Doesn’t that look a whole lot like
Seriously, I’m curious. Is “in mah mouf” suddenly a thing?
Doesn’t that look a whole lot like
Seriously, I’m curious. Is “in mah mouf” suddenly a thing?
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
He wasn’t kidding.
You know what’s crazier than panic attacks for no reason? It’s having low-grade anxiety about having a panic attack for no reason.
But, after doing a little soul searching and checking out what modern medicine has to offer in the way of relief, I think I’ll just be handling this myself. I’d really rather not take daily meds if I don’t have to, and I’ve learned the hard way how fun it can be to try out new ones.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
On the bright side, I did get my PCP’s approval to cut down to under 1k calories per day, and I’ve lost 7 pounds off my heaviest weight. The scale keeps going down, so I’m doing something right. It’s not a lot of fun to have to count and record every single thing that goes in my mouth, but I’m doing it. Go me.
So that new medicine the psychiatrist wanted me to take, it’s Effexor XR, and sweet buttery Jesus I’m not doing this.
I had the first dose yesterday. I took it bright and early — for me, that’s around 9 AM — just like she advised. I worked really well yesterday morning, and didn’t notice anything unusual at all.
At about noon I went downstairs to do the treadmill and then grab lunch. While I was on the treadmill, about 5 minutes in, I started feeling like I should eat. You know that feeling, a little bit almost-headachy, a little bit shaky? Yeah, so I cut the brisk walk to 15 minutes and went back up to the kitchen. Lunch these days is 2 ounces of turkey breast lunch meat and a half cup of lowfat cottage cheese. I know, don’t let’s all stampede to my house, there’s not enough to go around.
So I go sit in the living room to pick up my Fable 2 game where I left off, and I just can’t seem to concentrate. My head is all over the place, and I still feel a little unsteady. I have another helping of the turkey, figuring I just haven’t had the calories I need yet.
By 2 PM, I find myself wandering from room to room, looking at the TV, realizing there’s no way I could concentrate on a game or decide on a movie to watch. I go upstairs, think briefly about doing some laundry or dusting up here, decide I shouldn’t really be carrying laundry baskets up and down the stairs while I’m so woozy. Back to the computer, and I cannot even bring myself to log in to WoW. I can’t write. I can’t find anything interesting to read or look at. Back down to the living room. I manage to run the vacuum and swipe ineffectually at some dust before wandering back off to the kitchen. I notice the state of my pantry and I think, I really think, about organizing that a bit better so Hub can find the peanut butter without a freaking mountie, but there’s no way.
Hub calls, and I tell him my state of mind and he says he’ll get home as quick as he can. The best thing I can do is just to pick up a book at random — it’s Ghosts of New Orleans — and just start reading random paragraphs, skipping around in the chapters.
So Hub gets home, and by this time, everything is hilarious to me. He’s laughing at how goofy I am, and I’m laughing because I’m freaking stoned, and even when I’m begging him to stop laughing at me I’m still grinning ear to ear.
Oh, did I mention how sleepy I was? Starting from about 3 PM or so, all I wanted was to sleep. I managed to hold it together until almost 10 PM, when we went upstairs. I got in the bed, my wonderful amazing puffy fluffy bed, and m*******f******. I feel like an electric current is running through me. My face is buzzing. I tossed for a couple of hours and then finally came downstairs to get a Xanax. Maybe 20 minutes or so after getting back in bed, I finally dropped off.
Long story short? There is no way in hell I’m taking this crap. If I wasn’t depressed before, I sure will be after a couple of months on Effexor.
Me: So, I’ve quit smoking, had a hysterectomy, and been taking this anti-anxiety drug for years. I’ve gained a whole ‘nother ass worth of weight, and I can’t lose it, no matter what.
Primary Care Physician: You’re over 40, you might just have to live with it.
Me: I don’t want to live with it.
PCP: You need to find a way to be okay with your weight.
Me: I’ll never be okay with this!
PCP: Here’s a referral, you need therapy.
Me: So, my doctor sent me here because I cried during my annual when she said she couldn’t help me lose all this weight.
Therapist: So, you’re feeling depressed?
Me: Yes, because I’m fat.
Therapist: You seem to have self-esteem issues.
Me: Have you MET me? I do not have self-esteem issues. I like me. I dislike the sheet of flab I’m currently wrapped in.
Therapist: And you’re taking the anti-anxiety / anti-depressant?
Therapist: You need a psychiatrist, because I can’t prescribe and it sounds medically related.
Me: So, my therapist sent me here because she can’t prescribe.
Psychiatrist: Tell me what’s going on.
Me: I’m fat.
Psychiatrist: *reviews my last 2 weeks worth of food journal and weight history*
So, why are you HERE?
Me: I know, right?
Psychiatrist: I recommend this drug, because it will treat the anxiety and depression better. Weight gain is a possible side effect.
Me: But I’m only anxious and depressed because I’ve gained weight.
Psychiatrist: But there can be underlying causes. If we treat the anxiety and depression, you might have more energy and sleep better, and that can help you lose weight.
Me: My energy is fine. My sleep is fine. I AM FAT.
Psychiatrist: Do you have feelings of helplessness or hopelessness.
Me: *warily* Sometimes….
Psychiatrist: Let’s try this drug, it can help with that.
Me: Can you just let me borrow that letter opener so I can carve off some thigh? That would actually be more helpful.
Psychiatrist: Do you often feel like hurting yourself?
Me: Not as often as I feel like hurting you. KIDDING.
Psychiatrist: *looks unconvinced*
Me: No, you’re right, I’ll totally take the script. *bails*
So I go to the pharmacy to fill the scripts. When I get home, I feel something in the pocket of the big floppy sweater I wear as a jacket. It’s a pack of gum. Apparently, I reached for something at the pharmacy and knocked this pack of gum off the shelf where it landed in my pocket. It’s wintergreen flavored. I hate wintergreen. And we wonder why I’m depressed?
You are in high school.
You dropped out of high school.
You live within 20 minutes of your best friend.
You live within 20 minutes of the last person you kissed.
You live within 20 minutes of your ex.
You have been to the movies within the last week.
You have hugged someone in the last 48 hours.
You have had 3 or more boyfriends/girlfriends just this year.
You have been a designated driver.
You have broken merchandise and not paid for it.
You have played strip poker.
You are Catholic.
You are Atheist.
You recycle regularly.
You have dated a blonde.
You are friends with a redhead.
You are taller than your mum.
You have a bank account.
You’ve written a check for less than $5.
You have visited the Statue of Liberty.
You have visited the Eiffel Tower.
You have visited Big Ben.
You have visited the Colosseum.
You have visited The Great Wall of China.
You have never been out of the country.
You have been a waiter/waitress.
You own a Bible.
You own something with a Pentagram on it.
You have used a Ouija Board.
You have been a witch for Halloween.
You have been a zombie for Halloween.
You have your eyebrow pierced.
You have a Monroe piercing.
You have your nose pierced.
You have no tattoos.
You have more than 5 tattoos.
You straighten your hair.
You have worn a dress in the last 3 days.
You live somewhere that gets snow.
You celebrate Hanukkah.
You were at your own house last New Year’s.
You were at a bar last New Year’s.
You can’t remember last New Year’s.
You slept through last New Year’s.
You have worked on Christmas Eve.
You have worked on Christmas.
You have been told ‘I love you’ by someone today.
You were told by someone who’s not family.
You slept in your own bed last night.
You are in a relationship with the last person you kissed.
You regret kissing the last person you kissed.
You are wearing a necklace right now.
You are wearing something red.
You are wearing something blue.
You are wearing something purple.
Your phone number ends with an even number.
You have kissed the last person you called/texted.
You are currently listening to music.
You are waiting for something.
You don’t like seafood.
You have eaten deer sausage.
You have given a complete stranger your phone number.
You have been hit on at work.
You have been hit on by someone more than 20 years older than you.
You have been whistled at.
You have been creeped out by it.
You were dating someone in December of 2008.
You are still dating that person.
You have cheated on someone.
You have been cheated on.
You have been on a cruise ship.
You have camped out in your own backyard.
You are wearing something that doesn’t belong to you.
You are a Pisces.
You are an Aquarius.
You are a Leo.
You wonder what will happen when you die.
You are afraid of the dark.
You have been told you have nice handwriting.
You have had a song written for you.
You have had a picture drawn of you.
You have curly hair.
You are wearing a watch.
You are wearing flip flops.
You wouldn’t date someone who smoked.
You know someone with the same birthday as you.
You slept in past 10 am today.
You have big plans for next weekend.
You are thinking of someone right now.
Your job is stressing you out.
You don’t have a job.
You have never had a job.
You were fired from your last job.
You know sign language.
You will usually try something at least once.
You have been swimming in the last month.
You are pessimistic by nature.
You have taken a ballet class.
You have taken karate.
You have taken gymnastics.
You wish on shooting stars.
You wish at 11:11.
Your birthday has already come this year.
You have been in a relationship that lasted longer than a year.
You ended your last relationship.
Your ex ended your last relationship.
You aren’t over your ex.
You have gone after someone you knew was bad for you.
You were/are a teenage mom.
You were named after someone.
You like your name.
Your last drink was water.
You have visited somewhere said to be ‘haunted’.
You have skipped school just because you didn’t feel like going.
You have taken medicine when you ‘feel a headache coming on’.
You are self-conscious about your body.
You have a hangover.
You have a pet fish.
You have had a Jehovah’s Witness show up at your house.
You have godparents.
Your parents are still married.
You have step-siblings.
You are the oldest.
You are adopted.
You have a twin.
You don’t want kids.
You want more than four kids.
You have a bad temper.
You usually make the first move in an intimate situation.
You have made out with a complete stranger.
You have worked with a Kayla.
You have gone to the movies with a Jared.
You have hugged a Lexie.
You have held hands with a Marcus.
You have dated a Rachel.
You have broken your arm.
You have had to get stitches on your face.
You have had an MRI.
Your fingernails are painted.
You like to draw.
You like to sing.
You can play an instrument
You keep a lot of secrets from people.
You don’t think people would accept you if they really got to know you.
You don’t trust people easily.
You borrowed something you really need to give back to someone.
You drive a car older than a 2002.
You have lost a friend you never thought you would.
You know a child who died of cancer.
You knew a teenager who died in a car wreck.
You have done something illegal in the past 24 hours.
You have cut your hair in the last week.
You wear glasses.
Your favorite season is Autumn.
Your favorite color is orange.
Your favorite animal is a dolphin.
You last rode in a car with a relative.
You last rode in a car with a girl.
You last rode in a car with the person you are dating.
You regularly watch Asian dramas.
You love Chinese food.
Your best friend is older than you.
You have to go to school/work tomorrow.
You answered every question truthfully.
I used to have these awesome long fingernails.
Shut up, it was like 1994 or some shit. They were awesome.
But then Hub2 and I were going out to a thing for his work, I don’t even really remember what, but I broke a nail. So I go grab the super glue to try and fix it, but the cap is stuck. It’s super-glued onto the tube, which is stupid design, but at least it proves the stuff works, right?
So Hub2 gets tired of watching me struggle and takes the tube away from me. He seats the cap between the molars on the left side of his mouth, and pulls.
Did I mention that he also had a full beard? I mean, up til that point he did.
Not so much for a couple of weeks after that.
So anyway, he yanks the cap off the super glue tube with his teeth, shooting a stream of glue into his mouth along his bottom teeth while doing so. He looks at me, his eyes are huge, and he says, “ah ought iht in mah mouf,” all serious-like, and I cannot even take it, I’m rolling on the ground laughing at his misfortune.
Luckily, super glue does not stick to your teeth, gums, or tongue — at least, not if you spit it out as quickly as possible. It will, however, glue your beard and mustache to the skin of your face, so there’s that little issue to be solved.
He was a pretty good sport about the whole thing, and while we were a little late to his work party (ever tried to shave a glued-on beard off?) that’s the worst thing that happened.
So it occurred to me the other day that one of the worst things about having previously married and divorced is that all of those stories from said defunct marriage are now pretty much off the table when it comes to my new Hub and his family.
For someone who’s been married, oh, let’s say maybe three times before this current one, that’s a shit-ton of stories. All of which are now off limits.
Which is a huge bummer, because some of them are really amazing.
Like the time I went to Mexico with Hub #3, our respective kids, and his mom and stepfather.
We actually went to South Padre Island; we rented a three-bedroom beach house, and his sister (my Crazy Sister-in-law), her husband (Dammitneil), and baby were all along for the ride. Not to Mexico; they only went as far as SPI.
First off, my daughter was 15 at the time, and you can imagine how nervous I was to be taking her across the border. Or maybe you can’t, but believe me, I was terrified she was going to get kidnapped for a white-slavery kind of deal. And that she’d end up doing donkey shows in Tijuana. So there was that.
Also, Hub3’s family were big drinkers, and I’d already pretty much kicked that habit even before we got married. Now, if you know anything at all about me, you know that I hate eggs, dog shit, and sloppy drunks. Hub3 was among the sloppier variety of drunk, and since we had his 9 year old son with us in Mexico as well, I begged him to stay at least moderately lucid.
Unfortunately for me, the vendors in the market over there are on to us Americans. They know that we cannot hold our tequila, and they offer free shots to just about anyone who walks by looking even slightly interested in whatever they happen to be selling. I spent most of the afternoon shooing people away from my kid, and trying to keep his kid from accidentally buying things or wandering off.
So imagine my surprise when we all meet back at the restaurant at the end of the day and he’s completely sloshed. And I do mean, sloshed. He had promised some guy money to help him find the restaurant, and when this guy came in almost carrying Hub3, I was livid. We get back to the car and Hub3, the kids and I climb in the back seat. As we’re getting ready to start back across the border, he passes out with his head on my shoulder.
So we have to stop for the border agent to look in the car. He does, then kind of does this double take, and then motions to me to wake the asshole up. I dug my elbow into his side, and he sat straight up, and bellowed, “Bienvenidos de los estados unidos!” That’s like the only Spanish phrase he knows. And he sat up and yelled it at the border control officer. You know, the one who wanted me to show him that I didn’t have a drugged Mexican in the car I was trying to sneak back into the States.
He then wipes out again.
His mother and stepfather are just howling in the front seat and I’m furious. I grabbed a handful of his hair and turned his head back around to show his incredibly Irish-looking anglo face to the officer. The guy rolled his eyes at me and waved us on.
When we got back to the beach house, I left him in the car and took the kids up to bath and bed. Dammitneil went down to help Hub3 back up into the house and deposited him on the floor of our bedroom. Where I left him.