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I Have Successfully Stayed Below The Radar

Everything is worse, but I’ve managed to stay alive.

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I hate when the landlord visits & my kid is suicidal.

He hasn’t been here for 5 years and then suddenly it’s an inspection the next day and the following day a banker to take pictures so that he can get a 2nd mortgage.

Then my son became suicidal and I couldn’t get him from the school to Emergency Room because I’m agoraphobic, and it was like they gave me two choices; he goes in their car or my car, but he goes for an evaluation.  I pulled the car over so many times but I couldn’t get there.  I will watch him like a hawk for the next 18 hours until I can get him to the 11:10am appointment with his family doctor.

I’ve had panic attacks my whole life. Xanax is ineffective for my anxiety in the doses that are practical to prescribe.  I’m currently on 4mg of Xanax and I feel absolutely no effect from it.  If necessary, I could take up to 12mg of Xanax today as that is what is prescribed for me.  I never take that much because what’s the point.

Funny enough, though, as much as I want to stop taking it, in exactly 3 hours and 20 minutes it will noticeably stop working the small amount that it does, and I will need to take it again.

Rounding this off, my chest is on fire with muscle tension and acid reflux and I might be having a mild heart attack, and as bad as my heart phobia is (it is the MAIN PROBLEM area with my anxiety) I couldn’t possibly care any less.

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Why Living is or isn’t Worth It.

I miss the idea of my ex husband who I divorced 16 years ago. I remarried immediately. I don’t love him anymore, but I miss the life we had together in Pennsylvania. Shortly after we separated I moved to Seattle and got engaged, and am still married to Dave.

I’ve spent 16 lonely years in the Seattle area. Everything has always been justtttt out of reach for me.  I love Seattle, but I have to take a 45 minute ferry boat ride to get there and back and I’m terrified of that ferry.  I can see Seattle, but I can’t get to it. All of the jobs are over there since I live in one of its suburbs.  I did work in Seattle for 3 years, but I was so good at my job that I created an entirely new Full Time Employee position with my upgrades and methods, and when it came time to fill that position they said I wasn’t qualified to do it.  Even though it was my system, created by me, between 4 departments, and it difficult to create, complex to maintain, and of course I was qualified.  So I quit my job and campaigned for Barack Obama in 2008 while I was between jobs.

I didn’t realize I’d be between jobs this long.  It’s been 8 years.

I have no friends. I don’t mean that there are just a few people I get along with. I mean, literally, that I have no friends.  I don’t count my children as friends, nor my husband, who because of my failure to bring in revenue, and my constant anxiety, has become a money-focused anxious, exhausted man who is gone from the house 12 hours a day then comes home, nukes frozen burritos, drinks enough to knock out a horse, then goes to bed.  No, he’s not my friend anymore and he doesn’t know who I am.

My sister moved from PA to live with me 5 years ago when her husband suddenly left her, and now she’s built a new life for herself, and she doesn’t have time for me, really.  I’m glad for her, but I wish she’d think to ask me if I’d like to go with her when she picks up my 13 year old son for a shopping trip.  I am agoraphobic, and she’s probably right that I’d say no – I can’t go – but sometimes I would say yes.  I would have said yes yesterday.

I’m so lonely. I have no will. No will to paint, write, read, cook, clean, etc.

Two years ago in August of 2014 I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes caused by 2 medications that I take to control my intense anxiety.  I didn’t even eat my way into it.

Diabetics basically die from heart problems, and since my heart is my biggest phobia, I’m screwed.  Sure, I’m taking care of my diabetes by eating a low carbohydrate, high fat, moderate protein diet, and I lost 100 pounds the first year, but nothing in the last 14 months – and I still have 75 pounds or so to lose.  All of this is weight from medications.  I have never in my life over-eaten.  Ever.

I’m not allowed to have food or I will kill myself.  I have never “cheated” because I don’t want to die young. I exist on eggs and cheese for food, and the half & half that I put in my Splenda sweetened coffee.  We can’t afford any real food for me.  I watch my husband and son eat pizzas, angel food cakes, chocolate filled croissants, cereal cereal cereal, ice cream, burritos, tacos, nachos. They do it sitting next to me.  Yesterday my son asked me to hold his piece of angel food cake while he got a glass of milk.  I can’t even have milk.  Another little example of how I can see what I want, but I cannot touch it.  And it’s not like I ate that crap before I got diabetes, but damn, every now and then some hot chocolate and toast sounds nice and I’ll never again get to eat that.

I try to contribute financially to cover some of the costs my being alive incur, so I make about $200 a month, but that doesn’t last long, and it’s not a sure-thing. What if the things I list on eBay don’t sell?

For the past 16 years I’ve been trying to sleep as much as possible.  I generally sleep 12 hours a day and lay in bed for another 8 wishing I could fall back to sleep.  I have nightmares almost every time I sleep, and a common thing is me being brutally raped.

There is no joy in my life. Nobody is laughing. I’m not laughing anymore. People don’t say my name, and when I do hear it, it’s my formal name, Elizabeth, and not the name I actually go by.  When I hear “Lisa” I panic thinking I’m about to get in trouble.  I’m 45 years old and that’s the first thing I think.  “Oh shit! What did I do wrong, and I’m sorry!!!”  Nope, my husband doesn’t even call me Lisa.

I’ve made terrible mistakes in my life that I can’t go back and fix, and I can’t move forward away from them, either.  I had two sons with my first husband and they lived with me for a long time; generally through the roughest parts of young males lives, like puberty and high school.  They both live on the east coast, (both gay, don’t want children, so I’ll never have grandchildren from them) thousands of miles away from me, and I never hear from them.  They don’t respond to email or text, and I long ago stopped trying to actually call or leave voicemail.  I gave up college in Burlington, Vermont for them and my ex.  I gave up everything for them.  That was a mistake.  Was moving here to Washington a mistake, too?  My husband hates Pennsylvania passionately for some reason.  I think he feels like it’s full of hicks and hillbillies or whatever name he assigns people who live in a rural area.  I can’t ever live there again, even though one of my sons, my mother, and my brother live there.  A lot of cousins, too.  I miss all of them so much.

I doubt I will ever see any of them again.

I miss lightning bugs.  I guess some people call them fireflies.

I miss Fall foliage changing into brilliant colors and I just miss trees with leaves in general, to be honest.  I live among nothing but incredibly tall pine trees.  I miss snow.

The people. I miss my small town people.  I miss bingo at the firehall.  VFW wedding receptions.  The guys who wear flannel shirts and smell like they just got done working on a car engine.  Beer that nobody will make fun of me for liking even though it isn’t hip, or whatever.  (I haven’t had a drink in maybe a decade, so no worries, I just miss having a life.) I miss friendly people at estate auctions, and the old ladies who make up church auxiliaries who make giant vats of chicken corn noodle soup and chocolate cake with peanut butter icing, whoopie pies and how messy kids get eating them, and how the same old lady that sold the kid the pie will chase him down to wipe off his face and fingers.

I don’t know a single one of my neighbors. I don’t know how long I’ll live in this rented house.  Every tomorrow is a question mark.  Will Dave get fired? Will the landlord kick us out? Will the Sheriff come and make me sign something because I still owe the dentist $80? Will Dave be in a bad mood or a worse mood? Depressed or manic? Will I picture slicing into my wrists or putting a bag over my head and hanging myself from a tree like that poor woman did in Oregon 2 or 3 years ago.  I’ll never forget her.  Or the woman who did about the same thing just north of Seattle.  How could either of them do that, everyone asked.  Such a joke.  Nobody even knew their favorite color, I’ll bet every penny I have on it. I bet they got stupid carnations on their birthdays and told that “next year” will be better for birthdays and Christmas.  A shitty hand drawn card from the most important people in their world on Mother’s Day.  It’s the thought that counts, right, sure, but put some actual thought INTO it for fuck’s sake – you’re a teenager and I’m a human being who gave you life.  And WORSE is the 2 mid to late 20-something sons who don’t acknowledge me at all on Mother’s Day or Christmas.

The last text I got from one of them after a many months long silence was, seriously, asking me about the color of his poop and if he should go see a doctor.  My answer was yes and he didn’t go to the doctor anyway.

I’m used to holidays sucking after 16 years, though. I’m used to not having a meal with family, and if we have a special meal at all it’s at an All You Can Eat buffet at an Indian casino for $26 per person, which is outrageous so only happens once every few years. I’m used to getting gifts that I will never use from places I’d never shop, or no gifts at all lately. For my birthday this year I got carnations and a $16 necklace that I sent a link to my husband and titled it “This would be okay for my birthday.”  It turned my neck green, because of course it did. Also, I hate carnations.  I fucking HATE them ever since not ONE single year between grades 6 and 12 did I ever get one bought for me on Valentine’s Day at school – not even a white “just for you my friend!!” one.  Stupidly, I have a secret password-protected spreadsheet that I update all year long with really special gift ideas for Dave and the kids.  Why do I bother.  No.  Really.  I want to know why I bother.

I honestly don’t know if life is worth living. I don’t know if I want to end my life, or if I’d be at all sad if my life ended right now by means beyond my control. I guess it would be stressful for Dave to try and figure out how to pay for a service (there wouldn’t be an actual funeral because those cost too much, and who would come anyway?)  Just an ambulance to deal with my body would be more than we could afford.  Why am I thinking like this?  😦

Do you think I sound depressed? How is that possible if I’m taking so many pills to combat it?  300mg of Effexor XR daily, Toprol XL to keep the shaking and rapid heartbeat and skipped beats away, Xanax to calm my ass down.  I don’t know how I could possibly be depressed with all of those drugs in my system.

I’m so tired of the nightmares when I sleep, and I’m so tired of of the shittiness of my life when I’m awake, and I’m simply just so tired.

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I Suppose This Has to Do With Anxiety?

So one of the medications I take for my anxiety, Toprol XL, caused me to become diabetic.  So now I have type 2 diabetes, and I can tell you that it’s not fun.  I have to eat a low carbohydrate, high fat, moderate protein diet; so basically I eat bacon and eggs and when I can afford them, macadamia nuts.  That’s about it.

I check my blood sugar ten or more times a day because I have OCD tendencies.  In two years since my diagnosis my way of eating has given me completely controlled numbers.  If a doctor were to have checked they wouldn’t have known I had diabetes at all.  Still couldn’t eat anything I wanted to eat or it would cause my blood glucose to go up, but at least I wasn’t damaging my organs.  To back that up, every three months I have extensive blood tests to ensure all is perfect.

The last 3 days, however, my blood glucose has been extremely elevated.  To give you an idea, it’s usually between 90 and 110 all day and all night, even after eating.  If a person wanted to know what a “perfect” number is, it would be 83.  I don’t know why, but now it’s between 120 and 180!!!  I am freaking – the – fuck – out!

Science (Google) says that it could be stress or illness.  My stress level is normal, seriously.  So am I ill?  Do I have cancer?  Oh my God what the fuck is wrong with me???

On Friday, 4 days ago, I bought a new blood glucose meter from Walmart and have been testing with that since I used up all of my expensive prescription strips – OCD and all – so MAYBE it’s just a weird meter?  I just don’t know, but I’m terrified.  Now, I’ve been terrified before and it didn’t cause my blood glucose to go up past 120, so what the fuck is wrong with me????

I keep thinking that it must mean that I’m about to have a heart attack and die.  I hate my heart phobia so much.

I hope I figure this out soon because I’m basically fasting at this point to keep my numbers down and I really want a cup of coffee 😦 Life sucks sometimes.  😦