The "Wonders" of Meds and Alcohol

Holy shit! I don't remember writing one single word of the last post. I guess I don't need much alcohol and meds to put myself on auto-freak. Amazing. Shameful! Stupid. It was like drunk dialing/texting/messaging only worse - totally out there in public. Well, that was one evening of my mixing meds and alcohol, which I don't really do that often because my spouse looks down upon me drinking. It's something I do rarely.  He told me I was a "mean drunk" when I got drunk. I don't remember being mean at all. I don't remember much of anything about that evening.

I have looked at as many blogs that I could find dealing with mental health in one form or another, and I could hardly find any. The few I found had thousands of readers or at least "followers", so it made me feel like "what's the point of me writing if no one's going to read it and maybe leave a comment". I'm "following" a few blogs that I came across and left comments if I felt like it. That would seem to be the point of reading a blog in the first place. I have to have some kind of outlet for my insanity without dumping on the last few friends I have left. Blogging seemed to be the way to do it. I guess I'm just writing and sending my crap out there into the internet universe. Just another drop in a bucket, just another nobody.

Well, I guess some crap came out in my last blog about how miserable I am, and have been for such a long time. It's not easy when you're not getting support (asking or not) and trying to survive my current mess, and today is no exception. My spouse called in sick just because he felt like it. Again. So that throws my daily routine that I MUST have right out the window. Unfortunately, my spouse seems to think I just don't want him around. Not true at all. I just don't look forward to the effects that trashing my routine will have.

Since he was home yesterday too, I had to suffer the effects of my routine being "ruined". It was the worst anxiety/near psychotic episode I've had in years. I took some extra seroquel  and clonazepam for it, and tried to remember some bad old disco song to sing to myself in my head over and over to make it all stop. Tv and messing around on the computer didn't work either. So I tried going to sleep. I curled up in a ball on the bed and was seeing and hearing things, even when my eyes were squeezed shut as tightly as I possible.
Eventually, I went into a half sleep sort of state for a few hours. Then I slept a bit.

I have a shrink that does therapy and one that does the meds, and at this point, neither seem to be working like they used to. I'm taking the cocktail, going to the shrink, but it seems my anxiety is either the same or worse. I don't know what to do. There's nothing I can do.

Sidewalking

This my first post of an ongoing hell trip that some people call Bipolar. I've been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, and fuck knows what else. I'm going to try to use this blog as my personal journal for the curiosity and/or amusement to some, but also to join a web ring of similar crazies. I can't stomp out the stigma of mental health disorders, but I can write about it so you can see what it's like to be certifiably nuts.



Today I told myself that I was going to walk almost 10 blocks to get to the drugstore to pick up my prescription, because I didn't want to have to ask the spouse if he could drive me. Also, I thought of a few things I could drag home from the nearby grocery store.

I washed up, brushed up, and completed the chore of my makeup mask. It felt almost as if I'd forgotten how to put on lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner. Come to think of it, the whole makeup process. At one point, I had to stop because I was feeling light-headed and anxiety ridden about my plan to get outside. Holding on to the sink and closing my eyes helped a bit with anxiety and more 'balloon head'. If someone had flicked me on the arm, I would have gone down hard.

Later, with sunglasses on and iPod in hand, I stepped out and locked the door, thinking how flimsy the door was. Then I was out on the sidewalk. I stumbled up the street to the store, which was about 10 blocks away. I had taken 200mg of seroquel and 2mg of clonazepam about 30 minutes earlier. Walking was difficult and hurt my back a bit.

I made it straight-ish up the sidewalk to the drug store. Walking was difficult and awkward, and I sort of tripped up at times. The only real walking I've done lately is walking a few miles on a treadmill. After staring at the variety of facial moisturizers for about 10 minutes or so, I was dizzy again and just sat on the floor, pretending to be checking out the bottom and lower shelves. No one was staring, at least from what I could tell.

I walked out of there with a few things, then found myself outside again, a little disoriented. And for some reason, I thought the alarm was going to go off as I walked out the door. There was the possibility that I could have been holding something and walked out of the store with it, unknowingly. It's happened before. But no buzzes or bells, so I crossed the street and went into the grocery store. Luckily, I knew exactly where the stuff I wanted was located in there, so it was almost an in and out trip.

Walking home was more difficult as the seroquel really started to kick in and my head was feeling like a balloon, my body a puppet on strings. It was a successful trip out, and all I wanted was to rip my clothes off and stand in front of the fan. Fuck it was rough, and I feel a bit traumatised by the whole thing. I was just glad to be back at home, alone in my cage again.