So I guess you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past couple of weeks.
Or not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.
I’ve been battling SUPERFUCKED ANXIETY (yes, that is the clinical term) which is almost the worst kind of anxiety you can have. It’s way more uncomfortable than ACUTE ANXIETY or ASSHOLE ANXIETY, but it’s not as bad as CRAZY BATSHIT ANXIETY, but almost.
I started lactating, I think I told you that, and my lymph nodes are still popped out, and now I’m going to Monica the Ninjerapist once a week and taking Lexapro and Xanax just so I can get through the day.
I think what happened is I had some PPD going on after having Homeslice and I didn’t deal with it properly. I let it go, thinking I’d be able to handle it myself if I just exercised enough and ate vegetables, but guess what? I didn’t fix it and it got worse.
Around Halloween time, I started to feel like I was really going south and then I had all those female problems that freaked my freak and then I got bronchitis and then my lymph nodes popped out and that was the last fucking straw. Crissy went bye-bye and in her place came a trembling disaster of fear and anxiety and obsession over my health. This is what I’ve been looking like lately:
I hate that picture because I can see all my sadness and worry in my face. I wish it didn’t exist, but it is my reality for right now.
And then on Thanksgiving morning, my friend Michele, the one I loved so very much decided to inform me in an email that she did not want to be my friend anymore. Apparently, I am controlling and manipulative like her father and her ex husband and she does not feel safe with me.
The person who is afraid of her washing machine because it spins too fast!
I know. It’s her loss, she’s obviously crazier than I am, etc, etc, but it still hurt and continues to hurt because she was such a part of my life and I don’t understand what the deal is. I don’t know what I did that was so objectionable. I’m kind of heartbroken and I really needed her support right about now, but she totally bailed on me. She even went so far as to BLOCK ME AND MISTER ON FACEBOOK and has started taking Alena to another bus stop so as to “minimize any and all further contact” with me. I’m expecting my restraining order any day now. I’m surprised I’m not forbidden to look at her house (which is across the street from mine, btw.)
Anyway, I’ve had an ultrasound on my lymph nodes. I don’t have any results from that yet, but since it was Thursday morning and nobody has called me yet, I’m guessing they didn’t see anything too disturbing. I would imagine someone would have called me by now. I hope. The tech said it didn’t look like anything bad, and so for now I must assume that I am fine and that stress is causing all of this and not The Cancer or a Brain Tumor, which by the way is what my doctor suspects might be happening if it’s not just anxiety.
He said “brain tumor” to me and other very scary things like “tube” and “MRI.” But he’s not going to do those things yet because he wants to see if the Lexapro works first.
Let’s pray that it does, my people. Pray like we’ve never prayed before. And if it does not, let’s pray that this “big goomba that could be sitting there” as my doctor put it, is benign and fixable and pituitary-ish because quite frankly, dying of a brain tumor is a lame way to go. I’d much rather die doing something glamorous like…like… I don’t even know what. It’s hard to think with the Xanax, you know. Makes things a little sllloooowwww….
And so now I pop that shit like candy and hope to Jesus the Lexapro starts to help me soon because right now, I’m a bag of mixed nuts. I walk around shaking and weeping and looking at my kids and hoping I get to watch them grow up.
It’s all DRAMA, all the time. I should have my own TV show because how different is my life compared to those stupid annoying Real Housewives?
Well, they have bigger houses, nicer cars, and fake tits, but other than that, I can totally compete with their drama. In fact, I make their drama look fucking stupid. Because it fucking is.
And so that is where I have been, Queefies.
I am not happy about being on medication, but I was not able to function without it because my anxiety is so overwhelming. I had no choice. I have cut all caffeine and alcohol and chocolate and I exercise every day, no excuses or skipping. I even imagine my anxiety to be a hideous looking monster named Enid who I thrash around my living room during Turbo Jam every morning. It feels pretty good and empowering to do that.
Mister and my mom have been my rocks. They have both put up with endless questions like “I’m okay, right?” “they can fix me, right?” and poor Girlfriend, bless her little heart, has been saying “I know this Mommy, you’re not sick.” I wish this didn’t effect her, but clearly it has.
I joined an online support group that has been helpful, and like I said, the Xanax.
I am hoping to return to myself and I am hoping that Monica The Ninjerapist can help me find myself again, because right now, Queefies.
Crissy is not here.
But I will leave you with this picture because of all the disturbing things I’m going through right now, I don’t think anything is more disturbing than RED HOT DOGS I found at the Super Wal*Mart’s:
Please pray for your Crissy and for all the people who eat red hot dogs.