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.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

The "Wonders" of Meds and Alcohol

Holy shit! I don't remember writing one single word of the last post. I guess I don't need much alcohol and meds to put myself on auto-freak. Amazing. Shameful! Stupid. It was like drunk dialing/texting/messaging only worse - totally out there in public. Well, that was one evening of my mixing meds and alcohol, which I don't really do that often because my spouse looks down upon me drinking. It's something I do rarely.  He told me I was a "mean drunk" when I got drunk. I don't remember being mean at all. I don't remember much of anything about that evening.

I have looked at as many blogs that I could find dealing with mental health in one form or another, and I could hardly find any. The few I found had thousands of readers or at least "followers", so it made me feel like "what's the point of me writing if no one's going to read it and maybe leave a comment". I'm "following" a few blogs that I came across and left comments if I felt like it. That would seem to be the point of reading a blog in the first place. I have to have some kind of outlet for my insanity without dumping on the last few friends I have left. Blogging seemed to be the way to do it. I guess I'm just writing and sending my crap out there into the internet universe. Just another drop in a bucket, just another nobody.

Well, I guess some crap came out in my last blog about how miserable I am, and have been for such a long time. It's not easy when you're not getting support (asking or not) and trying to survive my current mess, and today is no exception. My spouse called in sick just because he felt like it. Again. So that throws my daily routine that I MUST have right out the window. Unfortunately, my spouse seems to think I just don't want him around. Not true at all. I just don't look forward to the effects that trashing my routine will have.

Since he was home yesterday too, I had to suffer the effects of my routine being "ruined". It was the worst anxiety/near psychotic episode I've had in years. I took some extra seroquel  and clonazepam for it, and tried to remember some bad old disco song to sing to myself in my head over and over to make it all stop. Tv and messing around on the computer didn't work either. So I tried going to sleep. I curled up in a ball on the bed and was seeing and hearing things, even when my eyes were squeezed shut as tightly as I possible.
Eventually, I went into a half sleep sort of state for a few hours. Then I slept a bit.

I have a shrink that does therapy and one that does the meds, and at this point, neither seem to be working like they used to. I'm taking the cocktail, going to the shrink, but it seems my anxiety is either the same or worse. I don't know what to do. There's nothing I can do.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Fuck Knows What

Yep, I'm drunk on cheap vodka and diet Dr Pepper as well being high in some sort of way from my meds that have been mixed with the booze. I'm beginning to have a headache from thinking. Thinking about my stupid pitiful day to day life, thinking what's the point in blogging about it, recording it, all that shit. I took my seroquel early for the evening just to see how fucked up I'd get and what it would be like.

I just went outside downstairs to the proper place to smoke after my spouse declined my offer to come  with. I thought 'what an asshole'. Too lazy to walk down the stairs and come back up. Instead, he waiting for a while, had a smoke out on the deck, then went and put on the stupid movie "Ted". I might as well stick my fucking head in the toilet and try to flush it down over and over again. So now, I'm being forced to watch the Ted movie because my spouse put it in the DVD player. I won't be watching it of course, just forced to listen to it in the background.

It was no big deal going outside and down the back stairs as there were only a few people passing by that were probably half  my age and half dressed as well. I enjoyed my smoke alone and was glad that my spouse wasn't standing there smoking, with his goddamned iphone in his free hand. That is so cuntish and rude, to me, but there's nothing I can say or do to get him to understand that fact. It fucking sucks, so I'm kind of glad that he said he wouldn'tust join me for a smoke.

My heart is broken and can't wait to go to bed in my nightie, and read a  bit on my Kindle. That usually puts me to sleep pretty quickly. I'll have to add clonopin to that mess to make reality go away more quickly.  My heart is certainly broken, and has been for a long time. My spouse seems to be more into watching mind-numbing tv rather than coming to bed for getting it on or even just talking about it. I almost wish I had a male friend that knew my circumstances, and that I could at least try and fuck. All I heard about from the spouse today was comments about going to England for a visit and moving into a bigger place. That's all fine and dandy if you have the money, don't have a cat, and don't have a lot of extra money coming in. Maybe he thinks I'm going to get a job along the way somewhere?

Fuck. I don't like this reality anymore. It's all gone to hell. I just want to sleep it off and wake up to see he's not here, however terrible that sounds.

I honestly do not know how much more of this I can stand, plus his damn birthday is coming up in the middle of August. I wanna buy him a Louisville Slugger and take a good, hard swing to his head. He just doesn't seem to care or get it. He just doesn't seem to want to care anymore.

Fuck everything. FTW. I just want water, my pills, and to sleep this all away, like it never happened.

Stolen Rose

Couldn't sleep very well last night, even though I had my Seroquel and clonazepam. I woke up so many times because of my spouse's tossing and turning, then complaining about the cold. Cold? It's summer! Anyway, I couldn't take it anymore, so I got up at the asscrack of dawn - sometime before 6.30am. On a Saturday, of all days. I went out pre-medicated!

I remembered we were low on half-n-half for coffee, and that just wouldn't do for me or the spouse. So I once again thew on some clothes and a hoodie, and ventured outside, walking up to the 7-11. I was wearing sunglasses, and carrying my trusty iPod, so I assumed that's why the cashier ID'd me for the cigarettes I bought.. I'm very very well over 18, so I didn't mind too much, and used my passport.

I don't carry a state ID card because I don't want to have my address on it and strangers knowing it. I also continue to use the checks I have with my old address on them, which also has no telephone number. It's too much information to hand over to a total stranger at a cash register.

I brought another empty coffee bag to Starbucks and used it to get a free coffee, but also ordered a croissant and what they called a "chocolate croissant", that was actually a pain au chocolat. Once again, they nearly got away with heating them up, which of course you don't do, especially to a pain au chocolat! Retards! Will melt the croissant and melt the chocolate! Duh! I thought it would be nice for my spouse. Trying to get on his good side when he wakes up is very difficult, and become an awful chore that I don't look forward to.

When I got back to my building, I was digging around for my keys when an old man with a single pink rose passed me by. There was something familiar about him, though I could swear I've never seen him before. I waited at the front door of my building to see where he went. I thought he was the "crazy man" that lived across the street in the only house on the street. He ended up going right up to the house and let himself in. I wondered where he got the rose, since it was unwrapped and he came from the alley. There was something kind of sweet about it. It was gorgeous.

While outside, I felt no anxiety at all. Was it due to the fact that I just got up? I don't know, but it was good. The sky was all cloudy out, but light, without a car or person in sight. My kind of situation.

The day is only beginning, so god knows what will happen. We desperately need to go to the grocery store, and I'm trying to let the spouse sleep in as long as he can. He wakes up too early on the weekends, and he had a 6-day week this week. Now I'm anxious about how things are going to go. We need some cat litter desperately, which I could only get without him by paying for delivery or by taxi, neither of which I wanted to do. So it's up to him when we go. That also causes me some anxiety, and it could get really bad. Bad to the point that I'm all doped up on seroquel and clonazepam, desperately hanging onto a big shopping cart so I don't fall over. Add sunglasses and poor eyesight to that fucked up equation. A real mess. The spouse detests going to the grocery store. It's never a smooth ride.

Now begins the wait for him to get up so I can make a fresh pot of coffee.

The cat is running around, and acting crazy, trying to wake everybody up - probably so she can have the bed to herself. I can't blame her. That's the way I prefer it.

I'm hoping for a non-freakout day, and a trip to the grocery store, which the thought of already triggers anxiety. Could be more to come...

Saturday, July 27, 2013


I should be writing every day, but somehow I get distracted by one thing or another. It's fucking hard to concentrate on one thing only. Today my excuse was writing long replies to some pretty sad emails that are a lot like mine, passed back and forth. It kind of got me down, but I had to reply. I don't like to leave people hanging. They need to know that I'm here and that I care.

The past couple of days, I've been able to get out at least to the Starbucks on the corner, just a block away, past sleeping homeless people and restaurant owners doing some kind of early morning business.

The last few months I've been wanting a gun. Not to shoot myself! That's never been the method I'd try, and I believe everyone has their own way to "opt out". Mine is pills and more recently, tall buildings. I haven't been thinking about suicide in a... suicidal way. I just imagine what I'd lose and who I'd lose.  I've just been extremely depressed, but it's mostly been due to crippling anxiety I had been feeling for so damn long, making me almost a total shut-in. The anxiety had become worse than the depression.Then suddenly I'm able to get out the door three days in a row, I think. I think it might be the seroquel.

My usual little thing is to just throw on some clothes, try not to care about my looks, wear sunglasses, and somehow push myself out the door. I recently got a bus pass, which is even more incentive for me to just hop a bus and go downtown, at least.

I had a misunderstanding with my spouse the other night and we were ignoring each other. I hate going to bed angry, without getting shit out of the way. I'll stay up all night if I have to, but in his case, I couldn't. He had to work the following day, and get up at the asscrack of dawn. He told me to "fuck off" earlier because I wouldn't be his dictionary for spelling a word he needed there and then for some forum he was writing in at the time. Assy, yeah. He couldn't be bothered to open another window and look it up, but somehow I'm

The next day I went downtown as planned, but found myself way to early. I forgot to check on the house for the headquarters. I there early and didn't want to go find some place to drink coffee, so I sat on a bench around the side of the building, in front of another building. It was the municipal court. The benches in front (in my corner) were empty. Two older guys dug through the giant ashtray searching for butts. I watched the colored lights in the fountain change colors while I listened to my iPod for a full hour.

Finally the cop shop was open, I went in, paid money, applied for a permit, and got my fingerprints done. The office was run by two older ladies, and the one that worked with me was very nice. I know it sounds wrong to others for me to get a permit and eventually a pistol, but I want to shoot, and like I said, shooting myself is NOT my "out" of choice. A friend of mine has a gun and it was fun just shooting targets on her family's property out in the sticks. It would certainly make me feel more safe when I go out alone, because of so much harassment I've had in the past, including the incident a block away from where I live.

Sure, I'm going through one of the worst depressed and crippling anxiety cycles ever, but I'm not suicidal. I'm depressed about my life and ? I've no reason for the anxiety. Who can explain any of this shit that we didn't bring down on ourselves. I've no fear that I'm going to lose and and do something stupid or wrong. If I can live with a stash of pills that could easily kill me, I can sure as hell handle a gun. I doubt anybody other than another nut would believe that.

I want desperately to be able to continue to go outside, to go anywhere, even if it's only the corner coffee joint, or outside to smoke. I'll be forced out to catch a bus to visit the shrink on Wednesday. Not looking forward to that, but I'm going to try not to think about it until the night before. It'll be hard. Very hard.

Thursday, July 25, 2013


Once again, I've fucked up and didn't do my time on the treadmill. At least I took a shower. I was just too overwhelmed by my success in getting outside just after I jumped out of bed. I just threw on some clothes and sunglasses, and went to Starbucks to get a free coffee. The bags that you buy in the store are good for a free coffee once emptied.

After getting back, I went back on the internet and fucked around on Twitter a while, then got distracted by the tv, an audio book, coffee & croissant, and about 5 different sites on the internet all at once. Completely overwhelmed, I went in the bathroom to get away from everything for a moment, and just tried to breathe. Not easy to do: breathing without thinking about anything. I then realized that I'm behind time on my meds (seroquel and clonopin) and took them immediately. Doing some deep breathing back out on the couch with this evil laptop. Slow the fuck down, woman.

A song came into my head after I posted the commercial below, that I liked way back in the old days. It now makes me think of my current relationship situation. Put two crazies in one pot, stir, and you've got much more than a big shit storm boiling away.

My spouse was diagnosed as depressed and takes meds for it. He recently got an increase on the meds and is even less interested in being near me than before. Being bipolar, my moods can change from moment to moment. One minute I want a hug or to get laid, and the next I'm disgusted at the sight of him. Since the increase in his meds, he has lost all interest in sex or hugging me for more than 3 seconds. Yes, I counted.

The whole thing is very frustrating because if I'm even in the mood for sex, I can't count on my lady parts working due to the meds that I take. It's a fucking crap shoot. What's worse, is that he doesn't want to talk about it with me. I think it makes him feel like less of a man, not being interested. But it does horrible things to me. I think I'm fat, ugly, wear shitty clothes, crappy makeup job, crappy hair, etc. It's made me cry a few tears that I let slip past, and there seems to be nothing to do about it other than to try to talk to him again. I miss the physical displays of affection more than anything at this point. I can't even remember the last time we got it on - it's been that long.

I'm confused and alone on this. I don't know how much more I can take.

Misfit Right In?

Though I'd never go here, I found this commercial interesting:

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

I Wanna Be Sedated

Shrink day today, which meant enduring a bus ride to and from the place, as well as seeing the shrink. I missed out on most of Supernatural this morning, but made sure I was well medicated enough to go out. I took some extra seroquel and clonazepam for the trip.

The walk to the bus stop, wait, and ride was not too stressful, I had my ipod on shuffle, and what should come up as I'm getting to my destination? Don't Fear (The Reaper). Naturally, it triggered suicidal thoughts in my head that I was definitely NOT going to tell the shrink about. I talked more about what I want - to feel "good" enough to do all the things that normal people do and take for granted.

I would have never made it there if it wasn't for the 350mg seroquel. I wanted to be out of it. I wanted the sedation effect that is a "side effect". I looked in the mirror before I went into the shrink's office and looked at my eyes. Never had I seen more glassy eyes on a person that's still standing up.

On the way back, I stopped off at starbucks to get a fappucino (sp - I don't care) as my treat for making it to and from the appointment without a freakout, and without yelling at anyone on the bus or in the street. That fucker was smaller than I expected as well as more costly than expected. Fuck it. I deserved a prize and no one else is going to give it to me (double entendre intended).

Fuck home life... Not looking forward to the spouse's return. This is my dirty little secret, this blog and twitter account. I just want to go to bed and sleep next to the fan. My spouse won't even bother to talk to me much. Sucks badly. I feel like a ghost here. A ghost that does the dishes and the cleaning.

I need water...

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Comfortably Numb

I've just finished a short walk on the treadmill out of guilt. I tried to help myself along with 1mg of clonazepam. I only allowed myself to sweat a little, because I'm too lazy to wash my long fucking hair. When I was done, I finished re-watching the latest True Blood ep, then showered.

Quickly, I dressed and came out digging around for seroquel to numb the horrific anxiety and a bit of my brain, that usually begins around noon or so. Better a numb zombie than freaking out and entertaining suicidal thoughts. If only I could numb myself with painkillers, and lay around alone and smoke cigarettes, enjoying my high all by myself. That's the way it should be, in my opinion.

Maybe I'll kill a little time on Twitter, I thought, since there's nothing on tv that I want to see and nothing that needs immediate cleaning. But fuck it, all that information, too many words coming too quickly at me triggers some anxiety that I don't need. I'd already been on at the ass crack of dawn, mostly posting True Blood related pics. Fuck knows why. I made a few wisecracks that just came off the top of my head. No, I don't need the stress of Twitter. I just want to be comfortably numb. Is that too much to ask?

Instead, I will listen to the Sookie Stackhouse audio books, refill my meds box, and hopefully become boneless. If not, I will make myself comfortably numb.

Monday, July 22, 2013


This my first post of an ongoing hell trip that some people call Bipolar. I've been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, and fuck knows what else. I'm going to try to use this blog as my personal journal for the curiosity and/or amusement to some, but also to join a web ring of similar crazies. I can't stomp out the stigma of mental health disorders, but I can write about it so you can see what it's like to be certifiably nuts.

Today I told myself that I was going to walk almost 10 blocks to get to the drugstore to pick up my prescription, because I didn't want to have to ask the spouse if he could drive me. Also, I thought of a few things I could drag home from the nearby grocery store.

I washed up, brushed up, and completed the chore of my makeup mask. It felt almost as if I'd forgotten how to put on lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner. Come to think of it, the whole makeup process. At one point, I had to stop because I was feeling light-headed and anxiety ridden about my plan to get outside. Holding on to the sink and closing my eyes helped a bit with anxiety and more 'balloon head'. If someone had flicked me on the arm, I would have gone down hard.

Later, with sunglasses on and iPod in hand, I stepped out and locked the door, thinking how flimsy the door was. Then I was out on the sidewalk. I stumbled up the street to the store, which was about 10 blocks away. I had taken 200mg of seroquel and 2mg of clonazepam about 30 minutes earlier. Walking was difficult and hurt my back a bit.

I made it straight-ish up the sidewalk to the drug store. Walking was difficult and awkward, and I sort of tripped up at times. The only real walking I've done lately is walking a few miles on a treadmill. After staring at the variety of facial moisturizers for about 10 minutes or so, I was dizzy again and just sat on the floor, pretending to be checking out the bottom and lower shelves. No one was staring, at least from what I could tell.

I walked out of there with a few things, then found myself outside again, a little disoriented. And for some reason, I thought the alarm was going to go off as I walked out the door. There was the possibility that I could have been holding something and walked out of the store with it, unknowingly. It's happened before. But no buzzes or bells, so I crossed the street and went into the grocery store. Luckily, I knew exactly where the stuff I wanted was located in there, so it was almost an in and out trip.

Walking home was more difficult as the seroquel really started to kick in and my head was feeling like a balloon, my body a puppet on strings. It was a successful trip out, and all I wanted was to rip my clothes off and stand in front of the fan. Fuck it was rough, and I feel a bit traumatised by the whole thing. I was just glad to be back at home, alone in my cage again.