Recap: currently on Lamictal 100 mg nightly and 10 mg Buspar twice a day.
The Lamictal is supposed to help stabilize my moods and the Buspar is supposed to help with my anxiety.
Well… It seems neither is working. The Buspar was but now? Yesterday was a nightmare. I couldn’t stand up, and the chest pains and tears were on the attack.
Have you ever had a panic attack, without having an actual panic attack? All the symptoms, but none of the panic-y thoughts or rush?
That is what this felt like. Some people say when you feel nauseated, just go ahead and vomit. Get it out of your system, you will feel so much better. This is why I actually yearned for the panic attack. I just wanted the itching anxiety to be gone.
Yesterday was the worst day I have experienced in a long time. Started off with the issues of not being able to stand up, then the hard decision of asking my mom to drive me to my appointment with my therapist, thus having to call in to work. My therapist just had two surgeries and yet here I am calling in for panic attacks and dizziness. Cue feelings of guilt and failure.
My mother suddenly became angry and cursing and I knew I would not be able to sit in the truck for the drive there then her increased attitude after waiting an hour for the drive home.
So, I got in my car and drove away. On the way there, I was nearly rear ended, T-boned, nearly rear ended people myself after people would cut me off. I am not a reckless driver. My dad drove NASCAR and my brother street raced. I, on the other hand, am a defensive driver. I keep space between me and the car ahead of me. I don’t bumper hump, and I always use my turn signal. My mother already lost one child to a car accident.
I finally make it to the office of my therapist. I’m stressed out, feeling guilty, and irritable as it is. So it does not help when someone has taken the chair I always sit in (not like it has my name on it, but I was grouchy). And talking loudly on their phone.
Not even five minutes in to my appointment, I am crying and cannot even look at her. I could not properly explain to her how even though I know the majority of my thoughts and feelings were irrational, I could not stop them. Distract my mind and think of something else, anything else.
She suggested as with another patient that it helped was, “go the phuck to Hell.”
As with many suggestions from anyone, it has been tried and failed. But I still continue to try.
I hadn’t even been able to get into what was happening with my day, I just told her the symptoms I was experiencing.
At one point she asked me how I survived before medication if this is how I was on medication and experiencing these thoughts.
She, like before and my Disney Cigna Advocate, suggested I call the office of my psychiatrist and express these thoughts about the medication so the adjustments can be made. But I cannot express my reluctance to reaching out to them out of hours. After what happened with the Dok-Tore, I get very stressed out at the thought.
Speaking of the Dok-Tore, I did the math and seeing him for five, just five visits is costing over a thousand dollars, after my insurance does their magic.
After leaving my therapist, I stop by the Wawa on the corner for gas and after pumping, I sit in my car to shoot a text to my father. I look up and see a car awkwardly trying to pull in towards me at the pump in front. She then proceeds to honk and yell at me. There is a minivan that was waiting behind me. But the pumps on EITHER SIDE of the aisle I was in were open and free.
My therapist keeps telling me I need to get out of the country and get in the real world. Well if the ‘real word’ is filled with people this rude and impatient? No thank you. I want nothing to so with it. All it does is make me want to stay home even more.
When I went to pay the toll to get on the Turnpike, the older gentleman taking my five to five me change says, “Smile! It can’t be that bad of a day!”
“You have no idea. But thank you. You have a good one!”
I immediately burst into tears after I pulled away. On the way home same as the way in, I was constantly being cut off and nearly being. Two of the people that cut me off, I ended up spotting them pulled over on the side of the road. Sweet justice.
Once I got home I noticed trash bags sitting outside our front door along the pathway.
It only meant one thing.
“She didn’t do what I think she did.”
She did. She had gone into my room.
Growing up, we were never given a sense of privacy.
My room is the only place I have where I have some semblance of safety from my thoughts and paranoia.
“You knew what kind of a day I would have.”
“I am sorry being the shithead I was to help clean.”
“No, you were a shit head for invading my space. My one place and you know how I feel about that.”
I took a bunch of Trazodone I had left over from the Dok-Tore era and passed out.
I woke up around eight in the morning with thoughts about getting a reprimand for calling in yesterday. Worries about yesterday. Basically a repeat of yesterday, but ten fold.
Around ten in the morning my mother called apparently about to buy a water resistant housing for my camera at a garage sale. She asked for the kind of camera and the guy is going on “it will fit any Canon!”
Yes. Because I will risk my $600 dollar camera with a second hand “water resistant housing”.
I didn’t say anything and just let her think she was doing something nice.
And here I am. I had started to write this down but my typos and messy handwriting was beginning to anger me further.
I am having thoughts of again deleting my Facebook and leaving the social atmosphere once more.