Why I Was Scared to Be Online
This should have been written a very long time ago. As the title suggests, this is why I felt so scared to be online—due to having to quit my Clobazam/Frisium cold turkey—not when I first moved and was scared to be online then.
I wanted to try and explain why I couldn’t do it via my feelings, instead of repeating the simple phrases: “I’m sick” and “I’m scared.”
However, before we proceed, there are some things you should know:
1. This is all about me. It has nothing to do with any of you as readers.
2. I’m still a bit unstable in terms of making an initial increase of the med. That means, I may be prone to more “disappearances.”
3. I was/am not like this on a constant basis, yet I didn’t/don’t have much control. See #2 and as you will read.
4. I will try not to write in a clinical manner (as I tend to do a lot.)
5. I have not felt a lot of these feelings before, and in such a fashion, so I actually think I deserve an award for staying offline, ironically.
6. THIS IS LONG.
These feelings were intense. At times, I was so desperate for any kind of relief. I really felt my brain was just not capable of handling so much. A see saw, a roller coaster? Which of the three would be crushed first? Things would change so fast. Even from one second to another. It was unbearable (and still can be.) These feelings can hit immediately. Right out of nowhere.
Here, I will insert clinical. This is regarding my epilepsy if you don’t know.
I felt lonely, isolated, confused, and so full of self-doubt. At times, those feelings of self-doubt would turn into self-loathing. They would grow even larger to loathing the entire world and everything in it.
I was agoraphobic. Sometimes, that agoraphobia would spill over into feelings of paranoia. This would be why I would have to stay away from Twitter, for example. It would be overwhelmingly triggery.
It was like there was a huge party going on, and I never got my invitation in the mail. If decided to go anyway, I would walk into a house with massive amounts of people whooping it up, loads of helium balloons and awesome music playing.
There would be a never ending flow of champagne or any other beverage of choice. Even if I dared to say one word, the room would fall silent. Everyone would stare at me like I had three heads with pig snouts, my left arm had just been sawed off, and I smelled like I was wearing a dirty diaper. Needless to say, I would run away screaming through the host’s front door.
There would be the days where I would be incapable of leaving my bed due to such deep episodes of depression. All would be dark and I would continually ruminate over certain things. I could not stop no matter how I tried!
I would only get up to drink some water and go to the bathroom (I didn’t even bother with my blessed tea.) I’d smoke endlessly, because I couldn’t do anything else. No cognition or concentration beyond the rumination. No TV, DVDs or books. Are you kidding? Just enough room for some good ol’ PTSD.
My PTSD. It shot to such insane levels that I would have tearful, emotional outbursts at the most benign things. Sometimes, they didn’t even make sense! I freaked out when I saw a piece of fluff on the floor! I became so hypervigilant, I can’t even count the number of times I actually saw the minutes change on the clock. I would jump in fright if the lightest thing touched my skin—real or imagined.
There were times, I would sit immobile. I just couldn’t move. I think during a couple of them, I simply felt “numb.” Oh, what precious times, they were! To just feel numb. A tiny respite. It didn’t matter how tiny, just that I could experience it. I could feel nothing. Nothing at all.
My Asperger’s also continued to grow exponentially. How many periods of being non-verbal? I don’t mind being non-verbal, but one time I felt so embarrassed about it! Never am I embarrassed about any of my mental health issues! I’m a bloody Stigma Buster!
I began to have more and more meltdowns, and then began to self-flagellate for having them. I kept beating myself up for being a “baby.” The worse the meltdowns got, the more violent I became. This vicious and painful cycle could only be stopped with immeasurable time.
When the meltdowns stopped, then, a new cycle would happen. I’d start beating myself up, for beating myself for having Asperger’s.
Not surprisingly, there were continual thoughts of suicide and self-harm (cutting.) I did no cuttings and went nowhere near suicide. I just endured the feelings as long as they lasted, and eventually went away.
Undoubtedly, the worst negative thought I had to deal with was feeling homicidal. Now, I think you all know that I would never kill anyone. At least I’d like to think you wouldn’t and nor would I? Nonetheless, the fantasies and scenarios, the situations. The plans I mapped out, and who would be my targets. And why would they be my targets. Very intense feelings, indeed? Moreover, even worse when you are not afraid of carrying out all that you’ve envisioned.
So, is anyone still with me?
As I mentioned in the points at the beginning, I wasn’t like this all the time. Just a lot of the time?
There were days when I’d get up in the morning, have my tea and be full of plans and ideas; what I’d like to accomplish that day. But then, they’d all be dashed. As things moved into the afternoon, I couldn’t do a thing. This became so repetitive, that it knocked all hope out of me. I was defeated. Over and over. Day after day. Every day.
I guess I’ll end things now. Does that give everyone or anyone an idea why I was so scared to go online?