frightened: Photo by Jason B (Default)
I am, to quote Christopher Brookmyre, suffering from a condition referred to in the medical journals as "all fucked up".

I'm just all stressed and antsy and discombobulated. I think I overestimated my caffeine tolerance today - it has been creeping up, but not to the point where I can drink three cups of sod-the-teaspoon-just-pour-it-in coffee when I'm working at the most sleepy and tedious campus and I've nothing to distract me. So that hasn't helped. But generally, I'm all... eh. Karate helped, but the high from exercise is a temporary solution. I'm so stressed out about the things I'm not doing that it's stopping me from starting to do them. And I know the way to deal with this: a little bit at a time, focus on what I can do rather than what I can't, ditch the idea that if I can't do everything then I can't do anything. I know. Come on, girl.

It's just difficult, again, and I'm tired. I think it's unreasonable how I have to keep doing things like cleaning the house, shaving my head, weeding the vegetables... can't I just do it once? I could manage to do it once.

Eh. </whine>.
frightened: (sigh)
So today I realised that my feeling of cranky and frustrated and generally out-of-sorts is exactly 28 days since I last felt like this. D'oh. Apparently, it really is PMT.

I swear, once upon a time I had actual emotions. Now I just have hormones and bad brain chemistry. It's kind of depressing.
frightened: (karate)
Who's been in Waterstones recently? It's bloody horrible! It used to be this nice quiet soothing place I went to because I could commune with the books and ignore people. But now the staff pounce on you the moment you get in the door. "Have you found what you're looking for?" Well, no, because I wasn't looking for the doorframe or the welcome mat. Gimme a minute! Then they hover behind you and ask follow-up questions. It's okay; I'm not going to steal anything. Please fuck off out of my personal space now. Sheesh.
frightened: (karate)
So... is there any medical reason why I shouldn't go for my cervical smear after a glass of wine or two?

Vagaygay neurosis )
frightened: (karate)
Today I have to go get my head shrunk in the morning and my cervix scraped in the afternoon. Shoulda registered with a dentist; I could've gone for the hat-trick.

This evening I think I will kill zombies on the PS2 and drink.

Nope! This evening it's hot, violent chicks on wheels, aka roller derby. Day's looking up already.
frightened: (sigh)
I don't know if this is a reasonable thing to be bothered by. I absolutely cannot stand training courses about communication and interpersonal skills, especially when I'm quite clearly the only mental in the village. I need to stop going on them, because they fuck up my mood and my day.

There's just far too much talk of how people think and what people do and how people communicate. And, being your friendly neighbourhood nutcase, I don't think like that or do that or communicate like that. And so for several hours, I get to be reminded, constantly, that I'm a freak and I'm doing it wrong. That I don't work like normal people work. That, as Elizabeth Wurtzel puts it, I came off the assembly line flat-out fucked and I should've been sent back long ago.

The behaviour you see as friendly and encouraging I find creepy and intrusive. There's talk about how they don't understand why people from different cultures would want to segregate themselves, and I'm thinking, well, it's probably for the same reason that I don't like hanging out with non-crazy people. They don't share my experiences or assumptions or shorthand. They don't understand my needs. They march over my triggers and hit all my buttons. They're exhausting, and why the hell would I want to be exhausted by my social life?

For example, they were talking about eye contact, what it means when someone won't make eye contact. And after this long list of negative meanings, I piped up, "Or maybe they just have autism or mental health problems?" Because I find eye contact exhausting. I don't understand the rules for it. I overthink and obsess and panic. And when I get stressed, I stop being able to interpret sensory input correctly - for instance, when my agoraphobia's kicking in, I don't experience a crowd of people; I just experience colours and shapes and noises coming towards me.

So when I'm stressed, nervous or just uncertain, I will drop eye contact. I might start doodling on a bit of paper, or picking at my hands or, if I can get away with it, knitting. It's not that I'm not listening to you; it's that I'm having to concentrate on your words extra-hard and so I don't need your face distracting me. I'm not bored; I find simple repetitive motions soothing, and I can multitask conversation + simple movement a lot better than I can multitask conversation + incoming panic attack. I can't follow your words and your face any more than you can follow two simultaneous conversations in different languages. You might understand both languages individually, but at the same time, they just become nonsense.

And it is intermittent. Some days and situations are better than others. I can switch it on and off, up to a point, at the cost of my finite energy and emotional resilience. One day I might be sitting in the middle of the room taking part in the discussion; the next day I will be sitting as near to the exit as possible, scowling furiously at my notes. And it's nothing to do with you.

I think this is another beserk button for me, the notion that anything I do out of the ordinary must be some kind of message to someone else. No. Crazy is supremely self-absorbed and when I'm trying to fight a panic attack, everybody else in the room could catch fire for all I care. Managing my brain is a full-time job and I simply cannot spare the energy to act normal at the same time. Dear, fragile, well-meaning, easily-offended, non-disabled folks: it is not all about you.
frightened: (sigh)
Probably TMI.
Read more... )
frightened: (janis)
The boiler's started working again! Thank GOD! I was this close to crawling into the vivarium with Mag to share her heat mat...
frightened: (karate)
You know what? If you need to yell at people building an igloo in the snow, it's euthanasia time.

Wrinkles don't stop you being a bully.


Dec. 19th, 2010 08:51 am
frightened: (bike)
I really don't want to leave the house. I have to, though. I have to go to my outdoor job and feed the animals. But it's soooooooo cold, and the roads are so screwed-up...

Come on, girl. Up. Dressed. Go.
frightened: (sigh)
I don't know why, but I've been dwelling on the end of my last bout of counselling.

Read more... )

And I just feel tired, and depressed, and like any freaking time I ask for help someone just sees that point of weakness and goes for it.

At this point, I'd like to make a request of people going into the mental health professions. Please, get your shit together first. You should be less clingy and needy than your client. You should take things less personally than your client. And if you're going for my squishy bits, use needles, not fishhooks, so I don't tear bits out and leave them all over the carpet when I try to get away.
frightened: Photo by Jason B (Default)
I've had three floods in my kitchen in the last ten days. I think that's a little excessive.

And I've just identified the earworm I've had for most of this time:
Cos I'm in too deep
And I'm trying to keep
Up above in my head
Instead of going under...
frightened: (karate)
Hooray, water coming through the kitchen ceiling!

One plumbing visit later, that problem seems to be fixed; just need to de-trash the house.

I swear, this month has sucked from start to finish. It's just been constant days of trying to do several things at once in a short time period, only to have some big disaster take out the several little things and make me deal with a big thing instead. I've missed a karate competition because I was at work and several classes due to illness/injury. I WANT TO PUNCH SOMETHING.
frightened: (karate)
My housemates have managed to block the bathtub more effectively in two months than Kung-Fu Landlady, Quiet Housemate and I managed in four years.

frightened: (karate)
And has been up puking since 3 am?

This girl!

Edit 10 am: Got three hours' sleep. Woke up. Puked some more.
frightened: (angry feminist)
"T-shirt bras"

I thought the purpose was to have a bra you could wear under a clingy t-shirt and not have seams or lumps. Apparently not. As far as I can tell, the purpose is to have a bra you can wear under a very baggy t-shirt, and still have your breasts look cartoonishly large and pointy.

And what the hell is with all this padding? I'm a D-cup! They don't need to be any bigger! They don't need pushing up and out of the damn cups! They just need to stay in one place while I run for the bus.

Also, when I buy underwear, I find myself pitching my voice higher and softer to save us all the confusion and embarrassment.
frightened: (sigh)
The cat's giving me huge mournful eyes because I won't let her go out, what with bonfire night and Divali. Fireworks and pets are a bad combination at the best of times, and I live in an area where there's been a few RSPCA prosecutions.

Thing is, my parents' cats can go out during the day, because they always come running when you call them in. But Millie doesn't respond to being called at all, and she has a past history of disappearing for days (and on one memorable occasion, months) on end. Sorry, kitty. You're gonna have to be a housecat for a couple of weeks.


Nov. 4th, 2010 10:37 am
frightened: (karate)
Doctor reckons it's just bruised, cos I can feel and move everything, even if I'm not as bendy as usual, and the pain's staying where I got kicked and not radiating anywhere. So that's a relief.
frightened: (karate)
So at karate class last Thursday, I got kicked in the spine by someone much heavier and stronger than me. Like, direct hit, time slowing down while I wonder if I'm gonna be walking after this. It's been aching all week, and I haven't been able to lift all the stuff or move in all the directions I usually can. This morning Sensei ordered me to go to the doctor.

I hate going to the doctor. I'm sick of the sight of them, and I'm always expecting to be told a) there's nothing wrong with me and I just want attention or b) if there is something wrong with me, it's my own fault. I mean, after I passed out and cut my chin open, I hid in my room for a few hours before going to a walk-in centre. Where they said, "And it didn't occur to you to go to A&E?" I said, honestly, "Er, no." And then the woman put me in a taxi to A&E because she didn't trust me not to bolt. *shrug*
frightened: (karate)
And when I'm done rolling on the floor laughing, I'll probably be offended and upset and whatnot. But for now, I'm Lorna the ROFLator.

So, today I discovered that my counsellor, the person I go to to try and come to terms with the chronic mental illness that might kill me, has a problem with mental illness. Actually, I'd say my soon-to-be-ex-counsellor is part of the problem with mental illness.

I'd been suspecting that his view of depression and mine were not the same, given his use of weasel words like "problem" and "issues", and his obvious discomfort when I used words like "crazy" and "brain disease". Today I managed to get his view out of him, with a bit of poking and acting more innocent and ignorant than I in fact was.

Apparently I am not crazy, because I'm not *strange wobbly arms-and-torso gesture*. (He has in the past said that I don't "act crazy", which makes me worry, if the people in his life stare at the floor and cry uncontrollably and that's somehow normal.)

I claimed ignorance.

He explained that crazy is schizophrenia, which is serious.

I pointed out that someone with depression is more likely to kill themselves than someone with schizophrenia.*

He said - wait for it, because this is a good one - that schizophrenics kill other people. Read more... )


frightened: Photo by Jason B (Default)

August 2012



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