Thanksgiving was pleasant, but most definitely not relaxing. The day itself was nice – cooking, the smell of stuffing and sweet potatoes, friends and good conversation. But I was back to work on Friday – supporting retail means never resting on Black Friday – off to visit Tim at ODTC on Saturday, and trying to catch up on sleep and side projects on Sunday.

On Saturday morning, as I showered and dressed and got ready to go visit Tim, I started to shake. My entire body mildly convulsed as it got closer and closer to the time to leave. Tom suggested – and I did – take one of my anti-anxiety meds to try and quell the tremors, but the anxiety of having so much anxiety just put me in this Catch-22 of fear and trepidation. I had managed to calm myself by the time we got there, and our visit was pleasant. We took Tim to pizza, a movie, and to Kmart for new pants (he’s gone down a size), all fun and without any incident. But as we got back to ODTC in the afternoon to drop him off, I found I was unable to get out of the car to say goodbye – literally physically incapable of getting myself out of the car, to the door, and back to the car again. I kissed Tim goodbye inside the car, and asked Tom to take him in. And as I watched him wave goodbye and enter the building, the tremors returned.

I didn’t sleep very well Saturday night. I’m sure some of it was to do with my anxiety of the day, and some was Tom’s inability to settle – he tossed and turned for hours, and I finally gave up and got up about 3 AM Sunday morning. I’ve been very on edge when it comes to Tom as well the past week, as his struggles with self-medicating his depression away returned with a vengance in October and November. He does seem to be on track now, but my anger and dissapointment over his slip-up have left me fearful of leaving him alone, ever. I’ve requested – well, demanded – that he get professional help for himself this time. We will see if he follows through.

One of my close friends, one I rely on to help me through my feelings of sadness and anger when things get to be too much, will be undergoing cancer surgery at the end of this week. The thought of not having her to lean on, although overly dramatic at this point in her treatment and prognosis, looms heavily on me as well. She’s not sharing her feelings about all this with me very much, and I hope it’s not because she doesn’t feel I can’t take it right now.

So I sit here at work, feeling this overwhelming desire to feign sickness, go home, crawl back into bed, and stay there until the New Year. I find myself welling up at nothing, trying to fight back the tears so I don’t appear insane, crying at literally thin air. I get the feeling that, while I didn’t sign up for crazy, crazy is pretty much the center of my life. Nothing in my life is normal, and I have no control over anything in my life. I try to live in the moment, taking each moment as it comes, but that’s not very realistic, as I literally find myself struggling to make it from one minute to the next. And now I realize I am in that place where I have to decide between going back to therapy and, possibly, back on my own meds, or eat back on the 15 pounds just lost, as food is my drug of choice.

Man, I hate feeling this way.