Homesickness, Anxiety, and Other Ailments

A thousand years ago, I promised you wonderful peoples a post about my anxiety and stress and how I've been struggling to keep hold of my wits lately. And then I never wrote it because when I'm battling my stress levels, I tend to neglect the things I love to do most. I let the necessary obligations rule (because, what choice do you have?) and any free time is spent trying to recuperate and rest. The last thing I want to do after being anxious and stressed all day or all week is use up any more brain space I might possibly have left. 

The sad part of that is if I'd make myself write or take photos, I'd probably be happier. Thus is the constant dilemma of the creative person who needs to pay the bills. I never even posted the gazillion photos I took of the snow. They're just sitting on my hard drive, forgotten and lonely and cold (they're cold because they're of snow. duh). 

And it's not even my job per se. It's me. I can't seem to handle the smallest amount of lately, though this isn't the first time I've been through this. The last time I had major issues with stress and anxiety, it was due to other things that I hadn't dealt with. I'm fairly certain that's the case this time as well and one can only overanalyze herself so long before cracking up. 

I really do need professional help sorting through it all and I've been looking for a therapist, but, so far, nobody is taking new patients. Do we just not have enough therapists in Portland? There's certainly a surplus in LA, so what's the deal? I did get a couple of recommendations from friends and I'm waiting to hear back if they take my insurance. Cross all your appendages, people!

It often feels silly that I'm struggling when all seems to be going well in my world. I'm with the best man I've ever known and he's been impossibly supportive and patient through all this, something I don't always know what to do with because I've never been treated so well. I have a decent job with many duties that I truly enjoy doing. And, of course, no work is without stress and I've been wondering what's wrong with me that I can't handle any sort of stress. Maybe, even though I'm capable of a lot, even though I'm creative and intelligent, maybe I can't handle putting so much of myself into my work. Does that make sense? I'm the type of person who does her work 100%, but what room does that leave for any personal happiness? I really struggle (and have always struggled) with how to maintain that balance. 

At any rate, it's easy to fantasize that a mystery relative with bequeath me a fortune and I can be self employed and just write and take photos and travel. Wouldn't that be the life? Le sigh. 

I'm sure a lot of this stress and anxiety is due to issues popping back up again, my childhood abuse, my adoption. Certainly a major part is that I spent most of my youth trying to earn a love that my mother would never give and I've found myself in a loving relationship and I think, deep down, I'm scared as hell of fucking it up (you know, because it was always "my fault" that my mom beat the shit out of me). I'm running ragged trying to keep it all in place. When it's most probably not that fragile at all. But I can't help but revert back to past fears because that's what one does. 

Hello, therapists! Hello? 

And, I have to say, I'm really homesick. When I moved from California to Oregon, I never anticipated that I would get homesick or that it would be such a production to go back to visit. It's a long way! California is a long-ass state, yo! So not only does it take a pretty chunk of change, I have to make the most of it and see every person in every city in the LA and San Bernardino area. It's a production. 

We are planning a trip down there this summer. We've been talking about it forever and, dammit, we have to make it happen. Boyfriend hasn't met anyone really and I need to see them too and, of course, we must go to Disneyland. Obvi.

I don't miss most of it. I still maintain my reasons for leaving, namely the heat and smog, but also a faster, more shallow way of life. 

Would YOU miss that? COUGH COUGH

I love Portland in so many ways. But it's truly difficult being so far from most of my friends and family. At least one of my best friends is here! I don't know that I could deal without her, because I don't actually have all that many good friends here. Sure, I have friends and I have my boyfriend's friends and we hang out and have a good time, but that doesn't compare to the lifelong friendships and connections I left behind, people who just know me so well. I miss them like mad.  

It doesn't help that Portland traffic is making me crack up. Honestly, I never thought that, after battling the Los Angeles freeways, I'd complain about traffic in sleepy little Portland, but I am. It's not the gridlock of major cities - it's the people. 

It's the drivers, the bicyclists, the pedestrians. Either people don't know the rules of the road here or they just don't give a fuck. There's no zoning out on the drive because you never know what someone will do. I have near misses every single day, no exaggeration. I'll almost hit a pedestrian who runs in front of my car. I'll almost hit a cyclist who runs a red light. I'll almost hit many many many cars who cut me off and drift into my lane and run stop signs and do crazy illegal things you would never think someone would do. EVERY DAY. Just this morning, I was cut off three times by cars and had to stop for two pedestrians sauntering across a 4 lane highway. Sauntering. Like they owned the goddamn world. 

And that's not even counting how many times I've nearly been roadkill by cars or bikes while I'm walking. I understand why people jaywalk here because crosswalks offer no protection. It's no wonder Portland is known for its great mass transit. They have to have reliable buses and trains because nobody here knows how to FUCKING DRIVE. Don't get me started on merging. 

Deep breaths. I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it. 

Clearly the answer to all my problems is money. I need to be rich so I can afford a helicopter to take me places (or, better yet, teleportation). And if I'm that rich, I won't need to work so I'll have less stress and I can afford any therapist I want to deal with my issues. AND I can afford to travel anywhere I want and bring anyone I want along. 

See? Money really can buy happiness. 

Anxiety and Driving in the Snowpocalypse

I have been planning on writing a post in which I tell you how I've been struggling a bit lately with anxiety and life changes and am looking for a therapist.

But then the snow happened and so clearly I need to tell you about that first.

BUT! First, a little about the anxiety. Years ago, before I moved to Portland and before I went through therapy the first time, before I cut off contact with my mother, and before I really started finding my own happiness, I used to suffer from what I lovingly call Random Anxiety.

Basically, it was anxiety that would come on with seemingly no trigger or with an illogical trigger, meaning something small that wouldn't make a regular person bat an eyelash would give raise my heart rate, get me all flushed and itchy, and short of breath and often in tears. I've never had a full on panic attack, thank goodness, because those are actually fairly scary and physically debilitating.

I've never had social anxiety, though being around lots of people for extended periods can exhaust me; my issue was more like high stress but I'd feel it even when I wasn't under that much stress.

I never really told anyone about this, except for my therapist (and my doctor before that), because I was so embarrassed to need medication when my mother was (and is) a prescription drug addict. Not that anyone should be embarrassed of needing medication! You do what you need to to survive this life, I say. But I was scared of taking meds, because of that, and so didn't want anyone to know.

The other reason I kept mum was because I worked very hard to display an air of confidence and control and I just didn't want anyone knowing just what a mess I actually felt I was.

Anyway, glossing over the next few years, I went to therapy, figured out my anxiety was triggered by all sorts of emotions I had buried as an abused child, and once I let myself feel, I was able to wean off my medication and learn how to handle stressors and have felt pretty great for years now.

Then the last few months, with some major changes (hello, moving in with my boyfriend!) and stress, and I've found myself having Random Anxiety once again (along with some other issues, which I'll tell you about another day). But, this time around, I knew the signs and what was happening and I've been good at doing the things I learned in therapy to calm myself down. And I've been looking for a new therapist here in Portland to help me work through these issues and get to a healthy place again.

As of yet, I haven't found a therapist.

And then two days ago, Thursday, the Snow with a capital S hit Portland. Snow hardly ever comes to Portland and certainly never this thick. Between the city never being prepared for snow and nobody (including me, the California girl), knowing how to drive in the snow, the whole city shuts down.

At 1pm, the powers that be decided to close the office, but I had an errand to run with a coworker that we couldn't get out of, so we headed to do that first. Everyone was trying to get out of the city (where I was) and the streets were packed.

Took this about 1:30 as I'd sat through 7 or so cycles at this stop light

We spent 2 hours driving 2 miles or so and then I could finally try to make my way home, which was 6 miles away. I was already fairly cabin fevery in my car, hadn't eaten lunch, though I did have some veggies and a nut bar in my purse and a bottle of water (which I was scared to drink because I didn't want to have to pee).

I finally made my way down to what I thought would be the best and easiest route home and came across a little fender bender blocking the only way. We were rerouted the opposite way and then U turned around back going south (the right way), but this placed me several blocks back AND behind some train tracks and of course there was a train and of course the train was going slow because of the snow traffic. I sat in that spot, not moving at all for about a half an hour.

Just sitting

Then I crept, block by block, for several hours, not making much progress, and trying not to lose my mind. I nibbled on my veggies, charged my phone, kept checking facebook, and called my boyfriend a lot to try to stay calm. He also kept offering to come get me and I was like, "Um, unless you have a helicopter, no. Your car would then just get stuck here and then we'd both be stuck in snow traffic."

There was just nowhere else to go. I was stuck there. Occasionally I'd get out and scrape the ice off my windshield wipers and run back in my car soaking wet, so at least there was that.

My anxiety was obviously rising and I'd waver between feeling okay or sardonic about the whole situation and feeling like it was the end of the world and I was going to have to spend the night in my car and freeze to death and goodbye cruel world.

Creeping along

At some point, I had the wherewithal to call my dad, who is a retired firefighter, and he pretty calmly told me I'd be fine and to keep checking in, and gave me a few practical tips. Thanks, dad.

Though, as dramatic as I am and as anxious and trapped as I was feeling, really the worst hadn't hit yet.

At about 5:30pm, I was able to get off the main road and get onto a side road I knew that I could cut over to my original route much further down. And, it was pretty wide open. Harder to drive on, to be sure, because the snow was getting pretty thick (and believe you me, I don't have chains), but at least I was moving!

I made my way out of the city and followed the backroad I knew, driving slowly, and sliding around here and there. When I turned to make my way up the small yet steeper than you'd think hill to get to one of the two main roads to my house (not including the freeway), I promptly got stuck in the snow. Every time I tried to go up, I'd slide back. So I braked and put my hazards on and started crying because I didn't know how to drive in the snow really and my car is so not 4 wheel drive.

Then a cop car pulled up behind me and helped me back up up and go another way. Thanks, random Portland cop who showed up at the right time! Seriously great timing on his part.

I headed toward the other route I knew, which I wasn't super hopeful about because it's a smaller road, but what choice did I have? I called my boyfriend and put him on speaker to keep me calm, because I was pretty much freaking out by this point. It was dark and icy and the snow kept coming and I was definitely scared of not getting home and, since I saw no Tauntauns around, I'd probably freeze to death.

So then, of course, there's quite the windy hill on this other road and I got stuck in the snow yet again. And, this time, every time I try to back up, I slide more and more around so that I'm getting perpendicular to the road. And I'm crying and freaking out. I try to pull over to the side, thinking maybe I can abandon my car on the side and walk to Starbucks or something where my boyfriend, with his  4WD Subaru (the official state car of Oregon), can come rescue me. But it's not working. I can't get to the side because there's too much snow.

Finally, I was able to back up into a side road and turn around and head back where I came. Boyfriend told me to go to a grocery store on that road, where he'd come get me and I could leave my car until the Snowpocalypse had passed.

I get to the grocery store about 6:15pm, sooooo excited to walk around and thought to by some gluten free bread (we were out) and wandered around, stretching my legs, and Boyfriend called, saying he can't get his car up our steep driveway.

And then I really did flip out. He offered to walk to me (what good would that do now?) and I just kept yelling and crying that I'd FIGURE IT OUT! Sigh.

I can't remember how I decided to try to find a route to the freeway, but that's what I would try. I stopped to get gas just in case and backtracked toward downtown, looking for the freeway entrance (I didn't know that route at all) and, again, keeping my boyfriend on speakerphone.

It took a long time, but I slowly found the freeway and crept along with the surprisingly few other cars all the way to my exit and then home, where I found Boyfriend standing in the snow, waiting for me. I wandered inside, cold, tense, and completely exhausted at 7pm. I'd been driving in the snow for 6 hours and it took me 4 to go 6 miles.

Then I spent a half and hour telling everyone who was worried about me that I'd made it home safely. Finally.

It's been snowing steadily since and, except for going out to take tons of photos and play around, I am not going out in that. No way, no how. You couldn't pay me anything to get in a car in the snow again.

Here are some crappy iPhone shots of what it looks like today. Better shots coming soon once I actually finish taking them and then editing.

Pretty sure my plants have died. And our front step is completely gone.

Anyone have a shovel?

Pretty

This is our driveway. Yup. Promise.

Random Thoughts of a Crazy Lady

I love Oregon. I do. I love it here.

Except for one thing. Merging. As in, on the the road. You know?

Like merging onto a freeway. Or from one road to another where you don't have a stop sign and are meant to simply merge.

Not too hard right? Wrong.

Because Oregonians can't merge. They can't do it. They stop and they freak out and pretty much drive me batshit crazy.

If you did that in LA, you'd be dragged from your car and beaten.

And that would be reasonable.

FUCKING MERGE! That's what you can hear me screaming from my car at any given point whilst I am driving.

Fucking merge.

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I have always worked with people. Whether in retail or with clients or whatever, people. People's files, people's names.

And what I have discovered after all these years of seeing people's names? I am a 12 year old.

I can't see the name Warren without thinking, His name isn't Warren? I thought his name was Warren. My name isn't fucking Warren!

Name that movie.

If I see a name that happens to be a character in a film or a famous person (or even sounds close), I can't help myself. I start quoting (or just giggling most annoyingly). I once met a customer named Jake Ryan. Jake Ryan! As in, "Is your dad a big man, Jake?" And, "No more yanky my wanky. The Donger need food!" Yeah. You know what movie I mean. If you don't, I'm not sure we can be friends. I'll have to really rethink things.

Sigh.

The other day I saw a client file (which are labeled last name comma first name comma the type of file) and this file had the guy's last name and his first name was Tu and the type of file was PAC. So it said Tu PAC. I swear. Tu PAC.

Like I said, 12.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soooo remember when I went kinda gluten free? I'm pretty much all gluten free now. Except I don't go so far as to check what kind of barrel my wine was fermented in or anything. But for the most part? Gluten fucking free.

And it's fucking fantastic.

I feel so amazingly better you wouldn't believe. I'll never go back. For me, it's all about realizing my body wasn't processing the gluten and not about a health choice. BUT, because I feel so much healthier, it's just win-win.

Yeah, certain things were hard to give up and I still crave occasionally. Namely, bread. I have found a couple of decent gluten breads, though there's just no replacement for a good French bread or flour tortilla. But I don't miss that stuff much most days anymore.

And since I discovered gluten-free beer and ciders? I've gained all the weight back that I lost going gluten free.

It's awesome.

~~~~~~~~~~

So I'm dealing with a leetle drama with my old landlords, which I suspect I can't even discuss in case we go to court (for reals! to motherfucking court!), but the assholes are trying to screw us the fuck over and it's a stressball of epic proportions.

I am trying my best to just do what needs to be done and not freak out until I need to freak out. But DUDE! this  totally completely utterly supremely sucks hairy monkey balls. I exaggerate not.

Please send us all your good anti-asshole landlord vibes because if I have to pay these people, I'm gonna cut a bitch. 

~~~~~~~~~

The Raw Photos Contest is in full swing! The theme is people, but we encourage you to get creative with it.

Speaking of which, I've been a phenomenal dork and keep telling folks to "go shoot some people!" Because it's awful and mildly disturbing and in poor taste and therefore funny. Right? Until someone I tweeted that right after the Oslo shootings (being completely innocent because I'd been so busy that I hadn't read the news or been on the Twitters!) and my friends told me I was being an asshole. Yeah, sometimes I just have bad timing. Extremely bad timing.

Anwayyyyyy,

Submissions close Saturday so make sure to get over there and submit and see the awesometastic submissions! Sun and I are gonna have a hellofa time choosing a winner.