So, there's this girl....

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

I feel like if I say it enough times it might not be an actual word that actually applies to me.

Except it does. 

For the people that know me IRL, I know you're looking all weird right now, faces all screwed up like "Dafuq is she even talking about?" But it's true. It's horribly true. Except maybe it isn't.

I don't have a legitimate fear of leaving my home. At all. As long as I have someone with me. I do not like to leave my home alone, not even to put gas i am n my car. I will often wait for my Peanut to get off the bus to go out and handle stupid little tasks like that because I won't have to be by myself. 

I'm not afraid to be alone. In fact, I spend the majority of my time quite alone. Except when I'm working, which is kind of always....but you know how you can still be very alone, even in a room full of people? Yeah. I do that. 

I don't have panic attacks over leaving my house. I have some basic anxiety but it's pretty mild. I just find myself unable to just get out. 

The therapist -- who is awesome, may I just say -- says it may be agoraphobia. I don't totally get it. I mean, yes, I don't like to leave my home alone. Some of the best times in my life have been had while riding in cars with other people. One of my most favorite activities is a lazy Sunday drive to nowhere with loud music and windows down. (yes, I am a basic bitch. Thank you for noticing)

I'm just not uber-positive I have a full blown case of agoraphobia. Maybe it's just laziness, or depression. It could be both. 

I have been super fucking proactive about my mental state lately though. I went on a bender one night after my birthday and got just white girl wasted, and while I'm not proud of it, I feel it is necessary to bring it up and keep bringing it up so as to serve as a reminder to not be that douchecanoe. I am taking my medication every day. I am scheduling biweekly appointments with a therapist. I think that I am prepared to learn some new methods of dealing with being a bipolar person.  And PTSD. Because that shit is strong, ya'll. I seriously don't know how I functioned for so long in such a crazy and emotionally and physically painful marriage and survive. But I did and I came out of it kind of fucked up. And now I'm doing something about it. 

I'm scared, though. I'm afraid it isn't quite enough. I'm afraid of walking down this road and not gaining any useful insight, or not learning anything. I am terrified of people judging me, which is exactly why I just make all my blog posts public. No need or ability to lie about where I am in life, who I am, what's going on with me. No hiding. This is kind of a part of my own personal therapy plan. If it's entertaining, well, fuck yeah. That rocks. I fucking hope it is, I've got some damn funny stories. 

There's some really sad shit too, though. I'll address it all. But for the most part, this is like.....and version of eJournal. One that my therapist can access because I suck at taking notes on myself, so, yeah. Here ya go miss Therapist Lady. You're fucking welcome.

The Price of Admission

I have medical issues. Kind of a lot. They keep me home a good bit. I feel cooped up most of the time. I think that's essentially why I started this project. I don't reach out to many people, and the few I do reach out to are awesome, amazing people who help in any way they can. Unfortunately, there isn't much anyone without a prescription pad, pen, or a long career in neurosurgery can do.

I have Trigeminal Neuralgia. I've mentioned it a couple times, I'm sure. It's nicknamed the suicide disease because people kill themselves from lack of relief. It has been said that it's the worst pain known to humans. I don't know if that's true but it does fucking hurt.

As I write this and my face is KILLING me, I just hear rain start to fall. Thank God. Much like arthritis, my face hurts worse when it's about to rain. It's like...being electrocuted in one side of your face, and that side of your face happens to contain eight teeth that are in serious need of a root canal. Add in a healthy dose of burning in your gums, twitching eyes, and topical facial numbness for good measure. That's the best I can describe it. It fucking hurts. Always. Sometimes it hurts worse than others. As I get older it's becoming less manageable. I don't qualify for insurance OR medicaid so I've filed for disability. If that's how I can get treated and get better, fuck it. That's what it's for.

I also suffer from PTSD. My ex husband beat the shit out of me. It is what it is.

I have severe panic attacks, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Bipolar disorder. I take Zoloft. I recently started taking it again after about a four year break. I'm glad I did. I feel like I was able to realize when I started to kind of spiral out of my normal "crazy" and fall into real "crazy" and catch myself in time. Thankfully I hoard medication so I had plenty of Zoloft lying around. If I had to wait for my doctor to prescribe it again it would have been at least a month before I could get access to any. I might not have made it that long. I was at the point where I felt useless. That might not sound like much, but it's a big fucking deal to me. I'm still struggling, but every day is getting a little easier. I wake up happy and looking forward to waking up like 40% of the time, which is great. I was at about 10%. So that's improvement.

I miss little things about being able to do life. Like being a waitress or bartender. I love that job. It might sound stupid, and that's ok. I was really good at it and I loved doing it. I had to call in sick so much from the pain from the TN that it made me basically unemployable. I get it. It sucks. I had to start working for myself. Making my own hours, etc. It works better for me, but it's still hard.

I'm lucky. I have family, and although we don't really get along, they help me when I cannot help myself. My Peanut is amazing and makes me eggs when my face hurts and I can't really chew. Boyfriend sometimes brings me soup and will sit with me and hold my hand when I can't take it. I have these amazing friends that understand when I cancel plans at the last minute....I'm not being flaky. I'm just in pain.

I've never been shy about the TN, or the panic attacks. But I've told very few people about the depression. But it's very real, and if you are suffering, think you might be suffering, or know someone who is, fucking reach out. Please. Just do that for me. Fuck...I'll talk to you man. May be just some internet talk but that's fine. Reach out. It's gonna be okay.