This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...

This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Monday, June 16, 2014

So Where Are We Now?

Holy shit, it's been a long time since I've been able to sit down, concentrate, and actually write. It's been one month since I went cold turkey off the 600mg generic seroquel, and what happens after that? I go and get a terrible cold from out of nowhere, like I can't remember ever having! I mean, criikey! I never fucking get out! I've only been out a couple of times to the store, to grab a coffee maybe once, maybe up to Post Office just to drop mail, the drugstore, and my spouse isn't even sick! WTF?! Just as I was starting to get used to feeling "normal" agoraphobia, bipolar, anxiety,  and PTSD on the current meds: all generic - 450mgs wellbutrin, 4mg clonopin, 40mg prozac, 150mg topomax, I have to go and get fucking sick and miserable. 

Well, not miserable, but a little irritable about the non-stop runny nose - like a fountain, partially taken care of by antihistamines for allergies, dry cough calmed by finally having a bit of phlegm coating, and my body's not feeling so much like I've been run over by a truck, and backed up on today. Too weak to even think about the treadmill. Lame. I feel so fucking LAME!! I NEVER GET SICK! I'm offending myself with this lameness and not being able to overcome it and just pretend all is "normal". Fuck fuck fuck fuck! If only I could get this pissed off about my anxiety... Hmmm... Maybe I will.

I have an appointment with my meds shrink on tuesday of next week, which is ok, I guess. I should be fine by then, maybe able to even catch the buses there, but I don't know yet. I don't want to push myself when I'm still feeling shitty. I don't even really want to think about it. I'm not even quite sure how I feel in the head besides the head cold going on. Damn thing's been giving me headaches, too. 

Before the cold, I was suffering quite a bit from lower back pain, so I've probably burned a nice hole in my stomach by now, but I refuse to take anything else but aspirin. Somehow the thermometer got lost during the move to this place, so I couldn't tell for sure whether I had a temperature or not, but I did feel feverish a couple of times. Then hot/cold. Kind of annoying. 

I'm so glad I have no shrink appointments this week, and I definitely am glad that I will be formally firing the last one after I receive the bills from her. I'm so grateful that I have no place that I have to force myself to go to this week, because I sure as shit feel like shit. No more dreading mondays. No more fucked up sunday nights because of it.

At least I'm able to sit up today and type this. I don't have enough energy to do much else. That could be from lack of enough coffee. I'm afraid to look at my main email account and deal with that.

My spouse injured himself at work, and went to a Dr. So he took the week off, said he was going to do an L&I claim, waits until the last minute and then asks me to basically fucking do this shit, and phone calling for him because he needed the help, and didn't know what he was doing. I didn't know either. He gets pissed and freaked out, directs it toward me, and I vow to myself to never help him again. I actually cried a few tears. On seroquel, I would have had a very different and way less emotional reaction. As in NOT ONE FUCKING TEAR. Of course I didn't let him see me cry. Later on he comes out and says he's not bothering with the physical therapy he's supposed to have made appointments for - this week, and went back to work today. I just shook my head and said, "there goes your claim." 

I don't know, but it's as if he wants to get hurt and not work or something. He says he hates his boss, who really sounds like a little dick and a 1/2, so I can't blame him. He claims he's thinking about joining a union  and getting work that way. He says that some of his former workmates have done it and made big bucks, especially working out of town, or state, something he claimed he didn't want to do when he was in England: paying for a place, working, and not living there. That was #1 on his hate list. And then there's me... ? Well, all the fucking bills are in my name, of course, I don't know where his head is at other than I think he hates working, and he thinks he should be able to retire at 50ish.

The other kids in his family have bought their own houses, or "married well". He never saved his money, all that he made, that he could have. Me, I never wanted the responsibility of a house that I couldn't afford, a giant debt hanging over my head like a noose for the rest of my life. I'd rather have the real noose. Unless I had a partner whom I could trust, that had my back, that had his shit together. I couldn't see that happening for me. I trust no one anymore, even if I am married now. 

The spouse seems too comfortable being unemployed, when it would freak the fuck out of me, if I could work. Must be a UK thing. I didn't give a fuck with it when I was there when I wasn't working, for the most part. I know where I was, but where are we now? It's not all B&W.

Frank Miller's Sin City: A Dame to Kill For - Trailer 2 

Frank Miller as a co-director working with Robert Rodriguez