crazy

Man. I've been a mess lately. 
I hate it when that happens. Yes, it happens. And I hate it. 

There have been a couple of times in the past, during therapy sessions, when I've requested testing for bi-polar disorder. I hated that also, the asking. But it's something that I do, I always have. When something is worrying me and I can no longer unravel the mess, I run straight at it. Wise? I don't know. Sometimes, maybe, sometimes DEFINITELY NOT. By "running straight at it", it's the same as the  "grasping a nettle" logic. Hold firm and bold, don't wishy/wash, it's better to ask for clarification in all things, imo, than to flail and wonder in the cloud. 

In my past of trauma is where that was born. I'm following a rabbit trail here, bear with me...
When someone in your life, that you instinctively trust and look to for protection and guidance, begins to act in ways that are contrary to that, things get a little screwed up in your head. The cellular part of you is in trust and follow mode, while the cerebral is sitting in the valley of shock and confusion, as the behavior is completely foreign to the mold that person lives in within you. After the event, there is the lingering wave of all things difficult and confused, until it ebbs and flows away, leaving behind a trace of pain, just enough to create doubt in deep ways, but not enough to break the mold open...yet.

I lived in those limbo spaces for many years. What it did was teach me to question everything. Everything. Nothing got a place to rest inside of me until it had been quite thoroughly analyzed and demonized, redeemed and then placed, finally, somewhere...with an eject system firmly in place. Seriously. 

After my first massive breakdown, I was able to flush much of that grey away, and find core pieces of me, the solid bits that the mountain gave me. And I began to track my reactions to situations and find patterns and solutions. 

Another smaller breakdown, many years later, led me to information regarding the physical reactions alone that come into play with panic disorder, physical depletion(which is different from depression), and PTSD. I began a time of deep research into these things during that time, and came out with strong skills in dealing with that basic, but very important, component. Recognizing the physical reactions objectively, before allowing them to be taken by emotions, is key. It happens almost simultaneously, so the breakdown and critical analysis must be clean and very tight. For a visual, it throws me into a state not unlike the Matrix scenes, where motion appears to slow. And it works beautifully. I've had success in teaching others how to do this also, but they have to be open, which is difficult in those situations. The first reaction is to close up, and it begins to happen before the physical recognition of the trigger is complete. Being with someone, right next to them, touching if possible, when a trigger hits, is best. Anyway, it takes time and a willingness to go there. Long rabbit trail. 

So. My quest for clarification, to get back to the point here...cut through the grey and see what it is. Just do it. Don't sit and look at it and wonder, don't assume, don't be assumed, just fucking find out. DO. IT. Ask it, grab it, see it, know it. Period. That's my approach. Sometimes, as I said, it's great. Other times...not so much.
In reverse, I forget that people don't think the same way that I do...not that I am special, we are each unique unto our own selves...and that perhaps they don't need the clarification that I do. Or they need it differently. Or they need to seek it themselves. This is where I still get very, very foggy. 
I hate it.

There's something about me that I cannot change. In times of stress, of unknowns, I worry. 
Worry like a mo fo, sometimes.
So kill me. 
I don't like it anymore than anybody else does. And if anyone had a clue, ONE SINGLE EFFING CLUE, as to how hard I work to sift the worries from the "real" pile and the "imposter" pile, they would see it not as crazy, but as something quite different. There are 3 people in this world who understand this about me, 3 that I am aware of. They have infinite patience with me through it and have learned to sit and let me spin myself like a centrifuge to toss the shit out and keep only the real. They jump in to stop me from beating myself up over every tiny perceived mistake, which comes from another pool of trauma...mistakes made = beating. Not playing a drama card, that's just how it was. So, those two items play together, badly, in me during times of high stress. 

And that is where I am right now. 

Trying to get the house ready to list, I can't reach the hedges safely to trim them. Frustrating, but I can manage to get it done. Working on the painting bits that need done, every time I turn around supplies are gone. Patching a spot in the wall, I come home and find a new one from the gate that we put up to keep the dogs contained. Get the carpets cleaned, see a new set of stains in kid's room from the damn bong water spilling. AND that leads to the smell. WHICH leads to the next...

She's got me worried. Of course, any teen girl will have a parent worried. And this one in particular. But the past week or so has me on high alert. I've talked with her sister, so we're watching, but that's it. Noone else, except now this blog. I'm certain that there aren't other drugs involved, I see absolutely no evidence of that, but there are other factors. So sleeping isn't happening much, lots of watching...and much worry. 

I need to get us the hell out of here. And I'm trying. 

Meanwhile, I'm acting like a crazy person in some respects. And I hate that. So much more than I can say. 

Back to the bi-polar. Yes, I requested testing. Because it frightened me. I had enough clarification in myself to know that there was a pattern of some type and that when certain conditions hit, I was not in a place that I deemed OK. And that there was a type of a hangover afterward. And I needed to know. If I was, then I was, and I'd have a direction and tools to learn to manage it with. So I grabbed the bull and did it. A few times.
I'm not. 
I'm an "adult survivor of multiple childhood trauma events, physical/sexual/emotional, with a history of panic disorder and mild anxiety as a result, and a past record of severe depression(2 events)".

 That is my "classification", if one is even necessary. Medication has helped with the severe panic, in the past, when I couldn't get on top of it and control the reaction, and meds helped with the last very severe breakdown. In general, they don't help me and I am healthier in all respects without them. Not only my choice, born out through professionals as well. 

I have scars that run physically and otherwise. The physical are nothing to me. The emotional is the worry. Yes. The constant radar scanning for danger that happens when these times of stress are upon me. 

This time of year is especially tough. The darkness is hard, the grey is hard, the holidays are hard. Actually, it's the AFTER the holidays that are hard. The lights, the songs, the happy, the brightness, then it all gives way, in a moment, to the grey and cold and of January.  I try to be like Scrooge, the new Scrooge, and just keep Christmas in my heart and given out, always, to help with that contrast. Thanksgiving was hard this year. But it's all just a day, anyway. 

I'm working to get back to my silly appearing place of pink glasses and happiness. Life is good. It really is. Daughter will be fine...eventually. She will. It's going to be interesting in between and I can't help but wish there was help that would help in this time, someone she can respect and hear. I put that plea out into the universe and we'll see what happens. I know what I'd like to see, it all made sense, but I believe my worry may have killed that. No worrying about that...it's now in the grey realm. It's out of my hands and if I must chalk it up to "teri fucked up", then I'll take it. and learn. 

Here's to the conundrum of life.