Listening: We’re Never Coming Home by Molly Nilsson.
Christ, I feel insanely anxious. It’s absolutely awful, I can barely describe it. All I can say is that I’m paralyzed. I’m afraid to do anything. I can’t open a book or a journal, can’t think, can’t look at my phone. I don’t understand what’s so awfully wrong with me. I–I had therapy earlier today, no EMDR. Maybe I should have asked for some, even if we didn’t have a target then. Maybe I can do some on my own? only I don’t know how to self-administer EMDR.
I–I finally started using the rectangular flash drive that came with my laptop. I’ve put music, books, pdfs, audio poems, and even a movie on there. I also put all my journal entries from my website on there too, in a folder called “Journal Archive.” I might put some pictures on there too.
I ordered a turtler clicker fidget from Etsy. My therapist showed it to me, and I loved it, so I’m spending some of my leftover Christmas money. It’ll probably come in with my spiked bracelets. I wish I had a better backpack, not a school one, but one for just going out: smallish and fashionable. I saw one with embroidery reminiscent of Día de los Muertos, but I didn’t have my wallet (or any money) then, so I left it. Maybe if we ever go back, I’ll find it. I just like carrying stuff around like snacks and hygiene products and my stationary kits and my books and notebooks. The only problem is I imagine I look ridiculous with my big, sagging black school backpack. So I want a nicer one, a smaller one, one more fit for hanging out with friends or going to a party than for school. Maybe I’ll spend some of my Christmas money on it.
I feel a bit better now — not by much, but I’m managing. I like the tactile feel of the keyboard, the way I can hear the keys click. I took one of my hydroxyzine pills. I have like two bottles worth of them, because I never take them unless for unnerving social situations or, like now, inexplicable, paralyzing anxiety. I don’t know if it has taken affect yet. Hopefully it will soon. I will tired later though, since it has that effect too.
My therapist gave me some suggestions on moving forward with meds and stuff. She recommends that I take a psych eval., possibly take a “pharmacogenetic test,” and maybe seek a Psych NP instead of a regular MD psychiatrist. I definitely want the psych eval, but the rest is up to my mom. She’s in charge. Sometimes though, I feel neglected. It’s not that she actually neglects me, of course, I just feel like she considers me so much an adult already that she provides enough guidance. It’s dumb, I know, but, hell, I’m saying it anyway. She’s great; I don’t want anyone to think she’s a terrible mother: she’s not. I just wish she could help me more. I wish she would try to help me more. She’s always so busy with everyone else that I feel passed over: low on the priority list.
I’ve felt this way before. Now it’s back. Maybe it will be okay though. I just want to be okay.