Uncle!

Tags

anxiety, clutter, Diet, exercise, OCD

I quit.

If you’ve been following along, you know that I’m having sort of a death match with my MIL in the kitchen.  She buys too much junk, clutters up the area we have reserved for that (much to my OCD’s chagrin) and all around doesn’t listen and does her own thing. It’s been well established that this is my area.  It’s also been documented that she, on occasion has done things that she knows will trigger my OCD, just to see if I will fix it.

She’s also one of those people, who, when you tell them you have OCD come back to you with “Oh yeah me too!  I just have to keep x or y or z clean or it drives me nuts”. No.  Shut it.  You do not have OCD, you are anal-retentive.  There is a difference.

I said something to my husband yesterday and he said he didn’t see what the big deal is.  Who cares if she wants to go spend her money on junk.  Let her have her little bit of happiness.  Which is, by the way, a coping skill that she is using on her depression.

So, I quit.  I will probably maintain control of the dishwasher and how the dishes are put away, but for the rest of it, I’m going to try to quit.  Cold turkey.  I’m going to not care.

There are two things that must be done for me to pretend I don’t care.  First, my items must be in order.   Which, right now, means taking my purse off the table.  Second, Karen (my therapist) is going to have to kick it up a notch regarding dealing with MIL and my obsessive nature regarding the kitchen and the pantry area.

This is something that I’m hoping will find it’s way to making me happy.  I exert mountains of energy to try to deal with this on a daily basis.  The question is, how much energy will I exert on not caring.  I suspect a lot.  But, will it be more or less than the amount I am currently putting into the issue?  I don’t know.

Wednesday, I go back to the podiatrist, and I suspect that I will have my boot cast taken off for good.  Which means exercising for the first time all summer.  Which I am very much looking forward to.  It will get me out of the house, I’ll take nice walks with the dog each morning.

The eating healthy part of that is going to be hampered by MIL’s attempt to make and buy as much crap as she possibly can.  Saturday, she made cannoli dip.  Then she buys these crackers to use to scoop it up.  But she makes a shit ton of this stuff.  Yesterday, hubby said that it would be cool to use it to fill actual cannoli shells.  I now have 7 chocolate covered cannoli shells filled with cannoli filling in my fridge.  Plus, a big ass container still full of the filling/dip.

This will not be easy.  I’m going to spend a small amount of blog space to my journey. I think that there are so many of us dealing with the gaining weight side effects that it could be interesting to document some of this here. I don’t know. But keep an eye out for the picture of the gargantuan me (thank you sooooo much Seroquel) so that there is a “before” picture for posterities sake.

I expect that you will be able to tune in later today for the shrieking mess that I will become by trying to ignore part of my OCD.

Till then my friends….

Her Way

My way 

Should be entertaining.

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Welcome back anxiety, my old friend

Tags

anxiety, insomnia, klonopin, lunesta, medications, OCD

So, Lunesta can kiss my big fat white ass.  I’m breaking up with it.  Last night it took my Seroquel XR, two doses of Lunesta (which I spread out over two hours) 3 Klonopin (over 2 hours) and I still didn’t sleep.  I laid there for 3 hours waiting for something to happen.  Woke about an hour later when hubby arrived home.  Went back to bed and I’ve now been up since 3:30 EST.  I’ve had about 4 hours of broken sleep.

Last night I did some serious thinking about the period of time I felt nothing, and now, because I can feel the emotions breaking through that wall.  I took 3 klonopin last night and my teeth remained clenched together, probably until I fell asleep.  I look back, and I think “how nice that must have been, to just not feel anything”.  But, I know, that when I was in it, it drove me nuts.  I hated it.

But now I have to play the medication game again.  Before, I didn’t have to worry about whether the klonopin was working or not, because I wasn’t using it, because when you feel nothing, you don’t need to medicate for anxiety.

Today is going to be very weird.  I finally have full access to my kitchen again since I’m rid of the crutches.  I can’t do a lot, but I can do some.  And this kitchen is all types of out of order.  Cups are stored right side up, instead of upside down.  Sponges are in the wrong places.  Towells are hanging from drawer knobs instead of being folded over the oven handle.  There is food…everywhere.  And not good food.  Junk.  Piles and piles and piles of junk food.  No less then 5 bags of different kinds of chips are open and shoved onto the cabinet.  Plus crackers and candies, and the fridge is full of lunchmeat.  I don’t know when the last time my husband had vegetables.  Or fruit.

Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate the help while I’ve been laid up, but MIL thinks this shit is funny.  I have to go reorganize the cups and the plastic containers and the way the food is stored and the towels and the refrigerator.  It would just be nice if she tried to keep it the way I like it, instead of changing the whole thing around.

It would be nicer if she didn’t think it was funny.

I need, desperately, to get some laundry done.  Let’s hope that by the time I’m done re-organizing the kitchen I still have a little juice left to deal with laundry.

The good part is that I’m working my way back to my normal schedule.  I love being awake before the rest of the house.  It gives me time to get myself together, maybe do a couple of things when no one is around to judge me (or laugh at me).  It does help if I’m up early because I slept and now I’m done sleeping so time to get up.  I wish it wasn’t more of a “fuck it, I’m awake again, I may as well get up”

I’m going to go work on the kitchen for a few minutes (I just realized that the diswasher is loaded wrong)

Shit