Archives for posts with tag: stress

“You haven’t posted in 14 days…..” Thanks Facebook! For reminding me that I have nothing to say. I’m kind of…

Blocked….

Writer’s block? Life block? Menopause…? Nicotine withdrawal? Or am I simply running out of things to say? I’m a little concerned really… I mean, what if I never write again? I’m forcing myself to put together this post – just write – to stay in the loop until I get my mojo back.

One of the things stopping me at the moment is the mundane nature of life right now. I’ve mentioned it before, but honestly, I’m struggling with the amount of time I’m surrounded by Fitty!

Giving up smoking has not helped at all. I’m cranky as fuck, even with the nicotine patches that Fitty is way too delicate to wear. (Hey they itch the hell outta my skin too, and I have ugly red patches where they’ve been, but anything to stop the murderous impulses – right?) Pussy!

It helps that we started with a very healthy and happy relationship I guess, but the sheer amount of time we spend together is wearing us down, slowly but surely.

Fitty is a Virgo, and as such is perfect.

There is nothing wrong with the way he behaves, EVER.

I’m the kind of person who will argue until I’m blue in the face if I think I’m right, but I am prepared to admit when I’m wrong. (The grey area here of course is when I think I’m right, but I’m actually wrong.)

With Fitty there is no wrong. He’s either right – or you’re a fuckhead.

I’ve learned to cope with that over the years, but I tell ya, being with him 24/7 is not helping much anymore.

He actually FIRED ME the other week! I could barely contain my excitement…

We had an argument at work over a computer program. I knew I was right, but he kept saying things like “who’s the I.T. expert around here, huh?”

“Well you’re fucking DOING IT WRONG my love.” *smirks*

I cannot tell you how happy it made me when it turned out he was wrong. I made Fitty eat it for a number of hours, in fact he was still eating it at 8 am the following morning, as I strolled around at home in my nightie talking about the many joys of being unemployed…

Nicotine withdrawal is a bitch, but so am I!

I made him suffer, and he had to repeat: “Please come back to work for me even though I am the most unreasonable asshole boss ever?”

We accept that there are going to be times when the stapler looks like a weapon, when it’s a good idea to move the scissors into another room. But there’s also time for closing the copy-room door and indulging in passionate kisses! Times when a client makes you both crazy and you can indulge in name-calling and fun-making together until the stress abates. Times when you run down the stairs and out of the office giggling together and holding hands.

As long as there is balance between the good, bad and downright ugly, I guess we’ll live. We have learned to respect new things about each other. I know for a fact he is surprised at how much I’m loving the work I’m doing, and how well I’ve taken to it.

I know that I never thought about how talented he is at his job. Dude’s a genius, as I’ve said many times, but I have a new respect for the way he works under pressure, and the intricate problems he solves!

FIL’s been away, (cruising around Malaysia with MIL), and ever since he left, Fitty and I have been swamped with new jobs, and old ones demanding to be finished. I’d have to say we’ve made a pretty good team while he’s been away. Even if sometimes communication breaks down to this:

work

Talk to the hand Fitty!

 

*I’ve also changed my colour scheme slightly in recognition of my cycle (for unknown reasons) reinstating itself as a regular bitch again! How dare she, after months of promising to stop altogether? My uterus is an utter COW!

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The past 12 years or so have been enlightening on so many levels, but the single most important realisation I’ve made, is that most people are just like me.

Sure some hide it well – like me – and some live isolated lives, begging for the cessation of the endless cycles of stress – evaluating every move in order to not draw attention to one’s limitless faults!

During a texting event in the early-bird hours of this morning, with an old friend, we discussed this topic. As usual, I have more to say.. I want more people to understand the basic level of anxiety that most of us operate under every day.

The old friend, is a writer, an artist, an actor, a father, a contemporary – we attended High School together and enjoyed a bittersweet teenage romance – based on the fact that we were both shiny people, (whom nobody else appreciated as much as we appreciated the distraction we created together.)

We’ve had very little communications since school, until coming back to our friendship in the last few year’s – in the form of irrational, early morning, drunk (him), texting rants about just about anything we can think of.

We both suffer from terrible anxiety. I didn’t clue on to mine until 12 years ago, (I can’t speak for him but he was onto his years ago from memory?)

So when he says ,”you’re cursed by seeming to look like you know what you’re doing”, I know exactly what he means. (It’s not true though. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing 90% of the time because I’m just a co-pilot.)

“Captain Anxiety” runs the ship around here – I take orders and do a complex analysis of each situation, each category of unrelated bullshit thinking that brings about situation’s of high panic and adrenalin surges that knock you down, if not out.

And by “knocked down” I don’t mean “physically stretched out on the floor”, I mean knocked down.

Everyone experiences anxiety differently, my most common responses are, ringing in the ears, rapid heartbeat, feeling my pulse in my neck – (it pounds from the side and into the back of my head), a spreading of heat – (the blood rushing to  organs), shaking hands – (general shakiness actually), instability – (it’s hard to stay upright during a really bad panic attack), nausea, sweating… not to mention feeling lousy, knowing what’s happening, yet being unable to control it.

People without anxiety can’t even.

Fitty can’t even – he experiences “stress” – has a hissy-fit, (if extreme), then moves on all, “Everyone still onboard? Righto then..”   He doesn’t “linger” in the emotions like I do. He doesn’t analyse everyone’s immediate response, or tally up the damage points. He’s already moved on with his day..

Apparently that’s what “normal people” do.  Why can’t I be normal then?

We are all different, we have all had experiences that shape and make us. I’ve had a plethora of life experiences. Most are good, if not great, but some would shave the whiskers from your chin in an icy chill of a minute.

I didn’t come here today to talk about those experiences. More about the effect they have had on my nervous system and my overall mental health. I believe I have been working my way through some of those experiences, trying to learn a little about my personality along the way.

Sometimes it’s been a great process, leading to understanding some of the “gaps” I have in my memory around certain events. Sometimes it’s horrifying and I can’t process the memories as my own, (*so I invented a younger, stupider version of myself years ago in order to escape from having lived those events myself.)

*I don’t quite understand either, but the “invented young woman” has a voice, and I am compelled to listen to her cries to be heard.

On the occasion that I have shared information about some of these events, I have almost universally had the response:

“You…. went through that? You wouldn’t have put up with that for a second!”

And that’s true too. (You see now, why I had to invent a whole other entity?) I didn’t “put up” with any of it. I just experienced it, and slowly it became part of me along with all the other experiences. Consequently – I invented Captain Anxiety. I became her copilot and settled into life in the pounding lane.

Around 18 months or so ago, I got tired. I was nearing a break-down and knew I had to pull back from work, social activities, whatever, until I felt “well” again.

That was when I decided to form a discussion/support group with myself…

Since then, all the parts of me, have been sitting around in my head, sipping luke-warm coffee, smoking and “discussing my life”, and we’re getting somewhere!

Writing is key here, there is a very enabling aspect in writing your innermost thoughts and truth on a blog. For me, the most confronting part of this is living in a small town, knowing lots of people, giving them access, via the blog, to knowledge that I’m a perfectly flawed mess!

It’s ok with me. The act of publishing each post that tug’s at a wound, is a freeing act – I let go of a lot of the negative energy when I release it to the “internet”.  I don’t know how this works, but this is the best damn therapy I’ve been part of so far..

Healing has come with the love of an exceptional man, one who can ignore the noise in my head. One who can direct the traffic when chaos seems certain. One who makes light of my control issues, even though they make everyone crazy! One who compares me to no other woman on earth.

One who is flawed himself, most importantly!

Fitty’s flaws are hilarious – he’s such a laid back, gentle loving person that you would never guess what an Alpha-Male-Derp-Jerk-Face he can be sometimes…

He doesn’t do these things often at all, so they are almost like a “mystery song” on your favourite band’s album – Gold!

Yesterday he got out of bed with his “Terminator – My Hormone Bag is Full” face on, storming around the house yelling about how “when he gets up – he has a shower, and why the fuck is somebody already in the fucking shower?”

(Background info – 3 out of 5 of us had to leave the house by 8.30am. He was not one of the three, and therefore was not in the line up for a shower, in my head anyway…)

I started to get all up in his face in response, my anxiety doing most of the hard work, “Right, sweat, tingling, shaking? Check. Can we get her heartbeat right up and maybe a little more ringing in her ears so she can’t fucking concentrate on what’s being said? Check. Make her do that denial thing where she questions whether this is too unfair to be even happening? Oh good one! Check.”

But – then I said something astounding. I said “Fuck off, you dickhead!”

Then I just did nothing but breathe….  I decided HE could take the kid to get her haircut, and he could fucking well have ALL THE SHOWER I was going to have in order to take her myself!

Then I made another coffee and sat on the balcony watching him realise what a complete fuckstick he had been. Then I listened to his apology.

I am learning how to divert the anxiety, and make use of the methods I’ve read about on Dr. Facebook.

Smiley face.

He’s only just begun. We are on day 2 of our non-smoking adventure, and the crazy has already begun to peep it’s way out of his brain!

The lovely 4 is visiting us at the moment, she’s in between moves and loves a bit of time at the Lake to take in the beauty and quiet of our peaceful surroundings.

Poor 4 has lived through a couple of our quitting attempts already. I remember one particular time she begged us to start again! We were probably a little over the top that time, in that we were both undergoing some work related stress at the same time.

This time I have very little stress going on inside. Despite family funerals and all that goes with it, I feel calm and un-phased by all the usual daily bumps. I could almost say that I have never been calmer or more accepting of every little thing. I am very grateful to not have to go out to work! I feel it has given me the time to reflect in silence on all the useless worry and anxiety created in my life by other people who matter very little in the long term.

But enough about me! It’s Fitty you should be worried about!

Fitty enters the home after work at 5.30pm, (Day 1 of no smoking) looking vaguely irresponsible. Not sure what I actually mean by that? But he does, he looks like he’s not to be held responsible for anything he says or does. His hair is wild and woolly and his eyes don’t quite look at me, they are darting about.

Dem eyes tho?

Dem eyes tho?

I cook dinner. We eat dinner. Not a lot of words are spoken. When he does speak he tells me to eat the skin of my squash, which for some reason tastes bitter to me, and I have removed it and pushed it aside.

He’s on the computer after dinner, so is 4. I am watching TV, swearing at our Politicians. I am good at this.

Later on, Fitty watches TV and I begin to move about in the kitchen, trying to make less noise than usual, but washing up a big pot… so..

I hear a massive sigh.

Not one to be backward in coming forward, I leap from the kitchen and approach him from just behind his right ear, whispering something along the lines of –

“What’s up baby bear, does you have the shitties?”

To which he mumbles about the NOISE while he’s trying to WATCH and he can’t HEAR and do I have to CRASH?

I laugh. I’m good at that. We continue with our evening. I am tired and retire early, sleeping like a little baby, which means waking up to urinate with frequency, (although unlike a baby I can walk to the toilet.) At some point I notice he is in the bed. Good. Sometimes he stays up way too late.

This morning, everything starts out fine. I am smart enough to replace my patch upon waking. They work very well for me, and I don’t  so much experience “cravings”, but a vague response in my belly that tells me at this time I should be outside having a cigarette. I ignore that feeling easily, and grope for coffee.

Fitty is back on his computer putting together a video for Magoo. He notices a spam comment on one of his pages and his thus far peaceful existence (today), is shattered by an inability to remove the comment.

Swearing happens. And inexplicable phrases that only Fitty can mutter. Things like “…..and I can’t even remove it or BLOCK it and DAMN Facebook,  stupid bloody, WHY?”

4 and I exchange looks, and smiles. She is going into the office with him today to help out. Poor 4. I imagine she is thinking about how much worse this day could get. It is only 8am!

4 and I talk him through the problem suggesting things he can do to remove the spam etc. There is more muttering and swearing, but he gets there in the end. 4 and I are exchanging a LOT of looks…. and smiles.

At some point I ask Fitty, “Have you put your patch on yet?”

Negative. Nope. NOT YET. He always puts it off. Why? I don’t know? He is a MAN. That’s why. BECAUSE!

keep calm

Looks like I spoke too soon yesterday in saying that it takes him a couple of weeks for the crazy. We are beginning early this time. This could be a good thing. Maybe it will be easier, and pass quicker than last time? I can only hope. Until then, I consider myself lucky that I am handling my own crazy.