I Did Too Much At The Wrong Time

Bones

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I did too much at the wrong time.  I knew I was starting to come down with something, but the weather was so lovely and I had things to do … so I did too much.

Last night I got home exhausted but kept on doing things.  I didn’t dive into bed like I should have.  Instead, I did a bit of (necessary) adulting correspondence, some crocheting, and actively watched some TV.  Then I napped on the couch, which never quite equates to ‘restful sleep’.

As a result, today I feel rather like death warmed up and chucked through the flu.  My workmate took one look at me and said “you look terrible, go home” so, at just past 10.30, that’s exactly what I did.

Now I’m going to lie in bed with the windows open just a bit to let in the wonderful fresh air, I’m going to put Forensic Files on, and I’m going to sleep.  Hopefully one (or many) of the furry horde will join me in bed and I’ll have a cuddle buddy (or two).  But it’s a timely reminder to pay attention to what my body is saying, and to really pay attention when I feel like I’m coming down with something.

Always take care of yourself, even if it means not ‘making the most’ of a sunny weekend.  You can always make the most of a sunny weekend by napping.  You don’t have to go out and do what other people say you should do.

Settled In Fluoxetine

Bones

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I’ve been on fluoxetine (prozac) for about 6 weeks now (maybe 7).

The first week was amazing and weird – I felt like I was high all the time, and I fell asleep less than an hour after I took it.  I decided to take the fluoxetine at night so that I could sleep through the worst of the side effects, if there were any, and it seemed to put me to sleep really quick.  It was a good choice for me.  That first week I felt what it was like to have no anxiety or depression, and it was incredible.

The second week was okay.  I had a clear mind, I was more awake and alert, and overall I had more energy.  I just didn’t want to do anything, and that was fine.

The third week was pretty shit.  I had all that clear mind and awake and alert and a shitty brain.  My thoughts were very negative and anxious and I couldn’t shake the mood.  It didn’t impact my body the same way it normally does, though, I didn’t feel completely exhausted and wiped out.  I still wanted to be an amorphous blob, but I at least had the energy to do what I needed to do.

I did discover, part way through the second week, that my sleeping patterns were turning to crap and I wasn’t getting solid sleep (thanks Sleep Cycle), and I was tired.  I wasn’t achingly tired, but I was wired and tired.

Fourth week I realised I was getting back to me, the sassy little sasspot I used to be before I was wrapped up in narcissists.  I was no longer desperate to please people and to be non confrontational.  One of the people at work said something passingly racist about one of the people I work for, and instead of doing my usual pinchy-smile and feel uncomfortable, my first reaction was anger, and I let it show.  I couldn’t vocalise it, but I could at least show it in my face.  This was a huge moment for me, because I hadn’t done this in almost a decade.  I have been conditioned and abused hard to just not.  People please.  Make no waves.  Submit.

It was at the start of week five that I switched my fluoxetine to morning – I did a 6 hour step each day for two days to shift my medication taking the full 12 hours.  My sleeping patterns began to improve, although they are still not quite back to my usual solid sleeping.

Fifth and sixth weeks have been good.  Really good.  I’m much happier, I’m much sassier, I’m much more honest with myself and others about my needs.  I am more able to say ‘I just need to check out a bit’ when I’m in a situation that is overstimulating.  I am more able to say ‘no’ to people and situations that are not good for me.

I still have anxiety.  I still have depression.  I still have PTSD and panic attacks and meltdowns, but they’re more manageable.  I have enough headspace to take action to make my severely anxious days … less shit.  The depression doesn’t suck the life out of me.

And I will say this:  I wish I had been on prozac a decade ago.  

If you are thinking about medication, talk to your physician about it.  Organise your life so you have absolute minimal to-do for the first couple of weeks.  Go to absolute bare minimum, and let people around you know what’s happening so they can check on you.  And then take the plunge.  You may need to try a few different ones – everyone is unique, and every drug affects people in different ways.  Talk to people about your side effects, any quirks you’re having, and take their input on board, and give your physician honest feedback.  Don’t be afraid to say, after 3 weeks, ‘this isn’t quite working for me, can we please try something else’.

You are worth enjoying your life.

Social Anxiety

Bones

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Today my mind is racing.  Yesterday I was invited out to a social gathering by a neighbour.  They have dogs.  I have dog.  There was going to be a big dog meet up nearby with a walk and a trip to the cafe.  At the time I thought it was a great idea!  So I said I’d probably see them there.

I got home and panicked.  I slept badly.  Now I’m sitting in my house, hours past the meet up, wired up and anxious and trying to figure out where it all went wrong.  My mind is pulling up all sorts of excuses – my dog wasn’t too bright this morning, I slept badly, I couldn’t afford the coffee (I’ve just over-extended myself sorting out two very very large bills), I’m not feeling well …  at the end of the day, I suspect it’s a mixture of social anxiety and an element of too much sensory input.

It’s even harder when you don’t have their number to say ‘hey sorry, anxiety is really bad today, I’m going to camp it out inside’ and you actually have to go over there and say so.  Which I will do this afternoon.  I have found people are a lot more understanding when you say ‘I have anxiety and today is a bad day’ or ‘I have autism and need a quiet day’.

But as a result of all of this anxiety, I’m shut down today, down to emergency services only.  I don’t feel up to cleaning, I don’t feel up to doing anything except wrapping myself up on the couch and watching TV.  Which is compounding my stress a bit because I have things to do and I just don’t have the energy.

So I’m going to tell myself it’s okay, wrap up warm, put on something nice, have a cuppa tea, and we’ll try again later this afternoon.  The world is not going to end because I didn’t vacuum this week.

(In writing this I’ve calmed down considerably, and now feel like I can relax.)

Narcissistic Abuse And Money

Bones

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Budgets inspire a meltdown.  Unexpected expenses have me panicking and shaking for days.

This is the result of nearly a decade of abuse around money and budgeting.  I would budget.  He would blow it.  I would budget around that, He would blow it.  He wouldn’t allow any surplus in the budget, He had to get the next thing, He had to get another big expense, He had to buy more things.  I distinctly remember a discussion where he wanted a new car and I said if we got the large purchase he wanted on finance, we would have no wriggle room in the budget at all, and he replied with “that’s fine, we don’t need it anyway!”.

I’m talking no savings, no ability to go anywhere or do anything other than survive.  Literally living paycheck to paycheck.  In the end, when it had gotten really bad, we were on a combined income of nearly $200,000.  He spent every cent and more.  He would bully me to get a credit card, and put things on it.  I had to, to make ends meet, and then, despite budgeting to put it back on the card, he would spend it.

He would spend it.  He would spend it.  He would spend it.  He spent it all.  Because he wanted to Keep Up With The Joneses.  He was obsessed with the idea of wealth, of having it, and the approval he would receive from it.

It has taken me years to get a healthier relationship with money – I can actually put money aside and not compulsively spend it.  But I still want to vomit every time I work on my budget.  Unexpected expenses may always send me into a panic.  But the most difficult thing?

He is still doing it.  Through a series of decisions and a complex situation on both our parts, I am still somewhat reliant upon him to provide a small amount of money to pay off the debts I incurred at his behest.  And he’s not.  He was great for a while.  Now he’s not.  He’s spent it all, and I am once again scrabbling to make it work.  Except I no longer have any sway, I no longer have a way to cover for it.  So I become somewhat catatonic.

Which basically just involves me lying on the couch staring blankly at the TV while I’m at home, and spending minutes at a time staring blankly at the paper in front of me when I’m at work, and just generally wanting to not exist.

The day I no longer rely on him to pay off that debt will be the happiest day of my life.

Conflict Avoidance

Bones

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I have been conditioned to avoid conflict.  I have been punished, ignored, cold shouldered, berated, insulted and put down whenever I rose to a conflict instead of rolled over, whenever I voiced an opinion that was contrary to what was being said.  I didn’t realise it was happening – it started off small, and phrased like a concern for me “you shouldn’t argue with people on the internet”.  By the time it was blatantly “don’t do that, that’s rude” it was too late, I was hooked into the narcissist and I wasn’t getting out.

Despite the many years I’ve been away from Him, I am still not free.  I have identified an immediate aversion to conflict, to the point where I will go along with things that I do not like, things that I feel are unkind, because I cannot deal with the conflict.  If someone says something unkind about someone else towards me I’ll smile and play along – doesn’t matter who it is, I just shut down, go into conflict avoidance and people please mode, and my brain disconnects.

I never used to be like this.  Back in high school (a friend of mine reminded me of this) I was sitting at a group of desks and another girl came over and said she wanted it.  I politely said no, and when she persevered, I told her to fuck off.  In exactly those words.  I had no issues telling two girls who were harassing me at home to fuck off and never come back again.  I had no problems standing up to bullies.

I am now into my fourth week of fluoxetine, and I have discovered an amazing effect.  I’m getting my backbone back.

Today a colleague was rude about one of the people I provide support for.  This particular individual is Chinese.  The rest of the office is not.  This particular colleague asked me to tell the Chinese woman to see her “once she’s done with her jabbering”.  Instead of my usual response – a polite, mincing smile and a churning of discomfort in my gut – I felt immediately angry.  While I couldn’t vocalise it properly, I certainly let it be shown in my face and posture.  This colleague was being very rude and racist about another colleague, one who she works with, and one who works harder than damn near everyone else in the office.

And for once, my first response wasn’t conflict avoidance.  I was, and still am, intensely proud of myself for that.  I feel more like me than I have in a decade.