Of panic attacks and hospital visits
Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2015 1:05 pm
I figure the "mental health" section would be the most fitting section to put my story in... I'm not trying to pot a "poor pitiful me, please pitty me," kind of post; I am simply attempting to get my story off my chest. Because you all don't know me on a personal level, why not start here? So, have a read and comment if you would like, and if not, at least I got my story out.
Mental Illness is no joke. For those of you who don't know me, I am severely manic depressive, have a severe anxiety disorder, and have tourrettes (I know that isn't spelled correctly, my apologies). It can be rough, but the most part I can manage.
I find that most of us on here do suffer from mental illness of some kind in one way or another. My theory is that people who suffer from mental disorders are often called to paganism and witchcraft because we become highly empathetic people who see the light and dark of every day situations... Though I find life beautiful, I am often struggling to keep my brain out of the dark places that do exist.
I happened to lose that battle a few months ago.
Some of you may remember, but due to an unfortunate health situation with my dog, my fiance and I came into financial hardship after paying for her surgery. We were able to get back on our feet, but we were faced with a hard decision to make when our lease on our apartment was up: Do we stay here for another two years, in a one bedroom apartment that we have out grown for over $1000 a month, or do we move into a house and be broke because we don't have the savings we need to cover the down payments and pet deposits after my dog's surgery?
A decision had to be made. We ultimately chose to move out of our apartment and in with my inlaws for the next 6 months so we can rebuild our savings account and get the house that we need without stress.
Ultimately, this was the beginning of my epic melt down.
Upon moving into their house, I discovered something I never knew about them: They are hoarders. Sure, their living room is a little cluttered, but I never really ventured much further than the front room. All of the bedrooms were stacked floor to ceiling with books and trash. Dust littered the room. It smelled of pee and mold. Somehow, I was supposed to live in this... To top it all off, their little dog (who I knew has allergies, but I had not seen in over six months) walked into the room as I was cleaning it... The poor thing was missing over half of her hair, covered in open, pussing wounds, smelling off death, and covered in fleas. It make my head spin.
How could someone let their lives get like this? How could I bring my pets and myself to live in this?
The worst part: It was too late to back out. My apartment had already been leased out and we only had another few days left and no where else to go.
We finally got the house clean and took the dog to the vet (no more wounds or fleas, clear skin and FINALLY we have some hair regrowth... she is a happy, spoiled pup now) and moved in, but my stress levels didn't die down any. My in-laws aren't easy to live with. There are no personal boundries, they never clean, and my mother in law is often too drunk to handle. In fact, I was told by her that I was going to burn in hell because I made fun of Donald Trump. Now, I realize that this isn't the place to talk about politics, but I'm hoping most of you share the same mindset- that man is a sexist, racist pig. And if me making fun of him is that upsetting to you, you have the problem. Not me.
In the next few days, I was given bad news about many of my childhood friends... One's mother passed away of cancer, on ended his life after a long battle of ptsd, one overdosed and passed away while in the hospital... All the while my in-laws remind me that they aren't part of my life anymore and shouldn't feel sad, much less mourn the one's who "did it to themselves."
So, I am barely functioning in this toxic house. I walk on pins and needles hoping I don't offend the Trump lovers. My anxiety is at an all time high and my tourettes are becoming out of control. My fiance is starting to work incredibly long hours, leaving me at home alone more than I would like... Then the unthinkable happens.
I was laying in bed, watching the news when I see a familiar face on the screen. I knew the face, the eyes, the smile, the cowlick of the man's hair...but their was something so frighteningly sick and wrong about it...
My next door neighbor as a child, a boy that I grew up with, was good friends with, who I shared my first (incredibly innocent) kiss with, was staring at me in a mugshot. My first thought, "Oh no, it must be drugs."
I wish it was drugs.
The man who I spent half of my life being a friend is on trial for 1st degree murder of his infant daughter and girlfriend. In a moment, my world was spinning. "How could this happen? How could I live next to this man? This can't be him, no I'm not going to believe it... my first kiss was with a man who murdered his infant daughter." I felt disgusted... with him and myself... I befriended a heartless killer.
Guys, I snapped.
It was too much to take. I threw up, I screamed, I began scratching at my arms, I ripped a sizable chunk of hair out, I shook out of control... I ended up at the hospital overnight.
I was released, but every time things got bad at home the panic attacks would happen again. And again. And again.
I was losing my mind. I had to go back.
Eventually, I was able to go home... my in laws have had a stern talking to and my medication has been upped (zoloft + buspar in the morning, xanax if I am going to be home with my inlaws, vistril at night) and so far it is working... though It is making me a little dopey at times, but I am able to handle my life a little bit better.
I still hate living here, but I keep telling myself it isn't permanent. I have accepted that my "childhood friend" changed and that I am in no way related to the deaths of those poor girls. I pride myself in how I have taken care of the dog. I'm an okay person.
Anyways, that is my story. Congrats on reading my long winded post if you made it that far... I feel better to have it off my chest.
Blessings,
Smogie
Mental Illness is no joke. For those of you who don't know me, I am severely manic depressive, have a severe anxiety disorder, and have tourrettes (I know that isn't spelled correctly, my apologies). It can be rough, but the most part I can manage.
I find that most of us on here do suffer from mental illness of some kind in one way or another. My theory is that people who suffer from mental disorders are often called to paganism and witchcraft because we become highly empathetic people who see the light and dark of every day situations... Though I find life beautiful, I am often struggling to keep my brain out of the dark places that do exist.
I happened to lose that battle a few months ago.
Some of you may remember, but due to an unfortunate health situation with my dog, my fiance and I came into financial hardship after paying for her surgery. We were able to get back on our feet, but we were faced with a hard decision to make when our lease on our apartment was up: Do we stay here for another two years, in a one bedroom apartment that we have out grown for over $1000 a month, or do we move into a house and be broke because we don't have the savings we need to cover the down payments and pet deposits after my dog's surgery?
A decision had to be made. We ultimately chose to move out of our apartment and in with my inlaws for the next 6 months so we can rebuild our savings account and get the house that we need without stress.
Ultimately, this was the beginning of my epic melt down.
Upon moving into their house, I discovered something I never knew about them: They are hoarders. Sure, their living room is a little cluttered, but I never really ventured much further than the front room. All of the bedrooms were stacked floor to ceiling with books and trash. Dust littered the room. It smelled of pee and mold. Somehow, I was supposed to live in this... To top it all off, their little dog (who I knew has allergies, but I had not seen in over six months) walked into the room as I was cleaning it... The poor thing was missing over half of her hair, covered in open, pussing wounds, smelling off death, and covered in fleas. It make my head spin.
How could someone let their lives get like this? How could I bring my pets and myself to live in this?
The worst part: It was too late to back out. My apartment had already been leased out and we only had another few days left and no where else to go.
We finally got the house clean and took the dog to the vet (no more wounds or fleas, clear skin and FINALLY we have some hair regrowth... she is a happy, spoiled pup now) and moved in, but my stress levels didn't die down any. My in-laws aren't easy to live with. There are no personal boundries, they never clean, and my mother in law is often too drunk to handle. In fact, I was told by her that I was going to burn in hell because I made fun of Donald Trump. Now, I realize that this isn't the place to talk about politics, but I'm hoping most of you share the same mindset- that man is a sexist, racist pig. And if me making fun of him is that upsetting to you, you have the problem. Not me.
In the next few days, I was given bad news about many of my childhood friends... One's mother passed away of cancer, on ended his life after a long battle of ptsd, one overdosed and passed away while in the hospital... All the while my in-laws remind me that they aren't part of my life anymore and shouldn't feel sad, much less mourn the one's who "did it to themselves."
So, I am barely functioning in this toxic house. I walk on pins and needles hoping I don't offend the Trump lovers. My anxiety is at an all time high and my tourettes are becoming out of control. My fiance is starting to work incredibly long hours, leaving me at home alone more than I would like... Then the unthinkable happens.
I was laying in bed, watching the news when I see a familiar face on the screen. I knew the face, the eyes, the smile, the cowlick of the man's hair...but their was something so frighteningly sick and wrong about it...
My next door neighbor as a child, a boy that I grew up with, was good friends with, who I shared my first (incredibly innocent) kiss with, was staring at me in a mugshot. My first thought, "Oh no, it must be drugs."
I wish it was drugs.
The man who I spent half of my life being a friend is on trial for 1st degree murder of his infant daughter and girlfriend. In a moment, my world was spinning. "How could this happen? How could I live next to this man? This can't be him, no I'm not going to believe it... my first kiss was with a man who murdered his infant daughter." I felt disgusted... with him and myself... I befriended a heartless killer.
Guys, I snapped.
It was too much to take. I threw up, I screamed, I began scratching at my arms, I ripped a sizable chunk of hair out, I shook out of control... I ended up at the hospital overnight.
I was released, but every time things got bad at home the panic attacks would happen again. And again. And again.
I was losing my mind. I had to go back.
Eventually, I was able to go home... my in laws have had a stern talking to and my medication has been upped (zoloft + buspar in the morning, xanax if I am going to be home with my inlaws, vistril at night) and so far it is working... though It is making me a little dopey at times, but I am able to handle my life a little bit better.
I still hate living here, but I keep telling myself it isn't permanent. I have accepted that my "childhood friend" changed and that I am in no way related to the deaths of those poor girls. I pride myself in how I have taken care of the dog. I'm an okay person.
Anyways, that is my story. Congrats on reading my long winded post if you made it that far... I feel better to have it off my chest.
Blessings,
Smogie
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