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.

I Don't Like Mondays

I don't like Mondays (or this video)

Boomtown Rats

This is what I wrote yesterday at starschmucks...          

Tuesday

I don't like the idea of hating Mondays. Yesterday I posted the very old song "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boomtown Rats (awful name) on G+ yesterday because I had to go to the therapist. being with the therapist is not the problem. Anyway, if you're not old enough, the song is about the news of one of the first school shootings in the US that hit the UK. Supposedly, the reason the shooter (a girl) gave why she did it was, "I don't like Mondays", hence the song and the terrible 80's video.

I had never had a morning/early afternoon so awful, so filled with anxiety as I did yesterday in such a longass fucking time. It was fucking horrible! The more I tried to stop thinking about it, the more I did, and made things even worse. Breathing didn't help either. I kept eating bits of seroquel that I'd cut off a 200mg chunk and another piece I'd found sitting on the table from who knows where. I stopped at about 1.15.

At about 1.30, I thought, I just grabbed my shit and left the house before I could really form a thought. I had no idea what time it was, but figured I'd have plenty of time to make it since my appointment was at 2. I was overdressed for the weather in a big black hoodie, and I pretended no one could see me. That didn't work.I was really struggling up the street with a cigarette in one hand, and the other hand in my pocket, tightly clutching my keys and mini Swiss army knife. I had to make one stop alone the way because it seemed I couldn't do 2/3 things at the same time - smoke, walk, listen to music. 

So I stopped in a doorway to finish my smoke, looking like some kind of sleazy freak. My back hurt again, but I wasn't going to let it hurt me more and make things worse. We're talking about a 4-5 block (?) walk!!! WTF!! I know!! 

I was listening to  - get this and laugh - Boston "Peace of Mind" - over and over again, and one of the lines was "look ahead", so I did. Above all the heads, there was the sign I was waiting to see, the Haagen Daz ice cream shop on the corner. The therapist's corner! I tried to remember eating ice cream there as a very young silly punk rock teenager, barely 14. I tried to think of a flavor of ice cream with all different kinds of things in it, kept struggling up the street, trying not to trip up, or crash into anybody along the way. Oh holy ice cream fucking store, let me reach your fucking corner! Don't let my back give out! Don't let my lower back kill me, even though I no longer find ice cream appealing! Fuck! Please!

I made it across the street and to the door of the offices. I saw my reflection in the glass door and thought 'you pathetic fuck!' and the shame came raining down upon me like a thunderstorm in New Orleans. Fuck you, reflection. I opened the door and checked my phone for the time. It wasn't even 1.30 yet. I left my place around 1.27ish. This had to be wrong. Did I lose some time somewhere? Disappear into the Awkward Dimension for a while? It seemed to take forever for me to get to the office. There was no way that I made it there so fast. If I was going to teleport there, could we skip the fucking MISERY next fucking time?JFC!

I made it to the therapist's and back, and I did not cry a single tear. Mostly I just couldn't shut up about how I'd sort of reconnected with some cousins via FB, remembering only those as the good times - playing with cousins in childhood. Towards the end, I thought WTF?! Structure! There is no structure here! I'm blabbing for nothing. She's not even taking notes! Something's very wrong with this picture. BP's need fucking structure in this yap therapy thing, otherwise it's a waste, and I'm not doing it again. 

I'm cancelling next Monday, and telling her what my be is, asking her where her notes are, why she never takes any, why she hasn't mentioned the possible cause of the anxiety maybe being some unconscious fear. Well, that's what I'm starting to think. An unconscious thing or maybe something that's shoved so far back in my head that it is there, that it's not unconscious, that it's something I can't dig up just yet, maybe something that I can't or don't want to admit to myself. I fucking do not know, but IT IS SLOWLY FUCKING KILLING ME.

I crashed on the couch from mental/emotional/meds exhaustion and woke up with a "meds hangover" the next day.

I don't want to hate Mondays when I used to look forward to them! I cannot take this shrink schedule, and I won't.

Freak Flag Still Flying High

Moods: Anxiety rising, bit irritable, bit sad
Physical: Tired, nausea, cold feet

This ain't no starschmucks.

Another morning fighting this anxiety-caused agoraphobia had me up and outside after it was officially daytime, about 6ish. Of course I wore my sunglasses. I was pretty much ok with the light as it was partly cloudy. I cursed the sun, and called to the clouds quietly, while cranking up the tunes on the ipod. I made sure I was well medicated before I left.

I was at the corner starschmucks with a cup of coffee, and in my usual spot in no time. I stayed and listened to Jimi Hendrix letting his freak flag fly high as loudly as I could, so that was all that I heard. It was just too bright in there for comfort, and the chairs are not made for comfort for neither back or ass, so I had to get my free re-fill and leave.

The line was very long, but I didn't care because I was in no rush, and I had my own entertainment. As I got to the counter, the guy that treated me like a fucking criminal over a 50-cent cup of coffee (that I reported) walked away from the counter so that he wouldn't have to serve me. So I got my coffee to go from someone else. I could swear I wrote about this guy and that "incident" before, but I can't find it in any post. Anyway, it's an ongoing thing now...

When I got home, I found another email from starschmucks telling me to call their CS number with a reference number, and that a certain CS person wanted to talk to me in person. Hmm.,, I thought that was interesting. Could it be because the last message I said was maybe they felt it was ok to treat me shitty because of my disability? I might have mentioned something about the ACLU as well... So I called the number, and all I got was a ditzy CS person that asked me a question or two about what I had already reported online, and I told her so. I also told her that I got an email from so and so that said he wanted to speak to me in person. She said I would be contacted by phone within 24-48 hrs. Well, that was a waste of time. She even mistakenly said at first that "a customer harassed you..." I cut her off fast. 

Now I'm wondering what the shithead who treated me badly said to his superiors about me. I was as calm as I could have been at that time, despite growing BP psycho rage. I was not threatening. I asked him why he was treating me this way, like a criminal, over a 50-cent cup of coffee, etc etc. I forgot to add disability to my complaint the first time! Damn! 

Their response was blah blah blah, worded very carefully so that there was no apology, but a $10 credit. I sent them another email suggesting maybe it was my disability that they felt gave them licence to treat me so poorly. I also said that my dignity was worth more than $10 credit, which would work out to be about 10 cents for them. The letter probably said they wanted to "talk to me in person" because they wanted to see if I had a disability that they could "see". Well, guess what fucknuts, the disability lies within, lemme school ya. Does this mean they really want to see me, and decide for themselves whether I'm disabled or not? Where they expecting a wheelchair or a white stick maybe?

Blecchh... All I feel is nausea now, and I have to wait and hope it goes away so I can get on the treadmill on time, and get through all the big plans I had in my head. Gotta get tough and just try and walk it off. Water, some saltines, and some gall, well, no gall, had gall bladder removed. Ok, some liver. Whatever!

Pretty, Picture, Positive, Poindexter, and Paranoia

Place pretty picture here

This is the first thing that came up when I did a search for "pretty picture".

From "Carlson Fractal Gallery"

I just couldn't take anymore information, pictures, ridiculous "positive thinking", Jesus stuff, or "uplifting" BS posts on G+ or FB when I'm sitting here suffering from anxiety, dread, sadness about the past regarding my daughter, thinking of filling the great hole torn through my tender, beaten flesh by the great sword of destiny. Stabbed in, then turned and twisted to make sure there was a huge, gaping wound that no food, no drink, no pill, no child, no man, no medication, no therapy, no distraction could ever begin to heal. 

After 40-some years, this wound's still raw around the edges. Sure, it may be PMS or PMDD that may make things all the worse, but that wound is still open, still raw, and I'm still vulnerable, no matter how much I try to hide it, and how much I choke down my own tears so that I don't cry.

Crying, well, crying spells lead to deeper and darker depression, and that leads to a quiet, determined depression, and that leads to writing suicide notes for the people that I like to leave them for. It leads to considering different ways of of being done with it all and being in peace, having relief. Getting outside of this body and brain where I am trapped with these mental diseases. Free from this cage of plaster walls and glass, from these walls of cotton over flesh, free from these bones, and this skull.

If only this was written for me, and the dude's last name wasn't Poindexter, which I'm going to assume in this case is probably a pen name... Who the fuck is called Poindexter?

I have to get my emotional, mental, and physical shit together, pull myself out of this, because I can't afford to feel mentally ill when I have to get ready, and force myself outside with this agoraphobia shit and reverse SAD I have to fight. How the FUCK am I going to do that. It's going to be one of those extra seroquel afternoons. Don't know if I should cut from tonight's or just say fuck it. Bad experience having none one night. Ok, fuck it. 

I have to be able to make it to the store after the spouse gets back from work. That was the plan, anyway - to go to the store... Honestly, I don't know if I can make it if I get all traumatized and shit. Or take way too much seroquel and feel like I'm dragging a 300lb weight on my back, with a bit of a control issue as far as muscle strength. I need the cart to lean on as well.  I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. I'll need a list to get out of there asap.

PS
"Supernatural" on now: How appropriate that they're in a mental hospital...
PPS
Local news station affiliated with Fox played a bit of "Don't Fear (The Reaper)" fading out to commercial again. This is the 3rd time I have noticed it. Is it not strange? I am I going more crazy? Is this perhaps a subliminal message? Am I being totally paranoid again when I said a few years ago that my cellphone was being tapped, that they could track us down if the phone was on, that cable tv Co. was monitoring what we were uploading/downloading and searching for, etc, and the cable tv Co.was keeping an eye on what we watched? Well, let me tell you, I had Verizon and Comcast then. I was totally paranoid before I tried to commit suicide at that time, I was told. But they said I sounded so reasonable in my explanation of what was going on. I said it was the FBI (I didn't know of the NSA then), but they still thought I was needing to get those thoughts out of my head, and that I was manic too. And years later...! Look at where we are now! I will never make fun of a guy wearing foil under his trucker's hat ever again. Never. He just might be onto something...

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...

Mixed Mess

Last time I wrote, I decided that I wasn't having any feelings or any emotions at all. I  just felt more blank than numb, thanks to seroquel and clonopin, if that makes any sense.  Well, that didn't last too long because I got a phone call that I forgot that I was supposed to expect.

Somehow, during my wandering around on the internet a few weeks ago, I found (http://attemptsurvivors.com) on which a legit woman was trying to get in contact with people that have had experience(s) with suicide attempts, the ER treatment, mental health hospitalization treatment, involuntary or not. I thought it would be interesting to contact her and see what would happen, if anything. I didn't really expect a response. That was the phone call that I wasn't expecting that I should have expected. It was from Susan Stefan. She turned out to be "Nationally recognized mental health lawyer...began interviewing dozens of people who’ve been suicidal for an upcoming book on the subject." She's written other books in the past, and done other work related to the shit treatment of the MH system's treatment of the mentally ill.

Anyway, she went way far back to the beginning with her questions, which triggered instant trauma and tears for me, but I kept telling her my story as she asked. She was really cool, actually, treated me well, and was very familiar with the MH system in this country, of course. She really liked some of the things that I said, and asked if she could quote me on those. Of course! 

One of the questions she asked at the end was about assisted suicide. I said I believe that people with certain illnesses should have the right to that, like BP and Schizophrenia, even though there are some "high functioning" people out there with Bipolar, Schizophrenia, etc. I said that I felt my diagnoses - Bipolar in particular - was a terminal disease, and should be treated as such. It is treatable, sure, but I still suffer every single fucking day. Would people treat an animal like that, that was suffering every single day? No, they'd shoot them in the head or they'd euthanize them. They would be merciful and kind, and put them out of their misery and suffering. Why should animals be treated more kindly than people that have suffered for the majority of their life?

My illnesses will never go away, the pain is never going to go away, it's treatments have not done much for me, therefore I consider them to be terminal illnesses that are are eventually going to make me end up taking my life. I'm a ticking time bomb. I think about it every single day in one form or another. I think about finally being at peace, without pain, leaving my horrible suffering and my painful brain behind.

After the long phone chat with Ms Stefan, she said she'd be in contact with me in a couple of months again to let me know where she's at on her book, and the material she was planning on using from me for her book. So that was cool.

What wasn't cool was that after that, was that I started looking up assisted suicide law and shit all over the country, and got lost in that for hours. Somehow, I pulled myself out of that and turned to something else. I can't remember what, of course...

I did find an interesting page today...

Today the anxiety's come on even earlier than normal. Fuck! I feel like the life's been sucked out of me as well. To add to that crap, I have to see this new therapist today. I hope I don't scare her. She better impress me quickly, or I'm going to start calling around again right away. My body can not handle the treadmill.

No trip to starschmuck's today. I didn't want to grace them with my presence after the way that prick treated me the other day. I didn't want to give them my money. Only 2 cups of coffee, so no extra caffeine, but still anxiety has come on earlier than normal again. About an hour too early. I was woken up too early by the spouse's fucking alarm at 5 though, and got up, even though he didn't. I'm going to tell him to set it for later, cause I don't need to be getting up that early. Otherwise I won't be making coffee for anyone but myself. Fucker. I am bummed out/pissed that I didn't get to practice being outside.

I do not feel like getting on the treadmill or taking a shower. I will end up washing up and putting some real clothes on. I don't have far to walk, but it's going to freak me out. I hope my music can calm me - as well as my dark sunglasses. Fuck, I'll wear a hoodie too, and little or no makeup. Who cares? I just feel like shit that's been trampled on.

I'm going to go watch "Supernatural" to take my mind off of physical and mental shit... escape.
This post needs some music for those that don't watch the show.

No Feelings

True Blood Season 7 Teaser

I got the above video in my email while sitting here in my usual spot on the couch of gloom and doom. My jasmine tea and water are sitting here, and I'm kicking myself for forgetting to buy saltines at the store yesterday eve. Oh, yes, I remembered the sweet fucking cinnamon graham crackers, but forgot the saltines. I remembered the peanut butter and the canned peaches, but forgot the fucking saltines.

Fuck, I am so nauseous that I had to take my sports bra off because it was putting some pressure on me near my stomach. Then I turned my workout pants into some low riding hipsters. I look like one of those deflated teenagers on the couch in those PSAs about talking to your kids about pot. Funny, now you got to talk to your kids and tell them why you're smoking pot. 

Smoking Pot Is Really Stupid / Anti-Marijuana PSA Video

For the life of me, I can't decide which med it is that is making me feel sick and ruining my scheduled treadmill/"Supernatural" morning time. Fuck, I made it out to starschmucks without meds this morning, and the sun had almost come up already. I didn't have a freakout, but I did have my sunglasses, etc. I didn't feel sick there, or jones-ing for clonopin just yet... I just felt kinda spaced out, I guess like I "normally" would as I was walking down the street back home. Living in my head, almost getting hit by cars, you know, that kind of "normal" shit. 

Maybe there's something EVIL growing in my stomach. There's pain now. Maybe I accidentally swallowed an alien while in a feeding frenzy. Maybe I don't ever want to see a Dr except for meds. Last time I went for some dumb pain, they eventually took my gall bladder. What's next? Maybe they planted something in there while yanking out the gall bladder. Something alien. Something evil. Maybe an alien/human hybrid. Maybe I should go and have an ultrasound! 

Maybe I should just finish my tea, curl up in a ball, and think about the reminder of the end of "True Blood", and say fuck it. There's a "Supernatural" marathon on again on TNT tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be fine by... oh... 3 or 4 today. Maybe I can force myself to get on the treadmill then. I have the DVDs, so no excuse if I feel ok.

 At least I got out this morning without freaking out.

Oh, by the way, I'm not having any feelings or moods at all. I'm just existing. Does that make me a zombie? Be sure to aim for the head.

Sex Pistols - No Feelings

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!!!

Raging Bitch - Unleashed

Yesterday... all my fucking troubles...blah...etc

What a fucking miracle and massive fuck-up at the same time. Out of all the numbers I called for a new therapist, only one bitch called me back. So I set up an appointment with her, and it was yesterday. Her office was within walking distance, I noticed, per google maps, but it did not account for all the fucked up construction that completely cut off walking access on the streets. I ended up walking in a big circle, and had massive lower back pain from standing in front of the mirror caking on makeup for no particular reason. I shoved a lot of clonopin under my tongue in a very short amount of time. I had to stop a couple of times and have a cigarette while listening to my ipod. One song, over and over, and you will laugh at this: 

 

I was ready to fucking kill somebody. I was sweating. I HATE sweating. I was really fucking ready to throw down. I was just waiting for somebody to fuck with me. I had a few more clonopin under my tongue. Then I saw my own block and thought 'I could just fucking go home, and say fuck this shit'. But, in severe pain and all, being a stubborn fuck, I had to try again. Man, I swallowed chunks of seroquel dry! I must have had about 250mg seroquel and 5mg clonopin I ended up asking a construction dude some directions, he was more than happy to help. So I set out again, and finally found the place. Stairs. Fucking stairs. I made my appointment right on the dot. 

I'm "anal" (hate that word for that expression) about appointments. I have to be there way early or not at all. My thinking is that if I get there earlier, then I will be less anxious about the person I'm seeing. It works for me and my ipod. :)

I was burning up and in need of water badly. My sleeves were up, I was so hot, so my tattooed sleeves were visible, even though I didn't want them to be seen the first time around. Talk about stigma! 

The therapist seemed a bit timid, but brought me some water. I felt like an old surly dog that could still bite if provoked. Maybe she could see that, I don't know. She got over it, when she skimmed over the forms I filled out for her (about me), and we began talking. I felt like the Incredible Hulk then in that room, trying to chill, and an older hippie type lady there, just a wee bit uncomfortable. Could have been all in my head. Fuck if I know. 

We talked briefly about a lot of things I'd mentioned on the forms,and asked what I was looking for now, why I was seeking out help. I told her about the shrink I'd been going to. I used to be able to take the bus alone to see him. Now I can't. I'm worse off for seeing him than not. She didn't look happy about that. He just couldn't get a handle on things. I asked her to read over my stuff and make sure that she things she can be able to handle my mess, and help. She seemed really positive about it, and understood how overwhelming the whole day's shit had been. Yeah, I fucking cried for no reason. I could have kicked myself. We made another appointment.

I buzzed down the street with all that heavy seroquel and clonopin, wearing sunglasses, and felt the same "get the fuck outta my way" as I would normally if I was able to walk down the street alone, without those meds, like before. ipod song was different. Can't remember what it was. I couldn't wait to get home alone. When I did, the spouse was already there. Fuck. No time to heal in private from that trauma! Not happy. Not happy at all. He didn't force me to go to the store with him that day.

I'm being forced to go to the store today, so I have to take a shower and this time actually wash my longass nearly black hair. I hate it. Takes forever to dry, but I won't care if I have to go out that way. I'll have my sunglasses on and won't be alone. I forced myself on the treadmill when I was feeling pretty anxious, had some clonopin, and walked it off. 

I am fucking tired and went out in the rain early this morning to get some half-n-half, then later to starschmucks. That's where I noticed that my leggings were nearly see-through! I was disgusted and tried to cover up. I guess I washed away all the cotton and what's left is the stretchy shit. Fuck. Good thing I wasn't wearing some bright colored underwear! I won't be wearing those outdoors again without some opaque tights maybe. 

Fuck. Just called the other therapist, and realized that I didn't cancel tomorrow's appointment with him. Too late. Have to go and be saying good bye, I believe. I won't be staying too long.

Shower time. I prefer to take a shower when no one is here but me and the cat. I can relax in the hot water. Alone. Gloriously alone!

PS: Don't worry about the banana scare that Fox is reporting. I've never seen bananas in stores on the west coast come from anywhere else but Central America and Mexico. Why they fuck are they playing "Don't Fear (The Reaper)" in the background?! WTF?! 7.37am PT Wed!

Oh Joy! Division - She's Lost Control

Confusion in her eyes that sayAnnotates it all
She's lost control
And she's clinging to the nearest passer by
She's lost control
And she gave away the secrets of her past
And said I've lost control again
And a voice that told her when and where to act
She said I've lost control again

And she turned around and took me by the hand and said
I've lost control again
And how I'll never know just why or understand
She said I've lost control again
And she screamed out kicking on her side and said
I've lost control again
And seized up on the floor, I thought she'd die
She said I've lost control

[Hook]
She's lost control again
She's lost control
She's lost control again
She's lost control

Well I had to 'phone her friend to state my case
And say she's lost control again
And she showed up all the errors and mistakes
And said I've lost control again
But she expressed herself in many different ways
Until she lost control again
And walked upon the edge of no escape
And laughed I've lost control

Oh JOY! Division...

Another day, which today means another day of horrible daylight, possible nausea, and anxiety. The anxiety is BIG on the list because I've got to try and do the treadmill, shower, dress/makeup, and get to see the new shrink, and no, I don't drive. It's already stressing me out, and I've already started in on the seroquel. I don't care if I end up a fucking zombie by the time I get there. I can lean on the walls to get down the street, if I have to. I really fucking don't care. I found another way online last night to search for more shrinks in the area that probably take Medicare.

I finished my 2nd cup of coffee, which is my limit today. I didn't go out to Starschmucks this morning because I had to fuck with the printer and computer for about an hour to get some forms printed. It's been fucked ever since the spouse decided to change a password somewhere, or do something stupid without telling me first. FUCK, it was irritating, but I brought my coffee, and the curious cat was there to watch and distract me. I had a bunch of forms to print and fill out for this new shrink. History and all that. Saves time telling part of your shit story all over again, so I usually go for that when shopping for a shrink.

Now I'm drinking water that has all kinds of toxins in it per the EPA. Sometimes I get a whiff of chlorine, but not always. Today it tastes like.... something... a little metallic.

Well, I've decided that I am actually starting to feel this depressed thing from "Reverse SAD". I was noticing a difference toward the end of last month, when things started to turn. I really fucking freaked one day when the sun hit me directly through the glass doors one day. I keep my sunglasses handy and near, as well as the aspirin. 

I think I felt like crying yesterday. Actually, I did, but I can't remember what that was all about. I felt ok when I got up, but sick later on. The anxiety took care of the nausea eventually, and was scheduled to go to the grocery store at 6, according to the spouse. The last fucking thing I wanted to do. It ruined my morning after he asked about going - instant anxiety. I was trying to shoot for dark, but I knew he wouldn't wait that long. I had to make a stop at the drugstore as well. Re-fill of the crazy med, generic seroquel that mostly keeps the muzzle and leash on the beast. Mostly.

This bipolar depression is some nasty, evil, extreme shit. We're talking flashes of suicidal situations, irritability, feeling absolutely no energy, and my body aching all over. I've even been feeling like I've been hanging by a thread at times today. I thought about BP chat rooms, but I just don't know what to say. Same old shit...

I need a shower and to wash my hair, but I can't manage to force myself to do that. I don't know if I can do it before my new shrink appointment. I seriously doubt it. I'm already dreading skulking down the street, trying to hide from all people and light, wearing sunglasses, and a hoodie. I don't know if I can make it. But I have no choice because I can't afford to be paying for missed damn appointments. I can't fucking flake out. FUCK.

Turns out we have to go shopping today after the spouse gets back from work. I hope I'm not completely emotionally exhausted and all that shit that happens when you go to the shrink. I hope my eyes aren't big puffs with red slits, and my skin all weirded out. Shit, I shouldn't care, 'cause I'll be wearing sunglasses, right? Right. 

Truth be told, I'm fucking terrified of going outside, having to find this shrink's address, going in and talking with her. I hope she doesn't think she's going to try to fuck with my diagnoses. No no no no no... I'll have to inform her on not trying that, because she doesn't know me like my meds shrink does. And he's, well, kind of a big wig in teaching and research here, and might even  tell me to get the fuck out of her office if he knew her. You never know. 

Unwanted, Dead or Alive

Drink:  Green tea, water
Food:  Cinnamon graham crackers
Mood(s)  Anxious, depressed, a bit confused
Background noise:  Supernatural mini marathon on TNT

I'm feeling pretty fucking down today. Over wasted coffee and the courtesy to at least say goodbye to me by my the spouse? It's got to be more than that.

Wow. So this is how I kind of remember depression to feel sometimes. The really mild shit, that is. Rejection, too. I'm also feeling somewhat anxious too, and every little sound is making me jumpy, especially the door rattling, or sounding like it's almost being scratched on. Being scratched on is actually a possibility, or head-butted by a neighborhood cat that some people keep letting into this building by accident. He remembers my smell. I saw him the other day and called out to him with one of my special cat calls. He stopped and watched me.

Depression. Wow, this is really weird, and I don't like it. I set a new record on the treadmill, although a tiny one, and I'm depressed.Stinky and haven't taken a shower yet. It's not supposed to work that way, so they say. I was going to do some Wii yoga afterward, but I haven't used the Wii in so long that I forgot how to use it, and the batteries were left in there too long. One was corroded, but I cleaned it, and it didn't look damaged but still... Not good. I have tons of new batteries, but I don't know what the fuck to do with the controls. Maybe the spouse will be nice and help. Maybe he'll just completely ignore me. Maybe I'll take them outside and set them on fire on the sidewalk and dance around it. 

At least my headache is mostly gone, and I beat the nausea. The seroquel probably isn't helping the situation, but I was anxious from being outside this morning after the coffee thing.

Well, I think it's pretty damn rude not to reply to your spouse's text when they ask you a question. You get breaks, and you get lunch time, and it's not my fault that there is no food here that's hearty enough for him to eat for dinner. He never suggested to go shopping, and I refuse to do it online again. That is just fucking lazy and ridiculous. I am not a donkey to schlep groceries down the street in daylight either. I can't do it unless it was just for me, and I was living alone.

I did manage to take a quick needed break that I normally wouldn't do while on the treadmill, which was to take all the recycling out. It was kinda sad, because I saw two young ladies shooting up in the parking lot below the building. I said to myself "I hope you get some help". Maybe they are. Maybe that is the way to go. No, I guess not. Not good to think that way. Not good to go upstairs and stuff more clonopin in my piehole either. 

The reasonable, adult, nice, forgiving person, that accidentally just snapped at the spouse for no reason yesterday, then later apologized, thought about calling and having Chinese delivered for the spouse. I know what he likes. It's not cheap, but I won't be eating it. Maybe he'll be going for a drink with someone after work. I don't think he'd let me know though. I don't want to be stuck with Chinese food, or do I? This is his first week at his new job.

I have pain in what I guess is my liver, or ghost pain where my gall bladder used to be, and I haven't eaten anything greasy. I ate something wrong, though... Didn't I?

Later...

No word from the spouse, apart from a hello. He's home a bit early, I had just gotten out of the shower. He never mentions me texting him or never calling me. I pretty much ignore him, because by this point, I'm tired. The seroquel's taken hold in bits and pieces, but I'm still up for the marathon on tv. Normally the spouse would have come in by now looking for dinner, or to come and change the channel and watch cartoons. Instead, he's in the bedroom playing some kind of online flying game. No words to me but "You want a tea?" Wow. Deep.

Tomorrow is Saturday, which means I can't get into Starfucks until 6am. I'm wondering if the spouse will want to go to the grocery store early to avoid people, or later on to try to avoid people. He really has some thing about the store that fucks his shit up or freaks him out, but he refuses to talk about it. Gee, that's helpful.

He goes outside through the living room here. He doesn't ask me if I want to come out and have a smoke with him. Just sits in silence. Well, I'm going to be laying in bed in silence since my marathon is over, and some unknown movie is on. Not at all interested. I want to get up and out of here to make a quick exit. He can make his own coffee.

I'm a loaded gun. Tomorrow, it's going to be more of the same, only Ms Nice will have left the building and flushed all that nice shit down the fucking toilet. Better go power up my Kindle, phone, and iPod.