My 10-year old pooch has a gangrenous wound on his left hind leg. All throughout the morning I was running up and down the stairs in my apartment looking for a way to get the hydrogen peroxide on his wound. It is smelly as fuck and I'm quite guilty because ever since I adopted my three cats, the poor doggy got neglected.
"The cone around his head is too small." I told my 19-year-old son. "I'm going back to PetSmart and exchange it…again." I climb upstairs again to shower. All morning I have been unable to focus. My mind raced like it's being chased by a rabid squirrel.
I know !
My 21-year-old daughter may have gotten peed off that I kept fidgeting that why she climbed back to bed after finishing her bowl of cereal.
Also, it's the second day that I'm off from work and I felt like I better do something productive like pack more stuff in the boxes in the living room. My family and I are looking for another place as my rent is no longer affordable. My landlord already issued me an eviction notice. All I've done today was do a Jeopardy! marathon with my daughter…then she went up to her room.
It's a struggle. My cats and my dog haven't been able to get rid of fleas. Since he's been biting on his leg to scratch it, the skin came off a patch from the lower leg and now my dog has a stinky wound. The cats are 1,3 and 7. Their fleas are 4-months old.
I don't think the clutter in my living room brought about by the boxes I've been bringing home from work helps with my agitation. It makes me feel cramped and just in a total mess.
Then as I climbed up the stairs one more time to get my shower going , I realized I haven't taken my Xanax. The coffee I made this morning – has kicked in and I am all the more apprehensive. My heart started feeling like it's being chased by a rabid squirrel. So I told myself to take a deep breath and darted to my bedroom to grab my bottle of pills from my work purse. As fast as I can, without pouring all the contents on my hand and dropping some on the floor, chugged one 1 mg pill.
"This is horrible." I thought to myself. "This explains why I had those dreams last night. I switched up from my daily Xanax to that worthless Ativan my primary MD insisted I take instead. I was off yesterday and thought maybe I take Ativan since I wasn't working. I took 1 0.5 mg in the morning and another one in the afternoon. My old doctor gives me Xanax. He's seen me in my worse – tears, shot, sobs…. and I couldn't care less if I take Xanax all the rest of my life. This feeling of near panic and not being able to control myself will eventually cause me more issues in my life I believe am not ready to deal with. At a point, someone at work or my neighborhood will get into my nerves and I might just yell expletives at them. I will either be fired from my 2-month old job or arrested for public disturbance.
Worrying about my dog doesn't help. Guilt doesn't help. Not being able to find my fucking hair brush doesn't help. I took more breaths stepping out of my house and wrote as I walked to my old van.
As I drove out of my parking space, my nerves started to calm down.