Because it really is personal…

Last night, after supper, I had a meltdown. I suppose it’s been coming for a while, as I’ve been operating on High Alert pretty much since October, when I had my hip replaced. Here’s how’s it’s been:
October 1- hip replaced, 10 weeks recovery
Feb 1- go spend nearly 2 weeks with my parents, due to Dad’s surgery and recovery
(home for a couple of weeks)
March 5, go to Texas, theoretically to help Granddad, who had a stroke, get settled in a nursing home, However, he dies the first day I’m there, and I end up spending the time holding Grandmother’s hand, dealing with the Professional Grade Bossy Aunt, and planning a funeral, plus cleaning a house that hadn’t been cleaned in over a year. That took 2 weeks.
(home 2 weeks)
April 5, fly back to Texas, spend a week packing the house, and drive 1500 miles back home with a 16 yr old.

Now it’s 2 week later and I think I’m experiencing a bit of let-down, and not the fun kind. For 7 months I have had something Serious and Major to do, either taking care of my own rehabilitation, or dealing with someone else. Now, everyone’s settled and I am suddenly at loose ends.

Sounds like it could be fun, right? It should be. I ought to be enjoying the time, doing what I wish like sewing and gardening and generally being a happy housewife. But, for some reason, it’s not working out that way.

I keep having panic attacks…well, no…not quite that bad. I don’t have the urge to run screaming into the woods, or to chew off my left arm. I’ve been there before (love them benzodiazepines!), and this is milder than that. It’s more a sense of….I’ve done something WRONG, I’ve failed somehow, maybe I’ve screwed up someone’s life. Or stage fright. Have you ever felt that, like you’re going to walk out in front of 1000 people, and you’re supposed to perform Act 3 but the only lines you remember are from a totally different play? That’s how it feels.

and it’s utterly ridiculous! How wrong can I get cooking supper? If I freeze up and forget how to make gravy, well that’s what those little packages are for. If everyone wants pot roast for supper and I fix fish, what are they gonna do? Dock my pay?

I can logic my way out of an anxiety attack, but the feeling of impending doom is still there. I told Sweet Daddio last night that I felt like I’d forgotten something important, something that would cause another person harm, but I can’t remember *for the life of me* what that thing was. He said he knew the feeling. Sometimes he’s afraid he’s forgotten to turn someone’s timesheet in, which would mean they didn’t get a paycheck that week. That would be bad.

Now, I have a medication- Xanax- which I can take for these episodes. It works well, and I’ve gotten the dose figured out so I can take enough to soothe, but not so much as to render me inoperative, but I don’t like taking it. There’s a stigma attached, even though NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW. Something about “mother’s little helper” and all. I don’t want to be like that, Stepford Wifian, and that’s kind of what it does to me- very all chill-axin’.

Alcohol works to, but I get these episodes sometimes first thing in the morning, and I’m not wanting to be turning the OJ into a screwdriver at 8 am. Society frowns on that, you know. Like anyone WOULD EVER KNOW, because it’s just me, the dogs, and Phleud, and they don’t care. Don’t think the thought hasn’t occurred to me, but I’m not an 8am lush.

So, there’s all the breathing exercises (iiiiinnnnnnn…….oooouuuuutttttt) and the Pilates, and the smelling of the roses and the busy-hands, busy-mind sensibilities that are supposed to help, and they do a little bit, but as soon as I stop, the anxiety returns and I’m wanting to hurt myself to make it go away. Not serious hurt, no guns involved, but maybe drop a brick on my foot or perhaps trim the holly bush with it’s risk of wasps nests

The best way I can manage is to take it one day at a time. I figure out what needs to be done today, and today only. A box packed and shipped, which means a trip into town, which means I could time it right and go to Subway for a turkey on wheat. The sleeves sewn into the pink dress, maybe get the long skinny bed weeded in my garden, transplant some morning glories onto the fence, clean the litter box, change the sheets. Busy stuff. None of it life-altering, none of it life-threatening, all of it safe, and comfortable, and…well….utterly meaningless.

I don’t know if that’s good thing or not. But it’s today, and I’ll plow through until tonight, when I can let go and breathe.