What anxiety feels like

I’ve read so many articles on news sites, medical sites, Christian authors’ sites, and blogs enough to know this will probably rehash a few things you have read before. My purpose of writing this is to tell you what anxiety feels like first-hand, from someone a lot of my readers know or you’ve been reading this blog long enough that you feel like you know me. Many of the later have sent me emails and I appreciate it very much. I, too, have read other bloggers for a length of time and they feel like a friend. Thank you all for being my friend.

Having anxiety is knowing you have what honestly feels like you have a million things to do, but literally cannot fathom getting up to do a single one. I say literally because it’s true. You do not know how to start your day.

Having anxiety makes you feel awful about breaking plans with a friend because you cannot leave the house. Not because you’re too busy. Not because that friend will talk your ear off and pick a restaurant you don’t like. Because leaving the house means taking a shower. Taking a shower means you have to do your hair and makeup and not wear yoga pants and slippers like you’ve been in for two days because you can’t face people. Because facing people means you’ll have to talk to people and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Having anxiety means you put off phone calls because you don’t have the energy to call and pretend you’re ok and normal.

Having anxiety means you might take a medication just to get you through the day, but that medication might make you so relaxed that you’re comfortable watching a movie on your sofa instead of getting out.

Having anxiety makes you procrastinate. Even procrastinate doing things or seeing  people you love because of what the expectations might be.

Having anxiety feels like everyone is judging you for not being at whatever the event is that you didn’t go to.

Anxiety means you sometimes have to fib about why you weren’t at that event.

Anxiety feels like you’re lying and it’s only a matter of time before you’re found out.

Anxiety feels like you’re wearing a mask when you’re in public.

Anxiety makes you feel that you’ve let other people down.

Anxiety makes you feel like you’ve disappointed people.

Anxiety makes you feel like you should give up.

Anxiety can (not always) lead to panic attacks. Panic attacks feel like a heart attack. It’s a physical AND mental thing.

Panic attacks make you feel like a freak.

Panic attacks make you not want to engage in the activity or go back to the place in which you had the panic attack.

Most of the time you cannot stop a panic attack from happening or simply make it stop.

Having anxiety makes others around you say they understand because they’ve been anxious before.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder is not just being anxious. It is a disorder just as Autism Spectrum Disorders. No one would argue that Autism is real, however people often do not understand of believe that GAD is a real disorder.

Anxiety makes you feel like you should be able to “snap out of it” or “cheer up,” as well meaning people tell you. But you can’t. Just like you can’t tell an autistic person to stop being autistic.

Having anxiety makes you angry when people tell you to “give it to God” as if you haven’t tried to pray away your thoughts and feelings. Sometimes praying is all you can do when your thoughts are racing and you can’t sleep because of them.

Anxiety makes you wonder if those same people tell people with cancer to just “give it to God.”

Having anxiety means you are sent this verse by Christian friends and family:  “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7

Having anxiety means you ask yourself if those friends and family members send Bible verses to friends with heart conditions as a cure-all for what ails them. And you answer yourself: “no, they would ask if they’ve gotten a second opinion. If they have a good doctor. If they’re taking medication.”

Anxiety makes you feel as though you let your Christian friends down even though you know what is in your heart.

Anxiety makes you feel alone.

Having anxiety feels like there is no good reason for how you feel, yet it’s inescapable.

When you have depression and anxiety it’s another dibilitating two-for-one package.

Having anxiety means no one can see on the outside that something is wrong.

Having anxiety means you don’t have a cast or a cane (even though you feel broken). You’re not dragging an oxygen tank behind you with tubes going to your nose (even though a panic attack makes it incredibly hard to breathe).

Anxiety feels like a slow death. Dying from the inside out with a life expectancy the same as any other “normal person,” only you’re not normal.

Thank you for reading as always.

I meant no offense to my Christian friends. I’ve been a Christian since I was 11 and I love Jesus. I don’t blame Jesus for not “curing” my anxiety just as you would not blame Him for not curing your tuberculosis. It’s not a matter of not believing enough. It’s not a matter of the condition of my heart. It’s a mental condition.

crafts for poor people

As you may have guessed from the title of this blog, I enjoy the crafting.  Not so much crafting as scrapbooking (although I have been known to make fabulous Christmas ornaments, mainly my faux mercury glass ornaments).  Anycraft, I've been artsy crafty for as long as I can remember and I grew up less than wealthy, so I love the idea of Amy Sedaris' new book, Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People.  

Sedaris is a comedian and the book is written in jest, but I assure you, when I'm elected Something or Other, I will bring crafting to the poor.  There will be a social program for crafts.  Crafting is a right of life just like healthcare and cell phones and it's about time our government recognized this.  

Let's watch Amy Sedaris on the Today Show.


I want her dress.  

Also, non-crafters may not realize the problem of craft-induced back and neck pain.  This is exactly why we have massage therapists at ScrapFest!  Thank  you, Amy for bringing this problem to the public's attention.

P.S. Drunk/medicated crafting is where it's at, but don't tell anyone I said that.

all purpose update

It's been a while since we've talked hasn't it, friends and interwebs strangers?  I thought I'd do an all-purpose update now that I'm back from ScrapFest and decently recovered from that and surgery.  Here goes.

  • Gallbladder surgery isn't fun.  Apparently people think "laproscopic" means "magically done by a swami" because I've had several peeps say things like "well, at least you didn't have to get cut."  So, I guess I'm imagining the four incisions.  Could be — I was on some pretty good drugs.  
  • my surgeon told me during my post-op visit that my gallbladder was highly inflamed.  Yeah, I could have told him that.
  • I ate a lot of soup during recovery.  
  • I watched a lot of Food Network during recovery and have decided I need to become friends with Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa.  We could cook together at her Connecticut house and and eat things with real butter and cream and drink fun cocktails.  I was thinking this before Ina was mentioned on 30 Rock the other night.  I love that show, but it's weird that they are somehow accessing my thoughts.
  • I watched a ton of movies during recovery.  I cannot name them, I was on Percocet.  I do remember watching Black Dynamite though, and I highly recommend it even if you are fresh out of pain killers.
  • I do not recommend working on pain killers.  I could not be a drug addict.  While on drugs, I made some ScrapFest! forms and small signs for our raffle table.  They were wrong and people told me all weekend. Never said I was perfect or for that matter, even competent.  
  • At the event, my friend Melanie posted on my Facebook page that someone saw my profile pic on her laptop and said "who is that pretty girl?"  Melanie informed her that it was me.  Apparently I do not look like myself live and in person.
  • I ate half a brownie at ScrapFest! before Megan knocked over my tea, dousing the brownie.  I was mad. 
  • A fly landed in my coffee this morning.  That really throws a kink in my breakfast of champions — coffee and the 5 different medications I take every morning.  
  • The hubs painted the kitchen and living room while I was sick.  The color I picked is called Latte.  This may or may not be a coincidence.
  • My new favorite stupid television show is Hillbilly Handfishin'.  It is a real show.  I am not making it up.  It ranks up there with Billy the Exterminator, but is no Pawn Stars.
  • Would someone remind me to make an appointment at my hair salon?
  • I have decided upon my new alias.  I'm not telling you what it is, that's why it's an alias.
  • I'm visiting the hometown for a few days next month.  If you've been reading the blog for a while, you know how these visits usually go, so put me on the prayer chain.  
  • Facebook's suggestions get on my nerves.
  • My scale is broken.  I plan on going to Target and testing out the scales — whichever one I weigh less on is the one I will buy.
  • I see nothing wrong with that plan.
  • A few days ago I heard there is a new movie coming out called It's Kind of a Funny Story.  For what it's worth, this is what the title of my life story was going to be.  For real.  

That's all for now.  More to follow.

the Kerry blog: now with 80% more randomness

Welcome to my brain today.

Last night I went to bed with a huge sense of relief after finishing my friend's website, ready to dream of rainbows and fluffy kitties and Andrew McCarthy in 1986, but woke up in the middle of a dream where I was having dinner with Jeff Lewis (from Bravo's "Flipping Out") and Anderson Cooper, talking about the balloon boy from Colorado and I'm pretty sure we were at the Red Lobster.  What does that mean?

Balloon boy's name is Falcon.  Who names a kid Falcon?  What are the siblings names?  Eagle and Rooster?  Sparrow and Ruby-throated Warbler?  Finch and Red-breasted Nuthatch?  Poor kids.

If I had a red-haired son I would totally call him Rooster as a nickname.

I made the mistake of going to Best Buy today.  42 people asked if they could help me find something, so I finally said yes and asked where the recordable CDs were.  Chickie insisted on leading the way, I followed.  There were a row of CD-Rs and chickie says, "here are the CD MINUS Rs."  Minus.  I'm thinking if you use those you'll actually subtract part of your music collection from your iTunes. 

No, I didn't correct her. I know the dash means nothing for CDs.  

My garbage company hates me.  Over the past month, they've cracked the front of the can to where it's barely hanging together and today, somehow they garbage men managed to break a wheel off of the can.  If only there was video of my attempt to drag the one-wheeled can back to the garage — it would be a You Tube sensation.  Of course, it would have to be bleeped every other word, but a sensation nonetheless.  

I dropped an entire pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen floor AGAIN tonight.  I have the coordination of a sleepy toddler.  I was going to say "drunk toddler," but that would be wrong.

Our modem is trying to die.  It's been doing this turn off randomly thing for couple of weeks, then last night it wouldn't come back on for 10 minutes.  I called AT&T about the thing today.  Chickie tries to get me to "troubleshoot" it.  I told her I was damn close to shooting the thing with the rifle and she needed to send me another modem.  Chickie verified that we have the extended whatever and says it will be here in 3-5 days.  Welcome to Kerry's troubleshooting — it's not working properly, send me a new one.   I have PMS, you don't want to try me right now.

Pms At Walgreens, I stood in front of the PMS over-the-counter section for at least five minutes trying to remember what I usually buy.  It seems there are many more boxes than before.  Drug companies, I have PMS, I don't need options right now.  I need a box that says "take this now for your cramps so you don't kill someone with a pen in the parking lot."  That's the box for me.

All the ingredients in the PMS medicines are the same, so I don't know why we need 20 to choose from.  I picked Midol.  And M&Ms.  You know, for the extra caffeine in the chocolate.

I saw a commercial tonight for Reese Witherspoon's new perfume.  Do y'all remember way back in the day when the
only celebrity who had a perfume was Elizabeth Taylor?  Am I the only
one disturbed by the fact that we live in a world where anyone can have
a perfume? Avril "I'm so punk!  Look at me, I'm Canadian and I can flip
the bird!" Lavigne and Tim McGraw both have perfumes.  I'm unveiling my
new perfume next week.  It's called Kerrageous and it has all my
favorite scents in one bottle: geranium, sweet pea, honeysuckle, mint,
chocolate chip cookies, and cornbread. And butter.


forecast schmorecast

Kerry's weather forecast is brought to you by the fine people at the pharmaceutical company which keeps her medicated and motivated.

Here is the 10-day forecast for the Covington area:

Screen shot 2009-10-10 at 11.04.55 AM

That's right, a week of storms, lows in the 70s, highs in the 80s, and 90% chance of Kerry losing her mind.  

the Kors quote post: I feel like a pope at a sex club

Can we just talk for a minute?  I've taken cough medicine and started this post.  I am medicated and motivated, people.  I am wired.  But enough about me, let's move on to the me in my head.

Do you watch the Project Runway?  Huh?  Do ya?  Well, ya should.  Here's the rub: Michael Kors and Nina Garcia have been missing for weeks and I have missed the bitchy, sarcastic, snarky, bitchy, hysterical, ridiculous, bitchy judging styles of Michael Kors.  He's like my fairy godfather of bitchy comments and I've missed him.  He's like me, only male and gay — judgmental, with sarcasm and you know he says things out of love, like moi.  He's like me, only orange.

The Kors and I have been BFFs in my mind since season one of PR.  Here are his best quotes from the six previous seasons.  Keep in mind — these quotes are about outfits, that's what makes The Kors hilarious.

It's a little like a woman going out to eat ribs.

It looks like toilet paper caught in a wind storm.

It's a little mother of the bride.

I thought it looked farty.

She looks like a paper brioche.

You're a mess just standing there.

If you didn't do that jacket in fleece I would have been like give me a Xanax, I'm asleep.

Nina Garcia: You went from a wedding to a funeral.  Michael Kors: …Or a French maid at a funeral.

It's a little Shirley McClaine when she played a hooker with a heart of gold.

She needed a feather duster.

That was so Paris hooker 50's.

I think she looked like $29.99 prom.

AND my top 4 fave quotes:

Next thing you know, it's big button earrings and you're on 'The Facts of Life.'

Scarlett O'Hara ripped drapes down and made a couture dress…this, she ripped the sheets off the bed and ran out the door.

She looks like Barefoot Appalachain Lil' Abner Barbie.

I feel like a pope at a sex club.

Don't we all just feel like a pope at a sex club sometimes?  That's what I like to call 1992-97.  I'm telling you, I was/am the goody two shoes Adam Ant sang about.

Well, honeys, he's back.  Here's the preview.  And yes, he says "teal charmeuse disco pumpkin" which is now what I want to be for Halloween.  Has anything more festive ever been said?  Teal charmeuse disco pumpkin?  Shut up. 

is that a rhetorical question?


What am I on meds for?  I'll take a case. 

one weak week

It's been an odd week for this chick, so I'll start there because it's always nice to start at the beginning. 

Monday was normal.  The hubs was sick, but everything in Kerry world was fine otherwise.

Iphone 003 copy Tuesday sucked.  The munchkins and I were on the way home from the club and I got into my first car accident.  I rear-ended a woman, pretty much knocking her bumper off.  Go me.  Before I go on, everyone was fine — no need to worry or start a telethon for donations or anything.  The middle child asked if I would get a ticket, followed with the question "will we go to jail?"  So far (fingers crossed) I can say I've never spent time behind bars, but I told her we'd go to jail if we didn't behave.  The police show up and I hand over my license, registration, and expired insurance card — of course my card expired on my birthday and I hadn't put the new one in my car yet.  Awesome.  Then deputy Megan shows up, jumps out of her car asking if I want her to take the kids or if there's anything she can do — I was expecting her to say she was once a traffic cop, because as those close to her know, Megan has had every job on the planet.  By the way, I'm not exaggerating here — Megs has done everything from designing kitchens to taking newborn photos in the hospital — I never know what's next.  We will be sitting in a restaurant or something and I'll wonder aloud if the paella is any good and she will bust out with "you know, when I was Castro's personal food taster, I had great paella."  And I'm all "I didn't realize that was a job or that you'd even been to Cuba."

So, I told Megan everything was under control and she left.  I got a citation and the middle child asks if it was a ticket.  I said yes and the four year-old goes "yea!"  as if it were a prize.  Once I get home, Frugal Beth calls and tells me her mother saw me after the accident standing on the median.  Later, on Facebook another friend tells me she saw me too.  I felt like a minor celebrity.  By that night my neck and head hurt and I've been popping Motrin since.   Oh, the pic is of the car I hit, notice the bumper.  And I didn't know they still make Lancers.

Wednesday night we took the kids to see Thomas Live in New Orleans.  Driving across the Causeway, the hubs asked where I'd like to go for dinner and he suggested Chevy Chase's place.  My hubs is a very bright man.  He can do all kinds of math, knows the ins and outs of complicated computer programs, and is great at what he does.  He's not so good with names.  Make that horrible with names.  I informed him that Chevy's Tex-Mex restaurant is not Chevy Chase's place.  It is not an understatement to say he was shocked.  His reply "but it's called Chevy's…" made me question his brilliance.  I went into analogy mode –because my hubs is the king of analogies — and told him that the toilet paper brand Scott's doesn't make it automatically his.  I think he understood, but I'm still not sure.  No doubt I could not endure that conversation if it were not for medication.  This blog should be sponsored by anti-depression/anxiety meds, I'm telling you. 

Summer 09 046 We ate dinner at Chevy's (not Chevy Chase's place) and went to see the show.  Once we found our seats, I started reading the tattoos of the woman sitting in front of Andrew.  The back of her neck said Sarah.  Her hand read Ms. Pink in swirly letters and there were different sized stars going up her arm.  She turned her head to talk to the woman sitting to her left and to reveal more stars coming from below the bra area (she was wearing a very low-cut top) and going up her neck to behind her ear.  Another family shows up on their row and informs Sarah that her family is in their seats.  Color me surprised because Sarah seemed like the type who knows her way around an arena.  The show began and ten minutes in a 50something lady is asking me to move my purse from her seat and I obliged, then she says they've paid good money to be there and want to sit down.  Huh?  Are we gonna have a throw down?  I moved my purse, grams.  Grams, Gramps, and a kid sit and don't stop talking the entire time because apparently they felt the show needed to be narrated.  Intermission.  Grams tells her hubs, who is named "Dammit George" to get them drinks.  He asks what type of beverage, she replies "Dammit George, I said Cokes!"  He walks away, returns with said Cokes.  Grams says "Dammit George, I thought I told you to get cotton candy."  He walks away, then turns around, maybe 15 feet away and yells "red or blue?"  In my head, I'm thinking that it's pink and not red, but I'm not going to interject.  Grams yells "Dammit George, get the blue!"  I start to wonder if he was Dammit George as a child or if he got the pet name once he married Ms. Congeniality.  

Thursday was a day spent on the computer from morning 'til way past sundown.  There was a bit of work to be done on the ScrapFest! website, just cleaning up a couple of things that most people woudn't even notice — then I decided to make a favicon (that's the little picture you see next to a website in your address bar and in your bookmarks or favorites).  I made a pink scalloped circle with a blue fleur de lis inside, uploaded it, and put it on all the pages of the site.  When I got to the FAQs page I saw an empty page.  Somehow there was no saved version of the FAQs page, so I remade the whole thing — it was time consuming.  I fully intended to write a post Thursday night, but instead had work to do.  Gosh, I sound like a real grown up.  Ugh.

So, this has been an odd week, complete with my first ever car accident.  I know, hard to believe I haven't caused more accidents, right?  That's what I thought. 

With ScrapFest! looming I'll be quite busy for the next several weeks, but since practically all my work is either in Photoshop or the Interwebs, I'm hoping to post more since I'll be on the computer anyway.  The hubs thinks I'm on this thing a lot now — he hasn't seen anything yet.  I hope he likes the new nickname I'm giving him, "Dammit Scott!"

goodbye 2008, felt like I was just getting to know you


Dear Reader Friends,

Wishing you a healthy and happy new year!  Thanks for reading in 2008.  We've had some fun, haven't we?  I've shared, you've shared, and we learned some things together — mainly that I know a lot of stuff about stuff and I like to shop, tell you about music you might not be familiar with, and explore the things that amuse me.  Occasionally we talk about serious things, but we're here to have a little fun and retreat from the chaotic everyday grind.  I appreciate each and every one of you who stop by to read (you know I like you the best — yes, I'm talking to you) and I sincerely hope you have a wonderful year.  

Much love,

stupid hormones

So, I'm not feeling up to blogging at this moment, maybe I'll post later.  I think I may take some Motrin and have a nap or send the hubs for some Cold Stone.  And I need to take my happy/anti-crazy pills.  They should make that a Cold Stone flavor.  The PMS flavor with Motrin, anti-anxiety meds, caffeine, and lots of chocolate and rich tasty goodness.   Oh, and on top of feeling like crap, we were out of creamer this morning, so no coffee for me.  And I have an itchy throat and a cough.  And these stupid hormones are making me irrational (ok, maybe more than usual) and I've apologized for things I had nothing to do with.  Man, being a woman is the bomb!