Daily Archives: February 16, 2013

Enter paranoia

Mood is slightly less gloomy and doomy today.

Unfortunately, when they “fixed” the water leak yesterday, they did something that is now causing the washer to back up in the sink and shoot water out of the hose in back of the washer. The place smells like stagnant water and sewage. Lovely. And there’s no way to reach them on weekends. I think it’s by design. They once told me I was a favorite tenant because I never complained. So if you ask for things to be fixed, it apparently means you are a bad tenant.

Although I am sure if I let things go to a certain point then asked, I’d be a bad tenant for not speaking up sooner.

The catch 22 of life pisses me off.

Since the invasion of my space yesterday, the paranoia has been rampant.

My idea of a tidy house is some’s idea of a pig sty. (Like R’s wife, who could be in an OR that is completely sterile and find something dirty about it. Freak.)

Now I am all paranoid that something I am doing or not doing is somehow “unfit” for my kid or in violation of the lease or whatever else my stupid mind can find to obsess about.

I used to have an apartment and because I had so many problems with my illnesses, the landlord made me get an independent living advisory to come inspect it every month to make sure it was tidy. She would come in, commend me on making the best use on the little space I had, and say it looked fine. Then he would come in to fix something and give me a list of complaints he had about my house keeping, my organization, everything.

So when it comes to this sort of thing, I feel justified in being paranoid.

Difference now is, I know while not sterile, it IS tidy enough and have had enough people here to testify to that so if someone tries to say otherwise, I think I’d have the ammo to fight it. Besides, this landlord is a renowned slumlord so declaring my housekeeping unfit would definitely lead to some inspections of his other properties and the housekeeping of his other tenants. I’m fucking Martha Stewart and Alice  from the Brady bunch compared to some of these people.

Still….paranoid brain and panic are making me edgy and nervous. The pills are not doing shit.

Name the difference between now and 10 days ago.

Right, they’re the same drug, it’s all in my head.

Frankly, I am scared as fuck because this is the same spot I was in back when I was with the Donor, jumping at every noise, assuming everyone was out to get me, scared of people…This is NOT good. And whether it’s psychological (NOT) or what, I know it’s the klonopin. It does not work on me the way xanax does. So while the shrink can feel all good about herself for not giving me super evil xanax, I can only watch myself circle the fucking drain.

Another month like this and I will be too paranoid to leave the house. Just like last time I was taken off of Xanax. And the time before that. And the time before that.

Yet the doctors just don’t get it. They give me antipsychotics without clueing in my paranoia is born of anxiety. Treat the anxiety with that which works, and boom, paranoia under control. But because it doesn’t fit the norm because ya know ALL paranoia must be caused by some psychotic factor therefore need anti psychotics….

Monday I get to be invaded again by having this current water issue fixed. I’m jazzed. Because that doesn’t mess with my psych stuff at all.

I had a good week or two, I guess this is my punishment.

Or karma for daring to think maybe things were getting better.

Never underestimate the universe’s ability to kick you in the face.


Dredging

I finally received the card for my next appointment with the psychiatrists… yay, I guess? I need to dredge my entries and make some proper notes on the last couple months of my life with bipolar, and the other assorted related annoyances. I am, however, amused that the card arrived about when I thought it would — about the time my brain started panicking that I’d not seen it.

I’m slightly annoyed at myself because even going back to take notes, I will probably try to convince myself that it’s not as bad as I thought it was. It’s one of those nasty little tricks of a bipolar brain, one of those little sabotages it uses to undermine one’s attempts to fight back and whatnot. It’s still way too easy for me, in that most of my life has been spent wherein nobody gave a rat’s ass about how I was feeling, and while I’m making good progress against that, it’s still an ongoing battle to assert myself and be honest that things aren’t fantastic.

*leaves self a note to do such* <— Speaking of mind tricks, ha ha.

For the nonce though, I’m going to tend to my pissed off sinuses… stupid… cold… thingies. *grumps* I hope everyone else is having a happy, somewhat healthier day!

<3

 

The post Dredging appeared first on A Blog By Any Other Name....

Personal space violation

(Sorry for flood posting today but it’s been a mental hell day.)

If you read my post mentioning the paranoia because the maintenance guys were working next door causing me extreme paranoia and panic…It gets  better.

Because without warning, they knocked on my door this afternoon and announced I had a water leak so they needed to come inside.

Suffice it to say, I am NOT okay having my safe zone invaded. And if it must be violated, I’d like some notice. (My old shrink had actually sent my old landlord a letter telling him he needed to give me 24 hours notice before popping in or it exacerbated my mental condition. Which it does.) And while the maintenance guy was perfectly nice today, I just kept wondering…is the place clean enough? Does it smell funny? Is there something that could be construed as unfit for a kid to live here? Is he gonna go tell the landlord I live in squalor because there were five unwashed dishes in the sink?

The work too almost two hours, with him coming in and out. I was a nervous wreck the whole time, pasting on the happy calm face, when my insides were rioting. My nervous stomach has not let up all day.

No sooner than that was over…my dad popped in unannounced.

More space violation.

How many assaults to my psyche can I handle in one day?

I’m just livid, I don’t even feel like going to bed, I can’t focus on watching anything, my brain is too rattled to contemplate writing or reading and meanwhile, my stomach is churning and causing all sorts of havoc.

I’ve taken all three of my klonopin and it’s not helped an iota.

I keep trying to tell myself it’s psychological, because ya know, that’s what the shrink will say since xanax and klonopin are the exact same thing. (BULLSHIT.)

Oh and it gets better because the ONE thing that didnt break when my kid kicked the shelf over, my beloved ornate dragon picture frame…the cat just knocked off the shelf and smashed into bits.

I loved that thing so much.

Days like this make me want to throttle anyone who dares to call me pessimistic. When this level of negativity and bad luck is your norm…what the fuck is there to be positive about?

I’m too sad to even cry.

So…I’m just gonna sit and stare off into space and chain smoke.

Tomorrow has to be better. It cannot possibly suck worse than this day has.

That’s optimism, right?

Eh, fuck it.