i feel so drained and hated

today's flavor: S L I G H T  D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 0.5



 I've just come home from a meeting and I feel drained.  I know for certain that I haven't done anything wrong, but I feel like I have.  It's a bipolar-related neurosis, this obsessive oversensitivity, feeling guilty over things I may or may not have done; and because I'm a Christian it's a much bigger deal.

I have neither the events nor the evidence, but I feel so hated.  Paranoia. Paranoia. I keep telling myself not to make a fuss about it.   The Hubby says I have nothing to worry about since I did nothing so detestable -- but I can never be sure about what other people think, right? 

Oh, I pray that God will show me mercy tonight and let me sleep in peace.  I don't want to ruminate about this tonight.  Especially when I have to wake up early tomorrow.

Please Lord, please.

I feel like the world is against me, waiting and watching for the right time to impale me on their evil intentions.  I am to them an ogre, and the hunt is on. 

I exaggerate of course, but that's why it's paranoia.

If I keep thinking about this, I'll implode.  And I don't want to, because I'm just too tired to deal with anything right now.  I feel like I exhausted my last few ounces of energy on propriety but failed anyway.

Give me props at least for not giving in to the social anxiety today. 

dress-like-marla-singer day

 today's flavor: S L I G H T  D E P R ES S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 3


Typical to the heterosexual female construct, I delight in putting on pretty plumage.  I love my clothes and my shoes, I love my eye shadow, I love my lipstick, my volumizing mascara, and that slightly glimmery dust I use for highlighting.  I'm really vain, I know. If self-absorption was a crime, there would be a colossal amount of evidence against me.

As much as I enjoy getting dressed and made up, there are days - and lots of them - that I don't at all.  There are times like today when I wish it wasn't so important to even look presentable.

I wish for a lot of things related, honestly.
Such as, that it wasn't so hot here in the Philippines so it would never be too uncomfortable to layer clothes.
-- That my arms weren't so fat and that my skin wasn't so blemished so I would never have to layer clothes.
-- That changing from a short hairstyle to a longer one was as simple as changing shirts, so I wouldn't have to go through this ugly in-between stage.
-- That it wasn't so hard to pick out clothes that looked good on me.


Today was an awful day.  The Hubby and I planned for it to be a good one, but things didn't work out as we hoped.  He woke me up early so we could go to church early, say hello to people, start the day right.  I got up early, had breakfast.  I got stuck at the breakfast table.  I just didn't have enough energy to carry on.  I supposed at first that it was because I was sleepy, but it later became apparent that it wasn't that.

I managed to take a speedy shower.  Good, I thought, I successfully made up for lost time. But I got stuck again at choosing my clothes.  Anything I put on was just too warm to wear.  I hated myself for having such fat arms and badly-scarred legs.

Besides, nothing I put on looked good on me. Everything was just wrong. I didn't possess the least bit of confidence today and wished we could just stay home.

We left the house way past 9 am, and we got to the service late.  Very late.  Not good for making a positive impression.  I tried to be as happy as I could, even just for show, but I doubt it was convincing.  I was in too much discomfort and was too psychologically misshapen to keep up appearances.  I didn't have enough energy to focus on the preaching.  I didn't even have the focus required to sit up straight or straighten my skirt.  I did not have the presence of mind to be cordial, I did not like the feeling when I shook hands.  I wanted to avoid the sea of people crashing around me.

To make things more interesting, the Hubby was cranky too.  We argued as we were ordering lunch at this resto; the drama of the day was my walking out on him. He caught up with me eventually (I only went from the second floor to the first and across the mall after all), but all the walking tired me out.  We made up (somewhat) and went to a second resto, where I almost fell asleep.

We spent the afternoon at Mom's.  It felt alright there, I was in familiar territory. I was not jostled about by a crowd of strangers.  I could peel off my jacket because it was safe to be chubby in that house.  I calmed down listening to Mom's popcorn-style tales, and watching Top Model reruns.

I sort of wished the Hubby and I didn't have any other place to go to, because I was feeling too fatigued and out-of-sorts.  I wasn't sure I could hold up.  But we had one more rendez-vous.

We stopped by our place for a quick cleaning up and a wardrobe change. Once again, coming face-to-face with my closet felt like going against a Gracie.  I knew was going to topple, submit and face defeat if I didn't think fast.  I tried to think as fast as I could - which wasn't, really; I still got choked by indecision and the overall horrid feeling.  I finally forced myself to settle for a full skirt and a matching blouse. It wasn't the best, not even the aptest of outfits, but it had to do.  At least I no longer felt so warm.  To feel a bit fresher, I washed my face. 

Then there was the ordeal about my hair.  It wasn't a bad hair day; just bad hair, period.  I felt so uncomfy all over and I just wanted my hair out of my face.  I fished out a pretty headband from my box of accessories and slicked my unruly mane back with it.  As my hair was too short, it stood on end, clumping with the leftover styling clay mixed with sebum and perspiration.  I did not like that look.  That look reminded me of formerly-attractive young mothers who have two or more toddlers and can't afford to give themselves a flattering haircut.



Then I noticed the smeared mascara. I washed my face earlier, right?  I forgot that I was wearing  mascara.  The non-waterproof kind.  Idiot.

That look reminded me of Helena Bonham-Carter's character in Fight Club.  But fat and brown, and without the constant smoke trail.  

On the bright side, I guess I don't have to think hard of a costume for next Halloween.

Still I was running low on solutions. I wished heroin chic was acceptable mainstream fashion.  Times like these, I miss the lazy, detached easiness of grunge.  It's very draining to make oneself look presentable. 


I opted to do away with the headband, reapplied product and styled my hair in messy, upright spikes.  We were already late (again) and in an insane hurry.  As for the smudged eye makeup, I just wiped it off with a tissue (I was in too much of a hurry to fetch a moist towelette, so I scraped my lower eyelids with toilet tissue) to make all the black stuff come off.  I covered the remainder with dabs of liquid foundation.  I ended up looking like I had eye bags - which wasn''t so bad, being better than having runny-mascara slasher-flick makeup.

As I sat in the car, I noticed my straps were all twisted, my top had a tiny tear and that I hadn't pulled the drawstring on my skirt tight enough.  I adjusted what I could and went on with the day.  I was a mess. 

The Hubby and I were once again majorly late for this second meeting, so we didn't have much choice in seating.  How convenient was it that I sat next to a lady with the same haircut, but with  much neater styling?  I looked like a major slob next to her.  She was neatly dressed and she had thin arms too. And lovely skin.  How could she manage to look so amazing while taking care of her baby? Life is so freaking unfair.

Pouty

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0


I want to talk about my lips. A lot of times I've been misunderstood because of my lips. I know my words can be daggers sometimes - or high-powered rifles; unintentionally or otherwise - but I'm not talking about words. I mean, without even saying anything.

I do smile, and I do laugh, and I do find a lot of things to be thankful for, and I do have joy. But some people are just too myopic to see it.

I've come to hate it to the point of murderous ire whenever others try to jolly me up. For one reason, I just cant seem to be jolly enough for anyone. For another - and I can't quite stress this sufficiently - there are times when I simply don't have the capacity to be cheery, okay. It's not that I don't want to be cheerful; there are times when I really just can't. That isn't a cop-out; it's a fact I ache for people to understand and accept.

For another reason, I got a lot of ridiculous "jollying up" while growing up - adults forcing me to smile, asking me why I frown and so on. I never seemed able to please anyone in that area; it's a very personal frustration, and I've apparently made the decision to quit trying to at a young age. It's one of those I've had it up to here things.

As a little girl I never really understood why grown-ups asked me why I frowned. As far as I knew, whenever someone asked me that, my face was simply in a relaxed position and not a freaking frown. Those demanding, pejorative a&&holes clowns just couldn't tell the difference.

Honestly, I now find more satisfaction in being a bitch about what I believe than being a likeable people-pleaser. But anyway...

I was around age twenty when it first dawned on me that my smile looked like a frown to some. I was sitting in a van one afternoon with a tactless friend and a busybody. Tactless Friend made me the object of a tasteless joke, and I shot a clever retort right back at him; I thought that was not only clean fun, but fair game. I swear I was smiling. Brother Busybody poked me unkindly on the face and stared me down, as if I'd said a racist remark or something - but I did nothing of the sort, not even close. I wondered why Brother Busybody was picking on me, when I wasn't even the one who opened fire. Just then I happened to glance at the rear view mirror and saw my face - I had expected it to be smiling back at me (or at least sneering), but what it wore was a snobby pout. Good grief. Tactless Friend was born with the kind of face that looks like it has an idiotic smile plastered all over it all the time, so people adore him even if he's a ginormous jerk. Also (as I learned via his admission sometime later), Brother Busybody had evaluated me negatively way before the said incident, simply by the way I looked.

I know that shouldn't have been my problem but his, for his being narrow-minded and judgmental. But it merited my obsession since it's been another constant pebble in my shoe since preschool: I've often gotten labelled as suplada, maldita, and other tags more hurtful because of the way I look.

I've grown accustomed to that since, and eventually expected and embraced people's tendency to misunderstand me. Yeah, sure I'm maldita. I'm vile. Got a problem with that?

... But before any embracing was possible, I unnecessarily experienced being determined to be as likeable as a sugar cookie. ;)

After the van incident, I'd started to pay more attention to how my lips appeared. I looked at other people's lips. Observation led me to the conclusion that some people have naturally happy-looking faces (like Tactless Friend does), and some have naturally saddy-looking faces. I happen to have the latter; I even have a smile that looks like a smirk. It's not due to years of frowning, as some might accuse me of - I was only twenty at that time, way too young for wrinkles. Besides, stupid people have been poking at a nonexistent frown since I was a child, so I must have been born with disapproving lips.

Let me illustrate.

These here are my lips when relaxed, i.e., no particular emotion:


Actually, you know, I even have a slight smile here.

Couple those lips with my large, intense eyes, and my day-to-day expressionless expression could look somewhat irate. Like something that says "You are an idiot, and I hate you".

Let me illustrate further:
First of all, my mouth is small (something that ungentlemanly male friends use as fodder for off-color jokes, which is really beside the point but interesting to mention). And my lips are naturally pouty.

Thanks to Angelina Jolie and a lot of Angelina-wannabes who've had their kissers surgically enhanced, pouty lips are considered sexy these days. But pouty actually makes you look mopey if you aren't flashing your pearly whites for the paparazzi.

Speaking of teeth, my teeth are really small too, so they don't show much when I smile or even speak. No dazzling toothpaste commercial grin here.

So really, for me to smile in a way that other people consider acceptable would take a bit more effort for me. I have actual deficiencies at both the emotional and the physical levels. Whenever I twist my face into a more socially laudable smile, I feel like I've just padded myself with insincerity and buffoonery.

My lips are also puffier on the left side (my left), due to an accident I had when I was nine in which I punctured my lip and required ten stitches (four on the outside, six on the inside). I have an ugly, asymmetrical smile, so when I do put a bit more effort into stretching my lips into the happy pose, it often looks like a condescending sneer.

I won't even put a picture of that here, because it's just not pretty.

And bah, I don't have dimples.

A handful of people have told me they actually like my buffoon smile. I know that's supposed to be a compliment, but I find it insulting. It's likely an attempt at flattery, an act of charity or a tool for manipulation. Even if it were sincere, I still wouldn't like it, and I still wouldn't believe anyone who told me I had a nice smile.

I choose to express joy in ways I prefer, not necessarily in ways people will like. I will let the glee show, even glow when I'm overflowing, but I don't have to fake it when there's nothing to share. I don't have to change the way I smile, and I don't have to "smile more". I actually smile a lot, and if people don't see that, I'd rather live with that rather than give them the satisfaction of thinking they have any effect on me or my lips.

Unlikable

today's weather: B A S E L I N E ... or so I thought.
anxiety : 2
agitation : 0


"How have you been?", I was asked earlier. Was the guy just doing small talk to fill the empty air or did he expect a real answer? I can't just say "Well, I've been in a depressive episode and I thought about shooting myself in the head or jamming a stake down my jugular several times for days on end", can I? Even if it's true, it just never is appropriate.

---------------------

About two hours ago, the Hubby and I arrived from a meeting of sorts which involved some social interaction with people we've just met. The first hour home, I spent it soup-headed and slumped on the floor.

As soon as I entered the bedroom, whatever psychological energy I used to hold myself up gave way when I no longer needed to appear in front of other people. I wasn't feeling much social anxiety earlier, but I suddenly felt shockwaves when the Hubby and I were finally alone.

I always feel this way when I come home from interacting with people I am not so accustomed to. When I reach home I go too far into my head and drown an otherwise lovely evening in messy, self-deprecating rumination. I obsess about the probability of having offended someone. I review scenes and conversations in my head and reinterpret them in several different ways. I know I often come on too strong and may be too annoying / intimidating / insulting for some people's tastes, and there is the possibility of having been unbearably unlikeable. The truth is, I don't quite know how to act. My social awkwardness can get misconstrued as bitchiness. I'd feel like I've done something wrong and get disturbed by remorse over things I'm not sure of. I turn myself into my own judge and jury and I rule guilty without any solid evidence.

Why the heck do I do this to myself? Stupid question. There is no why. I just end up doing it.

Perhaps I talked too loud. Perhaps I said too much. Perhaps I jumped unwelcome into a conversation. Perhaps my phraseology was too abrasive. Perhaps my opinions were too strong and were not wanted anyway. Perhaps people think I'm a total asshole and hope never to see me again. Perhaps I'm a genuine idiot who deserves to be shot.

And I kept calling myself that - an idiot - while I lied crumpled on the floor. The Hubby tried to boost my spirit but nothing was working. Eventually he just told my to switch my mind off. That'll have to do for now.

I just think too much, defective model that I am. I hope to get some real peace as I consult my Manufacturer tonight.

been bipolar from childhood

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0

I'm very sure I was born bipolar. I did not acquire bipolar mood. My mind did not break down due to stress at some point, (contrary to what some ignorant fiends from RavenCorp think). I was always bipolar. I will go as far as saying God intended for me to be this way.

It's in my genes, something I inherited from my mother's side of the family. My other relatives' mood-related disorders are proof enough that this didn't "just happen" to me. It has always been there.

As a matter of fact, I exhibited symptoms of bipolarity from childhood. Just to make sure it isn't just a conclusion based solely on my opinion, I checked for How To Identify Bipolar Disorder In Children and cross-checked the items with stuff older people have told me about my younger self.

Much Ado Over Cheese Pizza

today's weather: S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1


It looks like I'm not quite out of this depressive episode just yet. :(

Today was not a very good day for me. I mean weather-within-wise. I woke up feeling very tired again, despite the fact that I had gone to bed earlier than usual the night before. Even if I m mind was racing with a mental list of things to keep me occupied for the day, I didn't have the capacity to look forward to them. I could not physically pull myself up out of bed, and I felt inexplicably lonely.

And that was just the morning.

I'm lucky the Hubby stayed home today, otherwise I would have stayed in bed until he came back from work, starved myself and accomplished nothing. He watched a DVD in bed with me, and when it was lunch time he made sure I ate. He knew I wouldn't be interested in anything the cook prepared, so he asked me what I wanted to order to go. Believe it or not, I had a really hard time thinking of what to order; I almost cried (partially because I felt frustrated, partially because the Hubby lost his temper at me). Anything and everything I thought of to eat just seemed so unpleasant. The only thing that seemed likable was Lay's potato chips (original), but that wasn't lunch food, and potato chips have a depressing effect when eaten, so Lay's was a bad idea.

Since I had cheese pizza the night before without any apparent ill effects, I thought maybe it was safe to ask for a cheese pizza. It didn't exactly make my mouth water, but I figured it'll do.

On a different but not entirely unrelated note, I'm feeling anxious about tomorrow evening. Not the excited kind of anxious, but the nervous, almost fearful kind.

The Hubby and I were invited to a prayer group at a churchmate's house, and we agreed it would be good to be there. It's just a harmless prayer meeting, but I'm almost dreading it. I have nothing against prayer meetings, mind you.

This is the first time we'll be interacting with our new churchmates outside of the usual service-setting, and I will likely have to actually interact with them. It's not that I don't want to, okay; because I really do want to make new acquaintances in our new church, get involved, get plugged in. It's just that my depressive episodes usually come with social anxiety, and this current one is no exception.

To state it plainly and even overstate it, I have been feeling a bit of social anxiety lately. I have no reason to believe it will dissipate tomorrow.

I'm not a shy person, and I'm not the type to be easily intimidated. But I'm just not savvy with the prospect of a new and unfamiliar social setting right now. Just not right now, not while I'm in this place in the spectrum. Especially not right now when I don't feel like I'm at my best. I fear I will be weighed and found wanting, I fear I will act in certain ways that people who will meet me for the first time will find detestable. I just so want to be part of our new church, I don't want to experience a single hint of rejection from anyone.

Tomorrow's meeting will be at a residence, and I find that daunting. I am the Millennium Falcon on my way into the Star Destroyer Executor, led by tractor beam. Geeky analogy aside, the thought that I will be in someone else's house is dreadful. It's someone's personal territory, and I will be invading it, and I can't ever be entirely sure I will be well received. The fact that it is a house at all is a cause for panic - I won't have any theater seat to nest in, no restaurant table to set as a barrier between myself and other people, no rational excuse to not to make eye contact. I am such a basketcase!

Do I get a pity cookie now?

I will likely be meeting some people for the first time, and that might require some small talk. Oh how I hate small talk. But I hate even more the uncomfortable silence from the lack of it. I don't enjoy having to say my name over and over, and I absolutely hate being asked what I do for a living. But I don't want to be perceived as antisocial.

If I take a happy yellow pill, it'll boost my spirits, and possibly even my social skills. But the effect can be unpredictable, I might become too energetic and invasive, so maybe I should keep away from the yellow pills.

What's worse than being perceived as antisocial is being found to be annoying. I have that effect on people. I don't do it on purpose, I swear; it just happens. But I don't want it to happen tomorrow, because I might be attending this church for several more years, and I don't want to rub anyone the wrong way.

And I am worrying about things unnecessarily again.

social paranoia

today's weather : SLIGHT DEPRESSION
anxiety : 1 | agitation : 1

Whenever I come home from something that requires some form of social interaction, I more often than not feel like I've done something wrong. I'd feel like I might have stepped on someone's toes, said something offensive, cracked a bad joke or otherwise broke an acceptable social convention. In paranoia, I'd ask the Hubby or my frank-but-trusted friend if I indeed fouled up. More often than not, it turns out I'm just imagining things. But sometimes - just that rare sometimes - people around me could have probably wished I hadn't bothered to make an appearance.

As I try to fall asleep, I'd replay, rewind, replay, rewind and replay again the dialogues and scenes that I can recall. Another reason for sleeplessness. A symptom of pride, I've learned in church (I'm a proud, selfish person. It's a sin God will forgive).

Sometimes I could get too frozen up or too withdrawn for fear of doing something that could mysteriously trigger someone else's disgust. People have this general notion that I don't care about what other people think of me, and I sometimes want them to believe that. But I do care about what others think and feel. I often wish I didn't, or couldn't.

autophobia, monophobia and other things related

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0 | agit: 1


Bonjour, tourists. On today's trip, I'll be taking you to another prominent feature in the landscape of my Bipolar Condition. As I've said before symptoms and experience vary from one BiPer to another, so this sort of thing may be unique to me.

My depression is usually worsened or triggered by aloneness, on the simple fact that being alone leaves me to wander off into the the caverns of my mind. Usually that means delving into negative, self-destructive thought patterns. That's one reason why I shouldn't be left alone.

The other reason is the phobia.

a u t o p h o b i a
1. A fear of being alone
2. In extreme cases, a fear of oneself

m o n o p h o b i a
1. Am abnormal fear of being alone or lonely.
2. An anxiety over separation from a person or place that bring security

i s o l o p h o b i a
An irrational fear of being left alone.

[These are IrReverend Mar's easy paraphrase]

This isn't a constant feature of course; it exists during episodes - whether elevated ones or depressed. I wouldn't really call myself autophobic; it's just that I've noticed the symptoms of autophobia when i am manic or depressed.

The way I described it to my friends is that there is this irrational, overwhelming fear that something bad will happen to me when I'm alone. Dr C says that's not really unusual for a BiPer.

Irrational - because I can logically deduce that nothing can possibly go wrong and then conclude that I am safe, but emotionally I believe the opposite and therefore go into panic. The unrest is not at a logical level but at an emotional one.

Overwhelming because it often dumbfounds me to the point that I won't, can't do anything but panic.

The degree of the phobia depends on the degree of the episode:

(Before I continue, lemme just say I swear I'm not crazy. I'm perfectly logical; just emotionally disturbed)

• Slight depression:
  I'd spaz out a bit.
  I'd prefer not to do anything unless someone else - doesn't matter who, as long as it is a warm body - is physically present. That person doesn't need to accompany me; he just has to be within range.
  
  
• Slight elevation: Hardly any autophobia symptoms.
  
  
• Moderate to severe depression:
  > I can't look into the mirror sometimes because I'd expect to look different. Horned maybe, or bloody, or crazed like Charles Manson. I can logically recognize the absurdity of that, but emotionally believe it to be true. I can't quite explain how or why it happens, but bot Doc C and Nini have told me it's not that unusual for someone in my predicament.
  > I get to hearing things - like my name or some words being pronounced in the ambient noise. I know logically and perfectly well that nothing and no one is talking to me, but somehow my mind translates sounds into syllables. I could hear my name in the wind or in a cat's meow, and then give myself a fit. Doc says that's not uncommon.
  > Then there's "seeing things" as well. It's not the same as hallucinating because I don't see thing that aren't really there. My mind sees actual, physical things, but in a different way, like a very slight trip but not always a happy one. When I'm alone, inanimate objects have a presence or a personality - but they return to their lifeless states when I begin to mind them. When I was younger, I wasn't so fearful when this happened; I'd actually find it entertaining. I thought it was just my version of having a fertile imagination.
  > The things I "hear" and "see" are not friendlies. It's so not like Beauty and the Beast's magic castle, all happy and cute. It's more like a Clockwork Orange mind-frak, trippy and disturbed.
  > I sometimes I feel like the mere atmosphere around me wants to throttle me. I used o think there were silet demons watching me; now I know it's all just mental.
  > I would actually need another person to be able to function. I need to be kept company and listened to.
  > I could get so terrified that I would freeze in a corner when alone, until somebody I trust comes by. It can't be some random acquaintance; it has to be a close family member or close friend.
  > There have been a few times I've gotten to screaming and crying, but those don't come very often .
  
  
• Moderate to severe elevation:
  > "Hearing things", as above.
  > "Seeing things" - like some excess of energy makes my mind druggie-high hyper and my eyes form immediate connections between various visual elements to form a freaky, nonreal whole.
  > At times I'd be afraid of myself, knowing that when I'm elevated I'd be brave enough to slit my jugular vein open. I'd start an obsessive conversation with myself as to why I should or shouldn't kill myself.

Agoraphobia

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 2 | agit: 1

Agoraphobia is one of those other nasty things that relate with Bipolar Mood Condtion. Without yet knowing the word for it, I had a discussion about it with Dr. C last year but she didn’t really say much about it except that it’s quite normal for a bipolar. I haven't been able explore it with her further, primarily since I keep ditching my appointments (Bad patient, bad patient. I haven’t seen Dr. C in such a long time, she must think I’ve gone ahead and killed myself already). But thanks to the wonderful world of http://www, I did me some bit of research.

a g o r a p h o b i a
(n.) an anxiety disorder characterized by an irrational fear of being in an unfamiliar or public place, which is actually precipitated by a irrational fear of being trapped in an uncontrollable situation.

This is IrReverend Mar's run-on sentence paraphrase.
See the Wiki article from which I DID NOT plagiarize.

A simplified list of symptoms can be found in this lady’s blog. I experience most of the listed symptoms during depressions, specifically in moderate to severe depressive episodes. I'm not too observant about the physical/somatic manifestations so I'm not too sure about not having them.

When I am in a stable condition, I’d like to think I am fairly sociable; on the selective side but not quite antisocial. I usually enjoy being around other people; I like parties, happy crowds and trying out new things (or people. hee hee). When I am elevated, I can get extremely intrusive - i.e., too friendly to the discomfort zone of some. Of most, actually.

When depressed, I could feel vulnerable as a turtle stripped of a shell, i.e., good as dead and trying to avoid the imminent doom.


The agoraphobe in me:
A complication of depression

• There have been times when I'd refuse to leave home for days because of an extreme fear that something horrible would happen to me "out there". I'd simply panic at the thought of going out or interacting with "outside people", sometimes to the point of tears and / or immobility.
• Irrational is the word to describe the fear. I could logically understand and accept that nothing bad could possibly happen, but that doesn't do much for the overwhelming feeling of unsafeness.
• I'd fear that I'd panic excessively / fig out / spaz / faint/ wail / vomit / bleed to death / hurt myself / murder someone / lose my clothes / manifest demons / stab my jugular in desperation / fall over and die / make an utter idiot of myself / have something equally appalling happen to me in front of many people.
  
• In case I couldn't ditch an event where crowds or public places are involved (such as family gatherings or church functions), I could rely on the Hubby to drag me. Though I'd be present, I'd withdraw as far away as I can practically get, in whatever sense possible.
• This (the previous statement, I mean) is the reason some people perceive me as shy, while that is light years from the truth. I just really think they're d***s.
• Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's coming to get me... I'd feel distrust, discomfort, dislike, sometimes even a strong hatred toward others, and I'd be sure they feel the same way toward me.
• It's not uncommon for me to experience the anxiety even in an acceptably "safe" place such as a relative's house or at church - the same church I've been going to for the past decade, the same people I interact with every week.
  
• I just should not be left alone in a crowd when I'm depressed, or the panic would worsen. Dependence right there. I'd have this constant need to be attended to, physical contact required. I'd trust no one with this task except the Hubby alone; everyone else is an object of distrust and distaste.
  
  

----------------------------------

Famous agoraphobes
Photos nicked from here, here, here, here, here and here.

Woody Allen, American actor /director.
I find it amusing that actors and public figures could be agoraphobic considering that their professions are full of unfamiliar people and places. I wonder how they cope. Makes me muse about how they are still able to perform, and why they still choose to stay in their line of work.


Barbra Streisand, singer.







Kim Basinger, actress.
I read somewhere that she said her phobia grew from a knowledge that people were staring at her. I guess in her case it was acquired.



Donny and Marie Osmond, the cutie-cutie brother-and-sister from duo the 70's, now a cutie-cutie-but-it's-not-working-anymore-even-after-all-the-cosmetic-surgery brother-and-sister has-been duo. The disorder can run in families too.





Howard Hughes, aviator, engineer, overall eccentric.
That guy had a conglomerate of disorders, methinks. Interesting soul. I'm not sure Leo did a good job of him in The Aviator, though some say he did. In that case I conclude Howard Hughes was much like Billy Costigan, Frank Abagnale, Louie XIV and Jack Dawson.


Sigmund Freud, progenitor of modern psychoanalysis. I suppose all his staying indoors gave him more steam for propelling into his twisted theories. Go figure.

Mike Villar, Filipino satire blogger and intarnetz celebrity. He claimed in one of his old online journal entries to have the anxiety disorder. With a very amusing satirical account of his therapy sessions with a sexy shrink, besides.
(I was unable to find a good black-and-white photo of the guy)

Wings Soriano, Filipino musician, songwriter, record producer. One of those in the noughties' sea of acoustic artists whose music I've never even heard. I know he isn't really famous famous, but I just want to mention him here just 'cause I'd crushed on him back in high school and I still think he's cute even if he's already a father of two.

So there. Agoraphobia. Another plushie identified in the BiPer Menagerie. Sweet, ain't it?

social anxiety

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 1, agit: 1

I've been reading about social anxiety (from various sources, so it's quite tedious and not to mention useless to put my links here) and I am glad to once again find an accurate definition of what I experience.

Social Anxiety Disorder
An abnormal avoidance or aversion for social situations or situations that involve interaction with other people, which actually stems from the fear of being evaluated or judged.
This can be a general anxiety toward all social situations, or a more specific one that is triggered by particular situations.
My nifty paraphrase.

It's quite common with bipolars too.

Thinking about it, I see it comes mostly during the episodes, and more severely during depression. Since it's natural for most children to have social anxiety, so I'm not even factoring in my childhood experiences here.

Social anxiety is also known as a social phobia, though in my case it's more of an anxiety than a phobia, because I experience being anxious and agitated though not necessarily being afraid. It's more of the specific kind involving particular situations, more than the general kind of social anxiety. Lemme explain:

• I am not the least bit shy or timid, although i am often perceived as such. In fact, I am intrusive and showy. It's just that I am antisocial at certain times. I'm not afraid of crowds or new people, but I get rattled about the possibility of being misevaluated or misunderstood, so I find it easier to withdraw than mingle. Sometimes I am genuinely disinterested, so just don't bother.
  
• I don't have a fear of crowds and I actually enjoy public speaking, but there is still the irrational fear of being evaluated. I know that I am a good communicator and have good chances of getting my message across without buckling, but I am afraid of people's judgment.
  
• There have been numerous times when I do not feel afraid at all, but experience an (embarassing) uncontrollable slight trembling , tongue-twisting and jaw locking, and even more often dizziness or headaches that feel like I am about to faint. I've experienced this while teaching class, preaching at youth church, or simply during a private conversation in which I've said something or done it in a manner that i fear may have been displeasing to the person/s I was talking to.
• I like meeting new people, but thinking about what they could possible think of me makes me extremely uncomfortable. Out of good manners and habit, I make it a point to give a handshake and make good eye contact, though I must admit it's hard to maintain and I often find my eyes wandering. When i happen to be with the Hubby, I can count on his ever-sanguine personality to man the show, and when I am feeling particularly anxious I don't mind if he does - in this way I am totally dependent. But I do absolutely mind his attention-grabbing behavior when I am feeling relaxed and chatty.
• I don't mind being the center of attention at a party, a small group or any large gathering where no one knows me. But I would, for example prefer not to go to parties at my father's side of the family (because they all tent to talk condescendingly), or skip events at church (because people there expect a certain kind of behavior from me which I always seem to fail at). I can't ditch all the time, so knowing that I have to go, leaving the house has a prelude of talking about my anxiety and crying.
  
• I'm not afraid of talking with bigshots or authority figures. In fact, some people find my boldness to be almost impolite, (EDIT 030510: In fact, I have brazenly shaken hands and brainlessly chatted with Presidentiable Gibo Teodoro, Twice.) I'm not afraid or overly polite with older people like a lot of Filipinos are; in fact a lot of my friends are way older, as in more than ten years older. But when I am feeling particularly depressed, it's hard to make eye contact or make my voice heard, whether I'd be talking to an authority figure or a familiar friend.
  

I kinda think that maybe due to recent events, my social anxiety has snowballed. I'm not anxious all the time, I can't even say that I am more frequently, but the symptoms have been more severe lately.

Social anxiety disorder has easy cognitive treatment - which I think isn't the kind I really need, because I already applying all those suggested steps. What I need is some soul-healing that will assure me that no matter what people think or say about me, I am one radically amazing individual. I need affirmation, not instruction - and absolutely not criticism.

the mess in my closet is a mess in my head

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0, agit: 0


The plan was to eat an early lunch, take a shower and get dressed, get to the office by one p.m., print some stuff and arrive early and all prepared for my 2:00 meeting. That was the plan. That - or something like it - is always the plan.

But more often than not, it isn't carried out as planned.

And more often then not, the plan gets screwed up by the getting dressed part. Deciding what to wear and wear with what to whichever is a lot more hellish than the grueling task of applying for a U.S. Visa. I don't exaggerate in saying that it frustrates me to tears because nothing in my closet is ever the right article of clothing during a depressive stretch. Especially in the summer when everything is just too uncomfortable to wear.

It's just freaking silly, right? No one would believe me if I said it's as serious as life and death for me. I can't quite explain it clearly to someone who has no idea of how impossible it is - let's just say that it's one of those nasty triggers that are unique to me. i.e., one of those peculiarities that go with my manifestation of psychosis / neurosis / chemical imbalance / disorder / what-have-I. I've been misunderstood for it and been tagged unacceptable, and you can't imagine how it frustrates me that it's been that way since childhood and I still haven't found a way around it.

Of course I've been told thing like i should think about my clothes and prepare them the night before, and so on. But gee whiz, I'm not stupid. I've thought of that already, and it still doesn't help. I would spend hours - literally, hours - the previous day, as early as mid afternoon, thinking of what to wear. I often don't come up with anything when it's time to sleep, and I stay up all night still thinking about it. Needless to say I fall asleep in the morning and wake up at noon; by then I'd be thrown into a panic because I still don't know what to wear. I scrabble around while I throw hissy-fits, holding on to a thin shred of hope that I might still make it on time. I settle for whatever is sufficiently comfortable, speed off and still arrive late. I'd be out of sorts, out of breath and out of time to prepare other things that I need. I'd be fretting of course because I'd be hearing another person complain about my lateness.

And that right there is another vile trigger.

To add insult to injury, people just wouldn't mind their own business when it comes to clothing. If my lateness didn't offend them enough, my not-so-put-together look would. It'd even seem that the time I really need them to lay off is the time they lay it on thick. There's this whole expectation on propriety and such. Bah, humbug.

That pretty much means that the advice to "just wear anything" really doesn't apply. Naturally I've been told that useless grit of advice too. [ "Just wear anything?" Come on. If I really could wear just anything, I'd be wearing big-sized sleep-shirts and flip-flops to everything. If I did, it would be unforgivable, of course, and people won't get off my back for being dressed inappropriately]

It's still a problem even after I go shopping for clothes, and even if [as it would seem to others] I had a bottomless supply of pretty clothing. So really the clothes aren't the problem. It 's really just me.

in the indigo haze

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | normal | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx : 3 , agit : 2


Getting up in the morning has been sheer torture lately. I feel like I've been getting worse, sinking into indigo and deep violet. I can still manage to hold my head up and carry myself quite passably in public (I think), though I often feel afloat, clouded, distant, unfocused and... what was I saying? It may be a gamble to throw me in an uncomfortable situation, and it's still definitely a must to stay away from the triggers.

Let me just say last Sunday was hell. I doubt anyone noticed though. While everyone had their happy day, I had to lock myself in a darkened room while I bawled.

I've just gotten tired of fighting it. I know I could, but I also know that that won't do much. Both Dr. C and Dr. Z say that all I could do is ... yeah, I've thought and said it over and over, I'd rather not say it again here.

The yellow pills do their job, but they give me mixed episodes. In the event of even the slightest trigger, I notice that I am instantly thrown into manic (elevated) levels accompanied agitation and anxiety. When I did my research on the yellow pills, I learned that they do have that nasty side effect (particularly on Bipolars); I asked Dr. C about it and she says they're alright as long as I take them with the Lithium. Besides, I prefer having mixed episodes instead of purely depressive ones.