No New Antipsychotic Is Good News?

Won't you have a piece of the pie too?

Found this in "images" and it looks like it could be for a couple different antipsychotics, eventual side effects if a lot of weight is gained from them, and no action is being taken.

The date that I quit the generic seroquel was May 18, and I still haven't had an anxiety attack. I still haven't gone out on a whim and jumped on a bus anywhere either. Disappointing, but not totally. I did not cause myself to develop agoraphobia to the extent that it has affected me, and I have to remind myself of that, and stop mentally punishing myself for that.

One thing I do need to do though, is make more of an effort to literally take steps out the door. Have a smoke on the balcony or on the bench near the door outside where you're not supposed to, due to stupid smoking laws. There, on the bench, I can sit and count the red roses that are trying to grow and bloom in spite of an overgrown bush of some sort trying to steal their sunlight.

Then there is the starschmucks on the corner that I was going to on occasion, which I'm really getting tired of. All of their seats are uncomfortable cheap pieces of shit, and it doesn't help my back, that's been acting up since I went off the seroquel.

I only realized today why I was a little instantly teary/instantly not - pms! I had an appointment with my Dr shrinker today and 4 weeks ago, so this would be the time! No wonder I was feeling a little weird and kind of down the other day. I haven't had mood swings though. It's pretty damn amazing. He - my Dr - told me today that the topomax actually does work for some people to manage the mood swings, but he's used to using more successful meds, and since I'm in that "spectrum" of disorders (bipolar), that it's eventually going to come back. I agreed. It's always been a pattern, no matter what the med cocktail.

We talked about what med to add, and I told him that I'd been doing some research. It turned out that we had been thinking of the same things. Abilify or generic Geodon (ziprasidone). I had been doing research over the weekend and making myself paranoid over what I'd end up with (or refusing to take). I found a shitload of terrible side effects for women for abilify, lots of possible side effects for all drugs in that damn class. So I had thought I'd try the ziprasidone again since it had gone generic, checked my Medicare Part D insurance, saw it was $80 a month. Ouch, but way less than abilify. 

I'd had the brand name ziprasidone before, Geodon, given to me for free, as the clinic I went to had a ton of free samples they were getting all the time. It was ok the last time I took it, but I can't remember what was going on at the time that I switched to something else. I'm sure I was on a few different things. What's new. 

I'm just glad I left the office without a single tear shed, and without a new Rx for an antipsychotic. I especially didn't want one because I woke up this morning all off balance, and have been all afternoon. I got up and nearly fell over on my way to the bathroom. After that, I was having to be careful not to hit the walls, etc. I was wearing my sunglasses at the Dr's office, and don't remember being so off balance there. Maybe I was faking it. They didn't try to make me get weighed in public, but asked how much I weighed for the record. I'd lost 10lbs of seroquel weight already. My word was good enough! :) I don't know, but the second I walked out the last set of doors into the daylight, when I was done with it all, I was all off balance again, even with sunglasses. 

Lucky I got a ride from the spouse. He didn't care about going to work anyway today. He's on "light duty" for 2 weeks due to injury at work, and filing an L&I claim. The owner of the co. is such a dick that he actually said in a meeting (I was told) with all workers present, that workers will be paying more because of L&I claims (referring to the spouse). Blame? Threatening? Both? I'd want to punch the fucker's face in. I can see why he wants to get the fuck out of there. Bad, bad scene and fuck-ups running the jobs, he says, doing things wrong. 

He said the other day that his life is weird, but he wouldn't really explain what he meant. He said "... living here, this place, us..." Then a bit later I said "your 'broken down wife'", as he once referred to me, thinking it was not an insult. Well it was a long time ago, and it stuck. He didn't really want to talk any more about it. I couldn't get him to talk much this morning either apart from what a dick the owner of his co. is. 

What will become of us? We need to talk, and he just can't seem to get into it...

This Is Not What I Want

Ah... just when I thought things were going fine around here today and were going to last through the night... My husband had to get all pissy and demand the blinds be open in half the room, turning this place into an oven. All I could do was turn on my fan and ask myself why he's being such a dick. Why ask why? To make me miserable, of course. He knew I'd hate the sun and the heat. Then maybe a few minutes later, he asks me what I'm doing, all nice sounding, then quickly slips in the question of whether I have any cigarettes. Of course I had to open my trap and ask why he had to be so snippy about the shades. His answer, which made no sense, of course was,"well, if you wanted them shut, you could have done it yourself." I was already up and looking for a cigarette in my purse when he said, "just forget it. I don't want it anymore." He mumbled something else, and I asked him to speak up, and he told me not to ask him for anything anymore, and that I'm no joy (or something to that effect) to be around. Thanks. Mature. Supportive. Well-chosen words! You should have used my good kitchen knife, I just sharpened it the other day. Or maybe I should use it on you? 

Now you see why I had sickening anxiety asking him for a ride to the shrink or drug store? He always throws that dagger straight at me, fucking with my head and heart the most. After I gave his sorry ass a bunch of quarters for laundry first thing this morning, because he's too irresponsible to get them himself. He has time during the day and on a Saturday. 

He knows what I'm going through, that I'm going through pms on top of it, yet he stabs away. Well, I didn't bleed, and for some odd reason, I didn't weep. Not a tear fell. This coming from someone who's been weepy at the drop of a hat for the past few days! Anger instead, but not the same kind of anger that was ranging on the seroquel scale running from stabby, to slashy, to murderous. It was just... what a thoughtless selfish dick he's been! Pulling this "asking him for anything" shit, which is alluding to "asking for a ride", rendering me immobile, a prisoner, to suffer again. 

He went out in a huff, got his cigarettes, thew a few bucks on my lap for the quarters I gave him for his damn laundry today. Rude. He had his smoke, came back in and realized Game of Thrones is on. After that, bed. 

Sleep. Won't have to deal with his rudeness. Just sleep and turn my back on it all, and be alone tomorrow. Maybe I'll attempt to go out. We'll see tomorrow. I'll try and get up and out early, though I know he has to leave super early tomorrow. I look forward to tomorrow, and hope it's better than this evening, which I'm sure it will be. I'm looking forward to sleep and dreams. It's no wonder I find myself in different dreamworlds where I am safe with someone else.

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.

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.

Walk If You Can't Run Like Hell

I'm irritated as all fuck. OK, I'm fucking pissed off and disgusted with some of the male presence on G+. This morning, they have been posting racist shit, and stupid shit regarding the missing Malaysian plane, a rich white male creature that raped his own children, and some other stuff. I rarely see any women or girls making their opinions known, or responding to what anyone posts regarding news stories, and political news. Why is that, I wonder? Especially on a particular news item that reported on a terrible women's issue. No women but me. What the hell?

I guess you call these kind of shitheads "trolls", but I have never used that term before, as I haven't been doing this social thing for very long. I still don't know all the acronyms people use either. D'oh! So let the dicks be dicks. It's hard to just "walk away" without saying something like "you're a fucking racist cunt.", etc.

Anyway, this irritation morphed into anger, and now fucking anxiety that is at least an hour too soon to have to deal with. I took meds and hope that I can be OK to get my exercise in. It can be a crap shoot with seroquel as far as it making you tired. I think I'm too angry/hyped up for it to make me tired though.

I should be concentrating more on "Supernatural", that's been on since 9am. Speaking of, I just saw the Blue Oyster Cult symbol, and Dean mentioned he'd seen that somewhere before, and it's driving him nuts. Funny.

Usually, I do my walk on the treadmill while watching "Supernatural". It is a great escape for me, no matter how many times I have already seen the episodes, and have the DVDs, in case of  TNT doing something stupid like putting on another show, or sports. Problem is that getting motivated to get my ass up and actually moving, feeling that weird feeling of walking and getting nowhere, seems to be coming later and later. I shouldn't be putting so much pressure on myself to make it by the end of "Supernatural", but it just makes it easier to do the walk and be distracted. Lazy with the DVDs, yep. Pressure creates more anxiety, and anxiety creates more bad, and bad creates guilt, and guilt creates self-hatred, and you know what comes after that. Let's not go there today, for once.

My spouse was not in a shitty mood this morning and actually gave me a hug and told me that he would drive me to my Dr appointment tomorrow, as well as pick up my meds from the drugstore. That was good. He is hooked on the "Game of Thrones" books, so he's been up reading in bed every night, making it a bit harder for me to go to sleep. Just knowing someone is awake that's near me does that, but the seroquel kicked my ass sooner or later. He was gone for a few hours yesterday to meet up with an ex workmate, so I had some time alone!

Well, try try trying to get up on the treadmill...

Interesting how my mood has changed so much, no? Chillin' on seroquel and clonopin. I recommend it.

Click On The Links For More

"Le génie du mal"

"Lord, I miss you child..." plays on the bathroom radio as I pass by. It stings like hell.

I'm interrogated by my spouse after I sit down, and put the phone down. "Who was that? You going to your Dr's tomorrow?" I say no and tell him that he's got the day off. I avoid the first question. He asks, "What, is he on vacation?" Then he goes out to smoke a cigarette he bummed off me, and comes back with, "I asked if he was on vacation. Where was he going?" I said that I didn't know, that that was personal and I didn't ask. and I wouldn't want to know anyway. The last time he just came out and said he was going to Paris. Cunt. 

The spouse is acting all pissy now, and claiming there is nothing wrong when I ask him. Is that passive-aggressive, or childish, or what?  He came out of the bedroom at 5 to watch cartoons as usual, but pretended he didn't care today (again), so I changed the channel over to his station for him. 

What I'm trying to deal with is the PTSD I'm experiencing after trying to have a phone conversation with my daughter while the spouse was in the apartment, but in a different room. Sudden crushing pain in my heart. My heart feels like it's been put in a vice and all the blood's been squeezed out until it's nothing more than a bigass fucking prune.

She was at her accidental sperm donor's house in a better neighborhood, not too far away. A real house that probably had several bedrooms. A guest bedroom. She had been there for a couple of days already. I had no idea. When she finally told me, I was shocked and it fucking stung. 

She got tax info out of me, and seemed to be unhappy about something. I was afraid to ask what was going on. I thought she would tell me. Nothing. Just long periods of silence and a bit of small talk, which is near impossible for me to make. I felt like she was slipping away forever, and fuck, did it hurt. 

I found out that she's not graduating this year but next spring. The spouse is going to fucking freak and be so fucking pissed at me because he wants to move into a bigger place this summer. I told him she was graduating this summer. I really thought she was. I don't want to move to somewhere further from my shrinks and bus routes. I have to eventually get out ALONE to these fucking places! I don't want to pay more rent! I do not want to be forced to be the one that has to do the house hunting like last time. I explained all this to my daughter, and she asked me if I explained it to the spouse. On several occasions, I've told him that I don't want to move until my daughter graduates, so I can keep sending her money. The spouse is going to be so fucking angry that he will threaten to leave, I'll bet. And he might just do it, and then I'll be forced to move anyway. I have no one to help me. I don't know if I will want to bother to go on if I'm forced to move. I don't want to be forced to do anything. I can't stand this shit.

I'm trying not to blow my fucking brains out. I'm really trying.

I don't know when I'll have to deliver the news to the spouse about moving, or rather not moving. It's going to be too fucking soon. He will go - fuck - I don't know what... but it's not going to be pretty. I'll get yelled at and accused of being selfish or some other horrible shit. 

Getting yelled at flips a switch in me. It can go two ways: rage or fear leading to feeling suicidal. I got yelled at enough as a minor. It mostly struck fear in me - fear that I was going to get the beat down. I don't need that shit in my adult life.

After the call, the interrogation, and the music, I just said to myself that I cannot take another year of this. I don't think I can make it through to my daughter's graduation. I can't see life that far ahead. I can't see 6 months from now. It's day to day, or hour to hour, if it has to be. If I have to drug myself to a zombie state just to get through to see my daughter graduate, then I guess that is what I must do.

I guess. 

I cannot stand to fucking live this way. I'm not crying, nor have I been. I feel hurt, disgusted, damaged to all fuck, exhausted, and done, as if the path for me is coming to an end, and they say that there is light at the end of that tunnel. A bright white light. I'll bring my darkest sunglasses.

Bad Moon Rising

Fuck. I made a rather bold move this morning after coffee pot was emptied. I figured it would be safest then. I went to the bedroom, where the spouse had already disappeared, to talk about all the shit that's going down here, and how I want to try to fix it, how I would like for there to be some happiness around here. I get more of what I got yesterday morning: accusation after accusation. I even asked for the tax crap, to take it back and go over it again and see what I can do. All the spouse could say about that was that he basically couldn't believe that I was such a forgetful fuck-up, and I got the sense that he feels like I ripped him off on his taxes before or something. Money, money, money... After the money "discussion" was over, I tried talking about other things, but hit a brick wall. He said he really didn't want to have the conversation right now. So I turned around and left the tax crap on the bed. Passive-aggresive shit returned to him. Dumb, I know, but I wanted to see how long he would let it sit there in the bedroom.

It seems like he thinks I don't care about him, how he looks, buying new furniture, and moving. He equated the response of my initial response of "whatever" to his remark about growing facial hair as some kind of insult on the way that he looks. Truth is, he rarely "makes an effort" I meant "whatever" as a personal choice. I gave more than that opinion after that, yet he still clung to the "whatever" as if I don't care. I make an effort pretty much every day not to look like a complete slob, as much as I can to make myself feel less self-conscious, for hygiene's sake, and to try and keep remembering how to do it. Yeah, I forget my little routine sometimes. Fuckin' Swiss cheese memory.

Yet another day crapped on, and he said he wanted to go to the grocery store at some point. Can't ever get a specific time out of him, but he yells at me for it. I'm guessing he might want to go late afternoon, if at all. Well, that was a fine way to build up more anxiety for me, trying to have an adult conversation with him. My chest feels like someone is squeezing the fuck out of my rib cage, and I have to remember to breathe. I have to remember to try to stay calm, and get rid of any distressed look that I can feel on my face. Just grit my teeth and try to get through it.

Oh... the spouse has just walked in with the tax forms, etc, and asked me if I needed them. I said "Not right now". So they're sitting on the table where he put them, where they will sit for a while. More passive-aggressive presents returned to him. Stupid, I know, but I want him to know how it feels. I doubt if he'll get it. He seems to have plenty of money saved up as it is without any crummy return. If I wait too long, I wonder if he'll end up using some kind of threats. I'm guessing that all he can think about is money and himself because of being laid off for this long, spending money fixing his car and tons of other stuff for himself, and expecting thousands in a tax return.

I feel ill. My face is burning up. Need to get off the couch and move. Distract. Distract....Shower! Hate it, but will definitely distract.

FUCK.

The Killing Moon

I want the sunlight to go away. Now.

I tried to stay in bed late, but it was impossible, the spouse was being totally inconsiderate, and making all kinds of noise while he got up,and didn't even close the bedroom door. He even asked me if I was having a "lie in". I said yeah. Not possible when he's up and around. I sighed after he came in again for his computer, and got up and put on my PJs.

Oh, man...

I've just been accused of not caring about any money that's been spent on me. I don't see a whole lot that was spent on me that I every asked for, in the form of things around me... I don't ask for things. I never really wanted anything I couldn't buy for myself in the first place.I was also accused of being wasteful, of caring only for myself, and my big daily medication box (of all things)! I said "I care a LOT about taking my medication, because I need it, or I don't know what will happen to me if I don't.". How is that a crime?" Or does he see that as a crime? Because he agreed to help me out with the cost of my prescriptions? Because he hates it and regrets it now? Because he may think that I'm just trying to get him to pay for stuff for me? That was never even my idea! It was his" Prior to that, this is the shit that went down:

I really don't understand how/why people/couples fight exactly, apart from me doing something terrible when I was drunk, So now that I'm soberish, I don't know if I'm really supposed to participate or what, or how. I don't know what the hell is going on when someone freaks out that I give them an honest answer when they ask me, "I'm thinking about cultivating some facial hair to show of some of my gray. At first, I think it's a joke, but then I play safe, and give a serious and honest answer. The spouse asked "What do you think?" I said,"Whatever. I don't like facial hair. It's neither pleasing to the eye, nor pleasant to the touch." I guess he was angry and hurt by it, and chose to plant a quickly growing seed of anger in his head instead of talking about it anymore. I asked him if his PJs were new. I didn't know what kind of expression I had on my face, but I was thinking that red really wasn't his color. I didn't give an opinion. They were plaid. Mainly red. He acted like I was putting him down, said, "Just keep being negative", then left the room.

He came back and sat down in the living room again, where he asked, "You gonna pay me for that mop that I bought? You don't even use it." I don't use it?! "I paid $60 for the damn thing and you don't even use it." and "You never say anything nice about the way I look". I was not that shocked but was really disgusted that he was going down this lane AGAIN - the $$$ I told him he never comments on how I look, my hair or clothes. I said I wouldn't be offended if he didn't like my haircut or clothes. I asked him if he was going to pay for the vacuum cleaner that he watched me buy just to hear what he would say. His answer was, "Well, at least that gets used." Love your logic. Notice there was no "yes" or "OK" in there. I remember buying it, thinking he might help me out. I was kind of shocked and disappointed when he didn't. That was way in the past, and I didn't let it get to me. I wasn't angry or feeling cheated out of money or something.

I said nothing for a while, and then he asked me if I'm going to pay my taxes, and that he just wants what's his." Yep. I knew he would never sign those forms with all that time on his hands to sit there and fester and think about his pile of money that he always kept his meathooks dug into. All I could say to that was that I would have to look at the forms, do it all over again and see what would happen. He mentioned again that he just wanted what was his. Then I said, "What do you want? Do you just want me to give you all my money? Would that make you happy?" The sun starts quickly setting in my head.

He also mentioned that I don't care about him, that I'm not interested in him, that I accuse him of wasting his money. He bought another Kindle, the pad, and downloaded all "Game of Thrones" books when we have them all already. I was referring to the 1st book when I strongly advised him not to waste his money on those books just for the sake of his kindle pad. He got pissed.

He also dug up an ancient story about a $500 deposit he/we lost on an apartment in a different neighborhood that I changed my mind about at the last minute because it was too many bus rides/time away from my shrink, and I was paranoid about living in the neighborhood. I had 2 Xs living in the neighborhood, and 1 X fling. There were too many tempting bars I used to spend too much time at that were still managing to stay in business. Also, the whole neighborhood was being torn down, and going through the very, very uncool gentrification process. I may or may not have paid him half of that deposit back. I don't remember, but I remember paying extra for fees here, where we ended up. I never complained, or wrote it down in my "You Owe Me" book in my head. The sky is growing darker and darker in my head.

The last stab in the back was,"You didn't marry me for love. You only married me to pay your bills." Ahem. I was living on my own, and paying all my own bills at the time he came to live with me from the UK, plus while he was working there occasionally, I paid for all his fees for the process of getting here, and he never mentioned that. Neither did I.I said "That's absolute BULLSHIT". He grabbed his computer and said, "I'm taking my bullshit into the other room." I went into the kitchen and grabbed the last grocery receipt, and transferred money over for the groceries and his stupid fucking mop. $30? I just kept thinking How fucking petty. How fucking petty... Sometimes I'd like to pistol whip him for being so fucking crazy petty. Who did he learn that from?

He came back out again, but just to make tea, and asked me if I wanted some, almost sounding like he had realized that he'd gone over the top with that shit scene. But I'm sure it was just out of guilt/manners, nothing else. He can go back into the bedroom, go online, stare at his bank account balance and squeeze every virtual penny he can. Have fun. And if I make tea, I'll only be asking him if he wants some out of courtesy as well, even if I have to deliver it to the bedroom.

So he is very sensitive, but will not admit it or talk about it with me. He has issues he will not discuss with anyone. He just keeps bottling them up, day after day, year after year. The sun is gone, the sky is black, and the full moon has risen in my head.

This guy really needs to go back to work. If anything, to get away from me. He gets bored constantly, angry, cabin fever, smokes a pack a day, takes naps (!), yet won't do shit outside when it's sunny, and he's not working. Makes no sense at all... How many times have I said it? He acts like he doesn't care about anything but money, eating, and maybe moving out of this place.

I'm not really feeling depressed at all, or sad, or angry... irritated, yes, but I got up that way. I'm trying to stay in the moment. I'm tired, and losing that hour's a bitch. I wasn't able to get outside. I have no energy, which is OK because it's Sunday, and exercise is optional. It's Zombie Day... so the spouse should be in a better mood. I am feeling some tolerable anxiety, due to the time change fucking me over.. No thanks to that dick, Benjamin Franklin, or whatever story you choose to believe. Fuck 'em all. I have a headache, it's dark in my head, and I want everything to just suddenly STOP.

Should have watched "Donnie Darko" last night, but it felt too much like a guilty pleasure you do only when no one is looking.

Why do I continue to live and breathe, and why an I still wearing this stupid woman suit?

In Dreams

                                                               I used to wear blue velvet...

Wow. Get some beer, some time away from me, a chat with someone else, and you've got a changed man.

My spouse came back from his lunch date a little buzzed, but seemed happy to see me. He also apologized for treating me so mean the past couple of days, and that money is just money. And that there will never be another me. He said he didn't care about all that tax crap. He hugged me for a long time. It all made me cry and apologize again for fucking up. We exchanged the "I love you"s, of course. We stood there in the kitchen, locked together for a long time. Later on he went and had a nap.

I went back to my computer and tea.

Now in the sober light of day, I find it hard to trust what he said, of course.

1. I have MH issues
2. He hasn't always been truthful for too long (he's been flakey)
3. He had been drinking a bit
4. He has diagnosed and (IMO) undiagnosed MH issues: Depression is his diagnosis at present

So I'm left with the prepared tax forms just sitting on the coffee table in plain sight. They just need his signature. My signature is on the form. I already have a stamped and addressed envelope ready for it. Now how do I get him to actually sign the forms? I need to make copies or scan the crap at least. That would bring attention to the forms. I'm worried as to whether that would be a bad or "good" move.

I just want to get the shit out of here and not think about it anymore! I don't know if I can deal with it tonight, but the sooner, the better, as he seems to be in a better mood in the daylight, and he just got back from the unemployment office. Not a good time. He's already changed into his PJs and it's not even 3pm.

Oh, looks like he's going for another nap. Oh. Oh well.

Let's get some shit straight here. I wake up a bunch of times during the night, sometimes sweating, sometimes freezing from sweating, but mostly for no reason, then I get up at the time I set my alarm for which is 6am now. My spouse gets up maybe an hour after that, lately a little bit longer. He takes forever to "wake up" after he's up. He says an hour. Me, I'm wide awake each time I wake. Anyway, he takes naps. Sometimes two during the day. One after the coffee is finished, and then another in the late afternoon. It kind of disgusts me, but that's because I wasn't raised to do that, and it stuck.

Back again...

The spouse is up. Fuck. He's up again and just set down a glass of water next to the forms that are waiting for his signature, with a pen just above them on the coffee table... Clearly, he's ignoring them. Now he's off washing dishes in a very noisy way, suggesting that he's irritated by "having to do it". I said I would do it, I just didn't give an exact time of day/eve. I didn't want to put pressure on myself. Riding the bus alone to the shrink's and surviving an hour of that was stressful and emotionally exhausting enough today. Give me a fuckin' break.

Yeah, I mentioned to the shrink that he likes to play passive-aggressive games if he feels like he's not in control of the world, and he probably doesn't since he's not working right now. I don't like to participate. He's pretty much just stuck here with me, and doesn't seem to want to do anything. Not even going for a walk. That fucking sucks.

I'll have to try try try to venture out alone tomorrow, if it's now raining too badly. I'm going to have to get up earlier as the sun is coming out earlier and ruining my moonlit mornings. I'll try for 5am tomorrow, and spend a little time alone away from home. Either in the coffee shop or outside, smoking. Yeah, early to bed and early to rise and get the fuck out of here and get coffee and a cigarette. I can't possibly go out in the morning light.

I was fucking livid when I got home from my shrink appointment today and found all the blinds pulled open. He knows I hate outdoor light coming indoors. I still had my sunglasses left on, so I kept them on for quite a while, until I sensed that the spouse wouldn't have a cow if I shut half of them, and he was out of the room.

5-8pm nothing but tired cartoons here.

I'm tired and writing on "Notepad" while "The Devil's Waltz" plays online in the background. A re-run, I know. I need to be carried away from the reality of this place and this tired situation.

I just want to go to sleep, a heavy sleep, with heavy, vivid dreams that take me far away from here to another time and place. I travel alone in my dreams. Rarely do I ever have known persons in my dreams. I do have known places. Not real places, but real dream places that I've been back to several times. I never dream about my spouse. In my dreams, I am able to drive, but not in real life. PTSD. Motorcycles too, which I enjoy riding on (passenger only) in real life. I miss that. I miss having more of a life.

Dread Again Over V-Day and "Bitching"

Edit: I fucking hate this post! I hate it! Edit: Except the video, of course.


While I'm sitting here under the S.A.D. lamp, thinking most normal folks are all looking forward to V-Day - at least the women -I know that mine is just going to be shit. I'm dreading it like fuck. It's not something I'm bringing down upon myself with negative thoughts or interactions with the spouse, it's just that I feel that all he cares about right now is himself. He claims to be broke, yet says he could just pay the balance of his car loan off in one go. He's got plenty of money saved up in the bank. Sure he's laid off, but he knows that he's going back to work in another week, but he refuses to pay extra rent (only $100). He normally does these days, even though he brings in a shitload more money than I do with my SSDI.

On the way to my shrink, I mentioned that I sent the rent out. That's when he told me he wasn't going to pay extra, because he's not working, but he was sure proud to announce that he was going to get $500 a week on unemployment the other day. Poor guy.

I have noticed since xmas that he has bought more and more things than I can even count. Almost every day, he receives some sort of package, buying things for himself daily. Yet he claims he can't pay an extra $100 on rent, which would help me out with shrink and meds costs. He even gets upset when I casually and innocuously use the term "shit" as in "here's some more shit for you", when I bring back the mail from the mailboxes down the hall or from the door.

He also made that ridiculous claim that he's going to stop smoking. Cold turkey, of course. He smokes about a pack a day. He even smoked all the packs of smokes that he "gave" to me as a gift from his trip back from over the great pond, and never replaced them.

Yesterday, he complained about dishes in the sink, most of which he had used, as if I'm supposed to keep the kitchen clean? He was angry and said he wanted to cook, but couldn't even get in the sink. So he ended up washing a few dishes. Big deal. He's not paying more rent, so he can do dishes too, is what I was thinking to myself. I don't give a fuck if he likes it or not.

This morning after I got up at 6, when my alarm goes off, I shut the bedroom door and got dressed for the treadmill. I went about things in a normal way, as if no one was asleep, because he never makes an effort to do things quietly when he gets up and I'm still in bed. That is the reason now that I am no longer in bed when he gets up. The noise he makes has forced me to get up before him, whether he works or not, fucking with my sleep, worrying about the time, making me look at the clock several times during the night.

Every morning, he's in a pissy mood for the first half hour at least. He calls it "waking up". When the alarm goes off, I wake up, grab my clothes, get out of the bedroom, shut the door, make coffee, etc. What I'm trying to say is when you're awake, you're fucking awake. It's not license to act like a man morning bitch just because you're that way in the mornings. I never wake up in a shitty mood. I just wake up like a robot, I do what I gotta do. I don't act like a baby morning bitch. Unfortunately, most of the men I have been with have been like this, but I have to say that he might be the worst, if memory serves.
 
So why am I still married, you may ask? At the moment, I sure can't afford to move and live alone. I just try to look forward to my alone time when he is working, no matter how much he complains about having to work. He says he wants to get laid off. He's started to call in "sick" more often for laziness. His work ethic has never been like an american work ethic of our (probably not you) generation. He's used to getting laid off for months, even taking a year off and traveling here and there, but that's all in the past. In this country, bitch, you gotta work.

Except for those of us that can't but wish they could, like me. I'm too fucked up: bipolar, PTSD, BPD, crippling anxiety, and gawd knows what else that isn't diagnosed. It's all jumbled into one big mess.

Is it so stupid, horrible, and selfish to just want a bottle of decent champagne and some good chocolates to share? Do I just have to buy them myself? If I do, I'm going to get most of that fucking champagne, motherfucker. I always get my feelings hurt on V-Day, even if I tell myself I expect nothing. I guess I'm just fucking lying to myself. I just want to be shown a little love. Who doesn't?

And here's thee song about a broken heart:

Rescue

I should be writing every day, but somehow I get distracted by one thing or another. It's fucking hard to concentrate on one thing only. Today my excuse was writing long replies to some pretty sad emails that are a lot like mine, passed back and forth. It kind of got me down, but I had to reply. I don't like to leave people hanging. They need to know that I'm here and that I care.



The past couple of days, I've been able to get out at least to the Starbucks on the corner, just a block away, past sleeping homeless people and restaurant owners doing some kind of early morning business.

The last few months I've been wanting a gun. Not to shoot myself! That's never been the method I'd try, and I believe everyone has their own way to "opt out". Mine is pills and more recently, tall buildings. I haven't been thinking about suicide in a... suicidal way. I just imagine what I'd lose and who I'd lose.  I've just been extremely depressed, but it's mostly been due to crippling anxiety I had been feeling for so damn long, making me almost a total shut-in. The anxiety had become worse than the depression.Then suddenly I'm able to get out the door three days in a row, I think. I think it might be the seroquel.

My usual little thing is to just throw on some clothes, try not to care about my looks, wear sunglasses, and somehow push myself out the door. I recently got a bus pass, which is even more incentive for me to just hop a bus and go downtown, at least.

I had a misunderstanding with my spouse the other night and we were ignoring each other. I hate going to bed angry, without getting shit out of the way. I'll stay up all night if I have to, but in his case, I couldn't. He had to work the following day, and get up at the asscrack of dawn. He told me to "fuck off" earlier because I wouldn't be his dictionary for spelling a word he needed there and then for some forum he was writing in at the time. Assy, yeah. He couldn't be bothered to open another window and look it up, but somehow I'm

The next day I went downtown as planned, but found myself way to early. I forgot to check on the house for the headquarters. I there early and didn't want to go find some place to drink coffee, so I sat on a bench around the side of the building, in front of another building. It was the municipal court. The benches in front (in my corner) were empty. Two older guys dug through the giant ashtray searching for butts. I watched the colored lights in the fountain change colors while I listened to my iPod for a full hour.

Finally the cop shop was open, I went in, paid money, applied for a permit, and got my fingerprints done. The office was run by two older ladies, and the one that worked with me was very nice. I know it sounds wrong to others for me to get a permit and eventually a pistol, but I want to shoot, and like I said, shooting myself is NOT my "out" of choice. A friend of mine has a gun and it was fun just shooting targets on her family's property out in the sticks. It would certainly make me feel more safe when I go out alone, because of so much harassment I've had in the past, including the incident a block away from where I live.

Sure, I'm going through one of the worst depressed and crippling anxiety cycles ever, but I'm not suicidal. I'm depressed about my life and ? I've no reason for the anxiety. Who can explain any of this shit that we didn't bring down on ourselves. I've no fear that I'm going to lose and and do something stupid or wrong. If I can live with a stash of pills that could easily kill me, I can sure as hell handle a gun. I doubt anybody other than another nut would believe that.

I want desperately to be able to continue to go outside, to go anywhere, even if it's only the corner coffee joint, or outside to smoke. I'll be forced out to catch a bus to visit the shrink on Wednesday. Not looking forward to that, but I'm going to try not to think about it until the night before. It'll be hard. Very hard.