Tag: Stress

What Was I Thinking?!

There are rules that need to be followed in times of Social-Distancing; as a professional social-distancer, I should know better than to break these rules.

I’m sure most people have seen the meme, reminding folks that, no matter how bored you get, do not cut your own bangs. If only that was what I did.

First, before we get to my latest Social-Distancing-SNAFU, let’s take a trip back in time. The year: 2005. My status: newly (secretly) married, unemployed, in a post-Hurricane Katrina southern town, where frequent newspaper articles discussed the resurgence of carpet-bagging. And there I was, a transplant from New York, desperate to steal jobs away from Georgians. I was broke, and jobless.

Wait–before I continue on–I just opened my blinds and discovered I have not one, but two 4ft tall DANDELIONS in my front garden bed. I guess maybe now would be the time to look up Dandelion Green recipes! These are desperate times (and this is the south).

Ok. Georgia. Late November 2005. I had just gotten off the phone with a friend in NY, who had just gotten a haircut by my hairdresser, and I was feeling a little…I guess FOMO? EOHC (That would be Envy of HairCuts…but it really doesn’t have the same ring)? I had already been cutting my own hair–it was short, and I would shave up the back and trim up the top. Fun. And. Spiky. In that moment, I decided I wanted to give a pixie-cut a try. So, clippers in hand, with the #6 guard, I made an absolutely illegal move–I shaved right down the middle of my head…and instantly shouted, “oh shit!” Too late to come back from this terrible decision, I finished the job, and texted Justin: I did something really bad.

There it is: proof that you shouldn’t make spur of the moment decisions in times of extreme social distancing. Don’t listen to the voice saying, “do it! This is a good idea! You definitely won’t regret this in 5 seconds!” That voice is a dirty liar who will cut and run the second you realize it’s a bad idea, and you will definitely regret it.

Fourteen years later, I found myself participating in once again, listening to bad ideas, instigated by the voice who is just trying to get me in trouble. “Ooh, you know what would be fun?! Let’s play around with your website, and push buttons and try things, and see what happens! Doesn’t that sound like fun?! At 9:45pm, when your husband is halfway through a 38hr shift, and you can’t sleep, because you don’t know how to adult when he isn’t home to tell you to go to bed, mistakes will be made.

…and, save. And….shit. It was gone. Well, it was there, but it was sad and broken, and kept telling me something went wrong. No kidding, something went wrong! You let me think I knew what I was doing!!! I tried and tried to think of how I could fix this: maybe if I just say, “please be there, please be there, please be there,” over and over again, it will self-correct? By 1am, I gave up. I started contemplating actual solutions that would lead to results.

This morning, I woke up with a possible solution. I didn’t love what I had to do next…

Let me just say, that, as an introvert who can lean toward the edge of recluse, I have some really amazing friends scattered around the world….and I might go years without talking to them.

That’s where I found myself this morning. I hate asking for help, when the person I’m asking is someone I haven’t spoken to in half a decade. It has nothing to do with not wanting to reach out–it just feels…selfish. “Hey, I know it’s been 5 years, and how are you, and also, please help me fix my foolish blunder.”

Friendship is a magical thing. Two hours later, with a minimal amount of help from me:
“How do you normally sign in?”
“I don’t know. I click the link and I’m there.”
He saved my life…or at least my website. We both can appreciate a healthy amount of social distancing–introverts of the world, unite. Just–stay on your own side.
“THANK YOU again for saving my blog. Let’s not wait 5 years for another technical emergency, to get back in contact.”
“Technical emergency IN A PANDEMIC! Hopefully, those two will never coincide again.”

Truth be told, one lead to the other. Pompous Pandemic Pluck…and that dirty voice that needs to stop giving me bad advice!

Tom wants to help you too! I mean, he didn’t say that, really. But, I’m a parent. And I know some parents. And this could come in handy, while we’re all keeping our distance, and slowly losing our minds. Just like that, my friend is now helping you! Promoting Pandemic…Philanthropy?

And Out Come the Wolves

Or at least the wolf spiders.

Kentucky has taught me to appreciate the giant monsters.

This evening, I spent close to an hour mowing my backyard, which, if you’ve SEEN my back yard, you would know that seems excessive for such a small space.The problem is, I haven’t been good about keeping up with it. This last month of coming off my antidepressants has been awful. It made me remember why it is I’m on them in the first place. I’ve been mean, irrational, occasionally paranoid, and a slew of other fun emotions. If I yelled at you, I’m sorry. If I cried uncontrollably in front of you, thank you for not running away–or thank you for understanding when I ran away.

If you have never dealt with a chemically imbalanced brain, it’s hard to describe the feeling of being absolutely out of control. My brain has been misfiring, pulling and pushing me in 30 directions all at once, all while a voice is yelling “you’re doing it wrong! You’re failing!” Every ounce of my strength was thrown full-force into my job, but of course with my brain not functioning properly, the mistakes have just been piling up. Again, with the neon sign flashing failure above my head. Or maybe in my head. It’s been an electrical storm of emotions, along with the deafening skepticism.

Thankfully, as of Monday, my blood pressure is back to normal–it turns out that the same medication that brought me mental stability was also trying to give me a heart attack. Honestly, after this last 2 week, I still think my mental health is more important. I would rather succumb to a heart attack than I would deal with my inner voice kicking my while I’m down.

Like the roller coaster you didn’t want to get on in the first place, you spent that entire time thinking this is awful! Make it stop! And when it’s over you vow to never do it again.I will never do that again.But back to the spiders!

In my state of meh, my lawn had become a wild jungle of almost knee-high grass. Perfect for wolf spiders–perfect for a tiny world full of insects, really. But, oh my gosh, every pass of the lawn mower, 5-15 spiders with bodies the size of quarters ran in panic! Save yourselves! She’s a functioning human being again and she’s catching up on life!!!

When we first moved to Kentucky, I remember sending a picture to my best friend (a Kentucky girl), and asking “what the heck is this!?!?” As a non-lover of spiders, Justin was called upon often in our first year–“there’s a spider in the bathroom staring at me! And I really have to pee! Please come kill it! And then he deployed and I was left to deal with them. I had to continually remind myself, they’re the good spiders. They’re the reason we have no black widows. They don’t mean to be terrifying. Now, I have a respect for them. They don’t mean to be giant, 8-legged creatures who prefer life in the tall grass of my backyard.

And now I’m sitting here realizing that my depression is a lot like the wolf spiders. I have spent my life hating it–why can’t my brain just function properly? But this is me. And I don’t mean to come in a mentally unstable package. But, at least I am back on the path to sanity.

Who You Talkin’ To?

My age naivety strikes again. Summer is upon us, which here means a drastic increase in single soldiers at work.

“…He asked me if I was talking to anyone, and I said no.”

You were literally talking to him and he asked if you were talking to anyone. Obviously my “talking to” is different than yours.

“Sam, are you talking to anyone?!”

“Ladies, I am sitting here talking to you right now!”

“NOOOOOOO! Sam! I saw you talking to Justin this morning!”

What is happening right now!? Why–why am I so old!?

I get it, I do. I’m not so old that I’m that confused (yet). And how is one supposed to differentiate between talking to, and “talking to.” And whatever happened to getting a talking to!? What was once a reprimand is now…I don’t even know what. Something that requires me to giggle and use an excessive amount of rapid-fire eyebrow raising.

Also, while we talk of the awkwardness that is me, my doctor is making me go for a mammogram today, which I’m not feeling on so many levels. First and foremost, I can’t wear deodorant?! Do you want to die?! If I see you before 9am, please turn quickly and RUN!!!

The chances of there being cancer in these boobs is pretty darn slim. For one, I breastfed for nearly 5 straight years. I reduce my friends‘ chances of getting breast cancer, simply by allowing them to breathe the same air as me! Maybe. Probably. I don’t know, but I’m surely not getting it.

Also, my nips may or may not be pierced–ok, they may. My Christmas present, because I’m weird. The every day reminder that my boobs are retired from nourishing babies. Forever. But (in my whiniest, complainy voice), I don’t want to take them out. Because if they’re a pain in my boobs to put back in, I’m going to be even whinier!

I’m only a little salty. And no, that’s not just the sweat.

Don’t Tell Me to Stop

So, my blood pressure has been astronomically high since…honestly, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but back in February, my dentist pointed out how dangerously high it was. I take nothing seriously, so at the time I said “ok. I’ll look into it.” A few weeks later when I went back to get a few broken fillings replaced (nighttime Sam has spent over 3 decades sabotaging her smile with grinding), the dentist informed me that my blood pressure was so high, she would only do work on me if I got nitrous. Which was strangely like being drunk at the dentist (honestly, I slept through my dental work). She once again asked me to please see my doctor.

Meh.

Well, here we are, 4 months later. It’s still high in the sky, and I still rarely take these things seriously. Until my doctor last week (during a completely unrelated appointment) said, “I want you to stop taking your antidepressants.”

Umexcusemewhat??

Deer in headlights.

“How long have you been on the Effexor?”

“Um…4 years?”

“And how long has your blood pressure been high?”

“Um…”

“4 years?”

After coming out of the haze of the initial shock, I agreed that I have felt lately like it wasn’t working. But I had mostly chalked that up to other issues: my husband is on the other side of the Earth, I am a year into the full time working mom gig, 9 months into my single working mom stint. I’m a serious introvert, with a lack of a local support system. I am terrible at multi-tasking. And I inherited my Mom’s overactive tear glands.

But really, I get too overwhelmed. And if I cry any more, I might dry out and turn to dust.

I guess. I don’t know. Just when I start thinking, “maybe this week I won’t cry at work,” I have a nervous breakdown in a parking lot over a dented bumper.

So, in order to address my super-high-for-unknown-reasons blood pressure, I have to be unmedicated. For the first time since…shortly after Xander was born. That, to me, is scarier than any blood pressure, heart issue, scare.

I have dealt with/suffered from depression since I was……9? 5? Always? It’s hard to say. Meds have come and gone, and none will ever make me “normal,” but they sure do keep me from shattering plates on the floor because Justin paused too long before telling me what he wanted to drink with dinner (can we talk about the hero of this story for a minute? Because the partners of us mentally unstable squirrels are by far the most under-appreciated at times. And mine has put up with a lot in 13 years, and still sticks around to help keep me sane).

Also, the unmedicated, barely-functioning depression I suffered through while pregnant with Shea (while Justin was deployed), springs to mind. I could be a non-functioning blob before kids–that is not really a state I can enter into while having to be responsible for tiny humans.

I am officially one week into the process of slowly cutting back (so as not to be launched into the head pounding, nightmare-inducing, vertigo causing, withdrawal that this particular medication is known to cause…in me…after one missed dose). I’m still overwhelmed. I still cried today at work (literally because I was told I had to call the help-desk to sort out an employee’s timecard. And then I couldn’t find the number. And then my phone cut out. And then…tears). My blood pressure is still high.

Deep. Breath.

Stay positive.

You can do this.

Bus Driver! Bus Driver! Open the Door!

Two weeks ago, I woke up with a pounding headache. Honestly, I rarely get headaches, and when I do, they’re usually dehydration related. I am terrible about drinking enough water, especially in the winter.

I drank water, I took an Aleve, and it got a little better. But if I moved my head too fast, it came screaming back.

For the next week, I suffered through. Lots of Aleve (that did a whole lot of nothing), and lots of water (by this point, I had accepted that it wasn’t dehydration, but it couldn’t hurt). I even cut back on my workouts, because the up/down movement of a lot of exercises (deadlifts, kettle bell swings, burpees). It was mainly a stabbing shooting pain above my right eye.

Then, it was a tormenting pressure in my eye–my eyeball felt bruised! I’m not a hypochondriac, but I sure do love google searching medical ailments. Four or five articles stated that if there’s eye pressure, you should get your butt to the doctor.

Very well. Even when I called and told them my symptoms, they told me to get there as fast as I could. So, maybe I should take this headache seriously? I opted not to put my contacts in–hey, if my eye socket is about to spit my eyeball out, at least my glasses could kind of catch it, or at least stop it from rolling around on the floor of my car.

My eye stayed put, and after a bunch of tests, and a good amount of that fun yellow dye, I was told it was sinus pressure.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

I added allergy meds to the mix. Still, there was not much change.

Bus driver, bus driver, open the door!

Fast forward to Sunday. When we were kids, my Mom taught my sisters and me all kinds of fun things: pull the skin back on your face and say, “Mommy! Mommy! My ponytail’s too tight!” Pull the skin out on either side of your neck and say, “who left the knife in the peanut butter!? And last of all, smoosh your face and say, “Bus driver, bus driver, open the door!”

I have spent these last too weeks with the combo. Mom, my ponytail’s too tight, and my head is caught in the bus doors!

Self-diagnosis: round 2. Tension headaches, caused by stress. And jaw clenching at night (hence the pounding headaches in the morning).

NNOOOO!!!!! It’s not that I wanted there to be something wrong with me. I just wanted there to be something wrong with me that had a quick and easy fix. Please explain how this temporarily single mom is supposed to reduce stress!?

Then, on our way home from the pool, Shea starts in: “Tell Mom what you did.”

Xander: “No, I don’t want to.”

Me (expecting the worst, by the way, because Xander, and his nickname is often “Mr Destructo): “What did you do??”

“He peed in the trash can!!!…in the gym!!!”

Now Xander is ready to chime back in: “No no! It was in the bathroom!”

Ah yes, because that makes it better.

As we drove back to the pool, so that my son could take the bag o’ pee out to the dumpster, I thought, “hmm. I can’t imagine why I’ve had a never-ending stress headache!”