Explanation One

I explained that I would give some context into why someone like me would have so much anxiety, PTSD, OCD, Bipolar, anger, etc, etc, etc. I know, it sounds like I just picked every mental disorder a person could have and threw them together for this post.

The fact is that some or all of those conditions are a side effect or worsened by one or more of the others. For instance, the PTSD (PTSI) causes OCD and anger along with paranoia and anxiety in certain situations. So my social anxiety is worsened by my PTSD. My OCD wasn’t even a thing until I “developed” OCD and so the OCD causes even more anxiety about other things. The anger is part of the PTSD and the OCD also causes anger if I can’t get things JUST RIGHT. My social anxiety is mostly as a result of the PTSD but its also because of the Bipolar and OCD because I have no tolerance for other people doing dumb shit even when it’s something tiny like, walking too slowly down an aisle. Rage is part of PTSD and Bipolar Disorder so that’s another side effect of another condition that causes a condition.

You hear about people with PTSD and most of the time you think….soldier. Not everyone was shot at during the Iraq war or hit an IED in Afghanistan. Some people experience PTSD from things like sexual assault, animal attacks, car accidents, the death of a loved one, seeing someone get injured, seeing something scary, and the list goes on. Not everyone is built to be able to handle those things the same way. Some people are badasses and just don’t give a fuck what they see or hear. They move on with life and tell stories about it later and give the person hearing the story PTSD just because it’s so gross or scary. Sarcasm. The rest of us have something in our chemistry that has caused us to relive that event and its emotions, memories, physical and mental feelings, images, sounds, and even the surroundings.

For me, I can visualize every single inch of the area, the people, the images of the injured, the only exit out, the fires, the aftermath, the fear, the screaming, the panic, and so on. Its been 15 years and I still jump and scream at the sound of a loud noise. I still have an over exaggerated startle reflex. I still look for the table in the back of the restaurant. I still don’t like large crowds. I still even avoid running over trash in the road.

The symptoms don’t just go away in six months or a year. They stay with you forever, sometimes. You dream about death or that event. You lose sleep and don’t know why.

Don’t assume that soldiers are just pussies that can’t handle what they signed up for in the first place. Just because someone didn’t lose a leg or become disfigured, doesn’t mean they don’t have invisible wounds that haven’t been treated.

Take that stigma, that stereotype you have of people with different forms of anxiety and mental or emotional issues and understand that its not always many different conditions but possibly one or two conditions that cause the side effects that mimic other illnesses.

Also, if you are using the word anxiety, bipolar, depressed, OCD, or any other name for a legitimate mental/emotional condition to describe how you’re feeling in the moment, just stop.

You are not “bipolar today”. You are not OCD today. That video of the paint being smeared together doesn’t give you anxiety. You don’t have social anxiety because you’re shy. Those are words that have become so overused that the people who actually suffer from those conditions seem like they’re trying to fit into the fad of being mentally ill. Why is this a fad anyway? Why the fuck would anyone want to be bipolar?

When I see or hear someone, including my own children, use those words when I know for a fact that they are just describing a feeling for that moment in time, I correct them on the spot. Its a little insensitive and offensive to those of us who wish we could just be nervous to speak to a new person instead of sweating, heart racing, mind racing, body shaking, and the urgency to run away or actively avoid the situation. Nervous would be nice.

That is all.

AVC

A little insight

I write a lot about my feelings of depression and suicidal thoughts. It gets a little old sometimes when all I can talk about is how fucking depressed I am. I complain about everyone and everything but I haven’t really given any context as to why I feel the way I do.

I’ve told y’all before about my uncle but then I deleted it because it just didn’t tell the story the right way. As a matter of fact, I deleted all of my posts because I want to try to express how someone like me gets to this point.

There are thousands of people, even millions, that have gone through what I’ve been through, military and childhood traumas, and each of us has our own symptoms and deal with them in our own ways. Some of us see therapists. Some of us lose our shit on our family and cause problems in the household. Some of us try to pretend to be normal and hide our stress and anxiety. Some of us seek medications, prescription or other substances like alcohol or drugs.

The point of this is to let you know that mine and others’ depression and anxieties are not something we are just too weak to deal with but instead are strong enough to survive even though we feel like we are dying inside, most of the time.

Listen carefully when someone tells you that they are hurting or feeling depressed. There may be something you can do for them but never ever just tell them that everything will be okay. That’s the worst thing you can tell someone who feels that way. Listen. Listen. Listen.

 

What is happening to me?

I spent all day, yesterday, avoiding phone calls and texts and any interaction with humans in general. I never want to leave my house and when I have to go somewhere, I get stressed out and get aggravated with everything and everyone.

I have doctor’s appointments and even medical procedures that I wish I could just cancel so I don’t have to leave the house.

I wasn’t always like this, though. I’ve never been a very social person. I’ve been reserved and quiet for most of my life until my time in the Army. After my deployment to Iraq, I came home a different person. Angry, nervous, paranoid, and very outspoken.

I don’t let anyone get away with saying shit to me. I yell at complete strangers if they do something stupid. I have road rage so bad that I have actually followed someone past my exit or destination just to let them know they pissed me off.

When I do get a friend, they always leave or become distant. I’m not sure if its because of me or if I just choose shitty people to be friends with. Either way, it has taught me that you can’t count on people to be there for you.

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I have this recurring daydream of pulling the trigger on the shotgun and how hard it would be for my family to see my face destroyed by the blast. I think about dragging a sharp knife across my throat or my veins and bleeding out quickly so nobody can “save me”.

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I take so many medications for everything from Bipolar to Restless Legs Syndrome. I have 20 bottles of pills in my nightstand and all of them cause drowsiness or have deadly side effects if an overdose happens. Imagine if I downed just 2 or 3 bottles of pills. Would I die? I’d want to do it when nobody was home so they wouldn’t see me dying.

The only thing that stops me is the thought of what it would do to my family. My husband would be crushed and I believe my kids would have a hard time coping with it throughout life. My daughter, especially, would probably blame herself because we don’t get along and I think she’s selfish and self-centered.

If I were to kill myself, would it matter what they thought? I’d be dead and I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t be there to see their reaction or watch them deal with my death. Why should I care what they’d feel? That’s the point of death. You don’t care anymore.images

I have been a burden on my family for years now. I’m physically unable to do many things that normal people can do because of my physical disabilities. My family spends every day asking me if they can help or telling me to sit down so they can do the random chore for me. I’m no use to my husband because I’m overweight and feel ugly so I don’t have an interest in sex. I’m always angry about something and I nitpick every tiny thing anyone does. I used to be such a clean freak but now I find it difficult to even get up to dust. Every movement hurts and my mind is breaking down. I spend every extra cent we have on dumb shit because I can’t control my mania.

What is the point of going on if I can’t contribute to my family and home? Wouldn’t it be easier if I wasn’t around so they could go on and be happier without me spending all the money and griping and yelling at everyone? Wouldn’t it be easier for them if they didn’t have to wonder if I will even leave the house to go shopping with them?

I’m at a loss as to what is keeping me from taking my own life. My family keeps me from doing it but they are the reason I want to.

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AVC