Long night

Can't sleep. Crying myself sick all night. I feel like I'm stuck in a situation I can't get out of. Therapy and medication is like slapping a band aid on a broken leg. I need a more permanent solution. Like maybe a lobotomy?

I want to run away to somewhere they don't speak English so I can be truly and deeply alone, because being around people and still being alone is fucking depressing. I'm angry depressed tonight.

I took my calm down medication like a good little soldier, but I'm still all twisted tonight. I don't think I'm going to get any really productive thinking done tonight either.

Patently obvious cry for attention...

Let me count the crazy....shaved part of my head. Didn't do it myself, went to a salon so I could pretend it wasn't a desperate cry for help. Beat the crap out of my punching bag (literal punching bag), and it kept me from crying but now my knuckles are bloody. Small price to pay really.

Having all sorts of crazy and scary thoughts, don't worry, there's no need to call 911.

-I'm losing valuable time experiencing all the things I always wanted to experience, because I'm trapped in agoraphobic hell. When do I get to do, what I want to do?

I don't want to take medication anymore! Like right now! I should be taking a calm down pill and practicing breathing and instead I'm mid panic attack ranting on my blog. Oh shit, I've obviously died and gone to hell and become a teenager again, because that is some stupid rebellious bullshit. Please, let me defy all common sense while shaking my fist futilely at the sky! I don't want to have PTSD, AGORAPHOBIA, PANIC DISORDER, CHRONIC DEPRESSIVE DISORDER, INSOMNIA, AND ALL THE REST OF THIS SHIT ANYMORE! I don't want it, can it please be someone else's turn for a little while?

Miserable

Don't want to sleep. Don't want more nightmares. I'm so tired I'm forgetting to take medication. Went into antidepressant withdrawal today. So I'm exhausted and I feel very sick. Not very verbose tonight, just miserable.

Giant plastic bubbles of crazy.

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.

If I should die before I wake.....

So much to say and not enough attention span today to say it all.

Hmm..well I'll give an update first on the things that have been going on. We moved. It was frenetic, frustrating, and exhausting with occasional periods of fierce joy and gratitude. Maybe a little awe thrown in there. It's a truly unbelievable house. I still feel like I have too many decisions to make in any given day, and trying to force myself to make decisions stresses me out. I haven't been sleeping well. I'm in a new environment, and my paranoia insists that we absolutely must find ways to make this house defensible from everything from a burglar to a horde of shambling undead. There is just no way I can make a house this big feel as safe as I want right now.

I'm tired all the time from lack of sleep, or lack of restful sleep. I am having nightmares, probably caused by my irrational fear of going to sleep. I was attacked several times while I was the most vulnerable a person can be: while they are asleep. Twice raped in my sleep, several times woke up to being assaulted, groped, humiliated... Now I seem to be unable to accept the situation for what it really is. I really need sleep. I also really need to feel safe. Taking sleeping meds makes me more vulnerable to attacks in my sleep, because I can't fight back. I am aware that the odds are really against getting attacked in my sleep again, but fear is irrational.

So why am I so resistant to sleep? It's making my life miserable, this not being able to sleep well. A person should be able to feel safe where they sleep. I don't have that. Instead I have this screaming harpy in my head, insisting that the second I let my guard down, something horrible is going to happen to me again. They've taken away all my weapons. I used to sleep with a loaded gun and knife under my pillow. They have generously allowed me to keep my pepper spray for personal defense, but after having carried assault rifles, grenades, hand guns, knives etc. etc. pepper spray seems lame and useless.

I could rig deterrents throughout the house, but this house is big and it seems a shame to spoil the house with all my paranoid weirdness. I used to put wind chimes on all doors, and clunky easily breakable objects under windows. But I looked like a crazy person. I had it rigged so nobody could get in the house without me hearing it and giving me time to either get away or get to a weapon. Please don't judge me, I know how crazy this sounds. I already know I'm screwed up on so many levels.

I don't know how to solve such an irrational problem. Can I negotiate with my fear? I don't know. I'll have to spend some time thinking about it.

Frenetic

They've decided to turn me bi-polar to try and cure my PTSD. Painting, drawing, and writing like mad. I had to give up coffee and I'm not adjusting well, but two cups of tea make me super hyper, and hyper tends to equal anxiety.

Getting ready to move. It's going to be the laziest move ever. We're hiring people to pack all our shit, move it, and unpack it. I'll be babysitting the cats and dog while the movers do their thing. I actually took the dog for a walk the other day by myself, which is a HUGE epic win.

Restricted my television watching to cartoons devoid of realistic violence. Trying to eat healthier. Trying to distract myself from my impatience about the move. Ready to go right now! The new house is about three blocks away from a bookstore. Super excited about it. Bookstores are like church for me.

About to have a huge fight with some distant members of the family. Not looking forward to it, because it's looking like it's going to be one of those "I don't really want you in my life" kind of fights.

My little brother is getting married next week, to one of my friends actually. Weird.

Going to buy a punching bag when we get moved in, because I need some exercise. I'm going to hang it in the garage. I'm also going to have a little mini art studio out there, so that will be my place to vent all the toxic emotions that tend to get pent up.

Jiminy Cricket

It's 11pm and I am once again confronted with the terror of deciding whether or not to go to bed tonight. I'm not sure which I hate more, going to bed, or waking up. Both are pretty heinous. Today I hid in a bedroom for several hours while my bf's parents talked to a vacuum salesman. I couldn't even go to the bathroom, because not only was there a stranger in the house, but he was running a carpet shampooer and talking loudly. Also he was brown skinned and I'm terrified of arabs and muslims. It's not a racist thing, it's a bone deep terror that I have no control over. I'm pretty sure the guy was some variation of Latin American, and not actually an arab. Try rationalizing a knee jerk defense mechanism born from too many arabs trying to kill me, or other soldiers, or fondling me against my will.

So my ramblings about insomnia are because I'm afraid to sleep at night. I woke up being raped twice. I woke up and random dudes had their hands in my clothes. Like every time I tried to relax and let my guard down, something awful would happen. So I have to wrestle with this demon every night and every morning.

Staying awake all night isn't good for me. Everybody judges me for it too, like I'm a recalcitrant teenager. I know that lack of sleep just makes me feel shitty the next day, again, this is something I have no control over. My therapist says I should remind myself that I'm as safe as I can be, and probably nothing bad will happen to me if I go to sleep, but even she knows better than to promise it will be okay. I never believe doctors who make promises.

They've fiddle-fucked around with my medication again. I should be starting a new medication soon. I have to wean myself off of Effexor, which is brutal and causes discontinuation syndrome if I'm late taking it by as little as an hour and a half. I'm 6 or 7 weeks into quitting smoking. I don't know why I'm winning that fight when I'm losing most of the other ones. The doctors are baffled by it too. I'm just enjoying having a legitimate excuse to never turn down dessert.

I'm having manic episodes. I went furniture shopping the other day with bf and his mother, and one minute I would be exhausted and could barely move, and the next minute I was running around the store giggling like a toddler on crack. The doctor thinks that quitting smoking has changed the way my body metabolizes my medications, so they've decided to change everything. Again.

Staying with bf's parents, because there is mega drama at home (not my bf's fault, it's my families drama), so I am hiding. I'm half-way to changing my phone number again so none of my family knows how to contact me except for relatively safe communications online.

Going to be moving soon. Not running away from anything this time, my bf is buying a house so we're moving out of our rental which has become too small for us. So having to make a ton of trifling little decisions which stress me out. Not moving until probably July, but because I have this obsession with being over prepared for everything, I feel like I need to have all the decisions made right this minute, despite having several months to decide things, and even then I could put some shit off.

The new house is an OMG-I can't-believe-this-is-really-happening-it's-too-good-to-be-true thing. It's gorgeous, and perfect, and three blocks away from my favorite bookstore. I'm planning on setting up an art studio in the garage, and probably setting up a heavy punching bag to work off excessive stress and all the extra weight I'm putting on from quitting smoking. I'm trying to stay positive, and accept that good things can happen to me without obsessing over all the things that can potentially go wrong. In my experience, things only start to get good before something horrible and awful happens. I realize that thinking like that isn't helpful.

I have a therapy Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder that tells me how I should and shouldn't think and feel. It pisses me off sometimes. It seems my whole life is therapy these days. I police my own thoughts and everything now. Blah. My mood is pretty much apathy and disinterest, with periodic storms of obsession and maniacal energy.

The recent terror attacks in Boston, and that poor soldier in London getting his head cut off by an angry mob of muslims isn't really helping my paranoia either. I really want to start stocking up with supplies to survive the apocalypse. First aid kits, emergency rations, water, etc etc. Luckily my bf is pretty level headed and becoming an expert at talking me out of my crazy when I get like this. So maybe he is my Jiminy Cricket.