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.

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...