Sugar free Werther’s should kick my ass any time now. I’ve ingested about eight of them. When nervous, I do repetitive anything, so I’ve put them away and pulled music out instead of the oral fixation thingy.
(Wait, just one more.)
OK, put the bag away. I’m done.
(Wait, one more….)
Why do we do that sort of shit? It’s not like the Werther’s candy, in all its buttery goodness, will fix whatever it is that ails me. It isn’t magical even though it kicks so much candy ass it’s should be in jail with a candy cane as its Bitch.
So, why do we have our “woobies”? (Woobies are calming or soothing rituals or items.*)
Don’t you dare lie.
You are lying like a rug. I’m going to call you Lilac from now on, because you lilac anything. We all have woobies.
It sure beats drinking or shooting I.V. drugs into your vulva, right?
Well, yeah, provided the woobie doesn’t become a maladaptive behavior causing more harm than it solves. If your woobie is a blankie and you never wash it and bacteria grows on it. One night you rub your blankie across your lip and it has a pimple on it (The lip, not the blankie). The pimple becomes a breeding ground for some morphed, space age bacterial infection that eats your face. Sure, the doctors save you, but they remove your face and you must have Charles Bronson’s face transplanted in the stead of your own because that’s all they have left in the fridge besides an avocado. Then you have to keep explaining to people who you are, indeed, not “Chuck” or a delicious dip. That would suck. What would suck times two would be if you did the same thing all over again. That’s when you know your coping mechanism is now a maladaptive behavior.
What were we talking about again?
Oh, I remember.
Nervousness and woobies.
“Why, E.G.!“, you are asking yourself, “What’s got you so nervous that you will ingest diarrhea inducing chemicals??”
There is a level between hospitalization and simply being a straight-forward outpatient case. Each place is differently named or titled, this group can go from one “full” day to five full days weekly…I call ours “The Back of The Vegetable Drawer“*† . I have agreed to go back for a while a couple of days a week in an attempt to slow my roll toward hospitalization.
Please understand: the psyche hospital is NOT a BAD place, nine times out of ten. No one wants to be hospitalized, but it can also save our lives and give us back some quality. Please don’t ever be afraid of admitting you may need to be some place safe. That’s how it felt for me: safe.
Because it scares my kids and E. is still at home with me daily, we are trying to go for a happy medium. I can have more sets of eyes watching my mood and give me some place to really be just me, with no apologies or explanations needed in order to be accepted and begin to look at how I feel, and maybe some of the triggers I need to address. This allows me to be home with E. but from nine am until three pm, a few days a week, I will be focusing on me, my issues, my thoughts, my grieving and the like.
So, while one-half of me (the snotty, elitist, loner who covers up for the scared, kid full of self-hatred….where’s that woobie??) is not looking forward to it, the adult half of me is exhausted and looks forward to the help.
Oh dear Mother of God. The Werther’s are kickin’ in…move out of the way.
*I own this definition. If I find you using it I will staple your lips to your knees…or something like that…OK fine. You can use it. You big baby.
†Because that’s where you hide the stuff you want no one to find and want to keep for you but then you forget you stashed it there. When you run across it, you go “Oooooooooooh yeah! Cool.”