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.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Walk If You Can't Run Like Hell

I'm irritated as all fuck. OK, I'm fucking pissed off and disgusted with some of the male presence on G+. This morning, they have been posting racist shit, and stupid shit regarding the missing Malaysian plane, a rich white male creature that raped his own children, and some other stuff. I rarely see any women or girls making their opinions known, or responding to what anyone posts regarding news stories, and political news. Why is that, I wonder? Especially on a particular news item that reported on a terrible women's issue. No women but me. What the hell?

I guess you call these kind of shitheads "trolls", but I have never used that term before, as I haven't been doing this social thing for very long. I still don't know all the acronyms people use either. D'oh! So let the dicks be dicks. It's hard to just "walk away" without saying something like "you're a fucking racist cunt.", etc.

Anyway, this irritation morphed into anger, and now fucking anxiety that is at least an hour too soon to have to deal with. I took meds and hope that I can be OK to get my exercise in. It can be a crap shoot with seroquel as far as it making you tired. I think I'm too angry/hyped up for it to make me tired though.

I should be concentrating more on "Supernatural", that's been on since 9am. Speaking of, I just saw the Blue Oyster Cult symbol, and Dean mentioned he'd seen that somewhere before, and it's driving him nuts. Funny.

Usually, I do my walk on the treadmill while watching "Supernatural". It is a great escape for me, no matter how many times I have already seen the episodes, and have the DVDs, in case of  TNT doing something stupid like putting on another show, or sports. Problem is that getting motivated to get my ass up and actually moving, feeling that weird feeling of walking and getting nowhere, seems to be coming later and later. I shouldn't be putting so much pressure on myself to make it by the end of "Supernatural", but it just makes it easier to do the walk and be distracted. Lazy with the DVDs, yep. Pressure creates more anxiety, and anxiety creates more bad, and bad creates guilt, and guilt creates self-hatred, and you know what comes after that. Let's not go there today, for once.

My spouse was not in a shitty mood this morning and actually gave me a hug and told me that he would drive me to my Dr appointment tomorrow, as well as pick up my meds from the drugstore. That was good. He is hooked on the "Game of Thrones" books, so he's been up reading in bed every night, making it a bit harder for me to go to sleep. Just knowing someone is awake that's near me does that, but the seroquel kicked my ass sooner or later. He was gone for a few hours yesterday to meet up with an ex workmate, so I had some time alone!

Well, try try trying to get up on the treadmill...

Interesting how my mood has changed so much, no? Chillin' on seroquel and clonopin. I recommend it.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Fuck Anxiety And The Horse It Rode In On

FUCK. And the war with nausea and anxiety begins again. I just want to do some walking on the damn treadmill, some dusting, vacuum the carpet, clean the kitchen floor maybe, take a shower and attempt to comb all the knots out of my hair. But what do I get? A big fat dose of fucking anxiety. I've taken 2mgs of clonopin and 100mg of seroquel that I hope are going to act FAST. I'm gritting my teeth, and feeling myself shaking on the inside. On the outside, I'm making my best attempt not to tremble or shake, even though no one is watching me! I'm just doing it for me, for trying to take back control of my body from this wicked motherfucker called ANXIETY. I hate it. I have to get angry! I have to get past the nausea from the meds, and get angry at my body for that to stop. I'm trying to sip water to make it stop. I could not stand to shove doughy, salty crackers in my piehole.

I tried deep breathing a few times, and that just seemed to make it worse, because it felt like I wasn't getting enough air fast enough, even though I was telling myself that I was. Sometimes that works, though, if it's mild. 

This is really bad shit. I can feel it from the top of my head down to my fucking toes. In between, I'm having various aches and pains, plus the nausea, which is starting to go away. Yay! They say sip, don't guzzle, but it's hard not to. All I've had to eat was a cup of dry wheat chex. I don't like cereal with milk. I don't like the idea of milk.

Whoa... this is fun...now it feels like my brain is like an overly wet sponge, and the extra juice is tripping down inside my chest. I wonder if that's the seroquel. I can feel it in my ojos that it's taking effect. Spongy. Sponge pants. Sponge Bob Squarepants.

Nausea is gone, pretty much, and I will keep drinking water for a bit longer until I decide what to watch during my time on the treadmill. I will not fail today. My face is burning up, but my feet are freezing. Fucking psych diseases are just plain crazy.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Click On The Links For More

"Le génie du mal"

"Lord, I miss you child..." plays on the bathroom radio as I pass by. It stings like hell.

I'm interrogated by my spouse after I sit down, and put the phone down. "Who was that? You going to your Dr's tomorrow?" I say no and tell him that he's got the day off. I avoid the first question. He asks, "What, is he on vacation?" Then he goes out to smoke a cigarette he bummed off me, and comes back with, "I asked if he was on vacation. Where was he going?" I said that I didn't know, that that was personal and I didn't ask. and I wouldn't want to know anyway. The last time he just came out and said he was going to Paris. Cunt. 

The spouse is acting all pissy now, and claiming there is nothing wrong when I ask him. Is that passive-aggressive, or childish, or what?  He came out of the bedroom at 5 to watch cartoons as usual, but pretended he didn't care today (again), so I changed the channel over to his station for him. 

What I'm trying to deal with is the PTSD I'm experiencing after trying to have a phone conversation with my daughter while the spouse was in the apartment, but in a different room. Sudden crushing pain in my heart. My heart feels like it's been put in a vice and all the blood's been squeezed out until it's nothing more than a bigass fucking prune.

She was at her accidental sperm donor's house in a better neighborhood, not too far away. A real house that probably had several bedrooms. A guest bedroom. She had been there for a couple of days already. I had no idea. When she finally told me, I was shocked and it fucking stung. 

She got tax info out of me, and seemed to be unhappy about something. I was afraid to ask what was going on. I thought she would tell me. Nothing. Just long periods of silence and a bit of small talk, which is near impossible for me to make. I felt like she was slipping away forever, and fuck, did it hurt. 

I found out that she's not graduating this year but next spring. The spouse is going to fucking freak and be so fucking pissed at me because he wants to move into a bigger place this summer. I told him she was graduating this summer. I really thought she was. I don't want to move to somewhere further from my shrinks and bus routes. I have to eventually get out ALONE to these fucking places! I don't want to pay more rent! I do not want to be forced to be the one that has to do the house hunting like last time. I explained all this to my daughter, and she asked me if I explained it to the spouse. On several occasions, I've told him that I don't want to move until my daughter graduates, so I can keep sending her money. The spouse is going to be so fucking angry that he will threaten to leave, I'll bet. And he might just do it, and then I'll be forced to move anyway. I have no one to help me. I don't know if I will want to bother to go on if I'm forced to move. I don't want to be forced to do anything. I can't stand this shit.

I'm trying not to blow my fucking brains out. I'm really trying.

I don't know when I'll have to deliver the news to the spouse about moving, or rather not moving. It's going to be too fucking soon. He will go - fuck - I don't know what... but it's not going to be pretty. I'll get yelled at and accused of being selfish or some other horrible shit. 

Getting yelled at flips a switch in me. It can go two ways: rage or fear leading to feeling suicidal. I got yelled at enough as a minor. It mostly struck fear in me - fear that I was going to get the beat down. I don't need that shit in my adult life.

After the call, the interrogation, and the music, I just said to myself that I cannot take another year of this. I don't think I can make it through to my daughter's graduation. I can't see life that far ahead. I can't see 6 months from now. It's day to day, or hour to hour, if it has to be. If I have to drug myself to a zombie state just to get through to see my daughter graduate, then I guess that is what I must do.

I guess. 

I cannot stand to fucking live this way. I'm not crying, nor have I been. I feel hurt, disgusted, damaged to all fuck, exhausted, and done, as if the path for me is coming to an end, and they say that there is light at the end of that tunnel. A bright white light. I'll bring my darkest sunglasses.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Twinkle Twinkle Little Ghetto

Apart from my world and the nausea that's kept me from getting the exercise and movement that I need, I haven't been feeling all that bad. I've been able to distract myself and keep my anxiety level down pretty well. I brought back some more "Majong Titans" for serious mindless multitasking distraction. I need more than one thing at a time to distract me, but I sometimes end up getting confused, and forget something that I'm about to do once I stand up. I don't get a head rush or anything, just blank, like someone erased my "to do" list, even if it was as simple as "make tea". Sad.

This morning was nice and dark when I got outside, and went to Starschmucks for my free coffee. I'm starting to run out of empty bags that are good for a free tall drip coffee. Oh well. I hope my homeless neighbor across the street has enjoyed her free cups of joe with a smoke in the morning, as I have when I make it outside alone.

The area near the building was looking a little too ghetto this morning, though it's not as bad as that sounds. There were a pile of used needles that I had to kick away from the car, and a trail of shattered car window glass along the sidewalk and gutter that shone like a million diamonds. Gotta love that safety glass. It's so pretty when it's totally smashed like that. I can't help but like it. My vision is bad, so it becomes a blur of sparkling diamonds by street light. The moon was nowhere to be found.

I think my cat has an allergy to her scratching post, namely the chemicals in the carpeting used to make it. I could find no other thing that might have caused it, so we're taking the poor itchy baby back to the vet for another shot, and some more advice. More money, but since I haven't been going to the Dr, that's OK by me. I don't want to see her suffer or hurt herself with her massive scary claws.

Well, back to finishing my morning joe and trying to keep little Frankie calm for her unpleasant trip to the vet. She was a real trooper last time, and didn't kill anybody.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

It's Raining Today

Scott Walker - It's Raining Today


What a sick fucking day it has been. It started out when I woke up at the same time as the spouse, and he went off to the bathroom. I didn't get up until he was done in there. He asked if he should make his own coffee. I asked him to make some for me too, as I was going in the bathroom. He turned on the water, yelled something to me and couldn't hear what I said. I told him how to make enough coffee for both, and I asked if he could just wait a minute, and then I would make it (for both). He yelled that he couldn't wait and that he was making some for himself. Moments later, I was out of the bathroom.

I asked him why he couldn't wait just one minute. He never answered. Then I told him how fucking rude he was being, and grabbed some workout clothes from the closet. I got dressed and as I went to put my socks on, I said FUCK THIS SHIT to myself. On came the goofy tennis shoes they make these days, plus an oversized fleece-lined hoodie with big pockets. I grabbed as much shit as I could: iPod, keys, phone, coffee card, smokes, lighter, and flew out the door into the rain. 

I had not yet gotten to take any medication.

I tried not to focus on the fact that it was daylight, and concentrated on the ground in front of me as I walked over to Starschmucks. For once I didn't care about getting my clothes, hair, or un-made-up face getting wet. All I wanted was to get the fuck away from the spouse (it), because I couldn't stand to look at him, or listen to him, or be in his presence after the way he (it) acted. I could not remember being so fucking angry and disgusted, and, well, "stabby" as a psychiatrist suggested to me during a hospital stay. I felt like I wanted to do him some bodily harm, but in no specific way, and that kept me at the coffee shop longer. 

One coffee was my limit, even though I wanted more, but I didn't want to make a bad bad situation any worse. I was so fucking pissed, I tried not to cry as hard as I could, and I managed to talk myself out of it. I was not going to waste a tear on his stupidfuck behavior.  I sat, listening to music, and messing with my phone, and mentioning on another site that I was getting away from a psychocunt, etc until my ass hurt from the tall stool I had to sit on. There was nowhere else to sit, and of course I wanted to be as far from others as I could, but that didn't work out, of course., It was Sunday morning, so people started trickling in more and more until the place was half full. That is when I had to get out of there. 

As I stood outside, my only thought was that there was nowhere to go. Nowhere but a doorway just down the street to shelter me from the rain as I chainsmoked. The poisons were making me feel better. I could imagine how crappy I looked, as I looked down at my hoodie, and saw that they were dirty. I guess not enough for a passer by to pass me by, instead of asking for money. He had just been in the coffee shop. He said something to me, stuck out his hand, and I just looked at it, without bothering to listen to what he was saying. All I did was shake my head and he moved on. 

When I was finally done, again, I focused on the sidewalks and streets as I walked home. I couldn't help noticing someone sleeping under a tarp behind the bushes next to my neighboring building. Never saw them or noticed them before. I did notice that the light kind of hurt my eyes again, and I just wanted away from it, but didn't panic. I didn't panic when I got to my door and the lock on the front door was being shitty to me. I didn't want to go back in, but in I went, and I have never walked more slowly down any hall before. I was dragging a 2 ton sack of fucking dread with me, and more sort of vertigo thing going on as I made it to the door. 



The Walking Dead is on, and the spouse made some comment. I guess I was supposed to reply, but I didn't. He got pissy and said after this long, "What? You're not speaking to me?" As if he'd never done a fucking thing wrong in his life. Almost as if he was offended. Just because I answered a couple of questions about the taxes I set out to do when I came home doesn't mean that I was talking to him. I was being as curt as possible, with my answers pertaining to the rules and instructions, and nothing else. I asked that he print hard copies this time He claimed he made enough coffee for me. He could have bothered to tell me that before I went out into the rain. 


When I got inside, I'd found the spouse went back to bed. I had to grab that quiet/alone time to make another attempt at the taxes, and get that motherfucking shit over with. I tried as best I could with my cognitive issues, vague instructions, and Swiss cheese brain. It's been folded up, and stuck in an envelope. At this point, I don't even care if all the necessary shit is in there but a check. Motherfucker can whine all he wants about his return, because I'm done, and going to tune it out with earphones, or walk away, or walk out. 

I'm off to bed earlyish, so that I can hopefully wake up before the spouse and go outside again, but this time in the dark. Unfortunately, when I get there, I won't be alone.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Some Are Born To The Endless Night

The Doors - End of the Night

Take the highway to the end of the night 
End of the night, end of the night 
Take a journey to the bright midnight 
End of the night, end of the night 

Realms of bliss, realms of light 
Some are born to sweet delight 
Some are born to sweet delight 
Some are born to the endless night 
End of the night, end of the night 
End of the night, end of the night 

Realms of bliss, realms of light 
Some are born to sweet delight 
Some are born to sweet delight 
Some are born to the endless night 
End of the night, end of the night 
End of the night, end of the night

It's Saturday, which means that doing the treadmill should not be an option. It should be done. I feel too sick to even move too much at this point, so I can't see that it's going to happen. Another fail?

My alarm woke me up, but also the spouse this time, and he actually got up. I was instantly irritated. Fucking PMS.I could not stand to be in his presence or hear him. I felt a little guilty about it, but stopped myself because I was going out into the dark to the Starschmucks around the corner. Had to get away from here. 

I tried to watch a tv show on my phone, but I guess my connection wasn't cooperating. I don't know anything about that stuff. So that was out. All I had was music, but it just wasn't enough of a distraction to be able to stay after finishing my coffee. 

Outside, it was dry, dark, and not too cold. Again, I couldn't find my friend, the moon, but I found I was enjoying my smoke before I went back in the building. Walking down the hall to my door, the hallway seemed never ending and crazy. Maybe vertigo. Maybe I didn't want to go back, so my brain started fucking with me.

Mostly I just feel...nausea...with a dose of anxiety coming on. I can feel my cheeks starting to burn up. I don't know if that's from anxiety or not getting enough clonopin in time. Very addictive stuff, they say. 

I doubt that I'm going to get anything done, like the taxes. I tried to start doing that yesterday eve, but the spouse was being too noisy and distracting that I couldn't concentrate for shit. No matter how many times I read bits and pieces of instructions and rules, I just couldn't get it. I'm trying not to let it become overwhelming, but it's really feeling almost impossible with the presence of the spouse - his comings and goings, his seemingly happy little mood that I'm doing the taxes. He probably has big dollar signs in his eyes and a big smirk on his face, but I won't look at him.

I'm tired. Tired of this fucking anxiety, taxes, bullshit, pms, irritability, physical symptoms... I just want to push all the papers off the couch and curl up in a ball. 

I feel so weak, like someone has taken the vacuum hose to me and sucked out any energy that I had, and kicked me in the uterus.

I just feel wrong. All wrong and unable to deal with figures over and over. I wish I wasn't that slow and cognitively impaired to deal with paperwork and shit, but I NEED it OUT of my life. No one's going to help me either. I wonder if I should request and extension, but I don't want to drag it on, and I can't. I am obligated to give my daughter my info, and don't ever want to let her down again.

Current status: Fail

Monday, March 10, 2014

Bad Moon Rising

Fuck. I made a rather bold move this morning after coffee pot was emptied. I figured it would be safest then. I went to the bedroom, where the spouse had already disappeared, to talk about all the shit that's going down here, and how I want to try to fix it, how I would like for there to be some happiness around here. I get more of what I got yesterday morning: accusation after accusation. I even asked for the tax crap, to take it back and go over it again and see what I can do. All the spouse could say about that was that he basically couldn't believe that I was such a forgetful fuck-up, and I got the sense that he feels like I ripped him off on his taxes before or something. Money, money, money... After the money "discussion" was over, I tried talking about other things, but hit a brick wall. He said he really didn't want to have the conversation right now. So I turned around and left the tax crap on the bed. Passive-aggresive shit returned to him. Dumb, I know, but I wanted to see how long he would let it sit there in the bedroom.

It seems like he thinks I don't care about him, how he looks, buying new furniture, and moving. He equated the response of my initial response of "whatever" to his remark about growing facial hair as some kind of insult on the way that he looks. Truth is, he rarely "makes an effort" I meant "whatever" as a personal choice. I gave more than that opinion after that, yet he still clung to the "whatever" as if I don't care. I make an effort pretty much every day not to look like a complete slob, as much as I can to make myself feel less self-conscious, for hygiene's sake, and to try and keep remembering how to do it. Yeah, I forget my little routine sometimes. Fuckin' Swiss cheese memory.

Yet another day crapped on, and he said he wanted to go to the grocery store at some point. Can't ever get a specific time out of him, but he yells at me for it. I'm guessing he might want to go late afternoon, if at all. Well, that was a fine way to build up more anxiety for me, trying to have an adult conversation with him. My chest feels like someone is squeezing the fuck out of my rib cage, and I have to remember to breathe. I have to remember to try to stay calm, and get rid of any distressed look that I can feel on my face. Just grit my teeth and try to get through it.

Oh... the spouse has just walked in with the tax forms, etc, and asked me if I needed them. I said "Not right now". So they're sitting on the table where he put them, where they will sit for a while. More passive-aggressive presents returned to him. Stupid, I know, but I want him to know how it feels. I doubt if he'll get it. He seems to have plenty of money saved up as it is without any crummy return. If I wait too long, I wonder if he'll end up using some kind of threats. I'm guessing that all he can think about is money and himself because of being laid off for this long, spending money fixing his car and tons of other stuff for himself, and expecting thousands in a tax return.

I feel ill. My face is burning up. Need to get off the couch and move. Distract. Distract....Shower! Hate it, but will definitely distract.


Sunday, March 9, 2014

The Killing Moon

I want the sunlight to go away. Now.

I tried to stay in bed late, but it was impossible, the spouse was being totally inconsiderate, and making all kinds of noise while he got up,and didn't even close the bedroom door. He even asked me if I was having a "lie in". I said yeah. Not possible when he's up and around. I sighed after he came in again for his computer, and got up and put on my PJs.

Oh, man...

I've just been accused of not caring about any money that's been spent on me. I don't see a whole lot that was spent on me that I every asked for, in the form of things around me... I don't ask for things. I never really wanted anything I couldn't buy for myself in the first place.I was also accused of being wasteful, of caring only for myself, and my big daily medication box (of all things)! I said "I care a LOT about taking my medication, because I need it, or I don't know what will happen to me if I don't.". How is that a crime?" Or does he see that as a crime? Because he agreed to help me out with the cost of my prescriptions? Because he hates it and regrets it now? Because he may think that I'm just trying to get him to pay for stuff for me? That was never even my idea! It was his" Prior to that, this is the shit that went down:

I really don't understand how/why people/couples fight exactly, apart from me doing something terrible when I was drunk, So now that I'm soberish, I don't know if I'm really supposed to participate or what, or how. I don't know what the hell is going on when someone freaks out that I give them an honest answer when they ask me, "I'm thinking about cultivating some facial hair to show of some of my gray. At first, I think it's a joke, but then I play safe, and give a serious and honest answer. The spouse asked "What do you think?" I said,"Whatever. I don't like facial hair. It's neither pleasing to the eye, nor pleasant to the touch." I guess he was angry and hurt by it, and chose to plant a quickly growing seed of anger in his head instead of talking about it anymore. I asked him if his PJs were new. I didn't know what kind of expression I had on my face, but I was thinking that red really wasn't his color. I didn't give an opinion. They were plaid. Mainly red. He acted like I was putting him down, said, "Just keep being negative", then left the room.

He came back and sat down in the living room again, where he asked, "You gonna pay me for that mop that I bought? You don't even use it." I don't use it?! "I paid $60 for the damn thing and you don't even use it." and "You never say anything nice about the way I look". I was not that shocked but was really disgusted that he was going down this lane AGAIN - the $$$ I told him he never comments on how I look, my hair or clothes. I said I wouldn't be offended if he didn't like my haircut or clothes. I asked him if he was going to pay for the vacuum cleaner that he watched me buy just to hear what he would say. His answer was, "Well, at least that gets used." Love your logic. Notice there was no "yes" or "OK" in there. I remember buying it, thinking he might help me out. I was kind of shocked and disappointed when he didn't. That was way in the past, and I didn't let it get to me. I wasn't angry or feeling cheated out of money or something.

I said nothing for a while, and then he asked me if I'm going to pay my taxes, and that he just wants what's his." Yep. I knew he would never sign those forms with all that time on his hands to sit there and fester and think about his pile of money that he always kept his meathooks dug into. All I could say to that was that I would have to look at the forms, do it all over again and see what would happen. He mentioned again that he just wanted what was his. Then I said, "What do you want? Do you just want me to give you all my money? Would that make you happy?" The sun starts quickly setting in my head.

He also mentioned that I don't care about him, that I'm not interested in him, that I accuse him of wasting his money. He bought another Kindle, the pad, and downloaded all "Game of Thrones" books when we have them all already. I was referring to the 1st book when I strongly advised him not to waste his money on those books just for the sake of his kindle pad. He got pissed.

He also dug up an ancient story about a $500 deposit he/we lost on an apartment in a different neighborhood that I changed my mind about at the last minute because it was too many bus rides/time away from my shrink, and I was paranoid about living in the neighborhood. I had 2 Xs living in the neighborhood, and 1 X fling. There were too many tempting bars I used to spend too much time at that were still managing to stay in business. Also, the whole neighborhood was being torn down, and going through the very, very uncool gentrification process. I may or may not have paid him half of that deposit back. I don't remember, but I remember paying extra for fees here, where we ended up. I never complained, or wrote it down in my "You Owe Me" book in my head. The sky is growing darker and darker in my head.

The last stab in the back was,"You didn't marry me for love. You only married me to pay your bills." Ahem. I was living on my own, and paying all my own bills at the time he came to live with me from the UK, plus while he was working there occasionally, I paid for all his fees for the process of getting here, and he never mentioned that. Neither did I.I said "That's absolute BULLSHIT". He grabbed his computer and said, "I'm taking my bullshit into the other room." I went into the kitchen and grabbed the last grocery receipt, and transferred money over for the groceries and his stupid fucking mop. $30? I just kept thinking How fucking petty. How fucking petty... Sometimes I'd like to pistol whip him for being so fucking crazy petty. Who did he learn that from?

He came back out again, but just to make tea, and asked me if I wanted some, almost sounding like he had realized that he'd gone over the top with that shit scene. But I'm sure it was just out of guilt/manners, nothing else. He can go back into the bedroom, go online, stare at his bank account balance and squeeze every virtual penny he can. Have fun. And if I make tea, I'll only be asking him if he wants some out of courtesy as well, even if I have to deliver it to the bedroom.

So he is very sensitive, but will not admit it or talk about it with me. He has issues he will not discuss with anyone. He just keeps bottling them up, day after day, year after year. The sun is gone, the sky is black, and the full moon has risen in my head.

This guy really needs to go back to work. If anything, to get away from me. He gets bored constantly, angry, cabin fever, smokes a pack a day, takes naps (!), yet won't do shit outside when it's sunny, and he's not working. Makes no sense at all... How many times have I said it? He acts like he doesn't care about anything but money, eating, and maybe moving out of this place.

I'm not really feeling depressed at all, or sad, or angry... irritated, yes, but I got up that way. I'm trying to stay in the moment. I'm tired, and losing that hour's a bitch. I wasn't able to get outside. I have no energy, which is OK because it's Sunday, and exercise is optional. It's Zombie Day... so the spouse should be in a better mood. I am feeling some tolerable anxiety, due to the time change fucking me over.. No thanks to that dick, Benjamin Franklin, or whatever story you choose to believe. Fuck 'em all. I have a headache, it's dark in my head, and I want everything to just suddenly STOP.

Should have watched "Donnie Darko" last night, but it felt too much like a guilty pleasure you do only when no one is looking.

Why do I continue to live and breathe, and why an I still wearing this stupid woman suit?

Friday, March 7, 2014

I Hate Swiss Cheese

Take Me As I Am - Mary J Blige

These past few days I've been having the occasional extremely unwanted fucking flashback. Each one is different, but that car incident the other day really fucked with my head. I can't even put into words some of the horrors I've lived through. My brain is Swiss cheese, and I can't write or talk about all that shit.  I guess that makes me weaker than those that can just come out and share their horror stories. 

My horror stories are buried in some distant graves, but it's as if someone's worked their Voodoo on some of them, and they're pushing their way up through their rotten coffins, up toward the barren surface. They're dragging dirty old film loops to play over and over in my head, until I can shut them out, and push them as far back into the darkness that I can.

Depression and anxiety have pretty much reluctantly taken a little vacation, one after the other, and now PTSD has decided to creep back into my fucking head? Where can I find the right spell that can send all of that evil shit back to their distant graves?

I can't let my mind rest at all when I'm awake for fear of one of those old film loops playing its horrific shit over and over. I want to claw my eyes out, but I can't claw out my mind's eye. I want to blind it. I want to blind that fucker. Gouge it right the fuck out of my head. It shows me and makes me hear painful, evil, bloody, violent, twisted shit that no child or adult should have to experience or see. 

Like I said, there are gaps in my brain, gaps in my memory, whole chunks of memories gone, years of missing time, and blackouts. I don't know all the facts, I don't remember enough, but I remember too much. Forgotten people and places, forgotten faces. Some of it could probably be blamed on booze, drugs, unknown effects of long-term prescription drug use. 

Maybe the seroquel and clonopin will hit me hard tonight, and I won't remember any dreams when I wake up during the night. I hope. Maybe listening to classical music all through the night will help - no lyrics to think about. I'll have the window open to let some cool, comforting fresh air come in. Maybe it'll all take me away to a known, safe dream world that I'm familiar with. 

Tomorrow I'll wake up and start all over again.

Music & Lyrics

The Verve - Never Wanna See You Cry 

I don't like the way that you say you feel fine
when you look so down
And I don't like the way that the pills you take
they just keep you down
Shiny little minds
Trying to find my way in life
String of broken hearts
Well they still made it
You ready to start?
Never wanna see you cry
No, I never wanna hold you with tears in your eyes
Never wanna see you burn
There's so much I gotta tell you
So much that you'll learn
I'm dying, dying, baby, dying
To get close to you
But sometimes, sometimes the wall you built
You know, I can't get through
Shiny little minds
Trying to find my way in life
String of broken hearts
Well they still made it
You ready to start?
I never wanna see you cry
No, I never wanna hold you with tears in my eyes
Never wanna see you die
There's so much I gotta tell you
So much that you'll learn
Cause I never wanna see you cry'
No I never wanna see you die
No I never wanna see you cry
No I never wanna see you cry
Cause I never wanna see you cry
No I never wanna see you cry
No I never wanna see you die
Oh I never wanna see you die...

Thursday, March 6, 2014

From Darkness To Light

Music: Supernatural Radio (online)
Drink:  Water

Yesterday morning in the darkness, just before the rain came down hard, I managed to get out to the starbucks by the light of the moon. I passed a homeless neighbor that was just waking up, and I was too shy to ask her what her name was, but I told her mine. I asked if she would accept a handful of the starbucks "free coffee" coffee bags, and she did. She smiled from under her ton of blankets and sleeping bag, thanked me, and I told her to have a good morning.

I only got a bit wet in my hoodie on my way to starbucks, but didn't mind. I'd normally freak over it had I been out in the daylight. Very irritating for me. VERY. I only had a coffee and sat in a corner next to a window. Water was leaking in from the ceiling nearby. The reflection of light off the billion litle raindrops set against the dark skies on the glass looked like billions of stars in the partial clearing. I realized then that I forgot my phone, and that the alarm was going to go off at home, and wake up my spouse, so I got out of there pretty quickly. I think my walking song was:

Stuck in the Middle - Stealer's Wheel

Later on, after my therapist appointment, I felt pretty damn proud for not crying again. Just big welled-up tears in my eyes as I looked toward the ceiling while there. Somehow, when I do that, my eyes seem to suck them back in. Another runny nose, and that was it. I tried with all my might and willpower not to cry that whole session, and I didn't crack. Afterward, I was swept away to the drugstore and to grocery store. I needed an Rx, and my husband was crazy/angry hungry. You know how some people get that way? All pissed off if they don't eat? And they take their angry shit out on you. Does not compute with me. I'd rather have hunger pains any day, all day.

We ran into the drugstore, where somebody spray painted "Stick it to the man!" on the sidewalk nearby in huge blue letters. It's kind of comforting to know that it's been there for at least a couple of years. After dropping off my Rx, I was whisked away into the grocery store, the back out across the street to the drugstore. Perfect timing. My full month of clonazepam was waiting for me. Fucking finally!

When we left, I had my purse sitting on my lap as well as a bag of groceries for extra added feeling of "safety" sitting in the front seat on the way home. My spouse drives like a maniac, just like everybody else does, and complains about everybody else, just like the rest of the world does. I can't fucking stand to hear about it.

We got a few blocks down to a semi-major intersection where people were waiting for the "walk" light on both sides of the street, and he tried to whip around and make a right turn before they crossed, just after the "walk" light turned. I screamed and put my left arm out to try to stop him, which I managed to do. I said "You CAN'T FUCKING DO THAT! PEOPLE HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE!" I was wearing my sunglasses, and tears began streaming down behind them. WHAT. THE. FUCK.... So my list of shit that caused me PTSD isn't gone or going to go away, I realized. I wept silently behind my sunglasses the rest of the way home, and into the homestead. I remembered that my voice and breathing had changed during that whole thing. I got no reaction from the spouse but "There wasn't anyone crossing yet". 

Does he remember, know or care about my PTSD? Is he just oblivious to this shit or does he purposefully ignore it? I tend to think he's oblivious, that he put his own blinders on many years ago as a kind of coping mechanism for his own shit. Sez Dr Idunno. 

I just didn't want to deal with it anymore.Just wipe the tears and be done with it. Forget it fast, before you start wanting a fucking drink or something (seven). 

From Darkness
 To Light

The light, the light, where is the light in all of this? Oh yes, I woke up in a lighter mood than yesterday, but decided it was too rainy and windy to go out. Later I remembered the good coffee deed that I did. That made me smile. 

I failed at exercise today, but there's always tomorrow, and always tomorrow morning to sneak out around 5.30ish to get outside for coffee and a smoke. I do like being out in the dark by my
self like that.

I received an unsolicited hug from the spouse. There is my daughter. I have a roof over my head, plenty of food and clothing, a computer, a bed, electricity, and money coming in that I can share with my daughter (in college). The spouse gave me a $100 to send to her today. My crazy cat. I got to wear comfy, stretchy workout pants/clothes all day. I've got plenty of saltines for my nausea. I have lots to be thankful for, in fact, too much.

I need to go through my clothes and shoes, and see what I can donate to the charity shop down the street. I'm going to need some huge bags. I became quite the little hoarder when I was living alone in my studio of crazy with the insane online shoe/boot buying problem.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

I Cried With My Nose

Jimi Hendrix - If 6 Was 9
(Sing a song, brother) 
If the sun refused to shine, 
I don't mind, I don't mind. 
If the mountains fell in the sea, 
Let it be, it ain't me. 
Got my own world to live through 
And I ain't gonna copy you. 

Now, if 6 turned up to be 9, 
I don't mind, I don't mind. 
If all the hippies cut off all their hair, 
I don't care, I don't care. 
Dig, 'cos I got my own world to live through 
And I ain't gonna copy you. 

White-collar conservatives flashing down the street 
Pointing their plastic finger at me. 
They're hoping soon my kind will drop and die, 
But I'm gonna wave my freak flag high . . . HIGH! 

Hah, hah 
Fall mountains, just don't fall on me 
Go on mister Businessman, 
You can't dress like me. 
Nobody know what I'm talking about 
I've got my own life to live 
I'm the one that's gotta die 
When it's time for me to die 
So let me live my life the way... I want to. 

Yeah . . . 
Sing on brother, 
Play on brother . . .


I actually hit the snooze on my alarm this morning, which is something I haven't done since I had a job, which was about 7 years ago (?). Maybe I was subconsciously dreading the meds management shrink appointment that I had to get to today. I could swear it was by accident. The spouse was already up and called something to me. I replied, but I don't remember what I said, but he then told me that it was Tuesday, and that I had a Dr appointment to get to.

I got up, grabbed my jeans, and went into my very own closet of horrors, where there are clothes that range from everything from size 0 to 10 or 12. Some are even boys' and mens' clothes (t-shirts, hoodies). I grabbed some new undies, socks, t-shirt, and coat. I decided what t-shirt to grab by the color of lipstick I was going to wear.

I am at an age where I should probably be dressing "older", only I don't think I know what that is, and I don't think I'd really want to. Something tells me that it would be buttass ugly. No can do. I have very long, nearly black hair, don't dye it anymore, and no visible gray hairs. I don't have a face that I should have. It should look like I've barely managed to weather all the shit storms I've been through in my lifetime so far + booze and drugs: I don't have wrinkles. I guess you could say I'm blessed with some good Mexican genes. Maybe Aztec. Maybe Mayan. Who knows? All I know is that I can pass for someone much younger, I'm not trying to "dress younger". I don't want to look ridiculous.

I just want to be comfortable and feel confident in the clothes I am wearing if I am out in public. I want to walk confidently, and feel 5 inches taller, and a baddass, like I used to feel when manic. Maybe that's why I'm growing more and more attached to my favorite stack-heeled leather riding-ish style boots. I feel taller, and more confident, even if I'm anxious. Gawd knows how much I paid for them on a crazy wacko cabin fever online shoe shopping spree No regrets on those, though. None.

So the spouse was a little bitchy about waiting for me to finish up my makeup so that we could leave for my appointment. He was hurrying me along, which I was trying not to let stress me out. That is the exact kind of shit that stresses me out but I would be damned if I was going to let him rush me this morning. He says he hates waiting for others. Maybe he's just a selfish ass. Either way, he's a pain in the ass in the morning, but I didn't let it get to me at all. My attention was on the car ride to the clinic up on ghetto hill.

I always have to have something biggish, like my purse, on my lap and have my arms wrapped around it, unless I'm smoking at the time. I am hyper aware of all shit going on around us, hating the spouse's yelling about the shitty driving of others, hating his driving, hating his raised voice, hating that I'm in the front, and don't feel strapped in tightly, hating that there's so much traffic, hating that there's nothing to hang onto. I gotta have music and smoke. I have PTSD (and not just for this), and this car thing will never go away, except when I am drunk, I have a deathwish and don't care if the driver is drunk.

We made it to the clinic in one piece, and I saw the shrink. I've been sort of downgraded, and I'm maxed out on meds, he says, unless I want to try something else. When we talked about what was going on, of course I started my usual crying thing, but this time, my eyes just welled up, and I fought it like fuck. Not a tear spilled. I got a runny nose instead, which was much less humiliating. I was so proud. So anyway, Officially now, I'm BPII with some Borderline traits, PTSD, and Anxiety Disorder. I feel a bit better about that. It would be something to rub my sister's face in, that I'm Bipolar not Borderline, just some Borderline traits. Not just me me me, like she likes to think sometimes, and used to think. Funny, my spouse thinks that of me too, that I'm just me me me. I'm sure some of that he got from my sister. Well, first I gotta fuckin'' take care of me, pull myself out of whatever to try to get to a place somewhere near the level that everyone else is on. So, FUCK. ALL Y'ALL.

Maybe I'm starting to feel a sort of mania coming on since I'm not really depressed as such, sometimes sad, but that wears off pretty quickly. I do get irritable, but have managed to contain my growing rage because that damn tax form still hasn't been signed yet. One good thing though, is the spouse picked it up late this morning and asked if it was ready to be mailed. I told him it was, but just needed his signature and SSN. I'm thinking too that I'm not feeling so anxious about going to the therapist tomorrow, regardless of how I get there, and the fact that I need to go to the drugstore afterward to get more clonazepam. The whole prescribed dose and amount of pills, FFS! I could ask for a ride back from the shrink's, with a stopover at the drugstore. The weather's going to be shitty. I want that damn tax form signed tomorrow, and sent out! So I still gotta play it cool. Maybe he'll see how shitty the weather is and offer a ride? Hmm...

I think I'm going to try and hit the starbucks in the morning again, but leave when a little light has come out, and try not to freak out. Baby steps. I'm bringing some extra "free coffee" bags in case I pass a waking homeless neighbor. Maybe a few. I can't seem to use as many of them as I have saved. A bunch!

I'm not feeling anxious about tomorrow yet. It's weird. It's fucking WAY weird. Something's up, I better fucking enjoy it if I can, as long as I can, and share the wealth (coffee and cigarettes) tomorrow if I have the opportunity!!!

I don't plan on crying, but plan on talking about anxiety shit and getting the fuck outta the house. I'll bring my own tea. If the sting of oncoming tears starts to happen, I'll only cry through my nose again! I WANT CONTROL.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Lost In Translation

Santa Claus & His Old Lady - Cheech & Chong
Listen and laugh!

One thing that I actually was listening to with both my earplugs in was Cheech & Chong's "Santa Claus and His Old Lady", a recording that I remember hearing way back when, sometime during childhood. It was one of the only good memories that I could ever scrape up, not that I try, but I had to listen to the video on FB and go with it. I was laughing my ass off, then I realized I was doing it in front of the spouse, and that he may be missing out on something that he might think was funny too. So, I pulled out the plugs and asked him if he liked Cheech & Chong. He flat out said "No," with the least bit of interest, and didn't even make eye contact.

I was kinda crushed, because this was something I loved since I was a kid, remembering that I never believed in any santa claus, and that this crazy comedy recording could still make me laugh my ass off after all these years.

Lost in translation. 

He is from the UK.

Later I remember listening to an old Chris Rock special and an old George Lopez special stand-up comedy gigs on HBO. Again, I was laughing my ass off, pulled out the plugs, and asked the spouse if he liked these guys. Another flat "no". But they are so fucking funny! I didn't wanna do no splainin' Lucy, I thought to myself. It was then that I realized he wouldn't even get this song.

Lost in translation.

Flashback to years ago when I was in England with him and I rented a hilarious movie, "Pootie Tang". We both watched it, I laughed my ass off, and he was silent as a clam on the bottom of the ocean.

Lost in translation. 

I miss laughing. I miss shared laughter.

Well, at least he can appreciate some Robert Rodriguez movies and stuff. I don't know. Who doesn't love Danny Trejo by now? 

He sure doesn't appreciate all the love and work that is put into making Mexican food. That's disappointing. Some of you ladies out there know what I'm talking about. That's why I don't cook it anymore. Shame that even food can get lost in translation. 

Damn! Now I'm thinking about that little shop downtown that secretly sells homemade tamales... and I'm missing the pastries, the sweet bread like the pigs. :)


You Better Think

                                                                             Aretha - Think  

If I'm not exactly sad or SAD, then what am I? If I'm not exactly showing the usual signs of depression, like crying bouts, than what am I showing? I don't feel like crying, smashing anything, eating everything in the fridge, downing a bottle of bourbon or tequila so badly that I would do it. I'm not wishing I was doped up on painkillers and lounging in a hot tub, smoking, with my iPod.

Ok, maybe that one's a stretch... If I'm not being affected by triggers of bad PTSD shit that I can't pretty easily wipe out, like I'm used to, then I'm not feeling traumatized? If I'm not shaking like a chihuahua, and my heart isn't pounding at 100mph, I don't have to go anywhere...no need to worry about going anywhere just yet... If I'm able to sneak out by the light of the moon and get coffee (free - I save the starbucks bags) then I'm not 100% agoraphobic. If I can enjoy (?) some tunes on my iPod or online, then I'm not numb to the effect of music.

I did enjoy seeing the beginnings of spring blossoms of daffodils and such on the way back home this morning... "Enjoy"?!

Everything was going OK until the spouse got up, grabbed some coffee, said he couldn't talk for an hour because he just woke up. So what does he do? He starts talking to me, expecting me to respond, so when I do, somehow it's not what he wants to hear? He ends up telling me that I'm "sat there on the couch with my laptop and earphones in all the time", which is not true. I only have one and don't always plug in to anything, and I'm not always watching something online.. I asked him if he was avoiding me by hanging out in the bedroom so much, coming out for food, tv, and to smoke. He mentioned the earphones again, and that I'm
hard to live with. I tell him that he's also hard to live with. He says "Good comeback. Now you're just going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself." I said that I don't feel sorry for myself. At the time, I certainly didn't, I only felt rising anger, but remained cool as a cucumber.

How hard is it to live with someone when you spend so much time in a different room from them lately? I accept no blame for his boredom or lack of work. He's been laid off for too long, is bored, doesn't want to do anything outside of the home, so it feels like he takes his shit out on me. Can boredom turn someone into a monster?

He should think more before he says such cruel shit such as "now you're just going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself". No, I'm going to sit here and think about what a cruel, thoughtless, asshole you can be, as well as moody. A few days ago, he told me he loved me and that money didn't matter, that there wouldn't be another me. Or some shit like that. Lies or just the beer talking? Did he mean it at the moment, or does he have worse MH problems than he lets on/admits to? He actually apologized a while ago for being "mean" to me, and now I get some really shitty words from him.

I am not the kind of person to really argue, put down, yell, do the name calling thing, etc, that it seems most people do, including him. He hasn't always been that way. So when someone acts like he does, it just blows me away how easily someone can sling some real shitty, cruel, and potentially deadly words around like they're nothing. I've decided that I'm not upset by his words, but angry and really disappointed that he can easily flip a switch and turn so ice cold. Or is it that that is how he secretly is in the mornings? A big baby bitch? Again, it hasn't always been like that.

"...feel sorry for yourself..." I feel more sorry for him, that he can be so heartless and cruel when it's totally uncalled for. That maybe he can't feel love in the way that two people are supposed to when they are married? That maybe he's so fucked up from his unaddressed, unaccepted MH issues, he can't communicate with anyone in a deep and meaningful way, let alone have a long, deep, and meaningful relationship with someone? That he's too afraid to open up for fear of some undiagnosed reason? That maybe he's spent so much time alone that he doesn't even know how to really love someone else on a more mature level? All these are questions now...

I've said from the beginning that I'm hard to live with, but I've already told him that he's hard to live with too, so that exchange was not that big of a deal, just a dickish thing to say, especially when followed up by other insults. So if I feel so sorry for myself, does that mean that I should leave? Does it mean that I should off myself? Does it mean that I'm just not good enough for him? That he resents me and my laptop when I'm on the couch and using it? Was he trying to make me cry and go hide out in the bedroom all day long? Does he want me out of sight and mind for as long as possible?

You know, them's fightin' words, what he said, and I think he wanted to do some damage, and make me cry. Well, I'm going to skip the treadmill today and spend the day in the bedroom after all.

I started migrating toward the bedroom, had to make a stop in the kitchen along the way to cut a pill, and he just had to re-start the battle he created. So I had to respond to some of his accusations and such: "you don't even want to move and get a bigger place" (I don't have the money) "you have no interest in getting new furniture" (I don't have the money), "you ever thought about getting a job?" (how can I when I can't set foot outside in the daylight by myself?) "I don't always say you just don't want to work" "why don't you get a night job?" "You're never going to have the money if you don't get a job" "I help you with your prescriptions and pay an extra $100 rent when I'm working (not this month nor last)" "I only got $2000 worth of work done on the car because I was expecting a big return, and now we're not going to get it" (he still hasn't signed the forms, so he gets nothing at this point) "You never make plans because you never know how you're going to feel" (duh, it's called Bipolar) "You just pick and choose what you want to respond to" "You never  want to go for a walk or anything" (I have asked. He said what for? Where to? I have a car.) "I have a car. Where would we walk to?" (omg/wtf/etc)

All this from the same person that said to me, while sober, that he would drive me to see my daughter any time on a weekend. All I had to do was ask. I think he meant beg, crawl, cry, kiss his feet, cook him dinner every night. I'm afraid to even ask him to go to the store, something that we BOTH need to do. I'm afraid to ask him to walk me to the bus stop to get to the therapist. I think he takes some pleasure from this. There's just something instinctual that tells me this, not paranoia. I am unable to drive EVER (due to PTSD partly caused by being in a car crash as a little kid and crawling up to the front of the car, on top of my mother, who was covered in blood, and who would not "wake up", etc, long time ago, no sorry for your loss, please, thank you.).

I have said before, if you want to buy some new furniture, go right ahead. I have also said that I can't move to the suburbs because I will fucking die out there, and be even more isolated than now. Also, I will have to take several buses to get to my shrinks, causing me way more anxiety and shit. I fucking can't work right now. I can't set foot outside alone in the daytime. I nearly ran home this morning because it was getting light out after I got my coffee. I said before that I don't want to move before my daughter graduates. I can't remember the reason I gave, possibly because I wanted to send her money, which I do.

And now I'm pissed at myself for letting a few tears spill. Pissed as fuck.

At one point, the cat got in between us, jumped on the back of the couch and began meowing and meowing, wanting nothing more than for it all to stop, from what I guessed. I walked up and patted her on the head. The landline rang, and I knew it was going to be long distance from the UK, so I got to walk away, and get to the bedroom. The cat followed me, and curled up on a corner of the bed.

I'm pissed as FUCK at myself for letting that fucker make me feel bad about myself. He was on the phone long distance with his mum as I made my escape. I said to myself quietly on the way into the bedroom, "How'd you like it if I just shot myself in the fucking head right here and now, asshole? How'd you like to clean up that fucking mess? How'd you like to be all freaked out and not know what the fuck to do, asshole? How'd you like to see a fresh corpse? How do you like blood, tissue, and bone splatter?

What is it? You want to see me working? In the hospital? Playing the good wife? Dead? Don't fucking push me, motherfucker, because if something happens to me, and it's because I feel you've pushed me, I'm going to let a few people know this about you, mainly family, and although I may be the blackest of black sheep in a family, blood is still thicker than water when it comes down to it with my peeps, and you will learn this. You will end up being the white guy begging to be deported. You will be nothing more than an ugly stain in people's memories if you don't change your ways.

Phone call was over too quickly. The spouse came in afterward and asked me if I wanted tea. I did, but not made by his filthy hands. I guess he made some for himself, and sat down and called his brother in the UK.

My face is burning from anxiety/frustration/anger/stress/I gotta pee. My armpits are sweating lightly. I just noticed that my teeth are clenched. No surprise. I don't want to leave this uncomfortable spot, yet I must.

Yes, "suicide" has popped out of the file drawers at the back of my mind again, no surprise. The spouse went for almost all my buttons he could try to push, but didn't push. Instead, he played fucking "Whack-a-mole" on those motherfuckers. Does he know? Did he do it on purpose? Does he have a clue? Will I clue him in? How could I clue him in without sounding weak, or looking like I'm just feeling sorry for myself, like he thinks? Should I have to even clue him in? Shouldn't he know all of that shit he said was horrific and damaging already? Do I fucking bother to inform him again?

Fuck no. Let dozing assholes lie, drink tea, and yack on the phone. Fuck 'em.

Sing it, Aretha.