You can only make yourself happy – no one else

My husband is driving me nuts. NUTS!

He is a deeply unhappy person these days and I don’t know what to say to him anymore. I’ve been avoiding him – which I shouldn’t do – but last night I laid it out straight to him: you need to let go of whatever is holding you back and move on with your life. Stop comparing yourself to others and what they have – comparison is a killer. Stop worrying so much and live! Get some counselling – and don’t say you already have the answers or know what to do, because if you did, you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

I told him that I am at my wits end and I cannot help him. I am not a counsellor. I am neither a psychiatrist nor a doctor. He needs to take action and go and get help.

He was up again this morning at 1:30 and 3:30. Wandering the house, making noise, flipping on lights. Sighing. Listening to music; playing his guitar.

I have had enough! I told him to go get help. I am not having this conversation anymore.

You cannot make anyone happy. You have to make yourself happy. End of story. No ifs, ands, buts or maybes. Happiness lies within yourself.

Tough Love. It’s a thing.

More Love. Less Hate.

As per my last post, I cannot understand why people need to hate one another.

What is wrong with humanity?

My heart aches to hear that so many people died senselessly. Why does this ever need to happen?

Simple answer: it doesn’t.

I feel fortunate to live in a country that allows me the freedom to express my opinion, but I know that it does not preclude me from being responsible for my words.

People are people. We are all human beings. We all bleed the same colour. It doesn’t matter what our skin colour is, who we love, or what we do.

We must unite together to stop this hate.

No one’s humanity should be diminished or held to account just because they think differently.

Attacks like the one in Orlando embody hate. WE MUST STOP THIS.

We have made great strides in acceptance. Let’s do more.

THIS MUST STOP

I have been reading the media reports on the Stanford Rapist. I say rapist, because that is what he is. He is many other things of course, but let’s call a spade a spade here.

I am sad, angry and disgusted at the sentence he’s received. It is unjust and unseemly. I felt like I wanted to throw up when I read it.

I was going to say nothing about this as I think it’s gotten too much media attention already; and the hate and vitriol that has been blasted all over the Internet and social media is enough to make one want to give up on humanity. I almost did, but I will not.

I cannot keep quiet about this. People’s voices must be heard who have experienced this trauma.

It is because of white, Anglo-Saxon privilege that men like this are getting away with abuse of many kinds. IT MUST STOP.

The more this is hidden, the more prevalent it has become – and will continue to be. This is more common than people think. It lurks in the back corners of family history, politics, entertainment, religion. THIS MUST STOP.

I have had enough of patriarchal oppression. I believe that is what has put me in this wet paper bag. I fight every day to get out of it – even though I don’t live it anymore. Now, I want to fight for everyone else who has to fight their way out of their own wet paper bag. I am here. I am with you. I am listening.

This shit is real people. Do not say or tell me that it is not.

Chances are we all know someone who has been violated in one form or another. One in three women will experience some form of abuse in their lives. One third. That number is too high for me. It should be too high for society as a whole to accept.

NO ONE asks to be assaulted or abused in any way shape or form. NO ONE EVER “asks for it.” EVER.

Being drunk is not an excuse. Being high is not an excuse. Being attracted to someone is not an excuse. Promiscuity is not an excuse. Being at a party is not an excuse. Being an athlete does not give anyone permission to violate another person’s body. Being rich does not allow anyone to take whatever they want. Neither does being poor.

We must all be taught to respect ourselves, our bodies and respect others. This must be taught early and continued to be taught throughout our lives.

RAPE MUST STOP.

I cannot stress enough that we must be more, do more and say more to stop this. IT MUST STOP. TODAY.

The last three years

I just read my last post. It was almost three years ago. Much has happened since then to me and my family.

We lost my mother-in-law in December of 2013 the day after Christmas. My husband and I have not moved to England as we had planned and intended. Recently, I also found out I may not be able to have Children - I am 40 and I am not ovulating.

We have been working through this and believe it or not, I have been pretty solid through it all. I've had to be.

I just wanted to say I'm back and I am ready to share again. I need to. I know there are many out there that need this and so here I am sharing with you. Hopefully it will do some good for someone other than myself.

I'm still here...

I realize I have no posted in over 21 months, but I feel it is time for me to fill this spot again. I know it may seem that I only come here to vent or post when I am troubled, and yes, that is true. However, it does help me to do so and in turn, I hope it helps you in reading this and that you may relate or get something that you can use in your life.

My husband was to go to university in England this month. He is not going because our financing plan fell through and we do not have enough in savings to make it through a year there even if he goes by himself for the first while. This has been stressful to him, and in turn, stressful for me.

I haven't had much panic - yet - but I am sure it will rear its ugly head at some point. I can say that the paper bag has taken on a new form of feeling: oppression. I feel oppressed by all this stress that is being directed at me. While I am sure it is not intended to be directed at me, I feel it nonetheless. I feel it everyday with the constant complaining, the freak outs, the anger, the sadness, the feelings of bereftness that my husband takes on. I try to be positive and indeed, I have been. But there is only so much a person can take. The paper bag is heavy on my shoulders and I do not wish to bear this burden any longer.

I have been thinking a lot lately. More than I usually do and for me, that is A LOT of thinking. I need to write as it helps me to sort through my thoughts and so here I am posting again after a long while. Through all of this, there is one thing that I am not happy with about myself: I have neglected myself - almost completely - and I am sorry for it. I think this is why I am feeling the way I am: oppressed, sad, wanting to run away from everyone and everything, dissatisfied with work and my relationships. I do not like to feel this way - AT ALL. But I guess we must all have the bad with the good as it does give us life experience.

I stayed home today as I had - and still have a little still - the worst tension headache I have ever had. I have taken over the amount of ibuprofen listed on the bottle for the last 24 hours and it has done little to cure me of my pain. I need to let go of whatever I have got hanging on to me and this paper bag is wetter and heavier than ever.

Expect more from me in the coming months. I need to work through these thoughts of mine and the thoughts I have now are radical and almost scare me.

Addiction to full flavoured beverages support group needed - stat!

Two years ago when my anxiety started up again (I’m a long time sufferer – a "lifer" if you will), I cut caffeine out of my diet. It was hard. I was ready to start a "Coffees Anonymous" support group. You have to understand I LOVE coffee. The smell, the taste, the oh so warm goodness as you hold the mug in your hands letting the vapours fill your nostrils. It like spooning in a mug. Oh yeah….

Well, think of having to give that up because it was affecting you in a negative way. So hard! I think I actually cried a few times when I first gave it up. Coffee truly is an addiction. I cannot describe it any other way. Tea just wasn’t cutting it for me. Don’t get me wrong, I really like tea as well. There’s nothing like a good cup of Earl Grey with a lemon wedge and honey. There’s a time and a place for tea and it includes little sandwiches and baked goods along with some good conversation (or maybe some snitching and bitching). But coffee? It’s like being deprived of what you most want in the universe if you don’t have it. I think now I can accurately understand what addicts go through in order to stay sober.

As I got to feeling better from my anxiety, I would have a cup now and then and make sure I had eaten just so the "jits" wouldn’t come. I did pretty well for awhile and slowly built up my tolerance to having a cup every morning. Funny what we tell ourselves what is ok just to fill a need.

But now that my anxiety is acting up again, and I’m thinking of giving coffee up in order to help control it. Pretty sad really. Especially since it doesn’t affect my husband and he makes it in the morning. Doubly hard when your work mates all go out for coffee at the 10am break and you either tag along and get a decaf or tea and they’re all enjoying their coffees.

If there's anything I've learned these last couple of years it's the paper bag can morph into other shapes. It’s a shape shifter. I’ve got to be vigilant! Be ready for the many disguises it takes in order to trick me into getting into it, and coffee (at least temporarily) is the paper bag in disguise. I’ve just got to manipulate it so that it’s less crafty at disguising itself like the Saint and more like Inspector Clouseau.

Hyperbole and a Half: Adventures in Depression

Hyperbole and a Half: Adventures in Depression

Thought I would share this post with everyone who reads my blog. It is really something that made me think.

In-laws – STAY AWAY! They cause anxiety

I have an in-law. This person shall remain nameless, because they know who they are. I can’t stand this person. This person is the only in-law I have that I swear I could just hit over the head with a blunt instrument and not even blink. I like all my other in-laws.

I’ve learned to just stay away from this person, but there are times when I have to come into contact with them and just talking to this person turns my stomach.  Take last Christmas – if they sold industrial strength Prozac (you know, a gallon size bottle that I could secretly pour into a flask that hid on the inside jacket pocket) I would buy it!

I’ve learned to control how I feel, but sometimes, when I’m low, I have to stay away or my anxiety builds. Take tonight for instance, they called and I avoided answering the phone. Before, I would feel guilty about doing this, but now? No – not at all.

So today, I’ve won my first battle with the paper bag and I feel proud as punch! It’s starting to happen. I’m actually winning and I'm quickly learning how.

Grandfathers and pies

Ugh! I just ate two pieces of pumpkin pie – one right after the other. So good, but I will pay later with some sort of ailment. I’m washing it all down with a glass of milk. I’m sure in some alternate world that this is all ok and that milk will make it all better. Although my tummy is gurgling like crazy.

So I’m sure you are wondering why the title. Well, one week and 29 years ago today my grandfather passed away. My grandmother mentioned it to me last week and I’ve been thinking about him all this last week. She told me that I went to visit him in the hospital the day he passed and that shortly after I left he went. I’ve wracked my brain to think of that day. To conjure up the memory, but sadly, I cannot. It bothers me. I remember every other time I had with him – and I spent a lot of time with him before he died, but I cannot remember that hospital visit.

I did not go to the funeral. My mother did not take me. I wish she did. As morose as it sounds, I would have liked to have had that memory. I miss him a lot. A lot.

So, again, you are probably wondering why this is all swirling around in my head; especially in a blog about anxiety and panic. Well, I’ll tell you because it made me realize something.

Shortly after my grandfather died, I went to visit my father. About a week before I came home, my grandmother came down and we all drove back together. Along for the ride with us was my grandmother’s best friend. We dropped her off and we had a day’s drive ahead of us to get home.

The morning we left I had a shower and I was in the bathroom combing out my hair and I started to think that I did not want to go home; that I wished my parents hadn’t divorced; that I wished I could be with my dad for more time. I got really worked up. I started to shake and then I became afraid and I started to cry. I must have been talking out loud because my grandmother opened the door and started to lecture me and my dad rushed in and told her to leave us alone. He hugged me and told me that he loved me and that everything would be ok.

That was my first panic attack. My first experience with anxiety. I did not like it. Not one bit. I’ve suffered with this malady ever since and I’m tired of suffering with it.

That day 29 years ago, the wet paper bag came into my life. I experienced it for the first time in that bathroom. It has grown up with me; been with me like a family member – one of the one’s you don’t like, but tolerate because you have to.

Well, I’ve discovered you don’t have to tolerate it – them – whatever or whoever. It’s time for the paper bag to be gone. I am divorcing you, breaking up with you, whatever you want to call it. Proceedings start today. Be prepared, because you will be served with notice to leave my life.

The big, red, shiny panic button

I have a panic button. It's big and red and shiny. It looks like a very yummy piece of candy to my brain's eye. I think that my muscles trick my brain into thinking that this panic button really is a piece of candy. Candy that tastes so good that you'll want for more. In reality, it's a trick. A trick that is played on my brain to tell it to hit that panic button thinking that it's going to recieve something so mouthwatering it doesn't know what it's missing. My back muscles are especially in on the trick. They twitch and turn and ache and it makes my brain hit the red panic button. When it hits the button, it gets nothing. Nothing but a big panic attack that turns me into a deer in the headlights. A cornered cat. A wild bucking pony. I'm willing to do anything to save myself from the fear that I'm experiencing. It makes my brain turn from thinking it's receiving candy into thinking I'm suffering from a heart attack.

Today, I think the paper bag has friends. They're doubling up and making sure they're good and soaked so that it's harder to fight out of the bag. One day bag, the last laugh I have will be on you.

Can you be excited and scared at the same time?

I am extremely excited!! I will be going to Europe in October for the first time ever! I am also dreading the plane ride over. I don't like to fly as you can tell by my previous posting about flying to Las Vegas and home from New Orleans. I don't know how I will handle a nine and a half hour flight.

I started thinking about it the other night before I went to bed. Bad time to think about things. I always get bad anxiety before bed time. So to couple it with feeling scared about flying to Europe was not good.

I tried to calm myself by reading. I also tried to reason with myself that flying is very safe. My husband went last year and said the flight was smoother than the Vegas flight. So what is making me scared? It could be a number of things. Which I am sure all you anxiety sufferers out there know what they are so I will spare my readers 'the list'.

Still, I think that my excitedness has won over the fear. We'll see if that changes any time soon. Onward and upward! Out of this bag!

Anger perpetuates anxiety

Yesterday, I had an incident at work where someone tried to make me look bad – behind my back. Little did they know that the email they sent to someone got forwarded to me. I was so angry I was shaking. I emailed my director immediately the string of emails and said I was not happy. My director agreed with me and contacted the originator of the email and gave them what for.

After calming down, I didn’t feel very well. On my bus ride home, I started to shake again, but this was in reaction to the panic that I was feeling at the time. I guess I have to control my anger in order to stop the panic. Or maybe my body recognized the shaking from the anger and it brought on a panic attack. Either way I really felt like I was in the wet paper bag and honestly, at that point, I was so angry, I played out a fight scene in my mind.

It was me and the bag, one on one. Duelling it out. I managed to subdue it yesterday, but it got away from me and I am waiting for it to rise again. But this time, I think I’m ready.

Helicopter crashes, murder and me

Today I found out that my grade ten teacher was murdered by one of her students. Tragic.  I started to panic when I heard about it. I thought I would be next. I have no idea why. This news came on the heels of a friend of mine from university who died in a helicopter crash as the pilot leaving behind two beautiful daughters.

I then went to catch the bus home from work and started to be really scared about that guy I last wrote about that sat beside me on the bus drunk and threatening another guy who accidentally bumped into him. I got scared he might be on the bus again, that he might pull a knife and stab someone; stab me.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to run away and go back and hide in my office. I thought to myself that these things come in threes and that someone I knew would die or that it might be me.

I forced myself on the bus. Forced myself to sit and just let the music I was listening to calm me down. I watched the door intently every time someone got on. I made sure I was ready to get up and get off if that guy came on the bus again.

I was letting all kinds of scenarios swirl through my head. What would I do if the guy got on the bus; what would I do if he tried to attack someone or me; what I would do if the bus crashed. Crazy! I wanted nothing more than to just get home safely and into a cocoon. Then, when I was nearly home, I thought that I can’t let these thoughts overtake me. I stopped and pulled myself together mentally.

Today, I’m not going to let this paper bag win. I’m tired, yes. Hell, I’m crazy enough to go to war with the bag. Go all commando on it (military style not panty-less). I read something tonight that made me turn my thoughts around: “You don’t have to be brilliant at everything. You just have to have the courage to put yourself in the line of fire.”

Ok. So I have to be courageous enough to just let the feelings wash over me. Be courageous enough to take it. I have to be courageous enough to fight this paper bag and break out of it. I just have to do it.

My everyday surroundings

So I was riding the bus home yesterday after work and this drunk man sat down beside me. Another man bumped into him by accident and said sorry, but I don’t think the drunk man heard him apologize since his music was really loud because I could hear it even with my earphones in. After chowing down on some popcorn and beers (yes, beers on the bus), he proceeded to threaten the man out loud and making shooting motions with his hands at the man. It was out loud and nobody said anything to him.

He was dirty, threatening and no one (including me) didn’t do anything about it. I prayed he would get off the bus before I did. Nope. He wouldn’t even stand up when I asked him to move when it came time for me to get off. He just moved his knees slightly and gave me a stupid smile, then watched as I uncomfortably tried to push past him. What a jerk!

I got home and was really angry. So angry in fact that I started to shake as I told my husband what had happened. The shaking triggered me into a full panic attack. Not a nice end to my day.

I really felt like I had my attacks under control and all it took was some loser to trigger them back into effect. Maybe this paper bag is a little tougher than I thought. New strategy needed on how to break through the paper.

Is it really me?

Some days I wonder if all that I do to keep the anxiety at bay is ever going to be fruitful. I am a firm believer that we can control our own anxiety, but we must follow through on what we do and do it every day. Whatever we may do, exercise, reading, belly breathing, inspiring reading, meditation, etc. I think though that we must look around ourselves too and see if there are any external things that may be contributing to the anxiety in our lives.

I know that I am tired. I can feel my body just wanting to give up and lay down. Not to die, but to just rest. It has been ever ready at the start line waiting for the starter’s gun to go off. I have been in this starting position waiting and now I cannot and am tired. I am ready to give up the race and walk away to save my sanity.  

Sometimes it may hurt others around us, but in the end what is better? To please others or yourself? Maybe the bag around me is wet because I let it be and that is why it feels so hard to fight it.

Contrary to popular belief, driving and panic attacks don’t mix

So I’m driving to work this morning and about half way there, I start to have a panic attack. NOT GOOD. My eyes went blurry, my throat and mouth went dry; I tensed up.  I am so sick of feeling like this. I’ve had just about enough.

Luckily, I had my calm and reassure spray in my purse and I pulled it out at the next red light.

To tell you the truth, I haven’t been doing all that well with these panic attacks and my anxiety in general. It’s been a last few weeks of stress and I am tired. I honestly feel like I’ve been through a war. I watched a movie on the Second World War last night and I felt like I could relate to how those men felt after all that fighting: tired, worn out, stressed, emotional, aching all over and just wishing you could just go home and lie in a warm bed.

Just the thought of the commute home is making me a little antsy. Sometimes I just want to lie on the floor and just lay there. Let the feeling take me over and wrack my body with whatever it is that it’s going to do.  It’s almost as if I am in the eye of the storm and I’m just waiting, tense and wound up for the storm to hit again.

My body is tired and my mind is too. I just want some type of relief from feeling like this.

Today, I feel like I’m just crouched down, arms around my knees feeling the wetness of the paper bag close in around me and I have no strength to fight it. Not today. Not today.

Another poem

Nowhere

You rise out of nowhere.

Unexpected. Unwanted.

You contain no logic in your voodoo magic thrust upon me.

I see no reason for your presence in my life.

You are not real to me, but yet feel so lifelike.

I am told you are all in my mind.

I am told you are real.

Which are you?

Show yourself!

Reveal to me your secrets – Your wolfsbaine.

Tell me where you come from.

Do you live in shadows?

Do you live in bogs?

Do you live in fairy tales?

Do you live in alleys?

Do you live under the floor?

Tell me dammit! I want to be rid of you.

Now this very minute!

I want to suffer no more!

No more…. No more….

No one understands me anymore.

No one wants to understand why you are here.

Set sail, no one wants you least of all me.

Be gone and I do not bid you godspeed.

A poem

Not Sorry

You have to leave me.

Right this instant.

I don’t want you around me anymore.

You plague me till I am tired and ill.

I can’t stand it!

LEAVE! L-E-A-V-E!!

I will not beg you.

I am demanding you to.

Leave.

Immediately.

I have no need for you. I never have.

You do not belong with me.

You never have had a place with me.

Why do you stay when you are unwelcome?

Pains; aches; fear – intense fear overcoming sense.

YOU NEED TO LEAVE ME ALONE!

Be gone anxiety! I say be gone!

I will not be sorry to see you go when you do.

For I know that you will be gone.

How do I know?

Because I say so.

A short story about flying and scrambled egg sandwiches

In my last post I mentioned that I had been sick on a plane before. Here is that story.

In 2002 I went to New Orleans for work and my husband – then boyfriend – decided to tag along and we made a trip of it.

It was a long flight and I was ok getting there. A little perturbed in Dallas/Fort Worth airport though when the Texas Rangers went through my bags dressed in their fatigues and their AK-47s strung on their backs.

We had a great time and the city is beautiful. I always recommend to everyone to go to New Orleans at least once in their lives.

The night before we left we went partying with some friends we met while there. Too much drinking, little sleep and having to catch our airport shuttle at 4:30am was not an ideal mix.

When we got to the airport at six am, we checked in and at our gate was a little food stand. I ordered a scrambled egg sandwich and gobbled it down as I was starving.

We got on our flight and I started to feel a little ill. As you know, when you are taking off you are supposed to stay in your seat with your “seat belt firmly fastened until the pilot turns the seat belt light off.” Well, I started to feel very ill, which then turned into panic as I did not want to be ill on a plane.

Well, too late for that! I looked at my husband, turned pale, broke into a cold sweat and quickly released the buckle of my seatbelt, bolted upright and literally ran down the aisle of the plane to the bathroom.

The flight attendant in the back started to tell me that I needed to be in my seat, but stopped short after realizing I did not look well and quickly pointed to the location of the bathroom.

I entered with a bang of the door and promptly fell to my knees and the entire scrambled egg sandwich was relieved from my stomach.

I actually do not remember how I got back to my seat, but I did and the flight attendant was kind enough to bring me some water.

We landed in Dallas and I was not well. We sat at our gate waiting for our next flight and I started to panic. Dallas airport is very busy, which didn’t help my state of mind. They called our flight and as we were waiting to board I burst into tears.  I was overtired, sick and panicky. Ugh! I can remember the feeling as if it happened this morning. My husband quickly dashed across the hallway to a little store, bought some Dramamine (aptly named –drama) and I chewed on two of the tablets which felt like a thick, awful tasting paste in my mouth with a hint of orange.

The last thing I remember was lying across two seats on the plane clutching a barf bag and the flight attendant asking my husband if I wanted something to drink. He said, “No thank you. I don’t think she’ll be having anything this flight.”

Flying and Panic disorder do not mix

I love to travel. However, I am NOT a good flyer.  I actually get quite worked up about flying whether it is a short or long flight.

I recently went on a trip to Las Vegas. I love this city. I love everything about it: the weather, the hotels, the shopping, the food. Ah! Vegas! Anything you desire, you can have.

The flight was only two hours and twenty minutes. Ok. Doable, I told myself.

The closer to the day to fly out, the more nervous I became. Everything around me was stressful. My poor husband did not know what to do with me. I even freaked out at him five days before we left for no reason. Just felt stressed out and he bore the brunt of a slammed door after a yelling episode.

Now, I know flying is safer than driving or taking the train, but as an anxiety and panic sufferer, anything that you can think of go wrong, I did.

I even had nightmares about it. Everything I looked at around my house would create some sort of pang in me about not coming back to it triggering fear. Fear that at times I could not control. I wouldn’t even watch TV shows about flying or planes.

*SIGH* What’s a girl to do? Correction: What’s an anxiatic girl to do?

For safety sake, and my own piece of mind, I kept my back up plan in my purse: a bottle of Ativan. I even worried that it would be taken away from me at security and had visions of begging the officer for my bottle of ‘happy pills’.

Obviously all was fine and safe. A few bouts of mild (or so the flight attendant said) turbulence and we landed. The flight really wasn’t that long and I’d flown there many, many times before.

Even though nobody could tell I was nervous on the flights, I knew and I tried not to let it show. But man, what am I going to do when I want to go to England? It’s a nine hour flight. Just thinking about that now gives me anxiety and I haven’t even booked time off to go, let alone the flight!

All I can say is that it’s not fun feeling like you’re punching your way out of a wet paper bag while on a flight. At least I had the paper bag to barf into in case I got sick which I have before on a flight – but that’s a whole other story in itself!