#anxietylikewhoa

[astramthetaprime]

Sign Post on the Highway to Hell

You are Here. 

Okay so Christmas, not so fun.  As per usual, there was food.  I got to eat beef for the first time in forever, which was very nice.  And ham, which was really just a bonus.  The real gem of the hour was the scratch-made mashed potatoes.  From actual potatoes.  So yeah, my family as I’ve said before does one hell of a good holiday meal.  

Moving on, I said very little to anyone, interacted as little as possible, and thankfully avoided any further incidents.  Which, while not ideal from a Holiday as Produced by Hallmark, was acceptable from the standpoint of Not Causing Any Further Incidents.  

Anyway, so that happened.  I am now going to enjoy being Holiday Free until Easter.  Which I may be able to avoid, so maybe even until July 4th.  Time will tell.

The real trouble started the following Tuesday, when I started the new phone job.  

From time to time -- maybe once every month, sometimes more than that -- I wake up in the morning and immediately go into this ... I dunno what to call it.  I wake up and just immediately go into this horrible anxiety attack.  Like, I’m aware I’m conscious, and I feel my body literally switch from standby to full power.  It’s like someone’s thrown a switch and I turn on like a space heater, my body goes in a few seconds to blazing hot, I get this electric feeling all through my body, and I get instantly nauseous.  I go from asleep to my mouth flooding with spit getting ready to yark up my guts all over the bed.  I smell the most horrible smell, like a grease trap, and I swear it’s coming from inside me.  Like it’s coming up from my stomach and through my nose as I breathe and I smell it on the way out.  It can take me several minutes to get past all this enough to sit up and get out of bed, and I end up being nauseous, physically weak, shivering and shaking for the rest of the day.  This happened on Tuesday morning.  The very worst time this could have happened, starting a new job that I was already freaked out and anxious about.  

Today was the first day I’ve felt halfway back to normal.  And I’m still faintly nauseous.  Oh and did I mention that lately I get onto these crying fits and can’t stop?  Yeah, that’s happening too.  The last three days.  I cry at the drop of a hat these days.  I can’t seem to stop myself.  

And I’m finding it increasingly difficult to eat.  I just don’t want to eat anymore.  Which worries me since I’m 100lbs overweight and you don’t get that way by hating food.  But these days I have to force myself to eat.  It may be due to the nausea, I dunno.  But I was looking at a plate of two hamburgers last night and had to force myself to eat the first and half the second, and gave the rest to my dog.  Because I couldn’t bear to eat another bite.  

My best guess?  The extreme stress and anxiety of the last two to three months has hit a critical threshold.  Something has to give.  That something is my health.

“But AuntyP!” I seem to hear the masses cry, “Why don’t you go to therapy?”

To go to therapy requires several things.  First, that there are funds available for such an endeavor.  Second, that one has the time to devote to such an endeavor.  And third, that one has an appropriate therapist.  

There are no funds available.  I cannot afford to take the time off from work for such an endeavor.  And third, therapists who can deal intelligently with late-diagnosed adult autistics and our unique reactions to anxiety and stress are about as rare as rhodium-plated dewclaws on a fish.  In the midst of all this, the last thing I want is to shove my diagnosis letter and my test results under a so-called doctor’s nose and have to convince them I’m not BPD or “just depressed” simply to be dismissed and charged several hundred dollars for the privilege of denting his couch.  

“But AuntyP!” again I hear the masses cry, “Why don’t you get another job?”

Yeah, I’m trying that.  I’ll let you know.  Getting jobs has never been my strong suit.  Although I’ve seen that’s actually very common for We Happy ASD, so shout out to all my homies who have always been told we’re highly intelligent but inexplicably can’t get hired to drive pizza for Saturday nights during football season.  Hell, most Domino’s will hire bums off the street with vodka breath and needle tracks along every vein but friendzone autistics like it’s a national pasttime.  So yeah, it’s a continuing journey.  

Long story short... er... (looks up at preceding hundreds of words) 

It’s just... I’m stuck.  In a situation that is inherently hostile to my mind and soul.  From which I cannot escape since to simply quit my job will mean homelessness.  But which to endure will mean physical and mental upset on an indefinite basis, with no support available.  

Yeah.  “Incredibly intelligent” my pasty white saggy ass.  My brain isn’t saving me lately.  It’s throwing me under the bus.

#allaboardtheangstexpress #AuntyPTellsAStory #actuallyautistic #depression #stress #anxietylikewhoa