Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Grass Is Always Greener

I haven't had an anxiety attack in almost 2 months. This is WONDERFUL in many, many ways, but I don't want to talk about those ways, because that is not what we do here. I want to talk about the things that suck about having anxiety somewhat under control. Because that's the way I am, apparently. (LOOK! I'm LEARNING things about myself! Who would have thought I only find the bad things interesting?)

Firstly, my house is slowly being taken over by...The Stuff. The Stuff is the collective entity of individual items that begin accumulating on the bar between the kitchen and den, then sneakily annex the dining room table, and then the desk, and then the coffee table and then whatever flat surface that is not the floor. When I am at peak OCD this does not happen because the world will end. I am a ninja, ambushing and removing The Stuff before it can even begin to think about that attack on the buffet where we keep the fruit. When I am not an anxiety riddled mass of quivering frayed nerve endings, The Stuff takes over. Its not that we have that much stuff. Its just that my husband doesn't like to put things away. Wherever he is standing is where things belong, which is how we end up with three pairs of pants hanging over the back of the desk chair, 18 pairs of socks under the coffee table, and shirts on the couch. And when I'm, you know, NORMAL, this isn't a priority. If I don't update within the next week please come check to see if The Stuff has assimilated us.

Also, its much harder for me to organize my thoughts. With anxiety and OCD in full bloom, my brain operates on the level of a flow chart. It is very organized and structured. Okay, 80% of my thoughts are freak outs over nothing, but whatever, my thoughts are totally coherent and organized. When I feel like a normal person, I cannot organize my thoughts AT ALL. I just wrote three separate posts and deleted them because a post starting out about that guy yelling "Show us your tits," when I was running the other day ended with something about dog farts, and I didn't really get to the point of the story. If there was even a point in the first place (I think the point might have been A. What tits? B. Who does that? and C. Something about my friend who got some awesome boobs for herself and why I always thought I wanted to do the same but don't really because they cut off your nipples, and DUDE. Pass on that. I get that they put them back on and all, but still. Some things were just not meant to be removed from your body. Nipples are IMPORTANT. You do not mess with your nipples. Its not like they are your appendix or one of your kidneys or something. You NEED them. At least, I need them). And the dog farts? Well, they stink. And the dog is always incredibly surprised by her own farts. Which never fails to crack me up, but I think that story's been told. The farts and the rednecks in the truck probably have several things in common, but none of which were used to connect the story. Because my brain has changed from rigid computer like machine to grassy meadow with butterflies and clouds and ooooh, look, something sparkly (it might be a sparklepire! Which I find hilarious. Speaking of which, I think those books are a crime against vampire literature everywhere and if I were a vampire I would totally sue for defamation of character). I think you can see my point.

Thirdly, my will to work has been completely removed because without anxiety over getting fired, and then not having a paycheck and having to go through unemployment and worse, telling people I'm unemployed, much of my desire to do a good job goes right out the window. I would be perfectly content to be a housewife, really, and right now I'd be a really crappy housewife because of my first complaint, re: The Stuff.

Also, when I'm OCD things like running everyday and eating a very regulated diet and going to bed at the exact same time every night and the like, are easy. Because of the structure and all that. But then, those very things are things that help me control OCD and be less anxious. The less anxious and OCD I am, the more likely I am to get lazy about the food and sleeping and working out. Which puts me right back where I started.

Aren't vicious cycles FUN?


  1. My crap ends up between the closet and bathroom counter. I swear I don't know how it got there.

  2. Holy shit, I just realized that I am much more productive when I am a psychotic anxious mess. Like. It all makes sense now. And apparently that's normal. which is kind of a paradox I guess. I don't know. My brain hurts.

    /End revelation.