Just coming off of four days of living in the giant plastic bubble of depression. Tolkien scale epic family drama. Very uncool. I thought I was going to lose my shit completely.
Interestingly enough, I don't quite have that whole "sanctuary" feeling about the new house, so when I had a panic attack in a public place, I attempted to hide in a bookstore. Luckily, I have the greatest boyfriend in the whole world and he came riding to my rescue in his shining Mazda 3.
So, when I refuse to just cry it out, which is pretty much every time I have the urge to cry, I get migraines. So four days of migraines inside my giant plastic bubble of depression. I have issues with allowing myself to be vulnerable. I'm kind of a control freak about not letting my guard down. Obviously, this is not a sustainable solution, but for now, it's the best I can do.
I don't mean to brag, but my family is so dysfunctional that we could supply six simultaneous reality shows worth of drama with enough left over for a few acerbic sitcoms. Gotta love 'em. I'm just going to do what my dog does, and cock my head to the side and pretend to listen. I'm trying hard not to view this is as further isolation, because that wouldn't be productive. Instead, I'm going to view this is an extension of my vastly under-appreciated sense of humor.
Oh, so the giant plastic bubble of depression is the way I picture it when I get so overwhelmed with negative emotions that outside stimulus stops sinking in. Everything just starts bouncing off of my bubble like it's a force field. I guess that would make it a defense mechanism. I can make an additional internal giant plastic bubble of escapism, that will provide some insulation from negative internal stimulus, like depression or anxiety, which I have also occupied over the last four days. This one takes a lot of work to maintain though. I spent the last four days reading trashy romance novels to generate the necessary distraction for my giant plastic bubble of escapism. Basically, I've worked really hard to be blank.
I wasn't ready to deal with the situation. My brain was like "Screw you fuckers, I'm out!" I planted my ass on the couch, with my books, and basically did not move for days. Didn't get much sleep, didn't care what I ate. Nothing.
Today I finally sat and thought about the situation, and it was much easier to cope with after some time and distance. What you can't see, is that I'm tearing up right a little bit even just tap dancing around this subject.