Paranoid

Beckoning me, telling me to come over, we need everybody

They say.To the project, the dinner, the cafe

I won't come.

I am safe as long as I am indoors...no not at your house my

House where I can hide. Hide from what you ask? 

From everything that cuts and pricks and watches and 

I know they talk

Talk about me.

Suspicion dark, sticky like syrup drips

It's bitterness into my mind

I cannot help but think, you are fantacizing as

Men often do about 

Thighs, soft...inviting....

Beautiful shapes like a thousand hourglasses pass

Right by me...I am older, rounded, tired

Scared by my disintegration.

Love me, yes, I like that sound-

Like many clinking wine glasses in 'cheers' you show

Me security. You can be trusted you say but

Here, where I dwell amid ruinous heaps

Of photos, nic-nacs and dust

Trust has long vaporized.

I forget now....how did that occur?

You hold me tight and try to reassure me

Yet you don't know what it is like

This wave upon wave 

Of spirit-killing doubt.I have lived so long with it

Holds me together like some cracked

Over-glued puppet.

One word, one doubt that is all it takes.

What are you looking at? Why did you scroll and stop there?

What are you thinking? I am often fraught with

Worry about these slow-boiling obsessions of mine.

Why I have no real 'lady' friends

Because the feelings haunt me and as long as I 

Sit right here

Quietly watching I will survive this too.

Old Hurts Feel The Same

Some painful events stay fresh in your brain. You don't think about them for a while then, WHAM! A painful memory comes back with all the freshness of the time it originally happened and the same feelings return along with it.I try to tell myself that those are memories from the past. Things aren't like that anymore. Well, maybe times are not the same but that does not make reliving that time any easier.
A triggering event might color my perceptions for days. There is no way that I can seclude myself so as not to ever deal with the memory that sets me off. Being a mother, a student and a wife gives me no way to hide unless I want to ignore all the things that I am or have ever been. Sure, my family has to come first yet, I second guess myself all of the time. Am I doing all the right things? Am I acting out? Is this just the way I am?What's up with me? Why can't I rid myself of the dark clouds that surround me?

I don't want to whine about my lot in life. Truly I wish I could understand happiness. I wish I could understand joy. I run into people that are so positive...yet, I don't think I've felt that emotion without forcing it.

I know, 'everyone is different' but just for a bit of time...I wish I could feel as if everything I am is simply o.k. to be.Sure, I know my personal happiness doesn't hinge on someone else. In my head...my mind...I know this!
How then do I assimilate that into what I feel in reality.

How do I stop feeling ugly? Insecure? How do I stop second guessing myself and confidently live day to day? I don't know. Although many of my memories aren't bad ones, the ones that come to mind are the ones that haunt me.

  Why is it that some people can put the worst behind them and keep going? 

I remember times like that when I was young. I'd give myself pep-talks. I was idealistic and fresh. Yet...there it always was-that specter of dysfunction. For as long as I remember I have carried it. It is my personality, the part of me that is so embedded that I must accept it and somehow learn to embrace it. 

Maybe changing isn't what I should do. Maybe it is letting myself be that must happen. Maybe the talks, the counsel, the medications to re-route the chemicals in my brain are always going to be a part of my life. Maybe the reason there are so few good memories is because there were so many more bad.... That may very well be my reality.

I could accept that idea if I could make sure that the things I think, the words I say and those deeply buried fears could be controlled and kept out of the way of those I love. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees. 

I've been feeling so drained lately.
I have this problem....
I overdo the things most people keep under control....

I exhaust myself...emotionally, physically....then I can't stay awake.
Unproductive hours turn into unproductive days.
Relaxation is hard to come by.
Exhaustion takes it's place.
I'm not any good for anything when it hits me.

First my eyes struggle to stay open, then it is as if I am staring down some abyss
that pulls me down, down...
until I succumb and then go into a reverie.

I catch myself snoring.
I pull away from my desk and lie down.
I close my eyes and enter a world that is both near and far
as if I'm lost in twight.

When I awake, I feel somehow refreshed.
It's only been a few minutes.
My dimensions were broadened for just a while.

The places I go in my dreams are all familiar.
 I dream the same dreams over and over again-
I like being there, wherever 'there' is.

Damned If I Do and Damned If I Don't

The feelings of threat arise within me quite easily. It is my own insecurity I suppose but no matter how hard I try to push things out of my mind, they come back to haunt me.
I know that there are certain triggers in my life that, when they come, cause me a lot of distress.
I try to 'deal' with it yet, I am not always successful.

I decided several weeks ago to cut out my Klonipin in order to 'feel' again. I felt extremely drowsy most of the time and I had a hard time keeping up with schoolwork. I blamed the drug. Although it was a minute dose and helped me to sleep through the night, I felt like it was time to deal with anxiety on my own.

Since coming off of Klonipin, anxiety has been worse. I take many deep breaths, my hands shake and my chest occasionally hurts. I am determined, however, to face my 'demons' and try to drive them out. I'll give it a couple of weeks and see if I get any better.

My better half says, "Take a chill pill" ...He remembers me before the Zoloft, before the Klonipin. I would like to enjoy the ride, at least some of it, without the med haze....feeling more energetic yet never able to just 'chill' is tough to learn. Dear Lord, I am trying!

A Busy Life And The Resistance Of Age

I forget how busy I really am. I get up early, it's still dark and quiet in the house except for the faint sound of my daughter's radio.
When I awake, it's hard for me to focus on the day ahead. I only know that I want my coffee, I need the toilet....then it all floods back...yes, classes today, doctor's appointments, one of the kid's needs a ride. Little by little, the caffeine does it's job and I begin to come to life.

Lately, some of my dreams come back during the middle of the day. A feeling, almost a faint deja vu and the sense that somehow my dream state and my reality have merged in a moment.
It's a strange feeling and one that unpredictably comes to me as I do the tedious little chores like sweeping or washing dishes. Aha! Yes, I remember...that IS what I was dreaming about!
I can't figure out why this is but I have a feeling it has to do with changes in my brain from my medication. It's not unpleasant, just slightly weird.

 I have become overwhelmed. I can no longer go at the pace I once did. My body is tired and heavier. I study when I'm not driving or trying to quell the needy teenager's and their restlessness.I sense I am losing focus. I am losing control of my physical self.
I understand my grandmother's statement of frustration," In my mind I still feel young but then my body does not cooperate with the image I have of myself."
Yes, I understand. Here I am in my 'middle-years' and I see the effects of gravity, sunlight, stress and....let's not forget: aging.

I think of that Joni Mitchell song Circle Game. We start out wanting to be older and mature and then, we finally get to that peak we so impatiently climbed, realizing that now it is leveling out but soon we will try to stop the speeding carousel and drag our feet to slow down the process of human deterioration.

Yeah, I know and believe that there is a spiritual side in all of us that never dies. Most of the time, the thought of death doesn't bother me any more. I have accepted that there is an end.
I suppose what I don't want to think about is the process with which I'll end up there, at least not just yet.

So, maybe busy-ness is a good thing. It keeps me from dwelling on the reality to come, The unanswered questions of will I be healthy in my old age? Will I be active? Will I become senile? Will I be loved? Cared for?

Yes, I would take the studying, driving around and household chores over the answers to those questions right now.
Busy-ness IS a good thing!

A Day In the Life of a Social Phobic

I was relaxed all day today. My better half and I spent the day, chatting, having our coffee. He was studying and so was I.

The day wore on and it was time for me to run to class. I tried to make sense of my hair...not an easy task, let me tell you. I got dressed and drove off to the college. I was enjoying music on the way, keeping my eye on the clock-I may be about 5 or 10 minutes late for class I thought, but I wasn't that stressed about it.

I found a space to park upon arrival. I rolled up my windows, grabbed my keys and handbags and started off to the building where class was to be held. I walked at a quick pace not wanting to be any later than I was and climbed the staircase and rushed down the hall to my room. My chest was burning from the quick walk.I was a bit breathless but I took a few deep breaths to settle myself as I opened the classroom door.

I noticed all the back row seats were taken and so I would have to walk past my whole class and find a seat up front. It was quiz time so I hurriedly got my paper and pen and started writing my answers to the questions on the board. I did well I thought. I was done just after everyone else and I turned in the paper.

By this time, I was feeling my social anxiety beginning to opress me. I felt as if everyone's eyes were somehow, for some reason, drawn to me. I tried to ignore the feeling. I listen to my professor, I decide to try for an answer to his question. I do answer...somehow though, the feeling of anxiety persists.

As I listen, the feeling of being watched begins to overpower me. I try to move around and make myself more comfortable but my heart is racing now and I feel breathless. I am trying to conceal it. I continue to watch the professor and listen to the discussion.

By the end of the class, I am shaky and I feel weak. I fumble with my books and papers then make a rush for the door.The voices in my head begin to persuade me that I am not good enough. I don't have what it takes to make the grade. I push the thoughts away and turn on my radio. I am wishing...be home now...now!

When I park my car in the yard, I slowly get up out of my seat and on shaky legs step into my house. I am still disrupted, I am still trembling and having trouble breathing without sighing. I wonder to myself....why am I feeling like this? Is it my brain? Heredity? I have no definite answers. All I can do is ride the wave.

My Own Worst Enemy

  I have always been a very sensitive person. Over the years, experience has toughened me but deep down, I feel pain more exquisitly than most healthy, non-depressed people. During my lifetime, I have learned to go from suffering silently to the extreme of being overly aggressive with my words. Now, as I am 'mellowing' with age, I would say that I am learning to choose my battles and preserve valuable energy for other problems. I still feel pain but I know to wait until my emotions die down a bit before I decide how to handle what I feel.

I wish I knew if my hyper-sensitivity started with my conception. Am I simply a product of biology? Was there one particular traumatic experience that triggered my growing brain to stop developing some important survival structures that would help me to bounce back? The questions are endless. I have no answers.

I remember so many instances of painful experiences growing up. Was that the majority of what I experienced or did I just set aside good memories and hang on to the sadder ones?

 I can remember feeling that I had trouble 'fitting in' when growing up. Yet, I wanted to so badly. I would parrot popular sayings, behaviors...anything, as long as I felt acceptance. I became ultra-agreeable. Whatever it took to be part of the flock-that's what I did.

I hate that about myself now. How pathetic! If only I had the courage to be an individual - unafraid to express myself! Of course, that was many years ago and I have forgiven myself those weaknesses, however, thinking about those times makes me feel so shallow.

The bottom of it was that I would not give myself permission to express negative emotions until finally, the toxins in my mind were violently pushing themselves out through my skin and through various physical ailments. I began to break out on my face, vomit in the middle of the night and get caught up in horrible panic attacks that made my heart race and left me gasping for breath. Agorophobia had me in it's clutches until I finally forced myself out, little-by-little. Before that, I could barely walk around the block without feeling incapacitating anxiety.

That was when I began to learn about myself and accepted the fact that I needed help. I kept looking for answers in books, magazines, herbal remedies, exercise-anything that might help me get emotionally stable.
I also started to express my anger. I was the 'yes man' to whoever seemed most dominant. I knew that was not the best way to go, so I began to disagree, to give myself permission to say no. That was definitely the hardest lesson to learn.

When I look back on all those many years when I made choices to be accepted rather than think things through and decide on what I really wanted, I still get angry with myself.

 Even in my adult life, when I should have known better, I still took the path of least resistance...just to keep the peace. I would swallow my dreams. I put all of my desires, my needs , aside so that my children and ex-husband could have their dreams, their desires fulfilled. I threw myself on the ground and became the #1 doormat in town.

How does this behavior fit in with being overly sensitive? It's the realization that all I did until very recently, all I said and had become was due to the fear of being rejected. I devised a way to short-circuit the trip-wire in my mind that made me feel too much. I turned my hurts into depression and tried hard to mask what I felt. I turned the dissapointments inward and stifled them.

Not knowing positively if my depression is biologically or emotionally-based, I can only guess why it follows me around all day. I assume much of it is environmental and some is hereditary, (both sides of the family had anxiety and depressive illness.) All I know is that my medications have helped me to stay steadier and have lessened the all too familiar attacks I sometimes encounter.

My overly-sensitive mind brings me to paranoid ideation. I obsess, I over-think and drive myself crazy. A word or lack of one can send me spiraling down, second guessing myself and trying to resist the temptation to aggressively fight back somehow, yet I ponder : Is my hurt really justified or am I paranoid once again?

One day I hope to be sure.