Archive for the ‘Fucking fuck’ Category

Claustrophobia

Saturday, September 2nd, 2017

When you have an anxiety disorder, every stressing situation goes to eleven and when you combine that with bipolar disorder, you get a brain that goes not only to eleven, but everything just happens to the power of twelve.

I’ve never thought I was claustrophobic. Turns out I apparently haven’t been in a tight enough space before. Put me in a tiny closet and close the door, no problem. Lifts, fine. Crowded places, no problem (except that i start hating people, but that’s not claustrophobia, it’s misantrophy). But this past Friday, I was supposed to be having a head MRI (nothing too dangerous that they’re looking for, worry not) and I was fine as fiddlesticks up until the point that they loaded me about halfway into the fucking donut. I told them to let me out and I took a moment and said ok, no worries, I’ll be fine, I’m just feeling a bit, you know, packed in. So I got to put my arms in a different position and in I went again. I closed my eyes and thought about nice things and then one of the nurses said this isn’t going to work, we need to pack you in a little tighter still. Apparently so I wouldn’t be able to move.

That’s when I started to feel really panicky, like there was still a bit of room to move and I was already being pulled out of the donut, but I felt my legs starting to twitch because the fucking loader wasn’t moving quick enough. Merely the thought of being packed even tighter made me panic. So I got out and said this isn’t gonna work. They didn’t even suggest booking another time and knocking me out with a sedative, they just ushered me away with ‘ok, this is not going to work then, go see the neurologist who booked you in’.

And out the door I was, in the dressing room, where I started to cry, because I was in hysterics and panicking because the claustrophobia and anxious because I immediately felt like I was a) a fucking snowflake and b) just wasting everyone’s precious time. Yes, sure, it’s a hospital, they have booked times and they’re not responsible for comforting me, I get that, but like they could’ve said something. Maybe say it’s ok, you’re not the only one who chickens out, it happens, and just maybe ask if I was fine. That would’ve taken them exactly zero extra time, since all that could’ve been said in the span of silence that went on for the half a minute it took me to get off the bed and walk to the dressing room door.

So I got dressed, went out to the hallway and had to sit down on the nearest bench on the main corridor of the hospital and cry for fifteen minutes, until I felt un-shaken enough to actually figure out what I had to do to get to the neurological department. In there, the service was infinitely better, the nice lady at the reception told me to take a seat and said it’s fine, it’s terrible for everyone and only most people can go through with it, not all. And she went to see the doctor to ask if it was necessary to take any kind of imaging of my brain (i told you, it’s nothing serious (at least that’s what they’ve told me haa-haa watch me crash and burn at this)) and she came back with a yes, but a CT-scan would suffice, even if it wasn’t as good. And she booked me in for that and booked a lab appointment for me as well, so wouldn’t have to do it on me own, as she clearly could see I was pretty shaken.

So I made it out, but in a shitty state. I couldn’t shake off the cloustrophobic feeling for hours, not for the whole day. I went home and made me an atomic strength cuppa, sat out on the porch, listening to the rain and just breathing in, but it still lingered. Up until the time I was going to sleep, where I couldn’t get to sleep for a good while.

I don’t know. It just feels so unfair that whenever something even slightly stressful happens, it wipes me out for a ridiculous amount of time and leaves me feeling invalid and inadequate and a waste of space.

Anxiety is truly a bitch.

2016, fuck you

Friday, December 30th, 2016

Yea, fuck you right up the ass, you fucking bitch of a year.

You’ve given the world a rabid Cheeto as supposedly the most powerful man in the world. You’ve taken a lot of my favourite artists. And you’ve given me a whole hell of a lot of anxiety, worse than it’s ever been.

So yea, forget about the positive year-end reviews, there’s been like two good things, Suicide Squad, which in all honesty wasn’t a mind-blowing mastepiece of cinema, but it worked for me rather well, and then there was Rogue One, which was a bloody masterpiece in every single way one can imagine. It was marvellous and I loved it so much it’s not healthy.

But it was a terrible year all in all. Started out with Bowie dying. I wasn’t the biggest fan, but I surely can appreciate he was an icon and as such, his death was a great loss to the world. Then there was Alan Rickman, whose death was so devastating to many of my close friends, that it made it hit hard for me as well. One of those friends was someone, who just before Christmas on this cursed Cthulhu-excrement of a year lost her father, a man I used to call my spare-dad, because we were like sisters through much of my childhood and teenage years. So yea, fuck you 2016.

I had the most terrible episodes of anxiety I’ve ever had towards the end of the year. I couldn’t go to a shop at all for weeks. I wasn’t even able to think about going to a shop without feeling like I was suffocating. I do not know, to this day, what caused it, but I suspect it was the stress of school. It’s really promising to be good next spring, because there’ll be loads more to do with school, so I will not -in all honesty- be the least bit surprised if I have to be hospitalized this coming spring, due to anxiety and my bipolar spiralling out of hand.

And talking about bipolar, one of the biggest reasons I stopped being afraid of my illness and started talking openly about it, Carrie Fisher, the spacemom the world deserved, died on December 27th. I was still in shock about the death of George Michael, of whom I wasn’t either the biggest fan, but a fan still. I have to get back to both Carrie and George on separate posts, because they both deserve it, playing a large part on my life.

I’m going to stay up past midnight on the 31st of December just to see 2016 die. And fuck all of this next year positivity. I’m going to grab 2017 by the throat and curb stomp them if they decide to fuck with me because I have had Itâ„¢.

Anxiety

Tuesday, November 15th, 2016

It feels like I’m currently 100% stress and 0% person. I honestly think that school has triggered an anxiety disorder on top of my bipolar. So it’s basically piling up, the mental illness. What a fucking hoot.

I have a shrink appointment tomorrow and I’m going to bring up my concerns about this. I sure hope they take me seriously. I’ve been an anxiety-ridden mess for the past three weeks and I know it’s partly due to spiraling down to a depressive episode, but really, this is just ridiculous.

I’ve taken up meditation and I find it helps at least a bit. And I’ve managed to sleep pretty well too, which helps as well, but it’s just that I don’t get enough sleep. The quality of sleep has improved very much after ditching the looney pills, but it means I don’t fall asleep so easily. I’ve found that the meditation thing helps with that too, tho. And I’ve been taking melatonine a couple of nights too just to ease the process of falling asleep. It does make me a bit foggy in the mornings, so I don’t use it too often.

The problem is I wake up in the morning and the anxiety is there almost immediately, and I have again started to worry about my health, which surely is unfounded and just a symptom of the anxiety.

This is hell and I want this to stop.

Euro 2016

Friday, July 8th, 2016

I don’t even know if I’m going to watch the final. It’s Portugal vs France and let me tell u it’ll be a cold day in hell when I’ll root for neither. Especially Portugal. Or France.

I would’ve liked for Germany to be in the final and not just because Mats Hummels (who is a hottie), but because I have a soft spot for team Germany. For god knows why.

So boo.

Guess what

Sunday, January 4th, 2015

Christmas ended up being a pain in the ass.

Quelle surprise.