Tag Archives: anxiety

STRESSED

Posted on by
Reply

I have tried to tell myself it doesn’t matter.  I’ve tried to say “I don’t care”  I’ve tried to believe the Social worker saying its not a big deal.  BUT IT IS!!  She is coming here today for a home “visit”.  I repeatedly used the term “inspection” and the social worker was uncomfortable!  SHE didn’t like it!

OMG.  A visit is where you have a cup of tea, some muffins or cookies or something and talk, chat, cry, laugh and VISIT!  That is NOT what she is coming here to do.  She is coming here to walk through my home and make sure “it’s a safe environment”.  That’s is a fucking inspection.  She is INSPECTING my home.  And I can’t believe that she thinks calling it something else will make it any less foreboding.  SERIOUSLY?!

I know she’s not “the housekeeping police”.  But even if I have my in-laws coming I would want things all tidy and vacuumed.  But at least with “guests” you can shut off rooms (like my office or the kids rooms) and not let others see them.  She will be required to come and look at it all.

I know I have nothing to hide.  I know it shouldn’t matter.  I’ve been TRYING hard to believe that I don’t care what she thinks. That its a stupid formality.  So why did I cry myself to sleep?  Why did I wake up half a dozen times? Why am I so freaked out?  Because somebody else is coming to judge me?!  And I don’t think I measure up.  I WANT to have a perfect home. But I don’t.  So my “you are a failure” message is resounding in my head as I scrub the kitchen floor with the mop and realizing that the cupboard fronts are dirty and will have to stay that way.

I have a little over an hour.  I still need to have my shower.  Get my son to unload the dishwasher, so i can load it again. (first I have to get my son out of bed – and since i heard him cleaning at 5am – I suspect he hasn’t had much sleep yet).  My daughter doesn’t care.  She is quite content that her room is a disaster.  I helped her for 2 hours yesterday. But a stranger seeing it now, won’t know how much worse it was!  Its awful.  My office is really bad.

ARGGHH.  I wanted to let this “visit” (such a joke) just slide off my back as no big deal.  But it IS!  And I’m STRESSED. and somehow all this is being done to HELP me.  Ok sure.

The system is so messed.  And its making me a mess.  My anxiety is peaking.  I’m even contemplating taking an Ativan.  So how is this a good thing?! How is this HELPING me?

If the social worker found it made her uncomfortable when I kept saying inspection, then she needs to stop for a moment and THINK.  “if I’m uncomfortable and I have all the power, how must the client be feeling?”   Cause its a WAY bigger deal to me.  She is doing a job.  She will write a report.  I have a basket of laundry to fold, dishes to do, rooms to clean and all of it is on display for her to write about!  ARGHH!

I’m soooo stressed out.  I don’t want my Granny panties to be inspected or ‘visited’ .  I want to be left alone!

And that’s me.  GP.

So unfair.

Posted on by
Reply

Life is just so unfair.  And nobody said life would be fair, but seriously?! Some people seem to roll along with minor blips and bumps and others get major shit, time after time.  Its not fair.  Its not right.

And one person’s crisis is a bump to another. And vice versa.  Honestly, I’m tired of it all.

So finally my beautiful daughter is on medication and calmer. And able to cope better. So that should be good right?  But the meds are causing her to gain weight FAST.  She is getting fatter.  She is 2 sizes larger than she was just a few months ago.  She can tell.  She can see it.  So my once, tiny, athletic SKINNY girl is now definitely chubby.  And just in time for puberty and when looks count for so much.  As we sat together in her room going thru her clothes and getting rid of the small stuff, she broke down and cried.  “I’m getting fat Mummy”   It broke my heart.  I was the fat kid.  I carry the scars of self hatred and the teasing to this day.  Food is my comfort and enemy.  And now here she is, 9 years old and suddenly in a size 14 pant when she could wear size 10 at Christmas.  Seeing it, feeling it and hating it.  And we know her meds are a big part of the problem.  But she MUST take the meds.  She is a picky eater, so finding food she likes is an issue too. Sigh.  It’s not fair.  Sooo unfair.

Hasn’t she suffered enough losing her dad?  And having a mental disorder that causes her extreme rage and anxiety?  And having to see therapists and doctors? and having her brother hate her and tell her so repeatedly? and having a weak ankle causing her to give up gymnastics which she liked? and her anxiety disorder causing her to have fear of heights so she had to give up diving? and now she is getting fat?  ENOUGH!  This girl is only NINE!  So unfair.

It just makes me cry.  I feel so helpless.  I can’t do much for her.  I can suggest healthy options (which she hates) I can encourage exercise. I can support her tears.  But I can’t take away any of the pain.  And I know the pain first hand.  And I live the pain daily.  I want it to go away.  For me and her.  Its just so unfair.

and that’s me today.  GP.