Trash

                                                                "Trash" - NY Dolls



Just got back from the (mostly) weekly torture with the therapist, by way of a ride from my husband, which I almost didn't want, even though I was beginning to hear that little voice inside whisper to me about suicide, and my iPod with my suicidal soundtrack play list. I told him I had to get out of there, because not only did I have to take a piss, but I was done feeling like shit and being dragged down by it, bawling and all that shit to someone who really doesn't care.

When I first came in, we were talking about my new meds update and bitching about my weight. He handed me a 3-page bill.I immediately wanted to slice him with it, or tell him to shove it up his fucking ass. Put it in the fucking mail, or give it to me at the end, fuckwit! Have some class.I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to let him off that easy, so I started talking about my relationships with my daughter and sister, how I still feel so guilty for the past X amount of years, never allowing myself to really be happy, because I felt I didn't deserve it. Also how I felt/feel like such an outsider when it comes to the relationship between my daughter and sister, which is more like mother and daughter relationship than I could ever hope to have. My sister has no kids, and we have no mother. I didn't know anybody with mother experience.

I asked - begged my sister many years ago to take care of my daughter when I was going through the worst bipolar and alcoholic shit/wtf/freakout. I was afraid I might hurt my daughter in some way, and I could NOT let that cycle of child abuse continue. I would not let my daughter be harmed physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. I wanted her to have a normal childhood and a life. I wanted her to have a chance. It ripped the shit out of me, and tore my heart to shreds to realize that I couldn't do it. I hate and hated myself for it. But I know she had a safe childhood, and a decent and social upbringing. She had things and opportunities that at I never had, due to my alkie/depressed/wtf/emotional and mental and physical abusive psycho father, and mother that died under me at age 4 in a car wreck, covered in blood.

Fucking Medicare.gov (?) and their complete SHIT out of date online information site. Lazy cunts. I'm in no state to go shopping for another therapist again. I'll just have to bring up things that have damaged me, like my meds shrink says to do, and either talk this guy's ear off or until he checks himself into the psych ward.

I mentioned to the shrink that there are horrific things that no one on this earth knows about me, and how I have lived with the shame, disgust, depression, suicidal ideation, etc that it has caused me. I feel like total trash. not like a discarded milk carton or errant fly away plastic shopping bag, but a full fucking stinking dumpster in summertime, teeming with flies and big filthy seagulls are picking through it, grabbing the best parts for themselves. I've lived through some horrors and I wish I could wash it all away and be clean. Hell, I'd even douche! hahaha! fuck :(

My fucking eyes are still burning, and I hate myself for losing it and crying so much in front the therapist I'm seeing... It makes me feel so fucking weak. I'm still wearing my fave and only cashmere scarf indoors with a warm hoodie.

The Devil Within

                                                            "Supernatural" soundtrack*

Well, I guess I can call myself lucky that my spouse is still laid off from work, and could take me to the (meds) shrink on top of ghetto hill. That awful ride would have taken me about 1.5hrs and 2 buses, starting at  about 7am, plus I would have frozen, even in my lovely cashmere sweater and scarf. I'd say I'm not so lucky because my shrink started asking me all kinds of questions about upsetting things that I should be talking about in therapy. I think he wants to say, "You're seeing an idiot." Anyway, he dug up some horrific guilt, failure, and shitty issues that I've tried to bury. Made me fucking cry. And I was hell bent on not crying a drop when I was there. Shit. He even distracted me enough to make me forget about asking about a new pill on tv that I was going to ask about.

I really shouldn't complain at all, because like a dahling, he upped my dose of topiramate (Topomax) which is supposed to be yet another anti-convulsant, BP, etc, but one of the side effects is supposed to be weight loss. And I'm taking generic seroquel, so this will hopefully help motivate me more to get rid of those extra 10ish lbs that mysteriously appeared on my body at some point. This is the reason he's giving it to me anyway, plus its lamictal-type properties. I looked up topomax and had to laugh out loud that it's given out for migraine pain! Who the fuck is selling that big fat juicy lie? I've had dozens of migraines, and it's been no good at all. I'd rather have terrible migraines and be losing weight than no migraines and my weight being steady and stuck as it is.

The weight gain thing has added to my dread of going outside alone, of course, but I don't know how much since it's winter and you can really pile on the layers of clothes..All I know is that I felt more confident, now and then, when I was at a weight that wasn't so bad, but still overweight to me. Yeah, I got that "I'm fat and ugly" demon riding on my shoulder since I stopped being a size 0, then 1, then 2, which is not unreasonable for my height. I just want to look good to me, because it would feel good to me, and it would certainly add to my self-confidence. Man, I sure miss that self-confidence you float down the street with when you're in a good manic phase.No matter how much I weigh, I will always find some spot to call fat and be disgusted and depressed about it. Yeah, I have weight/body issues too to pile on that big pile of miserable shit I fight every day

Somehow, I managed to force myself to walk on the treadmill about 1.5hrs after I came home from the Dr and Rx store. It was so hard because I felt kicked around emotionally, and I was still hurtin' from my appointment earlier. I'm slowly making it back to my old daily goal of 3-5mi a day. I crank up "Supernatural" on TNT, the fan, and try to walk without thinking about my body. I try not to notice how much whiskey they're drinking on the show. I try not to notice all the beer either. Sometimes, to push myself to keep going, I think about the death of a person that I hate, and that deserves a horrific, painful, messy death, like watching him get set on fire after a good beating with a baseball bat. By me. Sometimes I think about the sound of bones breaking and skull being crushed, as well as all the different shades of red, black, and blue he'd be. And the blood. I like to think about the flames lapping at him, and making him scream and cry like a little girl. I wonder if he'd smell like BBQ'd chicken, or just burning shit, like the steaming heap that he is.

I tried to fight off the evil kitchen monster (aka the devil) that keeps dragging me in there to nibble on something, but I lost. At least it wasn't in a really bad way. I stuffed myself with canned green beans and frozen brussels sprouts. Who the hell does that? A fucking nut like me.


*song added to "Suicidal Soundtrack"

Play SuperBetter, Feel at Least a Little Better, Trust Me!

I don't know if I've written about this game before (SuperBetter), but like the creator, in the video above, it's helping me not want to kill myself. And as you know, to someone with BP, PTSD, BPD, and anxiety is a BIG fucking deal. It's given me some energy and mental strength that I forgot that I had. I really really recommend looking at it and giving it a try. You can make your "quests" as difficult as "getting out of bed" (which can be hell at times) to walking 5mi, or whatever you want to make it. You can tailor your "quests", "power ups", ways to earn points and get better. Boost your willpower. Create your own Secret Identity/superhero avatar with pic! You can connect with others that are playing too as "Allies". If you dare, you can post completed quests to FB. There's a ton of possibilities for this game. I told one of my shrinks about it last week, and he was blown away by the idea and checked it out.

Please watch at least the first 10 minutes of the video, even though it sounds like a lot. It's better than spending 10 minutes sitting and thinking about the "s" word.

There is no current android app, but you can still play it on your computer if you don't have an iphone.

I've been playing the game for a couple of weeks on my laptop so far and am still trying to get the hang of things, and it's been good for me. I've tried making lists of things to do to keep me busy, but that never worked in the past. This is something way different and rewarding, getting me through the worst time of the month. If anybody decides to play and needs an ally, contact me, and I would be happy to play along with another superhero.

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?

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.