Nein, Doktor! Nein!

 And fucking blogger isn't cooperating. I don't have the patience to fix this. I have

tried 3 times already and everything looks normal from this end.

As usual, it's taken me forever to get back up on the horse and ride. Write. Whatever. The

last thing I've been working on (and still am) is restoring my computer and trying to find an

antivirus program other than the free norton one that is offered free with $hitcast, so that

they know everything you do. The other problem with that is that after some research into

some files that were installed after I deleted all my stuff, and allowed (mistake!) the

spouse to "restore to factory settings" or some shit, I found that M$ plants trackers in your

computer to log and monitor any use of tor browser! I've been accused by the spouse of being

"too paranoid", But I wanted to drop $hitcast's "free" norton because they dig into

everything you own, everywhere you ever go, or what ever you even touch. Some pretty nasty

stuff.

I like my privacy. I would like to be able to turn on my computer and use it without

thinking, even that the internet is turned off, reports on every single key I hit are being

compiled, readied for transmission to the Computer Overlords, especially when you use tor

browser. Some reports are sent to an email address there as well as a prestigous "ivy league"

school. Some are encryped with some plain old english sprinkled in, some are directed to

write in python, which I believe you can learn off a famous school's website for free, to ID

the software user, and basically spy on them for no good goddamned reason. I never gave my

permission for that, nor did I see any mention of tor browser in any "user agreement" you

FUCKERS. Also, they infect your computer with google shit, so I would scour your computer for

that shit if you don't want that either.

Since my memory is shit, and I wiped so many programs, shortcuts, files and docs I had on the

desktop, it looks naked now, and I'm afraid that if I do remember what is missing, that I

won't be able to install it, and have a fear of downloading it, especially without any kind

of antivirus program. I sure as hell don't want to ask for help in doing these things because

he already fucked up my reset by not even asking me my preferences, just wanted to act like

he knew what he was doing.

Another reason why I don't like asking for help...

Bad news... my shrink suddenly came down with cancer and left for a really unspecified amount

of time... So far I've had to see Dr Nazi, who treated me like a common criminal that just

crawled out of the gutter, and made me take an alcohol/drug test just to get a refill on my

clonazepam for my fucking anxiety, that I have been taking for AT LEAST 10 YEARS, and have

not abused, but FUCKING NEEDED! DU SCHWEINHUND DUMKOPF DUMBFUCK IGNORANT SHITBAG! Take a course on psychompharmacology, you stupid cunt! I am not a drug or alcohol abuser, nor am I am idiot, fucking condescending Nazi cunt! I did not just crawl out of the fucking gutter with a needle in one arm, a cig in one hand, and a vodka martini in the other, dickhead!

I'm lost without my old shrink for meds for a while, and I feel so terrible for this man

that's been so good to me, so respectful, and trusting. A world-class dude. He would not give

up on me after all this time! The clock is ticking for me to find another shrink for the same

purposes that either knows him, that he has recommmended, that I can afford, that I can get

to easily, that won't talk down to me, that will keep me on the same meds, as they seem to be

working very well as appetite suppressants! Also, keeping the mood swinging down, the anger

and rage I used to feel is totally gone, at ALL times of the month. The only thing I notice

is I get a little weepy for a second or two at that time of the month. I did cry about my Dr's situation, because I honestly care for that man.

I get irritable, but not as bad as before at all. Things have just changed. I still have had

no anxiety attacks, except, I have noticed I am more anxious in the car than I used to be. The

sun has kept me inside, however, and by order of spouse, the death threat from the suspected

neighborhood drug dealer has kept me out of the garage under the building. So no trash or

recycling for me. Also not a good idea to be around in the side/entry of the building, with

the amount of non-fans I have who might want to pick a fight with me. And they are guys. I'm not afraid of those cunts. My old man was bigger, heavier, and louder than them. But we won't go there right now...

Fuck $tarschmucks, their fake fucking bullshit, their fake fucking Starbuckspeak. I do not

want to support that shit anymore, even if I have to suffer to go somewhere else. I want a

real fucking cup of coffee, not some overpriced frou frou shit with some stupidass name that

some fatcats sat at a table thought up, laughed about, and decided to inflict upon americans,

after creating and inflicting the english-american language Starbuckspeak upon the people.

And thou shalt learn it fluently, lest their "barista" bitches (male and female) shit their

pants should someone dare or or err in their order of something in non-Starbusckspeak! They

just may write up about you, calling you an "idiot" or worse, and write about their side of

the story in a site on Livejournal. Yes, that's what I have heard, or read, at least. I'll

use the place as a public toilet if I need to, and nothing more. There's gotta be other

places, like one hidden in the alley that's got plain old drip coffee like normal people used

to drink back in the day, wifi, and maybe an outlet or two? Back in the day where people when

to coffee shops to drink as much coffee as possible, smoke, and talk to each other, not play

with their fucking phones... If not, maybe one a short trip away. Where there are students,

there are coffee shops and wifi. My only problem is getting out of this cage, the sun, the

heat, water, and being able to find a decent toilet. I... GOT... TO... GET... THE... FUCK...

OUT... OF... HERE...

Usually, I tend to write more when I'm feeling shitty, I know it. But it's been too long and

all sorts has gone on. The best thing is my girl's in town, and I've been sort of rebuilding

a friendship online with another person that's suffering from physical and some psych shit,

poor thing, but she lives in the suburbs, unfortunately. She's having an impossible time

getting out on her own too. I'm going to try and make an attempt to meet up with her at some

point. I'm also hoping to stay with my girl for a few days and just be silly and forget about

everything for a while. Also get a break from the spouse taking all his shit out on me and

not owning up to it. I've had more than enough of it. I need to get away from him, and I'm

sure he'd be more than happy to drive me away from here so he could have time alone to

himself to do fuck all, as usual.

Next morning, I'm up at 5, it's dark, and I see the big, beautiful moon through the shades.

I'm exhausted, and all of a sudden my parade gets shit on by a combination of spousal non-

morning attitude and my own anxiety at the thought of puttinig on some clothes, and forcing

myself outside. Not just outside, but getting ready to go outside, and by that time, it will

be light. I'd have to take the bus, beg the driver for a discounted rate because my pass

expired, then take a ride downtown, getting off in the middle of real PEOPLE and what seems

like CHAOS! Fuck...

I felt so shitty, ashamed, down, like a fucking failure, an idiot, loser fucking ape on prescription meds that can't fucking leave this fucking place. I felt like throwing up and my head hurt, so I took a chance and took the aspirin. There wasn't going to be any treadmill for me.

Time just flew by as I had "Supernatural" going on in the background, and I just blew the whole day, and it turned my stomach so badly. I didn't want to think and so I lost myself literally by digging in the trash on the computer. Files that were supposed to be deleted from the browser, from the bin, from the "cleaner" app that I downloaded free years ago, and kept up to date. Yet I found this shit still hiding away in the computer. It even seemed m$n had even developed little profiles and all sorts of programs and commands to work around yours that get into anything and everthing that you have, where you go, what you do, proxy or not, and they save this shit. I noticed that tor browser and keeping an eye on your uploads and download times as well as scanning what you downloaded for every identifiable mark, code, number, crack, cert, note, you name it, and they are in cahoots with google, so you know I wiped those fuckers out of my computer as far as I could tell, but I will keep checking, and checking on some other bothersome shit. I don't know how I manage to spend so much time like that without going crazy or getting bored like ordinary people would. I guess because it's a big puzzle that will certainly never be solved by the likes of a self-declared technophobe like me. I felt especially sick when I came across this comment made in a document, "BA What are the odds that some idiot will name his mutex ether-rot-mutex!" Today, I officially name my "mutex" Ether-Rot-Mutex! Whateverthefuck.

I know I shouldn't be so down on myself for not making such a HUGE move today, and on a hot one, too, where I'd actually have to carry around water. That's one of those odd things that irritates me about people. I don't know why. I can at least feel a sense of relief that there were no new bills in the mail, but that I won't have the convenience of paying them online until I get a decent antivirus program, although I'm not totally sure wny when I'm already being spied upon by m$n, comca$t, google, and whoever manages to track me that I haven't blocked out. Plus the NSA, maybe the CIA and FBI too.

I hope the weather takes a terrible turn tomorrow, and there are thunderstorms with lightening and pouring rain! That way, I may actually want to get outside, and it may even get the spouse off of work for a bit, and he could come and get me, and take me down to get another bus pass. The more rain out, the less tourists and shit, less people on the buses. I'm telling myself anything I fucking can to ease the anxiety, talk it right the fuck out of my head. Do a rain dance, dreaming in my sleep. Pray to the Great Spirit for my baby, some loved ones, children who suffer, women who suffer, people dying over controlling people, land, stupid old religions, old grudges, money, and oil.

I'm almost glad now that I don't have access to the real news online, it's been making me insane enough on the morning fuckin tv - yelling at it and wanting to pull my hair out. I can't stand it. I'm "forced" to at least hear the tv news in the morning when I'm up at the same time as the spouse. He gets his news online. 

And now I finally shower and go to bed to lie in front of that fan in my underwear... Hopefully to be wakened by alarms and storms.

Anger and Truffles

Lyrics | Public Image Limited lyrics - Rise lyrics

Whiny woman in commercial, "Help! My car broke down and I need help!"

FUCK YOU

Crazy woman curled up on couch,"I broke down, and I can't even ask for help!"

Sigh. Breathe...breathe...breathe... let the anger overcome your anxiety. Point out the wrongdoings of another and make a plan to rip them a new asshole. Get their fucking name. Go after them by phone. Leave them a message. Follow up if you don't get a call back. Leave them a hand-written letter next time you go to the clinic they happen to work at.

One of the most unbearable fuck-ups that I cannot deal with without ripping a few new assholes is mistakes or problems with medications. I've even been banned from a pharmacy many years ago. This time, it's personal. I can't be making trips to and from the drugstore because my spouse resents (I suspect) driving me, and I HATE to ask. I will have to do it again very soon for another medication fuck up.

I swore while speaking with the dude working in the pharmacy when I called today about my limited re-fill of clonazepam that they fucked up. NO, MOTHERFUCKER, you do NOT go there.

Later...

I had to force a hug upon my non-supportive spouse before I left for the shrink on the bus today. He acted like it was no big deal to him, that he did not understand at all. After this many fucking years? Get a fucking clue! What do I have to do? Wear a sign around my neck? A sandwich board?

I made it out the back door of the building in my dark sunglasses and favorite boots, listening to happy iPod walking songs. I watched a wee murder of crows gathering around the base of a tree and poking around it. They were so close to me but had no fear. I managed to cross a few streets to the bus stop without getting hit. The last time I went out, I think I just crossed the streets and forgot to even look around me.

The bus stop was crowded, which was a little disappointing, because there was no place to sit. Luckily, the bus came early and took me away with my music, and personal space shield. I couldn't wait to get to the part of the route that passed the large cemetery to look, and wish I was wandering around there, listening to music.

Just after I got off the bus, I put on "Don't Fear (The Reaper), which has become a silly habit. I lost a button on the way in the shrink's office. At the shrink's, I bawled the whole time and talked mostly about how to try to better communicate with my spouse, make him more aware of his hurtful words, what the hell he means by some of them, and shit like that. I had green tea.

My spouse picked me up at 1pm and "Don't Fear (The Reaper) immediately came on the radio. It reminded me of how I wanted to shoot myself so badly last summer, and how quietly and calmly suicidal I was. How I kept it all to myself. I had planned to get a weapon, a dress, boots, time, music, place, booze, pills, all that shit. Then something happened that switched the suicidal thought from "ON" to "OFF". It was weird. But I can't write about it because no one in the whole world knows about it but me, and I'm going to keep it that way. So... I guess for some reason, I want to live.

At least live long enough to get to the drugstore and buy a few boxes of truffles and a See's sampler. Maybe even more!

We swung by the drugstore on the way home, the spouse was in a rush, so we ended up with nothing, but I'll have to go back for more meds, and will try to ride the bus again if he won't go with me. There will be fine chocolates here. I swear!

Better living through Rx and fine chocolates? Fuck yeah!

I MADE IT OUTSIDE THE GODDAMN BUILDING ALONE, AND TOOK THE BUS FOR ONCE!!!

Frankie-stein's Monster - WARNING - "S" WORD DISCUSSED

I do not have a solid grip on my "life". I write this as I sit on a towel, in my underwear, in front of a fan,  re-watching last night's episode of "True Blood" like some nutcase. All along the top of this computer screen are addresses and websites of gun shops in the area. One I'm actually familiar with, and have visited it in the past  year or so, purely for the amusement of my spouse, because he's not from this country, and you just can't go out and by all kinds of crazy guns where he comes from. I'm all sweaty and stinking from walking on the treadmill and having such long god damned hair.

I'm getting a grip on something here though, it's called Faking It. One of the first psychiatrists that I ever saw actually told me to "fake it". He was referring to "being happy". He was dead (ha) serious. Anyway, I was thinking maybe it's because I've finally started to take control of working on the possibility of another way besides pills in order to "opt out" of this shit existence called life. When the proper time comes, of course. I'm not pressuring myself. I don't feel so anxious or in such a desperate hurry any more. There are steps I need to take, and later appointments that I need to go to, medication to take, a life to fake, a shower to force myself to take. Because of this, I've removed a bit of some very unwanted stress from my little life.

This whole week, I have no set appointments or anything that I need to stress myself out about. I just don't care anymore about some of the little things that have been irritating me recently. Who knows. This could all be a case of good ol' completely unpredictable PMS. Fucking hormones. I'm not going to feel guilty to be found laying on the couch in front of the fan when the spouse comes home. I'm not going to feel guilty whether I've walked on the treadmill or not. I'm  not going to care much about what I eat, as long as I don't stuff myself and make myself feel physically uncomfortable. No more food shame. I'm not going to care much about getting dressed or putting on makeup so much anymore. I feel a bit more relaxed, and when I don't, I take more clonazepam (sublingually) , and hope it does something to stop the bad feeling fast.

Post shower...

Back on the rickety loveseat (my perch) with my laptop and the noisemaker with pics (tv), I sit again with my laptop. I managed to wash my face and brush my teeth after my shower, as well as put on a crappy "house dress". A house dress is one so shitty and cheap you wouldn't wear it in public. I put perfume in my hair, but still haven't bothered to brush it, which it desperately needs. I put on some face lotion and dusted on some face powder and a smidgen of lip balm.

Now, why do some states allow people with terminal illnesses die "with dignity", or assisted "suicide"? My mental disorders are indeed terminal illnesses to me, and I should have the right to die with dignity when I feel my time's up as well. What the fuck? Does bipolar disorder or borderline personality disorder go away? Can you be cured of them? Are they not then terminal illnesses? Do we not suffer as much mental pain as those with physical illnesses suffer from physical pain? How is it fair that they can eventually "opt out" of life, and those with serious MH diagnoses are doomed and forced to live with their sickness and pain? Tell me how the fuck that is fair? Not that I'm dumb enough to believe there is fairness in the world. I always thought the word "fair" was a fucking joke.

Maybe I do care that I die with some dignity, it's just shamefully unfair that those of us that are cursed with terminal mental diseases, don't have a whole lot of options. I want to be well made-up, hair looking pretty good, and wearing clean clothes when I go. I want my iPod for appropriate music, the fan on, and to just generally be in physical comfort when I go. I want to make sure I've told the ones that I love the most that I'll love them forever, forgive my family members, mail out personal messages to some people. I want my organs harvested and my remains burnt. If there is some kind of service or wake, I will have a message directed toward anyone that might attend, and only one song to play at this thing, as corny as it may sound to some:  Don't Fear (The Reaper). This is a video with the lyrics for the music.



I don't care how silly or stupid it sounds to anyone. I've been listening to the song since I was a little kid, and have been waiting for a longass time for the time to come. In the end, it's all good and there's happiness. That's all I wanted: to be happy like other people. Blue Oyster Cult. Yeah, the "more cowbell" song.

Apparently, after being diagnosed with Biploar Disorder, PTSD, Anxiety Disorder, and BPD, Depression, gone through years of shrinks, diagnoses, med cocktails, etc, one is really not supposed to expect happiness. They're expected to take meds, see shrinks, work, have social relationships, and somehow overcome and/or "manage" their illnesses and their life. Baby, it's been so many years, you wouldn't believe. It ain't gonna ever happen. Unfortunately, I think my spouse isn't hip to real craziness, so he's in the dark, where he shall remain.

The spouse and I haven't talked about suicide in a very long time, but we've talked about death, and the possibility of an afterlife and all that. We've talked about god/no god (or goddess?) shit. We both want to be cremated. It would be kind of cool for anyone close to have some of the ashes, such as a vial or something, if they wanted. I'd rather be burnt than left to rot, though the first image that comes to mind when I hear cremation is some of the ovens I saw in a concentration camp near Berlin years ago.

I became a hardcore atheist at the age of 6 or 7. I destroyed a religious icon with fire, and expected god to strike me down dead if he existed. Mainly, I just couldn't believe there could be a being so brutal as to take my mother away in a car crash, have her covered in blood, and have me remember crawling all over her bloody body in great detail. These days, part of me wants to believe there is something bigger and greater out there than just this life. At this moment, I just want my child to survive and lead a happy life and the rest of the good people of the world. It's taken a long time, but I guess now you could call me an agnostic and not be far off. 

You never know what can happen, so I hope that I can enjoy whatever time I have left on earth with people that I love. Just a little is all I ask. I hope to ditch the crippling anxiety, and shunning socializing. I miss my girl so much and can't wait to see her soon.

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.