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.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Cold Turkey Update

Update: Cold turkey off generic seroquel since 5/18, have had no anxiety attacks since. Have been meaning to write, but spending too much time on FB, and getting distracted by other things (i.e. conspiracies, etc), and making a new/old acquaintance into a friend. She is pretty much trapped in her home, disabled now. We used to work together and know similar hells. I can't help but try to help her too! :) So, I'm working on it. Got something going already. Should be accidentally offensive to someone, and have plenty of swearing. Grab a bar of soap! I'll be back! :D

Friday, May 23, 2014

Out of the Darkness?

Well, it has been quite a while since I have written in this blog. I figured that people were rightly as sick and tired as I was reading this crap as I was writing it. Nothing but fucking anxiety and misery!

Well, suddenly there's something different going on in this not-so-miserable apartment! I believe I was poisoning myself to... implosion? death?

I wanted to die last year. I wanted to fucking blown my brains out alone, drunk or drugged in a hotel room somewhere. Kill myself and just end my motherfucking misery. No one who gives a damn in my family would know. I even started writing a bunch of suicide notes to all the people that I thought I'd bother to write one for. Some I didn't have much to say to. I wrote it all down in a little notebook that I carried around with me in my backpack. Of course my spouse had no clue...
I was taking increasing amounts of (generic)Seroquel last year until I got to the point where I had to completely drug myself up, dope-like (on top of other meds I take: (generic welbutrin, clonazepam, prozac) to ride a bus, pinch myself and pull my hair constantly to stay conscious. I'd nod out just like a junkie on a route that just happened to have the occasional junkie riders. Nice. Barely, just barely, would I make it to the Dr's office or the right bus stop. I'd gone past a few times.and walked back a few times though. My eyes were always so thickly glazed and covered by sunglasses. When indoors, in the office, I had to take them off, otherwise I might nod out again. I could barely think, if at all. 

That was all until somehow I woke up and realized that I was having anxiety attacks, every day, from then on, getting a bit worse with each day until I ended up taking 200mg + 3mg clonazepam during the day, 400mg at night (on top of other meds) and it would all do NOTHING. I asked... begged my meds shrink for more, for something more for anxiety, something! For help! He said I had amazingly good liver metabolism, but for my size, he could not possibly give me anything more, any more medication. He felt terrible and it was all over his face. I'd known the man for over 21 years. I had a feeling he had probably already pushed it a little just to try to give me some relief, thinking it was probably temporary.

Anxiety attacks came on earlier in the day until I couldn't fucking take it anymore. I had some beers that night. I woke up with the crazy idea that, like lithium had done to me, I was being poisoned by generic Seroquel. Fuck it, NO MORE. I stopped taking it then and there, continued with generic: welbutrin 450mg, 150mg topomax, 40mg prozac, 4mg clonazepam for the rest of the day, and I had a few symptoms of anxiety - warm cheeks, tense shoulders, but nothing else.This has gone on since Sunday, and I have not felt this good in more than a year. I still have not gotten over my agoraphobia and gone out by myself on a whim yet, But I have at least been outside, down to the recycling bins, to the mail boxes, out on the deck to smoke, and out on the deck barefoot this morning, in shorts to look up at the clouds, and catch the rain all over me! Laughing! Happy! Not caring what the weird neighbors thought of the crazy lady that was out there at 6.15am, before the rain in sunglasses, having a smoke with a tall man and a little black cat. Even that bastard that accidentally caught me in my long t-shirt and undies! You couldn't see anything!

For some reason, without the meds, it makes it harder for me to jump out of bed at 5am and run and make the coffee, but I go to bed later now, because I have more going on in my head that's not too tired to let out, unlike before. Everything physical is more difficult, but I'm just going to start pushing again after I see my Doc and feel like my body's more ready for torture (exercise).

One thing that I did and didn't like at the same time was that my husband stayed at home. He didn't want to go to work on Monday or Tuesday and called in "sick". He was mad at me for not taking my meds. He made me explain all my meds several times, what they were for, yadda yadda, and never paid attention, never bothered to look the shit up on his fucking own. And he bitched at me for not taking the Seroquel. He thought I was going to have a psychotic break, not that he knew what one was. He threatened to stop taking his citalopram. I said that's fine, I don't think it's doing anything for you anyway, that you need to see your Dr, get a referral to the shrink and try something else and talk about what's up with you. Of course he got mad at me. As if I don't know my own crazy better than anyone else?

U2 - With or Without You

He asked if I was going to call my Dr and I told him that I've been on this shit before and ditched it several times, that it's no big deal. He got mad again. Finally, to shut him up, I asked sarcastically if he wanted me to call my Dr and tell him. He said yes, of course, in an angry voice. I said fine, that I would leave a message on his main number. I left a very clear message about what was going on, what I was doing, etc and hung up. I have an appointment with the man after the holiday FFS. My husband keeps asking me if he's called, and I tell him, no, and that things are fine, that I am so spoiled by this Dr/Professor/Big Cheese that he gave me his pager number, and told me to call him if I need a hospital bed at "his" Psych Ward hospital wing he oversees (one of many things he does), and he will do whatever he can to help me asap, as he has done in the past, and literally saved my life. Why? Fuck knows.

I woke up early this morning... before 5am from a dream in a "dreamworld" that I have been to before. I closed my eyes, laid there, and pictured as much as I could. It was some unknown place in England... I ran into a man (younger than me) that I had been with before in this dreamworld. I knew his neighborhood. In the dream, he told me his name, James, and that I remember him and his neighborhood. I did remember, and pictured it in my head. Wow. I was definitely not married in that "world". His "dishwater blond" hair had grown a bit longer. I had nowhere to go. He looked at me, knew it, and he told me to come back and stay at his house. I was a bit surprised, but this time he had a son that had his own room to stay in. Somehow that made me feel less self-conscious. He didn't tell me his name, but he smiled at me. We got into this man's old red sports car with soft top that was a bit damaged. It let in the wind and rain a bit, but it only made me smile, and feel more alive. We looked at each other and smiled. He put his son to bed when we got to his house as I stood by a crackling fireplace. He came back, put his hands around my face and kissed me without stopping, and I can't remember anything after that, but I'm sure I was just fine. I snoozed a bit more.

This isn't the only "dreamworld" I have visited and remembered vividly. I didn't have thoughts in my head as those below while I was off in la la land. That happened after I threw some clothes on and went to make a pot of coffee for us, even though I have no business getting up at 5am every morning.

So finally I get a break to sit and write without distraction this afternoon, I thought... but husband called me - for once - and told me he's coming home early. He came home, changed, then went out for a drink with someone he used to work with. He hardly said one word to me this morning. I even asked if he wanted to talk and he said no, and that he had to think about work today. Work. Work that he was telling me yesterday that was only going to take half a day, at the most. He didn't even say goodbye. He wasn't gone long before he was in his PJs and complaining about how bored he was. I suggested he take a nap. I wanted to be alone for one damn day and be able to write without being asked what I'm doing (he still doesn't know), and we shall leave it that way.

I shall hope for a better, less physically painful, and more energetic day tomorrow. A miracle.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

I Don't Like Mondays

I don't like Mondays (or this video)
Boomtown Rats

This is what I wrote yesterday at starschmucks...          


I don't like the idea of hating Mondays. Yesterday I posted the very old song "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats (awful name) on G+ yesterday because I had to go to the therapist. being with the therapist is not the problem. Anyway, if you're not old enough, the song is about the news of one of the first school shootings in the US that hit the UK. Supposedly, the reason the shooter (a girl) gave why she did it was, "I don't like Mondays", hence the song and the terrible 80's video.

I had never had a morning/early afternoon so awful, so filled with anxiety as I did yesterday in such a longass fucking time. It was fucking horrible! The more I tried to stop thinking about it, the more I did, and made things even worse. Breathing didn't help either. I kept eating bits of seroquel that I'd cut off a 200mg chunk and another piece I'd found sitting on the table from who knows where. I stopped at about 1.15.

At about 1.30, I thought, I just grabbed my shit and left the house before I could really form a thought. I had no idea what time it was, but figured I'd have plenty of time to make it since my appointment was at 2. I was overdressed for the weather in a big black hoodie, and I pretended no one could see me. That didn't work.I was really struggling up the street with a cigarette in one hand, and the other hand in my pocket, tightly clutching my keys and mini Swiss army knife. I had to make one stop alone the way because it seemed I couldn't do 2/3 things at the same time - smoke, walk, listen to music. 

So I stopped in a doorway to finish my smoke, looking like some kind of sleazy freak. My back hurt again, but I wasn't going to let it hurt me more and make things worse. We're talking about a 4-5 block (?) walk!!! WTF!! I know!! 

I was listening to  - get this and laugh - Boston "Peace of Mind" - over and over again, and one of the lines was "look ahead", so I did. Above all the heads, there was the sign I was waiting to see, the Haagen Daz ice cream shop on the corner. The therapist's corner! I tried to remember eating ice cream there as a very young silly punk rock teenager, barely 14. I tried to think of a flavor of ice cream with all different kinds of things in it, kept struggling up the street, trying not to trip up, or crash into anybody along the way. Oh holy ice cream fucking store, let me reach your fucking corner! Don't let my back give out! Don't let my lower back kill me, even though I no longer find ice cream appealing! Fuck! Please!

I made it across the street and to the door of the offices. I saw my reflection in the glass door and thought 'you pathetic fuck!' and the shame came raining down upon me like a thunderstorm in New Orleans. Fuck you, reflection. I opened the door and checked my phone for the time. It wasn't even 1.30 yet. I left my place around 1.27ish. This had to be wrong. Did I lose some time somewhere? Disappear into the Awkward Dimension for a while? It seemed to take forever for me to get to the office. There was no way that I made it there so fast. If I was going to teleport there, could we skip the fucking MISERY next fucking time?JFC!

I made it to the therapist's and back, and I did not cry a single tear. Mostly I just couldn't shut up about how I'd sort of reconnected with some cousins via FB, remembering only those as the good times - playing with cousins in childhood. Towards the end, I thought WTF?! Structure! There is no structure here! I'm blabbing for nothing. She's not even taking notes! Something's very wrong with this picture. BP's need fucking structure in this yap therapy thing, otherwise it's a waste, and I'm not doing it again. 

I'm cancelling next Monday, and telling her what my be is, asking her where her notes are, why she never takes any, why she hasn't mentioned the possible cause of the anxiety maybe being some unconscious fear. Well, that's what I'm starting to think. An unconscious thing or maybe something that's shoved so far back in my head that it is there, that it's not unconscious, that it's something I can't dig up just yet, maybe something that I can't or don't want to admit to myself. I fucking do not know, but IT IS SLOWLY FUCKING KILLING ME.

I crashed on the couch from mental/emotional/meds exhaustion and woke up with a "meds hangover" the next day.

I don't want to hate Mondays when I used to look forward to them! I cannot take this shrink schedule, and I won't.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Freak Flag Still Flying High

Moods: Anxiety rising, bit irritable, bit sad
Physical: Tired, nausea, cold feet

This ain't no starschmucks.

Another morning fighting this anxiety-caused agoraphobia had me up and outside after it was officially daytime, about 6ish. Of course I wore my sunglasses. I was pretty much ok with the light as it was partly cloudy. I cursed the sun, and called to the clouds quietly, while cranking up the tunes on the ipod. I made sure I was well medicated before I left.

I was at the corner starschmucks with a cup of coffee, and in my usual spot in no time. I stayed and listened to Jimi Hendrix letting his freak flag fly high as loudly as I could, so that was all that I heard. It was just too bright in there for comfort, and the chairs are not made for comfort for neither back or ass, so I had to get my free re-fill and leave.

The line was very long, but I didn't care because I was in no rush, and I had my own entertainment. As I got to the counter, the guy that treated me like a fucking criminal over a 50-cent cup of coffee (that I reported) walked away from the counter so that he wouldn't have to serve me. So I got my coffee to go from someone else. I could swear I wrote about this guy and that "incident" before, but I can't find it in any post. Anyway, it's an ongoing thing now...

When I got home, I found another email from starschmucks telling me to call their CS number with a reference number, and that a certain CS person wanted to talk to me in person. Hmm.,, I thought that was interesting. Could it be because the last message I said was maybe they felt it was ok to treat me shitty because of my disability? I might have mentioned something about the ACLU as well... So I called the number, and all I got was a ditzy CS person that asked me a question or two about what I had already reported online, and I told her so. I also told her that I got an email from so and so that said he wanted to speak to me in person. She said I would be contacted by phone within 24-48 hrs. Well, that was a waste of time. She even mistakenly said at first that "a customer harassed you..." I cut her off fast. 

Now I'm wondering what the shithead who treated me badly said to his superiors about me. I was as calm as I could have been at that time, despite growing BP psycho rage. I was not threatening. I asked him why he was treating me this way, like a criminal, over a 50-cent cup of coffee, etc etc. I forgot to add disability to my complaint the first time! Damn! 

Their response was blah blah blah, worded very carefully so that there was no apology, but a $10 credit. I sent them another email suggesting maybe it was my disability that they felt gave them licence to treat me so poorly. I also said that my dignity was worth more than $10 credit, which would work out to be about 10 cents for them. The letter probably said they wanted to "talk to me in person" because they wanted to see if I had a disability that they could "see". Well, guess what fucknuts, the disability lies within, lemme school ya. Does this mean they really want to see me, and decide for themselves whether I'm disabled or not? Where they expecting a wheelchair or a white stick maybe?

Blecchh... All I feel is nausea now, and I have to wait and hope it goes away so I can get on the treadmill on time, and get through all the big plans I had in my head. Gotta get tough and just try and walk it off. Water, some saltines, and some gall, well, no gall, had gall bladder removed. Ok, some liver. Whatever!

Monday, May 5, 2014

Pretty, Picture, Positive, Poindexter, and Paranoia

Place pretty picture here

This is the first thing that came up when I did a search for "pretty picture".
From "Carlson Fractal Gallery"

I just couldn't take anymore information, pictures, ridiculous "positive thinking", Jesus stuff, or "uplifting" BS posts on G+ or FB when I'm sitting here suffering from anxiety, dread, sadness about the past regarding my daughter, thinking of filling the great hole torn through my tender, beaten flesh by the great sword of destiny. Stabbed in, then turned and twisted to make sure there was a huge, gaping wound that no food, no drink, no pill, no child, no man, no medication, no therapy, no distraction could ever begin to heal. 

After 40-some years, this wound's still raw around the edges. Sure, it may be PMS or PMDD that may make things all the worse, but that wound is still open, still raw, and I'm still vulnerable, no matter how much I try to hide it, and how much I choke down my own tears so that I don't cry.

Crying, well, crying spells lead to deeper and darker depression, and that leads to a quiet, determined depression, and that leads to writing suicide notes for the people that I like to leave them for. It leads to considering different ways of of being done with it all and being in peace, having relief. Getting outside of this body and brain where I am trapped with these mental diseases. Free from this cage of plaster walls and glass, from these walls of cotton over flesh, free from these bones, and this skull.

If only this was written for me, and the dude's last name wasn't Poindexter, which I'm going to assume in this case is probably a pen name... Who the fuck is called Poindexter?

I have to get my emotional, mental, and physical shit together, pull myself out of this, because I can't afford to feel mentally ill when I have to get ready, and force myself outside with this agoraphobia shit and reverse SAD I have to fight. How the FUCK am I going to do that. It's going to be one of those extra seroquel afternoons. Don't know if I should cut from tonight's or just say fuck it. Bad experience having none one night. Ok, fuck it. 

I have to be able to make it to the store after the spouse gets back from work. That was the plan, anyway - to go to the store... Honestly, I don't know if I can make it if I get all traumatized and shit. Or take way too much seroquel and feel like I'm dragging a 300lb weight on my back, with a bit of a control issue as far as muscle strength. I need the cart to lean on as well.  I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. I'll need a list to get out of there asap.

"Supernatural" on now: How appropriate that they're in a mental hospital...
Local news station affiliated with Fox played a bit of "Don't Fear (The Reaper)" fading out to commercial again. This is the 3rd time I have noticed it. Is it not strange? I am I going more crazy? Is this perhaps a subliminal message? Am I being totally paranoid again when I said a few years ago that my cellphone was being tapped, that they could track us down if the phone was on, that cable tv Co. was monitoring what we were uploading/downloading and searching for, etc, and the cable tv Co.was keeping an eye on what we watched? Well, let me tell you, I had Verizon and Comcast then. I was totally paranoid before I tried to commit suicide at that time, I was told. But they said I sounded so reasonable in my explanation of what was going on. I said it was the FBI (I didn't know of the NSA then), but they still thought I was needing to get those thoughts out of my head, and that I was manic too. And years later...! Look at where we are now! I will never make fun of a guy wearing foil under his trucker's hat ever again. Never. He just might be onto something...

Thursday, May 1, 2014

The Cat Rules The Roost

I got up later than the spouse this morning. I don't remember hearing his alarm. Very strange. I must have had a bit of a  PTSD aftermath thing going on. I definitely had a drug hangover. I'd had a lot of seroquel, and the heat doesn't help. I guess that's why they tell you not to overdo it with the exercise and sweat yourself to death? Anyway, I took my meds, leftover vitamins, and aspirin all in one go. My spouse is always surprised to see me swallow such a big handful of pills. Dude, I've OD several times. I'm kinda used to it or some shit.

He took me to the drug store after work yesterday, calling me from his phone, in his car, while parked on the street. I wasn't ready. I was lucky that I had clothes on. I didn't even wash my face or brush my teeth that day, and my hair was filthy. I just felt like shit. So I thew on a black hoodie, put my hair up under it, sunglasses, and leather leopard print flats. I have to have leather shoes, otherwise my feet will be torn to pieces, and Converse don't go with everything, but they could have this time. Didn't have the time to look for them in my mystery closet of super secret sizes and scary stuff. 

I brought along my raised dose of Topomax (to 150mg prescription), and a coupon from my Medicare Part D insurance company for free calcium + D vitamins. Thought I'd start making the most of those freebee coupons from them since I have to pay $30.20 each month for my separate Medicare Part D prescription drug plan. When I used it, I felt like I was buying a truckload of Depends or something. It was embarrassing, and I don't know why, but that ended when my spouse set down a 6-pack of Stella and some cashews to pay for it all! At the pharmacy counter! We're classy.

He likes having beer on a sunny day, and I do too, and we usually limit it to no more than 3 for me and no more than about 4 for him. I just like it ice cold, with a side of cold water, to keep hydrated. My meds are well-known for the dry mouth effect, and I hate it. Hate feeling bloated but dry all the time.

It was all hunky dory until we got in the car, he opened the door for me (?WTF) strapped up, we backed out same time as someone else and hit another car. Instant tears for me, but I tried shaking it off, because I've lived in such fear of being in the front seat of a car since I can remember. I wiped up and had a smoke. I put myself back together. The spouse asked me if I was ok, I said yeah. And I was going to be in a bit. Nobody was harmed. Just shaken. So that beer went fast as soon as we got home! hahaha!

Fucking PTSD you evil cuntbag from shitsville in hell! Fuck you in the ass with no reach-around!

Today, the spouse made tea for himself instead of coffee! I guess he didn't want to risk it! Ha! I wonder why he didn't wake me up, but didn't ask. So I made it for myself and a cup for him. We did a no-no and smoked on the balcony with coffee. I tried to convince him not to work 'cause it's "general strike day". I said "you could always use your psychotic wife as an excuse if they ask". He later asked me if it was ok use that when he called in to his employer. I didn't understand why. I have had some badass trauma in the past 2 days, and I was actually glad that he called in, and that he would be here. I guess that's the weak part of me speaking? I don't know. 

He went back to bed for about an hour or so after I made coffee. Rolling my eyes here...

There was a knock on our door before 8am (extremely odd), but we were sort of expecting maintenance to come through to clean the windows/sliding glass doors. I really didn't want to answer the door and deal with people, especially if they had to come stomping through the apartment. It wasn't maintenance, instead it was a very tall suspicious looking stranger, with a dark coat on and a credit card in his hand, my spouse said. He claimed to be trying to get in touch with the landlord and thought that they lived in the building. He also said he lived in #304 and was wearing a heavy outdoor coat. So, the spouse reported the "incident" to the management, and she said that there is a man that gets into the buildings somehow and goes around knocking on doors, asking for money and things. Not cool when you're supposed to have a secure building. The spouse said he was glad that he was here to answer the door. He's 6'2" but bigger when angry. I don't like him when he's angry.

I told him "THAT's the reason why we lock the fucking doors in the states" as I have dozens of times. He forgets to lock the front door too often. I have a very large, wonderful heavy French rolling pin bought from a specialty shop downtown. It's pretty damn big and hard. Plus, since I used to like to cook, I also have some very good knives and keep them VERY sharp and in a very accessible spot, like the rolling pin. We are armed. I don't like that the doors are so shitty they could easily be kicked in.

Just yesterday morning we were having a smoke outside again and some guy down below was trying to bum a smoke, and he was turned down. Then he asked to borrow a light, and was probably smoking crack  there in the alley. He tossed the lighter back up to the spouse, and did a really crazyass drug dance down the alley. The spouse smokes out there all the time in the morning, and swears he's seen drug deals, and other people smoking god knows what. Also, that the needles just keep piling up in the garage below us. I don't feel unsafe down there. I just feel bad that these people are doing that junk.

The cat wants something from me ever since I sneezed. She came to me and meowed, as if she was trying to comfort me. She does that. She's weird. She crawled back and forth over my laptop, and sat on the arm of the couch and tapped me on the shoulder several times. She finally settled down and sat at my side, but keeps looking up at me occasionally, and digging her claws into my leg. She probably wants me to go to bed so she can sleep between my feet or beside me.

Well I did what I set out to do - treadmill and shower/hair wash. Finally. I'll go to bed with it wet and sleep better, with a nice cool fan in there. 

I feel like I'm coming out of a huge attack of anxiety, and I kinda have over the past few days. I just want to rest, and wake up in the peace of the dark morning once again, without a headache or drug hangover.

Let the seroquel come in and kick my ass... Kitty is forcing me to go to bed now.

The pigs have been set loose on the protesters. Wish I could see more of what's going on. Attacked with pepper spray for NO reason. More tomorrow...