Daily Archives: November 5, 2014

Day Of The Living

God damn, broads are tuff, despite their hormones, any MH issues... Yeah, me, today, right now.

One day you can feel, literally feel like slashing your own throat in front of a mirror with a brand new straight razor so you get it right, hit the right spot, see the start of the  blood gush out, see it clearly in your mind (among other suicidal visions), then bleed like you may need to go to the ER the next morning, realizing also that your head is clear of the deadly, noxious fog of stupid, useless emotions that you really have no control over due to hormones and "mood disorders" -- those "emotions" or thoughts that drag you to visions of suicide and/or creation of a "plan of action".
Madness? Self-kindness. Self-mercy. Self-care. Whatever can get your mind through that bit of time needed.

I gave up... well, quit is a better word, 16mg of perphenazine at night that I suggested/decided to take to both humor a couple family members and shut the spouse up. He thought I was "paranoid", acting "paranoid", and for some stupid reason decided to share that with an OCD and PTSD diagnosed relative (unmedicated, in denial), and the fact that I have a (legally purchased) pistol (with a license to carry a concealed pistol in effect). This is ALL (xcept for buying the gun, of course) due to the continued phone/computer douchebaggery/destruction/fuckery/childish games, now violating civil rights and constitutional rights with 'threats' of blackmail. What can you do with that? We shall see. Well,  the fact that he doesn't believe any of it, when he, himself has been affected by it.

Why the fuck would he do that? This relative does not know me, though they are close family. They are not friendly. They are pretty fucking antisocial themselves. Why he didn't call a friend who actually DOES know me is a complete fucking mystery, not to mention completely fucking stupid. He called the most hysterical, worst possible person he could call. So, eventually he had to tell me that he made this stupid phone call, and if topiramate didn't exist, he may or may not have kneecaps after that fucking stupidass violation of privacy and motherfucking stupid move. Nah.. I can get ugly, but only physically if someone attacks me first.

I had to talk to the whacked-out relative over the phone and convince them that the spouse is completely overreacting, and that the gun is not a big deal. It's for protection, as in self-protection, if I ever get outside alone. I mentioned one of the local drug dealer's death threats that I got, and she is just terrified and completely ignorant about guns to the point of NUTS. "Oh we don't want guns in the house"... I don't give a fuck what you want in YOUR fucking "safe" suburban haven, where no one can hear you scream... I never had plans on shooting myself. It's not my style, and not why I bought the gun in the first place well over a year ago, which I already mentioned. Now I've got to worry about if anything my daughter may know about is worrying or worried her.

The spouse also offended me by saying, "You're acting like (I think...) you're one step away from a tin foil hat.' one day. It was then that I wanted to punch him in the face, but the topiramate just sort of eased over those thoughts in almost an instant, replacing them with... almost "mellow" ones, surprisingly, but still irritated in a strange, calm, rational, controllable weird way rather than all-out furious about opening his trap to my family in the first place. And for being a dick. He should be kneeling down and worshipping the topiramate, and maybe asking me to up my dose a bit, offering to pay for every cent of it. All due to the fact that he's "tired of hearing about things not working on the computer or phone", and that he thinks I'm acting "overly paranoid". He just won't open up his fucking eyes, and refuses to see the proof that is available in b/w and//or color, right in front of him.

Fucking stressful as fuck having to live with someone that completely doubts you, writes you off, and thinks you know absolutely nothing that has anything to do with computers, just because he can add memory to his computer, buy loosening a screw or two, and snapping it into place, like any other monkey can do. He can't even make a guess at HTML and/or Java, logs, script in general, fucking names of programs loaded on ones computer? Or suss out a fake web page? After two OS destroyed on 2 sep computers, phone OS destroyed, fake bills, fucked up bills, now trying to violate my civil rights to get/sign up for Medicare Part D, etc. And yet he still refuses to examine or learn more about evidence presented! JFC! He cannot bear the thought that I might know something that he doesn't that has something even vaguely to do with computers or "smartphones". He cant bear to think that he is less knowledgeable about ANYTHING, or could be, than me.

I am on my 3rd (I think) try-out computer at the moment, trying to pick out one that feels right and has a DVD player, CD/DVD RW, and good sound. I think I want a little portable entertainment center and maybe some games (new to me). I have plenty of DVDs to watch, and CDs to play, if I have to dig those up. I was crazed at packing time and tossed the cases to make more room in boxes.

Since then, I've managed to get out more alone. "Armed", yes. It hasn't been a lot of times, but it has been when "necessary". I have dealt with people when I've had to. I still hate talking over the phone (due to the continued fuckery also - always did), but have dealt with that too when I've had to. Unfortunately, I never get to speak to a real worker from the company or bank, or other that I'm trying to reach. It's exhausting, but not for my foot to tap on the button that hangs up the phone, nor for my mouth to spew obscenities and shit. Bad acting and a limited amount of voices make people recognizable. The computer and phone are really nothing more than a convenience than a necessity.

I haven't yet made it all the way to the suburbs on the buses yet, which is a goal I've set, as I have a friend that is stuck out there, unable to drive, and in the disabled way of physical pain, so it's hard for her to get around. I'd like to visit, make it all the way out there, somehow. I know I'll make it. I have to admit, I do feel more safe having a gun in my purse, not carrying a wallet, and the least amount of valuables possible when out in public. Now if I could only use cheap purses, but I can't. I have to have good quality leather or some other stylish, well-made fancy fabric. Picky, picky, picky.

Here's to a happy late Dias de los Muertos



Day of the Dead is what I had been looking forward to in a way, trying to make myself less and less anxious as it came about finally. I bought makeup and a top hat to wear to the public celebration. I became less an less sad and anxious, and was good to go when the event came around. It wasn't that bad as far as the crowd of people part - there were a lot of Mexicans, lots to look at, lots of entertainment and a badass tamale stand with horchata. My daughter and her friend showed up as well as a friend and her daughter. I was all made-up, and dressed up. I had trouble sitting "like a lady", I noticed. Not used to wearing a dress! I did stuff myself in the end with Day of the Dead pan dulce too. Oops! My ancestor were honored, offerings given up, invitations to come back secretly sent out. It was a good night. Lots of people took my pic due to my make up and getup. I didn't mind at all. Hopefully one will email a copy to me! Didn't get a whole lot of pics. It didn't feel or seem appropriate except for the set-ups of the altars and "graveyard". Seeing kids with their faces painted was cool. It made me wonder what the non-Mexican or non-Day of the Dead were telling their children as they dragged them around. It seemed very bizarre to me. What could you say to a kid that wouldn't confuse them?

Now I have to stay alive in order to stay at a friend's house later this month. That ridiculous "holiday", "thanksgiving" has been cancelled. I have to remind myself that I have something to look forward to besides Dr Eye Candy, the shrink for now, halfway decent sleep last night and maybe more due to active hormones, and maybe some snow! Peace and quiet, hanging out with an old friend, getting away from here, and possibly playing with a dog in the snow. And wearing my ridiculous furry hat! I have reasons to go on kicking and screaming, if necessary. No restraints, just shoot me up with Haldol. I don't care if I drool.

I'll be just fine when this shit blows over, I'm physically "normal" again, and all is groovy. Well, groovy-ish. Back on more on even ground with the emotional crap and not falling asleep all over the place. Today is such a huge difference from yesterday's moods/thoughts/feelings/depressive shit. Hell, I might even make it outside again soon.

Day Of The Living

God damn, broads are tuff, despite their hormones, any MH issues... Yeah, me, today, right now.

One day you can feel, literally feel like slashing your own throat in front of a mirror with a brand new straight razor so you get it right, hit the right spot, see the start of the  blood gush out, see it clearly in your mind (among other suicidal visions), then bleed like you may need to go to the ER the next morning, realizing also that your head is clear of the deadly, noxious fog of stupid, useless emotions that you really have no control over due to hormones and "mood disorders" -- those "emotions" or thoughts that drag you to visions of suicide and/or creation of a "plan of action".
Madness? Self-kindness. Self-mercy. Self-care. Whatever can get your mind through that bit of time needed.

I gave up... well, quit is a better word, 16mg of perphenazine at night that I suggested/decided to take to both humor a couple family members and shut the spouse up. He thought I was "paranoid", acting "paranoid", and for some stupid reason decided to share that with an OCD and PTSD diagnosed relative (unmedicated, in denial), and the fact that I have a (legally purchased) pistol (with a license to carry a concealed pistol in effect). This is ALL (xcept for buying the gun, of course) due to the continued phone/computer douchebaggery/destruction/fuckery/childish games, now violating civil rights and constitutional rights with 'threats' of blackmail. What can you do with that? We shall see. Well,  the fact that he doesn't believe any of it, when he, himself has been affected by it.

Why the fuck would he do that? This relative does not know me, though they are close family. They are not friendly. They are pretty fucking antisocial themselves. Why he didn't call a friend who actually DOES know me is a complete fucking mystery, not to mention completely fucking stupid. He called the most hysterical, worst possible person he could call. So, eventually he had to tell me that he made this stupid phone call, and if topiramate didn't exist, he may or may not have kneecaps after that fucking stupidass violation of privacy and motherfucking stupid move. Nah.. I can get ugly, but only physically if someone attacks me first.

I had to talk to the whacked-out relative over the phone and convince them that the spouse is completely overreacting, and that the gun is not a big deal. It's for protection, as in self-protection, if I ever get outside alone. I mentioned one of the local drug dealer's death threats that I got, and she is just terrified and completely ignorant about guns to the point of NUTS. "Oh we don't want guns in the house"... I don't give a fuck what you want in YOUR fucking "safe" suburban haven, where no one can hear you scream... I never had plans on shooting myself. It's not my style, and not why I bought the gun in the first place well over a year ago, which I already mentioned. Now I've got to worry about if anything my daughter may know about is worrying or worried her.

The spouse also offended me by saying, "You're acting like (I think...) you're one step away from a tin foil hat.' one day. It was then that I wanted to punch him in the face, but the topiramate just sort of eased over those thoughts in almost an instant, replacing them with... almost "mellow" ones, surprisingly, but still irritated in a strange, calm, rational, controllable weird way rather than all-out furious about opening his trap to my family in the first place. And for being a dick. He should be kneeling down and worshipping the topiramate, and maybe asking me to up my dose a bit, offering to pay for every cent of it. All due to the fact that he's "tired of hearing about things not working on the computer or phone", and that he thinks I'm acting "overly paranoid". He just won't open up his fucking eyes, and refuses to see the proof that is available in b/w and//or color, right in front of him.

Fucking stressful as fuck having to live with someone that completely doubts you, writes you off, and thinks you know absolutely nothing that has anything to do with computers, just because he can add memory to his computer, buy loosening a screw or two, and snapping it into place, like any other monkey can do. He can't even make a guess at HTML and/or Java, logs, script in general, fucking names of programs loaded on ones computer? Or suss out a fake web page? After two OS destroyed on 2 sep computers, phone OS destroyed, fake bills, fucked up bills, now trying to violate my civil rights to get/sign up for Medicare Part D, etc. And yet he still refuses to examine or learn more about evidence presented! JFC! He cannot bear the thought that I might know something that he doesn't that has something even vaguely to do with computers or "smartphones". He cant bear to think that he is less knowledgeable about ANYTHING, or could be, than me.

I am on my 3rd (I think) try-out computer at the moment, trying to pick out one that feels right and has a DVD player, CD/DVD RW, and good sound. I think I want a little portable entertainment center and maybe some games (new to me). I have plenty of DVDs to watch, and CDs to play, if I have to dig those up. I was crazed at packing time and tossed the cases to make more room in boxes.

Since then, I've managed to get out more alone. "Armed", yes. It hasn't been a lot of times, but it has been when "necessary". I have dealt with people when I've had to. I still hate talking over the phone (due to the continued fuckery also - always did), but have dealt with that too when I've had to. Unfortunately, I never get to speak to a real worker from the company or bank, or other that I'm trying to reach. It's exhausting, but not for my foot to tap on the button that hangs up the phone, nor for my mouth to spew obscenities and shit. Bad acting and a limited amount of voices make people recognizable. The computer and phone are really nothing more than a convenience than a necessity.

I haven't yet made it all the way to the suburbs on the buses yet, which is a goal I've set, as I have a friend that is stuck out there, unable to drive, and in the disabled way of physical pain, so it's hard for her to get around. I'd like to visit, make it all the way out there, somehow. I know I'll make it. I have to admit, I do feel more safe having a gun in my purse, not carrying a wallet, and the least amount of valuables possible when out in public. Now if I could only use cheap purses, but I can't. I have to have good quality leather or some other stylish, well-made fancy fabric. Picky, picky, picky.

Here's to a happy late Dias de los Muertos



Day of the Dead is what I had been looking forward to in a way, trying to make myself less and less anxious as it came about finally. I bought makeup and a top hat to wear to the public celebration. I became less an less sad and anxious, and was good to go when the event came around. It wasn't that bad as far as the crowd of people part - there were a lot of Mexicans, lots to look at, lots of entertainment and a badass tamale stand with horchata. My daughter and her friend showed up as well as a friend and her daughter. I was all made-up, and dressed up. I had trouble sitting "like a lady", I noticed. Not used to wearing a dress! I did stuff myself in the end with Day of the Dead pan dulce too. Oops! My ancestor were honored, offerings given up, invitations to come back secretly sent out. It was a good night. Lots of people took my pic due to my make up and getup. I didn't mind at all. Hopefully one will email a copy to me! Didn't get a whole lot of pics. It didn't feel or seem appropriate except for the set-ups of the altars and "graveyard". Seeing kids with their faces painted was cool. It made me wonder what the non-Mexican or non-Day of the Dead were telling their children as they dragged them around. It seemed very bizarre to me. What could you say to a kid that wouldn't confuse them?

Now I have to stay alive in order to stay at a friend's house later this month. That ridiculous "holiday", "thanksgiving" has been cancelled. I have to remind myself that I have something to look forward to besides Dr Eye Candy, the shrink for now, halfway decent sleep last night and maybe more due to active hormones, and maybe some snow! Peace and quiet, hanging out with an old friend, getting away from here, and possibly playing with a dog in the snow. And wearing my ridiculous furry hat! I have reasons to go on kicking and screaming, if necessary. No restraints, just shoot me up with Haldol. I don't care if I drool.

I'll be just fine when this shit blows over, I'm physically "normal" again, and all is groovy. Well, groovy-ish. Back on more on even ground with the emotional crap and not falling asleep all over the place. Today is such a huge difference from yesterday's moods/thoughts/feelings/depressive shit. Hell, I might even make it outside again soon.

Whups, I NaNo’d Again

November hosts an evil little competition known as NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.  The goal is to write a novel of 50,000 words or more from scratch over the course of the month. I did it and won in 2012, but it ended up with me having a bad depressive spell in the following December. Tres weird for me, I tend to be happiest in the cold months!

As I had managed to do it and win it once, I decided I never need do it again. So apparently, I’m doing it again this year. Whups? A bit. I’m keeping pace nicely and am just shy of 9,000 words here on day five. I’m managing it pretty nicely without being a raging pain in the ass like I was last time. I think that I’ve continued to stretch a lot as a writer since that experience, so it’s an as imposing or stressful a thing to do (even doing it atop the 7,000-10,000 words a week I write normally).

I still have to be mindful though — what if this is hypomania again? I’ve already established that I’m not completely sure where I am on the spectrum, and I am seriously thinking of asking my psychiatrist to up my doses. I can’t even give a tangible reason why I want to ask her, just that i think it might be a good idea. We’re supposed to trust our instincts on this sort of stuff, right? My last psych was amenable to such last time I asked, so we’ll see. I’m not adverse to lowering it back down later if we see fit, but as I keep navigating through this postpartum thing… well.

One thing I have noticed though is I am absolutely terrible about making the blog rounds. Like, I have all these words and I am putting them out, and then I don’t have any energy to see what other people are up to properly. I can’t blame NaNo for that though; it’s been the case for a bit now. So if I’ve not popped in and said howdy, my apologies. Sometimes I’m reading things properly, sometimes I’m not. Not that I think any one here would hold that against me — we all have ups and downs, and even the good doesn’t come with a lot of spoons. And I do still clock things as good!

<3

SHIT!!!

I am stressing the mess out right now. There are a million things running through my mind everyday since the middle of Oct. I have been taking my meds, mediation, doing things to get my mind off of it, but it always comes right back to: AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I’m sorry if this is starting to sound …

3 small reasons why I stay on my meds

ARC_Talk_About_Meds_Banner_Mariska

With charming side-effects like weight gain and hair loss, it’s pretty tempting to stop taking my mood-stabilising medication.  Each night, when I pop my pill out of its pack, something within me wants to rebel and throw it down the sink instead.

But I never do – for three small reasons.  As I write this, they’re sleeping in their beds upstairs.

As a mum with young children, I don’t have the luxury of  letting my Bipolar Disorder Type 1 go unchecked.  While I might quite enjoy the feeling of hypomania – with the surges in creativity and energy and reduced need for sleep – for me this can swiftly lead to an acute manic episode, causing heartache and worry for my family.

After experiencing numerous episodes of acute mania and psychosis in my 20’s, staying on my medication and having a good relationship with my Psychiatrist means that I have avoided having an acute manic episode for almost eight years.

The last time I was severely unwell was after the birth of my firstborn son – with days of insomnia following his birth culminating in me becoming delusional. None of the midwives at my private maternity hospital knew what to do and sent me home.

My son was just six days old and cradled in his Daddy’s arms when l was led out of our house to a Police divvy van waiting outside – the unfortunate mode of transport to psychiatric hospitals for mentally unwell patients in Australia.

I worked hard to become well again after that traumatic episode and never want my now almost eight-year-old son to witness his mum being forcibly taken to hospital again.

Last year, after a period of extreme stress, I experienced acute depression for the first time.  I would find myself crying uncontrollably in the car on the way home from work, only to sit staring at my plate unable to speak during our family dinner.  Afterwards, instead of playing with the kids, I would curl up on my bed – while my husband spent hours patiently trying to talk me out of my anxiety.

Weekend were no longer a time for relaxation and fun.  Instead, I would be lost in my own dark world – dreading the thought of leaving the house to go back to work on Monday. Finally, I realised that what was happening wasn’t normal and went to my Psychiatrist for help.

I share this experience because – for me – modern day medicine has been life changing.

My medication may cause me to raid the pantry at night.  It may have lowered my libido and I may, at times, shed more hair than my pet Golden Retriever.  But finding the right medication for me – and staying on it – has also enabled me to live a full, happy life with my family.

It meant that I could confidently go on to have two more wonderful children, even after the trauma following my eldest son’s birth.

It has given me the confidence to work in my dream job as a Senior Campaign Manager with an international aid organisation.

And – as my husband has just kindly pointed out to me – being stable on my medication has also meant that he and my  family no longer have to tiptoe around my fluctuating moods, living in fear of another acute manic episode.

So when I hold that small yellow pill in the palm of my hand each night, I don’t throw it down the drain and hope for the best.

I take it as prescribed, in order to give my children and my family the best of me.

Mariska xx


Better Mood, Worse Cold

This morning I woke up and something was different. I was in a better mood. I wanted to go and look at our lot. Last night I was pissy and didn’t want to go and when I got there and there was no change I was furious. Tonight they had done a little work and I didn’t immediately have a panic attack about not getting into our house in Feb.

I know that it is chemical. I know that it is also stress that is forcing me to be so moody. I have a lot to be stressed out about. I am stressed about the mom in law moving in with us after we get our home. I know I am going to be very protective of my home. I am also looking forward time alone with my husband.

I can’t wait until the 16th, it’s our 13th wedding anniversary. We are going out to dinner and then going to a hotel for the night. Alone time in a clean place. It will be awesome.

I’m tired of being where I am. I wrote down 1-20 on a white board so I can erase the weeks as we go along to count the time to get into our home. The day we close, we are going to be sleeping on the floor. I want out that badly.

As you can see it is bothering me a lot lately and there is nothing I can do about it at all. ugh.