Daily Archives: June 26, 2015

243

Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA:

Been there…..It’s been a rough go for both mange and my now-adult child, but it helped me understand how people with lesser inner resources could, in a flash of desperation, hurt either their child and/or themselves. All of that outside chatter, plus no supportive family, makes navigating the rough seas of an inconsolable baby plus depression more than impossible for some people–and most often, it’s not the mom who loses it, but the father or significant other who “just wants that kid to shut up.” The situation can get out of hand very quickly, and sometimes ends in tragedy.

Originally posted on depression comix (WP.com):

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Read at depression comix at http://wp.me/s3zYhM-243

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The Exhaustion Of Making Nutella Sammiches

It sounds so asinine and lazy. Yet I swear the simple act of making my kid Nutella sandwiches makes me exhausted. It’s so daunting, and then I see all the other shit that needs done around the house and I just want to curl up into a ball of denial. I keep muddling, it just doesn’t get any easier.

Another hard night trying to get to sleep. After three hours of trying, I took half a Xanax. Big mistake. Had a bitch of a time getting up this morning. I was awake, I just couldn’t pry myself up. Even my kid nagging at me wasn’t helping. Or the demanding bladder. This is the problem with taking anything to sleep, especially taking it later on at night. Turns me into a sloth come morning. I am still batting the cobwebs off my brain. Spook is amped up to eight today, constant demands, questions, why why why, mommy mommy mommy. She wants to see the new kittens. I’ve been telling her for three years the mama cat will shun the kittens if they are handled too soon. She doesn’t care cos she’s a kid and it’s all about her. I normally don’t mind just letting her look, but she’s being such a redundant batter ram about it, my heels have dug in.

That’s okay. She’s torturing me with that singing Elsa doll again. I hate my mother and sister for getting that damn thing. Must admit, when she had the doll kissing Pantera, talking about them making babies, it was mildly amusing. Oh to have that creativity and whimsy back in my own mind…

I thought a day of recovering from the dr appts and dish time might revive my give a damn. Sadly it’s still broken. I am forcing myself through the motions. Cooking that meal I promised R as his birthday gift. His wife called last night and they’re having problems setting up their upgraded DSL box so I am gonna pop by and see if I can help her figure it out. My mood is not conducive but what the hell. Gotta force myself to function, otherwise I am non compliant.

I submitted my disability review paper at the end of February and still haven’t heard yay or nay.To say it’s nerve racking is an understatement. But they did this last time, as well. Sent the papers in October, didn’t get back to me til February, had me see their doctor, then another six weeks waiting. I don’t think they know how detrimental this waiting game is for people. I’m kind of the “rip the band aid off” type when it comes to anxiety inducers. The longer it takes with no word, the more paranoid and anxious and doomsday-y I start to get. Having heard from people who got canceled out…It’s daunting and probably why I’m having constant stomach aches (which go away with a glass of milk, so it’s obviously stress) and random ninja attacks of panxiety. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. What else can I do except try not to develop a bleeding ulcer.

Last night around six p.m. I got hit with a crushing wave of paranoia and anxiety. Total fear. And no trigger. I was reading a blog, and bam, freak out ensued. Every bad thought possible flooded my head. My breathing became labored, my stomach churned, sweat covered me, I started breaking out in hives. I took Xanax when all the mental calming techniques failed. It passed but I cannot stand it when that shit happens.

I’ve been told that maybe my anxiety stems from my obsessively watching crime shows and horror movies. Actually, I find that soothing. The real monsters don’t wear masks or wield machetes. They look like your neighbor, your teacher, the guy you used to date. They can be charming and good looking and educated. It’s not like they have “sociopath” tattooed on their foreheads. I watch that stuff to better understand how people become killers. How to recognize little signs of sociopathy. LEARNING. And rooting for when the bad guys get caught. It’s odd how people can go into forensics and no one calls them a ghoul. But simply because I didn’t choose it as a career yet still find it a fascinating topic, especially the psychological profiling part, I’m some sort of sicko.

So much bullshit. When I have nightmares, it doesn’t involve Jason Vorhees. No, my nightmares involve people I know, or personality types that set me off. I dream about my tumultuous relationship with my family. Their criticism, their lack of support. My failed relationships because no one can see beyond my flaws and realize, I am not a monster. Maybe I’m ass backwards. But to label it a dysfunction pisses me off.

I watched one last night where these three teenagers killed their friend back in the 80’s. And guess what was blamed? Heavy metal and it’s pro satan messages. Oddly, I love metal and I’m not a satanist. Blame the music, movies, tv, video games…Never blame the parents who don’t teach their kids the difference between fiction and reality. Oh, and those kids were hopped up on angel dust and acid, but nope. It was that evil heavy metal music. Is it any wonder we’re doomed. Mentality like that just ignores the real problem.

Okay, off my soap box.

Time to face the day. Ugh. Getting dressed seems like so much work. Pasting on the smile. I’m exhausted already. Pathetic yet true. This is the side of depression people have no ability to relate to. Being exhausted for no physical reason.

I could be a member of the cast of the Walking Dead for all the signs of life I have now.


An Expert at Misery

 
These lyrics spoke to me when I was only 16 years old. 

Lyrics By Will Holt from “The Me Nobody Knows”

Hard to tell you how I feel 

Everything is so unreal 

Lord, this life is a hard thing to get to

  
Saw my shadow on the wall

Saw my love nowhere at all

Saw my life as a hard thing to get through
When you’re born, they carry you 

When you’re gone, they bury you

In between, you’re on your own

Hard to stand there

All alone

Someone crying down the hall

Dying cries, they tell it all

Lord, this life is a hard thing to live

And harder, still,

To leave

 

Pills

You keep hearing bipolar people talking about going off their meds for whatever reason–they hate the side effects.  They hate losing the productivity of mania.  They hate the way the meds make them feel.  They hate being dependent on them.

It’s the same thing with any chronic disease.  Sometimes you just get tired.  Diabetics want a cheeseburger.  So do heart patients.  AIDS patients get tired of all the pills and their side effects, too.

But I never have had the urge to stop my meds because I know where that leads.  I’ve had enough depressions and downright SCARY manic episodes that I don’t want to take any risks at all.  I’m in a good place right now, and although the sleepiness gets the best of me at times, I know what the other side looks like.  I don’t want to live there again. The paranoia is the worst thing for me–fears of all kinds that overwhelm me when I’m in an episode.  I can’t live like that, or I’ll find myself back in the car with the motor running in the garage trying to go to sleep forever.

I may not be at my best anymore, but I’ll take anything better over feeling my worst again.  And that’s why I take my meds everyday around the clock exactly as prescribed.


We Should be Angry

bpnurse:

This is an excellent piece by someone I know from another bipolar forum. Read it and see why we’re so angry some of the time. Thanks!

Originally posted on Bipolar First Bipolar Together:

It occurred to me that I might sound angry in some of these posts. I can imagine that most of you would understand that anger but that someone from the outside might remark on it in some way. They might think an angry tone to be undue, unnecessary. Perhaps too extreme. Perhaps they may even think in their head “see those Bipolar people are so unhinged, always over the top.”
But I’m not going to apologize for it.

Nope.

Seriously?

Why WOULDN’T I be angry?

Sometimes anger is a good motivator. Especially if it is a JUSTIFIED anger.

Perhaps more accurate words would be indignation or outrage.

Because there is no hostility in my anger. It is mostly outrage.

I find it outrageous that there are people trying so hard to get help and the system is working against them.

I find it outrageous that people in crisis are made…

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Gone for the weekend…….

road trip

I’ll be off with my daughter for a long weekend.

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See you all soon.

lily