Understanding Dr. Lousy

Someone once told me, “I had no money in my pocket and I stressed and stressed about it. I couldn’t sleep. I paced until I finally was tired enough to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I reached into my pocket and guess what I found? Nothing. All the stressing, pacing and sleepless night didn’t magically make money appear in my pockets”

I had to keep that memory in the forefront of my mind all day on Friday. The 2nd house payment installment of THREE THOUSAND dollars was due on Friday and I was a few hundred dollars short due to the water, garbage and PG&E bill that came due this month. It had gone from robbing Peter to pay Paul, to Peter showing up at my house with a bully club and finger removers.

Friday I figured out how the pills I have been on have somewhat fixed the panic attacks. All day I was a wreck. I paced. I went into rooms and forgot why. I went to the bathroom every 3 minutes knowing I didn’t have to pee, but seemed like if I could pin point SOMETHING to do that would make the itch to move around that it would go away.
By the end of the night it felt like I was hit by a train.
I begged Shaun to pull on my arms and legs. If I didn’t know better you would think I was balled up in a fetal position and grinding my teeth all day. He pushed, pulled and applied pressure to release the pain that made me want to scream and cry. Finally I was able to cry and release the tension that was inside of me and able to sleep.
The pills suppressed the urge to hyperventilate and believe that the world was going to be hit by a shower of meteors and everyone I know was currently involved in a horrible car accident.
My body must have still felt all that going on, but my mind didn’t focus on that.
I understood the need to ‘feel’ the anxiety attack and learn to breath through my nose to get through it.

On Saturday, Shaun and I grabbed the cameras and headed out on the road to see what we could find.

He wanted to take pictures of me. Now why doesn’t he think of things like this after I have gotten my hair done? Nope, he waits 2 months with the roots and hair all a mess.
Did I also mention how much I hate my picture being taken? I have. I know I have. HATE IT.

He thinks I’m beautiful. Crazy, but beautiful.