This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...

This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Beware Of Flying Boot

"You'll come running back to me..."

Things got a little ugly around here from the stress, I actually lost it, and finally went off like a naughty person. Ugly words were exchanged, but I made no apologies for my outburst that was building and coming for a long fucking time. I've been holding a lot of shit in to keep the peace, but had to let it out for FFS - finally - because I have my limits too. There was a moment as to which direction the heavy boots was holding, and that I was going to put on, were going to fly: in the direction of someone's head, or toward the area of a door. They pretty much hit the door, lucky for the spouse.

I can't remember throwing something that potentially painful, if you were on the receiving end, for a longass fucking time, so you can only imagine how many months to a year or so I've been letting things sort of slide. Partly letting them take their toll on a part of me, causing me depression, but at the same time, building up some fucking red hot motherfuckin' ugly, potentially violent, unpredictable. I say "potentially violent" meaning that the well-deserving provoking person's (i.e. the spouse) head could very likely or would become the target of some crazy object one can quickly grab and hurl without thinking.

Fortunately, for the "target", I am not only blind in one eye, and therefore have no depth perception, I'm nearsighted as fuck in the other, so it's unlikely anybody would get harmed except for me out of sheer embarrassment for missing by a long shot, and letting something stupid let me lose my composure. Well, at least I got an apology for ugly words that were exchanged without feeling guilty in the least. I felt I was in the right, so I was pleased and accepting of a fucking well-deserved apology for once in my fucking life.

After that incident, I learned later that the spouse really did show up for his doctor appointment, even though it was only a GP, but he'd made an appointment and later went to a counseling session. I'm guessing to talk more about me and my "issues" instead of manning up to his, but it's a start. I'll give him that. I was glad he went. It gave him a reason to talk about the shitty atmosphere around here lately. Since then, the heavy atmosphere of unneeded stress and worry has been lifted considerably.

My agoraphobia is really not agoraphobia anymore, I've decided. It's just anxiety. I managed to handle being in a crowd indoors at a Dias de los Muertos celebration earlier in the month, which was cool. Now I'm just dealing with this going out by myself a bit differently in my head. The feelings and sensations aren't as heavy and all-consuming that I have to totally over-medicate to push through. It's somewhat different, but impossible to explain. Still fighting the anxiety though, it's changed a bit. The ugly game has changed, and is not as ugly and gut-wrenching. But fuckin' A, I still keep my meds on hand just in case. :D I'm still crazy, not stupid!

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Couch Carbohydrates

 "True Blood" marathon for the couch potato within
It's been a "True Blood" marathon on the ol' TV - what they used to call 'the idiot box', but which is no longer a box. Those were the old, old days. Imagine growing up in a world where there were no PCs, cellphones, and flat screen TVs. Yep, that world existed. No wonder people went crazy for coke and disco. I was too young for the coke. Not my cup of tea anyway. I can only imagine the terrorizing agony of anxiety it would cause. I'd fucking explode or die of a heart attack! Personally, I miss the old days when things didn't seem so shitty. Season 6 already. Almost done with the whole show. Shame. There were some funny characters, the least being the leads.

Mood is steady, under control, heat is on, but I'm still finding it hard to believe it's fall. Without the the perphenezine, and seroquel, it feels like my medications are more effective at times, or have more "side effects". Not bad ones, but I'm getting tired of the tiring one that happens too often. Maybe I'm taking the topiramate at the wrong time of the day? I'm too lazy to look it up. Could be the effect of being tired and slow, could be depression. Yes, mood can "seem" to feel steady, but the depression can still be there as another kind of thought. No drug can stamp out all emotion but painkillers, I would imagine. So why don't the shrinks prescribe those kind of "happy pills" when nothing else works anyway? It would also be convenient to have specific chunks of memory numbed out completely. Zap! But permanently.

The brain... What a bitch. A bitch that's too fucking active, and that will never shut the fuck up!

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Day Of The Living

God damn, broads are tuff, despite their hormones, any MH issues... Yeah, me, today, right now.

One day you can feel, literally feel like slashing your own throat in front of a mirror with a brand new straight razor so you get it right, hit the right spot, see the start of the  blood gush out, see it clearly in your mind (among other suicidal visions), then bleed like you may need to go to the ER the next morning, realizing also that your head is clear of the deadly, noxious fog of stupid, useless emotions that you really have no control over due to hormones and "mood disorders" -- those "emotions" or thoughts that drag you to visions of suicide and/or creation of a "plan of action".
Madness? Self-kindness. Self-mercy. Self-care. Whatever can get your mind through that bit of time needed.

I gave up... well, quit is a better word, 16mg of perphenazine at night that I suggested/decided to take to both humor a couple family members and shut the spouse up. He thought I was "paranoid", acting "paranoid", and for some stupid reason decided to share that with an OCD and PTSD diagnosed relative (unmedicated, in denial), and the fact that I have a (legally purchased) pistol (with a license to carry a concealed pistol in effect). This is ALL (xcept for buying the gun, of course) due to the continued phone/computer douchebaggery/destruction/fuckery/childish games, now violating civil rights and constitutional rights with 'threats' of blackmail. What can you do with that? We shall see. Well,  the fact that he doesn't believe any of it, when he, himself has been affected by it.

Why the fuck would he do that? This relative does not know me, though they are close family. They are not friendly. They are pretty fucking antisocial themselves. Why he didn't call a friend who actually DOES know me is a complete fucking mystery, not to mention completely fucking stupid. He called the most hysterical, worst possible person he could call. So, eventually he had to tell me that he made this stupid phone call, and if topiramate didn't exist, he may or may not have kneecaps after that fucking stupidass violation of privacy and motherfucking stupid move. Nah.. I can get ugly, but only physically if someone attacks me first.

I had to talk to the whacked-out relative over the phone and convince them that the spouse is completely overreacting, and that the gun is not a big deal. It's for protection, as in self-protection, if I ever get outside alone. I mentioned one of the local drug dealer's death threats that I got, and she is just terrified and completely ignorant about guns to the point of NUTS. "Oh we don't want guns in the house"... I don't give a fuck what you want in YOUR fucking "safe" suburban haven, where no one can hear you scream... I never had plans on shooting myself. It's not my style, and not why I bought the gun in the first place well over a year ago, which I already mentioned. Now I've got to worry about if anything my daughter may know about is worrying or worried her.

The spouse also offended me by saying, "You're acting like (I think...) you're one step away from a tin foil hat.' one day. It was then that I wanted to punch him in the face, but the topiramate just sort of eased over those thoughts in almost an instant, replacing them with... almost "mellow" ones, surprisingly, but still irritated in a strange, calm, rational, controllable weird way rather than all-out furious about opening his trap to my family in the first place. And for being a dick. He should be kneeling down and worshipping the topiramate, and maybe asking me to up my dose a bit, offering to pay for every cent of it. All due to the fact that he's "tired of hearing about things not working on the computer or phone", and that he thinks I'm acting "overly paranoid". He just won't open up his fucking eyes, and refuses to see the proof that is available in b/w and//or color, right in front of him.

Fucking stressful as fuck having to live with someone that completely doubts you, writes you off, and thinks you know absolutely nothing that has anything to do with computers, just because he can add memory to his computer, buy loosening a screw or two, and snapping it into place, like any other monkey can do. He can't even make a guess at HTML and/or Java, logs, script in general, fucking names of programs loaded on ones computer? Or suss out a fake web page? After two OS destroyed on 2 sep computers, phone OS destroyed, fake bills, fucked up bills, now trying to violate my civil rights to get/sign up for Medicare Part D, etc. And yet he still refuses to examine or learn more about evidence presented! JFC! He cannot bear the thought that I might know something that he doesn't that has something even vaguely to do with computers or "smartphones". He cant bear to think that he is less knowledgeable about ANYTHING, or could be, than me.

I am on my 3rd (I think) try-out computer at the moment, trying to pick out one that feels right and has a DVD player, CD/DVD RW, and good sound. I think I want a little portable entertainment center and maybe some games (new to me). I have plenty of DVDs to watch, and CDs to play, if I have to dig those up. I was crazed at packing time and tossed the cases to make more room in boxes.

Since then, I've managed to get out more alone. "Armed", yes. It hasn't been a lot of times, but it has been when "necessary". I have dealt with people when I've had to. I still hate talking over the phone (due to the continued fuckery also - always did), but have dealt with that too when I've had to. Unfortunately, I never get to speak to a real worker from the company or bank, or other that I'm trying to reach. It's exhausting, but not for my foot to tap on the button that hangs up the phone, nor for my mouth to spew obscenities and shit. Bad acting and a limited amount of voices make people recognizable. The computer and phone are really nothing more than a convenience than a necessity.

I haven't yet made it all the way to the suburbs on the buses yet, which is a goal I've set, as I have a friend that is stuck out there, unable to drive, and in the disabled way of physical pain, so it's hard for her to get around. I'd like to visit, make it all the way out there, somehow. I know I'll make it. I have to admit, I do feel more safe having a gun in my purse, not carrying a wallet, and the least amount of valuables possible when out in public. Now if I could only use cheap purses, but I can't. I have to have good quality leather or some other stylish, well-made fancy fabric. Picky, picky, picky.

Here's to a happy late Dias de los Muertos

Day of the Dead is what I had been looking forward to in a way, trying to make myself less and less anxious as it came about finally. I bought makeup and a top hat to wear to the public celebration. I became less an less sad and anxious, and was good to go when the event came around. It wasn't that bad as far as the crowd of people part - there were a lot of Mexicans, lots to look at, lots of entertainment and a badass tamale stand with horchata. My daughter and her friend showed up as well as a friend and her daughter. I was all made-up, and dressed up. I had trouble sitting "like a lady", I noticed. Not used to wearing a dress! I did stuff myself in the end with Day of the Dead pan dulce too. Oops! My ancestor were honored, offerings given up, invitations to come back secretly sent out. It was a good night. Lots of people took my pic due to my make up and getup. I didn't mind at all. Hopefully one will email a copy to me! Didn't get a whole lot of pics. It didn't feel or seem appropriate except for the set-ups of the altars and "graveyard". Seeing kids with their faces painted was cool. It made me wonder what the non-Mexican or non-Day of the Dead were telling their children as they dragged them around. It seemed very bizarre to me. What could you say to a kid that wouldn't confuse them?

Now I have to stay alive in order to stay at a friend's house later this month. That ridiculous "holiday", "thanksgiving" has been cancelled. I have to remind myself that I have something to look forward to besides Dr Eye Candy, the shrink for now, halfway decent sleep last night and maybe more due to active hormones, and maybe some snow! Peace and quiet, hanging out with an old friend, getting away from here, and possibly playing with a dog in the snow. And wearing my ridiculous furry hat! I have reasons to go on kicking and screaming, if necessary. No restraints, just shoot me up with Haldol. I don't care if I drool.

I'll be just fine when this shit blows over, I'm physically "normal" again, and all is groovy. Well, groovy-ish. Back on more on even ground with the emotional crap and not falling asleep all over the place. Today is such a huge difference from yesterday's moods/thoughts/feelings/depressive shit. Hell, I might even make it outside again soon.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

"Ocean Rain"

"Ocean Rain" - Echo & The Bunny men
One of the best records ever. Buy it now.

Gone a long time due to much fuckery with computer, electronic issues, etc. 

Tired. So very tired, I thought last night. I went to bed and there were tears welling up in my eyes. My nose was stinging. I let a couple spill, that was it, thought no more of it and went to sleep at 7pm.

This morning I realized why I've been having weak thoughts, emotions not fully under control (mainly only sadness), why I've let a few tears spill here and there (maybe 2 or 3), and been so damn tired that I nodded out on the bus twice as I was racing to get home to "safety" and "privacy".

It's called PMS, and nothing more. Now it's over and it's cramps and physical, not emotional. It's so good to be rid of unnecessary unwanted emotion, but I did have a revelation during that previous week. 

I decided I did not want my spouse to participate in the Dias de los Muertos upcoming celebration. He did not seem to understand or get a grip on the events, the traumatization of such events, and their lasting horrible scars that led to the death of my mother and a huge portion of the cause of my PTSD. So I don't want anybody around me that isn't participating to celebrate, respect, and remember their dead to be anywhere around me when the celebration goes on. I want to hear music, I want to see a procession, and I want to see people smiling. 

I'll bet money, if they come,  that my friend's daughter, will be all made up and in black! She's a big horror movie fan. That would be cool not to be the only one made up, but if I am, so be it, because it will be fab. 

I will have to give the makeup a practice run soon, and try and call my daughter to see if she can make it with all that school and work going on. Wishing she could, but understanding if she can't. Another time. We can make our own Day of the Dead any damn time and fly to find my mother's grave and pay a visit. I will have all prepared then, which would be so cool, hopefully I could get in touch with cousins, second cousins, uncles, aunts, etc, in and near town that could maybe meet up and go. It's been so long, and I have nothing but fond memories of all the kids that I can remember as my cousins, and some Uncles and Aunties that are still around, like my mom's sister.

So I look forward to Halloween, my favorite time of the year, when the candy corn and chocolate candy is abundant and you can't escape it. Unfortunately, before that, I have a Dr Shrinker appointment before that, but it is with someone nice, and that is familiar. I just don't want to have to try and make the choice of trying to go it alone on 2 buses (fear of freakout - great fear of freakout), and I don't want to have to have my spouse take time off work. I don't want to have to deal with his anger problem, but maybe I can turn it around to work for both of us, to both of our advantages.

That means this latest of another brand new computer is going back to the store, a macbook   air. The last was a toshiba. This macbook thing was a disappointment except for how light it is. It seems too easy to scratch up and thrash. Also, of course incompatible with just about everything, and DVD drive has to be bought separately, but not at an insane price, at least.  

I still might go for another one, but that is at least equal to what has been destroyed so far due to someone ELSE's paranoia, NOT mine. Jebus yeah. That's going to be a bit, plus, that's going to mean my girl will be gaining some new extra external hard drive space if she still needs some, I hope.

This has been a long, trying, fucked-up irritating, stupid, sad, weird, yummy, embarrassing, childish, suckass, time since I last wrote crazy post #105, or whatever it was, but my meds and some success at fighting agoraphobia alone have been pretty amazing (+ ME), but really fucking anxiety-ridden, and full of fear of anxiety attack/breakdown in public. Almost happened yesterday. 'Just look at the fish (spray painted on a wall at a bus stop), just look at the fish,' I told myself (a la "The Walking Dead": "Just look at the flowers..."), when I could feel my eyes heating up and the beginning of hot tears getting ready to well up. I managed to look up and blink them back in and sniffle. I had to ask a lady older than me, who could see better if I was getting on the correct bus number. I told her I have 'low vision'. I guess I really do... I can "feel" my typing mistakes most of the time, and now I've got some glasses that will magnify stuff, if I need it, which is often. I now carry around a card-shaped magnifying thing or glasses. Oh, the meds... This current combo has seemingly been the best so far as mood extremes, especially rage, but it seems you can never do anything about that little paper that has suicidal thoughts written on it, that's filed away far, far away in the back of your mind. All you can do is say, 'Today, I think it's filed away right now." I hope I can stay on it long term, and I hope my next computer has a number keypad on the side, because I suck at typing numbers. Always have. Always leaned on 10-key, like they used in the old days.

And so it is, so you try to keep on track with what you were planning on doing today, which means you have to make a list because your memory is so fucking awful. Start the list! I go now, then out into the "Ocean Rain"...

Note: Any errors are not mine. This was checked BUTT good. 

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Thursday, September 11, 2014



In 1984, the powers that be still tell us this old "lesson" translated into "The American  Dream" still holds true! So toil away at your work, brothers and sisters, work your hardest, do your very best to become the most doubleplusgood worker! You are being monitored on your computer, and if not by cameras and bugs, then by your co-workers, who also want to be the most doubleplusgood worker. Can you blame them, brothers and sisters? Certainly not! We're all here to Obey Without Question!

Your other choice is to become a Hero of the Nation, a worthy pawn and most valuable property of your government by joining the military! You will be told you are fighting for democracy and the American people! You will become part of the world's largest economy - the American war machine! Your will legally murder complete strangers! You will handle exciting weapons that can kill strangers in ways you couldn't have imagined! You may or may not see your family or friends ever again, and if you do, you may come back without an eye or two, leg or two, arm or two, some or all of the aforementioned. You may return in a complete vegetative state or a body bag. But you will come back an American Hero, dead or alive, and someone, somewhere,  will wave a little American flag for you! You will be treated better than those poor souls that came back from fighting in Viet Nam. You are even guaranteed medical care, now that national scandal, cover-up, and death business has been swept away! You are even guaranteed mental health care for the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, depression, and other anxiety disorders you may develop as a result of becoming a American Hero. You might even become one of the lucky ones at the DOD and receive a chip in your brain to cure you and manage your surveillance. It's for your own good, of course!










Thursday, September 4, 2014

Something Ugly's Growing Inside...

I don't know how I manage it, but I continue to scrape my useless ass up off the bed around 5am, throw on some clothes in the dark, and go make a pot of coffee. I even mentally and emotionally sort of prepare myself for the bitchiness of a "non-morning person". As if that's an acceptable excuse at this age. There's no point in me trying to sleep through the spouse's 5am alarm and his morning noises anyway, so I get up, even if I'm exhausted, or am waking from a dream, thinking that it's someone else next to me! D'oh! That happens on rare occasion, and I normally don't know who that person is or is supposed to be. I am under the impression that he has begun to resent the fact that I don't (can't) work.

Somehow I managed to get through the wee morning hours with the grouchy ass spouse. Even though he called in to work and said he was going to be late, just so he could take his time getting out of here. He complained about work. Because of the holiday, it's only a 4-day work week.

Something ugly is growing inside, and wants attention from me. I am trying to avoid it.

They were let off early today as well, so I was caught sitting on the couch, still in my post-treadmill stinkiness and mess. At least I managed to force myself and beat yesterday's "record" without a problem. It's getting harder and harder for me to mentally force myself on the treadmill, but easier for me once I'm on it and make sure I'm watching something that will really take me away, no matter how many times I've seen it ("Supernatural" this time). I can't wait for the latest season to come out on DVD, even though I really can't afford it. Put it on the credit card and make the spouse pick up the interest fees as payback.

Speaking of finances, I remembered the last huge statement that one of the psychologists I was seeing (and stopped) sent me, thinking, "what if I fucked up and owed the fucker some money?" So very very very reluctantly, I went through the huge piles of bills again, his pages of statements, and remembered the fact that he cashed the last check I sent. I figured out that it looked like I actually overpaid, and that he owed me money, so I wrote a neutral note this time (haha), and am sending it along with parts of statements he sent me. He's an idiot, and I thing he pretended that he had an accountant in the first place. He didn't look like he could afford such luxuries, especially working less than 40hrs pw, I noticed.

I noticed it was dark this morning, and I realized I could maybe get out in the early mornings again. What's really fucking sad was that the last time I did it alone is recorded on a starschmucks card, showing a transaction from the last week of April! I saw it when I was finally adding some stars to the account, and checking on the value of a card I found. I almost burst into tears, but it was just too incredibly shocking and pathetic. It could be wrong, but probably not. They stopped printing bags with the "free coffee" offer trade-in for the bag. Cheapass motherfuckers. It is still really fucking sad that I can't remember the date that I last got out by myself. It must have been early May, using a coffee bag.

I'm considering going out tomorrow morning, but I really want to make it up the street a few more blocks to the drugstore, to pick up a couple of notebooks for journals since I can't use this computer. It would be light by then, at 8, according to the weather channel hourly reports (yeah, OCD about weather reports and being prepared) and it looks like it will be a bright day. I can't handle that shit, and I know it. I don't know know... maybe with a mouthful of my prescribed clonazepam for the day, a cigarette, sunglasses, ipod, and a hoodie? Who knows. I'll only know how I can do it, or if I can do it tomorrow. Fuck.

I'm off to shower before reading in bed. That will surely knock me out. I'll be up early again, trying not to wake that "something ugly" that seems to be growing inside. Maybe I can drown it out with coffee or distract it by making it outside? I've still got credit on that supid coffee card and need to use it.

Dread. Better go find my solar-powered watch for the person who never goes outside before I forget it's near the window and "lose" it... 

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Where Did Our Year Go?


Wow. I can't believe I survived another year and have this as documentation. I have also lost the weight I gained from medications and am back down or lower than last year's weight. I should be able to celebrate with some fucking whiskey. The shitty thing is I still can't get outside, and I shake more like a fucking freezing chihuahua again. But I love, LOVE this generic Topomax. It has taken my appetite away, and kitchen grazing habit to comfort myself, or for something to do away, oh so far away!

Everything has shrunk, even my wrists. My boobs have too, now I'm between sizes and fuck, bras are very expensive, folks! I washed a bunch of silly old smaller clothes I used to wear, wore one of the t-shirts to Sin City 2 (great flick!), and I still felt fat. Stupid stupid stupid, I know. I'm down to a size 2, and just as I've always been, I'm still ashamed. Doesn't matter if I get down to a fucking 0, not that I'm trying. I'll still feel like a fucking big fat ZERO. Never call kids or other young people fat or ugly or some other awful thing. It just may stick with them for a fucking lifetime.

I went hunting through dusty boxes of stuff stored in the bedroom, and some drawers rarely opened. I was looking for some machine oil. There should have been some where my sewing machine was stored away. Instead, I found crayons made in Mexico, a tiny plaque of a chihuahua with "pepe" written on it, a $2 bill, a flask shaped like a coffin with a tiny funnel, a fancy solar watch with tiny diamonds, a sharpie, and some jewelry I'd been missing for a long time. No machine oil. I did keep the watch, the sharpie, an old ipod, and a little notepad I found, and made a note of the location of the jewelry. Nothing fancy, just silver, crystal, jet.

I intend to wear that stupid expensive watch I bought while on a manic binge, throw on some black pearls (gift), and force myself outside within the next few days. It's crazy hot in here in the evenings, baking like a fucking oven. The spouse just ignores me, showers, then hits the sack early. Fuck.

"Family Guy" has totally ruined The Cramp's version of "Surfin' Bird" for me.

That damn story about the little 9 year old girl... Parent(s) thought it would be a great idea to teach her how to use and Uzi. Went full automatic, lost control, killed the instructor. Now that little girl will have to live with the fact that she took the life of a man for the rest of her life all because of HER STUPID FUCKING PARENTS. She ought to be taken away from them, poor thing... It breaks my heart... no reason, no excuse... that poor baby... Man, that is abuse. What were they trying to do? Turn her into a little fuckin' "child soldier"? Give her PTSD and god knows what else?!

I skipped the treadmill and was fighting off anxiety and thoughts of PTSD today. Flashes of red. Reminded me of Hitchcock's "Marnie", one of my fave movies of his, and Sean Connery (sp?).

It's a good thing there's no Popeye's in town, otherwise I might just make it there. Those are probably the only fast food commercials that get to me just a little... I didn't bother eating much today. I thought I'd have some veggies and then some extra protein packed yogurt, but I had a bite or 4 of green beans, and just lost interest. Hard to eat when you're not hungry now. It's wonderful. I will be eating something tomorrow though. Yogurt for sure. I need the protein, and it's nice and cold! Wish we had strawberries to throw on top for extra pesticides and flavor. Mmmm...

My cat somehow found my red nail polish the other day, bless her little heart. Now I can finally do my toenails and wear sandals.

Looks like we won't be getting a door to this slumlord's garage/shooting gallery. I think the new job duties of the security "guards" now include cleaning up the garage, and properly disposing of all the used needles. Haven't heard from the manager/slumlord's bitch, of course... Haven't seen the alleged drug dealer that served up the death threat either.

You can't scare a person with bipolar who's attempted suicide many times in the past by threatening them with death! It's fucking hilarious, really. It's more of a matter of the fact that I'm not going to let that piece of shit make good on his threat. That's MY choice, not his, motherfucker. I'm not afraid of some man. I've had the beat down from a man that was supposed to love and accept me. I grew to fight back, and there was no more real fear. I'll never forget that first time I got hold of his belt and hit him with his own belt, the buckle end, and asked him how he liked it.

Long time ago, another lifetime ago. I can't imagine trying to explain all that shit to my kid, or if she'd even believe me. Which reminds me of another thing I found while digging around: a strawberry Jello lip gloss she gave me. It's around here somewhere... :) All I have to do is think of her sweet face and her smile, or me making her laugh hysterically over the craziest thing/voice, and it makes me smile now. Just keep on remembering that face, not the red flashes.

I better hit the sack and get in front of that fan that's blasting in there. Up early, and try try try again to make it outside alone, through the front door, if only for a moment or so. Make time for it, and quit screwing around.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

No, Woman, You Can't Have An Opinion Online

Why can't I get the text to fucking format properly?!?!

First of all, FUCK YOU, JACK! [not you, of course]

A lovely expression.

All I did was simply answer a question, and this is what happens:

Question was something like... "Are you in recovery or recovering from PTSD..."

My simple answer, and most of the exchange will follow. Massive egos can't handle something that is different, something they can't control, something they don't understand. Just because you have extra letters after your name, or call yourself a therapist, let us not forget the massive, but sometimes fragile ego of The Therapist, or The Psychologist, or of many Doctors:

My answer and exchange (name hidden for ego protection):

FL Jones
10:34 AM

Recovering? I don't believe there is a "cure", or recovery from mine.

+FL Jones Well, then, I strongly encourage you to keep studying. I treat PTSD, and have
for almost 20 years. It's highly CURABLE, but you have to work with someone who knows
how to do it.

Pay attention to those who are properly trained and schooled, and who have years of
clinical experience. They are they ones who know most.

[note: you have got to be fucking kidding me responding to me as if I had an IQ of 30...]

FL Jones
2:35 PM
Studying? Studying the failure rate? I'd like to meet a therapist who could actually deal with Bipolar, PTSD and anxiety disorder all at once that takes Medicare, is properly trained, schooled, and up to date on MH info and Rx. I've been through far too many failures in my lifetime when it comes to any therapist even daring to deal with PTSD, let alone bipolar. 

There's only so much time you can read pointless misinformation about potential therapists on the never-updated medicare site before your head hurts and your eyes might be bleeding.

1:12 PM
I didn't say it would be easy. My point is that it's possible.

Bipolar should be managed with your psychiatrist, as it primarily organic. I find often that elements of what is taken to be Bipolar disorder are actually PTSD, and they go away when the PTSD does. As for "daring to deal with PTSD", what do you mean? It doesn't take daring. It takes proper training, some clinical experience, and a client willing to just do the work.

I can't do it for you. I do detect some anger in what you write. That may or may not serve you well. Getting the job done is the whole point. Anything that doesn't help you do that must be checked at the door.

I am reminded of mothers I've met who have a sick child and no money. They are relentless in seeking help, until they find someone who will just get the job done, period. You will have to find this person for yourself.

As for "taking Medicare", the problem there is that the law severely limits who can do that. I've cured more PTSD cases (i.e., no symptoms left - they no longer qualify for the diagnosis, period) than I can easily remember. But I'm not eligible to take Medicare. That's crap. Call your Congressman, your Senator. They are to blame.

If you walked into my office and couldn't pay for my services, I'd take you "on scholarship", with the following qualification: you will do the work or I'll fire you as a client. I expect a fair exchange. I virtually always get it!

Finally, there's this: I have NEVER, repeat, never, had a case of adult onset PTSD that I didn't cure, if the person stayed for the full duration of the treatment (which is not long). I use EMDR and related methods. They work.

I don't know your situation. If your PTSD developed in childhood, the situation is often much more complex and difficult. If you have a personality disorder and have trouble taking responsibility for what happens in your life from this point on, you are going to have trouble getting good results from anyone.

I wish you all the best.

FL Jones 
Dude, calm down. What I wrote about was frustration with experiences with the therapy I had experienced with my diagnoses, and the system. I don't know why you misunderstood my comments, and decided to take them personally. Resentment and anger is what I find so thinly-veiled in your "response". I wasn't directing my comments at you (at all) as a professional or a person. I never doubted your education, experience, patients' success or even alluded to failure on your part. I wasn't trying to insult you, I was simply describing the failures that I've had in the past with therapists, on my own insurance and Medicare, and how not one of them would stay on or want me to speak on and stay on my particular brand of PTSD issues. I referred to them as "mine", my kind of PTSD. I did not refer to any other description or type of PTSD. I made no mention of the type of PTSD you work with. I only mentioned "mine".

Apparently it does take guts for some therapists to work on PTSD that began as a very small child. The many therapists that I tried hard working with kept shying away from the past, and PTSD. I brought it up time and time again, talked about it, and was misdirected. I haven't been fortunate enough to have anything "easy", nor do I ever expect anything to be easy, especially therapy! Jeebus! Good for you and your patients for their success, I say! I wasn't doubting you, your education, experience or your success with your patients, nor blaming you for the state of Medicare, for chrissakes.

Why is it that when a woman has an opinion, shares it online, on anything, she's accused of being "angry", and gets insulted? ("Personality disorder", etc in your shameful case),  "feminazi", "bitch", "ugly", "fat" etc? All, of which I'm glad to say that I'm not. Why did you feel the need to insult me with an extremely TIRED, totally offensive stereotype of a woman that equates to the "lazy" "welfare mother" stereotype? [note: quoting him] "They are relentless in seeking help, until they find someone who will just get the job done, period."  Dude, I handed OUT "welfare" as my last occupation! It was my job to help other people, I loved it, and love helping others rather than myself, and that is why I did it for as long as I could.  I did not judge women or men, with or without children. I have never relentlessly sought out help for anything from anyone but a job, an affordable place to live, and to be as successful as possible with college and in my jobs as I could, especially working to try to help other people.

I wasn't asking you personally to do anything for me. I do not know where you got that idea and took my comments so personally. If you knew me at all, and you admittedly do not know my situation or me, you'd know that I never ask for help from anyone, or ever even a dime, that I was brought up by a single father that way, and that I am not that ridiculously, weak, lazy, sad stereotype of "mothers I've met who have a sick child and no money", you accuse me of being - so transparently akin to "lazy""welfare mothers"! I don't expect anything to get done unless it's by me, not for me, with my own hard work, own money, blood, sweat, tears, and my own inner strength. A "Gold digger" or materialistic person, I am not.

I have no personality disorder, either, I will add, which is a very sad, shameful, and once again, thinly-veiled way to insult me, especially when I had already stated my diagnoses. The psychiatrist that has seen me for chats and medication management for 22yrs, diagnosed me properly, that has been helping me keep hope, quit drinking, stay alive, and keep up the good fight is Adjunct Professor and Vice Chair in the Department of Psychiatry and Chief of the Division of Psychiatric Epidemiology and Health Services at a university you know very well, internationally renowned for his research, a member of NIMH Psychiatric Health Services Grant Review Committee for 4 years, co-wrote a book on depression self-care, and has received two awards for excellence in teaching psychiatry to primary care physicians, and still manages to take a few patients at a clinic for advising and medication management. So, you might have an idea of why I have high standards in the mental health care department. I have been advised by him to have and keep those high standards as far as therapy goes, and to keep trying, and trying, and trying. I was merely saying that with Medicare, it is far easier said than done.  Currently, this doctor is on leave, because he has become suddenly critically ill. I am very sad but hopeful for him. He has always treated me with absolute respect, and I have treated him the same, not to mention actually trusting this man with the truth of all that had been going on in my life. He is humble, whip smart, up to date, kind, caring, trusting, funny, and a wonderful doctor. He has never been condescending, accusatory, or insulting in any way.

It took me years to seek help even though misdiagnosed as a teen, years to admit that I could no longer work for the state in a position of trying to help others in need, years to apply for disability benefits because I didn't want to ever have to rely on anybody but myself and work to get by, or to be labeled "disabled". I have worked hard for what I have, and even harder to retain my bit of sanity and shred of hope to keep living, and to keep trying to find a therapist that is a good fit for me.

I have always done nothing but take responsibility for myself. I grew up with that as the rule, and a hell of a survival instinct. I also know thinly-veiled insults when I read them as well. Frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself. I guess it's too bad if you felt your ego was bruised. That was definitely NOT my intention. I have lost any and all respect for you that I have ever had.

"I wish you all the best." ;) 
[note:you fucking cuntbag]
If that is not a fragile fucking ego, then I don't know what is. Plus the insults, so unnecessary, so fucking unprofessional. What a cuntbag. 

Oh yeah, PTSD is "curable". Mental illnesses are "curable". Right. So why are we still feeling like shit and popping all the pills they give us? Well, he admitted he didn't "cure" child-onset PTSD. I wonder what kind of trauma he does "cure". "Stubbed toe PTSD"? "Broken Nail PTSD"? The more I read his crazy response, the more I'm thinking his patients are "cured" by just never going back to see that dickless fuckwad. No knowledge of bipolar either. What kind of a therapist or psychologist is that, who can't handle anything else but his brand of PTSD that he "cures"?

"If you walked into my office and couldn't pay for my services, I'd take you "on scholarship", with the following qualification: you will do the work or I'll fire you as a client. I expect a fair exchange. I virtually always get it!"e

I'd rather see "Dr Mengele" again and piss in a cup, like the alkie/ex-junkie/tattooed whore that he probably thinks I am, like I had to last time when my Dr was out, than ever lay eyes on that bitch. 

Fortunately, I got a funny call yesterday from a cool nurse at the clinic, letting me know that their in-patient Dr is going to fill in for a while, and told me his name. I said "oh, yeah, I remember him very well, he's sooo nice." She says "yeah, and he's real easy on the eyes too!" I burst out laughing, agreed, and told her to enjoy her eye candy all month or so, and that I'll be there for my appointment. If he wasn't married, while I was a patient at that hospital's crazy ward many years ago, I would have been all over him like a cheap coat of crazy paint. Ha! He was fun to actually flirt with, which is something I have rarely done in the past. So so long ago.

Praise Jeebus that I got Topomax (generic), and am almost down to the weight I was at the last time I was in-patient there! It should be a real hoot to see him and how he's aged and matured. Hahahaha! I just want to feel confident in my skin, instead of anxious as fuck, panicky, and losing the weight is supposed to be helping me with that. I just need that push out the door. At least I won't be seeing a complete stranger. That was horrible.

Anyway, I'm getting my ass to bed eaerly. I'll be up at the crack of dawn again tomorrow, as usual.

Moods are pretty stable. I think that last entry was PMSy. I had a lot to be upset about too. Things are going to get better. I hope I hope I hope...


Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Because This Fucking World Stinks

Jim Carroll - People Who Died
(I find this song comforting)

Fuck today right up the shitter. The weather and my moods definitely took a turn for the worse today. Tears, irritation, anger, pain, resentment, disappointment, impatience, disgust, loss, growing more like a caged animal... wanting to just wish myself away from here. It's been too long since I've been outside alone, and I'm so fucked up by it and other things. I need something to improve my mood, because it's all gloom and fucking doom right now, and I don't give a fuck that it's the spouse's b-day sometime next week. What he deserves is a slap across the face, and a video playback of how he's treated me and spoken to me in the past few weeks. He's lucky he still has all his body parts.

I don't even want to see him tomorrow morning, that's how pissed and disgusted I am, so I won't be getting up as early as he does, I'll wait until he leaves. I don't have the stomach for anymore bullshit from anyone tomorrow. Any disrespect, any fucking bullshit. I'm cutting people off with silence or absence, or both, if I can swing it. I still haven't managed to get out alone yet, but I'm being pushed.

I hope it rains. I hope it pours tomorrow. Another summer thunderstorm to match my growing chaotic emotions that have been stuffed down and held in for too long lately.

What a way to die... and no, it's not Robin Williams - may his pain finally be gone.

That's me! Spreading my jolly positive messages of joy with my plastic happy face mask on, right after I've taken my meds!

Monday, August 11, 2014

Nein, Doktor! Nein!

 And fucking blogger isn't cooperating. I don't have the patience to fix this. I have
tried 3 times already and everything looks normal from this end.

As usual, it's taken me forever to get back up on the horse and ride. Write. Whatever. The
last thing I've been working on (and still am) is restoring my computer and trying to find an
antivirus program other than the free norton one that is offered free with $hitcast, so that
they know everything you do. The other problem with that is that after some research into
some files that were installed after I deleted all my stuff, and allowed (mistake!) the
spouse to "restore to factory settings" or some shit, I found that M$ plants trackers in your
computer to log and monitor any use of tor browser! I've been accused by the spouse of being
"too paranoid", But I wanted to drop $hitcast's "free" norton because they dig into
everything you own, everywhere you ever go, or what ever you even touch. Some pretty nasty

I like my privacy. I would like to be able to turn on my computer and use it without
thinking, even that the internet is turned off, reports on every single key I hit are being
compiled, readied for transmission to the Computer Overlords, especially when you use tor
browser. Some reports are sent to an email address there as well as a prestigous "ivy league"
school. Some are encryped with some plain old english sprinkled in, some are directed to
write in python, which I believe you can learn off a famous school's website for free, to ID
the software user, and basically spy on them for no good goddamned reason. I never gave my
permission for that, nor did I see any mention of tor browser in any "user agreement" you
FUCKERS. Also, they infect your computer with google shit, so I would scour your computer for
that shit if you don't want that either.

Since my memory is shit, and I wiped so many programs, shortcuts, files and docs I had on the
desktop, it looks naked now, and I'm afraid that if I do remember what is missing, that I
won't be able to install it, and have a fear of downloading it, especially without any kind
of antivirus program. I sure as hell don't want to ask for help in doing these things because
he already fucked up my reset by not even asking me my preferences, just wanted to act like
he knew what he was doing.

Another reason why I don't like asking for help...

Bad news... my shrink suddenly came down with cancer and left for a really unspecified amount
of time... So far I've had to see Dr Nazi, who treated me like a common criminal that just
crawled out of the gutter, and made me take an alcohol/drug test just to get a refill on my
clonazepam for my fucking anxiety, that I have been taking for AT LEAST 10 YEARS, and have
not abused, but FUCKING NEEDED! DU SCHWEINHUND DUMKOPF DUMBFUCK IGNORANT SHITBAG! Take a course on psychompharmacology, you stupid cunt! I am not a drug or alcohol abuser, nor am I am idiot, fucking condescending Nazi cunt! I did not just crawl out of the fucking gutter with a needle in one arm, a cig in one hand, and a vodka martini in the other, dickhead!

I'm lost without my old shrink for meds for a while, and I feel so terrible for this man
that's been so good to me, so respectful, and trusting. A world-class dude. He would not give
up on me after all this time! The clock is ticking for me to find another shrink for the same
purposes that either knows him, that he has recommmended, that I can afford, that I can get
to easily, that won't talk down to me, that will keep me on the same meds, as they seem to be
working very well as appetite suppressants! Also, keeping the mood swinging down, the anger
and rage I used to feel is totally gone, at ALL times of the month. The only thing I notice
is I get a little weepy for a second or two at that time of the month. I did cry about my Dr's situation, because I honestly care for that man.

I get irritable, but not as bad as before at all. Things have just changed. I still have had
no anxiety attacks, except, I have noticed I am more anxious in the car than I used to be. The
sun has kept me inside, however, and by order of spouse, the death threat from the suspected
neighborhood drug dealer has kept me out of the garage under the building. So no trash or
recycling for me. Also not a good idea to be around in the side/entry of the building, with
the amount of non-fans I have who might want to pick a fight with me. And they are guys. I'm not afraid of those cunts. My old man was bigger, heavier, and louder than them. But we won't go there right now...

Fuck $tarschmucks, their fake fucking bullshit, their fake fucking Starbuckspeak. I do not
want to support that shit anymore, even if I have to suffer to go somewhere else. I want a
real fucking cup of coffee, not some overpriced frou frou shit with some stupidass name that
some fatcats sat at a table thought up, laughed about, and decided to inflict upon americans,
after creating and inflicting the english-american language Starbuckspeak upon the people.
And thou shalt learn it fluently, lest their "barista" bitches (male and female) shit their
pants should someone dare or or err in their order of something in non-Starbusckspeak! They
just may write up about you, calling you an "idiot" or worse, and write about their side of
the story in a site on Livejournal. Yes, that's what I have heard, or read, at least. I'll
use the place as a public toilet if I need to, and nothing more. There's gotta be other
places, like one hidden in the alley that's got plain old drip coffee like normal people used
to drink back in the day, wifi, and maybe an outlet or two? Back in the day where people when
to coffee shops to drink as much coffee as possible, smoke, and talk to each other, not play
with their fucking phones... If not, maybe one a short trip away. Where there are students,
there are coffee shops and wifi. My only problem is getting out of this cage, the sun, the
heat, water, and being able to find a decent toilet. I... GOT... TO... GET... THE... FUCK...
OUT... OF... HERE...

Usually, I tend to write more when I'm feeling shitty, I know it. But it's been too long and
all sorts has gone on. The best thing is my girl's in town, and I've been sort of rebuilding
a friendship online with another person that's suffering from physical and some psych shit,
poor thing, but she lives in the suburbs, unfortunately. She's having an impossible time
getting out on her own too. I'm going to try and make an attempt to meet up with her at some
point. I'm also hoping to stay with my girl for a few days and just be silly and forget about
everything for a while. Also get a break from the spouse taking all his shit out on me and
not owning up to it. I've had more than enough of it. I need to get away from him, and I'm
sure he'd be more than happy to drive me away from here so he could have time alone to
himself to do fuck all, as usual.

Next morning, I'm up at 5, it's dark, and I see the big, beautiful moon through the shades.
I'm exhausted, and all of a sudden my parade gets shit on by a combination of spousal non-
morning attitude and my own anxiety at the thought of puttinig on some clothes, and forcing
myself outside. Not just outside, but getting ready to go outside, and by that time, it will
be light. I'd have to take the bus, beg the driver for a discounted rate because my pass
expired, then take a ride downtown, getting off in the middle of real PEOPLE and what seems
like CHAOS! Fuck...

I felt so shitty, ashamed, down, like a fucking failure, an idiot, loser fucking ape on prescription meds that can't fucking leave this fucking place. I felt like throwing up and my head hurt, so I took a chance and took the aspirin. There wasn't going to be any treadmill for me.

Time just flew by as I had "Supernatural" going on in the background, and I just blew the whole day, and it turned my stomach so badly. I didn't want to think and so I lost myself literally by digging in the trash on the computer. Files that were supposed to be deleted from the browser, from the bin, from the "cleaner" app that I downloaded free years ago, and kept up to date. Yet I found this shit still hiding away in the computer. It even seemed m$n had even developed little profiles and all sorts of programs and commands to work around yours that get into anything and everthing that you have, where you go, what you do, proxy or not, and they save this shit. I noticed that tor browser and keeping an eye on your uploads and download times as well as scanning what you downloaded for every identifiable mark, code, number, crack, cert, note, you name it, and they are in cahoots with google, so you know I wiped those fuckers out of my computer as far as I could tell, but I will keep checking, and checking on some other bothersome shit. I don't know how I manage to spend so much time like that without going crazy or getting bored like ordinary people would. I guess because it's a big puzzle that will certainly never be solved by the likes of a self-declared technophobe like me. I felt especially sick when I came across this comment made in a document, "BA What are the odds that some idiot will name his mutex ether-rot-mutex!" Today, I officially name my "mutex" Ether-Rot-Mutex! Whateverthefuck.

I know I shouldn't be so down on myself for not making such a HUGE move today, and on a hot one, too, where I'd actually have to carry around water. That's one of those odd things that irritates me about people. I don't know why. I can at least feel a sense of relief that there were no new bills in the mail, but that I won't have the convenience of paying them online until I get a decent antivirus program, although I'm not totally sure wny when I'm already being spied upon by m$n, comca$t, google, and whoever manages to track me that I haven't blocked out. Plus the NSA, maybe the CIA and FBI too.

I hope the weather takes a terrible turn tomorrow, and there are thunderstorms with lightening and pouring rain! That way, I may actually want to get outside, and it may even get the spouse off of work for a bit, and he could come and get me, and take me down to get another bus pass. The more rain out, the less tourists and shit, less people on the buses. I'm telling myself anything I fucking can to ease the anxiety, talk it right the fuck out of my head. Do a rain dance, dreaming in my sleep. Pray to the Great Spirit for my baby, some loved ones, children who suffer, women who suffer, people dying over controlling people, land, stupid old religions, old grudges, money, and oil.

I'm almost glad now that I don't have access to the real news online, it's been making me insane enough on the morning fuckin tv - yelling at it and wanting to pull my hair out. I can't stand it. I'm "forced" to at least hear the tv news in the morning when I'm up at the same time as the spouse. He gets his news online. 

And now I finally shower and go to bed to lie in front of that fan in my underwear... Hopefully to be wakened by alarms and storms.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

July Fucking Sucked. For the Most Part.

See?! I fucking told you July was the worst month of the year for me.