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 and their complete SHIT out of date online information site.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"