Tag: Musings

Have I mentioned how much I hate the GPS in my car? This is not a new situation, I’ve hated the GPS in my car since… well, since I got the GPS. Perhaps I’m too much of a free spirit (or too stubborn) to listen to a very annoying voice telling me which direction to head in, or perhaps I just cringe every time she mispronounces a street name. (i.e. Pinaster Parade in Ellenbrook somehow becomes ‘Penis-ter’, and for some reason she insists on pronouncing Mirrabooka Drive as though it’s a spell out of a Harry Potter book).
Anyhoo… yesterday, Bonnie picked up an extra shift at Gamesworld – not at Cannington, but over at their other store in Booragoon.
Now all things being equal, the answer to ‘Can I do a shift at Booragoon’ should have been a resounding no. I’ve swung from a manic episode, plunged into a depression, and swung back into manic in the past month – consequently I avoid driving because frankly, I’m probably dangerous behind the wheel and I’m not focused enough to be driving (in my opinion). But years of conditioning to automatically say ‘yes’ to all and everything I’m asked to do (regardless of whether it’s something I want to do, or I’m capable of doing) got in the way.
I said yes.

And immediately began to stress over it, because Bonnie couldn’t get to Booragoon by public transport, and the boys were all at work, and Steve is currently in Sydney working – which meant I had to get her to Booragoon.
Which leads back to the GPS. I kind of know the way to Booragoon, but thought it would be better to use the GPS, because that way, (supposedly), I wouldn’t have to think about where I was going.
We set off (happily, leaving plenty of time at the other end for Bonza to figure out where in Garden City the Gamesworld Store happens to be) and ‘Miss GPS’ automatically shits me to death by insisting that I should turn left at Wharton Road, which I knew would lead me to Armadale Road, and from there, onto the freeway… which is the one road that I do NOT want to drive on. The freeway on the best of days makes my anxiety peak… and trust me, you do not want to suffer a panic attack on a freeway – it’s not good ju-ju.
Consequently, I tell Miss GPS to mind her own business and continue around the roundabout to continue up Nicholson Road. She decides she should ‘recalculate’.
We get along amiably until we get onto South Street, at which point she announces we should turn left onto Roe Highway… which leads us back to the freeway…
I can begin to feel tension rising in the my shoulders, and I’m clutching the steering wheel to the point where my fingernails are digging into the material, a sure sign that I’m heading towards panic. The roads around here are busy, and as I mentioned above… I probably should have said no.
Tell Miss GPS to mind her own business and continue down South Street.
She decides to recalculate.
We reach Murdoch and sure enough, Miss GPS is all ‘turn right, turn right’… onto the freeway.
At this point, I find myself in a turn right only lane, (to go onto the freeway) surrounded by traffic, and my stress levels increase.

Manage to get out of that lane, call Miss GPS a few choice words in my head, and sail on down South Street. We get to the next intersection, and again, Miss GPS insists we should turn right, but by this time, I’m convinced that it’s a plot to get me back to the freeway…so I ignore her and continue.
Which is followed by Miss GPS assuring me, regularly, that now I need to TURN BACK.
Sigh.
Decide I have no choice but to turn back (and South Street is a very busy street too) and find that Miss GPS was actually right and we DID have to turn.
By now, I’m practicing my breathing exercises to avoid having to pull over, my palms are sweating, my heart is racing and I’m not a happy bunny.
Finally get to Garden City and I spend ten minutes in the carpark, punching random buttons on Miss GPS until I come across a ticked box which says ‘Always use freeways where possible’
Unticked the bloody thing and came home, where I proceeded to collapse into a chair and remind myself again why I shouldn’t attempt these things when I know the answer to the request should be ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
I live in hope that I’ll learn this lesson.

Some thoughts from my latest diary entry, while I recover from hernia surgery.

Not feeling too bad today, got one sore spot on the side of the wound, and still dealing with the itchies. Steve used some new dressings last night after my shower, but still not certain they are doing the job and stopping the eczema from flaring up. Funny how I used to not be allergic to anything, and now I’m more and more allergic to things which never bothered me before. I’m wondering if the all-over itchiness is a reaction to the antibiotics – even though they aren’t penicillin, maybe other forms of antibiotics are going to cause me issues from now on. Oh, to be normal.
Mood wise, I’m a bit better today, but still not ‘right’. Of course, I’m not even sure now what ‘right’ might be, it seems so long since I’ve been what I would classify as ‘normal’.

The true question is, have I ever been normal? I find myself thinking back over the past, and realizing that there were many instances in which I was displaying the type of anxiety that I suffer from now, but I kept bulldozing myself into overcoming it, kept trying to be ‘normal’. What I’ve begun to realize, is that this is my normal. This is the reality of how my life is. While other people are taking themselves out there, having new adventures, experiencing new situations – I am safer, calmer and more in control of myself if I don’t attempt these things. In some ways, I find the concept very sad. Will I always be this way? Will I ever have the opportunity to travel, to experience new things? Or will the fear continually hold me back from embracing life in the outside world.
And the bigger question this poses. Does that make the way I choose to live my life ‘wrong’ in some way. Who chooses what is the right way to live, and what is the wrong way? Where is the line drawn, which says the way a life can be acceptably lived and passes whatever the test for such things is. Is there even a test? Is it wrong to be happy in my own environment, to only travel through my imagination, to seek out knowledge through the pages of a book, or the screen of a laptop?
Who makes the rules? Who is to say what is the right way, or wrong way, of living this life?
I often feel the guilt is being placed upon me, by me, to be something I’m not certain I’m capable of being. I like the way my life is now. I don’t pander for travelling to other exotic destinations. I am comfortable within my enclosed environment. Does that make me wrong – and everyone else right? Are there other people out there, who feel the way I do?

The last birthday which ended in ‘0’ that I actually recall enjoying  was when I turned twenty.

Lots of people love them.  Lots of people have huge parties, and see a zero birthday as a wonderful and special landmark in their lives.

Me?  Not so much.  My 30th, 40th and now, 50th Birthdays have been a time of self-reflection, inner turmoil and anxiety.  Perhaps because I have always seen them as milestones where I take a long hard look at what I’ve accomplished in the previous decade.

And I have to admit, I always find myself coming up short.

In truth, my expectations are set incredibly high, and consequently, most of the goals I set are out of the ballpark in terms of possibilities and realism.  Being the girl who  wants to do and have everything done in a set way under strictly established rules and guidelines means that I don’t always set reasonable life expectations for myself (or others).

Consequently,  when I hit those ‘0’ birthdays, I generally have a mini meltdown because I haven’t done what I thought I should do.  I’m not in the position I think I should be.  I spend a lot of time, analyzing and fretting over the many, many things I think I’ve done wrong, could have done better, and wish I’d had the courage to do.

HIndsight is a wonderful thing, and hindsight involving the life of an introverted woman who suffers from a major depressive disorder, OCD, panic and anxiety attacks means my hindsight tends to tail me, overwhelm me, have me questioning everything I say or do.

This year however, I’ve found it somewhat less difficult to cope with – (turning ’49 + 1′ as my beloved brother and sister-in-law had iced on my cake) – surprisingly.

No, I haven’t accepted birthdays ending with ‘0’ any better than I had before.  No, I haven’t reached an epiphany and said to hell with worrying about things.  I haven’t decided I’ve missed out on so many opportunities to have a humdinger of a party and consequently invited every single person I know to celebrate with me.

But I have accepted myself – who I am – more so in the past eleven months since the ‘incident’ (I still think ‘nervous breakdown’ encompasses what happened far better than a ‘severe depressive incident’, but that might just be me).

This year, I didn’t worry that people would ‘expect’ me to have a big party.  I accepted that I’m not the partying kind, and I didn’t drive myself crazy worrying about everyone else’s expectations of what I should (or shouldn’t) do to celebrate turning 49 + 1.  A huge milestone for someone who is brilliant at worrying about stuff like that.

I spoke to a very small amount of people via phone on the day.  My mum, and my sister to be exact.  Both asked if I intended on going out to lunch with the darling husband to celebrate, and both got the same answer – but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I told them the truth and didn’t feel the need to apologize for my weirdness, or explain my decision.  “No.  I much prefer to have a quiet day at home.”

And I did.  I had an enjoyable day at home with the people I love the most.  I had a couple of texts from other family, and that was okay, and something I was comfortable with.  The day was perfect for me.  And it ended with cheesecake!

Because I’ve finally, finally begun to come to terms with who I am, and how I operate.  I’ve finally discovered the power that comes from acceptance of myself.  I am who I am, I’m strange, quirky, introverted, have weird thoughts and feelings, and don’t communicate or cope well with the outside world.  I struggle with friendships, I don’t do well when playing with others.

But I am me.  I have strengths, and I have weaknesses.  And I don’t have to apologize for those weaknesses.  I’m finally coming to terms with the idea that people can accept me for who I am, and I don’t have to be something else to prove anything to anyone.  I can be me, and I’m unusual, and probably a tad freaky, and sometimes I’ll say inappropriate things, and occasionally, I won’t react to situations in the way that is expected.  It’s one of the reasons that so many of my so-called friends have fallen by the wayside over the years.  Because I don’t do well with friendships.  I questions them every single day, wondering why anybody would want to be friends with me, and consequently, I’ve come to a major conclusion.  I sabotage those relationships myself, because I find them too difficult to deal with.  I must admit though, to a few friendships which have lasted for many, many years.  Decades in fact.  Why? I hear you ask?

Because that small group of people accept me exactly the way I am.  And don’t expect me to be constantly in contact, doing the things that ‘friends’ do.  They know my quirks and idiosyncrasies, and accept them.

But I’m getting off track.  Yes, I have turned 49 + 1.  And next year I’ll be 49 + 2.  I still hate the concept of a birthday ending in ‘0’ and I doubt that will change.

But I’m going to work on learning to stop and smell the roses.  To learn to accept the things I can’t change, and try to learn to love myself as I am.  I’m going to be proud of the achievements I’ve made, and try not to dwell on the many, many mistakes I’ve made in my life.  I can’t change them, I have no way of fixing them, and really, the main achievements I’ve made are colossal.

I may not have a fancy house to call my own, but we’ve always had a roof over our heads.  I doubt now we will ever be ‘homeowners’, but we have thoughts and plans for the future.  We have never been rich, but if laughter could be counted in dollars, we’d be millionaires.  I have accepted that I will never hold down a ‘real job’, due to my anxieties and issues, but I’ve carved a little home business for myself through editing, and make a little pocket money from it.  I’ve established a career as an ‘author’ (of course, I’m anxiety ridden, and have no confidence in my writing but I’m still putting it out there) and I have a teeny, tiny little following of people who like what they read, much to my everlasting disbelief.  My Darling Husband and I have been fortunate to share thirty years of our lives together and still love one another deeply, and we have four wonderful, quirky, endearing children who are growing into wonderful, quirky, endearing adults. I used to fret over the fact that they were too much like me – now I’m trying to learn how to let them be themselves and not let outside expectations push them into the situation I found myself in, the situation in which I tried to be something I am not, to please those around me.  I’m hoping (and praying) that I’ve given them the confidence to accept who they are and to know that it is okay to be exactly who they are.  They can no more help who they are, than I can help who I am.  We are given a certain set of cards in life and have to make do with them as we can.

And I’ve just begun to figure out, 49 + 1 years into my life – how to play them properly.  I might not be comfortable with those birthdays ending with ‘0’, but I’m better learning how to manage them.