I made it through the week! It was touch-and-go there for a while (mentally speaking), but I made it. I even learned a new thing at work. My stress hasn’t completely evaporated–there’s still a slight chance that I might end up with some of the same stress piled back on me next week–but I’m not on Red Alert all the time now. It’s more like Yellow Alert…maybe a bit less.
There are still garments to make for Yule, a whole slew of events to schedule on social media, holiday presents to make for friends and family, and Gods only know what else I’m forgetting at the moment. So yeah, work-stress is lessened, life-stress keeps on trucking.
Overall, though, I think I’m feeling better. I don’t have the panic attack hangover I had yesterday, and I feel pretty calm. Is it a calm-before-the-storm kind of calm? I hope not. But I’ll take the calm feeling while I can.
Category: Health
Beatdown
I’m done. Done. Totally, completely, 1000% done.
Except I’m not. I have more to do, farther to go, deeper to dig. In other words, I’m shit out of luck.
Ok, let me back up a bit.
I’ve been covering for a co-worker who had surgery a week ago, and even though I learned how to do that position a little over a year ago, my training was quick and dirty. Basically, the only backup person for that position quit and I had to step up and dive in. Speed training.
Incomplete speed training.
Yeah. There are huge chunks of aspects of the position that are missing from my knowledge/experience base. Some of the things never came up during that speed training, and despite me pointing this out multiple times it has never been rectified. I literally am the only other person “trained” in this position, and as the past week has demonstrated I am not truly prepared.
I didn’t realize how much stress I was under this past week until this morning. My worsening insomnia, which I had been attributing to just me being me, has most likely been due to this sudden change in work duties. This afternoon, the buildup of stress and strain and pressure came to a head in the form of a massive anxiety attack. During the work day. Full-blown crying-my-eyes-out find-a-place-to-hide-from-reality anxiety attack.
It has been a long, long time since I’ve had an attack that bad while at work. I have to admit, I’m more than a bit ashamed of it. I thought I was past this kind of thing.
Guess not.
Now, work life isn’t my only stressor right now. I have other things going on that are probably not helping matters. Could I cut back on one or more of the non-work activities? Sure. I could. Will I? Probably not too much. Some of my private life things demand a certain degree of responsibility, and some of them involve dear friends who I do not want to disappoint or let down. So I’m going to plow through my off hours just like I’m plowing through the work stress. Will that mean more breakdowns? Probably… but hopefully I can keep any impending meltdowns to times when I can get away and hide my shame.
I’m not sure what I’ll do to destress aside from the date night that my wonderful husband has planned for tomorrow. Work will calm down eventually. I’ll get my personal life sorted to the point where I can function.
I just wish I could fast forward to this stress leveling off.
Soon, though, right? Please?
Copycat attack
I’ve been on Pinterest a little too much lately, I think. After spending a few days cranking out baby shower gifts on the sewing machine, I now have the crazy notion in my head that I can look at a thing and determine how it was constructed and make it on my own. And who knows? Maybe I can…for some simpler things, I mean. It might take some brainstorming and visualizing, but I’ve already got a few things in mind to make for myself, and I’m thinking of making gifts for some of my friends and family this year.
On one hand, it’s a good thing; I can utilize fabric scraps (that I don’t quite know what to do with) in a useful way. On the other hand, this could potentially be the early stages of a manic episode, so I had better be aware of my emotions and keep my impulses in check.
Sometimes I wonder if I can harness this manic energy that comes to me and use it to be productive…but then I remember how out of control I can get if I’m not careful, and it’s very, very hard to be careful when you’re in a manic state. Part of that mania involves a lack of…how can I put this? A lack of concern over consequences. I know that impulsive action A can potentially cause bad consequence B, but I really don’t give a rat’s ass whether B happens or not.
Then again, I might not be manic. Not every burst of creative energy is caused by an episode. It could just be that I’m in the mood to make stuff. But going off of past experiences and probability factors and all that science-y stuff, the scales are tipping heavily in the manic direction.
It’s frustrating as hell, that’s for sure. Not knowing if you’re slowly losing control or just in an unusually good mood. It sucks.
I’m probably still going to make the stuff though, if I can find the time. Whether it’s an episode or not, I’ve gotten it in my head that I can do this thing, and now I have to take on my own challenge.
Let Sleeping Demons Lie
It’s World Mental Health Day, and I thought I’d take a little bit of time to discuss mental health–largely because it is most definitely directly relevant to my life. Sometimes I joke about it, because the humor helps relieve the pressure. Other times, though, like right now, I want to be more serious about the subject of mental health. It’s a very serious thing, and one that needs more awareness.
It has been a while since I’ve mentioned this here (because, well, it shouldn’t be something worth mentioning): I’m bipolar. I don’t have it as bad as some people, and the medications keep my emotional state mostly under control, but it’s there all the same. I don’t get to take a vacation from it. I don’t get to say, “Y’know, I think I’m not going to be bipolar today.” It’s there. It’s a daily thing, regardless of whether or not it’s at the forefront of my mind.
The fates have been kind to me lately in that I have been able to almost forget that I’m bipolar–almost. My moods have been running fairly stable, and aside from the daily pill regimen to keep those moods in check I really don’t have any constant reminders these days of the horror that I used to endure. I can’t really describe it adequately in prose; poetry sometimes better conveys the roller coaster of bipolar life. I’m going to add a poem here that the narcissist in me is quite proud of: “Hostage in My Head,” a poem written during a more difficult mental state.
“Hostage in My Head” (from Kamikaze Butterflies by AJ Mullican)
Trapped alone
Awash in a sea of terror
No escape from my own deranged thoughts
Impossible futures scroll through my mind
Over and over on a continuous loop
My mental movie screen glows
As the macabre fantasy plays unbidden
Death and disaster overtake reality
Can’t focus on the here and now
When the “might be” looms on the horizon
Against my will my death plays out again
For the hundredth time this hour
I watch my lifeless form slide to the ground
Shot in the convenience store
Pulled from the mangled wreck
Coded mysteriously at work
At the sight of my imagined death
My heart rate soars and pounds
There’s nothing beautiful and delicate
About the kamikaze butterflies in my chest
Every single nerve
Teeters on the edge of a precipitous drop
With a nightmare at the bottom
Just one nudge
One little push
And everything will come crashing down
I tiptoe on the inside
Walking the fine line between sanity and oblivion
Pacing the padded room within my skull
Inside I scream for a reprieve, for escape
Even for sweet, sweet nothingness
But my calls go unheeded
The nightmare begins anew
I am my own personal terrorist
And I am the hostage
So yeah. Sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes it’s easy going. Sometimes it scares the fuck out of me. You can never tell what the next day–or minute, or second–will bring. And you know what else you sometimes can’t tell? If someone even has mental illness. That’s right, it’s sneaky shit. The stereotype is always the scruffy guy standing in the corner at the bus station, muttering to himself. That. Is. NOT. Typical of mental illness. Yes, it happens, but mental illness could be as innocuous as a slight slump to the shoulders, an unusual amount of energy, a sigh. There are infinite signs, and they can be infinitesimal.
To anyone reading this who suffers from mental illness, no matter what that illness is, I’m here. I may not be able to fully understand your personal illness, or even your own form of bipolar disorder, but I can talk. I can listen. To anyone reading this who is fortunate enough to be fairly mentally “sound,” if you know someone who is mentally ill, be that person who talks. Who listens. Sometimes just a little show of support and understanding is enough to keep the demons at bay.
For now the demons are quiet, and I think I’ll let them sleep a little longer.
Must be nice to live that life
I wonder what it’s like to have such a comfortable living situation that working is apparently optional.
I almost called out today. My knees and wrist were in so much pain that I almost stayed home, took some tramadol, and curled up into a ball. Did I, though? No. I fucking went in to work. I did my job.
So what prompted this? I’ll tell you: some of my coworkers seem to be conveniently “sick” quite often– either themselves or their kid(s). Many times on Mondays or Fridays. Or days where the schedule is pretty busy. I don’t know whether to take pity on them for their misfortune or ask them how they get away with it. Because damn. That’s either some rotten luck or some kind of badass mojo that makes you “sick” on tough work days.
I was legitimately in pain today. I should probably have stayed home because to be honest, just picking up a chart or putting on a glove hurt. Standing up and sitting down hurt. Steering the car hurt. But no. I need to work, so I worked.
Maybe one day. One day this series I’m writing will be published, and I’ll be free to “quit working” and just write. Then I can be “sick” whenever the fuck I want.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
But fuck all, why can’t I get a day off whenever the fuck I please?
War paint
More war prep was done today, and I’m starting to get pretty excited about it.
First off, my husband and I taped and painted our dancing masks with Viking runes for warrior. That was a fun and interesting adventure (in which we learned that one of the smallest pieces of the airbrush is one of the most crucial in dispensing the paint), and it got me a little more revved up for the event. I did some fabric painting as well, adding symbols to represent both Kingdom and Barony on two of our tunics:
Are they perfect? No, but what is? I still think they look pretty snazzy considering the time constraints I’ve had (and the fact that I mostly eyeballed almost every measurement on these).
I feel much better about the war now that things are falling into place. We’re getting to the point where we can start packing early, which is leaps and bounds better than we usually do. I mean, most trips we take I end up packing for the morning of. We’re not leaving for another three days and I already plan on stuffing my bag as soon as we get home from visiting with friends.
I am still a little nervous, but that’s the socially-awkward introvert in me. There will be lots and lots of people there, 90+% of whom I won’t know. It’ll be a challenge for sure, but at least for now I have the prep work and my real job to distract me from that.
All that’s left is to get my creaky old joints to man up and quit whining. The past few days have had me in varying degrees of pain, which is not going to be conducive to a fun fake war experience. I’m hoping that the kinks work themselves out soon because I want to be able to take the field in top form (for me, that is).
Three days until we’re officially on the road to California!
Annual avoidance
It’s that time of year again…and again, and again, and again. I’ve overdue for a basic physical (by oh, say, 5-10 years or so…maybe 20…when did I last do it?). It’s not that I’m averse to going to the doctor necessarily; I just don’t see the point in going when I’m not sick. Or when I have a minor cold. Who goes to the doctor for a cold for crying out loud? Well, I guess me–when that cold turns into bronchitis.
About a year ago a little nagging cough rocketed into bronchitis within about a day. Thanks to whoever at Dragon Con 2016 it was that decided to come to the con sick. I appreciate it. Jerk.
I’m getting to that age when I can’t really keep putting these kinds of appointments off. I should’ve started getting my boobies squished every year or two about three years ago, but I just hate scheduling that kind of thing. I’ve got to arrange to be off work, because of course most places are only open during “office hours,” which means they’re usually closed until after I start work and close before I leave.
Speaking of being sick, I’m kind of sick of the people at work who are constantly calling out. They need to get to the doctor. Get some preventative medicine going. Or get their kids in to the doctor more often. Or see an exorcist. I’m just saying.
You can tell the ones who are truly sick, the ones who, like me, only call out when they just absolutely can’t make it. There’s a level of respect there when you see someone pushing through the work day when they feel like shit, or when they know their kid feels like shit. Those people are the dedicated ones. They understand the strain put on the company and their coworkers when they skip out on work.
Me? Yeah, remember that bronchitis I mentioned? I kinda came in to work anyway, despite knowing I was sick as shit. I got sent home within an hour or two. Hell, I was walking on a broken foot for two weeks before I even went to a doctor about the pain. Granted, I didn’t know it was broken–I thought it was just a strain or sprain of some sort–but the point is, I didn’t wuss out and take a day off until I almost literally could not walk anymore…and even then I waited for a day when I was scheduled as a trainee. Basically, I was nonessential personnel, so I knew they wouldn’t be scrambling to find a replacement.
Let’s see, I had a point somewhere in here…Oh yeah…Annual physicals and routine testing. Get it done. It may seem like some random insurance shtick aimed at squeezing more money out of you, but it’s actually kind of important. Like, catch-it-before-it-becomes-cancer-or-something important. Don’t let your work schedule stop you, either. If you need to take a day or half day or couple of hours off, get that checkup in. Get your boobies squished, have that embarrassing pelvic exam (guys, you need routine shit too–don’t think you’re getting out of this one). Just get it done.
And don’t let a minor cold turn into bronchitis just because you’re stubborn. You’ll just make shit worse and end up missing even more work because of it.
Wandering blind
I’m not quite sure where I’m going
I barely know where I’ve been
I want to do more than I’m doing
But I don’t know how, why, or when
I’m not quite sure what I’m doing
I don’t know quite where to begin
To do things is not really helping
To do not seems more of a sin
I’m not quite much help as a listener
And speaking always comes out wrong
I don’t quite know what I can do
I don’t quite know how to be strong
So bad at being good
Why can’t I just eat healthy? Or at least eat less?
I’ve been walking almost every day since Pokemon Go came out (last night there were major thunderstorms with torrential downpours–not exactly something one wants to go walking in), but I have a feeling I haven’t lost an ounce because of my eating habits.
It’s so difficult to for me eat healthy. I have strong cravings and strong urges to eat when I’m not hungry. I have a terrible resistance to these things. I’ve heard that if you manage to stave off those cravings for at least two weeks it evens out and you stop craving as much, but I haven’t been able to make it that long yet.
The worst thing is that the corset/bustier I’m making for my cosplay seems awfully short-waisted…meaning unless I make really high-waisted pants, my gut will show. So I need to lost at least some weight. Some decent amount, not just a few pounds here or there. And I only have a month. Not too likely that it’ll happen, sadly.
I don’t know why I sabotage myself like this. I’ve known about this con since before Phoenix Comicon, and even then I still didn’t really make a concerted effort to eat better. Sure, I was drinking healthy smoothies, but I wasn’t eating them consistently or cutting back on the other food.
Crash dieting isn’t the answer, I know that much. At this point, I just need to accept that I’m going to have major muffintop at Dragon Con and I’ll just have to deal with those repercussions when I get there. There’s probably going to be some laughter and pointing and bodyshaming. I’ve just gotta suck it up (not literally–my gut’s too big for even that), try not to let it get to me, and just have fun.
Oh, and I have to finish the damn cosplays. *Sigh* Guess I should be getting to that.
Inescapable slumber
What makes a person extra tired one morning compared to another?
Let’s assume I got the same amount/quality of sleep two nights in a row (hey, it’s possible!). One morning, I wake up normally, with about 15 minutes of grogginess followed by the usual early a.m. what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-time-before-work dilemma. The next, I wake up, doze off, wake up, doze off sitting up at the computer, wake up, find myself clicking “transfer” on the only Clefairy I have in my Poké-thing (yes, I did that), doze, wake up, etc.
This morning was one of the latter mornings. I was able to fend off my cat for a good hour before finally waking up…or rather, not finally…more like gaining full consciousness for the first time of the morning. Then I tried getting on the computer for a while, but I just ended up nodding off so much that I just went back to sleep for a little while. Then, after waking up again, I went into the craft room to work on cosplay–where I promptly fell asleep sitting straight up on the futon. Head full-tilt backwards, mouth hanging open, probably snoring. I gave up on the cosplay project at that point. Clearly I was not functional enough to be operating a sewing machine. I can’t afford a trip to the hospital to have a needle surgically removed from my finger.
Oddly enough, my husband has been experiencing the same phenomenon today. Extreme grogginess even after being awake for several hours. What causes this? He didn’t complain of a bad night’s sleep, so why is he so tired?
I suppose if I wasn’t so sleepy I could research it or something. But I think I’ll just drink my energy drink and be grateful that I had the morning off today.