Tuesday, August 14, 2012

The pit gets deeper.

I feel like I'm in a pit that I can't crawl out of.

Today, I finally reached out to the helpline that my company offers its employees so I can find help with getting counseling. I set up an appointment for next week, and I feel like now that I've accomplished that, I can just go ahead and go to sleep until then.

I keep working through the pain I'm feeling, though. Laughing at my bosses (because they are genuinely funny!), being as pleasant to people as possible, helping out whenever I'm asked to help out with something. (Within reason, of course. Don't ask me to help you do an oil change on your car. Not unless you want a really broken car at the end of the process!)

I want to cry, and cry, and sleep, and cry. And I can't. I have to keep pretending to be fine.

Leo and I have visitors coming in from out of town this weekend, and I'm so excited about seeing them and entertaining them and having good times while they're here!

But all the same, I'll be in that damned pit while I'm doing it. Hoping they don't notice my flinching and spasming and the quick moments of teared up eyes.

One of the ways I'm coping is by shopping online. I'm trying to keep it reasonable, because I notice it as a coping mechanism for myself, so I need to keep it as controlled as possible. The day before yesterday, I bought some stuff from the Gap. And then I bought a calendar and a luggage tag (both Anne Taintor) yesterday. And today I bought some items that are on sale at West Elm.

Oh, and today I also bought some relatively expensive tickets for a Chiefs vs Chargers game at the end of September. I started out by looking into how much it would cost to buy one of their lower end boxes at the stadium for the season. And I look forward to using that for a good laugh with Leo tonight when we're hanging out, because NO. Hahahahahahahahanonononono...I feel bad for the sales guy that I spoke to because he sounded like a genuinely nice person. And I definitely plan on working on not laughing at him when I talk to him again about that not being the right option for my family at this time, but thanking him for sending me the information.

If anyone wants to go in on a box at the stadium, though, let me know. That seems like a more reasonable way to do it. Kind of like buying a condo in a vacationey-type area with family members, and then sharing it from week to week. Because, srsly...buying a box at the stadium is like buying a 2nd house. And I'd rather do that, to be quite honest!

I'm sure this sales guy is used to fuckers like me emailing for more info, and then never hearing from them again, though. They don't put any info out on the Chiefs website about the costs associated with the boxes. It's really terribly put together, IMO. Had they had even just a few of the numbers available in a standard search point on the site, he'd never have had to bother with me.

Oh well! I'm sure he'll understand. /oddest segue evar

I'm trying to focus on the good, though. I really am. The pit is just getting so fucking deep, is all. And I'm afraid of what the answer is to getting out of it. I'm thinking I'm going to have to take a leave of absence from my work, is the thing. It's just sucking the life out of me to have to sit here and feel the twitch twitch twitch all the goddammed time, and to not be able to scream away the pain of the annoyance. I need some time to try to heal. And to try to do more - yoga, pilates, workouts, medicine, WHATEVER - to try to get the twitch to abate even just a little bit.

God, you all must be so tired of hearing about this anymore. I'm so sorry...blah.

10 comments:

Fluffycat said...

Aw, I know how it goes... I obviously don't have the same issues but I can relate to that feeling of just being overwhelmed by your life and wanting to disappear into anything. What helped me was group therapy, and also medication, and it took place over a long period of time. I think you can cut yourself some slack and do the best you can with where you are now. Good that you are seeking help.

Ms. Pants said...

Dude. Props. Seriously. Reaching out is the fucking hardest thing to do. (Even though it sometimes seems like getting out of bed is the hardest thing to do.)

One day at a time. If you have to take a leave, okay. But don't worry about that now. Cross that bridge when it's directly in front of you.

In the meantime, do what you can, get through what you can, and cut yourself a little slack. It doesn't matter if other people are "tired of hearing about it." Fuck those dudes. (Well, don't because they really don't deserve a good shagging--why don't we say "unfuck those dudes?") I get it--trust me, I do. (Was so over myself last summer I wanted to puke.) But shit happens. And shitty shit happens. And anyone who expects you to smile like suzy-mary-sunshine through every shitty shit happening in life can just go hump a cactus.

The people that matter don't mind. The people that mind don't matter. A little overly summed up, sure, but it's true.

Take care of YOU--that's most important. Don't apologise (though I know that won't stop you, but understand anyone who matters doesn't expect nor need an apology). And love on puppies. Puppies will help, if only for a few minutes at a time.

(I might be quite lately, but I'm still reading and I care like whoa. Take care of you. I'm sending you mad crazy love from Houston!! ...and, would you like a cat? I have a few to spare....)

Auntie Pam said...

You don't know me. I have no idea how I stumbled across your blog. But I enjoy your writing, and I'm sorry that you're hurting. There are people out here who care about you.

I have no advice. I just wanted you to know I'm not tired of hearing about it, and I'm looking forward to hearing the solution. And from what I've read, you will find it.

faithstwin said...

Do NOT hesitate to call me even early in the a.m. or late in the p.m. and any time in between, dude. If you need me, I can come any time. The girls can come for a little bit too.

We can figure something out but you can ALWAYS talk about it. I'm not tired of hearing about it- and I know people who come here to read up on your life and the antics that ensue aren't tired of being an ear for you either.

I'll call you tomorrow- I'm really worried about ya. =(

Fred Sanford said...

I'm aware youy think I'm a butt, but stay the course.

Also, not for nuthin', ut you've put youself in the hands of a good, highly recommended pyschotherapist, correct?

Faith said...

Yeah, it took me literally weeks to finally reach out to the help number the company has in place. I don't know why. I've always been a proponent of people reaching out for help when they need it.

But suddenly I realize why it's just so fucking hard to do it when it's yourself that you're dealing with.

See, and it's people like you, Ms. Pants, that makes me feel like such a fucking shitheel with all my stupid crap. You had CANCER. I have a fucking twitch in my face that contorts it from time to time, but COME ON. It's not cancer! So what the hell is wrong with me??? Who do I think I AM???

And I know I shouldn't feel that way, which makes me feel even worse...and welcome to my pit. This is how it has been dug.

Fred, I also think my husband is a butt. So it's a relative term, really. And yes, I'm working on getting in to see a therapist. It's just been hard between all the acupuncture, neurology, and self-loathing I've had on my plate until now.

Ms. Pants said...

Oi, listen up. My cancer was all up in my bidness and no one could see it. It wasn't like I had to great people with my cervix. (And really? Thank friggin god!)

Your face is ... well, it's your FACE! Your friggin FACE!! And it's doing things that you don't tell it to do. That's going to affect how you feel! I get all "go eat worms" when I've got a monster zit that I can't hair-hide. A twitch would drive me batty.

It's all relative. I didn't know I had a broken box until someone told me. I never had symptoms, didn't feel anything other than standard treatment side effects. It wasn't fun, but it also wasn't nearly as horrific and people assume it was. And it wasn't visible and didn't affect my self-esteem. In fact, I felt badly at radiation because I didn't lose my hair and all my nuclear sisters were bald or peach fuzzing. They all called me "The one with hair" which gave me a complex about it, thusly leading to a giant chopping off once I was all finished. It's all relative.

So no shitheeling on my account, please. I got a brand new, rebuilt, bionic box out of the deal. No periods. No chance of ever sprouting crotchfruit. A free-pot-smoking-pass forever! Honestly--I kinda won the cancer lottery. Jesus McFuck, am I even allowed to say that?

Anyway, what I'm saying is--I wouldn't be able to deal well with a face-twitch and I think you're a motherfucking champion for being as awesome about it as you have been. So no playing comparisons. It's not productive and even if it were, I'd argue that you got the shit-end of the stick on this one. And I'm sorry about that because it sucks. But if it helps, I'll totally share my pot-pass. ;-p

xoxox

faithstwin said...

OMG- the thought of Faith smoking pot is hilaarrrious and I vote you try it at least once but I have to be there to see what happens...

Faith said...

I think vomiting will happen. ::gags::

Can I have a prescription for red wine instead, do you think???

Ms. Pants said...

And so it is written, and so it is done. Forever-Red-Wine-Pass