Scared Bunny

I hate that this blog is getting to be so much about anxiety. It’s kind of boring to most people, and not as much fun to write about as the crazy ex stories. That said I want to write and have a few guidelines:

1- Relationship stuff is just between me and my wife. I write that for her, and not for general entertainment. Hence, it doesn’t belong here.
2- Kids and works have to be really funny to include.
3- No more talk about the exes. The past is behind me and it cannot hurt me anymore. Plus, why dwell on the many Ms. Wrongs when I have found Ms. Right?
4- No fiction

Add in the fact that true comedy pretty much always goes to “Tales off Sister Grim”, “This Is a Cult” or “Scary Personals”, and what you have left is what I am feeling at the moment I want to write. Frankly, that is often anxiety.

More accurately I am coming off an anxiety attack. It’s harder than hell to write truly anxious. But I want to get out what I was feeling. It’s selfish of me to use this space like that since most of you found the blog after searching “anal sex loving midget strippers”. If you want those stories go way back in the archives. Frankly I say start with the first post.

I had to tell my wife why I stayed in bed so long today. What it gets down to is that the safest I ever feel is curled up with her in bed. It’s not hard to get out of bed because I’m sleepy. It’s hard because that’s the best place for me to control my thoughts and relax my fears. Now, that sucks for her because, unless we have the kids, she will usually stay in bed until I get up since the clock is on my side of the bed.

It sounds pathetic for a man of my age to basically be afraid of getting out of bed, but I am. My wife asked what I am afraid of and I couldn’t really say. The best answer is everything. I am good at my job but it scares me because doing it well isn’t always easy, and success can be out of your control. I am afraid I am not a good enough husband and father. I am honestly afraid of feeling afraid. The anxiety and fear scare me. I hate that feeling. I am afraid of feeling it.

Anxiety is a self feeding animal. You get a twinge of anxiety and your body takes over. If your mind has bad thoughts, your body gets anxious. If the body is anxious and the mind has a bad thought it assumes the thought represents a risk, based on the signals of the body. Having anxiety is like always waiting to be hit. You are braced for it and expecting it. The tension builds and builds as you dwell on the fact you are going to get hit. Except the hit usually never comes.

I didn’t realize just how sheltered I was working at home all the time, but I was. Even though the work was the same as now, it was less stressful because I was in a place I knew I was safe. Nobody was in my environment I didn’t invite. And the hostility always came by phone or email, so I could just choose to ignore it. I can’t do that now. Yes I still mostly work on the phone and email, but I have so many more people involved if I ignore it I hear from someone else, so it’s even worse.

I deal with so many more people now, and I have to get used to that. And more people count on me. In the past if I was having a bad day I really could just blow it off because I was only hurting me. Now with people at home and work counting on me, I can’t do that very much. It’s hard to break a coping mechanism that worked pretty well, but I have no choice. Besides, being a hermit isn’t exactly a healthy coping mechanism.

So now I am trying to get meds adjusted, get cognitive behavioral therapy and treatment for a physical condition that may or may not be related to anxiety. I am making myself live the life I want to live even when it’s scary. I am seeing that just because we are apart doesn’t mean I need to be scared. Just because I have always been hurt doesn’t mean I always will be.

All of these things are rational reactions and beliefs. But the problem with anxiety is that it’s not rational. I have read of people who have their medication next to the bed so they can take them first thing. Their faith in the medication probably does more to eliminate the anxiety than the medication itself. But, hell, I’d try it if I didn’t think my dog would eat them or my cat think they were toys. Frankly I think I am on doses too low for my size, but I’m no doctor.

All I know is that I am going to find a way to end this so I can live the life God has for me. Despite all my mistakes, he’s put me in an amazing position right now. My main job is to not fuck it up.

Your thoughts?

Labels: anxiety, fear, life, medication, panic

I have to take a second and write something serious.

If you are one of the few that have read here for a while you know I have been treated for depression and anxiety. It’s been going on for years, and really I can’t say that any of my stories here in the blog have much to do with it. I wouldn’t say that the stress from them is easy when you already have an anxiety problem, but the events didn’t cause it, they just added different ways for it to impact me, and created new triggers.

But when I got married I realized I needed to do something. Doctors are always gung ho to treat depression, but they tend to let anxiety just slip through the cracks. I had a prescription, but it wasn’t really to treat anything. I was supposed to take it if I needed it. Frankly the dose was too low for my size, so it barely did anything. I rarely took it, which the doctors like because they hate you to get addicted, and they think not taking it means you are doing OK.

In other words, doctors are stupid.

But, when I finally got a job that required me to leave the house, I got more stressed. I was used to being able to just sit in my comfy confines. The only people around me were people I invited to be around me. My wife thinks she and the kids stress me out, but they really don’t. Sure kids can be aggravating at times, but that doesn’t stress me out. I only stress about being the right kind of husband and father.

So I started taking medication for the anxiety. It helped somewhat, but every day I would stress out on my way to work. I couldn’t explain why, but I would get scared on the drive. I gave the meds more time to kick in, and they didn’t seem to help, so the doc made some switches. Now I am waiting for that to help, and it seems to be.

But the thing that has helped the most came in reading I have done. Basically, I have to choose to be stressed. People think their emotions cause their thoughts, but for me I think something and then I feel the emotions. If I can keep myself from having and dwelling on negative things, I won’t be scared or unhappy. It’s that simple.

I am not saying I know the best way to do that. I am trying to get in to a therapy specifically designed for that process in treating anxiety, but it’s been tough. The first therapist I found cancelled my first session. I considered that a bad sign. Plus, when I met her, she was incredibly ugly. I don’t want a hot therapist, but I need someone I can look in the face for the4-5 months the therapy lasts. I couldn’t have looked at her that long. I swear she made me cringe, and still does when I think about it.

Anyway, the point of all of this shit is this. We have all been dealt a specific hand. Then we have to find a way to play the cards we are dealt. For me I have been relying on medication, but that’s not really enough. It’s like drawing to an inside straight. The odds are against you that it will fill that hole. I had tried therapy, but all they did was listen to me. Ultimately, even with the help of this new therapy, I have accepted that all of the emotions and fears I have are a choice.

I choose to be paranoid because I choose to think that what has happened in the past will happen again. I choose to accept the way I was brought up even though I rationally know it was insanely conservative, closed minded and tainted my thoughts on many subjects. I have to accept that on a lot of things I am not really sure about right and wrong. I also have to accept that being unsure is OK, and I can keep on going while I am.

What it gets down to is this. You have to take responsibility for your thoughts and emotions. We all agree we are responsible for what we say and do, but what leads up to that we seem to dismiss as being “just who we are”. But we choose who we are. The world around us may have conditioned us, but we don’t have to keep that training as part of our soul. That is a choice.

As soon as I realized I had a choice to be happy, things got easier. Even though I can’t really control my thoughts as well as I like, and I haven’t replaced all the negative training, knowing that I can change makes life easier. Knowing that those negative thoughts can be stopped makes life easier. Recognizing I am causing my own stress before it gets too bad makes life easier.

I always said the people that claimed “happiness was a choice” must have had sheltered lives or were total idiots. Well, I didn’t have a sheltered life, and I am telling you. Happiness is a choice. That may make me an idiot, but at least I'll be a happy idiot.

Labels: anxiety, depression, happiness, life, medicine

Here I sit at my desk. My empty desk.

As I stated, I planned on packing up today, and as soon as I finished my morning calls, that is exactly what I did. Now I have 6 packed crates, 7 packed boxes and a desk with nothing but a computer and a phone. In short, there is nothing here. But I am expected to work. I suppose I could send some emails, but that would be it. Can’t send letters because I had to pack the paper. Not any sales calls because the lists had to be packed. I can basically confer with about 4 people I am working with, and sit here at this computer.

According to policy I am supposed to sit here for another 4 hours. I don’t see that happening. There is nowhere near enough activity to keep me amused for 4 hours. Even if I leave for lunch we are talking 3 hours to kill. In school they always said I was dangerous if I got bored. Were I to actually try to stay here I think I might finally get to meet someone from Human Resources. Just not in a good way.

This is one of those days I wonder exactly what they are thinking. My team’s “move coordinator” stopped by and offered to help me pack. Obviously there was some concern that I wouldn’t have my shit together, so she offered to help. I let her pack a cabinet and round up some cases. She also put some stickers on stuff. Altogether the packing took 20 minutes.

And yet they wonder why I didn’t have it all packed days ago.

This seems to support my conclusion that the move is way overcomplicated. I have moved houses over a dozen times in my adult life. I have never had it seem as complicated as this. I am not good at moving. I am not good at packing. I am not good at unpacking. In fact, and my wife will confirm this, I am basically good at carrying heavy stuff and driving the big truck. Even with that as my frame of reference, it doesn’t seem like this should take so many people away from their real jobs, and force others to be unable to do diddly squat for over a week.

In other news, most of my extra writing has been going to Tales of Sister Grim. If you haven’t read it, check it out. I urge you to start with the first post and work from there, though, because it really can be confusing to follow otherwise.

The problem is, as things happen in real time I am so tempted to write them. No matter what happens, the people in the story seem to find a new and inventive way to shock me. The last week has several posts begging to be written, but I am still telling stories from late last year. I guess I will have to write there more often because I think they may well give me enough for a post a day.

I would write a book or a movie, but I get the feeling I’d get sued.

Labels: crazy, moving, overkill, sister grim, work

OK, so the move is going on, but I wasn’t in the office today. I decided to work from home, make my calls on the couch and all that shit. But I did check email, and guess what; the move has it’s own web site.

I would say things are pretty fucking nuts when a move has to have a web site for news and updates. I mean, seriously. We are basically putting shit in boxes and putting stickers on said boxes. Then it gets moved. When we get back to work next week all our shit will, in theory, be at what will become our new office. While I am not saying the logistics are easy for a big move, I think it is safe to say that, from my standpoint, this is a pretty simple concept.

However there must be something I am missing. The web site has all of the information they already gave us, as well as “up to the minute” updates. I am not really sure what kind of breaking news we can expect. Either we are being moved, or we are not. Beyond that, there isn’t any sort of “news” I need on the whole thing. I knew we had some people who had a vested interest in making this complicated, but I had no idea how many there are.

And the move has its first controversy. It seems there are 4 villas dedicated to our team. The 4th is for an as yet unhired salesman who will do a different kind of loan. They expect this person to be in place within a month or so, and it made sense for them to just free up the extra desk now. The person at said desk has different ideas though. He has decreed that he will be moving in August, and not now. So the two managers are set to square off. I am kind of looking forward to the battle. I guess there is something special about the villa this guy is in because one of my coworkers is upset that he can’t have it if this guy doesn’t move his shit.

And they wonder why I am not excited about being moved closer to all these people.

I am also unsure what the coffee situation is up there. I am betting there are a bunch of people who only drink coffee they got at some place like Starbucks. They just don’t seem like the type to make their own coffee, whether it is with shitty company coffee or good coffee brought from home. While this is good in the sense that it may mean I am away from the conflict, it does increase the likelihood that I will be having only the company coffee. And I’ll probably still have to make it myself.

Frankly, making me make that shit for myself is just cruel. It’s not like I don’t know that it’s crappy coffee. I know good coffee. At home I have good coffee. When I go out I try to get good coffee. So making me actually make that swill myself just seems mean. I swear I have even gone without some days lately because I just couldn’t do it to myself. I also feel a little guilty knowing others will also drink this crap, and that I made it for them.

Anyway, tomorrow I have to get up, go to work, actually do some real work and then pack. As soon as that’s done I am out of there for the weekend. And when I get back, I get to see the aftermath.

Heaven help us.

Labels: management, moving, overkill, power, work

I have come to a conclusion. The people that manage my work’s office space are excellent at making sure they will always have a job.

You may remember that I mentioned we are doing a restack. Basically, for me, this is because they want all of us real estate sales people together. I think this is because they can better keep an eye on us if we are all in the same place. I don’t trust sales people one bit, even though I am one. Because of that I understand what they are saying. That said, it doesn’t mean I want to be surrounded by these sales guys any more than anyone else does.

I kind of assumed they were just going to move some of us and do all they needed to do to make sure we had villas instead of cubicles, and that our sales assistants would have cubicles somewhere near our villas. That, however, is not the case. As near as I can tell they are moving almost the entire building.

The whole bottom floor is packed with these moving crates. Every single person on this half of the floor has sheets of stickers to put on their shit so they can identify what goes where. They even moved a whole villa somewhere, although I have no idea where it went. All I know is I came in and the villa was gone, and was replaced by 2 chairs and a small table. They even packed up everything in the villa next to me that was occupied by some top bank guy. I don’t know where he’s going but his stuff is gone.

This move is such a big deal that they actually hire a company to come and do it. It is so complex that they have to close the offices early on Friday and move stuff all weekend. It is so overwhelming that they can’t even have us in the building because we would get in the way. In short, what seemed to me to be a couple of us getting bunched together is actually a major event that will inconvenience the entire building for days.

The thing that gets me is that nobody besides me is the least bit phased by this. In fact, I am being told this is normal. For some unknown reason they find the need to, about twice a year, force most of the people in this building to pack up everything they have here and get moved. And believe me when I say you have to pack everything. There is a 20 page instruction sheet explaining everything I am supposed to do. I am more stressed about meeting all the moving deadlines than I am about selling so I can make money.

And the moving people have some rules that I don’t get. First of all they won’t move any personal items. They say they don’t want liability if they get lost, broken or stolen. I understand that, but this computer is worth more than all the personal items I have here combined, so if someone was going to steal something, I think they’d start here. They also won’t move plants. I don’t have any plants, but I can’t see why a plant is that big a deal. And the cabinets I have? They can’t just move them and all the shit in them. It seems the architects have dictated what goes where, so the cabinet I have here might not be approved where I am going. I am not sure why that would be such a big deal, but it seems it is. They seemed stunned that I even asked such a thing.

What it gets down to is that this move guarantees work for the people who run the facility. First they have the weeks of planning for the move. Then we have a few weeks to prepare for the move. Then they manage the move itself. The move will mean people need new cabinets and shit assigned, so there’s more work. Plus there will be things lost, misplaced and damaged, so taking care of all that means even more work. I estimate the whole process takes them about 6 months. My guess is that, whenever things seem settled enough that they start thinking they may be overstaffed they get all the managers to say they need more space, and reorganize again.

And the managers are all about reorganizing. As I have said, these villas mean power somehow. So if a manager has a shitload of people in villas under them, they must be some serious motherfuckers. They are always fighting to get more of their people in Villas. There are so many requests for villas that there is a complex policy for who gets them, and an exception policy for people they want to have them who don’t qualify. The facility people love this whole complex policy thing and manager power grabbing, because it makes them very powerful, and gives them lots of job security.

So I guess tomorrow I get to start boxing shit and putting little stickers on things. Then I will wait and see the magic next Monday.