Monthly Archives: March 2016

Is it a Simple Fear of Failure?

I’ve been sleeping badly which makes it almost impossible to tolerate stress, especially work stress.

I’ve been very vocal to my young supervisor that I cannot keep up the pace and she’s been understanding. She says they will be able to hire people effective July 1st. So it may be my opportunity to move up and away from the front desk, or at the very least give up some of my responsibilities to a new person.

I told her I’d try to hang tough until then.

I need your help, readers.

In the last few months I have been reminded at how I get to this stage where I utterly panic and then I quit. Quitting is not an option any longer, since I’m not married and I’m no longer on disability.

I’m so terrified of being off disability.

I look at my young coworkers and wonder how they handle the stress so well, and the bottom line is they must not be feeling it the same way I do. The reason I am 58 and only a front office person is that I always cave in to the pressure. The fear builds and builds and then I run off.

I could do that again, but I don’t want to, I really don’t. I want to stand up and face my fears. Shit, I only have so may working years left, I can surely rise to the occasion for a few years, right?

I finally (after months of promising to) called my therapist and will be seeing her on April 12th. I’m ashamed to see her since I’ve gained so much weight, but I desperately need her guidance so that I don’t fuck up and give myself away as a nervous wreck who can’t handle more responsibility.

I wonder why I’m this way.

My parents ask me everyday how my day went and I can see they are getting very alarmed at my state. The other day my mom said I’d probably get promoted if I didn’t make “too many waves.” She was referring to me going to my boss to tell her my workload has become unmanageable.

So even she and my father think I’m on the brink.

And I guess they’re right, I am.

My good ex husband, the one I loved, the marriage I ruined due to my mental illness saw this pattern in me time after time. I’d get a good job, a good opportunity, and within a few years I’d be at my wit’s end, unable to handle it. Afraid, really. I’m not sure of what.

Then the trips to the psych ward began, etc.

I don’t even know what to call this fear and anxiety over work expectations. If I did I’d study it online and try to get the upper hand. Maybe it’s fear of failure.

And this fear just spreads throughout my life. I begin to think about living on my own, with no one to depend on, and I panic and think I should stay here with my parents. I’m just afraid of everything.

And so for that reason I must find a way to keep on and to face these “demons” which  have plagued me throughout my entire life and kept me from doing what I wanted to do, and certainly kept me from finding my potential, which I think would have been great if I hadn’t sabotaged myself at every turn.

If any of you have an inkling of what my problem is called or resources to help me sort myself out, I’d appreciate it.

I’m 58. I’m lucky to have this job and I can’t afford to lose it or be unemployed. I only have another eight to ten years left to work so I have to make the most of it. I cannot cave to this fear ever again!

Please help me.

 

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A Long, Bad Dream About my Cheater Ex

Gah.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping and last night popped two Benadryl for the first time in several weeks. I ended up having a long, excruciatingly detailed dream about my ex, the cheater.

First, we were in a weird large house on the coast. I knew he didn’t own it, but I never found out who did. He’d spend time trying to seduce me and I even found myself in bed with him a couple of times, but then the scene would quickly change and I would be following him around or trying to get away from him.

He was printing t-shirts with a home printer for an upcoming 10k he was organizing. All I could think of is did he have the necessary permits for the race. I thought, oh my god I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be a part of his insanity. His plans were all so cheap and had failure written all over it — he’s not even into exercise.

I could tell he didn’t have true feelings for me and I was just waiting for him to ask me for money. At the same time I have to admit I was slightly thrilled to see him again.

People kept coming and going and they were checking me out. I had no idea who they were or what they knew. I didn’t know who he had slept with. I kept going from room to room. I wanted to go home.

I woke up with a start and almost jumped out of bed. I didn’t want that dream coming back. I don’t think I’ve dreamt of him in well over a year, maybe two years. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him.

The dream reminded me of how much I miss physical intimacy and wondered if I’d ever be close to someone again.

I’m mostly at “meh” these days regarding that cheater ex, but he usually invades my thoughts in the evening around 7 or 8 pm for a few minutes. Just enough for me to wonder when he’ll leave this town so that I can fully move on with my life.

The Buspar does seem to be helping (for anxiety) a little in the day time, but at night it is keeping me awake. I looked up to see if other people had this issue and saw that it’s not uncommon. I’ll just stick to a morning dose from now on — I simply can’t afford not to be as rested as possible every day for work.

xox

 

Wound Up. Won’t Even Proofread this Post!

Well, my 2nd Lent isn’t going well. In fact I threw in the towel some time ago. I lasted about ten days without sugar and to be honest I felt great. I noticed a real difference in my ability to concentrate and not be so wound up. After a while, though, the cravings were so intense that I went back with a vengeance. I can’t just eat a little sugar. It’s pretty miraculous that I do not have diabetes.

But I’m not feeling well and I know that it’s almost entirely (maybe entirely) because I do not take care of myself. I do not eat right. I do not exercise. I am getting fatter every day. And, like the alcoholic or meth head, I will have no one but myself to blame.

I don’t want to be this way. I don’t know what to do about it. I let work stress dominate my life. I’m so insecure at work (about my abilities, etc.) that I eat, a lot, just to cope. I wonder if I’d be better off switching to vodka tonics.

A couple of weeks ago my dad said he didn’t want me to move out of their house. And my mom also made a point to tell me I don’t have to move if I don’t want to. To be honest it really touched me. If it were only my dad, I could merge my life with his well enough. He would not expect me to be his companion. My mom would.

Recently my mom is loonier than ever. Here’s a woman who can’t stand it if dad leaves a newspaper on the counter (it must be put on the dryer! (three feet away)). Yet has outdated food in her dirty fridge. She’s really got OCD qualities and they are hard to live with.

Dad began taking anti-depressants for the first time in his life about a month ago. He says he doesn’t know what to do for her. She’s now taken to crying for no reason. I think something is up — she’s worse than usual.

Dad told me I must be a good writer because I spend so much time on the internet and that’s what it takes. Bless his heart I disagree with him there; it takes much more to be a good writer than spending time on the internet. But I thanked him and said while I enjoy writing, I do it for myself. I could never get paid for it.

Mom mom almost guffawed from the other room over the notion that I might have a talent. (I do, and writing is not one of them).

So within in a moment or two she brings up a comment my brother wrote on Facebook and she kept referring to him as “brilliant.” And then, yes, she began to cry over how brilliant he is.

My brother is highly intelligent and he has written for most of his life. However, the stuff he writes is usually just too cerebral for me. I don’t get it. And I don’t like it. That doesn’t mean he’s a bad writer. It means it is not to my taste.

He wrote in the FB comment about how his mother drove him an hour to Los Angeles to see 2001 A Space Odyssey when he was only 13. And she just about orgasmed in her chair being mentioned in his comment, especially since she had no doubt forgotten the incident. So she threw around how brilliant his comment was and told my father he had to read his son’s brilliant comment on FB.

I’m sitting in my bedroom flipping her the fucking bird. She never fucking drove me anywhere for anything, except, oh yes, she did drive me to Los Angeles when I was 17 for an abortion. They weren’t available in Orange County at the time. Yay, mom.

Sorry for being so distasteful. I’m no example of any sort of a Christian. I’m struggling so much with the realities of my life.

For a couple of weeks I entertained the idea of using my money to open a business while living here to get it off the ground. But there would go my deposit for a house if it failed. But even more than that, for my sanity and health, I must leave this home.

I’m pretty terrified of how broke I’ll be, but I’ll find a way to make it work.

I told my supervisor that I’m beginning to feel taken advantage of and to my relief she said she understood. She said she is waiting for approval from the board for me to get a raise. I don’t know how long that will take, but felt better knowing that. And I feel more optimistic that there will be a position I am qualified for soon which would get me off the phones. I should not have to answer the phones when I have as heavy a workload as everyone else. I am not an “office assistant.” I do not have any time for that. I need to hang on.

I need to fucking relax. The weeks go by so fast, but then the weekends do too. There’s never a real break.

To my shock I am being sent to Portland with a co-worker for training in April. It’ll take me out of the office for four days, I think. I can’t imagine how they’ll manage without me there! And I’m looking forward to it like a vacation! But I think this is one more sign that they have better plans for me and I just have to keep my eye on the ball, for fuck’s sake.

CHILL.

I’m seeing my doctor tomorrow. I think I’ll ask her about going back on anti-depressants. There’s no doubt that I am quite down these days and I know I always talk about going back to see my therapist, but I can’t afford the time off of work to see her. Every two weeks I earn 3 hours off. So in a given month I earn 6+ hours to go towards sick time or vacation. It does NOT add up fast. I’ve been stockpiling my time in case I get sick or if I need a few days off when I move. But I’ve been too cheap to use that time to see a therapist. Shame on me. But think about it, if I saw my therapist twice a month, I would basically be using all my time off to see her. That’s fucked.

This is me. Being a lot like my mom. Terribly high strung and annoying to people. This is why I finally ended up being unable to work and ended up on disability. I cannot afford that luxury any longer. There is no husband to keep me afloat. There is only me.

To add to matters, I found out my favorite composure, Niklaous Harnancourt died today. RIP, Maestro:

So I am re-adjusting my attitude, as I have to with some frequency, because it’s usually my attitude, not the situation which is unbearable.

I just hate learning lessons so late in life. I do not turn to God enough. In the midst of my anxiety, I often forget he’s an option to ease my suffering. Missing church two weeks in a row does not help!

I will keep striving. I will keep trying to figure life out.