Tuesday, August 31, 2010

the coastie blues

so, the XO left this morning for 3 weeks to patrol fisheries and board fishing boats. they do this stuff to make sure fishermen abide by quotas and stuff.

he called last nite to say gbye and we were both too tired to talk much, but we had a very nice saturday and sunday morning together.

it is easier this time bc im getting used to it but also hard still. i sent him a cute vid this morning, altho from past exp i think vids from my LG dont work on his iphone. never got a response. sent him a pic of a sand dollar he found for me the first time we went to the beach and went swimming tgthr. i remember that day. we were so new we hadnt even done more than hug yet. the current was very fast going east around the peninsula. i told him how a college friend of mine used to grab my hands and spin me around really fast bc i was so small and he was strong, wiry (a mountain climber). the XO smiled and took my hands. i said, "Don't let go," and i let go myself-- i stopped fighting and let the current yank my feet out from under me. My body flew out horizontal, parallel with the surface of the water. the XO was thinking i looked beautiful or sexy, i could tell. i twisted around to look behind me and feel the pull of the current. i felt the quiet calm strength in his wrists and arms. he just stood there enjoying me enjoying the moment. i was having fun. i felt like i was on a roller coaster and i love roller coasters. the thrill was the same. that was the day he found me my sand dollar.

i also sent him a song today thru iTunes. i know, enuf's enuf. im not writing him any emails, im waiting to hear from him. the first day they get underway (go out to sea) is always crazy busy. the song was "Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes," covered by Jimmie Dale Gilmore. usually i hate country music, but i like the old timey stuff. just like i like old motown. both have soul. and the kinds of soul they have arent so different. bc both came out of poor cultures where religion was 50% of what kept ppl going but the other 50% was family.

i miss the XO. i love him and i want to tell him so. but ive learned not to say too much. he has the video, pic of the sand dollar in my palm, and the song about love and loneliness sung by a man with the voice of an angel. i cant do any more. hes diff from me and i dont mind that.

before he left, i mean before our late nite tired conversation, his last texts were, "you're so sweet. and sexy too :) " and yet im longing for some affirmation of his love or affection or his missing me. he told me he'd miss me. it's been less than one day. i know hes busy.

this is anxiety. it feels like im a ragdoll in a dog's mouth. a really big dog that weighs more than me. when he shakes me in his teeth he shakes up my self confidence, my natural hyper bounciness that is one of the things the XO loves about me (and that i love abt me too).

my actual diagnosis is anxiety, panic disorder, and major recurrent depression. there's a high degree of comorbidity for ppl w anxiety. i know this from having spent the last 3 years working on college level psychology textbooks at work. you proof the same thing enough times, eventually you absorb it thru osmosis.

idk how much of this shit is anxiety and how much is depression but if you want my gut's answer 90% of it is anxiety. ive never been with someone like the XO before. being with him is stretching me in a lot of ways, helping me to grow. i want to get to know him better. i want to have a family with him and name our first daughter Giuliana (Genevieve's my second choice ;). hey, im allowed to be insane in my own blog. this blog is abt me establishing a place where it's ok for me to be 100% truthful with myself, w no worries abt repurcussions. so.... the truth is, i will prolly cry a little bit tonight thinking abt the XO and wishing he'd send me a "good nite, i love you" msg.im guessing he wont have time til tmrw. but i need to talk to him abt it when he gets back i spose. idk. i dont need a lot. im trying to be patient bc there are reasons to be patient with him for a little while.

idk if i miss him yet or if i just need to hear him say "i love you" from afar. i know he loves me. and he even slept in a t shirt 2 nites in a row just for me even tho he usually sleeps in just boxers :) because when i miss him, i miss the smell of him when hes holding me. it's a mixture of guy and old spice and just XO. it makes me feel safe and it makes me smile. he looks good naked but always gets all embarrassed if i say so. so i try to say that in ways that make him smile and feel loved not shy :)

and mon ami, you know who you are. you are the sweet thing. not breakfast. ahahahaha. :) im allowed to tease you a little bit. it's helping me laugh.

Things That Make the Real (non-anxiety) Me Happy

Sitting on Bearskin Neck in Rockport, @ the end of Cape Ann and the end of the continent, near a lighted patio listening to a string quartet playing on the rocks, with the music of the ocean on all 3 sides of me



Jack Donaghy


Kayaking with friends

Walking by the ocean in any month of the year in any weather, especially right after a big storm when the surf is crazy

My cats, my bird, and other ppls' dogs, esp. the XO's (the XO is my boyfriend :)

The XO's sense of humor, when he lets it out

Secrets

I'm barely 5'2", and I seem to weigh 104 lbs whether I have nachos for dinner or eat healthy. So, although I would say I have some nice curves, essentially I'm petite. When I started on meds for anxiety, it took us 3 tries before we found the one that worked for me. The first one made me feel giddy and high for exactly half an hour and then did nothing to alleviate my symptoms. The second took away my symptoms, but it took away all emotion and capacity for joy as well. I literally felt numb, robotic, and dead inside. The third one just works. It just feels like me, only minus the physical symptoms-- the sweating, shaking, racing heartbeat, trembling, dizziness-- and many of the emotional ones, such as the irrational fear I had about entering a room full of people even though I am naturally warm, chatty (to a fault, according to friends :) and enjoy being with people.

The reason why I mention being petite is because I think it may have had something to do with my being started on the minimum possible dose of medication. That worked fine for me for a few months, but then, when I began to experience a high level of stress at work, and at the same time started a significant relationship that put new demands on me, I found the lowest dose wasn't enough. So last week when I saw my psychiatric nurse, she agreed to double the dose for awhile.

It's been helping. It took about two days, but now I feel more ready to move forward and try to handle some of the practical aspects of the challenges I've been faced with lately.

This is a good thing, because before my nurse-- I'm going to call her Joyce-- upped my meds, I spent last Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday in my bedroom, missing work, watching movies through iTunes to avoid dealing with reality-- my fears about losing my job, my fears about my relationship. I was paralyzed emotionally and just wanted to hide. I was taking Benadryls to put myself to sleep because when I was asleep I didn't have to think or feel anything. Then a couple of times a day, when my mind would break through the bullshit and tell me "Hey, get up, go to work, there's a problem here," I'd have a panic attack. No hyperventilating exactly bc of the meds, but I'd just roll over onto my stomach, hug two stuffed animals-- a cute puppy from my boyfriend, and my stuffed penguin that I've had forever-- and just sort of shudder til I could make myself fall asleep again. I had nightmares about being raped, which I'd never had before. I had all kinds of weird dreams. Mostly I'd wake up shaking and terrified, and it took me a couple minutes to calm down before I could get out of bed. Once I woke up with blood on my face from a scratch, and the pillow was on the floor. That's the only time I'd ever had that happen in my life. What I'm trying to convey is, last week was not a typical week, even for me. It was very difficult.

I am so incredibly thankful to be feeling better now and to have some new ideas about how to move forward, not just about meds, that I feel lucky. I don't know how to describe it. Every step I take on this road to managing these issues better is of value. Incredible value. I want to have a life and a family. I want to be happy.

Joyce told me last night that recovery is very serious. I used to take it mostly or sort of seriously. Like, yes, I have problems, but they are not life or death. The most difficult issues, with the exception of about two or three sessions, I hid from my therapist, Julianne. I did this without consciously realizing it. It's what I've done since I was about nine years old. It's a survival technique. Certain things-- it's like turning over fresh earth to plant a garden. When you rip a hole in the grass and look at what's underneath, it's not all pretty. And ripping a BandAid off a really old wound in yourself is terrifying. The amount of pain and unsettling emotions has a ripple effect throughout your life. That scared me. I know that's the idea. But as I say, old habits die hard, especially when we don't pursue them consciously. It's obvious to me now that my defense mechanism has been shooting me in the foot for decades. However, it's been all I had. And I didn't ever think about it. I just stuck with it.

I put a sign on my bedroom door. It covers an old one that, for me, did not end up working. It is much simpler than that affirmation was, and much more direct. It says: KEEP. MOVING. FORWARD. Sometimes the most superficial things, like getting dressed, putting on makeup, and going to work even if you aren't there exactly when you are supposed to be or you need to change your hours, is the most important thing in the world. One of my biggest secrets from Julianne was that I have no desire to really take care of myself. I love taking care of others. It makes me happy. But me, no-- I don't know how, and I do not want to. Lately, though, I've been thinking. I feel more like a shark than somebody hiding in bed all day. Like I've got to keep moving to stay healthy. I hate sharks, but I feel like I get them a little more now than I used to. Am I anthropomorphizing? Prolly, but I don't give a fuck. It's helping me right now. It helps me to picture that shark. It reminds me to keep going with this new thing.

Getting in the habit of consistently caring for myself, no matter how imperfectly, is my real job. To anyone reading this, that probably sounds simple. To me it's going to be the one of hardest things I've ever had to learn.