In Heaven Everything is Fine

Full movie "Eraserhead" below.

I've been up, I've been down, I've found tears sliding down my face for no known reason, with no thoughts in my head. I've wondered day after day when I'm going to go out alone, when I'm not forced to, as I am when I see my therapist. I wonder why my spouse has stayed away after work, having a few drinks, then coming home still not speaking to me, and getting to bed alone as quickly as possible. I wonder how the time seems to slip away so quickly - hours, days, weeks, months, yet here I sit, becoming more and more inactive, not wanting much more than to zombify myself on Seroquel and clonazepam. I try to stomp out all thoughts or feelings as soon as possible with various amounts of meds, followed by tv, computer games for simpletons, cheesy audio books, etc... Today is one of those days I'm going to need some extra mind numbing. I can feel myself shake and my face is burning. Pretty much another typical day, with the big "s" word at the back of my mind, clinging like a rabid monkey. There is no good news. I just want to feel and think nothing.

Bring On The Zombies

I finally saw my babygirl, but have to admit disappointment. I don't know why. Maybe she was too. Very moody and strange experience it was, but just hanging around together was a good thing. She's left town now.

I just got back from a trip to the shrink out in H Hills, the store, and Rx store. I was bored at the shrink and surprised he didn't talk to me more since I hadn't seen him in weeks due to feeling really crazy shitty anxious, etc. I just went over what happened in the past week or so, visit with babygirl and spouse's bday. Mostly things have been sucking as much as usual, but I had some kind of breakthrough yesterday, thank God, FINALLY. Bring on the zombies, I say. My shrink said I looked "tired". I said "glassy-eyed and stoned". Well, that's mostly just the good ol' seroquel talking.

After out visit that I cut short, I rode back to my neighborhood and went to the Rx store first. The fucked up my order all over the fucking place. What's fucking new? This happens at every fucking pharmacy that I go to, and it's just a matter of time before I lose my shit and get banned from the store. I had to hold it in today, and they REALLY fucked up, plus I had to pay an extra "co-pay" because the Medicare Part D insurance co won't pay for more than 30 tablets per month. Motherfuckers. I need a pill splitter, too, but of course at this huge drugstore, they had none.

My next stop after about 45 minutes of waiting around in the Rx store was the grocery store. Apparently my "club" card didn't register and I didn't notice until I got home. I had two boxes of overpriced cereal and overpriced beer imported beer (I refuse to drink American beer), so I didn't care. Fuck it. I should go back and buy some more... So we got beer for later. We shall see what happens.

I'll probably get some snotty looks and attitude from the spouse, but after seeing the shrink after so long, I don't give a fuck. This bitch is gonna roll how she sees fit, and it appears she has an independent bit of a manic thing going on, or is it the larger doses of seroquel in the morning that are setting the stage for zombie out in public? Bring on the zombie, I say.

I'm listening to a Canadian "classic rock" station. Man, I feel old. Listening to the stuff I heard and liked as a little kid. I was glad to be exposed to radio from day one. As far as the future goes, it's still day to day, and today I see the spouse coming back with a pizza after work. Hopefully, he'll bring some more beer, but at least we have a 6-pack to fight over. He can have the pizza.

One and a Half Minutes of Heaven

Quick re-watch of a very satisfying scene. Praise Jesus! I visit with my child soon. Love!

Frankie Visits God's Hotel For the Week

I came across the wrong vid for this post, posted this shit, and fucked it all up. Anyway, I found the one with coding for embedding. I am an idiot. Fuck. I'm a terrified tech 'tard. Click on it anyway. You won't be sorry. I live for today. I love for today. I look forward (although VERY anxiously) to the week ahead. I look forward to loving during the week ahead. If there's anyone that could change me from an atheist to agnostic, that would be Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.

John Lennon - Imagine HD

Imagine.

The Moments - Love On A Two Way Street.

Back to the 70's. Back to a more simple time.

I Like the Way She Thinks

I do like this tattoo.

No More Jello

No one wants to read a blog filled with pain and desperation. They're looking for happy thoughts they can take away, or messages telling them that everything's going to be ok. Just keep suffering and live through it one miserable fucking day at a time.

I'm not full of happy thoughts and messages to spread around. Reading things like that almost feel like a slap in the face from a family member, and being told to "cheer up". Cheer up. What am supposed to be cheering for? A life of misery? I can't and won't pretend to put on a fake smile, or pretend I can handle being around other people when I can't.

I'm tired of this long life I've had of so much pain and suffering. Ten days in a psych ward and any medications and treatment are not going to cure me. My pain began at age four and now I'm in my forties. Needless to say, I'm exhausted, and my heart's shredded like pulled pork. I don't know how much time I have left, but I'm going to try and grab what few moments of happiness I can, however short-lived they are before I end up finished. My memory has been destroyed, and I want to try to re-fill it with some short-lived moments of happiness that I can remember before I go.

And now for something completely different:

Frankie-stein's Monster - WARNING - "S" WORD DISCUSSED

I do not have a solid grip on my "life". I write this as I sit on a towel, in my underwear, in front of a fan,  re-watching last night's episode of "True Blood" like some nutcase. All along the top of this computer screen are addresses and websites of gun shops in the area. One I'm actually familiar with, and have visited it in the past  year or so, purely for the amusement of my spouse, because he's not from this country, and you just can't go out and by all kinds of crazy guns where he comes from. I'm all sweaty and stinking from walking on the treadmill and having such long god damned hair.

I'm getting a grip on something here though, it's called Faking It. One of the first psychiatrists that I ever saw actually told me to "fake it". He was referring to "being happy". He was dead (ha) serious. Anyway, I was thinking maybe it's because I've finally started to take control of working on the possibility of another way besides pills in order to "opt out" of this shit existence called life. When the proper time comes, of course. I'm not pressuring myself. I don't feel so anxious or in such a desperate hurry any more. There are steps I need to take, and later appointments that I need to go to, medication to take, a life to fake, a shower to force myself to take. Because of this, I've removed a bit of some very unwanted stress from my little life.

This whole week, I have no set appointments or anything that I need to stress myself out about. I just don't care anymore about some of the little things that have been irritating me recently. Who knows. This could all be a case of good ol' completely unpredictable PMS. Fucking hormones. I'm not going to feel guilty to be found laying on the couch in front of the fan when the spouse comes home. I'm not going to feel guilty whether I've walked on the treadmill or not. I'm  not going to care much about what I eat, as long as I don't stuff myself and make myself feel physically uncomfortable. No more food shame. I'm not going to care much about getting dressed or putting on makeup so much anymore. I feel a bit more relaxed, and when I don't, I take more clonazepam (sublingually) , and hope it does something to stop the bad feeling fast.

Post shower...

Back on the rickety loveseat (my perch) with my laptop and the noisemaker with pics (tv), I sit again with my laptop. I managed to wash my face and brush my teeth after my shower, as well as put on a crappy "house dress". A house dress is one so shitty and cheap you wouldn't wear it in public. I put perfume in my hair, but still haven't bothered to brush it, which it desperately needs. I put on some face lotion and dusted on some face powder and a smidgen of lip balm.

Now, why do some states allow people with terminal illnesses die "with dignity", or assisted "suicide"? My mental disorders are indeed terminal illnesses to me, and I should have the right to die with dignity when I feel my time's up as well. What the fuck? Does bipolar disorder or borderline personality disorder go away? Can you be cured of them? Are they not then terminal illnesses? Do we not suffer as much mental pain as those with physical illnesses suffer from physical pain? How is it fair that they can eventually "opt out" of life, and those with serious MH diagnoses are doomed and forced to live with their sickness and pain? Tell me how the fuck that is fair? Not that I'm dumb enough to believe there is fairness in the world. I always thought the word "fair" was a fucking joke.

Maybe I do care that I die with some dignity, it's just shamefully unfair that those of us that are cursed with terminal mental diseases, don't have a whole lot of options. I want to be well made-up, hair looking pretty good, and wearing clean clothes when I go. I want my iPod for appropriate music, the fan on, and to just generally be in physical comfort when I go. I want to make sure I've told the ones that I love the most that I'll love them forever, forgive my family members, mail out personal messages to some people. I want my organs harvested and my remains burnt. If there is some kind of service or wake, I will have a message directed toward anyone that might attend, and only one song to play at this thing, as corny as it may sound to some:  Don't Fear (The Reaper). This is a video with the lyrics for the music.



I don't care how silly or stupid it sounds to anyone. I've been listening to the song since I was a little kid, and have been waiting for a longass time for the time to come. In the end, it's all good and there's happiness. That's all I wanted: to be happy like other people. Blue Oyster Cult. Yeah, the "more cowbell" song.

Apparently, after being diagnosed with Biploar Disorder, PTSD, Anxiety Disorder, and BPD, Depression, gone through years of shrinks, diagnoses, med cocktails, etc, one is really not supposed to expect happiness. They're expected to take meds, see shrinks, work, have social relationships, and somehow overcome and/or "manage" their illnesses and their life. Baby, it's been so many years, you wouldn't believe. It ain't gonna ever happen. Unfortunately, I think my spouse isn't hip to real craziness, so he's in the dark, where he shall remain.

The spouse and I haven't talked about suicide in a very long time, but we've talked about death, and the possibility of an afterlife and all that. We've talked about god/no god (or goddess?) shit. We both want to be cremated. It would be kind of cool for anyone close to have some of the ashes, such as a vial or something, if they wanted. I'd rather be burnt than left to rot, though the first image that comes to mind when I hear cremation is some of the ovens I saw in a concentration camp near Berlin years ago.

I became a hardcore atheist at the age of 6 or 7. I destroyed a religious icon with fire, and expected god to strike me down dead if he existed. Mainly, I just couldn't believe there could be a being so brutal as to take my mother away in a car crash, have her covered in blood, and have me remember crawling all over her bloody body in great detail. These days, part of me wants to believe there is something bigger and greater out there than just this life. At this moment, I just want my child to survive and lead a happy life and the rest of the good people of the world. It's taken a long time, but I guess now you could call me an agnostic and not be far off. 

You never know what can happen, so I hope that I can enjoy whatever time I have left on earth with people that I love. Just a little is all I ask. I hope to ditch the crippling anxiety, and shunning socializing. I miss my girl so much and can't wait to see her soon.

Chicken Run to Hell

Fuck! I had a food binge, and my spouse certainly was no help in that situation. We went on a fried chicken run to the grocery store, so we could make it back before "True Blood". When we came back, I realized that I had eaten 2 yogurts and 2 tortillas, and gawd knows what else already. I wasn't even hungry, I was just craving that salty, crunchy, greasy shit. I feel stuffed, fat, and fucking disgusting. The "good" thing about it is that I didn't think much about the way I was dressed or how I looked, threw on some sunglasses and thongs, and got in the car. I feel so dirty, like I should take a shower.

While I was waiting for the spouse to get cash out of the bank, I sat in the car waiting, smoking a cigarette. People were walking past, and on two different occasions, they were acting all obnoxious walking up and down the street, purposefully getting to close to the car. My window was stuck at half-open. I felt a potential threat from a pair that passed, stared them right down and thought if I only had a gun in my purse, and they came nearer to the car, I would point it in their fucking direction. I do NOT want people fucking with me in the street. I swear, I am a total freak magnet when it comes to just walking down the fucking street, hell, or even being out in public. There have been far too many incidents, and I just try to mind my own damn business.This is not the source of my anxiety, however, about getting outside by myself. I can't say what is, but whatever it is, it's still there. 

What's worse than all that is that I felt nauseous all morning and lay on the couch listening to more of a recorded book. I played a stupid simple computer  game at the same time, for the most part, which was since after having coffee finished around 6. Fucking sat there for HOURS. I was pissed that I woke up so early, but I keep doing it and checking to see if my spouse is gone. I don't know why. I don't feel like I can totally relax. I couldn't really pay attention to the game or the book today, then when my show came on tv this evening, I couldn't pay close attention to that either. I split my attention between the stupid game again and the tv show. I kind of figured I'd wake up later tomorrow, feeling better, and alone to enjoy my quiet morning, and re-watch the show... Fuck reality.

The Guilt Machine and the Emotionally Crippled

William Staub, Inventor of the Treadmill, Dead at 96

Well fuck me. The walking shoes under my table (where my computer is) and the fact that the evil treadmill is in the same room, got me up off my ass yesterday. I write in the same room of the behemoth creature. I felt like I was at a dangerous point of sliding downhill into thoughts of the "s" word. So I managed to put on some appropriate clothes and force myself to do a brisk 3mi walk while forcing myself to pay attention to the tv. It was also the only way I was going to get myself into the shower (afterward). That would be a much-needed shower. My hair must be filthy by now. Oh well. I used to be much much worse. I also managed to drag out the trash and recycling in one go yesterday. An amazing feat.

I was fucked last night, tossing and turning yet again, and again my spouse woke me up with noise at 6am today. I was cursed to get up out of guilt. Besides, I had my alarm set for 7am. What's one more hour lost. A lot, sometimes, I tell ya. According to my meds shrink, I should be sleeping better for taking more seroquel , but since he wrote my latest Rx wrong in a hurry, I stuck with the lower dose, and got a refill on that. Since I've been having the random anxiety/near psychotic attacks, I haven't been sleeping well.

The Rx from my meds shrink should have been for 500mg horse pills, but was for 400mg. Good enough for now, since I have a few leftovers that I hope will get me out of this anxiety/near psychotic funk. That's a serious fucking funk. I've been taking 300mg or 350mg near the middle of the afternoon, and only other half of the big tab, which is 200mg at night. I take 450mgs of wellbutrin, 40mg prozac, and 4mg of clonazepam spread out for the rest of the day. I'm supposed to take one at night, but it's needed much more during the afternoon when my anxiety is at it's worst.

I'm starting to really wonder - is anxiety an emotion or a horrible condition? I don't really count it as an emotion. Come to think of it, I don't consider a lot of the shit that goes through my head as emotions, except for crippling depression. Maybe I've been going through depression as well, but I can't really tell from the inside, due to the horrific anxiety. 

When I think about it, I almost feel like I have no emotions at all, just symptoms of illness. That there are no real emotions that I can honestly feel anymore, including a "mother's love" for my daughter, or the love I should feel for my spouse. I had no example as I was growing up as far as a mother goes, and in the father dept., he was either emotionally abusive, physically abusive, drunk, not around, or didn't seem to care much for me. 

There's a big fucking hole in my heart that I've tried to fill with all sorts of things and people, but no one and nothing has been able to fill it. It's so damaged and has been that way since I was a little kid, from what little I can remember. What am I supposed to do with it now? Try to feel the appropriate feelings when the situation calls for it? I don't think I know how to love. I don't think I ever knew.

And now for something completely stupid - here.

Jeebus, what a pile of depressing shit! I don't feel as bad or lost as yesterday. I feel like I'm up too early again, but I'm going to try to take things one half hour or hour at a time, like I have to do these days. I don't know if I can make today turn out as good as yesterday, but I will try to try. Yes, try to try is the perfect expression. Already my guts aren't liking me this morning, but that should pass if I force myself to eat something. 

I had a handful of vitamins for the hell of it, as well as my meds. It's hard enough to keep up with my daily meds, let alone some crazy cocktail of supposedly beneficial vitamins and fish oil. There's no reason that I took the vitamins. Just that I saw them and took some. Maybe something in the back of my mind hopes that taking vitamins will help me. Help me what? Push myself to walk and shower today? I don't know. I haven't been in my "right" mind since I was 3. I don't have the discipline it takes to do vitamins every day. It's a little difficult to swallow a handful of pills of any kind, because I am reminded physically and mentally of one of many times I OD'd or tried.

Yesterday, I think, I bitched about positive messages and all that. I'm old and have been ill a longass time, so those positive messages and messages of hope have actually become depressing in their own way. Depressing because someone out there is affected in a good way by them. I become irritated and depressed. WTF.

This shit IS a daily struggle. Not to mention blogger. For some reason, it's fucking up all my spacing. Apologies.

Which Way is Up?

 

Down. That's how I've been feeling. The kind of depression that 's more like anxiety and horror at the thought of dealing with anything. I'm afraid of having panic/psycho attacks more each day now. I survived yesterday, but I don't know how. I didn't get any exercise, or bother to take a shower. I did throw on some clothes before the spouse came back to make things look less pathetic. Things = me.

If I see one more positive fluff crap "posts", I'm going to be sick. I already feel sick from my meds. Again. I have the feeling that things are going to be pretty much like they were yesterday, only today my stomach is acting up, unfortunately, because I was going to try walking on the treadmill.

Walking for a few miles on the treadmill seems to be the only way to get me into the shower. I don't bother washing my hair more than once a week. I don't like shutting the door when I take a shower, because I guess I feel a little claustrophobic. I also don't like taking showers when I'm not alone at home.

My head is a mess and refuses to do its own thinking. I don't want to feel or think anything. I'm just going to listen to geeky audiobooks for the rest of the morning and afternoon. At least I can pretend that someone is reading to me. Pathetic, I know, but I can't be in the presence of a real person right now.

Guilt is the only thing that keeps me from just crawling back to bed and trying to sleep. Guilt that my spouse would think that all I did was watch tv, eat, and sleep today. I just don't have the energy to do anything but write a bit, listen to the audiobook, and curl up in a ball. Fuck it. Fuck guilt. I can't force myself to do anything today. It just scares me - the thought of stress and how it affects my moods so much. The thought of a shower is awful too, as well as washing my face and brushing my teeth. We're seriously down to the basics.

I don't know what I'll do. Tv can't seem  to hold my attention any longer. This is kind of scary, but I don't know exactly why. I'm a fucking zombie. At least I'm not crying. Crying scares the hell out of me.