Daily Archives: May 27, 2016

Husbands

Usually they mean well in everything they do, well the good ones anyhow. However my hubby thought it was a great idea to shut my blog alarm off before we watched the last of Supernatural.

So I did not post yesterday, I’m frustrated but really there is nothing you can do if you miss something. Just try to be more attentive to things.

Today I am feeling tired. I dunno why I slept my normal 10 hours. I am just super tired and bored.

I’m out of weed, not stopping, just out.  Which is also frustrating.

So I’m sleepy, frustrated and bored.

Sorry there is nothing interesting to read today.

 


Ten Days In Lockdown Part V – Throwback

This week I’m doing things a little differently. I’m doing a throwback every day this week. This is the fifth and final post of a five part series originally posted in March 2014 regarding the ten days I was in lockdown. I felt the need to post again. If you missed earlier posts, you can […]

The post Ten Days In Lockdown Part V – Throwback appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

The Ward

In the mental ward, you find an assortment of people like you might find anywhere else—what we had in common was how unmanageable our lives had become.  This last hospitalization was no different.  I remember one I’ll call Katy, with the dreamy look in her eyes and short blond hair, had substance abuse issues.  Some were suffering from schizophrenia, borderline personality, or unipolar depression like Jackie, who was grieving the loss of his fiancee to suicide.   And there was Carson, an older, tall, dirtyblond-haired lady in the grip of paranoid delusions about her children, her ex-husband, and the co-workers she had over the years.

A few caveats.  I have never been in facilities that housed violent individuals.  I have never undergone shock treatment.  I have never been through drug and alcohol rehab, that not being among my problems. And I have been committed against my will only once.  So I can’t speak to some things that others may have experienced in those situations.  But I do know my own experience.

The first day is always suicide watch if you come in with suicidal thoughts as your complaint.  That involves checks every 15 minutes for 24 hours.  If you stay out in the patient areas where the nurses can see you, it’s not too intrusive.  But I wanted to sleep.  That was one of my most aggravating symptoms—the sleepiness that no amount of sleep could fix.  But I kept trying.  So I would walk down the hall to my room to sleep, only to be checked on within five minutes or so.  Usually it was just a tap on the door and my responding “I’m okay,” would do.  But at night, they’d open the door and let the hallway light into the room, at times waking me up.  And I’d just get back to sleep when the inevitable tap came again.

We interacted with each other, the nurses, the psychiatric techs, and social workers during my stay.  During one session of expressive therapy, the jovial heavyset crafts lady asked us to draw our problems as mountains and draw our schemes for overcoming them.  I drew angry black, brown, and red mountains topped with jagged snowcaps.  I labeled them “depression”, “anger” and “anxiety”.  “Anger” was the largest as it was my anger at myself that had driven me to the hospital this time. I colored in green grass at the bottom of the mountains and myself on the right side of the paper, having climbed my way there, in my favorite red dress and red high heels.  Other people drew butterflies and flowers at the tops of their mountains.  Katy drew herself in full camping gear halfway across her mountains.    We then showed our pictures to the class and explained what the images symbolized.

I remember finally being able to go outside into the restricted park area after two days because the rain had finally stopped and the air had warmed up just a little.  I heard Katy breathe, ”This is heaven.  Thank you, Jesus,” as we walked outside to the fresh air.

This visit I wound up in several domino games, both with experts and novices.  A young guy I’ll call Johnny schooled me on “jailhouse rules” while we played the regular way, with him scoring fifteen points for every ten I scored before him.  I learned how to tell a novice from an expert—a novice stacked up their dominoes on the table with the dots facing inward, while an expert held four in one hand and three in the other against their knuckles facing outward.


Doing It Right (Granny Style)

When kids play games, they usually play school or house.  They rarely play pharmacy.  I’ve actually never seen anyone play pharmacy.  Maybe that is because it’s not very fun.

Lately I’ve felt like I am playing pharmacy.  I have an impressive collection of bottles that almost completely covers the navy blue tiles of my bathroom counter.  There are fat bottles, skinny bottles, orange bottles, blue bottles… (Where was the Dr. Seuss book about this?  MISSED OPPORTUNITY).  Every night and every morning, I pick up each bottle and take “one of these, two of these, a half of this one…” etc.  It takes forever.

If any pharmacies in the area are robbed, I hope no police officers check my bathroom.  I’d be a person of interest faster than you can say Xanax.  They might just skip the questions and arrest me on the spot.  No one could possibly have that many legal pills (right?).  It doesn’t help that some doctors give me three months of a prescription at a time, so then I have stupid amounts of pills lying around even if I’m only taking one or two per day.

I’ve been resisting the inevitable, but I think it’s finally time:  I’m going to have to do pills granny style.

When my grandma was alive, my mom used to go to her house every Monday morning at 9:00 AM to “do her pills.”  That meant taking grandma’s personal pharmacy of pills and sorting them into easy-open compartments separated by day and time of day so that when grandma had to take her pills, it was just POP! – open the plastic flap and there you go.  All of the pills in one easy spot.  She didn’t have to play counter top pharmacy games every day.   Her pill container looked like this:

pills

Now, that is very handy and nice for grandmas, but I’ve always felt like you should hold a genuine AARP card before needing to buy one of those.  I’ve told myself, “No problem.  I’ll just sort out the pills as I take them.  Not a big deal.”  The problem is that we have a beautiful bathroom counter top, and I CAN’T EVEN SEE MOST OF IT.  Plus, when I’m trying to dispense my own pills at 6:30 AM, half the time I’m still all bleary with Einstein hair and feeling angry at the world for existing so early.  I’ll frequently pour too many pills or accidentally drop one or two on the floor (then subsequently put them back in the bottle because – hello – ten second rule, and also it’s too early to think about germs).

Basically, it’s time to bite the bullet and go granny-style with pills.  It will save me a lot of time, it will clear counter space, and I’ll stop accidentally eating dog hair from my bathroom floor.  I started shopping on Amazon for a good pill container, and I tried to find a hip, non-ancient-person looking one.  I tell you, fashionable pill containers do not exist.  Why can’t being crazy also be kind of cute?!  This is unfair.  I’m going to create a line of stylish pill containers, and all of my mentally-awesome blog friends will buy them.  I’ll sell them to psychiatrists for distribution.  This could catch on, y’all.

Until then, I’ll use a dumb granny-looking one.  I’ve decided I’m also going to put a gummy bear in each pocket. I hate taking pills, but I feel like I can’t possibly be that mad when I open the container and see, “Hey look!  A gummy bear!”

Wait a second, that’s kind of like when my parents used candy to potty train my sister, isn’t it?  I am using candy to make myself form positive habits.  Oh boy.  I’m a granny, but I’m also two years old.  Faaaantastic.  My life is strange.

Here’s to you, Grandma K.  Let’s rock these drugs old-school style. Maybe I’ll even do my pills on Mondays just to be like you.


Light, Tunnel, End, Not a Train

Oh, that elusive day where the brain cooperates, the body follows suit, and everything doesn’t seem like a pointless vile shitstorm. Light at the end of the tunnel and it’s not a train! Who friggin knew it could happen?

Nothing fabulous happened today. Nothing catastrophic, either. The cats ran out of food and I ran out of smokes…Rather than hit the R panic bell…I sold off my complete set of Nightmare on Elm Street movies. About two hundred bucks worth of movies…he gave me five bucks. Oh, well. Got me what I needed. Hadn’t touched the movies since Bex was here almost two years ago, anyway.

I’ve been running a free daycare all week. Today, blessed be, K’s mom put out a slip and slide and had all the kids down at her house for three hours. I needed the break. Of course, the brats still came back here, full of demands for foods and guilting my kid when she didn’t sneak behind my back to get it for them…Awful children. I know some say normal for kids of that age, but I say awful. Maybe my momster and her “don’t EVER ask for food at someone else’s house!” traumatized me.

Since the kids were elsewhere and my mind cleared…I kicked ass and got shit done. ELEVEN baskets of clean but unfolded laundry finally folded and  put away. I did dishes. I vacuumed. I cooked dinner. I don’t feel half bad, either, even though typhoid devil kids returned to haunt my yard.

I think maybe the trauma of the car breaking down then my dad going off on me put me in this “precipice” place. I have shut out my dad. I am not dwelling on the Grand Am needing moved. Plus, the shrink agreed to be less conservative and bumped me to 40mg prozac for two weeks, then up to 60 for another two weeks. He LISTENED. I am starting to think maybe the times I have my kid with me he’s unnerved or I am. Because this time the appointment went smoothly. He was pleasant, empathetic, understanding, said the people around me are the ones who are stupid if they think I am just flaky and lazy…I am legitimately depressed and disabled.

Validation. One would think it’s such a silly thing and yet when it comes to this mental health bullshit…I need validation. I guess that makes me pathetic. But I don’t need validated in any other area, I simply don’t care how I look or what people think of my style/likes/etc. I guess mental health has so much stigma that the occasional nod of understanding from the professionals makes your inertia seem less crippling.

I don’t have a fricking clue how this shit works. I know for two months that laundry piled up. I’d wash it, dry, but I absolutely could not fold more than a basket before falling down the rabbit hole again. Today…I just did it. It wasn’t my idea of a good time. Housework is evil, I want a self cleaning home. But I did it while the will was there and it felt good.

Now tomorrow if the support check comes and the car is still on  the street (awful that I’ve not gone to check, right?) I have to get it towed…The question is, towed to where? I don’t have much of a drive/yard let alone for two cars. IF the tow truck survived all the fucking craters, er, pot holes here the landlord won’t fill. I can’t have it taken to R’s or his son in law’s. So…what the actual fuck? I have no idea.

What I really want to do is just find some junk dealer to drag it off like I did with the blue Grand Am. I could then just get all my info from the Pontiac transferred to the Buick. Maybe I need a week or two to save up cos normal expenses don’t stop coming just because your car takes a crap…But scrap is down in price and the Grand Am has little metal anyway so I don’t think I could even pay someone to drag it off.

FUCK.

I keep going over it in my head and it makes PERFECT sense to me, but I have been at the mercy of depression brain so long, I don’t know….My dad was the one flipping out about getting the car off the street, right? Doing it NOW. He has nine hundred saved up for work on his house, thus could easily float the fifty dollar tow fee for three days…Yet he does not even offer and drags R into it and screams at me like I did something wrong….

When a week ago he was wanting to unload the Grand Am and telling me to save up for something better….

Now mom is offering me the something better….And he’s pissed. Does that seem like senility to anyone else?

I should stop trying to figure out any member of my family. I just need to end this Grand Am fiasco and move on. Keep them out of my business and if the car needs work, go to R or a mechanic. Period.

So in a nut shell…today didn’t suck.

Will tomorrow?

Weekends usually do as that’s when I have to deal with my family. Even in small increments they are like drinking arsenic. I’ve built up immunity but one day that lethal dose is gonna come.

See? I’m a ray of sarcastic sunshine even when things aren’t absolute shit! It’s a gift.