Daily Archives: April 1, 2015
Beckie0 (Rebecca Brown) took a photo every day for 6 1/2 years, showing her life with mental illness. (Depression, anxiety, trichotillomania, and dermatillomania.) It’s an amazing share. Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: anxiety, depression, mental illness, selfies
Thank you Colleen Chesebro at SilverThreading.com for organizing Writer’s Quote Wednesday 2015. I hope that Colleen is having a wonderful spring break vacation spoiling her granddaughters Maleah, and Arianna. She will be back online April 4th, just in time for Easter. Filed under: Writing…
I often feel like I am in this invisible straightjacket, except it’s my mind that’s bound rather than my arms. It’s stuck in this place I can’t escape no matter how hard I struggle, no matter what I do trying to free myself.
It’s a mindframe and I have spent way too much time in it as of late.
Like smashing into a wall, only to have the wall wrap around me in a little cube leaving me little but elbow room and a glimpse of light at the top, like a chimney. There are no handgrips or footholds, no ladder or rope being dropped down to lift me out.
Little doubt that the cramps and spinal pain the curse has brought are aiding in my inertia but this has become…too frequent. Too common. I can’t move backward, forward. I’m psychologically immobile.
Yes, I do all the tricks to “snap” myself out of it.
All avenues lead back to the brick box. I’m down here in the darkness, looking up, seeing the light at the very top, wanting to reach toward it, and yet…It’s too far away and I have no way out.
It’s the psychological equivalent of a hamster on a wheel. Round and round, never stop going, still get nowhere.
Talk about feeling futile. This was why that stationary bike I had served as a coat rack. No one enjoys working so hard and getting nothing in return. (I didn’t even lose weight.)
I try so very hard to help myself, to keep an open mind, to do all the tricks that will allegedly fix me.
Fail after fail I get downhearted and the self loathing explodes.
Why do they encourage us to do this to ourselves?
Positive attitude is one thing, but acting like it’s the key to curing mental illness when all it does is set us up for failure if our brain chemistry isn’t on board…It seems cruel and counter productive.
I want out of the restraints, I want lifted out of this brick well I’ve fallen down. I scramble at the walls, scuffing my knees and arms and hands and face. I try to climb up, climb out, but there is nothing to grab at and I am only hurting myself and accomplishing nothing.
And I wonder, am I doing this to myself? Because that’s the consensus, mentally ill people are all lazy fakers too weak to cope with life’s harsh realities so we create these issues in our own mind as an easy out.
I know the truth.
This was never my choice. No more than someone chooses to be born with a birth defect, a heart defect, or any other illness or disorder.
The propaganda monsters are getting to me, stabbing at my brain with their ignorance, making me doubt myself.
I have a song I’d like to sing to mental illness. It’s an old tune by Helloween.
“I want out–to live my life alone
I want out–leave me be
I want out–to do things on my own
I want out–to live my life and to be free.”
Seriously, what the fuck does it take to break these chains?
I’ve gotten a couple of emails concerning where I’ve been. Researching and writing the novel is taking a lot of my time. As I’ve said before, I’m trying to find balance so that I can do both. I’m not much of a tv watcher (except for The Walking Dead) so I don’t know why this […]
You guys know I’m an attention seeking memes-with-questions whore, so the a-z challenge is right up my alley.
There needs to be a theme and the theme I choose is … lurve. Although I am a
pessimist realist, I love hard too. In order to *barf* accen-tuate the *blergh* positives, I shall confess (errday but Sunday, as per meme rules) to things that I love. Things, not people. This is an anonyblog after all.
And the letter of the day is …
Alliteration. It’s simply stupendous and I am astonishingly awesome at it and if it’s thanks to the bloody bipolar verbal quirks, idc.
Animals. I don’t prefer them to humans (or humans to them). I love and respect (almost all of) them though. I grew up with animals and have worked with them; I can do the hard stuff as well as the cuddly stuff. I think that’s how love should be.
Arrow the TV series and arrows as in archery. All of the aforementioned because they’re just plain hot.
Asylum. It’d be great to haul this word away from its horror movie connotations and back to the definitions of shelter and protection from danger. It’s a truly lovely word then.
Anatomical drawings. Take it away Leonardo “I’m not a ninja turtle” da Vinci.
Androgyny. I did it well when I was younger, it doesn’t work now (apart from sowing gender confusion around), but I love seeing it in others. Love. It.
Air force blue, alice blue, azure, ao, aero, aqua.
Analysis. I do love to analyse – myself, you, life, the universe and everything.
April Fools jokes online. Nooooooot pranks irl. And I usually like the ones by Ikea best; here’s this year’s effort.
Moar from this year here.
Abyss. And to divert it from the gloom of Nietzsche (although I am partial to gloom), there are some prettier definitions.
1. a deep, immeasurable space, gulf, or cavity; vast chasm.
2. anything profound, unfathomable, or infinite:
the abyss of time.
3. the primal chaos before Creation,
the infernal regions; hell, a subterranean ocean.
I might do one thing I love for the next post, in more detail. Idk. We shall see.
Words like “crazy” “nuts” “bashit” “insane” “nutty” “nutso”…
I am stability challenged and sanity disadvantaged.
I have nothing on the agenda today except a quick trip to the store. Yet my anxiety feels like it’s eating me alive from inside out. I see the new doctor tomorrow. And I am PETRIFIED.
Honestly, how can it not be terrifying to have your own progress at the mercy of another who will have their own style, philosophy, biases…
And the psych center’s style has always been in and out. I have literally spent more time waiting in the drive thru at McDonald’s (and gotten more courteous service) than I am allotted with the doctor.
Last time I saw Dr Chihuahua I went in with this paper list where I’d jotted down my mood patterns, anxiety issues, stressing factors, lack of focus…And he spent three minutes with me, said we’d increase the prozac and everything else is due to anxiety.
And were I not so nervous in such situations, I’d probably have let out a primal scream and insisted on being heard out. How the fuck do these doctors live with themselves? Five minutes to not listen to a patient, push some pills, and charge nearly two hundred bucks? That’s a psychopath, as far as I am concerned. Conscienceless. Soulless.
I want it over with. I am so nervous it’s like my entire life is on hold until this no longer looms over my head. One way or the other, I NEED to rip this band aid off.
At the same time, there is this minute sliver deep within me praying, hoping, sacrificing metaphoric infant souls, that this man will LISTEN to me.
I don’t see how I can be called a pessimist when I still have the naivete to hope for the best.
And it’s more amazing because I have PTSS.
Post traumatic shrink syndrome.
God, a lot of assholes go into psychiatry.
That level of apathy they should just work at the gas station.
Deviations are creepifying.
Just got my reminder call about tomorrow’s appointment. And she said to bring in all my meds and my insurance card.
I’ve not done that in three years.
Guess the actual dr is different from the telepsych doctors.
Maybe that means he’s going to form his own judgment rather than simply reading the prior parade’s notes.
I feel nauseated.
And the teeth gnashing is making my gums hurt.
I don’t like deviation.
And shark week arrived (explaining the bloating and spinal pain of the last week) but it’s also making me feel very…irritable.
Not a good mix for meeting a new doctor. I could be…volatile.
Or I could burst into tears.
Neither is optimal.
Bloody hell, I am exhausted by my own mind.
Light, more light, as the days grow, and the light bells deeper, and fills the crannies in me;
So last night I licked some crystals, took a supplement called “gleeberflobenroot” then I knelt down and prayed to an alien clam god while handing him all my worldy goods…
AND TODAY I WOKE UP COMPLETELY CURED OF ALL MENTAL ILLNESS!!!!
Happy April Fool’s Day.
Fuck you, Scientology.
Have I ever mentioned that I’m a Fan-Girl? Yeah, maybe once or twice. The thing is… when my bipolarness sinks its bitey teeth in and whips my brain around like a dead gopher, fan-girling is about the only thing that straps me in until the neck-snapping is over. The little bit of my brain that isn’t devoured latches onto a story or a character and lives there, sometimes long after the bipolar hound is done with me. It’s a strategy I learned early in life—to escape from the pain by joining the story. There, I could let my creativity out to play. Survival and fun—what more could an eleven-year-old ask for?
I used to be ashamed of my obsessions—hiding my Leonard Nimoy Association of Fans newsletters in my underwear drawer, keeping my big file of Christopher Reeve pictures and articles hidden between my nursing textbooks. But, I’m not alone in my fannishness. Conventions all over the world celebrate the joys of fandom. And celebrities I adore admitted their own geek-leanings.
Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much yon like something. It’s basically a license to proudly emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating. — Simon Pegg
I’m a dork, I collected comics. I still love cartoons. I’d rather be at home on a Friday night than out at some club. My sense of humor is that of a geek. My likes and dislikes are that of a geek. I’ve memorized every crappy sci-fi movie there is, but still haven’t seen Schindler’s List. —Nathan Fillion
I love what I love, and when I’m under bipolar duress, I love it even more. So, excuse me while I soak in all the episodes of Scorpion on You Tube, Google the actors, then let the dendrites still sparking concoct a few story scenarios. Let me relish the fact that the creators of this show also gave me Xena–Warrior Princess, Alias, Fringe and the new Star Trek movie franchise. So I know these guys. They’d my buds.
It’s safe and warm here in Fan-Girl World. Come on in. The squeeing never ends.
It never ceases to amaze me just how precarious my mind frames are. Oh, the alleged professionals want to call it mood swings but it goes so much beyond that. It’s this all encompassing landscape of the mind. It’s not simply becoming “sad” due to outside stress. It’s this sweeping wave of feeling defeated, depleted, and hopeless. Cyclothymia makes sure it comes on abruptly, generally untriggered, and never lasts more than an hour, ten hours, or a day. (Outside the depressive bouts.) This gives the impression that somehow the disorder is milder than other forms of bipolar. It is not.
I was doing ok. Not over acchieving but…hanging in there. The car is fixed, all is well at this moment…(When R pulled up in the car and I knew she wasn’t FUBAR, I started jumping up and down shrieking, “My baby!” I am way too attached to that car.)
Yet two hours home and suddenly my mood has just slid into “is it bedtime yet”. This happens way too often and I can’t impress enough on the docs just how grueling it is.
It’s one thing to accept misery because it’s all you’ve known.
But to get glimpses of stability, sometimes sheer joy…Then have it yanked away without warning, without trigger…
It fucking sucks.
This morning I told my kid we needed to clean up the yard when we got home.
In current mind frame….Ain’t happening. Maybe tomorrow. GRRRRR. So frustrating. I’ve been trying to fight it. I got up several times, aiming to do this and that. Then drawing a blank. Kinda like a paralysis of the motivation muscle.
Sometimes I think the harder I fight it, the worse it makes it. Because I can’t fix myself with all the tricks the professionals cite that work for a google of others…I get more frustrated and down on myself.
Plus my kid keeps reminding me we’re supposed to clean the yard up. That makes it better. NOT.
I think this is a repeat of last week, Wed or Thurs. I just hit the wall, I was exhausted(no solid sleep for weeks at a time takes a toll) and my mood crashed and I waved the white flag. Kid and mom in bed before 8 p.m. I was up and down but I just accepted that I needed to recharge the batteries. Reboot the brain, so to speak.
It’s feeling like that again.
Maybe the brain is like a computer. You leave it running too many days or weeks, it slows down, gets glitchy, but a reboot makes all normal again.
Ha ha ha. Normal is really not applicable to a multi diagnosis trainwreck like me.
But ya know…Return to half assed lucidity.
Unfortunately it’s not even 5 pm and I still have hours before I can collapse into bed and reboot.
Every minute feels like an eternity.
I said something to the extent that I purposely keep my world small. And it’s true, even if I am TRYING to do as suggested and step outside my comfort zone by putting myself out there. At least on line. I am reaching out, reading other blogs, responding to comments. TRYING.
But it gets hard to keep it all straight and keep up with and then of course come the self doubts…Is this person reading my blog or did they just click follow so I’d visit theirs, follow, and they unfollow me to boost their numbers?
To prove just how naive I am because it’s not something I’d ever do…I didn’t even realize people were that….conniving. And I am paranoid of everyone. So…I guess I just don’t have enough ego to ponder such things.
Still…I feel bad if someone bothers to read my drivel and like or commentl, then I try to do the same but eventually…I know I am going to become so overwhelmed I will fail whether in some small way or large way.
THAT is why I keep my world so small. I take on what I can handle without dropping the ball.
Also…I’m not prone to editing my posts because, well, I am lazy and pressed for time certain days. But I do go back and read them and sometimes…I find that I totally use the wrong word. I intended to use the right one, but something in the background (usually my never silent child) puts a similar word out there and I unconsciously write it instead.
It doesn’t make me illiterate or ignorant.
Just…scatteredbrained. Forgive me.
Woe is me…
Yeah, that one gets tossed out a lot when it comes to mental illness (even by those who have it) and it irks me. Because there is nothing wrong with venting your feelings. It’s not self pity. It’s purge and that’s therapeutic.
I throw up physically, it ain’t for attention.
I verbally vomit, tis the same.
Just…uncorking all the pressure in the powder keg.
Flood posting is not my favorite. Yet…when the spewage is there, I just let it loose.
It’s not like anyone has to read it.
But I am compelled to write it. Probably the only thing that keeps my skull from imploding.
Speaking of rereading my own posts…
One I did earlier I spoke of always thinking myself a strong woman.
And I had this flashback to when a guy I’d met during a manic episode saw me hit the depressive abyss. He parted ways by saying, “You’re not who you pretended to be, you’re just weak and all you do is cry.”
People like that need to be fed to anacondas.
It’s not just hurtful, it’s fucking rude. I never pretended to be shit.
Neuroses R Us
Thanks to all the idiotic superstitions my mother instilled in me…
Both my ears are itching and it has me convinced that someone is talking badly about me.
I don’t like it.
Makes me wonder what idiosynchrasy of mine is going to warp my kid.
5:25 pm. Neighbor is hammering on something incessantly.
All I can think, is it bedtime yet?
Which makes me feel pathetic, of course. I make fun of people who “Matlock” ie eat supper at 4 pm., go to bed at 7pm.
Yet here I am, the thing I loathe and never wanted to become.
If there is a worst aspect of mental illness, it is the self loathing.
I want to revive myself, break this mindframe, blow up the freaking box. Feel anything but defeated and useless.
So why are all my efforts rewarded with nothing?
The doctors wonder why people give up, drink, do drugs, harm themselves, kill themselves…
Live like this too long and it becomes all to clear.
But I don’t even have enough motivation to self medicate with booze and drugs nor distract from psychological pain with physical pain.
I should have skipped the tiger tattoo and gone with “LOSER>”
Yeah, I know that’s my stupid misfiring brain talking but at the moment…I’m not strong enough to not buy into the depressive propoganda.
My daughter asked to go play outside. And I said not tonight.
There’s plenty of daytime left, it’s not cold, so why not?
Because crazy mommy’s “spidey sense” has her too paranoid to let the kid out of her sight and too little trust in herself to keep adequate supervision out in the open. Outside the bubble.
So when I am asked how my conditions affect my normal life…
And the scumbag brain ain’t hearing logic right now.
Still awake at 10 p.m. Xanax not killing the racing thoughts. This SUCKS.