My Head Is 3/4 Combusted
Everything is wonky. Complicated. Annoying. Technology is failing me. My kid is so full of energy he is a ball of shrieking fire running from one end of the house to the other taking the dog down with him. My nerves are very close to the surface. Involuntary yelling is frequent. I hate Verizon because something's wrong with it and I can no longer get my e-mails. I don't have time to cook think sleep or arrange my hours in any satisfactory way. I need everything to slow down. I need Thanksgiving to be several weeks away. One of the biggest nagging worries is that we won't be able to fit everything we need to bring with us in the car. Not unless we strap the dog in her crate to the roof of the car. I will suggest we put our luggage on top of the car but I'm almost certain that Philip will object because it's something we have never done which makes it automatically a sketchy proposal.I'm pretty sure I'm not going to make it to take-off. I'll be lucky if I make it through today without screaming on the top of lungs at every person who dares to even look my way. My palpitations are so bad (that sounds so Victorian) and the panic is really escalating. So I'm going to go on my merry way now and put the comforter the dog peed on last night in the wash and pretend I don't mind. Lisa has volunteered to take Max off our hands for a while today. I definitely don't deserve such a good friend!!!!
It's completely weird how self loathing escalates in exact proportion to the axiety in my life. I knew the calm moment the other night was fleeting so I'm glad I enjoyed it while it lasted. I wonder if the palpitations would stop if I ripped my heart out of my chest and flogged it repeatedly on the counter? Of course, then it would be covered in apple peels and peanut butter which would be disgusting. This is not a good moment to have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, "shadings" of OCD (quoting my psychologist there), Major Depressive Disorder, personality "issues"*, and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. That was my psych diagnosis issued to me almost five years ago.
Some people thought that my getting a diagnosis was like putting a negative permanent label on myself. Some people were stunned that finally having a psychologist agree with me that I am completely mentally ill was a relief to me. I'd spent nineteen years not going to therapy or getting a mental assessment because I didn't have health insurance, because I always managed to get through the tough moments, and because I was scared to hear my worst fears confirmed. Which they were, but by the time I took the psych test and got assessed by a professional I was ready for it. I needed to know. I was tired of people trying to excuse me away. I was tired of people continuing the inane conversation that starts with the question: "but what's normal anyway? Is there such a thing as normal? Aren't we all a little crazy?" That is stupid talk to those of us who really are mentally ill. That is totally acceptable reasonable talk if you're not. So if you didn't know what camp you belonged in before, you do now.
Most of the time I really don't mind being crazy. It has it's odd advantages. I'm even kind of proud to belong in a segment of society so liberally peppered with geniuses, artists, passionate world shapers. Crazy people are really important to human developement. But on days like today, during weeks like this, I sincerely wish I didn't have to fight my brain to keep it from getting on the obsessive thought treadmill where I can't stop worrying about how we will actually survive a twelve hour trip to California without getting suffocated by our own belongings. I kind of wish it didn't look like there is a huge black hole between this moment and Thursday morning at 6 am. But it's right there, gaping open, ready to swallow us all.