Daily Archives: April 12, 2015

a-z challenge: l

I’m all meh about finding one thing to write about, so for the third time in this alphabetical meme, I will just think of things I like that start with L and then just riff and then where relevant, I’ll go and grab you a song or something. It’s heavy on the music today, because I’ve been listening to a lot lately.

image

Sidenote: the poison pygmy is not fond of Metallica or Eminem. Smh … and I played mainstream stuff at very high volume just for her.

L is for lovely things: LOTR, Leonard Cohen, leather, love, lust, leopards, lammergeyers, lynxes, laughter, libraries, learning, leaning, listening … next up, some lasting memories.

Lyrical

image

Leonard Cohen – I don’t have to tell you about Field Commander Cohen:  (if you don’t like him, youre off my Christmas card list).
Love and Rockets – There was a man (I know, I know) in the States, who wrote a song for me and dedicated an album to me (we are talking very minor recording contract here, don’t get excited) who loved them and signed every email “love & rockets”.  I don’t know what colour your eyes are baby, but your legs are long and brownSo Alive
Lou Reed – I saw him and the (briefly re-formed) Velvet Underground at Glastonbury in 1993. See if you can spot me. Heroin,  and because that was low quality, here’s one of my favourites, Viciousyou hit me with a flower … (RIP Lou)
Laurie Anderson – first last and only resident artist at NASA. Lou’s bird. And this is so loving and lovely: Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson – Hang on to your Emotions (live)
Lemonheads – I saw them at Glasto 93 too – they were late because Evan Dando mouthed off at or made a pass at a United Airlines trolley dolly. Please don’t break my Big Gay Heart
Mark Lanegan – Screaming Trees, Stone Temple Pilots and more … a man with a voice like armageddon and his roots in the birth of grunge. Mark Lanegan & PJ Harvey Come to Me, burn your starry crown, my dark angel …
John Lydon – Johnny Rotten grew up to make mostly shite music, show his intelligence and compassion and generally bewilder the world. Public Image Limited – Rise
Lauryn Hill – So much class, so much talent – Lose Myself
Lenny Kravitz – I fell in love with his looks and – so many tears we cry, so much pain itside, but baby It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over
LifehouseFinding my way back to sanity again, though I don’t really know what I’m gonna do when I get thereBreathing (live). Magical times in Nottingham.
Lloyd ColeJennifer She Said, Paard Den Haag 2013 her name on you, Jennifer in blue … such a good song about tattoos, solo acoustic by the man himself who, I think, has aged well.

image

LOTR soundtrack – I once sat and listened to all three and I have the Rohan theme as my ring tone. The Horn of the Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep one last time!

Literate
Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkien) No surprise there huh? You know the scene at Weathertop? It scared me shitless as a little kid and I still don’t love it. Tolkien writes about the cold and I feel it.
Primo Levi – A brilliant writer, an Auschwitz survivor, a sad suicide. Primo Levi’s Last Moments
“Primo Levi died at Auschwitz forty years later.” (Elie Wiesel)

This Be The Verse BY Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.  
    They may not mean to, but they do.  
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,  
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

Laughable
Louis C K  Stand Up Comedy Full Show 2015  
Leonard Nimoy Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Earth (Tolkien link there too, he sings the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins.) RIP Mr Spock.

image

He lived long, he prospered.

LEGO Lord of the RingsThe Fellowship of the Ring FULL MOVIE, the other two are also there.

Look
LOTR! I have now managed to work it into each category. My favourite of the three is Two Towers. I think Peter Jackson did a sterling job and the only whinges I have are zomg wtf is Liv Tyler doing as Arwen? Couldn’t we have had a fine boned actress? Cate Blanchett as Arwen and Tilda Swinton as the ancient and ageless Galadrien would have made me very happy. Every time she kissed Aragorn, I became nauseous. Everything else was fantastic, it’s well worth getting the extended versions of the films, and a lot of the gazillion hours of extras that come with the boxed set are great to see.

10 Huge Misconceptions About Emotional Child Abuse

Originally posted on The Invisible Scar:

[via Neal Sanche] [via Neal Sanche] “How could you have been abused?” a grossly misinformed person in an adult survivor’s life may say. “You had a roof over your head, food in your belly, clothes, and no one ever hit you!”

But as every adult survivor of emotional child abuse knows, the essentials—good attention, unconditional love, and emotional support—were missing.

Unfortunately, however, many misconceptions about emotional child abuse abound. Here’s a look at some of the biggest ones.

Misconception #1: Emotional abuse is another word for verbal abuse

Fact:Emotional abuse includes verbal abuse, non-verbal abuse, and non-physical forms of abuse.

“Child abuse is more than bruises or broken bones,” state Melinda Smith, M.D., and Jeanne Segal, Ph.D, in a HelpGuide article. “While physical abuse is shocking due to the scars it leaves, not all child abuse is as obvious. Ignoring children’s needs, putting them in unsupervised, dangerous situations, or making…

View original 2,072 more words


Snoopy Bandages

Medication.
Therapy.
What do you do on the days when it’s like putting a Band Aid on a gaping chest wound? It just doesn’t work.
I have been trying so hard, utilizing every method learned in therapy. Do things you usually love, get out and get some sun and fresh air.
I forced myself out yesterday. Start of yard sale season, normally something that gives me a buzz. And I felt nothing but “Oh, let’s get this over with already.”
How do you combat that when even the things you love are impacted by this mental shit?
How do you convince yourself you’re not anxious when in fact, you feel terrified and can’t breathe? Oh, I’ve utilized the STOP sign thing ad nauseum. Occasionally it works. Most of the time…Not so much. (I even elaborated by assigning it a meaning SERENITY TRANQUILITY OFFER PEACE.) I printed out pictures of stop signs and put them on all bedroom walls and the ceiling. I count backwards in odd numbers from 1000 trying to center myself. I envision an old fashioned thermometer and all the red drains downward, releasing the stress. Then I start at the bottom, coloring it blue in my mind as I relax from feet upwards…I have tried everything, including having my blood chakras aligned.
So when it’s implied I somehow expect pills to cure all, I get hostile.
I am frustrated to be doing everything I am supposed to be doing yet none of it is proving fruitful.
Makes me wonder if the prozac just ain’t cutting it anymore.
Or maybe adding the focalin changed things. Then again, it wasn’t doing much before that thus the other doc increasing it then this one decreasing it. I’ve got such uneven levels by now it’s again putting a Snoopy bandage on a gushing gunshot wound.
The more I think about it, the worse it gets. The more I try to distract myself, the worse it gets.
I’ve been through the therapy/shrink “you’re just not trying hard enough” spiel. Because living in a dark joyless depressive abyss is EXACTLY what I wanted to do with my life. I CHOSE it.
Do they even know how idiotic they sound at times? Live it then talk to me, professionals.

Coping mechanisms. Cognitive behavior therapy. Talk therapy. Light therapy. Exercise.
NOTHING is helping at the moment.
I know it will pass. The gray day, this chest cold, my kid being bullied, plus all the flux of the meds…It’s no wonder I’m scrambling to get my bearings today.
Will tomorrow be any better?
I’ve found that things can suck yet if my mind frame is solid, I’m not as affected as I am when feeling fragile. And admitting fragility makes me cringe because I am actually a very rough and tumble person. I’d rather move my own furniture than ask for help. I’ve got no issue lugging around heavy tvs. I used to put boys in headlocks at school.
I’m not fragile.
Except when I am.
And it’s horrid.
Accept the things I cannot change, that line pops into my head a lot.
I can’t change the way I feel today. I’ve tried and I have hit the wall. It’s just not happening.
Rather than beat my head against a metaphoric wall…I guess I’m just going to go with the flow and ride out the storm. Again.
Which fills me with the ignorant spewage of professionals “you must not get so wrapped up in your illness that you fail to recognize the patterns and try to change them.”
Oh, sages, do tell. How do I recognize patterns if they’re ever changing? How do I even begin to get my feet under me if the ground is a neverending escalator?

I seriously question how helpful some of this therapy stuff is. Cognitive actually made me regress. Being told to suck it up, even in an elegant psychologically correct way, is not helpful. Wanting to be better and actually getting there are two different things. Telling people desire alone is going to change things is asinine. And the positive attitude vomit…
It has all just lead to me feeling even worse, like some loser who can’t do anything right. Like some whiner who simply isn’t strong enough to change.
Yet when I see how much I have grown and changed…
It reminds me the professionals get things wrong all the time. And one size does not fit all no matter what they claim.

Plus they haven’t met my family. My dad stopped by today and promptly yelled at me for not raking my yard. When I dared explain the chest cold thing, he told me he didn’t have time get sick and whine. Then his woman told my kid to quit being a sissy and stand up to the bullies.
The empathy overwhelms.
It does not motivate in the least. If anything it just makes all too aware of how I have no support system whatsoever.
And then I realize how much I am a product of my family. I will endure excrutiating pain rather than go to the hospital. How long before this results in me dismissing something as “whining” only to learn had I gotten help sooner I wouldn’t be dying.
I am doing it to my kid. Though she is a hypochondriac. I take her to the doctor and stuff, but I don’t coddle her every time she gets a bump. If she sees me spaz out, then I am going to imprint on her to spaz out.
I am trying to be different.

It’s just…how can anyone not see how much turmoil I have swirling about me. Trying to balance single motherhood, multiple mental health diagnoses, a limited income and no support system but lots of criticism…It would be too much for most people to handle, let alone someone juggling a corcucopia of mental disorders. I’m not whining. I’m not using my disorders for an excuse.
But seriously…
Cut me some fucking slack.
I’m doing everything I am supposed to be doing. I am sick of being blamed because I seem to be treatment resistant.
Least I am making a damned effort, not that those around me would ever acknowledge it.
I wanna run away from home. Take kids, cats, and just leave this fucking place. And I’ve come to terms with this shitty town. I hate it but it’s my comfy old pair of shoes. I know they’re gonna have to be replaced but…I like being comfortable.
The family though…Toxic motherfuckers. They may love me in their own way but if I were weaker, they’d have driven me to suicide as fast as the mental crap.
Getting away from them would probably be better than shock therapy.

Just gotta find a good samaritan to donate relocation funds. Oh and decide where I’d want to go. Because I am in indecisive mode, I’d need someone to tell me. Then I’d resent them for it.
Fuck.
I can’t even fantasize properly.
Mental shit even has to butt in there.

Something’s gotta give. I can’t keep putting cute little Snoopy bandages on mortal wounds. It ain’t working.
But hey, at least I am consistent in my fucked upness. The focalin is helping but now the prozac is fucking off.
Whack a fucking mole.


No Overloading the Rosa

It is only within the past couple of days that I have been able to see any kind  of real improvement without major backsliding.  I have been **gasp** calm today, even in the face of really dumb arguments and an empty jar of peanut butter.  I have only cried twice and I slept almost three hours uninterrupted.

A tiny bit of clarity is in my thoughts today, and for that I am grateful.  I attribute it to the countless years of DBT with Goddess of Mindfulness and the very small piece of me that has been able to resurrect some of that in my life the last few days.  A small kindness or simple yet firm decision can go a long way.

My simple yet firm decision (that I have come to with surprisingly little angst) is that I must get back on a schedule, and do things that make me feel better, more grounded.  One would think that, having lived with bipolar disorder nearly my entire life, this would have come to  me sooner.  Well, it didn’t, or maybe I wasn’t ready to do it.  But now I say “no.”

In the next week, I will eat dinner before 8:00P and take meds by 8:30P.  I will read and blog and work on new art projects (charcoal drawings, thanks to stepmom Karen).

I will stay out of stressful situations.  I will not interact when I don’t want to, and I will not force things  because I “should” and other people want me to.

I will not talk about why I don’t believe in God, or my theories on ISIS, or watch the local news.

There will be no overloading of the Rosa, just soft and easy with myself and my time.  It will work this way because it has worked before, and because I say so.  Not a lot of willingness in there, but sometimes getting through the first steps means being the opposite.


Filed under: Daily Tagged: anxiety, Bipolar, bipolar disorder, blog, blogging, change, DBT, depression, distraction techniques, distress tolerance

Invega Sustenna & Yoga

Well, a lot has gone on since I updated last. The snow has stopped and the temperature is rising!

My mood has been good, no episodes, out of the horrible mixed episode I was in before (probably why I wasn’t updating) and no psychosis. However, the Piportil depot injection was giving me EPS (extrapyramidal symptoms), some involuntary twitching and movements, stuttering and bad akathasia (inner and outer restlessness) so my pdoc switched me to Invega Sustenna.

I like the Invega Sustenna because it’s every 4 weeks, rather than every 2, and goes in the arm, not the glutes. I had my first shot Friday and had some mild sedation after, nothing bad. I have to go to the injection clinic at the hospital, not my GP anymore, which kinda sucks, but the nurse there is great. She’s very nice and very thorough.

I had to do a lot of paperwork before the first shot (a loading dose of 150mg, next week I go for a second loading dose of 100mg, then it’s 100mg every 4 weeks) to make sure I understood. My pdoc confirmed that I have schizoaffective bipolar disorder, with a “fair” prognosis, which is good. Could be worse.

The shot was pretty easy, left my arm sore (it’s still a bit tender today, Sunday, but nothing major) and no side effects so far. The main one is to watch prolactin levels, but they didn’t go up on Risperdal Consta, which is worse for that.

I had a complete meltdown on the phone with my mom, and she suggested I try yoga. I live above a yoga studio, we share the same building, so I went in for a free trial class in Gentle Yoga (I have to be careful because I have a torn rotator cuff). Everyone was so nice and welcoming. The oldest man there is 92 years old! He’s a singer. He welcomed me right away and chatted my ear off. He’s awesome!

I found after the first session I was very relaxed after and so I signed up to take 2-3 classes a week. I’m going to Meditation & Bliss yoga next Friday and Gentle Yoga on Monday. I sleep better on yoga days, and its teaching me some methods on how to stay calm and relax. I got a lime green yoga mat and some gray pants, and purple leopard print pants. I enjoy it a lot.

I’d upload more pics, but my laptop is broken, I just backed everything up and formatted and reinstalled Windows 8, so I’m running on the bare bones until my replacement gets here. It’s been two weeks and no replacement. Not happy. It took me 16 hours on the phone and 6 escalations to get them to send me a new laptop.

Plus, a technician came to fix it, they had given him the wrong part, and the keyboard (which is toast) can’t be fixed on site. The tech told me if I sent my laptop in, they’d probably just replace it. He didn’t show up on the scheduled day, didn’t call, and then showed up on the Sunday (6 days after I made the first call) and didn’t fix anything. He tried to get me to work for him, but hasn’t emailed me the specifics (it’d be web design) and told me he’d never buy a [brand name removed] device. WOW, this guy is a real winner…

Also, I’m having a contest on my other blog. Check it out here at Craftasaurus Rex.

I started riding again, the weather has gotten better. I missed it all winter!

Cheers.

I Was Gonna Spew Some Sunshine…

So, yeah, I found some cutesy pics on line and thought, Hey, how about instead of bitching and moaning about how life sucks, you spew some sunshine and piss out some adorable little puppies…
Fuck optimism.
And if you came to this blog expecting some deep meaningful post…Today is not your day. This is pure venting of emotion.

So my mental state…Yeah. I wore the same shirt for two days. I haven’t showered since Thursday. I haven’t worn make up in days (and I am an eyeliner whore so this is not a good sign.) I have some sort of chest cold causing me to hack up a lung every thirty seconds and it hurts like hell. Kept me awake most of last night when I really needed to sleep because I was so fucking pissed off.

I let my kid play outside yesterday. And she was so excited when two new girls came to play on the swingset. I thought, awesome, she’s happy.
Next thing I know she’s outside bawling her head off.
These two demon children who used to basically live here during the summer are telling everyone in the trailer park my kid has head lice. And their parents have banned them from playing with my kid, perpetuating this blatant lie.
Now I’m tough, I’ve been lied about and ostracized my whole life. I have a “fuck off” attitude, I don’t have time or desire to deal with ignorant, if not downright stupid and evil people, who’d do something to a hurt a 5 year old.
So there I am trying to console my crying daughter, all the while plotting the demise of these heathens and their trailer trash parents. (And yeah, trailer trash means more than living in a trailer, it’s how you conduct yourself and lying about children is trailer fucking trash thing to do.)

My kid NEVER had lice prior to hanging out with the devil children.
Then suddenly she gets it five times. Because their dad was too busy playing video games to be bothered to keep the kids home while they left that script lice stuff on for 12 hours while the mom works. So I don’t don’t doubt for a second the kids may have been passing it back and forth.
Guess what?
Kids get head lice. It ain’t the end of the world, it isn’t a sign of being dirty. It’s just a nuisance part of being a parent.
But my kid hasn’t had lice in seven months. The school would not allow her to be there if she did nor would it have been missed at her doctor’s appointments.
I get “consider the source” and all that. But when someone spreads blatant lies, I take offense and I damn well have the right. Making my kid cry is unacceptable. Five years old already being bullied and gossiped about and shunned.
Why? Because the devil girls have idiotic parents. And I know it’s the parents. Actually, I’ve never seen the dad, not sure he even exists. But I talked to the mother a couple of times, told her how her kids ripped my daughter’s bedroom door off the hinges. She didn’t even say a word, just turned away.
They loved Spook even if I started to despise them being here 7 days a week, 10 hours a day. I’d send them home, they’d come back. Like a scourge. They stole my kid’s toys, they were constantly demanding food or just taking it, they ripped a door off the fucking hinges twice, busted the front door frame and broke a window trying to get inside when we didn’t answer the door. Then one day the youngest brings a tv dinner down and asks, “Will you cook this for me? Dad won’t wake up.”
She was six.
And her sister, two years older, has to drag her everywhere. Six and eight years old, wandering a trailer park at dark…
So when I say these are shitty parents and demonic kids…It ain’t anger talking. It is fact.
I was happy when they stopped coming around. There was a rumor going around that I was a lesbian ‘cos I dared have a female friend stay for awhile (omg, it’s proof positive someone is gay!) and apparently the other trailer park parents found this unsavory. Then came the lice epidemic for two fucking years off and on when the demon girls came around. God, I hated to see my kid lose friends but I felt like I won the lottery when they went away.
40 years I never once dealt with lice. They bring it around and now they’re the ones out spreading lies about my kid, telling other kids so they shun her, and making her cry.

GRRRRR. My blood has been boiling for sixteen hours now. The parents are too ignorant to even bother talking to. And their mother is a raging bitch who enjoys fist fights so I don’t even want to be bothered with her. The kids, well, they are kids, and they believe what their parents tell them then they spread it around so other kids and parents believe it.
This is breaking my kid’s heart and I feel impotent. I know I can’t protect her from reality and kids can be mean but shit. She’s FIVE. I was expecting this shit come junior high, not fucking kindergarten.

So yeah, that’s my obscenity laden disjointed rant. And I don’t apologize. I’ve noticed lately a lot of mental health bloggers are apologizing for writing long posts, rants, et al and ya know what? I don’t. I am not sorry. No one is forced to read my spewage. If they choose to and take something positive away, good.
This blog is as eclectic as my personality and for every logical post I write that gets an ass ton of likes…
There will be ten of these.
Mental purge is necessity.
Popularity is not.

Days like this I just really want to blast Slipknot’s “People Equal Shit” from a stack of amps.
Picking on a five year old who only wants to have friends…
Disgusting. The human race is disgusting and vile sometimes.
And if I seem judgmental or offensive…
By all means tell me what the positive side of someone spreading lies and making a sweet five year old bawl her eyes out.


Mr. Fix-It

Him: I just groomed the cat. I used a cat-a-comb.

Me: *total silence*

Him: Hey, honey! I just groomed the cat – with a cat-a-comb!

Me: *more silence*

I was depressed, and he was trying to cheer me up. Using exactly the same joke that had gotten no response only seconds before. I don’t know why he thought it would work better the second time.

Many men have the instinct that, when confronted with a problem, they will try to solve it. When something is broken, they will try to fix.

I wasn’t broken, exactly, but I was deep in the Pit of Despair, aka the lower mood swing of my bipolar disorder. At that stage I am immobilized, uncommunicative, and utterly humorless.

The fact that Dan had worked in hospitals and psychiatric facilities was actually a bad thing, despite what you might expect. He had run laughter therapy groups, he knew the jargon, and he sincerely wanted to be helpful.

But he didn’t know – viscerally – what depression was like. How it felt in your body and mind and soul, how it damped down your personality and blunted your reactions and removed your ability to view life as anything other than miserable. Certainly not funny.

Later Dan learned all this when he experienced his own bout of clinical depression and became another one of my Prozac pals. But until then, he would occasionally come shrinking at me, until I had to tell him to stop. I could accept a hug, but not a joke or a “remedy.”

But all that was early in our relationship and before I had begun to heal or even get proper treatment. And I literally would not have made it this far without Dan. I need him and likely always will.

When it’s Pit of Despair time again (which it sometimes still is), he checks on me to see if I need that hug, or some food, or a kind word, or just to be left alone. When I am better, he still does the cooking and shopping, and reminds me to eat regular meals and take showers and tells me I smell nice after I do. Sometimes he can coax me out of bed with a tape of The Mikado or out of the house with lunch at Frisch’s. If I’m too nervous to drive to my appointments, he takes me. When I’m together enough to work, he keeps the house quiet and fixes food when I need a break and validates me for being able to bring in money, even when it’s difficult.

But he can’t fix me. And now he knows that.


Filed under: Mental Health, Uncategorized Tagged: being overwhelmed, bipolar disorder, bipolar type 2, depression, husband, marriage, mental health, mental illness, my experiences, support systems, working at home

Tardis Floral Dance

Not my garden, but possibly my favourite flower

Not my garden, but possibly my favourite flower

“… and we bring you Beltane’s flower. For the May Day is the great day …”

-“Cup of Wonder“, Jethro Tull

WordPress thinks I misspelled “Tardis”. It didn’t like “TARDIS”, either. Plus, it looked like I was shouting: “Tardis!“. As though one had just landed, here in Donny.

Didn’t want to get your hopes up.

What does an idiot’s time travelling box have to do with flowers, or dancing? Or, indeed, May Day: also known as “Beltane”.

These hawthorn flowers were photographed on my way home earlier today. A friend called them “May flowers”. It’s April, but trees are notoriously forgetful when it comes to buying calendars, and diaries.

Hawthorn, or "May" flowers: Doncaster, April 2015

Hawthorn, or “May” flowers: Doncaster, April 2015

I saw two bees yesterday: one was probably a bumblebee. The other may have been a wasp. Bee populations are declining in the UK: not just due to squashings by the nervous, but by our changing countryside. At least, that’s the theory of the Bumblebee Conservation Trust.

I am a Gardener of Good Intent. Last year, I spent more time in my garden than I had for years. Sadly, I didn’t do much planting: I mainly wrote, and fed and watched these chaps:

Impressionist impression of a magpie: July 2014

Impressionist’s impression of a magpie: 2014

Not so many magpies, to be honest: we mainly get sparrows, blackbirds, collared doves, blue tits, and robins. I enjoyed watching them, and also counting them , as part of the RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch.

How much cooler, though, to watch them from one of these:

Doctor Who exhibition: Cardiff, 2007

Doctor Who exhibition: Cardiff, 2007

As I wrote in a previous blog, I am hoping to build a Tardis writing shed one day. Which will be great for bird watching, and writing, but means a little bit of existing green space will have to go.

I don’t have a Tardis – functional, or otherwise – yet. So, whilst I’m accumulating the dosh, and skills to build one, why not make the garden a bit more bee-friendly?

I bought this:

Note the word "easy"

Note the word “easy”

I can hear the blackbird shouting – okay, chirping, but in a rather shouty way: honestly, you’d think he was a starling – as I write this. It can take me awhile to come round after a night shift, meaning he and his Missus haven’t been fed yet. I suspect he’s a feeling a bit aggrieved.

“Time and tide wait for no man,” as the Seventh Doctor observed. Time to brew another cuppa, and get ready to face the day, the birds, and that garden.

Enjoy the day: whatever the weather, and wherever you are. May your Sunday be as restful, or as busy, as you wish.

Yellow tulips: my garden, 2013. They are not quite ready to bloom, this year.

Yellow tulips: my garden, 2013. They are not quite ready to bloom, this year.

 

When Anxiety Strikes

I’m a bit grumpy lately — I’ve had some really stupid severe anxiety spikes. Like, one I would have called a full-on attack, even if I didn’t have the racing heart or anything. It was just… really elevated anxiety for several hours with no root cause (and that all the chamomile tea in the world wouldn’t touch). I keep telling myself that this too shall pass, but yanno… wish it would pass faster.

I think the culprit is likely the upped dose of sertraline (Zoloft). I vaguely remember that when I started taking it, I had a month of really gross physical and mental feelings. I could probably go read back, but I’ve not really mustered the spoonage for that. When I restarted after Littlerbit was born, I didn’t have any problems. It started doing its do pretty much right away with no period of ill effects. I think. I’m pretty sure. Does that make sense though, that it could be making things a bit worse temporarily? If it doesn’t start calming back down in the next week or two, I’ll probably call the psychiatrist… if I can find the spoons to deal with the phone. I hate phones.

I’m also aware that this is about the point where everything got on top of me after Littlebit was born in 2009. While I’ve not felt particularly postpartum-y atop my normal mental state, it seems possible that I could be experiencing a similar peak of crappiness. I know, every pregnancy is different, blah blah, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be annoying similarities.

Ah well, at least I’ve got one of my favourite addictions to help me cope until it passes, so woo for that. Counting the good things, yanno? :)

Hope everyone is well out there.

<3

Your just too nice!

i just learned from a co worker that I might come off “too nice” Well if she saw me with no medicine then she understand why I’m too nice” or “too friendly”. It takes me a lot of be nice or friendly that when I am I don’t know that others might not understand or […]