From the Frying Pan to the Stove
It's been a while since I've written a blog and been really active on the site. First of all I miss those of you I know here but I have been sort of recovering and regrouping after leaving Adrian and moving back into my Dad's house. There has been a lot of positive...my anxiety has been less, I have my own transportation, I am still waiting for the second round of disability decisions, I am close to family, my daughter is doing wonderful and is so good to me sending me $50 every other week to help me, I've been making my own choices, I even have my sleep so much better now getting to bed between 8:30 and 10. So many good things. Something has happened though 4 different times which I need to get off my chest. My Dad and I get along most of the time but he is a huge trigger at times and can evoke a pretty big anxiety attack in me at times. Once because he told me not to put my hair up in a pony tail anymore that my step mom had cut my hair and "the pony tail looked like *beep*". It was an immediate trigger and I couldn't stop the attack. I finally got to my room took my anxiety medication and finally fell asleep. A second time was him telling me "If that guy called right now I bet you would go back to him because you are stupid.". He wouldn't stop even when I begged him. I ended up half blindly driving to where my step mom is staying at my Grandmother's so I could calm down. Both of the other 2 times have been about my weight. I have gained 50 pounds since my stroke. I joined a gym a week ago so I can be healthier which hopefully will help my weight as well. He has called me fat, told me I don't care about how I look, told me he wouldn't leave me alone, to go ahead and cry until I can't cry anymore because he doesn't care, more times that I am stupid. I can't stay at the house when he gets like that because he won't stop and the anxiety attack just gets worse and worse. Each time I have gone to my Grandmother's...each time right in the middle of a pretty severe anxiety attack. It's wearing on me. I find myself just silent and to myself more and more. My Psychiatrist is concerned...he made the statement "You fell from the frying pan onto the stove.". He shows more compassion and care than any Doctor I have ever had and we talk about what my future plans are and he encourages me. I just needed to get this off my chest. My hope is that in the future I will live by myself and make all my choices and be free of the hot spots. It won't be perfect but I think I would feel so much better.
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