Friday’s anxiety attack was inevitable
Saturday’s shutdown was to be expected
Sunday’s outcome is undetermined.

 

Friday, after losing an important thing, tearing the house apart looking for it and finally finding it in the first room I looked, was a sign.  The end is near. (I know I could have said nigh, but come on, really?)  Let’s look at the week.

Monday, is always therapy day.  I drove, arriving late to my therapist, and she gets some observations about my situation in my head before the bell rings and I’m already late to the next class.  Not really, just a flashback to highschool.  I’m getting better at getting to the next adventure of the day.  Each day has unique and challenging adventures, that make me wonder if I should drive at all.

Tuesday. I can’t remember Tuesday, but it must have been eventful in some important way that I have blocked it out.

Wednesday, I taught one student. I had boy number two visit from whenever he shows up to whenever I get him home. I was waiting at my house for him to arrive, so I was late to my first class.  I took boy number two to class, then to my writing group with Petunia.   He is an awesome babysitter, but should not have fed Petunia in her hooded jacket.  She had food smeared… ev-er-y-where.  Socks to eyebrows.  He asked me how to clean her up.  I must have blinked at him, a couple solid, slow blinks before I was able to speak.  Before he started feeding her, I remember telling him not to give her the spoon, but the inexperienced feeder is never responsible for the flailings of a willful 11 month old twelve armed goddess.  She’s cute.  I love her, but she can never have the spoon.  The result was as I described.

We went from the class to the writing group and they were nice and accommodating to me and the loud child.  Ask me why I don’t go to choir anymore.  Petunia is the sweet nickname of Pterodactyl, my fourth child.  How could I even come up with such a term for one of my blood, the fruit of my womb?  You would have to hear her sing along, DURING CHOIR REHEARSAL.  If I could have died of shame I would have.  I couldn’t hear, my choirmates couldn’t hear and worse yet, the director couldn’t hear.  The director was so irritated when I left that he didn’t say goodbye as I ran out the door with Petunia, boy number two and Cheerios rolling in my wake.  A baby cooing is a cute sound.  My baby, like all my children, has a good set of lungs, is social and pre-verbal and not at all cute sounding in an acoustically designed room.  Pre-verbal means we can’t understand her, but she has a lot to say unless she is sleeping.  She also loves music like her Mommy.  I dropped off boy number two and contemplated the voicemail message I would leave for my choir director apologizing and promising never to return with said child in tow.

Thursday started with oversleeping.  My change in medication now includes sleeping through the night into the morning.  Normally, (???) I should be awake walking in my morning circles, looking for things I can’t find while cleaning, sorting and getting ready for the day.  This particular Thursday, I overflowed the toilet, flooding the 2nd floor bathroom. I ran downstairs only to find an object that Petunia grabbed from over the side of her playpen.  Oh Shiitaki Mushrooms!  I grabbed said item, then ran for the kitchen to dump a tub of (I didn’t wash them yet, but they were soaking,) dishes to catch the drip that was leaking from the ceiling on her no longer drying pink bunny.  Yeah, because baby toys should be covered in urine.

I dropped the tub, changed the baby, fed the baby then left for my first appointment LATE.   The person I met was also running late, so no harm, no foul.  As I was driving to appointment number two, I remembered that I left the house without giving Petunia her absolutely critical, you are a bad mom if you forget this medicine-medicine.  Before I made it to the highway, I had placed a call to the pediatrician to get a prescription filled by the time I arrived at my therapy appointment in the next county.

That message, was passed along wrong to the specialist, (remember the game telephone that you played in elementary school and you had to pass a message from one classmate to the next until the last student sheepishly repeated the gibberish that was whispered into their ear.  It was like that.) who I could not call back until after I arrived at a stopping point off the highway.  The specialist’s nurse called me from a general hospital number that was not working (WHY DON’T I HAVE THE SPECIALIST’S NUMBER PROGRAMMED INTO MY PHONE,) so I continued on to the parking lot of my therapist where I talked to a friend, who calmed me down. I did this instead of taking the time to rifle through my bags to find that I had also left the emergency baby kit and emergency folder at home, in another bag or somewhere.  I had had enough. I decided to attend my session then drive home and give Petunia her dose as soon as possible.  I would have had to pay out-of-pocket and I didn’t have much in my pocket to begin with so that was that.

I actually had a full therapy session (and the crowd goes wild!) I should just live there and then I wouldn’t have to drive. Rent a motel room with virtual money?  Ask for double sessions, that she doesn’t offer?

So, based upon the week so far what do you think happened on Friday?  Well, you already know some of it, I started the story with it above.  Stop now and re-read the first paragraph… Friday, the end is near.

I had a whiz-banging anxiety attack.  No need for the blow-by-blow, but it felt really, really bad.  I wanted to give up on the day and shut down.  BUT.  The car was loaded.  I had all my supplies and the baby ready to go.  I had to make the call to my appointment.  I was forty minutes late.  I believe that is a record for me, actually.  I let her know that she had the option of rescheduling or I would drive in and do the best I could for the day.  She opted for shortening our appointment and I got there as soon as I could.  I apologized again for my tardiness and we got to work.  This is why I don’t have a regular job.  I would get shamed, reprimanded, then fired, then spiral into the depths of despair.  I learned a while ago, that regular jobs make me stressed out beyond the horizon of sanity.  I like the tiny bits that I have left.

Saturday morning, I woke up.  I may have even written a blog, took care of Petunia, then slowly started shutting down.  I know I took my medication, but I knew better than to take my stimulant while I was already shutting down.  That would have hastened the crash.  My backwards ADHD chemistry, makes stimulants slow me down, which is fine on a regular day, but I had back up and I was soo tired.  I slept from one o’clock until six or seven pm.  I think I needed the rest.  Petunia’s father was here and I just needed a break from consciousness.

Sunday was just like Saturday never happened.  Welcome to my world.

Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

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