wildaspie

I started having anxiety attacks a few years ago, when I was working two jobs.  I had them on Tuesday afternoons.  When I figured out what was going on they stopped.

Basically, I was having the attacks on Tuesdays because I worked one job Monday through Thursday and the other Friday through Sunday.  By Tuesday afternoon my body figured out another week had gone by and I didn’t have a weekend in there – a time to relax, or at least do work more directly related to my own home, family and projects.

I listened to my body and made some adjustments to my schedule so that I could have the time I needed for myself, and the attacks stopped.

Then a year or so later, the seizures started, and I ended up with a pill-pushing charlatan of a neurologist that *started* me on a ridiculously high dose of Depakote: 1250mg a day.  I called it “Dope-n-coat” because it reduced my life to an existence in pale fog.  And it had no effect on the seizures.  Finally I got a second opinion, got the dosage reduced to a reasonable level (250mg/day), and although the seizures were still unaffected, the medication was very effective at preventing one of the kinds of migraines I had been getting regularly.

And since then, the anxiety attacks have returned.  Only now they strike without warning, no reason, to way to prevent them.  Finally, after a week of four and five attacks a day, I saw the doctor and got a prescription for a med to help.

It’s been a couple weeks and so far so good … except that last night I didn’t take it, and today, sure as sunshine, I got walloped with a panic attack.  At least it reminded me to take my pill – I am notoriously bad about “staying on meds” even when I feel they’re helping me.

I’ve never really been a “joiner.”  As I browse blogs I see all kinds of affiliation badges: Mommy Bloggers.  Eco Carders.  Christian groups; divorce support networks; single parents; weight loss; crafters …

Although I have children, I don’t consider myself a “mommy blogger” – I am definitely not one of those women who feel their lives revolve around their little darlings.  I love my children and they are important parts of my life.  But only parts: I am still a *person* with my own interests and goals.  Being a mother is not the end-all, be-all of my day.

I also have a Husband, but again, I do not stop being me because I am a wife.  We unschool the kids, but the other homeschoolers near us are too different (most are using Christian curricula, and a few that aren’t have family-raising views too different from our own to make me comfortable with the thought of interacting with them).

I’m mostly agnostic, as is my Husband; the children are largely undecided, although the eldest finds Buddhism agreeable most of the time.  (Not always; she likes meat too much to become a frugavore.)

I suppose I just don’t understand the “join” mentality.  When I was young I never fit in with my peers, and perhaps that failure in those formative years set the pattern I have today.  Whenever I find a group of people I have something in common with, I find myself focused more on the inevitable differences.

The only exception to this has been the drum circle I attend during the warm months.  I think, mostly, I have been able to participate because they only meet once a month and because it’s a very casual affair.  I can show up or not, and it doesn’t mean I do or not belong.  And, most everyone there also self-identifies as not being able to belong anywhere else, so it is that very comfortable environment of a group that does not like groups.

The irony is delicious.

We found each other last autumn.

It’s simple enough to say I have never met anyone like him.  But that is deceptively simple.

We have a lot in common, and are similar in many ways.  And in another person, those similarities would probably cause problems: many times I have found that when some one shares certain personality traits with me, there is no room for give-and-take.  Those very similarities force distance rather than forging closeness.

Perhaps it is the difference in our ages that makes it possible for me to overcome that potential pitfall.  I have always dated older (sometimes very much older) than myself, in part because I am drawn to the wisdom and self-assurance that comes with age and experience.  But “my” technopunk T is younger than me, which puts me in the rare position of being the older, maybe wiser one.

Although he modestly self-depreciates his intellect, he has that same spark of brilliance I can’t help but respond to; his skill with computers is intuitive to the point of technomancy.  He pursues knowledge and reads as voraciously as I do – and despite our affection for each other he never lets me get away with sloppy logic or compromises his own point of view simply to be “nice.”

Neither of us has any interest in the pabulum of pointless social prattle.  Sometimes we spend hours in discussion, ranging widely in topic and tone; other times we simply “hang out,” each of us mostly focused on our own projects but keeping communication open, even if it is mostly an exchange of smiles capped by hugs goodnight.

And sometimes, there are the intense, sweet interludes of physical affection.  All this is more than I could have ever hoped for in a friend and lover; and yet, I am further blessed by the fact that he is – to use the vernacular – damn hawt.

I try not to think too much about it in general … I am just thankful each day to have a friend like him, and thankful too when we can be “friends with benefits” … Now and then I do find myself contemplating a future wherein he has come to join my family, and somehow I manage to cheat the odds again and have a happily ever after with two wonderful men and my children.  But those thoughts are always brief, and fleeting.

If nothing else, I have learned that the fastest way to ruin happiness is to overthink it.