I have no idea where these pingbacks are coming from–they all seem to really be one blog, and a new form of comment spam. Some even have the same IP address. This is a post that is hard for me to post. I was thinking of turning comments and pings off as I often do, but was curious to see the types of comments I might get. I closed pings but not comments.
Once again I put a post into draft as it was poorly written and I don’t feel like redoing it. I can’t write a post I like.
I’m having a total anxiety attack. There is something I reach for when I do, but I try so hard not to.
Nobody thinks of me as a smoker. I’m not sure what a smoker is supposed to look like–not educated, not well dressed, not clean, not a good person, smells of cigarettes in body, mouth, hair and clothes. There are “closet smokers” who dress well in clothes that don’t smell of cigarettes, with bodies etc that don’t smell of cigarettes. Actually I couldn’t even go into bars and restaurants where smoking was allowed as I can’t stand the smell. They’re not allowed in New York basically anywhere and I don’t lament that.
Had I been born less than a decade after I was, I probably would never even have tried a cigarette. I began college just as Virginia Slims were introduced. My friend dated the distributor for the Mid Atlantic states. I never had a physical addiction and could stop for days. My friends all smoked heavily. They loved me to come over as my butts were basically most of a cigarette.
When my friends gave them up, I couldn’t. I suffer from a severe anxiety disorder–not something that could get me disability, but something that on days like today can make me totally crazed. Yes the anxiety disorder is the end result of having undiagnosed problems. Since I learned about NLD this past spring I have come to terms with it. I wish I had learned about years earlier. I wish doctors hadn’t laughed at me when I said “I perceive space differently.” As it turns out I very much perceive space differently than most people. Knowing it’s a real problem let me understand myself better.
I’m still left with the anxiety disorder which was probably made worse by the medication meant to solve it. When I went on Xanax, then changed it to Klonopin as the side affects are probably less, it was the pre Internet era. I read the PDR (Physicians Desk Reference) but the information was scanty compared to info available today. And this was the spring of 88, the meds were new. Nothing was known about long term side affects. I would have chosen relief over future cognitive decline as I was young and these things weren’t discussed then. Xanax then Klonopin were the first things that allowed me to truly feel relaxed
I have no idea if long term Klonopin use causes cognitive decline. It might lower my blood pressure and do other things that contribute to cognitive retention. I would argue that though I feel it doesn’t work much anymore, it allows me to function. I make a half decent living on the stock market. I take some risks, and the past three weeks were the roller coaster ride from hell. I didn’t panic. Without Klonopin running through my blood I might have.
All the talk therapy in the world hadn’t worked. Xanax then Klonopin did. It stopped working, as a miracle relaxer, sometime ago but left me with an addiction. I was able to lessen the dosage but only so much.
I have thought seriously about going into rehab for this. A part of me resists going into rehab with people who are getting off drugs that made them high. At least they had some fun. I realize that people who are in rehab for painkillers generally had good reasons for going on them in the first place, but this is where I become illogical and judgmental.
The real real real reason I’m leaving New York is that I want a less frantic life in a climate where I can walk for hours each day. There is much bad that I can say about New Yorkers but I have been guilty of everything negative myself.
Six years ago I realized that in order to save myself I would have to leave. It’s taken me all this time to get it together. I hope I’m not too late.
I know people who drink way way too much, who do drugs, but hey they don’t smoke so they’re doing great.
I read an interview with Jamie Lee Curtis who basically said that people who smoke deserve to die. I used to respect her a lot.
I can’t respect people who refuse to look at things as problems that don’t have simple answers
It’s so easy to put down or make fun of people who smoke. It’s so easy to think that people who smoke should get lung diseases, and that research for cures should go to more worthy people. It’s easy to think that people who still smoke are the dregs of society, lacking class and manners.
I never smoke in public. When people come into my apartment they assume that it’s a no smoking apartment as it doesn’t smell. I don’t sound like a smoker nor do I have a smokers cough etc. I’m scared to say more as I don’t want to curse myself.
I can’t blame my parents for this problem. They were fervent anti-smokers. I can’t even blame the Virginia Slim distributor. I needed something to do with my hands and mouth. My need for cigarettes had everything to do with NLD and anxiety disorder. When the Klonopin was really working I basically stopped. I have been on many “drug cocktails.” They didn’t work. Some made things much worse. My extreme anxiety had a weird affect. I was a people pleaser, always willing to help, always willing to listen.
Six years ago I stopped that. I lost many friends, but don’t lament that. I would let my anxiety out at my family, and/or the men in my life, and for that I’m sorry. None of them were perfect however. I had pretty much given cigarettes up when everything happened and my life spiraled out of control. I realized then that some of my friends were an addiction of its own. The first month, after 9/11 and before my Mom died was actually good for me. The entire city’s anxiety level matched my normal on Klonopin one.
I’m hoping that by leaving I will find a more simple life. I’m also scared that everything will come crashing down on me. I have put off needed doctor’s visits and tests. If I don’t go every three months at least I become phobic. I thought I had conquered that phobia but my doctors all seemed to opt out of insurance at the same time. I felt rejected. I know how stupid this sounds. I know they weren’t rejecting me personally but a health care system that is out of control. They’re “rich people’s doctors” and can afford to.
When I get to Myrtle Beach I will have to find doctors immediately. I have been told that doctors in South Carolina still take time with patients. I have been told that Klonopin isn’t as regulated as it is in New York. When I started you just needed to see a doctor every six months. Now you need a prescription every month. I can’t imagine abusing Klonopin, but I have never looked at it as a way to get high. Just a way to feel normal.
I feel so judged for smoking and for being a legal drug addict, but I feel more judged for smoking. I can sprout statistics on who smokes and for what reasons, but all people want to do is make fun of people smoke or look down on them, I punish myself enough I don’t need to be punished by bloggers.
I have looked through every drawer for a cigarette. I still only smoke the first third so I can find butts, but I usually throw them out.
If I tried to go cold turkey, or lessen the dose too much at once, with Klonopin I would risk seizures. I count every pill. The worst five minutes of every month are the five minutes I spend calling for the prescription. I feel like such a damn addict.
My apartment is undergoing much work. It looks chaotic. I need order not to feel anxious. I need to feel at peace in my surroundings. I can’t feel that here. I’m not feeling very social. This coming week has a heavy social calender as does the next several weeks. I probably should have gone away but this is my last holiday season as a bona fide New Yorker.
I’m not a person who believes that since I own a Manhattan apartment I’m owed the world.
Stupidly I didn’t have my apartment inspected when I bought it. It looked so perfect. I quickly discovered some problems and discovered others over the years. The owner and contractor fell in love and somewhere along the line must have realized that they were going to live with each other somewhere not here. There is a problem that’s an actual code violation.
I fixed many things over the years and left other things. I can’t and won’t sell until those problems are all fixed. I wouldn’t do to another person what was done to me. The gorgeous marble master bath has faucets that run in directions opposite the way they should. People with arthritis have a hard time using the faucets. That’s just one stupid example I did know and shouldn’t have looked the other way at–well I didn’t know people would find them impossible to use not having arthritis.
The private school across the street gave the city much money and was somehow able to circumvent the copious process of hearings and more hearings that is the normal practice when a building wants to add a floor. This is a landmarked block in a landmarked neighborhood, and the rules are supposed to be especially strict in that case. Two Sundays, not in a row, they have had a giant crane come early in the morning and commence much work. I found out that the signs, supposedly put by the police, prohibiting parking weren’t sanctioned by the police. I’m so tired of living in a city where money buys everything, but residents right to enjoy over priced apartments.
I bring my apartment into this as the two major things in my life right now are the state of the economy–the stock market and the state of Manhattan real estate. I’m not greedy but do hope to make a good profit. The bleeding heart in me thinks that I shouldn’t make a good profit when so much of the country is suffering. The pragmatist in me thinks that most people would never think that way and would do anything to make as much money as possible.
I feel more comfortable obsessing over real estate and the stock market than cigarettes, legal drug addictions, and being judged negatively by doctors. I envy people who can just do it. I envy people who put their self worth over a doctor’s scorn. My old doctors got me. My story is too complicated to explain when doctors won’t see a patient for a consult. I don’t like to talk in stirrups.
I don’t envy the part of people that makes them judge other peoples weaknesses or problems. You know what the kicker is? I don’t even usually inhale. I hold cigarettes for hours. I light them. I put them out. I have tried cigarette substitutes. They don’t work. I have tried basically everything.
I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that I dyed my hair a ghastly yellow blonde. When I woke up I thought, but all the ends would be split. I could spend my cigarette time splitting ends. Actually I have tried that.
I’m honest with my family and friends. As I don’t have a smoker’s appearance whatever that means or the stink a smoker is always supposed to emit, my family always forgets. I can’t imagine telling my sister that I have this__or that__because I smoke. That discussion might be a reality.
I’m sorry for the rawness and non-linear style. How classically me this is. If I attempt to edit it, I would spend days wondering if this or that is necessary and I would edit everything out but the apartment sale.
I’m not asking for the right to smoke in public, at peoples homes, etc. I wouldn’t want to for all the same reasons non-smokers don’t want it. I don’t miss smoking when drinking wine or coffee.
I’m asking that smokers be given just a bit more respect than the average murderer or pedophile is given.