Mixed Mess

Last time I wrote, I decided that I wasn't having any feelings or any emotions at all. I  just felt more blank than numb, thanks to seroquel and clonopin, if that makes any sense.  Well, that didn't last too long because I got a phone call that I forgot that I was supposed to expect.

Somehow, during my wandering around on the internet a few weeks ago, I found (http://attemptsurvivors.com) on which a legit woman was trying to get in contact with people that have had experience(s) with suicide attempts, the ER treatment, mental health hospitalization treatment, involuntary or not. I thought it would be interesting to contact her and see what would happen, if anything. I didn't really expect a response. That was the phone call that I wasn't expecting that I should have expected. It was from Susan Stefan. She turned out to be "Nationally recognized mental health lawyer...began interviewing dozens of people who’ve been suicidal for an upcoming book on the subject." She's written other books in the past, and done other work related to the shit treatment of the MH system's treatment of the mentally ill.

Anyway, she went way far back to the beginning with her questions, which triggered instant trauma and tears for me, but I kept telling her my story as she asked. She was really cool, actually, treated me well, and was very familiar with the MH system in this country, of course. She really liked some of the things that I said, and asked if she could quote me on those. Of course! 

One of the questions she asked at the end was about assisted suicide. I said I believe that people with certain illnesses should have the right to that, like BP and Schizophrenia, even though there are some "high functioning" people out there with Bipolar, Schizophrenia, etc. I said that I felt my diagnoses - Bipolar in particular - was a terminal disease, and should be treated as such. It is treatable, sure, but I still suffer every single fucking day. Would people treat an animal like that, that was suffering every single day? No, they'd shoot them in the head or they'd euthanize them. They would be merciful and kind, and put them out of their misery and suffering. Why should animals be treated more kindly than people that have suffered for the majority of their life?

My illnesses will never go away, the pain is never going to go away, it's treatments have not done much for me, therefore I consider them to be terminal illnesses that are are eventually going to make me end up taking my life. I'm a ticking time bomb. I think about it every single day in one form or another. I think about finally being at peace, without pain, leaving my horrible suffering and my painful brain behind.

After the long phone chat with Ms Stefan, she said she'd be in contact with me in a couple of months again to let me know where she's at on her book, and the material she was planning on using from me for her book. So that was cool.

What wasn't cool was that after that, was that I started looking up assisted suicide law and shit all over the country, and got lost in that for hours. Somehow, I pulled myself out of that and turned to something else. I can't remember what, of course...

I did find an interesting page today...

Today the anxiety's come on even earlier than normal. Fuck! I feel like the life's been sucked out of me as well. To add to that crap, I have to see this new therapist today. I hope I don't scare her. She better impress me quickly, or I'm going to start calling around again right away. My body can not handle the treadmill.

No trip to starschmuck's today. I didn't want to grace them with my presence after the way that prick treated me the other day. I didn't want to give them my money. Only 2 cups of coffee, so no extra caffeine, but still anxiety has come on earlier than normal again. About an hour too early. I was woken up too early by the spouse's fucking alarm at 5 though, and got up, even though he didn't. I'm going to tell him to set it for later, cause I don't need to be getting up that early. Otherwise I won't be making coffee for anyone but myself. Fucker. I am bummed out/pissed that I didn't get to practice being outside.

I do not feel like getting on the treadmill or taking a shower. I will end up washing up and putting some real clothes on. I don't have far to walk, but it's going to freak me out. I hope my music can calm me - as well as my dark sunglasses. Fuck, I'll wear a hoodie too, and little or no makeup. Who cares? I just feel like shit that's been trampled on.

I'm going to go watch "Supernatural" to take my mind off of physical and mental shit... escape.
This post needs some music for those that don't watch the show.

No Feelings

True Blood Season 7 Teaser

I got the above video in my email while sitting here in my usual spot on the couch of gloom and doom. My jasmine tea and water are sitting here, and I'm kicking myself for forgetting to buy saltines at the store yesterday eve. Oh, yes, I remembered the sweet fucking cinnamon graham crackers, but forgot the saltines. I remembered the peanut butter and the canned peaches, but forgot the fucking saltines.

Fuck, I am so nauseous that I had to take my sports bra off because it was putting some pressure on me near my stomach. Then I turned my workout pants into some low riding hipsters. I look like one of those deflated teenagers on the couch in those PSAs about talking to your kids about pot. Funny, now you got to talk to your kids and tell them why you're smoking pot. 

Smoking Pot Is Really Stupid / Anti-Marijuana PSA Video

For the life of me, I can't decide which med it is that is making me feel sick and ruining my scheduled treadmill/"Supernatural" morning time. Fuck, I made it out to starschmucks without meds this morning, and the sun had almost come up already. I didn't have a freakout, but I did have my sunglasses, etc. I didn't feel sick there, or jones-ing for clonopin just yet... I just felt kinda spaced out, I guess like I "normally" would as I was walking down the street back home. Living in my head, almost getting hit by cars, you know, that kind of "normal" shit. 

Maybe there's something EVIL growing in my stomach. There's pain now. Maybe I accidentally swallowed an alien while in a feeding frenzy. Maybe I don't ever want to see a Dr except for meds. Last time I went for some dumb pain, they eventually took my gall bladder. What's next? Maybe they planted something in there while yanking out the gall bladder. Something alien. Something evil. Maybe an alien/human hybrid. Maybe I should go and have an ultrasound! 

Maybe I should just finish my tea, curl up in a ball, and think about the reminder of the end of "True Blood", and say fuck it. There's a "Supernatural" marathon on again on TNT tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be fine by... oh... 3 or 4 today. Maybe I can force myself to get on the treadmill then. I have the DVDs, so no excuse if I feel ok.

 At least I got out this morning without freaking out.

Oh, by the way, I'm not having any feelings or moods at all. I'm just existing. Does that make me a zombie? Be sure to aim for the head.

Sex Pistols - No Feelings

Carry On Wayward Grand Daughter

I made it to my last visit with the therapist shrink today. Funny when I got home, "Carry On Wayward Son" was playing in the bathroom! I had to laugh and smile. Only the Supernatural Junkies are going to get that reference. Anyway, getting ready... That means - TMI - I took a whore's bath, put on a little eye makeup, even though I was asking myself why when I was wearing sunglasses anyway, and pulled on some semi-clean clothes. Next, it was the short engineer style boots.

I was a bit anxious, I have to admit, but I started the seroquel early, because the fucking anxiety was starting early on me, the fucker. So now I end up taking 200mg during the day, and more if I can find some extras around here somewhere. 

Oh, yeah, I took the walk of shame to the bus stop (unable to drive PTSD), and froze with some other people. I put my hood up and saw my bus across the street. It looked like he was taking a break, but I'll bet he went into the building he parked next to to take a big long dump, because it took him a longass time to get back, and pick up us loser bus riders.

I used my "cripple" card and I guess the ride there was ok. As we passed the cemetery, I wrote down the street number to pull the stop bell at to get off if you want to go there. I want to check it out one day, as a therapeutic outing of sorts. Maybe I'll take some flowers to look like I belong there.

After I got dumped off on the main road where the bus stops, I had to walk through loads of people down the small sidewalks. For some idiot unknown reason, I had the urge to go to starfucks and get a coffee, even though I have some at home. Maybe I was just challenging myself. I wasn't really thinking. It was if I was on autopilot. Zombie? Nah, my brain was definitely resting, like in a chair in my head. Not a cushy one, more like a fold-up. Temporary. I knew it would be packed, and would have a huge line. I did it anyway, and when I finished the 1st cup, I got a second one to go, which meant long line again. Nice how sunglasses fuck with your peripheral vision, I didn't see/feel as crowded as I should have felt. I did wonder what the fuck I was doing there. Was I fitting in? Did I look "normal"? Was I fitting in with society?

I wondered why I was the only person wearing sunglasses everywhere I went while I was out. Very odd. Sure, it was supposed to rain, but there were people out there in shorts and short sleeves. Nuts. I froze while waiting to get to the therapist.

Speaking of the devil, I don't think he totally believed me, or was a bit worried about losing a customer or something. He doesn't actually care about me. He's not paid to. He was weird about me telling him that I had to get my finances straight, and deal with moving, and that I couldn't afford to be coming in each week at this point. I even refused his tea! Oh my!  He says he has a pretty open schedule, changes a lot due to the type of work that other patients do, so if/when I decide to come back, he should have no problem fitting me in. Fitting me in... I wonder when I'll receive his final bill.

I don't know what made me cry. I was so fucking pissed at myself for it. I was explaining the financial situation, and that I wanted/needed to help my daughter out. I explained that my old man never helped me, only my sister. I guess I was overwhelmed by the whole getting outside in the daylight shit too.

Because of my stupid brain, I missed out on a package that was to be delivered here by FedEx. I can't read the writing on the sticker they left. It looks like "CAN DEAD INSIDE". Reminded me of The Walking Dead. Zombie wasn't home yet. Ok... can't get inside. It says they'll try again. When? Tomorrow? 

Only thing going on is an interview by phone with a woman that is doing research or is writing a book (I forget) about suicide experiences, ER stuff. I don't know if I could handle a phone call. I think I'd fuck up, sound stupid, "lose my words", etc. Fuck. I'm not sure what to do. Call her first? I hate calling strangers. Cold calling. It's very cold.

Even though I'm home, alone with the radio, my eyes are burning, and I only cried a little, I still feel emotionally exhausted. Why?. My time alone is running out. There's some instant anxiety right there, as well as the fact that we have to go to the store, otherwise I'll just be eating tortillas for a while. Shit, I don't really care. It's food. I love my tortillas! How could I not? 

I need some of this too!

Flash of a memory of trying to make tortillas with my grandma when I was little... :)

++ Imagine a little gray-haired grandma that spoke Spanglish or Spanish to the grand kids. She got up early and made tortillas every day. When I was staying with her I tried to help sometimes. I loved watching her. She had mad tortilla making skills. I wondered if I could ever be as good as her. She was a perfectionist, of course, so I was always getting corrected, but gently enough. I loved her kitchen, to watch her cook, and sneak cigarettes. Her kitchen was always full of yummy smells, and a patient, warm, loving ol' lady. She made it feel like the heart and soul of that house.++

Fuck... I can't believe I was even outside alone and went to the shrink! This is how fucked up my brain is, or how the seroquel can affect it. It's pretty much worn off.

Later...

My ass is going to bed early, getting up early, and out in the dark, even if it rains again. This time I won't wear see-through leggings!!!

Raging Bitch - Unleashed

Yesterday... all my fucking troubles...blah...etc

What a fucking miracle and massive fuck-up at the same time. Out of all the numbers I called for a new therapist, only one bitch called me back. So I set up an appointment with her, and it was yesterday. Her office was within walking distance, I noticed, per google maps, but it did not account for all the fucked up construction that completely cut off walking access on the streets. I ended up walking in a big circle, and had massive lower back pain from standing in front of the mirror caking on makeup for no particular reason. I shoved a lot of clonopin under my tongue in a very short amount of time. I had to stop a couple of times and have a cigarette while listening to my ipod. One song, over and over, and you will laugh at this: 

 

I was ready to fucking kill somebody. I was sweating. I HATE sweating. I was really fucking ready to throw down. I was just waiting for somebody to fuck with me. I had a few more clonopin under my tongue. Then I saw my own block and thought 'I could just fucking go home, and say fuck this shit'. But, in severe pain and all, being a stubborn fuck, I had to try again. Man, I swallowed chunks of seroquel dry! I must have had about 250mg seroquel and 5mg clonopin I ended up asking a construction dude some directions, he was more than happy to help. So I set out again, and finally found the place. Stairs. Fucking stairs. I made my appointment right on the dot. 

I'm "anal" (hate that word for that expression) about appointments. I have to be there way early or not at all. My thinking is that if I get there earlier, then I will be less anxious about the person I'm seeing. It works for me and my ipod. :)

I was burning up and in need of water badly. My sleeves were up, I was so hot, so my tattooed sleeves were visible, even though I didn't want them to be seen the first time around. Talk about stigma! 

The therapist seemed a bit timid, but brought me some water. I felt like an old surly dog that could still bite if provoked. Maybe she could see that, I don't know. She got over it, when she skimmed over the forms I filled out for her (about me), and we began talking. I felt like the Incredible Hulk then in that room, trying to chill, and an older hippie type lady there, just a wee bit uncomfortable. Could have been all in my head. Fuck if I know. 

We talked briefly about a lot of things I'd mentioned on the forms,and asked what I was looking for now, why I was seeking out help. I told her about the shrink I'd been going to. I used to be able to take the bus alone to see him. Now I can't. I'm worse off for seeing him than not. She didn't look happy about that. He just couldn't get a handle on things. I asked her to read over my stuff and make sure that she things she can be able to handle my mess, and help. She seemed really positive about it, and understood how overwhelming the whole day's shit had been. Yeah, I fucking cried for no reason. I could have kicked myself. We made another appointment.

I buzzed down the street with all that heavy seroquel and clonopin, wearing sunglasses, and felt the same "get the fuck outta my way" as I would normally if I was able to walk down the street alone, without those meds, like before. ipod song was different. Can't remember what it was. I couldn't wait to get home alone. When I did, the spouse was already there. Fuck. No time to heal in private from that trauma! Not happy. Not happy at all. He didn't force me to go to the store with him that day.

I'm being forced to go to the store today, so I have to take a shower and this time actually wash my longass nearly black hair. I hate it. Takes forever to dry, but I won't care if I have to go out that way. I'll have my sunglasses on and won't be alone. I forced myself on the treadmill when I was feeling pretty anxious, had some clonopin, and walked it off. 

I am fucking tired and went out in the rain early this morning to get some half-n-half, then later to starschmucks. That's where I noticed that my leggings were nearly see-through! I was disgusted and tried to cover up. I guess I washed away all the cotton and what's left is the stretchy shit. Fuck. Good thing I wasn't wearing some bright colored underwear! I won't be wearing those outdoors again without some opaque tights maybe. 

Fuck. Just called the other therapist, and realized that I didn't cancel tomorrow's appointment with him. Too late. Have to go and be saying good bye, I believe. I won't be staying too long.

Shower time. I prefer to take a shower when no one is here but me and the cat. I can relax in the hot water. Alone. Gloriously alone!

PS: Don't worry about the banana scare that Fox is reporting. I've never seen bananas in stores on the west coast come from anywhere else but Central America and Mexico. Why they fuck are they playing "Don't Fear (The Reaper)" in the background?! WTF?! 7.37am PT Wed!

Oh Joy! Division - She's Lost Control

Confusion in her eyes that sayAnnotates it all
She's lost control
And she's clinging to the nearest passer by
She's lost control
And she gave away the secrets of her past
And said I've lost control again
And a voice that told her when and where to act
She said I've lost control again

And she turned around and took me by the hand and said
I've lost control again
And how I'll never know just why or understand
She said I've lost control again
And she screamed out kicking on her side and said
I've lost control again
And seized up on the floor, I thought she'd die
She said I've lost control

[Hook]
She's lost control again
She's lost control
She's lost control again
She's lost control

Well I had to 'phone her friend to state my case
And say she's lost control again
And she showed up all the errors and mistakes
And said I've lost control again
But she expressed herself in many different ways
Until she lost control again
And walked upon the edge of no escape
And laughed I've lost control

Oh JOY! Division...

Another day, which today means another day of horrible daylight, possible nausea, and anxiety. The anxiety is BIG on the list because I've got to try and do the treadmill, shower, dress/makeup, and get to see the new shrink, and no, I don't drive. It's already stressing me out, and I've already started in on the seroquel. I don't care if I end up a fucking zombie by the time I get there. I can lean on the walls to get down the street, if I have to. I really fucking don't care. I found another way online last night to search for more shrinks in the area that probably take Medicare.

I finished my 2nd cup of coffee, which is my limit today. I didn't go out to Starschmucks this morning because I had to fuck with the printer and computer for about an hour to get some forms printed. It's been fucked ever since the spouse decided to change a password somewhere, or do something stupid without telling me first. FUCK, it was irritating, but I brought my coffee, and the curious cat was there to watch and distract me. I had a bunch of forms to print and fill out for this new shrink. History and all that. Saves time telling part of your shit story all over again, so I usually go for that when shopping for a shrink.

Now I'm drinking water that has all kinds of toxins in it per the EPA. Sometimes I get a whiff of chlorine, but not always. Today it tastes like.... something... a little metallic.

Well, I've decided that I am actually starting to feel this depressed thing from "Reverse SAD". I was noticing a difference toward the end of last month, when things started to turn. I really fucking freaked one day when the sun hit me directly through the glass doors one day. I keep my sunglasses handy and near, as well as the aspirin. 

I think I felt like crying yesterday. Actually, I did, but I can't remember what that was all about. I felt ok when I got up, but sick later on. The anxiety took care of the nausea eventually, and was scheduled to go to the grocery store at 6, according to the spouse. The last fucking thing I wanted to do. It ruined my morning after he asked about going - instant anxiety. I was trying to shoot for dark, but I knew he wouldn't wait that long. I had to make a stop at the drugstore as well. Re-fill of the crazy med, generic seroquel that mostly keeps the muzzle and leash on the beast. Mostly.

This bipolar depression is some nasty, evil, extreme shit. We're talking flashes of suicidal situations, irritability, feeling absolutely no energy, and my body aching all over. I've even been feeling like I've been hanging by a thread at times today. I thought about BP chat rooms, but I just don't know what to say. Same old shit...

I need a shower and to wash my hair, but I can't manage to force myself to do that. I don't know if I can do it before my new shrink appointment. I seriously doubt it. I'm already dreading skulking down the street, trying to hide from all people and light, wearing sunglasses, and a hoodie. I don't know if I can make it. But I have no choice because I can't afford to be paying for missed damn appointments. I can't fucking flake out. FUCK.

Turns out we have to go shopping today after the spouse gets back from work. I hope I'm not completely emotionally exhausted and all that shit that happens when you go to the shrink. I hope my eyes aren't big puffs with red slits, and my skin all weirded out. Shit, I shouldn't care, 'cause I'll be wearing sunglasses, right? Right. 

Truth be told, I'm fucking terrified of going outside, having to find this shrink's address, going in and talking with her. I hope she doesn't think she's going to try to fuck with my diagnoses. No no no no no... I'll have to inform her on not trying that, because she doesn't know me like my meds shrink does. And he's, well, kind of a big wig in teaching and research here, and might even  tell me to get the fuck out of her office if he knew her. You never know. 

Unwanted, Dead or Alive

Drink:  Green tea, water
Food:  Cinnamon graham crackers
Mood(s)  Anxious, depressed, a bit confused
Background noise:  Supernatural mini marathon on TNT

I'm feeling pretty fucking down today. Over wasted coffee and the courtesy to at least say goodbye to me by my the spouse? It's got to be more than that.

Wow. So this is how I kind of remember depression to feel sometimes. The really mild shit, that is. Rejection, too. I'm also feeling somewhat anxious too, and every little sound is making me jumpy, especially the door rattling, or sounding like it's almost being scratched on. Being scratched on is actually a possibility, or head-butted by a neighborhood cat that some people keep letting into this building by accident. He remembers my smell. I saw him the other day and called out to him with one of my special cat calls. He stopped and watched me.

Depression. Wow, this is really weird, and I don't like it. I set a new record on the treadmill, although a tiny one, and I'm depressed.Stinky and haven't taken a shower yet. It's not supposed to work that way, so they say. I was going to do some Wii yoga afterward, but I haven't used the Wii in so long that I forgot how to use it, and the batteries were left in there too long. One was corroded, but I cleaned it, and it didn't look damaged but still... Not good. I have tons of new batteries, but I don't know what the fuck to do with the controls. Maybe the spouse will be nice and help. Maybe he'll just completely ignore me. Maybe I'll take them outside and set them on fire on the sidewalk and dance around it. 

At least my headache is mostly gone, and I beat the nausea. The seroquel probably isn't helping the situation, but I was anxious from being outside this morning after the coffee thing.

Well, I think it's pretty damn rude not to reply to your spouse's text when they ask you a question. You get breaks, and you get lunch time, and it's not my fault that there is no food here that's hearty enough for him to eat for dinner. He never suggested to go shopping, and I refuse to do it online again. That is just fucking lazy and ridiculous. I am not a donkey to schlep groceries down the street in daylight either. I can't do it unless it was just for me, and I was living alone.

I did manage to take a quick needed break that I normally wouldn't do while on the treadmill, which was to take all the recycling out. It was kinda sad, because I saw two young ladies shooting up in the parking lot below the building. I said to myself "I hope you get some help". Maybe they are. Maybe that is the way to go. No, I guess not. Not good to think that way. Not good to go upstairs and stuff more clonopin in my piehole either. 

The reasonable, adult, nice, forgiving person, that accidentally just snapped at the spouse for no reason yesterday, then later apologized, thought about calling and having Chinese delivered for the spouse. I know what he likes. It's not cheap, but I won't be eating it. Maybe he'll be going for a drink with someone after work. I don't think he'd let me know though. I don't want to be stuck with Chinese food, or do I? This is his first week at his new job.

I have pain in what I guess is my liver, or ghost pain where my gall bladder used to be, and I haven't eaten anything greasy. I ate something wrong, though... Didn't I?

Later...

No word from the spouse, apart from a hello. He's home a bit early, I had just gotten out of the shower. He never mentions me texting him or never calling me. I pretty much ignore him, because by this point, I'm tired. The seroquel's taken hold in bits and pieces, but I'm still up for the marathon on tv. Normally the spouse would have come in by now looking for dinner, or to come and change the channel and watch cartoons. Instead, he's in the bedroom playing some kind of online flying game. No words to me but "You want a tea?" Wow. Deep.

Tomorrow is Saturday, which means I can't get into Starfucks until 6am. I'm wondering if the spouse will want to go to the grocery store early to avoid people, or later on to try to avoid people. He really has some thing about the store that fucks his shit up or freaks him out, but he refuses to talk about it. Gee, that's helpful.

He goes outside through the living room here. He doesn't ask me if I want to come out and have a smoke with him. Just sits in silence. Well, I'm going to be laying in bed in silence since my marathon is over, and some unknown movie is on. Not at all interested. I want to get up and out of here to make a quick exit. He can make his own coffee.

I'm a loaded gun. Tomorrow, it's going to be more of the same, only Ms Nice will have left the building and flushed all that nice shit down the fucking toilet. Better go power up my Kindle, phone, and iPod.

Another Day In Hell

Sometimes...

Drink:   Green tea
Music:  SPN Radio/Live365  Internet radio @ the moment NIN - "Closer" [censored = no "fuck"]
Mood(s): Grateful to have the room to myself again, and earphones/music, dark room, irritable,                  restless, head full of squirming worms that are thoughts - thoughts that are all over the                  place

What a weirdass fucking day, I mean, what other way can I put it? My alarm went off at the ass crack of dawn, yet it was still nice and dark out. I got up, threw on the usual workout clothes, turned the coffee on just for the spouse, then realized there was no half-n-half, so I went out without a thought, and stopped in the middle of the street when I realized that I had no money to buy shit, so I had to go back home and run in for my ATM card. No big deal. 

Outside again, still nice and dark, almost no one around. Too bad I had to go to 7-11. I fucking HATE 7-11 except for maybe once or twice when they had diet coke flavored slushees, or whatever they're called., but that was a lifetime ago. Anyway, they're fucking expensive and I hate giving them my money. I hate the whole feeling that you're being stared at because you're a chick, or stared at because they think you're going to rip them off, or the cashier's looking way too nervous, like at any moment he's going to get robbed at gunpoint. Fuck knows where their dairy products come from, is the other question that should be answered.

After the spouse left, I made my way to starschmucks in sunglasses, medicated, and had just finished off a clonopin tab under my tongue. Well, that didn't help. I had a "live" freakout that I posted to one of the G+ crazy communities. After a while, I just couldn't take it anymore, and it was just too light out. The sun was breaking through the clouds here and there. I said fuck that, got my free re-fill, and was out of there. I had a smoke as fast as I could to try to calm me down. I pretended to myself that it was working, but when I got back inside the apartment, the big lie reared it's ugly head. Even after closing shades and turning lights out, I was still feeling like the anxiety chihuahua, but eventually I became the anxiety chihuahua with nausea and a bigass headache. 

I thought I'd distract myself from the anxiety with G+ stuff and do the saltines and water for the nausea. I had 3 aspirin that should have worked, but didn't. I made it through the anxiety until I ran into a fucking video that sucked suckers in and triggered some PTSD shit for me. I actually cried aloud. I can't remember having done that in years. It was horrible. I put my own hand over my mouth to stop it. I was not going to be weak. I couldn't control it very well. 

It was all about our family car back in the old days getting hit by a truck, and when it settled, I climbed toward the front, where my parents were. My mother. She was asleep, I thought, in her blue and white top that was mostly just red, sticky, and warm. I climbed on top of her, and hugged her, and told her to wake up. There was a lot of blood, I would later tell my older brother. She wouldn't wake up. Noise and chaos ensued all around, and I was dragged away from her, kicking and screaming, and I never saw her again. So much blood, and she disappeared. I was dragged away and remember waking up in a hospital crib in the dark, thinking where is my mama? What am I doing in this crib? Where am I? Where is my mama? Who are these people? I want my mama! Where is my sister? Where is my daddy? 

The rest is bits and pieces. A mess. Things I don't know if they are true or not, it's all a mess. My father never talked about it, it just seems like I remember one day we were with her, and then she just disappeared from our lives, and I don't actually remember saying anything about it. But I must have said something to somebody, at least when I was little. Or maybe I was too scared?

All I can think of now is trying to dig something up about her on the internet, but that's ridiculous. She died a long time ago. The best people to go to would be her sisters and brothers, but I can't ever remember all of their names. She came from a huge family like my father did. You know, have a dozen, like donuts. I  also wonder what some of my 101 cousins heard whispered behind all of our backs. I don't even know her birth date or death date, but I might have an idea. I could be way off. I don't know. 

I try not to think of mother's day when it comes around. I couldn't be the mother to my daughter that I thought I could be. I was too fucking mentally ill. It still hurts if I don't hear from her on mother's day, even though it shouldn't matter, even though I should just forget about it. I should remember how much it made me miserable to be the only kid in the class without a mother to be making little goofy projects for. Instead, I was making goofy projects for my grandmother. I didn't think about it so much then, until some time after having my daughter. 

I went to visit her when she was on her way out. She refused to speak English anymore, that it was just too tiring. So we spoke in Spanglish when we saw her. I wanted desperately to make sure that she knew how truly grateful that I was to her for taking care of me when I was little, how much I loved her, and how good to me she was. Well, I got to thank her, and about a week and a half later, she died. I couldn't go to her funeral. I didn't want to participate in it. I was angry that I wasn't allowed at my mother's, so I wasn't going to go to my grandmother's. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but to me... it does.

The only thing that makes sense now is to get away from the computer before I start trying to dig up the past again. It's just too easy to fall into, and too easy to get trapped in. Now I just want to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and wake up in the dark again. 

Try again and again.

TMI! - A Poem

 TMI!

Death, Oh Death!

to this horrific monthly Monster

It brings much gloom and doom

It stabs like crazy in my womb

It puts my manic brain in a vice

I pull out dead, blood-dripping mice

I heard about this PMDD

I think of getting rid of the body

thinking a murderous thought

but to another I dare tell not

blood rose red chunks in the bowl

life and death born of the same hole









Edit: I know, I'm gross.
Edit: OH COME ON!!! IT'S ONLY BLOOD!!!
IT'S ONLY A NATURAL PART OF WOMANHOOD!!!

I Lost My Shoe - I'm Batman

Today is the first official day that I go back to the starring role in "The Crazy Stay-At-Home-Wife". I have already been up since the spouse, which was at 5, and made coffee just for him. He looked grouchy as ever, so I ignored him to dress for my trip to starfucks.

The spouse wasn't around long, and I guess he didn't want all the coffee I made him, so I drank the leftover teeny cup with the last bit of half-n-half in the house. That worried me. He said "Well, I'm off," sounding exhausted as I was feeling and looking, and hugged me goodbye. He left the door unlocked. Rolling my eyes here.

Just like Prince wrote, I was thinking it was going to start off a manic monday. I guzzled the last bit of coffee here, then went to starfucks and got busted for using a 2013 coffee bag. They said they'd give me a free cup this time. I didn't stay long - didn't have the patience or sunglasses. It was getting too light outside, and after digging around in my pockets, I learned that my damn lighter was missing! FUCK.

I got home fast, and had a smoke on the balcony/lanai/deck/whatever, which is a no no to calm me, even though I'd had my meds before leaving for coffee. Damn, I forgot to steal some more sweetener. All the lights were on, and the shades were open, so I could see all these ugly spots on the carpet. It's just filthy. Some looked like old cat puke, so I went around squirting and scrubbing all over. Then I started dusting the living room, which I hate. I don't know what made me do that. After all that, I cleaned out the dirty laundry from my closet, and did a load. I put the dry stuff away already, and hung the delicates to dry on a clotheshorse. I made scrambled eggs fried in bacon fat, green tea, and here I am. Feeling kind of guilty for sitting down. I was thinking I could have washed the blanket that I'm sitting on now, or go for some more carpet scrubbing like a nut case, but I remembered that I'll be on the treadmill in about an hour.

SO WHY IS THE FUCKING ANXIETY CREEPING UP ON ME THIS FUCKING EARLY?!

Breathe in and out slowly... after having taken a bit of seroquel, of course. Have a little tea. I'm talking to myself. I'm writing to myself. I'm crazy. I'm a crazy person, but that's ok, Supernatural is on, and this is the one where Dean says he's Batman. hahaha And Sam loses his fucking shoe! hahahaha Cuppa Crazy, anyone?

EDIT:  Ok, Ok... I think I figured out why I was supposed to feel anxious today. I was supposed to call my current therapist and fire him. Then I was supposed to call 3 or 4 female psychologists that are in the same building that he is in, according to the insanely fucking unreliable Medicare website. They could have a practice anywhere, and they may or may not take Medicare. I may or may not be fucked.  I HATE talking on the phone to people that I don't know, and having to leave messages for people that I don't know. THAT is something that makes me anxious, even if I am alone and there's no one around to hear me talk.

So, I called my therapist and had to leave a message. I said that I had to cancel this week's appointment because I couldn't afford to go every week, which is true now. I will be firing him when I find a new therapist to replace him. Anyway, then I called all 4 female psychologists that were listed on the Medicare site that are supposedly in the same building as the current. I had to leave messages for all of them and felt stupid as all fucking hell. I was up front about the Medicare because I didn't want to waste my time, energy, or mood(s).

FUCK. Not ONE live person on the phone... Well there was one more...Called and left ANOTHER message, but that's Ok, this office is within walking distance... if I can get out. I think I might to see someone new. Fuck, I'd force myself even if I bawled all the way. I think there's another I can call that's only a short ride away (by bus)... and left another message.

Let the incoming calls and freakouts begin...

Ticking Timebomb

Motherfucking FUCK! My sweet dark morning was almost ruined by the late rent notice that was halfway tucked under the door that I found this morning, just as I was about to sneak out. I immediately thought - Great. More motherfuckin mail stolen - bills that have fucking checks in them!!! I let it fall from my hand and walk out so I could have a smoke asap. I wasn't medicated yet. I sucked my coffee down pretty fast while I was out, but it seemed the sun was coming after me even earlier than the last time I went out. I was in a rush to try to deal with the fucking mail problem. 

I decided that I would blame it on the mailman/post office workers. No one has the key to the outgoing mailbox but the mailman and the owner. I sent 3 different but similar complaints of stolen mail to USPS  online. I called my bank asked how much it would cost to put a stop payment on a check. They said $34 each. I said "Are you fucking serious? That is TERRIBLE service! FUCK THAT!" and hung up. I had to take 200mgs of seroquel and had about 4mgs clonazepam already, my total dose. I have 400mg seroquel left for tonight. I sure as fuck was feeling suicidal/homicidal.

I checked my bank account online again, and there hadn't been any checks cashed lately. Then I remembered that I sent a check to the IRS with my return. So I called them and was passed around and around and hung up. Then I tried chatting online to one of their CS people. They didn't have access to IRS information. It was back to calling again, and I must have waited about 40 mins on hold before I got a good lady on the other end who understood my freakout, and I told her thank you and to have a good day in the end. You know she deserved it, working that job! I was as nice as I could be to her because CS is one bitch of a job, and you end up with crazy angry people like me sometimes. My seroquel had kicked in by then.

So my rent, return check, and a couple of bills are still floating around out there, or something evil. I'm betting on something evil. Motherfuckers, now I can't mail shit from my own fucking building, and will have to start paying more bills online or by phone, which I hate, because I don't like my information out there. I'll be checking my bank account a few times a day to see what the hell is up, and waiting for a quick follow up from USPS. This shit is bad. Hopefully it was destroyed like one report I'd heard of way back when in the news where a postal worker just buried the mail and didn't deliver. Better than being in more evil hands.

Whew! Am I relieved that the spouse has decided to pick himself up, clean up a bit (still needs a haircut), dust himself off, and make phone calls to connections he's made through his previous employer. He ended up getting a call yesterday, an interview, AND a job today. He'll have the rest of the week to prepare himself mentally and sleep-wise. I'll be getting up earlier with him, which will help both of us. I get more time in the dark outside, and I make better coffee and he likes that. Plus we can spend some time in the morning together, which he likes when he's working.

As far as the crap on my timeline (is that what it's called?) I need to follow more folks with the good stuff to outweigh the garbage. If I want to see porn, I'll do it on my own time. Alone. Gay porn. Hahaha!!!

Somehow using the word "patriot" in a description of me doesn't feel right deep down in my bones, when my ancestors roamed  here long before the nearly canonized "founding fathers". Some of those "founding fathers" owned bought or stolen people as property they called and made their slaves. Nah, I don't fucking dig that, admire that, or let that slide just because others were doing it. 

Propaganda from all sides is being thrown at us through various sources. We have no privacy. I wasn't wrong about being spied on when I was manic, paranoid, and sent to the psych hospital. We have little hope. It feels like we're living in a police state. We don't know what poisons we are eating and drinking. It goes on and on. 

The media here is censored and biased, so we don't get real world news, or see all the uprisings, strikes, crime, or anything going on in other countries. We only see the poverty when it's packaged in a neat little commercial with footage of a few children living in poverty, and an aid organization asking for money. The media are terrorists and they are terrorizing the public. Some really bad cops are terrorizing the public, and therefore terrorist too.  

I won't fight for a government that's bought by the insanely rich, who basically want to kill the poor. I don't want to fight anybody. I'm not going to kill anybody. I will only try to protect my closest people. Yep, others will judge, so I guess it doesn't really matter until the shit hits the fan. 

I won't put on a uniform and be told what to do, even if it's at the Dairy Queen. Mommy never put up with that shit as as a teenager, and she won't start now. Nobody but the voice(s) in my head tell me what to do or not do.

Call me stupid, ignorant, and naive. I want peace, love, and equality. Happiness couldn't hurt.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

And now for something completely different...

Article of the day at The Free Dictionary:  Loch Ness Monster

Sasquatch and friend

Rising Tide of Rage

Yesterday...

I managed to get out of bed in the dark this morning at 6 am wth the help of the alarm and my cat tapping on me. I changed into my usual sloppy "workout" clothes, and while changing, I looked over at the sliding glass door, and it was looking too light out there for me. If it wasn't for "Game of Thrones" last night, I probably would have run and hid under the covers around 8pm, maybe earlier. It's easier for me to fall asleep alone, even though I'm on such a big dose of drugs for my size (I think).

After looking at the giant, black rat's nest, I thought twice about going outside, but I thought again that this is going to be my only happy time of the day, so I better fucking go, no matter what. I put on some powder, mascara, and lip balm, patted my hair down, and called it good enough. Who cares. My ears will be plugged with earphone so I can't hear any insult that might fly my way. That was paranoia.

More and more shattered car window glass was on the sidewalk a few steps away from my building. Somebody must really get their jollies out of smashing car glass into a trillion "diamonds". The homeless neighbors were still asleep on their stoops. No one was camped out behind the bushes where I saw someone a couple of times. I was glad it had been a dry and fairly mild night.

After I finished sucking down my coffee, I was starting to freak a bit because I was unmedicated, and the daylight was coming! I tried to be calm about it, tried to look away, and act like it was no big deal. I tried to notice something different about the usual early crowd, but there was nothing. I couldn't think fast enough of something to find on my ipod to listen to that might help. So I said fuck it, and I was outta there. I chain smoked on the way home, which helped, found the spouse was awake already (damn!), and went straight for the meds.

The first thing he said to me was that he needed a smoke. Nice. He could have gone out and got some while I was gone! I told him to wait, that I needed my meds BADLY, and he just has to wait. No surprise that he was looking pissed. I didn't care. I made him wait. Later, he drove 3 or 4 blocks instead of walking a block or 2 away to get more. Fucking lazy or what?

Got some potentially good news this afternoon, though. Someone he used to work with called him and told him that his company is hiring and they have a lot of work. He updated his resume, and arranged an interview for tomorrow. FUCKING FINALLY. He was finally starting to see the slob he'd become, wearing PJs all day, never doing anything, never going anywhere, never helping out, never being supportive apart from the occasional ride to the shrink.

Bitch bitch bitch.

I got tired of G+ a while ago, with all the fucking flag-waving shit, yammering on about what patriots they are, and unwanted softcore porn. Fuck that shit. I don't give a fuck about flags, I am not a "patriot", nor do I care to see pictures of half-naked/naked broads that these men deem worth of making out like they are the ideal types/body types, objectifying them. Lumps of meat. Why post such crap when you can just jerk off to it on your own time. Funny you never see pictures of what they look like themselves.

The Oxford dictionary lists a patriot as:
A person who vigorously supports their country and is prepared to defend it against enemies or detractors.

I don't support the shit that goes down in this country. I'm not getting shot or killed for someone else other than to save my child or immediate family, friends, and their families. Violence just escalates, and nothing good comes of it. Murder is murder, whether you want to label it "war" or not. "Thou shall not kill". Can it be any more clear than that?

Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide

It seems like forever since I've written in this damn blog thing. I remember years ago reading the word blog somewhere, and thinking WTF is that shit? Do they ever get read? Do people comment or say nasty, terrible things? How the hell do you do it?

I went for the easy peasy one I saw first - Blogger. I can't remember the name of that first blog that I did, or when I did it. I do remember having a few other BP readers. I can't remember how that happened. I guess google used to have a kind of search available that you could do to find words in profiles.

I was doing painkillers with my other meds then, and hanging out in a hot tub in winter daytime with my ancient iPod. I was manic sometimes, and when I wasn't I wanted those painkillers BADLY. I was drinking ("socially") at the time as well. The blog was my outlet, I guess. I didn't like where I found myself or who I found myself with.

Anyway, all that is long gone, including the cold, cold motherfucker that came to me in the psych ward not to visit me, but to tell me that he wanted me to move out. What a prince. I still hope his house burns down with him in it, drunk as hell. I wonder if I have PTSD or something from that whole experience. I can't remember the address or phone number there. A POX ON HIS HOUSE! CURSED FUCK FROM HELL! Yeah. Still fucking angry.

Today, though, I'm feeling tired, and had to force myself out of bed with the help of the cat. I kept reminding me that I actually felt HAPPY for a little while while I was walking outside alone in the dark, and that I had better get my ass up and do it! I was as quiet as I could be and snuck into the bathroom. JFC, I looked like hell. I did what I usually don't do - put on a bit of makeup to try to hide some ugly, just to give me a bit more confidence to get outside.

The weather was perfect outside - clouds, but no rain, and not freezing cold. I couldn't find the moon, but it felt nice to be outside in the fresh air (yeah right), and be free from walls. I was not caged in! I could move about and not crash into things, like I do here (which explains the bruises - I'm clumsy or off balance). I walked as slowly as I could to the coffee joint just to be... free, or feel like it.

The usual small crowd was in the starschmucks, and I gave them a coffee bag that was out of date - no longer good for a free coffee, but I knew they wouldn't notice, somehow. I knew they wouldn't even look at it, especially since I come in there all the time with bags. In fact, I have a whole paper shopping bag full of empty bags that are out of date that I saved when I lived in my old studio. Hoarding. It didn't feel like it to me though, because throwing them out would feel like throwing away free coffee. The bags that I gave to my homeless neighbor were all current, in case someone looked. So I'll continue to give them their old bags. Good thing they haven't changed their packaging in years! Ha!

As for my usual horrible problems with anxiety, I forgot my meds on Tuesday night, so I was too fucked up and freaked out to even think about going to the shrink on Wednesday. Thursday, I seem to have timed my anxiety with the treadmill, because I took my seroquel and clonopin, got on the treadmill, and wondered what happened to the anxiety. It was pretty rough going though. I had a hard time singing "99 Bottles of Beer" a million times in my head to myself. It was so hard to count backward, and I'd lose track of where I was so often, that I think I repeated myself 100 times easily. After I was done, I was still wondering if the anxiety was still going to come and get me; sneak up on me like an evil creepy monster outside of my peripheral vision. I was mildly anxious and paranoid. Something I could handle, but sure as hell was not comfortable with.

How is the marriage going, or where is the marriage going? I don't know. Things are never quite the same in actuality as they are when you're reacting and writing about it all. Well, marriage only seems like a word to me, with little meaning. I haven't even been attracted to the spouse since... I can't remember. So are we at least able to build on our old friendship? It's difficult when someone that's fucked up and in denial doesn't understand your behavior and speech as much as he should at this point. He's probably too caught up in his own shit. I'm trying not to be with mine. I'm trying to understand his shit. I'm trying to explain to him why it's hard for me to answer some of his questions, how it takes a while for me to find my words, how I "ramble" as he said this morning.

This doesn't mean I'm letting him get away with shit. It means I'm going to force him to start talking about his shit, or start trying to understand mine more by discussing it, and trying to explain it to him, whatever I can do when I can get his attention and time. No walking away shit. No going to bed angry. He's very irritable, which makes me irritable. It sucks. At least we can have our Game of Thrones marathon and smoke breaks together and try to talk outside.

I long for a night's sleep that feels like 8 hours, not as if I just closed my eyes and blinked. I don't usually feel too tired, I just feel like my brain hasn't had enough time to rest. Fucking pisses me off.

... Aw shit. Just when I think today's going to be ok, he mentions taking a loan out on his 401k so that we can move from here?! What the hell? He's still laid off! Who does that? This isn't England! We don't have anybody to fall back on here. And I don't want to move. I don't want to be forced to be the one to do the "house-hunting". SO FUCKING STRESSFUL!!! Fuck!

I just took a bit of seroquel, but I can already feel my face starting to burn up, and the muscles in my calves feeling weird and kind of sore. He wants to move so bad, he should be the one that looks for a place to move. Now that I'm getting taxes taken out of my SSDI, I'm getting shit for money each month, and I've got medical insurance, shrink bills, tv, phone, internet, electric, etc to pay for, plus sending money to my daughter, like I wanted to. He'll be just as miserable on the same meds without therapy, and stuck with me in a new place. Your demons follow, of course. Shit shit shit. WTF can I do?

FUCK!