So neglectful

of me.

With Thanksgiving over, I intended to jump right back in, but my last doctor's appointment found me with a prescription in hand for a Generalized Anxiety Disorder medication. It wasn't what i thought I wanted or what I thought I needed, but this doctor of mine - he knows his stuff.

I started last Saturday, and frankly I've been kind of blown away by the subtle, yet huge tectonic shift that has happened in my brain and my body.

I didn't want to jinx it by writing about it too soon, but things keep moving in a positive direction so I think I'll uncross my fingers long enough to type.

I've written before about how my normal state of being is a constant thrum of vibration. When that vibration went away, so did my low blood sugar episodes and my need to pass out comatose every afternoon.

I had no idea how much energy it took to be nervous all the time. And here's the other thing, I had no idea how anxious I really was.

Life just doesn't seem so hard right now.

Weird.

Even the holidays, which usually have me dancing on the edge of a cliff, seem manageable.

I'm a happier mom, and a nicer wife.

(I never, never, never thought I could handle being medicated. Never. I just thought I had to work harder at being a better person.)

I'm a little sad that I didn't do this years ago, when my son was smaller, but I'm hopeful that he doesn't remember any of that anyway.

I never thought I would ever be able to have peace within myself. I sure as hell never thought that peace could come from a pill.

Thanks Dr. F.

Beating down our sensory consternation

Today, or tonight rather, we take Daniel to his first concert.

At least the first one that isn't on a Sunday afternoon and filled with knee-high fans using sippy-cups.

We're going to see the Decemberists, all three of us.

I wrote a note to the school that he'll be out tomorrow. Sleeping off the excitement...hopefully.

We know the risks.

We bought the earplugs.

And the safety earmuffs.

There's no guarantee that we'll even make it through the opening act. But the prospect of hearing
"The Apology Song" or "The Mariner's Revenge" might just be enough incentive to stick it through to the end. That, or maybe just the lure of staying up all night.

I'm excited at the possibility that this wacky idea might work. I mean auditory sensitivity isn't Daniel's biggest issue, at least not one that impacts us on a daily basis, but when you couple it with a large crowd, wacky lights, and staying up past bedtime... well, that certainly seems like a recipe for disaster.

And this is the point that I'm making very awkwardly - we are still going through with it!

We are all older, bigger, more mature, and either more fool-hardy or more certain that there is a chance of success here.

I feel like we (all three of us) are building a ladder, or a scaffold as a friend of mine used to say, creating experiences, and memories for Daniel, that teach him that he can do it, that he doesn't have to let his anxiety, or his sensory issues hold him back. Each experience gets him a little closer to his peers. And look!

We managed The Blue Man Group!

We did Broadway!

He went Trick-or-Treating for well over an hour!

I have high hopes for us.

We are all growing up.

Oh,
and.... good work last Tuesday everybody!

I forgot how to write

Well, not really, but I got out of the habit of sitting down and making time for writing.

I'm still here.

I'm going to my doctor's appointment in a few minutes.

Actually, they are calling it a "consultation". So I'm trying to convince myself that it will be much easier than an actual "visit", and thus I have no reason to worry.

I'm not actually believing myself though, and I am very worried.

One might even say "anxious". Which might just bolster my plea for anxiety medication.

It's bizarre in a way that I have this fear that the Dr. won't give them to me. Aren't Americans completely over-medicated? Everyone I talk to is on something.

But as my mom has been wont to tell me, "That may be fine for some people, but not for you."

I believe she was talking about being able to switch jobs/ careers, but I think it still fits.

You know, as in - you don't deserve to feel good about yourself.

And now I'm getting anxious that I'm going to be late for my "consultation", so I'll fill you in later on how that parental visit went and all the other craziness around here.

lessons learned from TV

Way back in '94 I moved down to Greenwich Village to share an apartment with  Howard, my then fiance. We were both in grad school, and our apartment was a fifth floor walk-up in the heart of the Village. 

Such a small space.

With three large windows, and no cross-breeze.

It got so very hot in that apartment. I can appreciate that heat now, sitting in my cold house wrapped in sweater and slippers. But back then walking up the five flights to the apartment was like performing a strip-tease. By the time we reached the door I was down to a tank top and shorts and bare feet, no matter how cold it was outside.

Moving in with my fiance stirred up some issues for me that I didn't even know I had. For instance it was really important to me that the apartment be clean, all the time. Which is really weird, because I'm fairly slovenly and quite lazy. So the end result of this new NEED of mine was that I was a tremendous cranky bitch all the time.

At some point, probably when Howard realized just how enormous a mistake he had made by proposing to me,  he told me that he didn't expect me to keep everything neat and tidy. 

It was one of those "huh" moments for me. Because if I wasn't doing it for him, then where was this maniacal urge coming from?

After years of contemplating, I finally figured it out. It came from my fictitious childhood. You know, the one that involved June Cleavor and Laura Petrie and Mrs. Cunningham? Except that by trying to recreate the calm and clean homes of TV I was acting like my own mother, who also kept a spotlessly clean home, but was never calm or smiling.

I've nearly gotten over my hang-ups about having a clean house.

But in the same way that I had wanted to conform to this TV ideal, I now see myself longing for the same notion of "normalcy" in my son. Taking him to school in the morning, imagining that the other children don't deal with the anxiety or other hang-ups that are part of our routine. Imagining that somehow, their lives are easier because of this.

Except that, just like with June Cleavor, the idea that a child can "act normal" is simply a social construct. There isn't a "normal" person in my whole family.  My husband and I are both odd-balls, so it is only natural for Daniel to be odd as well.

And even though there are things that Daniel does that I would like to change, I think in my heart it is his "odd-ness" that I love the most.

Maybe I just need to start watching some differnt TV shows... or stop watching TV altogether.

You are all very sweet...

What I didn't say yesterday, was how I've always had anxiety issues, and whether it is nature or nurture I don't know, but the fact of the matter is that I have always been "hooked-up funny".

All the women in my family take anti-anxiety meds, except for my mother who likes to use her anxiety as a tool to make others miserable.

I don't know why yesterday was such an over-the-top day for me. I don't really know why my panic attack mode went on infinite-loop. I've dealt with eye-twitches and stomach-issues and head-aches that go on and on because of my anxiety, but the racing heart and jitteriness doesn't usually last all day long.

Of course, if you have symptoms caused by anxiety, and those symptoms start to freak you out and make you more anxious... well, I'm sure you can figure out the rest.

All this is my way of taking a really long time to say thank you.

Thank you for the comments, and the emails, and the calls.

I am much much better today.

I found a doctor.

I will keep the appointment. (although I will be really really anxious before I go)

My appointment is in just about a month, which should give me some time to cut dairy out of my diet and lower my cholesterol for the inevitable blood tests that he's going to want to do, since I am seeing a medical doctor, for an actual physical for the first time in, I don't know? 15 years? I think I might have been in grad school.

But regardless, I don't want to have to tell a medical professional that I have serious reservations about the overuse of cholesterol-lowering drugs and the potential negative side effects on your liver, among other things.

I think it could be AWKWARD.

Especially when I ask for a benzodiazapine in the next breath.

I don't want to look like a hypocrite. I just want to save my liver for the important things... like filtering out tranquilizers.

And here is a picture for my husband, who cares about this sort of thing more than I do, Or maybe it's just because I'm lazy...

photo by rycordell.

In a panic

I can't write today.

I've been trying for hours.

I have to find a doctor.

I haven't had a physical in well over a decade.

And well, It has me completely flipped out.

I'm supposed to be getting everything ready for a house-guest and my son's birthday and eighty-million other things that have my head spinning off into the walls.

I took a pill today.

I did.

I am beyond pills.

Still vibrating with panic.

Over what?

Over nothing. and everything.

Everything, I tell you.

Everything I want to do is making me panic.

Visit from a friend? ....panic
Birthday party for the kids?....panic
Family visiting in 2 1/2 weeks? ......panicpanicpanic
green audit of the house?... panic
looking into solar panels?....panic
rewiring lighting fixtures?....panic
scheduling a doctor's visit?....PANIC

Sometimes I feel better, or at least sillier after I put it all down, today I'm just more jumpy.

But in the 2 hours it has taken me to do this, I did schedule 2 doctor's appointments. But they don't count because I'm going to cancel them tomorrow.

not a bunny... but still furry

Daniel has taken the bus since he was in Pre-K.

Back then the teachers practically insisted on it, saying that it would make the transition from home to school easier.

Of course this was a special-ed Pre-K so the teachers were given a status very close to God, seeing as they were going to transform our misfit and "differently-abled" children into what would pass for normal by kindergarten.

So Daniel took the bus.

In Kindergarten he was still classified as special-ed so he got his own bus to and from school. A chariot of sorts with a driver and aide at his disposal. It was like a traveling "Daniel Show" complete with cheering section.

Last year he was de-classified so he took the regular school bus. There were some issues.

Some bigger kids picked on him.

Some tearful days getting off the bus.

But Daniel tells me, that the problems with last year's bus were nothing compared to the bus he takes from our new house.

Daniel spends a lot of time in his head beating himself up. Especially where school is involved. So I'm never really sure how much of the torment he is describing is real.

I guess it doesn't really matter does it? It is real to him.

And I've witnessed some of the neighbor kids interact with him. To say that they don't "get" Daniel would be a gross understatement. Plus some of the kids have reached the age where it is all about picking on the oddball.

We are nothing if not odd around here. All three of us.

So I'm going to be ferrying Daniel to and from school now.

I'm been kind of tough on Daniel lately. Expecting him to do more and complain less. Making him deal with some of his sensory issues instead of accommodating him. And yesterday he was pretty fragile.

It wasn't until bedtime that he explained to me (crying and sniffling and using an entire box of tissues  - Hooray! milestone! He is blowing his nose at 7 1/2!) that I understood why he was not able to deal with things.

The good news... he's only been on the bus a handful of times so far this year.

But I wonder, will his absence make him more of a target on those occasions when he has to ride the bus?

No picture today, because how can you express "I hate my mother" with a picture?

Monday was my birthday, so we did what any 18 38 year old does in New Jersey...we went to Six Flags!

Actually Six Flags is a good amusement park for me because it has lots of roller coasters so I can completely ignore all the spinning rides.

I can't really write more than that right now, because I've been in one long gut-wrenching panic attack since yesterday morning. I don't dare use any of my borrowed pharmaceuticals, because I will need them shortly since Daniel and I are going up to spend time with my family.

Hence the panic attack.

I'm having heart palpitations as I write this and waffling between feeling like I'm going to faint or throw up. Head feeling all float-y like a dissociative state is coming on.

I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that I'm terrified of being alone with my mother right now.

(Hmm, clearly I've hit on something there because I started to cry as I wrote those words.)

You might remember that I recently told her that I could not/ would not take some furniture from her. Expressing my own wants/needs/desires with her never goes well. Well, now she gets me for 5 days without my husband to run interference and 3 days when my dad won't be there either to temper her slightly.

I just know payback is on its way.

And yes, intellectually I realize that I'm a grown-up now and I'm not under her control.

But seriously? She created all those buttons I have that she likes to push. I am her finest creation.

Yesterday, I felt so sick all day, and then I got so tired, like I had the flu. But I'm only sick in the head.

God, how stupid is this that I am physically ill FIVE days before I have to go see my parents?! I hate hating them. But I do. I hate them. I don't want to see them.

There, I said it.

I'm really glad none of you can see me blubbering at the computer right now. Bird on my shoulder, son downstairs playing with legos.

I don't know what to do except to just push through it. I'm not going to stop contact.

Oh shit, his lego creation broke. Let me leave my blubbering self behind and go be a Mom.

Pre-Summer panic attack

Every now and then I flip out about the things I think Daniel should be doing by himself by now.

He's 7 and 1/2.

Nearly 8.

Eight feels like a milestone.

Definitely NOT a little kid anymore. So I am being kind of hard on him at the moment, reminding him that he's not a three-year-old any more and that it is entirely inappropriate for me to WIPE HIS ASS.

And, I feel like I shouldn't have to fetch his snacks. They are all within his reach, and I am perfectly comfortable with him getting them himself.

I'd also like him to unload the dishwasher, and learn how to make a grilled cheese sandwich so he could make ME lunch.

Maybe I'm asking for too much with those last two, but I'm kind of panicky at the moment that I do too much for him, and that I'll ultimately stunt his independence.

Plus, I'm really lazy. Did I mention that before?

What I'm finding though is that whenever I ask him to step up and do more, he interprets it as a punishment.

Maybe it would work better if I wasn't yelling and pulling my hair out and working up to the whole martyred-drama-queen.

School is out next week. I think I need a plan. Maybe more sedatives too.

Or vodka.

Catching up

Damn, this house is kicking my ass.

While I've been quiet over here, back in my non-virtual life we've taken down the trees in the backyard, bought a piano (a piano!)
installed rain barrels,
cleaned up a flood in the basement,
started composting with worms,
and mowed the lawn with my new push mower.

Did I mention I have 70-odd feet of hedges that I weeded and trimmed with a pair of manual hedge clippers. (well, until my neighbor saw me anyway and gave me his electric hedge trimmers - imagine how pathetic I must have looked for him to say, "No really, you keep 'em, I don't need them. You've been trimming that hedge for what? 3 hours already"

Yes, truly pathetic.

And I still have to clean out the old apartment.

Things look very suckish for the rest of May but I'll try to post a little more frequently regardless.

____________________________
On the kid front, during one of the many times Daniel announced that I hate him, he proclaimed that I was going to throw him out the window.

I swear, I have only ever thought about throwing him out the window, and even then in a purely metaphoric manner.

So when I protested that I was not going toss him headlong through pane-glass, he told me that I wanted to kill him.

Yes, this is what it's like in my house. If he had a British accent it could be a long lost Monty Python skit.

So of course I tell him that I don't want to kill him, that I love him and I want to protect him.

His comeback?

"You've already killed me."

"Daniel, what are you talking about?"

"Emotionally. You've already killed me emotionally many times."

That's when I swiped the cat's Prozac and curled into the fetal position. Because of course he's right. there have been many times that I have done exactly what my mother did to me. It's what I know. And it's what comes out of my mouth when I get stressed out.

This child will either make me a better person or give me a nervous breakdown. It seems to be his goal in life.