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 

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

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.

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...

Carry On Wayward Grand Daughter

I made it to my last visit with the therapist shrink today. Funny when I got home, "Carry On Wayward Son" was playing in the bathroom! I had to laugh and smile. Only the Supernatural Junkies are going to get that reference. Anyway, getting ready... That means - TMI - I took a whore's bath, put on a little eye makeup, even though I was asking myself why when I was wearing sunglasses anyway, and pulled on some semi-clean clothes. Next, it was the short engineer style boots.

I was a bit anxious, I have to admit, but I started the seroquel early, because the fucking anxiety was starting early on me, the fucker. So now I end up taking 200mg during the day, and more if I can find some extras around here somewhere. 

Oh, yeah, I took the walk of shame to the bus stop (unable to drive PTSD), and froze with some other people. I put my hood up and saw my bus across the street. It looked like he was taking a break, but I'll bet he went into the building he parked next to to take a big long dump, because it took him a longass time to get back, and pick up us loser bus riders.

I used my "cripple" card and I guess the ride there was ok. As we passed the cemetery, I wrote down the street number to pull the stop bell at to get off if you want to go there. I want to check it out one day, as a therapeutic outing of sorts. Maybe I'll take some flowers to look like I belong there.

After I got dumped off on the main road where the bus stops, I had to walk through loads of people down the small sidewalks. For some idiot unknown reason, I had the urge to go to starfucks and get a coffee, even though I have some at home. Maybe I was just challenging myself. I wasn't really thinking. It was if I was on autopilot. Zombie? Nah, my brain was definitely resting, like in a chair in my head. Not a cushy one, more like a fold-up. Temporary. I knew it would be packed, and would have a huge line. I did it anyway, and when I finished the 1st cup, I got a second one to go, which meant long line again. Nice how sunglasses fuck with your peripheral vision, I didn't see/feel as crowded as I should have felt. I did wonder what the fuck I was doing there. Was I fitting in? Did I look "normal"? Was I fitting in with society?

I wondered why I was the only person wearing sunglasses everywhere I went while I was out. Very odd. Sure, it was supposed to rain, but there were people out there in shorts and short sleeves. Nuts. I froze while waiting to get to the therapist.

Speaking of the devil, I don't think he totally believed me, or was a bit worried about losing a customer or something. He doesn't actually care about me. He's not paid to. He was weird about me telling him that I had to get my finances straight, and deal with moving, and that I couldn't afford to be coming in each week at this point. I even refused his tea! Oh my!  He says he has a pretty open schedule, changes a lot due to the type of work that other patients do, so if/when I decide to come back, he should have no problem fitting me in. Fitting me in... I wonder when I'll receive his final bill.

I don't know what made me cry. I was so fucking pissed at myself for it. I was explaining the financial situation, and that I wanted/needed to help my daughter out. I explained that my old man never helped me, only my sister. I guess I was overwhelmed by the whole getting outside in the daylight shit too.

Because of my stupid brain, I missed out on a package that was to be delivered here by FedEx. I can't read the writing on the sticker they left. It looks like "CAN DEAD INSIDE". Reminded me of The Walking Dead. Zombie wasn't home yet. Ok... can't get inside. It says they'll try again. When? Tomorrow? 

Only thing going on is an interview by phone with a woman that is doing research or is writing a book (I forget) about suicide experiences, ER stuff. I don't know if I could handle a phone call. I think I'd fuck up, sound stupid, "lose my words", etc. Fuck. I'm not sure what to do. Call her first? I hate calling strangers. Cold calling. It's very cold.

Even though I'm home, alone with the radio, my eyes are burning, and I only cried a little, I still feel emotionally exhausted. Why?. My time alone is running out. There's some instant anxiety right there, as well as the fact that we have to go to the store, otherwise I'll just be eating tortillas for a while. Shit, I don't really care. It's food. I love my tortillas! How could I not? 

I need some of this too!

Flash of a memory of trying to make tortillas with my grandma when I was little... :)

++ Imagine a little gray-haired grandma that spoke Spanglish or Spanish to the grand kids. She got up early and made tortillas every day. When I was staying with her I tried to help sometimes. I loved watching her. She had mad tortilla making skills. I wondered if I could ever be as good as her. She was a perfectionist, of course, so I was always getting corrected, but gently enough. I loved her kitchen, to watch her cook, and sneak cigarettes. Her kitchen was always full of yummy smells, and a patient, warm, loving ol' lady. She made it feel like the heart and soul of that house.++

Fuck... I can't believe I was even outside alone and went to the shrink! This is how fucked up my brain is, or how the seroquel can affect it. It's pretty much worn off.

Later...

My ass is going to bed early, getting up early, and out in the dark, even if it rains again. This time I won't wear see-through leggings!!!

Ticking Timebomb

Motherfucking FUCK! My sweet dark morning was almost ruined by the late rent notice that was halfway tucked under the door that I found this morning, just as I was about to sneak out. I immediately thought - Great. More motherfuckin mail stolen - bills that have fucking checks in them!!! I let it fall from my hand and walk out so I could have a smoke asap. I wasn't medicated yet. I sucked my coffee down pretty fast while I was out, but it seemed the sun was coming after me even earlier than the last time I went out. I was in a rush to try to deal with the fucking mail problem. 

I decided that I would blame it on the mailman/post office workers. No one has the key to the outgoing mailbox but the mailman and the owner. I sent 3 different but similar complaints of stolen mail to USPS  online. I called my bank asked how much it would cost to put a stop payment on a check. They said $34 each. I said "Are you fucking serious? That is TERRIBLE service! FUCK THAT!" and hung up. I had to take 200mgs of seroquel and had about 4mgs clonazepam already, my total dose. I have 400mg seroquel left for tonight. I sure as fuck was feeling suicidal/homicidal.

I checked my bank account online again, and there hadn't been any checks cashed lately. Then I remembered that I sent a check to the IRS with my return. So I called them and was passed around and around and hung up. Then I tried chatting online to one of their CS people. They didn't have access to IRS information. It was back to calling again, and I must have waited about 40 mins on hold before I got a good lady on the other end who understood my freakout, and I told her thank you and to have a good day in the end. You know she deserved it, working that job! I was as nice as I could be to her because CS is one bitch of a job, and you end up with crazy angry people like me sometimes. My seroquel had kicked in by then.

So my rent, return check, and a couple of bills are still floating around out there, or something evil. I'm betting on something evil. Motherfuckers, now I can't mail shit from my own fucking building, and will have to start paying more bills online or by phone, which I hate, because I don't like my information out there. I'll be checking my bank account a few times a day to see what the hell is up, and waiting for a quick follow up from USPS. This shit is bad. Hopefully it was destroyed like one report I'd heard of way back when in the news where a postal worker just buried the mail and didn't deliver. Better than being in more evil hands.

Whew! Am I relieved that the spouse has decided to pick himself up, clean up a bit (still needs a haircut), dust himself off, and make phone calls to connections he's made through his previous employer. He ended up getting a call yesterday, an interview, AND a job today. He'll have the rest of the week to prepare himself mentally and sleep-wise. I'll be getting up earlier with him, which will help both of us. I get more time in the dark outside, and I make better coffee and he likes that. Plus we can spend some time in the morning together, which he likes when he's working.

As far as the crap on my timeline (is that what it's called?) I need to follow more folks with the good stuff to outweigh the garbage. If I want to see porn, I'll do it on my own time. Alone. Gay porn. Hahaha!!!

Somehow using the word "patriot" in a description of me doesn't feel right deep down in my bones, when my ancestors roamed  here long before the nearly canonized "founding fathers". Some of those "founding fathers" owned bought or stolen people as property they called and made their slaves. Nah, I don't fucking dig that, admire that, or let that slide just because others were doing it. 

Propaganda from all sides is being thrown at us through various sources. We have no privacy. I wasn't wrong about being spied on when I was manic, paranoid, and sent to the psych hospital. We have little hope. It feels like we're living in a police state. We don't know what poisons we are eating and drinking. It goes on and on. 

The media here is censored and biased, so we don't get real world news, or see all the uprisings, strikes, crime, or anything going on in other countries. We only see the poverty when it's packaged in a neat little commercial with footage of a few children living in poverty, and an aid organization asking for money. The media are terrorists and they are terrorizing the public. Some really bad cops are terrorizing the public, and therefore terrorist too.  

I won't fight for a government that's bought by the insanely rich, who basically want to kill the poor. I don't want to fight anybody. I'm not going to kill anybody. I will only try to protect my closest people. Yep, others will judge, so I guess it doesn't really matter until the shit hits the fan. 

I won't put on a uniform and be told what to do, even if it's at the Dairy Queen. Mommy never put up with that shit as as a teenager, and she won't start now. Nobody but the voice(s) in my head tell me what to do or not do.

Call me stupid, ignorant, and naive. I want peace, love, and equality. Happiness couldn't hurt.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

And now for something completely different...

Article of the day at The Free Dictionary:  Loch Ness Monster

Sasquatch and friend

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.

Fuck Anxiety And The Horse It Rode In On

FUCK. And the war with nausea and anxiety begins again. I just want to do some walking on the damn treadmill, some dusting, vacuum the carpet, clean the kitchen floor maybe, take a shower and attempt to comb all the knots out of my hair. But what do I get? A big fat dose of fucking anxiety. I've taken 2mgs of clonopin and 100mg of seroquel that I hope are going to act FAST. I'm gritting my teeth, and feeling myself shaking on the inside. On the outside, I'm making my best attempt not to tremble or shake, even though no one is watching me! I'm just doing it for me, for trying to take back control of my body from this wicked motherfucker called ANXIETY. I hate it. I have to get angry! I have to get past the nausea from the meds, and get angry at my body for that to stop. I'm trying to sip water to make it stop. I could not stand to shove doughy, salty crackers in my piehole.

I tried deep breathing a few times, and that just seemed to make it worse, because it felt like I wasn't getting enough air fast enough, even though I was telling myself that I was. Sometimes that works, though, if it's mild. 

This is really bad shit. I can feel it from the top of my head down to my fucking toes. In between, I'm having various aches and pains, plus the nausea, which is starting to go away. Yay! They say sip, don't guzzle, but it's hard not to. All I've had to eat was a cup of dry wheat chex. I don't like cereal with milk. I don't like the idea of milk.

Whoa... this is fun...now it feels like my brain is like an overly wet sponge, and the extra juice is tripping down inside my chest. I wonder if that's the seroquel. I can feel it in my ojos that it's taking effect. Spongy. Sponge pants. Sponge Bob Squarepants.

Nausea is gone, pretty much, and I will keep drinking water for a bit longer until I decide what to watch during my time on the treadmill. I will not fail today. My face is burning up, but my feet are freezing. Fucking psych diseases are just plain crazy.

Unhealthy Place

I hate all you little shits that put out "I'm sick" vids and ruined any chance of Iggy's original on youshittube.
I fuckin hate you shitass brats.

From
Healthy Place:

"With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Supposedly, Eleanor Rigby Roosevelt baby...

I got up with my alarm at 6am this morning, back on my set schedule, my thang that I keep up with each week. Most of the time I wake up earlier, but this time not, which is odd. I did, however, wake up many times during the night, as usual. I got up, switched to auto-pilot and made coffee for two. I wasn't thinking about how I felt about my spouse or how he felt about me, nor did I start to worry yet about how he was going to feel about me today.

I pulled my big girl pants on and I decided that whole stay-in-bed-depressed thing wasn't for me. I didn't cry. There wasn't much tv available on my phone or kindle. I couldn't concentrate enough to read. I couldn't sleep enough of the day/night away, and it made me sore all over, and feel guilty for laying around doing nothing. That last bit was an abusive guilt trip present from my father. Thanks, asshole.

We are almost talking to each other, the spouse and myself. He is going out for lunch with an ex-work mate. He has never gone to lunch with me that I can remember. He must have, but it was a very rare occasion. Long time ago, maybe when we lived in a studio. My memory has been destroyed by mental illness, or the drugs, or both. PTSD sure wiped out a lot of shit, but not some of the worst, but that's another horror story I won't get into here and now. So I'm waiting for my spouse to talk to me again and mention the taxes. Doing them over, separate, whatever, I just feel horrible about it all, and scared that I'll be slapped with a bill for back taxes that I can't pay. Well, if they can't squeeze blood from this stone, and since this is a community property state, they'll have to squeeze the blood from the other stone, no? I don't know.

I really hate taxes and their vague instructions, my fucked up cognitive issues, the fact that the spouse won't attempt to do them (I don't blame him), and hate hate hate fed forms. I probably said that before. They scare the fuck out of me for no good reason. Well, with the IRS there is a good reason. Last year they called and said we fucked up, and then they said they lost all of our stuff, then we turned what few bits and pieces we had back in. Then they told us all was ok, and that they needed nothing. WHAT THE FUCK?! So I'm terrified this time, especially if we end up doing it separately. I'll be fucked in the worst way.

I'm too fucked up to attempt my "quests" today on SuperBetter, and that makes me feel shitty. Too anxious and achey to exercise, plus fucking Dallas is on instead of my beloved Supernatural. I hope TNT isn't making a habit of it. At least I got over my headache from the moment I got up. I feel guilty and lazy, of course. I don't want to be totally unproductive today, and just graze in the kitchen. My willful side says JUST ATTEMPT TO DO THE TAXES! Separately. But I know better. That would cause an unbearable amount of stress. Even thinking about it is a no no. Bitch, don't go there. No treadmill today. No load of laundry today... How am I going to force myself to take a shower today without doing the treadmill?

I vow to pay more attention to when I am actually hungry before I eat or drink anything. Even water. I've been given topomax to kill the sugar cravings from seroquel, even though I've only put on a little weight, compared to all the horror stories I've read/heard. I feel bad for them and me. It doesn't make sense. Well, it doesn't matter if I get back to a size 0, I'll still find something disgusting about my body to hate and hide. I'm an idiot. I'm too old to be a size 0. Get it in your head, head. As if I bother to diet. Whatever that means these days anyway.

My spouse laid a peck good-bye on me on his way out. I'm surprised. I guess that's his way of saying "I'm not hating you right now and I realize you felt like shit yesterday. I didn't know what to do or didn't want to bother you since you were in the bedroom in bed all day/night, and didn't come out, even for the zombies (The Walking Dead) and tea".

Ok, so now I don't even know how to begin to try to talk to him again, especially about the taxes. My daughter needs income info from us, so there's pressure on to get this shit done. Pressure is NOT a good thing for me. Stress is NOT a good thing. Math and forms are not good things for me either. I don't want to end up having a fucking breakdown doing the taxes, but I want my daughter (my love of loves of LOVE) to have her info asap. I don't want this to end up putting me back in the hospital, either, but shit, man, it's so fucking awful!

Fucking IRS. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU and the horse you rode in on.

Time for more meds that are well needed. The shit goes on...

From The Throne of Agony

Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel - The Throne of Agony (with lyrics)

I fucked up our taxes last year. I have cognitive issues. I hate doing taxes, and filling in federal forms just freaks my shit out. The cognitive issues - this I learned from reading medical statements on different occasions that my main shrink wrote, and just calling it as I see it.. I probably fucked up before last year too. And once again, I have fucked up this year and find that we're responsible for more taxes this year or the return will be a pittance. My spouse is just fucking beyond angry with me. He said, "Well, I guess we weren't meant to have nice things." He just wants money, and he's happy to sit on his ass and collect unemployment as well.

Nice things? Like what? A dozen fucking Fabergé eggs? What the fuck do people want? I don't need anything. What THINGS does he want that he can't already afford to buy himself already? It's not as if he really buys anything for the home. Much. Unless I put it on a stupidass "gift wish list" from amazon. Which has only happened twice. What's with the materialistic shit? Did that go out the window with not giving a shit whether I shaved my armpits or not? Throw some kind of old "punk" ideals and sense of freedom for all down the shitter? He was not like he is now 20 years ago. I am still the non-materialistic person, and don't give a shit whether anyone shaves their pits or not. What happened?

He's gone now. He got dressed after camping out in the bedroom for a few hours after the bad news about the taxes. He did some texting and got somebody to go and drink with him in some nearby neighborhood that he DROVE to. At least he learned his lesson last time and got a taxi, after throwing up in public, splashing himself and a workmate at the xmas party. Wonder what would have happened if I was there in the first place.

Anyway, no kiss good-bye, just a limp, unenthused "see ya latah", then he walks out, and locks the door. At least he locked the damn door.

I wanted to cry earlier. My eyes welled up with tears, but I'll be damned, hormonal attack and all, I'm not fucking crying over this or fucking taxes, or fucking money. I snapped out of it right quickly. I just refuse to let myself cry, because it makes me feel and look worse, has no effect on the situation, wastes energy and toilet paper, and the stiff-upper-lip spouse just ignores it. So it would be boo hoo for what? Nothing and nobody. It would make me feel worse and want to shoot myself in the head.

Maybe he'll find himself a wife with a job and no mental illness while he's out, and also younger, too. Then they can move to the suburbs like he wants. Yeah, he'd be better off without me. I'm just not into being the cook and Mexican cleaning lady that puts out. Sensing some anger here? Yeah, there's some anger, some that's probably justified on his part as far as getting a bigger return goes, I'll give him that. But what are you going to do about it? Go have a drinki. Smoke some pot. He won't. Chill the fuck out and quit creeping around like you're going to knife me in the back.

I. FUCKED. UP. I. ADMIT. IT. OK?! What do you expect to happen now? Why the FUCK don't you TALK about it?!

Maybe I should be the one to do the smoking, then it's bedtime for me. All pain is gone, I feel a little dumb and happy, not in control of my body so much, pains disappear, then I just want to sleep, like on a mountain of sweet Charmin ass wipe. Out of the way you stupid bears! Go back to the woods! .

I signed the tax form mess, but I have a feeling it isn't going to get signed by the spouse. My daughter will need some of that info for her financial aid application. I got some. I hope it's enough. Fuck. I just want to help HER. My darling who deserves no part of this shit somehow gets caught up in it. Maybe if he stepped up to the plate in the first place and showed her he gave a damn, but he did not. I wish she and I talked more about this. Hard subject to bring up and discuss. Makes me feel horrific guilt and that I failed her again.

Oh no.. He's back. No words for me. I don't care. I just want to take a huge dose of seroquel and clonazepam, and out sleep him tomorrow. I wish I could, but he's able to actually sleep around here. He gets up and makes all kinds of noise, No consideration of the fact that I'm still trying to sleep. Hell, he doesn't even shut the bedroom door.

What the hell am I doing. I'm starting to feel depressed when I'd rather turn that into anger... or something. Maybe just sleep. Extra seroquel available? I hope. At least it'll knock me right out. Ok. I'm not depressed. I'm just feeling a sense of impending doom. The gloom is here, just waiting for the doom to arrive. I guess we shall see tomorrow.

It's certain that I'll be going to bed alone tonight. That's part of his passive-agressive "punishment" game. I have no intention of playing that - tonight or tomorrow. I'll be the one to hide out in the bedroom all day tomorrow. I don't care. I just don't want to have anything to do with taxes or money. Fuck it all. The damage is done. No point in his kind of treatment, it's just immature.

What the fuck am I doing? Where are my meds when I need them? Where's my video or pic?

Beating Anxiety, Losing at Life

Fuck, I knew this was going to be a weird/bad day. First, I had a dream that a "gang" of 4 other black cats and 1 ruffled young crow were trying to stare down Frankie (my black cat seen in my pic, not vid) and scare her away. She stood by my side, and met their stares, then they slowly turned around and walked away.

I noticed I was standing on the curb of a corner on the street, and a flood had started. By the time I noticed the water had reached my ankles, covering my dirty white tennies, Frankie was in her own little row boat, rowing away, disappearing from the scene. I tried to call her back, but she was gone. Then I woke up. That's when I went into the bathroom and got the Don't Fear The Reaper treatment from the radio. It was almost 4.30am.

I had only 2 cups of coffee while watching The Walking Dead, and messing around on the computer. Then I switched to green/jasmine. TWD was over, I was still on the computer, and jumping around from screen to screen, trying to hide my google stuff from my spouse, 

I started to get cold. Then I noticed I was freezing and sweating at the same time. Great. Next came the shaking and realization that fucking anxiety or an attack was coming on. FUCK! So fucking early?! I had already taken meds, too, but then I looked on the table and noticed I forgot my nighttime meds... 600mg of seroquel and 1mg of clonazepam.

Fuck. If I take it, it's goodbye for the rest of the day, or dizzy weirded out woman. Unpredictable. Hmm...Maybe 200mg? Let's see if that does the trick.

I don't wan't the start of my damn week ruined because of my meds (probably) fuck-up! I have a schedule! I have some exercising to do! I don't want to be a lazy lump on a log and sleep the day away. I can't. I had that beaten into me, and it stuck. I would feel so guilty if I fell asleep or took a nap. Stupid, I know.

Hmm.. I'm not shaking so much. My insides still feel like they are, and my hands feel weird, like I can't completely control them, as if they have something else they want to do or write?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Continue...

I can force myself to relax my shoulders now, if I keep thinking about them, but it's getting hard, because I have to think of too many body parts and functions/control at once. Can't do it.

Breathing for a while...

Damn phone rings. I answer. Silence. Had enough silence and now irritated, "What the fuck do you want?" More silence then ""Blah blah blah" crash!

Down goes the phone. I hate a second of my time on the home phone wasted. Mean, aren't I? Some of it's part of me fighting the anxiety, the other part is just generally ugly hateful bitchiness toward telemarketers. Telemarketers = people that make me get off of the couch, move my computer, and have to deal with another person.

Ok...Try not to read too many sad things that some people have experienced and written about. It breaks my heart...

Reading email not good for anxiety..

Drinking water, the seroquel, and breathing is helping.

This is helping.

Or helped.

I watched HBO's GIRLS, then some other crap, and curled up on the couch with water and wheat chex. I didn't feel sleepy at all, and at some point, the anxiety decided to finally take a hike. Hopefully, it went and attacked someone truly evil, and took them down.

The Power Of "Swearing Like a Sailor"

Ok... I am really fucking fighting the goddamn nausea now to get back into the swing of things this morning. I got up at 6, dressed for workout, did a load of laundry, read blogs/g+ stuff, made and drank coffee and tea, and am now sipping some more tea (jasmine), hoping the fucking nausea will pass.

I really need to wash my hair, and the only way I'm going to get to do it is to get in the shower. And the only way to force myself into the shower is to get on the treadmill. My goal is only 2mi as I'm just starting again to make it a habit again. My alarm will go off at 10.30am, the time that's supposed to be the latest that I should allow myself to start exercising. The end of the lazy little shit period. I don't think I'm going to make it, but I'm going for 11 or 11.30 at the latest.

Fuck it. I should feel better soon. I had a piece of a baguette from yesterday's trip in the snow to the store. Saltines and more water will be my next move. Yuck.

Mmmm... now. Fuck. Fuck Fuck!!!

I don't want to start a week failing at anything that I need/want to do. I'm afraid that everything will go downhill from there. I've got a shrink appointment on Wednesday to get anxious over! I can't let shit just go from fucking bad to worse. The snowball of shit effect! Damn. Just writing that turned my stomach.

Yes, so it's saltines and water. Fuck! Motherfucking FUCK!
.
No! Fuck! I won't let it get to me!

Edit:

I swore like a sailor, got disgusted and angry with my meds side effects and said FUCK YOU, I'm gonna do it! Fuck you! So I made it to the treadmill with enough time to watch "Supernatural", lose track of time by concentrating on the show as much as I could, and reached my goal. Fuck Yeah!

Oh, and I do plan on eating some spinach later.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

One minute everything seems hunky dory, the next, it's funky poor-y. Fucking anxiety. It is a fact that I pretty much live thinking consciously/unconsciously that I have to do everything as fast as I possibly can, like the Energizer Bunny on wicked coke and a portable caffeine IV. I reminded myself of that as soon as I was done washing up and getting dressed in the bathroom. Then I went into the bedroom and told my spouse the same shit, and that there is absolutely no fucking reason why I should be in a rush about anything! I'm on disability! I can't work! I don't have something that needs taking care of 24/7 FFS. As soon as I was done mentioning it, I let myself cry a tear or two and walk away. I don't like to let myself cry ever, if I can help it.

Fuck this moody shit! Fuck this hormonal hell! Fuck this manic/depressed shit! Yummy is this cinnamon graham cracker!

I do have one really good thing to be giving myself a pat on the back for (or cinnamon graham cracker), and that is getting on the treadmill again! And on a Sunday, of all days, after getting a wake-up paw poke in the face from the cat at 5ish. I just need to calm my ass down and try not to overdo it on the clonopin (addictive) and Seroquel.

Ok, now I have to find something to post with this...

Early to Bed, Early to Rise Makes a Crazy Woman Just Plain Crazy

                                                                         Quetzal

 
No video today. Sore throat, sore back, and lukewarm tea is all I have going on here.

I don't really have much to say apart from the fact that it saddens me when I am reminded how other people are suffering too, from depression, crippling anxiety, suicidal ideation...

I spent most of the afternoon sleeping, as I was knocked out by some Seroquel.

I think what's kept me alive for the past week or so is a "game" called SuperBetter. Here is a bit more about it. It was created by a woman that was suicidal, to save her own life. It got me back on the treadmill, feeling better about little things that are a big job to me like getting dressed, exercising, taking a shower, etc, though I'm still a shut-in. I recommend it, to at least try it. I was suicidal when I started, and now I'm not. I'm not thrilled about life, but I feel like I have accomplished some little things towards my goal of "not wanting to shoot myself in the head and live and be happy".

Tomorrow I have to go to the psychologist, which I'm not looking forward to, but I'm almost looking forward to leaving his office and going home alone on the bus with my ipod and sunglasses, my  head empty of  the emotional dump I will have taken on the guy. Emotional dump and run, and the green tea is free. Well, included in the price that Medicare Part B doesn't pay. I will feel alone, but alone and free. My husband will be sitting around at home. He's been laid off from work.

I already miss being alone during the day, no matter how isolated I feel sometimes, at least I can do it privately. That means, of course, that I feel alone when my husband is around. Yeah, shitty marriage. Don't want to go there now. "Supenatural" is on.

My sleep sucks ass, but at least for the first few hours, I'm good. I spray perfume in my hair before I go to bed for my own kind of "aromatherapy". I get to sleep even faster with that, though I do take 600mgs of Seroquel. Whatever works, right?

It's Been A Long Time

Yawn in the beginning. Music actually starts at 2:27. Put on your seat belt and prepare for some corny old times. Yawn some more.

Yes, it's been what seems forever since I've bothered to sit down and write. I've been more depressed and anxious, which is my excuse for not writing. I've been numbing my brain with TV online - entire series of shows on Xfinity online. Numbing it with that and a higher dose of generic Seroquel. 

I'm still one miserable ol' fuck. 

I'm up to 600mgs of Seroquel a day/night, and still taking 4mgs of clonazepam per day with that to try and deal with my horrific anxiety. It seemed to get better, then back to the old shit. I'm still taking wellbutrin, prozac in the morning, (sort of) spreading 4mgs of clonazepam throughout the day, and still cutting myself 100mgs of Seroquel at about midday, when my crazy really creeps up on me and bitch slaps me like a motherfucker. My face burns up, I sweat, shake, feel panic, feel like I'm going to lose it and do something crazy, cry and explode. That's when I get the Seroquel chunk with part of its time-release coating cut off, and a clonazepam under the tongue, in hopes of quick relief of at least some of the symptoms. 

It's so exhausting being so fucked up as you/we all know. It's a shame that normal, functioning people can't seem to understand it. That you're physically and emotionally exhausted from just FEELING anything, from surviving the day, even if you never set foot outside or peep out a window. It's also a shame that you can't really continue to dump your Debbie Downer shit on anyone anymore either. I'm starting to feel like there's not even a point in doing it with the psychologist. That makes me want to punch him instead of paying his bills, which I am behind in. 

I feel lucky to have saved a strange little black cat from the city shelter (a few years ago) that is disturbed in her own ways, and am lucky to have her company. She doesn't act "normal" and "friendly" in the same ways that most cats do, but does show her affection, and has been learning to communicate in other funny ways. I'm learning from her, learning to accept her kooky ways, and getting my hair full of cat spit. 

Well, it's certainly been a long time since I've been on the treadmill in any regular way, and I'm going to try and try again this morning. It will help push me into the shower that I definitely need after sweating like a pig off and on all night long last night. Must get back into my old routine. 

Anybody heard of SuperBetter or playing SuperBetter out there?

PS Dear Pope Frankie, since you named yourself after St Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, please exorcise my demons and tell them to get the fuck out of my head and body.

Looking Forward to Halloween

The only "holiday" worth celebrating.
Lately the generic seroquel has been doing me some good and relieving me of some anxiety, depression, and vague suicidal thoughts. I'm ok. I keep telling myself that I'm ok...

In Heaven Everything is Fine

Full movie "Eraserhead" below.

I've been up, I've been down, I've found tears sliding down my face for no known reason, with no thoughts in my head. I've wondered day after day when I'm going to go out alone, when I'm not forced to, as I am when I see my therapist. I wonder why my spouse has stayed away after work, having a few drinks, then coming home still not speaking to me, and getting to bed alone as quickly as possible. I wonder how the time seems to slip away so quickly - hours, days, weeks, months, yet here I sit, becoming more and more inactive, not wanting much more than to zombify myself on Seroquel and clonazepam. I try to stomp out all thoughts or feelings as soon as possible with various amounts of meds, followed by tv, computer games for simpletons, cheesy audio books, etc... Today is one of those days I'm going to need some extra mind numbing. I can feel myself shake and my face is burning. Pretty much another typical day, with the big "s" word at the back of my mind, clinging like a rabid monkey. There is no good news. I just want to feel and think nothing.

Bring On The Zombies

I finally saw my babygirl, but have to admit disappointment. I don't know why. Maybe she was too. Very moody and strange experience it was, but just hanging around together was a good thing. She's left town now.

I just got back from a trip to the shrink out in H Hills, the store, and Rx store. I was bored at the shrink and surprised he didn't talk to me more since I hadn't seen him in weeks due to feeling really crazy shitty anxious, etc. I just went over what happened in the past week or so, visit with babygirl and spouse's bday. Mostly things have been sucking as much as usual, but I had some kind of breakthrough yesterday, thank God, FINALLY. Bring on the zombies, I say. My shrink said I looked "tired". I said "glassy-eyed and stoned". Well, that's mostly just the good ol' seroquel talking.

After out visit that I cut short, I rode back to my neighborhood and went to the Rx store first. The fucked up my order all over the fucking place. What's fucking new? This happens at every fucking pharmacy that I go to, and it's just a matter of time before I lose my shit and get banned from the store. I had to hold it in today, and they REALLY fucked up, plus I had to pay an extra "co-pay" because the Medicare Part D insurance co won't pay for more than 30 tablets per month. Motherfuckers. I need a pill splitter, too, but of course at this huge drugstore, they had none.

My next stop after about 45 minutes of waiting around in the Rx store was the grocery store. Apparently my "club" card didn't register and I didn't notice until I got home. I had two boxes of overpriced cereal and overpriced beer imported beer (I refuse to drink American beer), so I didn't care. Fuck it. I should go back and buy some more... So we got beer for later. We shall see what happens.

I'll probably get some snotty looks and attitude from the spouse, but after seeing the shrink after so long, I don't give a fuck. This bitch is gonna roll how she sees fit, and it appears she has an independent bit of a manic thing going on, or is it the larger doses of seroquel in the morning that are setting the stage for zombie out in public? Bring on the zombie, I say.

I'm listening to a Canadian "classic rock" station. Man, I feel old. Listening to the stuff I heard and liked as a little kid. I was glad to be exposed to radio from day one. As far as the future goes, it's still day to day, and today I see the spouse coming back with a pizza after work. Hopefully, he'll bring some more beer, but at least we have a 6-pack to fight over. He can have the pizza.

The Guilt Machine and the Emotionally Crippled

William Staub, Inventor of the Treadmill, Dead at 96

Well fuck me. The walking shoes under my table (where my computer is) and the fact that the evil treadmill is in the same room, got me up off my ass yesterday. I write in the same room of the behemoth creature. I felt like I was at a dangerous point of sliding downhill into thoughts of the "s" word. So I managed to put on some appropriate clothes and force myself to do a brisk 3mi walk while forcing myself to pay attention to the tv. It was also the only way I was going to get myself into the shower (afterward). That would be a much-needed shower. My hair must be filthy by now. Oh well. I used to be much much worse. I also managed to drag out the trash and recycling in one go yesterday. An amazing feat.

I was fucked last night, tossing and turning yet again, and again my spouse woke me up with noise at 6am today. I was cursed to get up out of guilt. Besides, I had my alarm set for 7am. What's one more hour lost. A lot, sometimes, I tell ya. According to my meds shrink, I should be sleeping better for taking more seroquel , but since he wrote my latest Rx wrong in a hurry, I stuck with the lower dose, and got a refill on that. Since I've been having the random anxiety/near psychotic attacks, I haven't been sleeping well.

The Rx from my meds shrink should have been for 500mg horse pills, but was for 400mg. Good enough for now, since I have a few leftovers that I hope will get me out of this anxiety/near psychotic funk. That's a serious fucking funk. I've been taking 300mg or 350mg near the middle of the afternoon, and only other half of the big tab, which is 200mg at night. I take 450mgs of wellbutrin, 40mg prozac, and 4mg of clonazepam spread out for the rest of the day. I'm supposed to take one at night, but it's needed much more during the afternoon when my anxiety is at it's worst.

I'm starting to really wonder - is anxiety an emotion or a horrible condition? I don't really count it as an emotion. Come to think of it, I don't consider a lot of the shit that goes through my head as emotions, except for crippling depression. Maybe I've been going through depression as well, but I can't really tell from the inside, due to the horrific anxiety. 

When I think about it, I almost feel like I have no emotions at all, just symptoms of illness. That there are no real emotions that I can honestly feel anymore, including a "mother's love" for my daughter, or the love I should feel for my spouse. I had no example as I was growing up as far as a mother goes, and in the father dept., he was either emotionally abusive, physically abusive, drunk, not around, or didn't seem to care much for me. 

There's a big fucking hole in my heart that I've tried to fill with all sorts of things and people, but no one and nothing has been able to fill it. It's so damaged and has been that way since I was a little kid, from what little I can remember. What am I supposed to do with it now? Try to feel the appropriate feelings when the situation calls for it? I don't think I know how to love. I don't think I ever knew.

And now for something completely stupid - here.

Jeebus, what a pile of depressing shit! I don't feel as bad or lost as yesterday. I feel like I'm up too early again, but I'm going to try to take things one half hour or hour at a time, like I have to do these days. I don't know if I can make today turn out as good as yesterday, but I will try to try. Yes, try to try is the perfect expression. Already my guts aren't liking me this morning, but that should pass if I force myself to eat something. 

I had a handful of vitamins for the hell of it, as well as my meds. It's hard enough to keep up with my daily meds, let alone some crazy cocktail of supposedly beneficial vitamins and fish oil. There's no reason that I took the vitamins. Just that I saw them and took some. Maybe something in the back of my mind hopes that taking vitamins will help me. Help me what? Push myself to walk and shower today? I don't know. I haven't been in my "right" mind since I was 3. I don't have the discipline it takes to do vitamins every day. It's a little difficult to swallow a handful of pills of any kind, because I am reminded physically and mentally of one of many times I OD'd or tried.

Yesterday, I think, I bitched about positive messages and all that. I'm old and have been ill a longass time, so those positive messages and messages of hope have actually become depressing in their own way. Depressing because someone out there is affected in a good way by them. I become irritated and depressed. WTF.

This shit IS a daily struggle. Not to mention blogger. For some reason, it's fucking up all my spacing. Apologies.

I Wanna Be Sedated

Shrink day today, which meant enduring a bus ride to and from the place, as well as seeing the shrink. I missed out on most of Supernatural this morning, but made sure I was well medicated enough to go out. I took some extra seroquel and clonazepam for the trip.

The walk to the bus stop, wait, and ride was not too stressful, I had my ipod on shuffle, and what should come up as I'm getting to my destination? Don't Fear (The Reaper). Naturally, it triggered suicidal thoughts in my head that I was definitely NOT going to tell the shrink about. I talked more about what I want - to feel "good" enough to do all the things that normal people do and take for granted.

I would have never made it there if it wasn't for the 350mg seroquel. I wanted to be out of it. I wanted the sedation effect that is a "side effect". I looked in the mirror before I went into the shrink's office and looked at my eyes. Never had I seen more glassy eyes on a person that's still standing up.




On the way back, I stopped off at starbucks to get a fappucino (sp - I don't care) as my treat for making it to and from the appointment without a freakout, and without yelling at anyone on the bus or in the street. That fucker was smaller than I expected as well as more costly than expected. Fuck it. I deserved a prize and no one else is going to give it to me (double entendre intended).

Fuck home life... Not looking forward to the spouse's return. This is my dirty little secret, this blog and twitter account. I just want to go to bed and sleep next to the fan. My spouse won't even bother to talk to me much. Sucks badly. I feel like a ghost here. A ghost that does the dishes and the cleaning.

I need water...