The Plan

More anxiety.  Waking me up.  Running through my head like someone on a treadmill. 

REALLY SICK OF IT!

Worried I'll get sick.  Worried we'll lose the business.  Worried I will get unraveled.  Worried we'll lose the house - just basically: worried my life will go to hell. 

Then the little thing in my head says "The worst has happened now we must plan every detail!"  Where I will live.  Where I will work.  How will I make it?  What will happen to the cats? 

Exhausting.  No one can run like that for very long.  I seriously worry about a nervous breakdown.  Which would be incredibly expensive.  God knows I don't want anxiety drugs.  I hear NOTHING good about those rascals.  I don't need to get addicted to anything, you know?  I just don't. 

I have enough on my plate. 

So.  I did sleep pretty well.  I just woke up at 2 AM freaking out about impossibles.  Impossible to prepare for's. 

I slept in with Biscuit, he was very cute on my legs today.  He gets into bed with me and curls up on my legs.  I find it very hard to get up, when he does that, and did my God Time later. 

Since I didn't take a shower yesterday, I damned sure had to take one today.   I did that and made myself quite presentable. 

The driver was early, and honking the horn like a jealous ex.  I tried to talk to her but she had a massive attitude.  Overall, she is very nice to her clients, but she is very controlling.  She basically said she's going to honk at every house, whether they want it or not, because that's what I do.

I did make a comment.  We were dropping off a legally blind woman at a building in a decent area.  2 other female employees were also there.  Ron asked what was taking so long. 

"Apparently we have to babysit until someone unlocks the door" I said "Even though there's two other people out there."  The woman got the point and exited. 

The driver is allowed to wait a few minutes after the drop off time, if it is truly unsafe.  They must wait if the client is intellectually limited.  So, basically, the driver and client were acting like it was the heart of the ghetto.  Maybe they do this every day, but we have to go to work. 

Ron and I have both waited (and I should add, it was light out) in really bad conditions, on rides, or waiting for the boss to show up with the key.  Ron used to work in the Tenderloin area of San Francisco.  Talk about bad!  It makes my local ghettoes look like playgrounds. 

I wasn't unsympathetic, but the whole "I have to hide in the car, even though it is safe" thing was just really stupid.  A rapist is not going to come up to 3 women, in front of security cameras, at an opening business with hundreds of customers, and assault you. 

Last one leaving at night?  It might be a different story. 

We got to work.  Since we had filled the machines yesterday, we didn't have a lot of work today.  I actually spent a lot of time sitting down for a change.   Nice, but it gave me time to think.

Mental illness, mine at least, is a lot like having an enemy living in my head.  It's constantly fighting me, sabatoging me, doing it's best to make me miserable all the time.  It's hell. 

I get tired, but I keep fighting because I have things to fight for.  My marriage.  My ministry.  The "good" family.  My cats, even.  The poor bastard who'd have to go through my stuff if I died. 

Sometimes the reasons to live are more important than counseling. 

Don't get me started on that.  I had years of counseling, thousands of dollars paid.  And no one saw I was bipolar?   The only thing that keeps me from rage and bitterness: the thought that God must have had blinders on them. 

By the time I was diagnosed, I was desperate for A Plan.  Any Plan.  When it arrived, I grabbed it with both hands and never let go. 

Thank God for that.