Monthly Archives: July 2018
When you create a definition of transgender that relies on gatekeeping, the door is wide open for friendly fire.
Honestly this is not some boo hoo woe-is-me post, I just couldn’t come up with a better title at the moment. I was too lazy to eat when I woke up so I thought, I’ll do the mood stabilizers later after I do eat but what can it hurt to take the Cymbalta now while I am thinking about it…Well, the hurt is in my gut which is now burning like a mofo, something that was never a side effect when I took the same in the past but now suddenly it is a random thing. As if my burning stress stomach aches and lowering myself to take Pepcid isn’t enough, then playing the “will the pills make me puke or not today’ lottery…Just what I bloody needed. GRRR.
You can spew all your sunshine and wave your pompoms in my face and tell me what works well for you and it’s all about a positive attitude but you know what? It doesn’t change the fact that MEDICATION SIDE EFFECTS EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE JUST PLAIN SUCKS.
In a surprise twist the other day after being assaulted by some well meaning but ’caused traumatic flashbacks’ pompom waving…I felt like a loser for a couple of hours and then I realized no one has my permission to make me feel inferior no matter my failings and hey, that includes ME. I was busy beating up on myself because I’ve not found my magic cocktail of unicorn farts, medication, and meditating on clouds made of cotton candy I forgot the most important things of all: we are all different. And I really need to get the stick out of my ass because I suck at being given advice, I take it way too personally and in doing so, I close my mind to some positives I could take away from it. I totes want my uicorn fart magical cocktail but until that happens…I’m gonna keep doing me.
And I surprised me because after the loserpalooza mental state kicked my ass long enough, I started moving around the house. Not because I wanted to but because I was pissed off, because I was sick of beating myself up, because damn it, I am fighting as hard as I can and the pegacorns aren’t barfing rainbows on me so I may as well do something. I folded 7 baskets of laundry and attempted to find a place for it all thus making the middle room look less biohazard-y. (It is very challenging to store things when YOUR IDIOTIC HOUSE HAS NO CLOSETS,FFS, whoever designed this place was a fucking moron.) I cleaned cat boxes, tried to clean floors (epic fail without a working vacuum and fans blowing dust everywhere you just swept or dusted, grrrrr.) The humidity that day was so high I had sweat running down my back, indoors, with the AC. 93 outside, 89 inside, what a joyous life. But I got shit done and it felt good. Hypomania always does, though I sure do miss my full blown mania and oh those delicious but lethal diet pills that kept me looking pretty and so energized I could run 56 hours straight but that’s a story for another (never) time.
I zonked around midnight, only to be wakened three times by the rioting cats who don’t do diurnal…I had a nightmare I jolted from at 4a.m. and could not get back to sleep. So I tried boring myself to it by watching, oh dear god, Martha Stewart glazing a ham. (The horror!) Fail. By 6 a.m. I was doing dishes, counting time til I had to take my kid to my mom’s for her sleepover and outing. Which meant by the time I got my ‘me day’ I spent most of it sleeping because I hit the hypomania wall and when I did wake up, I was up til after 2 a.m. and too tired to do anything I had planned because when planning it, I had assumed I’d be well rested instead of my cycles all fucked up.
Today I am edgy and grumpy. My kid is off to St. Louis with her cousin and his girlfriend for her first ever trip to the zoo. And selfishly, I feel pissed off about it. I want her to be happy, but I feel pissed off that my nephew doesn’t work, doesn’t pay a single bill, his girlfriend just had to resign from her job before they fired her, and still they have all this money to drive so far away and go to the zoo and feed my kid (after they took her out of town shopping last night!) and it’s just not fucking fair that I do all the sacrifice and hard work and I can’t even be included in the fun stuff she gets to do. Me, me, me, I know, but is it so wrong for a parent to want to be with their kid doing the fun stuff? It should be a memory for mom and daughter but no, I’ve got every cent tied up keeping a roof overhead so…
So I am feeling left out and petty and at this point…I’d just be happy if I could afford a damn pizza from Marco’s. Everyone takes Spook out to eat, to swim, to shop, and I am always stuck home, can’t even spring for a damn McDouble. Boo hoo, right? Well, newsflash:parents are people,too, and while we are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary for our kids to be happy…
Some of us selfish bastards would still like $13 to get a damn delicious pizza.
But knowing my mental state and how the meds are wrecking my body daily..I am glad she has others who financially able to give her what I can’t. Honestly, some of my fondest memories of childhood aren’t of amusement parks or zoos, they’re just the mundane daily things, like playing with a dog, or running through a sprinkler and having ice cream after. Of course, I’m not vapid and my kid kind of is, so her memories will involve everyone but me cos they all have money to do the fun stuff. I won’t begrudge her that. I’d probably have a mental breakdown if I was even sitting in a car in St. Louis traffic (sure would love to see the snakes though, such beautiful creatures.) I still think it’s bullshit that my cousin and his girlfriend don’t have to pay for food or a single expense by living off my mom and my sister. But then isn’t that how everyone views me, living off disability…Difference being, my money isn’t going toward happy fun ball stuff. I prioritize and my kid comes first so if her having food means no trip to the zoo and I’m a downer…so be it.
Really makes me think of everything my parents sacrificed for me and my sister when we were kids. How little they got out of life other than working to pay bills and keep us clothed and fed. Not to mention they hated each other and stayed together for our sake (not a favor) so that had to suck a lot, too. At least I am not stuck with an albatross in my home thus ours is a happier home than what I grew up in.
I still want my Marco’s pizza, though. If I can’t have pegacorn barf and unicorn farts…I just want a damned pizza. I’m shallow and demanding like that.
My favorite mental health resources via email (and websites)…
So I sent off a new story yesterday. I enjoyed working on it and had fun putting it together. Hopefully someone will pick it up. and I can get some exposure.
Getting ready to go out to eat with Bob and my youngest for lunch. We’re going to Fannin Mart for fried chicken and country vegetables. So we will enjoy that.
THis afternoon we are shipping out to Biloxi for the last dance competition of the season. I’m still not looking forward to it but I am not filled with dread, either. We will see how everything goes. I won’t be blogging while we’re gone, but that means I’ll only miss one day of it. THat will be all right.
I have to refill some medicine before we leave and will do that on our way to lunch. My knees are still pain free and that excites me every time I think about it. No other way to explain it except that it is God doing a healing work in me. So excited to be able to walk normally!
Hope everyone has a great weekend and gets in some relaxing time with family.
No one would say that they don’t care about the mentally ill, I don’t think. However, it has been proven over and over again that many don’t care at all. I am not going to go through the proof because those of us who are advocates know the hardships those with mental illness goes through and the lack of education and strong stigma still attached to it.
The Congress, the President, the news outlets, our friends, family members, and even our fellow church members would never tell it to our faces that they don’t care about us, but they don’t. It is not their fault as education is key.
Write to your Congressman today and use my previous blog to get our points across. Let’s create #suicideprevention as trending today.
CHALLENGE TODAY: Please help me by Retweeting. liking, sharing my message on @Bipolar_Bandit on Twitter or FB Bipolar Bandit Message: Start talking about suicide and mental illness ALL THE TIME! https://wp.me/p2Ge94-2q4 #suicide #suicideprevention #mentalillness #mentalhealthadvocacy #fotus#potus
And to think I was going to ask if I could lower some of my meds…
I’m still having trouble with sleep. I don’t think I’m acting out much (although I have been spending too much money lately and can’t account for it), but I have to admit I feel a little fragile from the frequent nights of little or no shut-eye. I’m not tired in the mornings after being up until dawn, which is ironic considering that on the nights when I do get good sleep, I feel like a slug the next day. In fact, this morning I popped right out of bed three hours after my brain finally shut up long enough for me to drift into slumber, and went to my appointment with Dr. Goodenough.
I had the feeling he was going to propose an increase in one of my antipsychotics, and that’s exactly what he did. He is still concerned about hypomania even though I don’t think I’m in it right now. I was doing all right during questioning until he asked about racing thoughts and money. Oh, shit. I have admittedly spent a not insignificant amount of time dealing with hypo in one manifestation or another since mid-March, but I thought I had a handle on it. It’s like pinching a balloon or trying to contain a generous booty in a girdle…no matter where you squeeze, it’s gonna come out somewhere else. The spending is just the latest thing. I’m not kidding: I’m broke and it’s still a week till payday. I’m NEVER completely broke, or at least I wasn’t until recently. But there’s about two or three hundred bucks gone this month that I can’t explain, and my credit card balance is going up too. What the hell??
So to nip this in the bud and especially to promote sleep, Dr. G decided to bump up my Zyprexa dose from 5 mg to 7.5 mg. Not a huge increase, and (hopefully) it’s only for a week, unless it proves successful and I have to stay on it for the rest of the summer. I didn’t want to raise the Zyprexa. I want to be on fewer meds and smaller doses, and I’ve been thinking for a while that I would ask to at least come down on some of them. But I seem to be headed the wrong way. I was even going four months in between doctor appointments, and now I’m back to monthly again. Not that I mind seeing him, I just mind what more frequent visits and med adjustments stand for.
I hope this does the job and I don’t have to stay on the higher dose. I’m worried about weight gain, and Zyprexa is notorious in that department. I wondered aloud why we couldn’t increase the Trazodone (sleep med that does absolutely nothing), but he reminded me that it’s actually an antidepressant and could throw me into mania if I were to take more of it than I do now. Well, duh—I should’ve known that. Sometimes I wonder where the hell my nurse brain went. I used to be a walking encyclopedia of pharmaceuticals; now I can’t even remember that basic information. I have to call next Wednesday to report on how the med change is affecting me, which is going to be difficult because I HATE calling psychiatrists. Dr. Awesomesauce used to complain about this a lot because I always waited until I was desperately ill to call him. I guess I’ll just have to do better about that. Besides, with any luck I’ll be back to my normal Zyprexa dose in a week.
In the meantime, I just took the extra Zyprexa and I’m starting to get sleepy. I haven’t slept worth a crap in several nights…let this be the night that it all changes.
Thanks, Doc. I think.
What an appealing title, right? Who isn’t going to break a finger clicking to read this! Actually, I just need a good purge so whatever I write here will be…word vomit. And ya know, sometimes it’s a lot like being physically ill where the last thing you want to do is throw up but once you do…you start feeling a little less putrid? That is what I hope this post will do for my mental state, which to be honest, has not been good at all, thus the ‘long time, no write’. And yes, if I go more than 2 days without posting, it usually means I am in The Bad Place.
Over the weekend The Bad Place hit hard and I was swallowed up by blackness.
Looking toward the legal proceeding with the donor and how the judge will likely grant him visitation even though he hasn’t so much as mailed the kid a birthday card in 7 years or asked about her when faced with my family members (most of whom seem to side with him cos they are from that antiquated ‘children should have both parents’ mentality, which, in this day and age is absurd…Ideally, yes, kids would have both parents but in this case…I don’t think rewarding abandonment is the right move. ) But once the darkness hit, I started thinking maybe it’d be in her best interest because I am a shitty mom, always down or up, always jumping at every sound, unable to socialize let alone work…Maybe they should take her from me because, plainly, I suck.
And thank pegacorn I’ve been on this hellish hamster wheel long enough to know depression is a blatant liar and distorts the truth. My kid is healthy, happy, creative, smart, we’re very bonded, and she’s got her basic needs met, always.
But then that bastard depression starts whispering, pointing out all my failures, as fluffy and vapid as they are.
“You’ve never taken the kid on a vacation once in 9 years.” “You can’t afford to sign her up for the sports she wants to try.” “You buy her second hand clothes because you’re such a loser, you can’t even work and earn minimum wage to buy her new stuff.” On and on and on it goes.
Then come the Really Bad Thoughts, the ones telling me that she’d be better off if I were simply dead. That I am a hindrance, that I am a bad influence, cos hey, I don’t work and she knows it’s not normal and points it out frequently. I look at all my damn years of meds and doctors and therapists and I’m not any better now than I ever really was. The only change has been in me, as a person, in my personality and thoughts but if I can’t ever escape the bipolar depressions, it’s all been for nothing. I’m an albatross for this vibrant little girl.
I rode out 4 days of those thoughts poisoning my system. Lived only for sleep, which is still interrupted and plagued by nightmares and the dread when I wake in the mornings.
I know I had a brief ‘up’ when the Cymbalta first start working but when the doctor made no changes and left me hanging 3 months before an appointment with yet another new nurse doc…I just feel like they dropped me in a war zone with access to water and military rations, but nothing else. I am stranded in this shitty place and will be for another month at least. And knowing how that place works, there’s a good chance I might even get bumped for someone ‘not doing as well.’
I don’t know how much more ‘not well’ I could be doing to have the dark thoughts lurking and stalking me, to feel so lethargic, stressed, hopeless. This is better than 4 months ago, but after gabapentin and Effexor giving me such horrendous side effects, the bar for better is set pretty low.
I am still juggling the stress of living so close to my dad. Even when they leave us alone, I just live in fear they’re gonna crash my limited safe space. (Conversation with normal person:”Thanks for mowing our lawn, we appreciate it.” “You’re welcome!” Conversation with my dad: “Thanks for mowing our lawn.” “Yeah, you need to be thanking us!” Lack of basic manners totally sets me off!) I keep trying to convince myself it’s not so bad here and yet every time we are in town my kid sees a friend from the trailer park or her old school, she gets sad, I get sad, and realize…We had no choice and we’re making the best out of the hand we got dealt but this is never going to be our home. It’s is my dad’s town (he even knows when I go to the gas station cos it’s such a tiny town and everyone talks) and…I called living in town a cess pool and the petri dish but it was OUR space, our privacy. Now…Armpit just makes me feel exposed and even though my dad’s not footing a single bill or buying us groceries, I feel like we’re depedent on him. Which is ludicrous and yet I fight myself tooth and nail to change my mental state and…FAIL.
Today I took my poison, er, meds, with milk…and got so sick. I ran to the bathroom 4 times in 10 minutes, I was dizzy, nauseous, my head was spinning and…I’m sick of it. I’ve never been a pot user but the more people I talk to who are fed up with the psych meds not working but pot seems to help…It’s not the road I want to go down, but I sure as hell understand why people are going down it. The medi-go-round is the ultimate test in constant aggravation and frustration but I’m not giving up hope. It has, occasionally, gotten me to a good place mentally. Besides, as I recall from youthful dabbles, pot just made me sleepy and if I wanted to sleep all the time, I’d go back on Trazadone, least keep it legal.
But yeah, that’s where I am. Word vomit. Purge complete.
Finally broke out of the low period and am back to feeling better. Getting ready to pack for the dance competition and getting everything together for that.
Got up basically on time and have been rolling along. DId laundry and what not this morning. Haven’t done a lot of other stuff; just talked to Bob and it’s slow where he is too. So we are waiting for him to come in for lunch.
Got my textbooks in the mail yesterday and will be looking through those soon and see if I can get any ideas from them for the class. I am looking forward to classes starting and will see what all I can get done. We will see how all that goes in August.
Need to run and do some things this afternoon. Soon will be ready for lunch. HOpe everyone has a great rest of the week!
I got to feeling worse and worse as yesterday went on–I finally had to take a Xanax to get my thoughts to stop spinning around. I feel some better today but not much. I am getting ready to put all my new CD’s in the stereo and listen to them and see if I can cheer myself up. I don’t know what the problem is.
Later this week we got to Biloxi for a dance competition. I’m not looking forward to that– I am sick of the schedule for dance and do not want to go to three days of it. I just hate it.
Next week I will be busy following up with doctors so that will keep me busy. I just wish I knew what to do with myself the rest of the time. I am so tired and sleepy; I had a bad night snoring and kept Bob up so that wasn’t any fun.
Maybe I should go ahead and take another Xanax in case it kicks back up again. We will see.
Hi. I’m back. Well this is awkward. Akward? Awwkwaaard? I don’t know how to spell it. Leave me alone! Sorry, I should probably give some context. I’m extremely depressed. I need help. I got a new job a few weeks ago and in my hypomanic attempt to be the best employee possible I think I … More Depressed