The first "bad" day

I knew it was bound to happen.  That first "bad" day since starting treatment.  I was warned.  My perfectionist self denied it would happen.  I would be able to just skate through, only having the "good" days filled with positivity and determination.

Not so much.

It was already brewing.  I could feel it sitting out there. 

"When will I have a bad day?  Will I have a bad day?  Does that mean I failed?  If I DON'T have a bad day did I fail?"  And so on and so on and so on. 

I knew today was going to be tricky.  Too much "new" on my plate.  I'm meeting with the Nurse Practitioner for the first time.  I'm going to be talking about getting started on meds.  My appointment is too close to a kid commitment and my parents need to pick her up and drop her off at the actvity.  I'm trying a new crockpot recipe.  All trigger points.

But, I was holding it together OK.  I don't know if there was one specific moment today when it tipped to the other side.  I'm going to list all the things that contributed.  Maybe that will help at some point.

I slept chaotically.  Dreams of vampires chasing me.  Dreams of "friends" being nasty.  Woke for the 5th or 6th time at 6:09am and comfied up thinking I had more sleep time but really, the alarm goes off at 6:10am.

A friend specifically asked someone else to hang out with them on a facebook thread and not me.

I re-read my crockpot recipe and found I'd forgotten to but the ricotta cheese AND it only needs to cook 5-6 hours on low.  So my choices were for it to be potentially overcooked by 6pm or undercooked by 6pm.

I read a message from someone on a message board calling their daughter a selfish bitch and a big fat liar in response to an episode of the child stealing money from her Mom's purse.  It was so cold and so callous in its tone that it instantly sent me back to when I was 10-ish and doing the same thing.  This person's message was everything I feared my Mom would say about me and feel about me that it ripped a wound right open in my chest that I thought had been long buried.  To read a Mom saying those things about her 8 year old daughter just completely shook me.  I've always told myself that there was NO WAY a parent would ACTUALLY think the things I was worried my parents thought about me.  This sort of spiralled me into a bunch of "what if they did."

I'm disappointed that this translated into skipping breakfast - my goal for the week with the nutritionist.  And I can't help wonder if I chose to skip it BECAUSE I could add it to the "what's wrong with everything today" list or what.  So that makes me feel guilty - like I'll be chastized or something.

I'm NERVOUS about being on anti-anxiety meds.  Really, really nervous.  I don't want to be a zombie.  I don't want them to be the only way I can cope with hard situations.  I don't want to stop FEELING.  I know my brain is too fast and crazy, but it's the only brain I know.  I'm scared of the quiet I may feel if it's medicated.  AT least if it's in there and crazy I know I'm feeling something familiar. 

Today's just a hard day.