Under Attack

Under a panic attack, that is.  You will see from the comment I posted here on Friday that I said to the respondent to my post, bourach, that I would call the Personnel Department and postpone the occupational health meeting I am due to have on Tuesday, as per her suggestion.

Of course, have I done that?  Noooo.  Sorry bourach – genuinely.  You were right and I should have done it.  It’s not rocket science!  I really, genuinely do appreciate all your help and support – it’s just that I am a stupid fucking twat.  I have a morbid fear of using the phone (yes, I know rationally that this is ridiculous) unless I am intimately familiar with the person with whom I am conversing, and my contact from Personnel, lovely woman as she is, is appalling at responding to emails (thus begging the question, did she get the damn things in the first place?), so I did not have that option.

Anyway, my intention was to phone the woman, but to do so at a strategic time so as to get her answering machine, rather than have to engage her in conversation.  Of course, after procrastinating forever, I realised that this approach would be utterly ineffective.  In order for the woman to confirm that she had received the message, she would (given her inability to use a fucking email program) have to phone me back, thus defeating the purpose of me trying to reach her answering machine rather than her in the first place.

I discussed the issue with A, who stated that he thought I should just go to the thing anyway regardless of my inability to see C beforehand.  C has talked to me in the past as well about going through an experience and actually being anxious – allowing myself to be anxious – whilst doing it.  Well, in that case, he’ll be delighted by this.  I am seriously going to crack up, and will crack up going to the fucking thing.

(Aside – I have used the expression ‘crack up’ previously in this blog to refer to an expression of laughter or my feeling amused.  Obviously the above is not the same context.  It refers to going completely mental.  Funny how the phrase is so versatile.  The English language is a fickle and strange mistress indeed).

I could still call work and tell them I’m not going, but (a) I would need to grow the balls to do a perfectly normal thing and just bloody phone them and I can’t see my being able to do so and (b) tomorrow would be terribly short notice, given that the cunting meeting is on Tuesday.  On the other hand, work did not show me the courtesy of giving me adequate notice for this, so part of me would love to phone at 9am on Tuesday morning and cancel the damn thing, just for badness and a poor attempt at revenge.  Ultimately, though, that’s not going to gain me any brownie points, so I better not.

Another dilemma: I desperately want to take my mother with me to this thing, as I did with the CAB last Tuesday.  However, part of me desperately doesn’t want to do that either.  I do not want her knowing, unless it becomes absolutely essential, the utter depths of my madness.  She doesn’t know about my present suicide ideation and self-harm thoughts, my mania, my internal mental fantasy world, my constant fear and dread.  These were details that were not entirely necessary to disclose to the CAB, though if I have to appeal a decision against my DLA claim, I will bring them up then (as it is a CAB representative that attends the appeal with you, so wouldn’t be Mum).  So, I do not want her to know about any of this, and I want to keep it that way, yet I do want OHS to know as I think it is imperative that work are aware of how much my mental condition has deteriorated. Perhaps I could get my ma to come with me to the actual place, but get her to wait in their reception or something.  I will consider this.

Anyway, how do I feel (still hate that word) in relation to all this?  I feel a bit calmer than I did at the beginning of writing this, as even though I am writing about the cause of my anxiety and panic, articulating myself has given me something to mentally focus on other than the actuality of the situation (I suppose I am depersonalising it or something, another thing my mind loves to do to me ((it loves ‘out of body’ experiences and suchlike)).  Or maybe it is just that in writing about it, it is more abstract or something).  Having said that, I think this is a bit rambling, but that is, even with having calmed down a bit, a fair representation of my mental state right now.

I am scared, petrified, of this.  I am completely paranoid, to the extent where I am semi-delusional.  I know rationally that it is ridiculous to think that OHS and work are conspiring against me.  I know they probably do believe that my condition is real.  Yet one of the thoughts running through my head is that this is some elaborate conspiracy between the lot of them – they think I am a fake and this is an exercise designed by them to prove it.  They want to use my apparent fakery against me.

This leads on to further concerns about others’ beliefs relating to my insane authenticity.  Does C think my case is genuine?  Does my GP?  Will the psychiatrist if I ever actually see him/her?  Do my friends and the few family members I give a fuck about?

I know rationally this is not in any way probable, but my state of mind is not at all rational right now.

My thoughts are disjointed, rambling, flying through my head at what seems the speed of sodding light.  They don’t make any sense to me so there is no way they could make sense to anyone else.  I am restless and jumpy.  I can’t think straight and I can’t write straight, which surely must be evident.  When I am not typing I am hugging myself and rocking back and forth.  I want to bang my head against the wall.  I want to cut myself.  In short, given all these factors, it feels like I am in an episode of mania, but obviously not the ‘happy’ sort of mania I alluded to in my first post yesterday.  It is more like the distressed mania I talked about in the second post yesterday, though that is still not entirely accurate as there is not a part of me at present that is feeling in any way positive, or in any way finds it amusing.

I am finding it hard to breathe properly, am flushed etc.  So it is a panic attack I think, but this negative mania, for want of a better description, is more than just a panic.  The one thing is, I am not in tears or anything like that; it is, for the most part, mentally internalised, the rocking and breathing issues excepted.

Rhetorical query – if this is what I am like tonight, what the hell will I be like tomorrow night, or on Tuesday morning?  Will I even be able to drive to this shithole?

A is here so I will be OK.  He wants to help but other than calming me down I am not sure what he can do.  But at least he is here so I am unlikely to do myself any harm, regardless of whether or not my irrational mind thinks that’s a good idea.

I am sure it will pass.  I will take intellectual pleasure, and probably considerable amusement, in rereading this entry later.  Or maybe not?  Don’t let me delete it, because now that I think about it, I am sure I will be embarrassed about it later!

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