Riddled with Anxiety

I just feel riddled with anxiety today. I can’t make it stop. Make the thoughts stop. None of it. I’m sure it’s lack of sleep, lack of my mind stopping, misery. I can recognize it’s an issue. Yet I can’t just fix it.

I’ve been struggling through and forcing myself to not take the Xanax or Klonopin during the day. Not sure I’ll make it today tho. I need a break. My body needs a break. My mind is begging for a break. I just wish I could fast forward to the end of this nightmare. Begin moving on. Yet, I know I can’t. My therapist says I need to feel the feelings. Allow them. Address them now. But damn it they suck.

I look at where I’ve ended up. 14 years ago I despised pills. I rarely took even anything for a headache. Hated them. Hated swallowing them. 13 years ago I started having extreme panic attacks. Tried meds. Thought it was from quitting smoking. 12 years ago I started on Xanax and Sleeping Medications. Just anxiety they said. Insomnia. Then 10 years ago a possible Mood Disorder and mood stabilizers. Maybe that was my extreme ups/downs, insomnia, anxiety. Eventually switched to Generalized Anxiety Disorder as I just wasn’t meeting the BiPolar/Mood Disorder Criteria. Switched to antidepressants, new sleep/anxiety meds, Xanax now for 12 years. Just extreme anxiety. Now, here we are, 14 years later. C-PTSD, medications to function in society. So much brokenness and anxiety.

What correlates with all of this? Him. My mental health issues started 8 months into this relationship and continued down hill all 14 years. I never had “anxiety” before. I was fun. I was social. Now I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror. Who is this girl? Where did the old me go? Why did I just let him break the strong, independent woman he met? Why didn’t I run when he pulled the silent treatment just 6 weeks in? When he pushed me so hard my nose was sliced open just a few months in? The first time he screamed awful things or that first black eye from being “dead legged” in the face that first 18 months? Why did that girl who had so much confidence and life going for her accept this for 14 years?

My medication doctor has me watching a YouTube channel about Narcissism. I watched one this week about Narcissistic Relationships and GAD. Most victims are diagnosed with GAD during their relationship if their medical professional lacks the full story, if they don’t know the trauma going on, the emotional and sometimes physical abuse. It’s just labeled as awful anxiety. I’m simply a textbook case. Textbook. It makes me sick. There’s also a post about BiPolar. Ironically that was the other temporary diagnosis.

I was never “crazy”. It was him. He made me this. He created this. It wasn’t me. All the times he told me I was insane. I wasn’t. I was insane. But only because he created my insanity. Yet, I was too blind to escape for all this years.

So, yesterday was another full blow out. Of course it was. Remember. I have to do whatever he wants to get the house. Whatever. It’s been such a nightmare. Like the control just continues. So about lunchtime the nightmare resumes. Some wonderful person told him I changed my name on Facebook. Of course I did. This was the end of the world. I wasn’t “allowed” to do that. He’s taking the house. He’s ruining my life. Wait until I see what’s up his sleeve next. By the end of this exchange I was a hysterical, sobbing, panic filled disaster. He calls and all I could do was sob… Take the house. Light it on fire for all I care. I’m done. I need out. Your games make me wish I was dead. They make me feel like every second you steal another piece of my soul and I had no idea there was soul left to steal. But there is. I got away. But you’re still killing me. Every single day. Every day it’s new control. New do this or no house. I quit. Have the house. Take. Sell it. I’m tired of the unknown. I’m tired of being scared. I’m tired of this dark cloud and waiting for the shoe to drop. I’m just done. I don’t care. I don’t need a house. I need nothing except to be alive and I can’t even be sure I’ll be alive each day with this constantly being dangles in front of my face. Burn it down. Sell it. Ruin it. I don’t care. It’s just another piece of life I’m losing. My kids are losing. I’m done mowing. I’m done shampooing carpets. I’m done trying. Take it. So you can quit ruining me. Run with it. Take it all. There’s nothing you have left to do to hurt me. It’s all done. I quit. You win.

By that point I was hysterically sobbing. The sobbing you do when someone dies. Because I feel like I’ve died. I feel like I’ve been punished so much. I feel like everything I ever wanted has just been stolen in spite, to hurt, to wound, to break me. I just can’t do it. I have to save my soul before I die. Literally.

He just kept trying to interrupt. I just kept going. I couldn’t stop. I’m done. Finally, when I was crying to hard fo say another word he got to speak. More apologies. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so angry. I just get mad. I’m not taking the house. You can have it. I laughed. Yeah, until next time. Well are you done hurting me? Am I done hurting you? Am I done? Are you fucking kidding. Me hurting you? I’ve never held anything over your head. Ever. I don’t threaten you. I don’t try to control you. I pray you’ll find someone new every day. Really? Yes, really. Then you’ll leave me alone. I want to be left alone. I crave it. I beg God for it every single day. I can’t do this. In the end he insisted he’ll never say it again. Yeah, until next time.

I have no trust. No faith. None. He texted again saying he wouldn’t do that and was sorry. You aren’t sorry. You’re sorry I’ve surrendered. You’re sorry I’ve given up. You’re sorry I don’t give a fuck if you use the house against me for another second. You’re sorry you aren’t in control. I replied if he wanted me to trust him he’d email his lawyer that the sheet he sent over he fully agreed with and was giving up the house and $8K. He wouldn’t do that. Proof. Pure proof. 100%.

I can’t do it. Literally. I’m so broken. Soooo broken. Yet, I haven’t found the sadness of the divorce. The sadness of losing him. It should be there. He tells me I should be sad. But I feel nothing. I don’t hate him. I’m not sad he’s gone. I’m simply sad the future I dreamed of is gone. Though it never really existed. Sad that I don’t understand this new dating world as it’s changed so much. Sad I don’t trust anyone. Sad I’ve lost me. Sad I’m losing so much items I treasured. Sad I’m turning my kids and grandkids worlds upside down. Sad he won’t go away for good. Yet, not sad he’s gone. I keep thinking it’s got to come. Someday I have to feel sad I’m losing him. I wish that part would hurry up. I do.

I’ve been talking to someone. Just to torture myself more. I’m not looking for a rebound relationship. To fall into the arms of someone else. That’s what got me into this hell to begin with 14 years ago. Again, I recognize that. But I don’t have many friends. Intellectually smart friends. Zero. This guys too smart for my abilities most of the time. Like ridiculously smart medical field degree. We’ve known each other for awhile through Trivia Night, as I said, he likes that stuff. I go to drink. So we ran into each other again a couple weeks ago and struck it up. It’s nice. Yet, it’s not nice. It reminds me how broken I am. It reminds me how I have no idea how the world works. Simply talking and I already predict the ways in which I’d get hurt if I allowed more. That I feel genuinely nice guys don’t exist. That I sit, listening, reading between words in search of every fault he may ever had. But he listens, without pressure. He called at midnight last night. When I asked why – You quit texting early. Fell asleep, I’m exhausted and it was an awful day. I was honestly worried something may have happened as I know he’s getting his stuff tomorrow and that’s the deadliest  and I’m on my way over to check. Thanks for caring? Nobody else checks in. I’m just here. Alone mostly. So, I know I can have friends. I know I need friends. I know it’s fine. Yet, it’s like the inside of me hears his voice – you can’t do this, you can’t tell him that, you can’t be friends. The control. It’s there. Deeply. Rooted in my brain. It’s just so nice to have someone that listens, shares their own stories and truly understands more than me. Yet, I just keep thinking – I’m going to get hurt. One day he won’t want to be my friend. One day he’ll run away too. Leave like everyone else. Be awful like everyone else. And I’ll be back to nobody. It’s hard to invest in a friendship when you’re so use to nothing. I wish I could just let my guard down and enjoy it. It’s so nice, yet – where’s the other dropping shoe?