Panic Button

There are times when I sit down to write about yet another one of our normal weirdnesses, and I worry that you're all going to start to think I've either got Munchhausen's by Proxy Syndrome or that I'm simply starting to make stuff up just to keep you amused.  Because really, it's always something, and it gets to the point where I can't quite believe it, except I'm living it, and here we are.

Cookie's anxiety is out of control.

As an adult, it's easy to shrug off children's anxiety.  After all, what is there to be anxious about?  Math tests? Soccer games?  We all had those, we all survived.

I guess.  But our kids are growing up in a world where "pimp" and "ho" are Halloween costume options for six-year-olds.  Where a grown adult cyber-bullies a seven-year-old girl, dying of Huntington's disease.  (Rants from Mommyland has that tale of horror summed up rather nicely if you haven't heard the story.)  Where a 15-year-old boy was set on fire by three other boys, over a DVD, $40, and a bike.  Where toys look like this:

Yeah, I'm pretty sure this world is going to hell in a handbasket.  I'm about ready hit the panic button myself.  So there's that.

Plus, you know, it's Texas, so there's random tornados and whatnot. And when the siren goes off for a tornado drill at school, they don't tell the kids it's a drill.  Also?  The best time to have a tornado drill (apparently) is on a day when there's an actual tornado watch.  This makes sense, because the kids will be freshly prepared should a tornado actually hit. However, it also ensures that at least half the kids are totally going to wet their pants when they're told to go into crash position in the hallway while the wind is whipping outside.  (This is good reason for me to never become a teacher.  I'd be all panicky, screaming "we're all going to die!" while mascara streams down my face.  Then I would pop a couple of Ativan and pass out drooling in the middle of the school library under a pile of stuffed Clifford dogs.)

So those are all anxiety factors right there.  Plus there's my anxiety genes, also known as the Double Helix of Crap.

So when Cookie's anxiety hit the fan, we took action just like you would take action if your child had any other kind of illness.  Medication for children is not something I take lightly.  But when a kid can't even relax enough to utilize the relaxation techniques, there's a problem.  Also, I'm not going to let her suffer just because I wish she didn't need medication.

So there have been doctor's appointments and prescriptions and forms.  Oh my heck, the forms.  Here's some sample questions:

Cookie's anxiety is improving, slowly but steadily.  The medication has been a big adjustment for her (physically) and me (emotionally).  She has had a couple nights of waking up at midnight, stumbling and mumbling down the stairs to find me, out of her gourd.  The loopiness makes me giggle and breaks my heart at the same time.  I carry her back to bed, her body relaxed against mine.