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Therapy today.  Went into it completely prepared to spill the guilt that I absolutely can’t get rid of, and ended up in an anxiety fueled rant prepared to come home and throw away every single thing that I own that hasn’t been used since the weekend, because my house is just too fucking small and we are NEVER going to get around to building that extra bedroom and we are going to live in our tiny little room for the rest of our lives and that will just be the way it is for now and forever.  I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but we took out three bedroom home and converted 2 1/2 rooms into one large bedroom for my MIL.  We live in the half bedroom that is left.  The proceeds of the sale of her house last year was supposed to pay for a small addition, but we haven’t gotten that far yet, she spending her money like she has billions and it’s been a year in this itty bitty room that barely fits our bed let alone all of our shit or me now that I weigh 3 tons.

Deep breath

This is why I could never use a journal for any reliably long period of time.  I just can not write fast enough to keep up with my mind, but I usually can get close with a keyboard.

ANYway

I just took my 3rd ativan for the day.  I only get 4, but I have a feeling that I’ll be stretching that a bit.  Not cause I want to but this is getting cray cray.  This morning it was high anxiety, but now I’m starting to really wonder if some mania isn’t creeping around in there.  I’m just moving around way too fast and my brain is just way to unorganized.  And I’m not in a particularly bad mood either.  Generally anxiety will bring out the bitch but so far…not so much.

I bought a little notebook yesterday and am using it to record relevant facts about my day.  Things like when I took my meds, when I went to sleep and woke (and why), that I wrote my blog, read blogs, etc.  Karen (therapist) said that it’s basically a mood journal but less structured.  I hate those things that make me rate on a scale of 1-10 (I don’t know…a 6.5?) or God-for-freaking-bid; very anxious, kind of anxious, a little anxious, not anxious or depressed, a little depressed, kind of depressed, very depressed.  Those things make me really super duper extra-special anxious/depressed because I. DON’T. FREAKING. KNOW. ANY. MORE.

I’m tired of the continuous analyzing of every single thought and emotion that run through my head.  It feel like my head should just pop off my neck from the force of not just all those thoughts and emotions running around but the accompanying running analysis.  Some other time when I’m feeling like this, but haven’t drained my battery yet, I’m just going to sit down and type every thought that goes through my head, just to see what happens.

So I’m hyper but exhausted.  Gonna haul out my coloring book and see if I can’t find something mindless on TV.

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