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, 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.

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