous year so we didn't have an unexpected pregnancy to deal with. Anyway, she's been our princess and Queen of the household ever since.

That is, until THEY came. The demons.

I think it started out with their wanting to play with her. She was having none of it, but threw a hissy fit every time one got close to her. Then, as the demons got older, the initial urge to play turned into a full-scale war for dominance. It didn't start out so badly, but after Gwion Bach passed away last summer it got worse and worse, until now every time Dacs tried to have a little peace and attention there's a demon--usually Obsidian and/or Onyx--there menacing her. It's really traumatized poor Dacs. Now she spends most of her time on top of the linen closet where no one can get at her. When she wants down, she screams until M. or I comes to lift her down to her food dish, which is now kept on the kitchen ledge so it's safer for her. When she wants to go to the litter box or back onto the linen closet, she screams more.

I am torn. I feel really bad for Dacs, but I can't help but remember how, as a kitten, she used to beat up Tamlane (R.I.P.), who was twice her size. And I wonder why she doesn't fight back. And I wonder if I am slowly going mad from all the cat fights in my house.

Still, M. and I find ourselves pussy-whipped. She's our princess and we can't help but come when she calls, even if it means standing there without any idea of what she really wants. We wants her to know she's safe and we still love her, but does this really help? It doesn't seem to. We can't be there 24 hours a day to protect her. I wonder if this is how parents of human children feel when their kids get bullied at school--so helpless. So unable to come up with any answers.

And now the cats are demanding my attention so I have to go...

How my morning goes...

Today I woke up way too early. Usually I get out of bed between nine and ten, but today it was at ten of eight. Ugh.

Anyway, I think that is contributing to the fact that I am having a way worse anxiety attack than usual. You'd think I'd be used to them by now, having them every day as I do. But it's a thing a person never gets used to. No matter how many times it hits, I always am sure this is the time I'm really dying, not just feeling like it.

So what do I experience when I have these attack? Well, you know what fear feels like. The racing heart, the sweating palms. The nausea and the shaking. Take all that together and multiply it by a hundred, maybe more and stick it all in a point the size of a pin. Then put those pins all over your body, especially concentrating on the chest area. That's what an anxiety attack feels like for me.

I promised myself I wasn't going to smoke today until after my therapy appointment, because I have been smoking way too much lately. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to hold myself to that because I feel so bad right now. I'm all alone in the house and I'm convinced that I'm dying. Yet, I'm also convinced that I'm only a hypochondriac: not worth any real time on the part of a professional. Probably if I really did have a heart attack I wouldn't call anyone because I'd be afraid of bothering them with my problems, which are obviously made up.

I am having a Tic-Tac now because I promised myself I wouldn't smoke.

To make matters worse, today I have a strange pain in my stomach. That's what really set it off this morning. Any weird pain, anything unusual in my routine brings on the anxiety. I think I've said that in previous blogs. Yes, I know I have. Here I go repeating myself.

It becomes a refrain in my head, like the sound the wheels of the train make as they pass over the tracks. "A-tick-a-tock! A-tick-a-tock!" I wish I could get that sound out of my head. I wish I could silence the obsessive thoughts that haunt me day and night. But I don't seem to be able to, not yet.

I will not have another cup of coffee. I think that would be a really bad idea.

I'm trying this again...

I'm going to try again to keep this blog regularly even if it's only a few lines a day. Something to keep me grounded.

The last few days I've been hypomanic, what with discovering Facebook and all. Today I feel myself sliding down that slippery slope into the place where I can't get dressed or go out or even move, much.

I saw my pdoc yesterday and he raised my antidepressants yet again so maybe that will help. Time will tell, I suppose. I didn't have much time to discuss things with him--it was only a 15-minute med check--but he seemed sympathetic to the place I'm in mentally and emotionally. How I know it's not healthy to just sit at home all day, but at the same time trying to force myself into activities that I find no joy in just makes me frustrated and angry so I end up feeling worse. It's a real catch-22. (I suppose I should read that book some day so I actually know what that phrase means.)

I wonder if this next part should have its own post, but I'm here now so I'm just going to go ahead with it.

Last night I was reading articles on fat acceptance on the web. And I ended up feeling pretty bad about myself. I believe that fat acceptance is an important cause. Prejudice against fat people is one of the still-acceptable prejudices in this country, maybe in the world. And that's just wrong. Wrong to judge anyone for their body size, especially when a lot of the devices for measuring it are so flawed (don't even get me started on the BMI!).

So why do I feel bad about myself? Because though I could accept others with no problem, I have never been able to accept myself as a fat person, which is why I have been following the Weight Watcher's program the past year and a half. And I've done pretty well on it. I've got a body I can accept, finally, after many years of struggle. (And I even fit into the "normal" range of that wretched BMI.)

I feel like a Judas to the cause, though. Like I can't support fat acceptance without accepting myself as a fat person. M. says I have done a lot of hard work and should be proud of what I have accomplished but I just can't feel it. All I feel is that I'm not a proper feminist.

and now my thoughts are becoming incoherent and confused jsut when I feel this post is starting to become interesting, so I have to stop. Maybe I'll be able to say more on this topic later. I hope so.

Back Again At Last

I can't believe it's been so long since I've written in here. Since July. Well, not much has happened in my life to write about. No sudden turn-abouts in my mental and emotional health. I continue depressed and the onset of winter--we had snow this morning--is not helping. Sometimes I wonder if I should move to a state that didn't have winter, but I remember when I lived in California I hated it there so I know that's not the answer.

I have just spent the last hour or so reading all the blog posts I have ever written. I can't believe at one point I had so much to say. Now everything is flat. I feel no real anger or real pain, but no joy either. This stinks. I would rather have the mood swings and all that comes with them. I understand why so many others with Bipolar Disorder go off their medication. It almost comes with the territory.

But I won't do that. I'm too afraid of what might happen.

Fear rules a big part of my life. Fear of being judged from the outside. M. is constantly telling me that what I feel on the inside doesn't reflect on the outside, but I wonder. This bleakness must show somewhere, mustn't it? But then, I've always been good at covering it up. Even to go over to the in-laws, I put on my nice clothes and a smile that I don't feel. I can keep this up for hours.

Then I get very tired and have to go hide.

Lately, I have been hiding on Facebook. It's not all hiding, actually. I hooked up with a few old friends, which has been nice. I also hooked up with friends from other sites, which is also nice. But still I have that fear of being judged. What if what I say and do isn't acceptable? What if I'm unintentionally mean?

When I started this blog I didn't worry too much about things like that. My family wasn't in my life. My old friends weren't in my life. Now they are again to a degree and I wonder if I've spoken too boldly where I should have remained silent.

There's a sweatshirt I want that says, "Be careful or you might end up in my novel." Even though I'm not writing much at the moment, I like that. It reminds me that a writer's craft is taking things from real life, chopping them up, adding extra bits here and there and making stew.

Sometimes that though is enough to keep the fear at bay.

Sometimes it isn't.

That's all I can say right now. At least I wrote something. And for me that's an accomplishment these days.

Chill of Summer

I can't believe that it's been so long since I've posted here. And Summer is halfway over and I still feel the cold inside. The truth is, it's been a somewhat colder summer all around. The weather is milder--we usually have temps in the 100s by this time and this year most days are in the 80s, which is actually nice, if strange. And the financial climate is definitely chilly. Most summers we have done well enough to keep more than afloat and have a few2 nice things, but this year we just can't seem to quite get our heads above water. I received one of those "when are you going to deposit money?" calls from the bank this morning, in fact. They think we're overdrawn quite a bit. (I thought we were overdrawn some, but not that much).

There's also been the chill of grief. Two weeks ago--can it be that already?--we lost one of our dear cats, Gwion Bach. From the evidence, he was torn off our screened back porch where he was resting in the sun by the cat door by a pair of roving dogs (we didn't see that part but surmised it from the damage to the porch). They then proceeded to toss him in the air like a rag doll, snapping his spine. We chased the dogs off, but it was too late. He passed over not long after.

Since then we've sealed up the cat door and kept all our cats inside. Since the cat door is sealed they can go out on the porch. This seems to satisfy all but Luna, who first threw fits of meowing and then peed all over everything in the house and now has settled down into a sort of grey funk, much like the one her human mother continues to experience.

I am cold inside.

I just wrote a whole paragraph and deleted it.

From the smell of it, one of the cats has peed in my office and I have yet to find where.