Tag: stress


You Don’t Know a Thing About Me

21
September

In a little over a week, I will be back in court. Even though I know that the city was lying in court back in July about the grass, I am still very, very nervous. Since, according to one of my cousins, Municipal Courts are basically set up to be revenue sources for the city, it is unlikely that I will be found not guilty. So, I will be told that I have to pay between $200 and $500, plus court costs, and I could go to jail for “not more than 30 days” for the violations.

I don’t have that money. I will not have that money anytime in the near future, but it will still be expected of me. And when I tell the judge that I’m on a fixed income, he’ll suggest two months. If I tell him that two months won’t do a damn bit of good (in a nicer tone, of course), he will say that that doesn’t really matter. I guess once you’ve been a lawyer long enough to be a judge that you don’t really understand the idea of having less than $500 a month in income coming in.

And while I’m dealing with all of this court crap, I’m also dealing with all the stupid family drama. My mom and I got into a really big argument the other night. She threatened to call DHR on me, which I told her that she could go ahead and do. She started saying how they would move her out and suggesting I would go to jail.

I love how my mom’s memory is so great that she remembers that DHR said that she could be moved out of the house if conditions weren’t good enough for her care, but she didn’t remember that the social worker told her in the same breath that I could also be removed from this house if conditions were not good enough for my care. Of course, my mom’s always been good with the revisionist memory when it could suit her.

My mom and I got into the massive argument, which had basically been brewing for weeks now, because she wanted me to take garbage out. She was demanding that it out right that moment. It was about one o’clock in the morning. I don’t live in a really bad part of town, but I didn’t want to go outside by myself in the middle of the night. I told her that I would do it later, which wasn’t good enough for her. So, I took it out. She and started bitching back and forth at one another, which led to me telling her that I some point she needs to learn to get up off her couch and start getting her water and her food for herself from time to time. This fight occurred after two straight nights of being awakened twice to bring her water and food and being ordered to get my father up because she couldn’t walk five more feet from the bathroom to the door to the bedroom. (She can walk to the bathroom most of the time, and that day was no exception to that ability.)

During the fight, she went from claiming that she had fallen the night before to basically admitting that she’d just stumbled. (Bouts of stumbling are regularly classified as falls from her.) I tried to get her to understand that she isn’t the only person prone to falling, and that when I fall, I generally hit the ground. She was then trying to explain how she just can’t walk and she just can’t go back to physical therapy and she just can’t get the doctors to understand that she has problems with things like her memory or her ability to get around. I have a feeling that if they aren’t understanding that she “can’t” do these things or that she’s having trouble with things that it is probably because she is not telling them things properly. She is probably telling them something that she thinks that they expect her to say. She does this on the phone with people and I’ve seen her sit back and let doctors think that nothing is wrong with her. Regardless of what she says, I think she does enjoy having things done for her. And I don’t mind doing things for her if she absolutely cannot do them, but I have a feeling that she can do more than she lets on. I also have a feeling that she doesn’t completely grasp just how difficult she has been, as of late.

I know that she thinks that I whine too much or that I’m lazy. I know that both of my parents think that. I know that friends that I know both online and offline think that, too. And I guess that maybe I am lazy. Maybe two years of being on what seems like an endless shift of care-taking (i.e. fetching things for my mom, sleeping in the living room so that if she needs me I will hear her, sacrificing sleep so that I can make sure that I do actually hear her if she needs me, standing around fixing food and water in the way that she likes, hearing how I’m doing something wrong, hearing how I don’t get things to her quickly enough, and taking care of almost anything she asks me to do, and some things that she doesn’t) has worn me out. Half the time, I feel so damn exhausted that I think that if I died it might actually be a good thing. I have given up on ever having a life. I have done a lot of that for my mom. I could still be hanging out with my church “friends” and doing things that they liked doing (not that I really enjoyed them that much) but every time I try to get away, it seems like I get to go through a guilt trip. Hell, I get guilt trips even when I’m here all the time. I am tired. I am really tired. And I was so tired the other night that I told my mother, among other things, that maybe she should move in with my aunt–her sister, aka the one who won’t talk to me. (This is also the aunt that my mother has recently begun waxing poetically about how perfect she is and how wonderful she is, even though the total contact that her sister has truly initiated in the last 2 years was a Get Well Soon card.)

I guess I have to accept that this is my life. Misery is apparently my destiny, so I guess I should just get accustomed to it. And in case you’re wondering what the fight with mom and the court stuff have to do with one another: I am often reminded that this house, though it is in my name legally and though I can be fined and imprisoned for things related to it, doesn’t belong to me. I am a guest here. And sometimes I really feel like I am definitely unwanted.

I could probably bring it up in therapy, and the therapist would probably suggest I move into low-income housing. This would lead to another fight, my self-esteem tumbling even more, and absolutely no good coming out of it. I can’t go back to school. Even if I could focus, there is no way that I could ever pay for it. So, I’ve got to figure out how to get out of this damn house and out of all of this unhealthy shit before I go off the deep end.

Comment » | 10 Years of Madness, Confessions, Family, Friends, General, Mental Health, Sickness and Health, So Damn Special

Top Secret

14
June

When I was little, I had quite the imagination.  I was always doing things and thinking of doing things.  I was also always being asked about what I was doing.  If I was cutting up some piece of junk mail, I would have to explain what I was doing.  If I was reading something, I would have to explain what I was reading.  If I rented a movie or (worse) bought one, I would have to explain exactly what it was about.  Of course, on that last thing, I couldn’t explain in precise detail or then I wouldn’t be allowed to watch the movie because someone would think that I had spoiled the outcome.  Everything I did was supposed to be explained.  And when I wasn’t being asked what I was doing, I was being watched.  There would be those moments where someone would be reading over my shoulder, and I would feel like I wasn’t trusted.

I know it was probably just pure curiosity or (when I was young and on the internet) fear on the parts of the members of my family who were watching or asking, but it was always frustrating.  It made me feel like I wasn’t trusted or like I had to explain my whole life to them.  I didn’t like telling them everything that I did because it made me feel like I was losing a piece of myself.  I know that doesn’t make sense, and I’m sorry that I can’t explain it any better.

By the time I was about eight or nine, I had come up with a way to evade answering.  Instead of explaining what I was doing, I would say that I was working on a secret government project.  Everything became a secret.  I had to keep it a secret, or risk losing what very little sanity I happened to have.  I had to be able to keep my childhood thoughts and actions under wraps because I felt like to allow them to know everything would risk me being seen as a nut or me actually becoming a full-fledged nut.

Whether it was writing a story, making up family histories of people I didn’t even know, cutting and pasting things, stringing buttons, writing in gibberish, etc., I couldn’t tell them what I was doing because I wanted to have an existence where I didn’t have to explain my life away.  I wanted to be trusted.  I wanted to be respected.  I wanted to feel like I wasn’t being judged.

I still get questioned about what I’m doing.  If I type slightly faster than normal, I have to explain to my family who I am fighting with on the internet.  (Most people speak more quickly when they argue; I type more quickly when I argue online.)  If I’m reading something, I have to explain what it is that I’m reading.  If I want to watch some stupid documentary, I have to explain why I want to watch it.  Instead of being some little kid that is being protected, I’m a twenty-seven-year old who feels like she’s being guarded or critiqued or something that seems to take away my right to be treated like a normal person.

It seems crazy that I still struggle against these feelings, even though I share (sometimes over-share) freely via social media.  You would think that if I were so okay with telling some website that I’m watching some television show or movie that I would be okay explaining my reasons for wanting to watch said program to my family.  I’m not, though.  It’s one thing to talk about it on the internet.  It’s another to justify what you’re doing to people that you spend every waking minute of your life with.  On the internet, it’s fun. It can be a way to make friends.  In real life, it feels like a way to destroy whatever sense of self that I happen to have.

What makes it worse is that if I don’t explain what I’m doing or thinking or feeling or wanting, I somehow end up offending whoever is asking.  If I am reading and I’m asked what I’m doing, I had better be prepared to explain it completely because saying,”I’m reading,” becomes a way for me to be accused of being rude or trying to be a smart alec.  I end up having to spend a whole hour or two apologizing for offending the person because I’ve wanted to keep that little bit of my life to myself.

There are so few things in my life that I actually get to keep to myself.  It’s frustrating.  I feel like everyone gets to have their own private thoughts except me.  It makes me feel like I’m on exhibition or like I’m being given attention.  I would be happy around other people, instead of shying way.  I don’t like attention.  I want to exist without having to give a reason for what I’m doing or what I’m thinking.  I want to feel like I’m a person, instead of someone who must give reasons for all of their actions.  I really don’t think anyone could understand how frustrating it is to feel like you’re disappearing every time you have to explain your life to someone else.

Comment » | 10 Years of Madness, Confessions, Family, Mental Health, Pre-College Years

Suite Gothique Pour Grande Orgue

17
May

If you’ve read my blog for, oh, at least a year [1], then you should know that I’ve had some issues with tachycardia [2]. My cardiologist had said that I had an arrhythmia [3], but didn’t want to treat it because my normal blood pressure was around 100/70 or lower and because I have asthma[4]. I didn’t really like his response, but I went with it because (in part) I felt that it was the right decision. I think the tables may have turned, though.

Over the weekend, I was feeling kind of weird when I walked into the living room from the bathroom (not a long distance)[5] and I wanted to know if maybe my pulse was up. It was. The pulse was at 156. My blood pressure was at 128 over 100. (I thought at first that the top number was in the 150′s.) I got worried and, yesterday morning, I called the family doctor to see if maybe they could see me. (I really didn’t want to go back to see the cardiologist if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.)[6] One of the nurses at the family doctor’s office said that I should really talk to the cardiologist about this. She asked me to check my blood pressure while we were on the phone, and I did. My blood pressure (then) was 130 over 100. My pulse, which is what she was more worried about, was 116, then. She said to call the cardiologist, since it sounded like it was more likely something they would end up treating. I hesitated, though, because I, like I said, I really didn’t want to see him.

This morning, I decided that I needed to check my blood pressure again. I sat down next to my mom and Willow for about 20 minutes, which was longer than I had waited the past 2 times before checking it. When I checked it, it came back as 182 over 98 with a pulse of 116. That was the highest I had ever seen the top number, not just for me, but for anyone. Mom definitely felt that I should make the call to the cardiologist ASAP, which I did.

Unfortunately, when dealing with a practice with so many physicians, the wait can be really long to talk to a scheduler. It took, literally, 7 minutes to talk to a real human being. I thought that she was the scheduler, but no, she was in charge of routing the calls once you get to the department. The person I needed to talk to wasn’t available, so I ended up leaving a voice-mail. (And I know that when she hears it, she’s going to think I’m 5 because my voice sounded that squeaky and young.)[7]

I’m worried, though, which I know doesn’t help at all. Between this, the ongoing congestion-sinus crap, my period starting back a couple of weeks ago (it’s been light, so the length isn’t worrying me at all), my increasing overheating issues, my dad’s disability review being tomorrow, my mom’s neurological issues, and the regular stress that I encounter, I’ve just been quite a nervous person lately. I would say that maybe the blood pressure is high because of that, but I guess it is better to be safe than sorry.

So, now I wait.

[1] Good for you, you deserve a cookie. Of course, if you’ve read it longer, then maybe you should get a cookie cake or something.

[2] The definition came from The Mayo Clinic‘s page on tachycardia.

[3] The definition came from the National Institutes of Health‘s National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute‘s page on arrhythmia.

[4] The definition came from PubMed Health from their asthma page.

[5] Unless ten feet is a long distance.

[6] He’s one of those doctors that makes it clear that he doesn’t see the point in treating overweight clients.

[7] I know that having a little kid voice isn’t really noteworthy, but it sometimes makes it hard for me to do things over the phone. People seem to be in disbelief that a person can have a little kid voice when they’re in their twenties.

Comment » | 10 Years of Madness, Confessions, Family, Sickness and Health

A Cold Wind Blew Through Your Door

20
September

Well, this weekend was kind of busy, in my usual non-busy way. I made some more icons for my graphics community and for my friends. I also started looking for new blogs to follow. I’ll still be following the folks I had already followed, but I love finding new people to read. I fell and hit my head really hard, so I was in a bit more pain. Oh, and today, my mailbox apparently got bashed by someone.

I have a feeling it’s those kids that were hanging out in the yard, but the kid from across the street (who is also a friend of those kids) said that it was some woman in a van. Why would some woman in a van go down our street and hit our mailbox. Not to mention the fact that the mailbox is in kind of an awkward position for someone who was driving past. Well, if it is the juvenile delinquents, then they have moved from a municipal misdemeanor to a federal crime. (You can go to jail for up to three years and face a $250,000 fine for each act.)

I could make some comment about how “when I was a kid, kids knew better”, but 1.) that would make me sound old and 2.) it’s not true. There have always been kids who got in trouble, and saying that they knew better back then just glosses over the past. Since I am one of those people who believes that honesty is more important that false memories, I refuse to make up some idyllic story about the past.

I could blame it on the fact that so many of the recent purchases of homes have been to people who then rent them out. Renters aren’t always bad, but, from personal experience, I know that some can be the definition of wicked. There’s this tendency for them to disrespect the property of other people. And since I know that the kid across the street is a renter, it would be easy for me to jump to that conclusion. I don’t know if it would be the right conclusion, though, and I prefer not to make some condemnatory statement that turns out being wrong.

I can just say that I don’t understand why people do these kinds of things. I get TP-ing a yard when you’re in middle school (not high school because you should be learning to be better behaved), but I can honestly say I was always too afraid of doing even that because of the possibility of a vandalism charge. When you move up to something like destroying federal property? That kind of goes above and beyond the typical mischief making that people might feel compelled to do.

2 comments » | Alabama Weirdness, Friends, How I Met Your Neighbors (aka An Overactive Imagination), Internet, Rants

Under My Feet

6
September

I haven’t really been online a lot this weekend. That’s mainly due to heightened anxiety/stress. I think that’s due to the beginning of football season. Around the time my father woke up on Saturday morning, I started giving myself my headache medicine. It kept me asleep for around 12-13 hours. I ended up waking up during Auburn’s halftime, which meant I got to experience rants full-on. I had missed the rants about the teams that he didn’t even care about, which was good. I had wished I could make it through the Auburn ones, too, but they would have been harder to miss. Auburn ended up winning, which was good. If they had lost, then I probably would’ve started dosing myself into unconsciousness again. (I’ve often used medicines to induce sleep. It’s how I managed to sleep while I was having major sleep issues during middle and high school.)

I started crying sometime in the early morning hours on Sunday. I just felt like I was ready to scream, throw things, etc. I started composing a very long letter to my parents about how I felt like I needed to be taken more seriously. (This was what I used to do when I was a little kid–if I needed something or if I felt like I needed to apologize, I’d write a letter.) Well, the ink ran out of the pen and I got upset and threw it across the room. It barely made a sound when it hit Willow’s chair, but it was loud enough that my mom woke up. We ended up talking, and I complained about the thing on my stomach, which she checked out a little closer this time. She was surprised because it was burning up, and I told her that that was normal. (It is hot most of the time, but it gets worse in the middle of the night [around 3:30-5:00 AM] and it starts hurting worse.) I have an appointment to get it checked out with my family medicine doctor, but I have honestly lost faith in most doctors lately. Yeah, they send me for the tests, but the longer this whole saga goes on, the more dismissive they get. (Half the time, the results are never relayed to me.) And with the cardiologist refusing to even suggest anything that could help the extra beats and tachycardia, it just seems to be stupid to go through massive amounts of tests.

Speaking of tests and medical records, I think that is unfair that if I want to access my medical records, I have to pay fees. (Where is Files & Records when you need her?) If I want a copy of my blood work, I have to pay per page of the test, which can be 20-or-so pages. The doctors, who have a lot more money, don’t have to pay anything. They can get paper copies or faxes or computer access without paying anything. All that they really need is a signature from me to share the records. (If they’re in the Huntsville Hospital system and the record is on my hospital file, they don’t even need my signature.) All these people can see whatever they want about me, but I don’t get to see my own file. (At the Mental Health Center, I don’t even get the opportunity to pay for the records to see what’s been said. I can have my therapist or doctor or one of the nurses read it to me, though.)

I’m a little frustrated with the Social Security Administration. When I started on SSI and SSDI, I was told that if I started paying $200+ a month in household expenses, then my SSI check would be increased by that much. After I got the first check, I began doing just that. I’ve told the SSA about this twice. I filled out lots of paperwork the first time–nothing happened. I called again in May or June (or possibly early July)–I haven’t even gotten paperwork or anything that says that anything will happen. I get that the government doesn’t really have lots of money right now, but it seems like they could at least hold up their end of the 1/3 reduction rule.

Anyway, right now I’m dealing with an earache and headache that my mom told me was probably just TMJ. I agreed at first, but after a while, my throat began hurting. I would say it was allergies, but I know that’s not likely.

Comment » | Family, General, Mental Health, National Weirdness, Sickness and Health, So Damn Special

     

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