I thought I was fine
In theory and by tradition I have all sorts of reasons to be feeling stressed right now. I'm happy to report, however, that I'm not feeling stressed at all. There's just one small problem.
My body is telling me that I am *massively* stressed. I'm having muscle shivers, twitches and spasms that kick in when I relax. The more I deliberately relax, the worse it gets. The massage on Friday was a deeply deeply weird demonstration of faulty wiring. It's mostly the legs, but the arms, neck and jaw are now joining in. Having my jaw spontaneously snap shut is seriously hazardous to my teeth, and I've knocked off chips in the past. That only happens when I'm lying down, which is good, sort of.
I'm not deliberately "trying to relax" BTW. I'm just lying down for a nap FFS. It happens in my sleep. I've just noticed that my hands are buzzing and have probably been doing that for a while. It's nothing I can pin on food, and while we had a bit of weather it wasn't nearly enough to justify what's been going on.
So, since I have previously demonstrated the ability to have a nervous breakdown without actually noticing it at the time, I feel I should probably do something about this. Hindsight is a wonderful thing; it's just occurred to me that my perfectly logical intense dislike of French 50's black and white caper noir films was perhaps more vehemently on display last Friday night than was perhaps strictly neccessary. It hardly struck me as unusual at the time to shout "KILL ALL THE DAMN FRENCH" at Husband and the TV. I'm of quite thoroughly Anglo-Irish descent, after all, so the French are my natural enemies. Many years ago I was most inspired by Kenneth Brannah's "Go over there and kill the Frogs" speech in Henry V. No, being intensely irritated by French cinema was all quite normal.
There's an alleged news story going about that the English and French might one day soon share naval assets. It's the funniest thing I ever heard.
Screwing the Froggies aside, I think I do have something of a real problem here. How do I safely de-stress my body (and presumably my deep unconscious) without involving my mind which is under the impression that everything is fine? I think I've tried everything I can think of in the past. A dose of horse is definitely called for, and perhaps that might be enough. Want. Horsie. Even if I'm not up for driving, Husband is on holidays from Tuesday on, so he can get me to the stables and carry me through the gate if that's what it takes. RDA has great access for the mobility impaired.
Today I did manage the drive up to la casa des Middle Sister et Nieces, mainly because it's a straight run up the freeway with very few corners or stops and starts, and no so long that sitting still would become a problem as well. Had a lovely visit with all four girls and got to marvel again at the prospect of an adult genetic niece. The present went down well and she tolerated my "I held you in my arms when you were a newborn" speech with remarkable grace. I have three adult nieces-in-law of whom I am very fond, but they are far away and blood calls to blood. Middle Niece will be old enough to try for a driving learner's permit next February. Run (or otherwise ambulate) while you still can.
Anyway, back to Me.
What concerns me most is that I might break suddenly, and publicly. It just about happened last week at the butcher when I went a little high pitched at the unsolicited mention of my impending doom 40th. They're very friendly butchers and they like a chat, which is potentially disasterous. But that actually gives me an idea... Perhaps I need to talk to a friendly or not-easily-shocked face--not type, nor over the phone--until it (whatever it is if it's not the obvious things) all just comes running out, because I'm pretty sure that I'm *that* close to snapping. Cat vomit would do it, and believe me I've seen a lot of cat vomit. I have a sneaking suspicion that I might need to have a cry, too. Sigh. It's all so damn nebulous. My body is keeping secrets from me but I wont let it get away with it this time!
Depression. It's Not What You Think.
My body is telling me that I am *massively* stressed. I'm having muscle shivers, twitches and spasms that kick in when I relax. The more I deliberately relax, the worse it gets. The massage on Friday was a deeply deeply weird demonstration of faulty wiring. It's mostly the legs, but the arms, neck and jaw are now joining in. Having my jaw spontaneously snap shut is seriously hazardous to my teeth, and I've knocked off chips in the past. That only happens when I'm lying down, which is good, sort of.
I'm not deliberately "trying to relax" BTW. I'm just lying down for a nap FFS. It happens in my sleep. I've just noticed that my hands are buzzing and have probably been doing that for a while. It's nothing I can pin on food, and while we had a bit of weather it wasn't nearly enough to justify what's been going on.
So, since I have previously demonstrated the ability to have a nervous breakdown without actually noticing it at the time, I feel I should probably do something about this. Hindsight is a wonderful thing; it's just occurred to me that my perfectly logical intense dislike of French 50's black and white caper noir films was perhaps more vehemently on display last Friday night than was perhaps strictly neccessary. It hardly struck me as unusual at the time to shout "KILL ALL THE DAMN FRENCH" at Husband and the TV. I'm of quite thoroughly Anglo-Irish descent, after all, so the French are my natural enemies. Many years ago I was most inspired by Kenneth Brannah's "Go over there and kill the Frogs" speech in Henry V. No, being intensely irritated by French cinema was all quite normal.
There's an alleged news story going about that the English and French might one day soon share naval assets. It's the funniest thing I ever heard.
Screwing the Froggies aside, I think I do have something of a real problem here. How do I safely de-stress my body (and presumably my deep unconscious) without involving my mind which is under the impression that everything is fine? I think I've tried everything I can think of in the past. A dose of horse is definitely called for, and perhaps that might be enough. Want. Horsie. Even if I'm not up for driving, Husband is on holidays from Tuesday on, so he can get me to the stables and carry me through the gate if that's what it takes. RDA has great access for the mobility impaired.
Today I did manage the drive up to la casa des Middle Sister et Nieces, mainly because it's a straight run up the freeway with very few corners or stops and starts, and no so long that sitting still would become a problem as well. Had a lovely visit with all four girls and got to marvel again at the prospect of an adult genetic niece. The present went down well and she tolerated my "I held you in my arms when you were a newborn" speech with remarkable grace. I have three adult nieces-in-law of whom I am very fond, but they are far away and blood calls to blood. Middle Niece will be old enough to try for a driving learner's permit next February. Run (or otherwise ambulate) while you still can.
Anyway, back to Me.
What concerns me most is that I might break suddenly, and publicly. It just about happened last week at the butcher when I went a little high pitched at the unsolicited mention of my impending doom 40th. They're very friendly butchers and they like a chat, which is potentially disasterous. But that actually gives me an idea... Perhaps I need to talk to a friendly or not-easily-shocked face--not type, nor over the phone--until it (whatever it is if it's not the obvious things) all just comes running out, because I'm pretty sure that I'm *that* close to snapping. Cat vomit would do it, and believe me I've seen a lot of cat vomit. I have a sneaking suspicion that I might need to have a cry, too. Sigh. It's all so damn nebulous. My body is keeping secrets from me but I wont let it get away with it this time!
Depression. It's Not What You Think.