- Getting Ready for the Trip
- Homelessness Avoided…Still In Limbo
- Is Time on my side?
- Saying Good-Bye Well: Part 2
- When Panic Arises From Basic Stuff
- “Crazy and insane” comments from an NRA spokeswoman
- Still Trying
- Two Bipolar Chicks Accused Me Of Hacking Them And That’s Not Cool
- Penny Positive #61
Daily Archives: May 5, 2017
To describe it as torture would be an understatement. It’s mental anguish. That feeling. That worm that digs and digs into your skull, trying to make it’s way in. It’s taking over my brain again. I can feel it. Twisting and turning inside my head. It’s almost painful. I’m grinding my teeth just to distract … More I Wanna Do Bad Things With You
My 18 year old son did something stupid. First, a couple days ago he and a friend decided to drive on a road that was partially flooded from all the rain we have had. Then the water was higher when they came back and so of course he tried to drive through it anyway and got his car stuck. Now we don’t know the whole story. Only bits and pieces that he has shared that we are pretty confident isn’t the whole story. Anyway, yesterday they decided to go back and try to see if they could get his car out of the water at least and then get it out when the water goes down. And we are talking about 6-8 miles. We still aren’t sure how far down it was. So they left their car where the sign was that the road was closed and proceeded to walk through the water. At 8 or so I guess they stopped at a guys house and my son uses his phone to call my husband and tell him they were out there. Leaving out how much water and how far they were going. At 10pm the man whose phone my son used called my husband to say that the boys were last seen in very high water and that he had called the sheriff. But thought that we should call them as well. So he did that and we called family to let them know they were missing. My husbands friend came over and took him out to where the car was. By this time they had sheriff, state police, and game and fish out there looking for the boys. We got the call about 130am that they had found them but were having a hard time getting to them. They made it home and my husband said my son stuck his head in the door and was like “well operation get my car failed”.
Really?? I mean really?? That’s what you have to say. We talked to them this morning and when I told my son that I thought he was dead floating in the water somewhere. And that I had pictured him in a casket, he acted like it didn’t matter. He doesn’t seem to understand that this was a BIG deal. One of his friends has been staying with us and my husband told them they could both get out. I don’t know if that’s the right decision but I can’t stop picturing my baby floating in the water. And this is where the obsessive thoughts come in. I know I am supposed to be happy and overjoyed that they are ok and safe at home. And I am. But mostly I am stuck. I can’t stop thinking about how bad it could have been. I can’t stop seeing my baby in a casket. I can’t stop being mad at him. What a stupid stupid choice. And I just can’t seem to let it go. I have a rock sitting in my chest that won’t go away. And there’s no medication in this world that could take this away from me. He’s my baby!
I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened. I know it’s not good for me but when I can stop thinking about that then I just so mad at him. I have told him over and over that if anything ever happened and I didn’t know what he was doing I would be so mad. Well, he told us what he was doing but definitely didn’t make it seem as big a deal as it was. We went this morning and looked at where they started at and as far as you can see the road is covered in water. And not just a little bit of water. It was at least a couple feet deep and probably much deeper as they moved further into it. Why?? Why would they think that was something they should do? I don’t understand. And I don’t understand why they haven’t said I’m sorry. Or we shouldn’t have gone out there. All they want to do is tell “their” story. But the thing is that doesn’t matter because they never should have set on foot in that water to begin with. And I had just talked to them about how scary flood water is. It can get higher in a matter of seconds at times. I TOLD them how scary it can be and that you never know what can happen. And yet they walked right past the road closed sign into the water and proceeded to walk miles down the road. I can’t let it go. I’m sure I will eventually but I just can’t. I am so mad and I am so disappointed and ashamed. He made a bad choice and he doesnt car or think he did anything wrong.
I’m stuck. I’m stuck between to scenarios that both make me incredibly angry. I’m stuck because I can’t stop thinking about how he could have been dead. I have always wondered how people live when their children die. And I am hear to say that I got close enough last night. I would not be able to keep living the life I am now if one of my kids was to die. I can’t let it go. I can’t be joyful. It’s making me even more sad. I just can’t get past the anger and the stupidity of their actions. I can’t get past the fact that I don’t know how many people where out looking for my child because he made a massive mistake. I haven’t heard I’m sorry or we learned our lesson. All they want to do is tell their story. It’s stupid and there is no story. You should have never set foot in the water much less when it is starting to get dark and you know you have a long way to walk.
I can’t stop them. I can’t let it go.
I’m sorry this was repetitive. But I just can’t let it go. I’m sure I will one day not too far down the road. But those images will still be there. I know there will be times when it comes flooding back. I won’t be able to get rid of those thoughts. They will hit me out of no where and I will be frozen by them. I don’t know how you are supposed to forget thinking that your child was dead and that you have to bury them. I am so sad. And I am so mad.
I hate that bipolar makes me latch on to things. It’s like once I get it in my head I can’t get it out. It’s there forever. I don’t know if anyone around me really understands that. I don’t say the things I say just because I want to talk. When I tell you that if something bad happens and you lied or I didn’t know where you were I am going to mad. I don’t WANT to be mad. But that’s what happens. And it takes a few days before I can talk about it without being mad. I hate that I am this way. I want to change it. But how do you change thoughts that come out of no where. Your rolling along and BAM it comes back full force and you feel it all over again. I guess I will stop here so I don’t say the same things again and again anymore.
Thank you for reading! And as always be blessed today!!
I have a confession: since the election, instead of meditating first thing in the morning, I’ve been obsessing over the news.
It’s a terrible habit. I can see the negative effect it has on my bodymind. I need to Just. Say. No.
Problem is, this is not mere news voyeurism. This is eye-opening, consciousness-raising, holy-fuck-what-could-they-possibly-be-thinking revelations about the minds of My Fellow Americans.
Here, from one of my favorite medicine/science/tech news outlets, is a revealing piece on what a few handsful of voters have to say about the new “repeal and replace” iteration that has just passed the House.
For all y’all who hail from ports afar, this is about the current Administration’s effort to purge the government, and by extension the health insurance system, of “big government.” What is Big Government, you ask? From my observations, it seems to mean “any regulations that protect consumers and/or the environment.”
Here, give this article a read if you have a moment. It’ll provide a bit of thought material for when you read the anecdote that follows.
It was a busy evening in the ER at the Crossroads of Life and Death. I shuttled back and forth between my domain in the Pediatric Emergency Department and the general ER, pinch hitting the “simple” cases so that the adult ER specialists could attend to heart attacks and strokes.
A guy in his late 30’s had fallen off a ladder while cleaning the gutters on his house. Unfortunately, he landed on his bum, causing two of his lumbar vertebrae to pancake together. The neurosurgeons were wheeling him to surgery, but the prognosis was grim: they did not expect him to walk again.
His wife was huddled in my arms, weeping uncontrollably. He had been laid off from his skilled factory job (no unions in that town). They were patching things together, with their two oldest boys–they had five–and the father, growing a landscaping business, just starting to climb out of the hole. Christmas was coming, and they had no health insurance.
“It can’t get any worse! It can’t get any worse!” She chanted this over and over. I tried in vain to comfort her, or at least shut her up, because I know one thing very well: it can always get worse.
It got worse right then.
The special radio that communicated with the ambulances crackled to life, giving us a quick briefing on the critical patient they were bringing us.
A 17 year old white male, motor vehicle accident, multiple major trauma. This was my case, since he was under 19. I peeled the poor lady off of me, apologizing, and ran to get the trauma team ready. Readiness is everything in the ER.
He was banged up, all right, and needed lots of attention from the surgeons. I got his vital signs stable and turned him over to the OR team, then stripped off my blood-soaked outer gown and wandered back into the main ER.
The unfortunate wife was still there, now huddled in the arms of the social worker. Uh-oh. The social worker was only called in at night when there had been an unexpected death or some similar disaster. I strolled over.
The wife saw me and burst into even more violent sobs.
“Y-you know you s-said it could always get worse?” Her voice edged on hysteria. “That boy you just worked on. That’s my oldest son!”
I still tear up when I write this.
She didn’t have to say another word. I knew exactly what was driving her panic.
Her two breadwinners, smashed up, facing long hospitalizations, surgeries, rehabilitation, long recoveries.
Her other four kids, the youngest in kindergarten.
Their home, nearly paid for…but not quite. They would lose it.
Their fledgling business, down the tubes.
Bankruptcy, in those days (the 1990s) highly stigmatized, especially in the ranks of skilled laborers.
Public Assistance. Their children would be ostracized.
Medicaid. At that time, there was only one doctor in town who accepted Medicaid patients. His waiting list for new patients was out the door and around the block.
This is why we need universal health care.
Medical disaster is the #1 trigger for personal bankruptcy. This is not due to “poor planning,” as some of those in Washington (and many voters who, justifiably or not, feel financially secure and don’t like to share) like to preach. There are literally thousands of ways to plan very well, only to have disaster leap out of hiding and gobsmack you.
If you doubt that investing in America’s health, and by that I mean the health of ALL Americans, is “good for business,” consider this:
Healthy women make healthy babies. Healthy babies require well child care. Healthy children grow up to be healthy adults, who require much less healthcare spending than do sick adults.
Healthy adults enter the workforce, where they contribute to the economy, resulting in a net gain in productivity, which will offset the initial investment in their healthy childhood.
After this initial investment in maternal-child health, at some point there will be a small percentage of children and adults who have congenital or acquired conditions, such as diabetes. With appropriate healthcare, many conditions are so manageable as to make their economic impact negligible–but only with active management. The flip side is a deficit both in functional health and productivity.
Health is wealth, in the words of my late grandfather, a tradesman who became disabled, lost everything, and never recovered.
Health. Is. Wealth.
Is that not a simple concept to grasp?
So I spent last night throwing up. I’ll spare you the details. But I took Zofran and it’s stopped. But I don’t think I’m going to be worth anything today. I need to get a little laundry done and will see what I can do up that line this afternoon. Bob was wondering if it might be the meds and I said I don’t think so. I’ve taken Klonopin at theses levels before. We just think I got into something that made my stomach turn.
So here I am, essentially DROWNING, in a depression that has carried on far longer than a year and my current med regime is barely managing that (the Wellbutrin increase has done nothing to help with the crippling seasonal issues still in play due to the cold rainy weather)…And my shrink’s office calls the other day to tell me the doctor will not be in on the day my appt is scheduled later this month so they are putting me with the nurse practitioner.
WTF? That is as good as saying, “Meh, you’re not doing so bad, you don’t need an actual doctor.”
No offense to the nurse practitioner. I know many of you I speak with have gotten your visits and meds from psych nurse practitioners. This is just…a first for me. And because I have had only ONE mental health day in ten days in which I wasn’t essentially on shut down due to the weather enhanced depression…I’m feeling pretty dismissed here, logical or not.
This comes after the doctor twice informing me during our epic 15 minute long visits that all my years on the dreaded Seroquel have left me with a tardive dyskinesia thing of my lips. I never noticed it and it was never picked up on at the other place where I got stupid Seroquel and as inept as they were, they actually did do the testing for it every three months. So now he drops this new condition, a gift from my ‘fixes nothing but gives your more problems’ pills, and says he’s very excited about a new drug still being tested that in six months he wants to give me if the data is good…to fix the tardive dyskinesia twitch. The one I didn’t know I have or don’t even care about because HELLO, CRIPPLING CLINICAL DEPRESSION THAT HASN’T ABATED MUCH IN OVER A YEAR!!!!
I am let down, frustrated, and honestly after last night’s political vote on killing the ONLY good parts of so called “Obamacare” and the good old boys’ celebrating with a beer party the fact that they’re essentially punishing women as being female is a pre-existing condition, being mentally disordered essentially means you’re not entitled to care, period and should probably just be shot so they can have a damned Cristal party afterwards…I’m ranting. These are scary times. I despise discussing politics and besides, my views aren’t really a secret. My father is pretty much Trump minus the tan and money, that mentality is just universal and I don’t care what political party it belongs to. It needs to die in a fire.
The fact that I was okay in my former political ignorance but am now drawn into it because the powers that be me managed to make it uglier and more evil sickens me. Healthcare should not be some hot button, it should not be considered a luxury, having ovaries shouldn’t bar you from free choice, and oh, THEY STILL WANT VIAGRA COVERED BECAUSE A STILL PENIS FOR GROSS OLD DUDES IS WAY MORE IMPORTANT THAN MENTAL HEALTH CARE OR CARE FOR FEMALE CONDITIONS.
Just makes me even uglier to talk about it.
And the sky is falling in my personal corner as well because R apparently got his new dream job but wants to keep the shop going thus..I’m the whipping boy expected to sit and occasionally deal with a person with an actual brain but mostly go into a coma or rage due to idiocy and oh that thing where being in the dish around people totally renders me function-less. For smokes and to buy my kid’s school pictures. Stellar. And to add to my punishment I woke at 3:30 a.m. in a panic still traumatized from being at the shop on Wednesday for 7 and a half miserable hours with my kid there due to early dismissal…I haven’t been able to write. My sleep is fucked up. I have stress heart burn that won’t go away.
I am not doing well.
But that’s okay, throw a nurse at me right when I need to try a new anti depressant especially with my long history of bad reactions and side effects. This is gonna totally help me. Insurance people might have a beer party because nurses cost less than the shrink, I suppose. Hell, maybe this will be one of the world’s little twists where the nurse is more competent than the doctor. It’s deviation and I am feeling weak and I don’t like it. And not really being given a choice other than waiting six months to see the actual doctor…Makes it worse.
And this is BEFORE they’ve managed to upend what tiny bits of decency were in the original ACA. Does anyone know how truly screwed we are?
IF I were in a non depressed non seasonal affect place, this all would annoy me, piss me off a little, maybe even make me want to jump in the ring and maybe sign some petitions or join a march against all this ignorance and idiocy. But because I am mentally sick (yes, SICK, like the flu, food poisoning, Lyme disease, all those non fatal things that still render you unable to function properly and the world gives you a pass because it’s physical, but mental sickness, pfft, doesn’t exist.)…I am coming unhinged and feeling scared and vulnerable and uncertain and I can practically hear Trump in my head telling me I really should just kill myself because soon he will be so powerful he’s just gonna kill all the mentally ill anyway.
Sounds crazy and irrational, doesn’t?
BING BING BING, we have a winner. I AM MENTALLY SICK.
Fortunately I am also a sarcastic bitch with a morbid sense of humor so even while Trump is whispering at times…it’s totally the SNL Alec Baldwin version. So accurate and not really over embellished. Funny douchey Trump in my head I can live with.
And for the record, I am not gonna kill myself for anyone. I’m holding out in hopes all my meds and side effects do it for me.
I’m doing that ‘being a dreamer thing’ wrong, am I? Frick.
Originally posted on Dream Big, Dream Often:
Let me ask you a question…if more people knew about the?quality of your content, that you are willing to engage and that you are interested in helping to support the blogging community, do…
Let me ask you a question…if more people knew about the?quality of your content, that you are willing to engage and that you are interested in helping to support the blogging community, do…
My new gig is PT…24 hours…3 days a week. I used to work full time, probably more than full time. Its day 3. I’m done with my first week. I have friends who are my new bosses that support me. They set me up with a work area not heavily monitored by the cameras. At least they are not in my face and infiltrating my mind. What a blessing.
I feel quiet and distant. I guess just feeling out my role. I carved out this new position and expectation is high. Perhaps assumptions are high. Though I come to this agency with a lot of knowledge, Its still a new position. Which I think I can fulfill, eventually. Perfectionism casts a wide spell and I am certainly a sucker. I want to impress. I want to succeed. I want to be all things to all people. NOW. But, that gets me into trouble. EVERY! TIME!
So, I am trying really hard to take it slow. Ask foolish questions. Relax. Enjoy the ride. That’s not easy for me. I’m a need to know person. Need to know where I fit in. Need to know my role. Need to know ahead of time what is expected of me. Those things are not a given at a new job. I brought my calendar into my supervisor’s office and tried to secure dates and times of things..anything. I don’t think she is holding out on me. Rather I think she doesn’t know quite what to do with me. How to train me. Guide me. We are getting to know each other in the process. Which is fun.
I see old habits already forming. Not leaving my desk for lunch. Not going on breaks. Not taking walks. I am aware. I will address this with myself. I will!
When you have made the calls
And sent the messages, the texts, the emails
That you feel are only the truly fair ones to send
And you still end up alone in your full mind
With it buzzing away and you not being able to reign it in
You turn to your list of “coping skills”
There is a brief moment where you feel hope
But in your gut, decidedly, you can sense the pointlessness
It is in this position that you find yourself, once again
Full of words, with no one to spill them to
In a situation where you would feel it is fair
To release all of the blackness into another’s ear
And so you sit with the feelings
Because wise ones told you if you rolled with the emotion
Rolling like a wave
That it would go away.
With time, apparently, though who knows how much.
Filed under: Collection of Thoughts Tagged: anxiety, bipolar disorder, busy mind, coping skills, depression, isolate, no release, racing thoughts, reaching out, this too shall pass, withdraw