I have made and canceled countless doctor’s appointments, but today, I FUCKING MADE IT.
I can check a physical, pap smear (ick), STD testing, and thyroid testing off my never-ending to-do list.
I brought up my anxiety and all the shitty thing that go with it, like the constant jaw clenching (and subsequent pain) and horrendous sweating. Seriously, I have tried every damn clinical strength deodorant there is and I still constantly look like I ran a fucking marathon after doing exactly nothing. It’s fucking disgusting.
I got bloodwork done to check my thyroid just in case, but she diagnosed me with an anxiety disorder (duh) and prescribed me Fluoxetine – a generic version of Prozac, which should help with the depression, anxiety, and panic attacks all in one handy little pill. She started me on a low dose with a gradual increase to the full dose. I have a follow-up appointment with her in a month and she gave me a referral to a shrink for therapy. Now I just have to call and make a therapy appointment and actually go to it.
Move in day was total fucking chaos. Apparently, there was a miscommunication between management, and they still had my move-in day as the 28th despite multiple emails confirming the 20th, so my apartment wasn’t ready. They let me move in anyway and they’ve been in and out finishing up some things. They are mostly done now, but they’re coming back next Monday to finish painting.
I have been kind of numb until today. Right before work this morning a panic attack hit and I could barely pull it together in time. I had to remind myself each time a client asked how I was doing that they don’t really want to know, they’re just being polite.
I haven’t stopped crying since I got home from work.
Something about the grocery store gives me a panic attack every time.
Even though I go in prepared with a list, I can’t hold it together long enough to get everything on it. I usually end up literally running to the self-checkout stand with less than half the shit on my list. Then I sit in my car and cry like a fucking idiot who can’t buy groceries like a goddamn adult and drive off without everything I need.
This is a lifesaver. I can sit at my desk (or on the fucking couch!) and sort by unit price to make sure I’m getting the best deal on what I want. In 1-2 hours, everything on my list is AT MY FUCKING DOOR.
NO MORE GROCERY STORE PANIC ATTACKS!!! WOOOOOOO!!!!!
I’m sitting at my desk, The Spill Canvas is playing on the Google Home speaker behind my laptop.
As I’m mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, I stop on a Portlandia skit about organic chickens. The video auto-plays, but the sound is off.
All of a sudden, I can’t hear the music anymore. It’s still playing, but my heart rate is louder and it’s all I can hear.
“What the fuck?” I think to myself. “There were no triggers. None. What the fuck. Oh fuck. This is a heart attack, not a panic attack. It can’t be a panic attack if there are no triggers. I’m having a goddamn heart attack.”
By now my head is throbbing and I’m sure I’m about to die at my desk.
“Fucking stop it.” I tell myself. “Stop being a little bitch. YOU’RE FINE.”
Still alive. Still very much an anxious fucking mess. And now apparently there doesn’t have to be a trigger I can identify to cause a fucking panic attack.
Thanks for not believing me when I was in second grade and told you the man at my daycare was molesting me every day.
Thanks for treating me so shittily that I moved out of your house and into a physically abusive boyfriend’s house when I was 16 years old because the physical abuse he put me through was easier to deal with than the emotional abuse you put me through.
Thanks for following me across the country to humiliate me in front of my colleagues at a conference and scream at me that my marital issues are all my fault.
Thanks for cutting me out of your life when I asked for an apology.
Oh wait, those thank you’s were supposed to be fuck you’s. Except the last one. Seriously, thanks for cutting me out of your life. You don’t deserve to be in mine.
When I first adopted my dog, she loved everyone and everything, including people and dogs.
Then she got attacked by another dog.
Now, she doesn’t trust other dogs at all. (Can you blame her?!) I’ve spent the last several years working with trainers and behaviorists to get her comfortable enough to not growl and snap at other dogs in preemptive self-defense, but her trust in other dogs is forever broken. (Kind of like my trust in men. Gone.)
This morning, while we were going for a walk, out of nowhere, a little dog ran from it’s owner across the street and charged my leashed dog right in the face, snarling, growling, and snapping at her.
I had to pick up my sixty-pound dog to protect her and the little asshole accosting her. Do you have any idea how hard it is to lift a terrified sixty-pound dog in a millisecond while having a panic attack?
How hard is it to use a fucking leash in an area where leashes are required by law?