Sometimes I do show it in front of H and my daughter. I usually put on a brave face, but one day something while I was in the grocery store checkout line got to me, and it was one thing too much. I remember I abandoned my cart and ran to my car sobbing. I spilled blueberries everywhere trying to get out of there. No one intervened. I sat in my car sobbing and screaming (with the windows closed, car just in park with the AC on). It happened 5 or 6 years ago. I cannot remember what upset me so much. I never told H what had happened to me that day.

Even at home, most of the time I am just putting on a brave face. When I do lose it in front of my husband and daughter, it’s hard. H wants me to snap out of it and get back to what is my “normal” around him and my daughter. If he only knew how hard it is to even cook a meal without burning a thing and remembering to turn on the oven before you stick the raw chicken in and wait 45 minutes for it to cook...These racing thoughts I hate. I hate that I have lost my creativity. I hate that often I make snap decisions without consideration for the consequences. I hate that I can spend so much time panicking. I hate how many pills I have to take. I don’t know, is the real me under there somewhere? But the real me gets horrible suicidal thoughts and cannot sleep more. I either swing to bad mania or depression. I hate having this disorder. Mental illness runs on my mom’s side of the family. My grandfather had something like 10 siblings, and many were alcoholics. My great-grandfather hanged himself. So, yeah, I know where it comes from. The ED not from that though. I think from being sexually molested as a girl and having little control over life with an angry, domineering father.

If H knew how often I dissociate (though most times I can bring myself back, I just can’t control when it starts), he’d freak out. If he could read my mind. “God why did you eat that? I need to fold laundry (proceed to dump clean laundry on the bed) I’m so stupid. I’m going to get fat.what was I doing? Now I’m in the garage. The cat litter needs cleaning. I am worthless. I’m a horrible mom. I didn’t exercise today, stupid! What was I doing before? Let me find a recipe in a cookbook for dinner..”(Glance in bathroom mirror, see bony chest). I need an easy recipe to cook today. Maybe I DO need to gain weight. Oh, there are no more towels in here. Stupid rain! I can’t go running. I am going to wake up weighing more tomorrow morning. Well, it’s your own damn fault. I think I am starting to have a panic attack. I have to get my daughter from school. Where is my cellphone? God, what did I do with the keys? Stupid scale will probably read 5 lb. more tomorrow. I am just worthless. I should have died with that ulcer, stupid keys, where are they!? Oh,look the mail came . I should got through that, but I was doing something important, what was it?” And on and on and on. Two hours later I will see laundry on the bed to fold. That is literally my brain most of each day, which who wouldn’t want to dissociate from that? So H thinks none of my psych diagnoses is a big problem and that I would be better off without meds. I told him once things settle down for us financially, and I feel more secure, I will look to start lowering these meds with a pdoc’s help. Though I won’t give up the dosage of Seroquel I need to fall asleep at night. OMG, it’s a lifesaver to be able to fall asleep so easily when I have struggled with falling asleep my entire life until I got on Seroquel. A Trazodone/hydroxyzine combo did help for a long time, hydroxyzine was added because it took ages for the Trazodone to work, and then I’d feel hungover all morning. Also, it started getting harder and harder for me to fall asleep and not wake up zombified on the dosage of Trazodone I really needed to fall asleep. Seroquel is so much better for me.

The meds usually do help some with racing thoughts, as without them, yes, my thinking actually can and does get even more scattered, and I cannot stay on task. H has no idea how hard it is to put on the “normal” to him, my daughter, other family. H tries but doesn’t understand why I cannot stop it.