WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

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, April 22, 2014

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!