Author Archives: FL Jones

Something Ugly’s Growing Inside…



I don't know how I manage it, but I continue to scrape my useless ass up off the bed around 5am, throw on some clothes in the dark, and go make a pot of coffee. I even mentally and emotionally sort of prepare myself for the bitchiness of a "non-morning person". As if that's an acceptable excuse at this age. There's no point in me trying to sleep through the spouse's 5am alarm and his morning noises anyway, so I get up, even if I'm exhausted, or am waking from a dream, thinking that it's someone else next to me! D'oh! That happens on rare occasion, and I normally don't know who that person is or is supposed to be. I am under the impression that he has begun to resent the fact that I don't (can't) work.

Somehow I managed to get through the wee morning hours with the grouchy ass spouse. Even though he called in to work and said he was going to be late, just so he could take his time getting out of here. He complained about work. Because of the holiday, it's only a 4-day work week.

Something ugly is growing inside, and wants attention from me. I am trying to avoid it.

They were let off early today as well, so I was caught sitting on the couch, still in my post-treadmill stinkiness and mess. At least I managed to force myself and beat yesterday's "record" without a problem. It's getting harder and harder for me to mentally force myself on the treadmill, but easier for me once I'm on it and make sure I'm watching something that will really take me away, no matter how many times I've seen it ("Supernatural" this time). I can't wait for the latest season to come out on DVD, even though I really can't afford it. Put it on the credit card and make the spouse pick up the interest fees as payback.

Speaking of finances, I remembered the last huge statement that one of the psychologists I was seeing (and stopped) sent me, thinking, "what if I fucked up and owed the fucker some money?" So very very very reluctantly, I went through the huge piles of bills again, his pages of statements, and remembered the fact that he cashed the last check I sent. I figured out that it looked like I actually overpaid, and that he owed me money, so I wrote a neutral note this time (haha), and am sending it along with parts of statements he sent me. He's an idiot, and I thing he pretended that he had an accountant in the first place. He didn't look like he could afford such luxuries, especially working less than 40hrs pw, I noticed.

I noticed it was dark this morning, and I realized I could maybe get out in the early mornings again. What's really fucking sad was that the last time I did it alone is recorded on a starschmucks card, showing a transaction from the last week of April! I saw it when I was finally adding some stars to the account, and checking on the value of a card I found. I almost burst into tears, but it was just too incredibly shocking and pathetic. It could be wrong, but probably not. They stopped printing bags with the "free coffee" offer trade-in for the bag. Cheapass motherfuckers. It is still really fucking sad that I can't remember the date that I last got out by myself. It must have been early May, using a coffee bag.

I'm considering going out tomorrow morning, but I really want to make it up the street a few more blocks to the drugstore, to pick up a couple of notebooks for journals since I can't use this computer. It would be light by then, at 8, according to the weather channel hourly reports (yeah, OCD about weather reports and being prepared) and it looks like it will be a bright day. I can't handle that shit, and I know it. I don't know know... maybe with a mouthful of my prescribed clonazepam for the day, a cigarette, sunglasses, ipod, and a hoodie? Who knows. I'll only know how I can do it, or if I can do it tomorrow. Fuck.

I'm off to shower before reading in bed. That will surely knock me out. I'll be up early again, trying not to wake that "something ugly" that seems to be growing inside. Maybe I can drown it out with coffee or distract it by making it outside? I've still got credit on that supid coffee card and need to use it.

Dread. Better go find my solar-powered watch for the person who never goes outside before I forget it's near the window and "lose" it... 




Where Did Our Year Go?

 

Wow. I can't believe I survived another year and have this as documentation. I have also lost the weight I gained from medications and am back down or lower than last year's weight. I should be able to celebrate with some fucking whiskey. The shitty thing is I still can't get outside, and I shake more like a fucking freezing chihuahua again. But I love, LOVE this generic Topomax. It has taken my appetite away, and kitchen grazing habit to comfort myself, or for something to do away, oh so far away!

Everything has shrunk, even my wrists. My boobs have too, now I'm between sizes and fuck, bras are very expensive, folks! I washed a bunch of silly old smaller clothes I used to wear, wore one of the t-shirts to Sin City 2 (great flick!), and I still felt fat. Stupid stupid stupid, I know. I'm down to a size 2, and just as I've always been, I'm still ashamed. Doesn't matter if I get down to a fucking 0, not that I'm trying. I'll still feel like a fucking big fat ZERO. Never call kids or other young people fat or ugly or some other awful thing. It just may stick with them for a fucking lifetime.

I went hunting through dusty boxes of stuff stored in the bedroom, and some drawers rarely opened. I was looking for some machine oil. There should have been some where my sewing machine was stored away. Instead, I found crayons made in Mexico, a tiny plaque of a chihuahua with "pepe" written on it, a $2 bill, a flask shaped like a coffin with a tiny funnel, a fancy solar watch with tiny diamonds, a sharpie, and some jewelry I'd been missing for a long time. No machine oil. I did keep the watch, the sharpie, an old ipod, and a little notepad I found, and made a note of the location of the jewelry. Nothing fancy, just silver, crystal, jet.

I intend to wear that stupid expensive watch I bought while on a manic binge, throw on some black pearls (gift), and force myself outside within the next few days. It's crazy hot in here in the evenings, baking like a fucking oven. The spouse just ignores me, showers, then hits the sack early. Fuck.

"Family Guy" has totally ruined The Cramp's version of "Surfin' Bird" for me.

That damn story about the little 9 year old girl... Parent(s) thought it would be a great idea to teach her how to use and Uzi. Went full automatic, lost control, killed the instructor. Now that little girl will have to live with the fact that she took the life of a man for the rest of her life all because of HER STUPID FUCKING PARENTS. She ought to be taken away from them, poor thing... It breaks my heart... no reason, no excuse... that poor baby... Man, that is abuse. What were they trying to do? Turn her into a little fuckin' "child soldier"? Give her PTSD and god knows what else?!

I skipped the treadmill and was fighting off anxiety and thoughts of PTSD today. Flashes of red. Reminded me of Hitchcock's "Marnie", one of my fave movies of his, and Sean Connery (sp?).

It's a good thing there's no Popeye's in town, otherwise I might just make it there. Those are probably the only fast food commercials that get to me just a little... I didn't bother eating much today. I thought I'd have some veggies and then some extra protein packed yogurt, but I had a bite or 4 of green beans, and just lost interest. Hard to eat when you're not hungry now. It's wonderful. I will be eating something tomorrow though. Yogurt for sure. I need the protein, and it's nice and cold! Wish we had strawberries to throw on top for extra pesticides and flavor. Mmmm...

My cat somehow found my red nail polish the other day, bless her little heart. Now I can finally do my toenails and wear sandals.

Looks like we won't be getting a door to this slumlord's garage/shooting gallery. I think the new job duties of the security "guards" now include cleaning up the garage, and properly disposing of all the used needles. Haven't heard from the manager/slumlord's bitch, of course... Haven't seen the alleged drug dealer that served up the death threat either.

You can't scare a person with bipolar who's attempted suicide many times in the past by threatening them with death! It's fucking hilarious, really. It's more of a matter of the fact that I'm not going to let that piece of shit make good on his threat. That's MY choice, not his, motherfucker. I'm not afraid of some man. I've had the beat down from a man that was supposed to love and accept me. I grew to fight back, and there was no more real fear. I'll never forget that first time I got hold of his belt and hit him with his own belt, the buckle end, and asked him how he liked it.

Long time ago, another lifetime ago. I can't imagine trying to explain all that shit to my kid, or if she'd even believe me. Which reminds me of another thing I found while digging around: a strawberry Jello lip gloss she gave me. It's around here somewhere... :) All I have to do is think of her sweet face and her smile, or me making her laugh hysterically over the craziest thing/voice, and it makes me smile now. Just keep on remembering that face, not the red flashes.

I better hit the sack and get in front of that fan that's blasting in there. Up early, and try try try again to make it outside alone, through the front door, if only for a moment or so. Make time for it, and quit screwing around.


No, Woman, You Can’t Have An Opinion Online

Why can't I get the text to fucking format properly?!?!



First of all, FUCK YOU, JACK! [not you, of course]

A lovely expression.

All I did was simply answer a question, and this is what happens:

Question was something like... "Are you in recovery or recovering from PTSD..."

My simple answer, and most of the exchange will follow. Massive egos can't handle something that is different, something they can't control, something they don't understand. Just because you have extra letters after your name, or call yourself a therapist, let us not forget the massive, but sometimes fragile ego of The Therapist, or The Psychologist, or of many Doctors:

My answer and exchange (name hidden for ego protection):


FL Jones
10:34 AM

Recovering? I don't believe there is a "cure", or recovery from mine.

HIM:
+FL Jones Well, then, I strongly encourage you to keep studying. I treat PTSD, and have
for almost 20 years. It's highly CURABLE, but you have to work with someone who knows
how to do it.

Pay attention to those who are properly trained and schooled, and who have years of
clinical experience. They are they ones who know most.

[note: you have got to be fucking kidding me responding to me as if I had an IQ of 30...]

FL Jones
2:35 PM
Studying? Studying the failure rate? I'd like to meet a therapist who could actually deal with Bipolar, PTSD and anxiety disorder all at once that takes Medicare, is properly trained, schooled, and up to date on MH info and Rx. I've been through far too many failures in my lifetime when it comes to any therapist even daring to deal with PTSD, let alone bipolar. 

There's only so much time you can read pointless misinformation about potential therapists on the never-updated medicare site before your head hurts and your eyes might be bleeding.

HIM
1:12 PM
I didn't say it would be easy. My point is that it's possible.

Bipolar should be managed with your psychiatrist, as it primarily organic. I find often that elements of what is taken to be Bipolar disorder are actually PTSD, and they go away when the PTSD does. As for "daring to deal with PTSD", what do you mean? It doesn't take daring. It takes proper training, some clinical experience, and a client willing to just do the work.

I can't do it for you. I do detect some anger in what you write. That may or may not serve you well. Getting the job done is the whole point. Anything that doesn't help you do that must be checked at the door.

I am reminded of mothers I've met who have a sick child and no money. They are relentless in seeking help, until they find someone who will just get the job done, period. You will have to find this person for yourself.

As for "taking Medicare", the problem there is that the law severely limits who can do that. I've cured more PTSD cases (i.e., no symptoms left - they no longer qualify for the diagnosis, period) than I can easily remember. But I'm not eligible to take Medicare. That's crap. Call your Congressman, your Senator. They are to blame.

If you walked into my office and couldn't pay for my services, I'd take you "on scholarship", with the following qualification: you will do the work or I'll fire you as a client. I expect a fair exchange. I virtually always get it!

Finally, there's this: I have NEVER, repeat, never, had a case of adult onset PTSD that I didn't cure, if the person stayed for the full duration of the treatment (which is not long). I use EMDR and related methods. They work.

I don't know your situation. If your PTSD developed in childhood, the situation is often much more complex and difficult. If you have a personality disorder and have trouble taking responsibility for what happens in your life from this point on, you are going to have trouble getting good results from anyone.

I wish you all the best.

FL Jones 
Time?
Dude, calm down. What I wrote about was frustration with experiences with the therapy I had experienced with my diagnoses, and the system. I don't know why you misunderstood my comments, and decided to take them personally. Resentment and anger is what I find so thinly-veiled in your "response". I wasn't directing my comments at you (at all) as a professional or a person. I never doubted your education, experience, patients' success or even alluded to failure on your part. I wasn't trying to insult you, I was simply describing the failures that I've had in the past with therapists, on my own insurance and Medicare, and how not one of them would stay on or want me to speak on and stay on my particular brand of PTSD issues. I referred to them as "mine", my kind of PTSD. I did not refer to any other description or type of PTSD. I made no mention of the type of PTSD you work with. I only mentioned "mine".

Apparently it does take guts for some therapists to work on PTSD that began as a very small child. The many therapists that I tried hard working with kept shying away from the past, and PTSD. I brought it up time and time again, talked about it, and was misdirected. I haven't been fortunate enough to have anything "easy", nor do I ever expect anything to be easy, especially therapy! Jeebus! Good for you and your patients for their success, I say! I wasn't doubting you, your education, experience or your success with your patients, nor blaming you for the state of Medicare, for chrissakes.

Why is it that when a woman has an opinion, shares it online, on anything, she's accused of being "angry", and gets insulted? ("Personality disorder", etc in your shameful case),  "feminazi", "bitch", "ugly", "fat" etc? All, of which I'm glad to say that I'm not. Why did you feel the need to insult me with an extremely TIRED, totally offensive stereotype of a woman that equates to the "lazy" "welfare mother" stereotype? [note: quoting him] "They are relentless in seeking help, until they find someone who will just get the job done, period."  Dude, I handed OUT "welfare" as my last occupation! It was my job to help other people, I loved it, and love helping others rather than myself, and that is why I did it for as long as I could.  I did not judge women or men, with or without children. I have never relentlessly sought out help for anything from anyone but a job, an affordable place to live, and to be as successful as possible with college and in my jobs as I could, especially working to try to help other people.

I wasn't asking you personally to do anything for me. I do not know where you got that idea and took my comments so personally. If you knew me at all, and you admittedly do not know my situation or me, you'd know that I never ask for help from anyone, or ever even a dime, that I was brought up by a single father that way, and that I am not that ridiculously, weak, lazy, sad stereotype of "mothers I've met who have a sick child and no money", you accuse me of being - so transparently akin to "lazy""welfare mothers"! I don't expect anything to get done unless it's by me, not for me, with my own hard work, own money, blood, sweat, tears, and my own inner strength. A "Gold digger" or materialistic person, I am not.

I have no personality disorder, either, I will add, which is a very sad, shameful, and once again, thinly-veiled way to insult me, especially when I had already stated my diagnoses. The psychiatrist that has seen me for chats and medication management for 22yrs, diagnosed me properly, that has been helping me keep hope, quit drinking, stay alive, and keep up the good fight is Adjunct Professor and Vice Chair in the Department of Psychiatry and Chief of the Division of Psychiatric Epidemiology and Health Services at a university you know very well, internationally renowned for his research, a member of NIMH Psychiatric Health Services Grant Review Committee for 4 years, co-wrote a book on depression self-care, and has received two awards for excellence in teaching psychiatry to primary care physicians, and still manages to take a few patients at a clinic for advising and medication management. So, you might have an idea of why I have high standards in the mental health care department. I have been advised by him to have and keep those high standards as far as therapy goes, and to keep trying, and trying, and trying. I was merely saying that with Medicare, it is far easier said than done.  Currently, this doctor is on leave, because he has become suddenly critically ill. I am very sad but hopeful for him. He has always treated me with absolute respect, and I have treated him the same, not to mention actually trusting this man with the truth of all that had been going on in my life. He is humble, whip smart, up to date, kind, caring, trusting, funny, and a wonderful doctor. He has never been condescending, accusatory, or insulting in any way.

It took me years to seek help even though misdiagnosed as a teen, years to admit that I could no longer work for the state in a position of trying to help others in need, years to apply for disability benefits because I didn't want to ever have to rely on anybody but myself and work to get by, or to be labeled "disabled". I have worked hard for what I have, and even harder to retain my bit of sanity and shred of hope to keep living, and to keep trying to find a therapist that is a good fit for me.

I have always done nothing but take responsibility for myself. I grew up with that as the rule, and a hell of a survival instinct. I also know thinly-veiled insults when I read them as well. Frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself. I guess it's too bad if you felt your ego was bruised. That was definitely NOT my intention. I have lost any and all respect for you that I have ever had.

"I wish you all the best." ;) 
[note:you fucking cuntbag]
If that is not a fragile fucking ego, then I don't know what is. Plus the insults, so unnecessary, so fucking unprofessional. What a cuntbag. 

Oh yeah, PTSD is "curable". Mental illnesses are "curable". Right. So why are we still feeling like shit and popping all the pills they give us? Well, he admitted he didn't "cure" child-onset PTSD. I wonder what kind of trauma he does "cure". "Stubbed toe PTSD"? "Broken Nail PTSD"? The more I read his crazy response, the more I'm thinking his patients are "cured" by just never going back to see that dickless fuckwad. No knowledge of bipolar either. What kind of a therapist or psychologist is that, who can't handle anything else but his brand of PTSD that he "cures"?

HIMshit:
"If you walked into my office and couldn't pay for my services, I'd take you "on scholarship", with the following qualification: you will do the work or I'll fire you as a client. I expect a fair exchange. I virtually always get it!"e

I'd rather see "Dr Mengele" again and piss in a cup, like the alkie/ex-junkie/tattooed whore that he probably thinks I am, like I had to last time when my Dr was out, than ever lay eyes on that bitch. 

Fortunately, I got a funny call yesterday from a cool nurse at the clinic, letting me know that their in-patient Dr is going to fill in for a while, and told me his name. I said "oh, yeah, I remember him very well, he's sooo nice." She says "yeah, and he's real easy on the eyes too!" I burst out laughing, agreed, and told her to enjoy her eye candy all month or so, and that I'll be there for my appointment. If he wasn't married, while I was a patient at that hospital's crazy ward many years ago, I would have been all over him like a cheap coat of crazy paint. Ha! He was fun to actually flirt with, which is something I have rarely done in the past. So so long ago.

Praise Jeebus that I got Topomax (generic), and am almost down to the weight I was at the last time I was in-patient there! It should be a real hoot to see him and how he's aged and matured. Hahahaha! I just want to feel confident in my skin, instead of anxious as fuck, panicky, and losing the weight is supposed to be helping me with that. I just need that push out the door. At least I won't be seeing a complete stranger. That was horrible.

Anyway, I'm getting my ass to bed eaerly. I'll be up at the crack of dawn again tomorrow, as usual.

Moods are pretty stable. I think that last entry was PMSy. I had a lot to be upset about too. Things are going to get better. I hope I hope I hope...

.

Because This Fucking World Stinks



Jim Carroll - People Who Died
(I find this song comforting)



Fuck today right up the shitter. The weather and my moods definitely took a turn for the worse today. Tears, irritation, anger, pain, resentment, disappointment, impatience, disgust, loss, growing more like a caged animal... wanting to just wish myself away from here. It's been too long since I've been outside alone, and I'm so fucked up by it and other things. I need something to improve my mood, because it's all gloom and fucking doom right now, and I don't give a fuck that it's the spouse's b-day sometime next week. What he deserves is a slap across the face, and a video playback of how he's treated me and spoken to me in the past few weeks. He's lucky he still has all his body parts.

I don't even want to see him tomorrow morning, that's how pissed and disgusted I am, so I won't be getting up as early as he does, I'll wait until he leaves. I don't have the stomach for anymore bullshit from anyone tomorrow. Any disrespect, any fucking bullshit. I'm cutting people off with silence or absence, or both, if I can swing it. I still haven't managed to get out alone yet, but I'm being pushed.

I hope it rains. I hope it pours tomorrow. Another summer thunderstorm to match my growing chaotic emotions that have been stuffed down and held in for too long lately.

What a way to die... and no, it's not Robin Williams - may his pain finally be gone.

That's me! Spreading my jolly positive messages of joy with my plastic happy face mask on, right after I've taken my meds!

Nein, Doktor! Nein!



 And fucking blogger isn't cooperating. I don't have the patience to fix this. I have
tried 3 times already and everything looks normal from this end.

As usual, it's taken me forever to get back up on the horse and ride. Write. Whatever. The
last thing I've been working on (and still am) is restoring my computer and trying to find an
antivirus program other than the free norton one that is offered free with $hitcast, so that
they know everything you do. The other problem with that is that after some research into
some files that were installed after I deleted all my stuff, and allowed (mistake!) the
spouse to "restore to factory settings" or some shit, I found that M$ plants trackers in your
computer to log and monitor any use of tor browser! I've been accused by the spouse of being
"too paranoid", But I wanted to drop $hitcast's "free" norton because they dig into
everything you own, everywhere you ever go, or what ever you even touch. Some pretty nasty
stuff.

I like my privacy. I would like to be able to turn on my computer and use it without
thinking, even that the internet is turned off, reports on every single key I hit are being
compiled, readied for transmission to the Computer Overlords, especially when you use tor
browser. Some reports are sent to an email address there as well as a prestigous "ivy league"
school. Some are encryped with some plain old english sprinkled in, some are directed to
write in python, which I believe you can learn off a famous school's website for free, to ID
the software user, and basically spy on them for no good goddamned reason. I never gave my
permission for that, nor did I see any mention of tor browser in any "user agreement" you
FUCKERS. Also, they infect your computer with google shit, so I would scour your computer for
that shit if you don't want that either.

Since my memory is shit, and I wiped so many programs, shortcuts, files and docs I had on the
desktop, it looks naked now, and I'm afraid that if I do remember what is missing, that I
won't be able to install it, and have a fear of downloading it, especially without any kind
of antivirus program. I sure as hell don't want to ask for help in doing these things because
he already fucked up my reset by not even asking me my preferences, just wanted to act like
he knew what he was doing.

Another reason why I don't like asking for help...

Bad news... my shrink suddenly came down with cancer and left for a really unspecified amount
of time... So far I've had to see Dr Nazi, who treated me like a common criminal that just
crawled out of the gutter, and made me take an alcohol/drug test just to get a refill on my
clonazepam for my fucking anxiety, that I have been taking for AT LEAST 10 YEARS, and have
not abused, but FUCKING NEEDED! DU SCHWEINHUND DUMKOPF DUMBFUCK IGNORANT SHITBAG! Take a course on psychompharmacology, you stupid cunt! I am not a drug or alcohol abuser, nor am I am idiot, fucking condescending Nazi cunt! I did not just crawl out of the fucking gutter with a needle in one arm, a cig in one hand, and a vodka martini in the other, dickhead!

I'm lost without my old shrink for meds for a while, and I feel so terrible for this man
that's been so good to me, so respectful, and trusting. A world-class dude. He would not give
up on me after all this time! The clock is ticking for me to find another shrink for the same
purposes that either knows him, that he has recommmended, that I can afford, that I can get
to easily, that won't talk down to me, that will keep me on the same meds, as they seem to be
working very well as appetite suppressants! Also, keeping the mood swinging down, the anger
and rage I used to feel is totally gone, at ALL times of the month. The only thing I notice
is I get a little weepy for a second or two at that time of the month. I did cry about my Dr's situation, because I honestly care for that man.

I get irritable, but not as bad as before at all. Things have just changed. I still have had
no anxiety attacks, except, I have noticed I am more anxious in the car than I used to be. The
sun has kept me inside, however, and by order of spouse, the death threat from the suspected
neighborhood drug dealer has kept me out of the garage under the building. So no trash or
recycling for me. Also not a good idea to be around in the side/entry of the building, with
the amount of non-fans I have who might want to pick a fight with me. And they are guys. I'm not afraid of those cunts. My old man was bigger, heavier, and louder than them. But we won't go there right now...

Fuck $tarschmucks, their fake fucking bullshit, their fake fucking Starbuckspeak. I do not
want to support that shit anymore, even if I have to suffer to go somewhere else. I want a
real fucking cup of coffee, not some overpriced frou frou shit with some stupidass name that
some fatcats sat at a table thought up, laughed about, and decided to inflict upon americans,
after creating and inflicting the english-american language Starbuckspeak upon the people.
And thou shalt learn it fluently, lest their "barista" bitches (male and female) shit their
pants should someone dare or or err in their order of something in non-Starbusckspeak! They
just may write up about you, calling you an "idiot" or worse, and write about their side of
the story in a site on Livejournal. Yes, that's what I have heard, or read, at least. I'll
use the place as a public toilet if I need to, and nothing more. There's gotta be other
places, like one hidden in the alley that's got plain old drip coffee like normal people used
to drink back in the day, wifi, and maybe an outlet or two? Back in the day where people when
to coffee shops to drink as much coffee as possible, smoke, and talk to each other, not play
with their fucking phones... If not, maybe one a short trip away. Where there are students,
there are coffee shops and wifi. My only problem is getting out of this cage, the sun, the
heat, water, and being able to find a decent toilet. I... GOT... TO... GET... THE... FUCK...
OUT... OF... HERE...

Usually, I tend to write more when I'm feeling shitty, I know it. But it's been too long and
all sorts has gone on. The best thing is my girl's in town, and I've been sort of rebuilding
a friendship online with another person that's suffering from physical and some psych shit,
poor thing, but she lives in the suburbs, unfortunately. She's having an impossible time
getting out on her own too. I'm going to try and make an attempt to meet up with her at some
point. I'm also hoping to stay with my girl for a few days and just be silly and forget about
everything for a while. Also get a break from the spouse taking all his shit out on me and
not owning up to it. I've had more than enough of it. I need to get away from him, and I'm
sure he'd be more than happy to drive me away from here so he could have time alone to
himself to do fuck all, as usual.

Next morning, I'm up at 5, it's dark, and I see the big, beautiful moon through the shades.
I'm exhausted, and all of a sudden my parade gets shit on by a combination of spousal non-
morning attitude and my own anxiety at the thought of puttinig on some clothes, and forcing
myself outside. Not just outside, but getting ready to go outside, and by that time, it will
be light. I'd have to take the bus, beg the driver for a discounted rate because my pass
expired, then take a ride downtown, getting off in the middle of real PEOPLE and what seems
like CHAOS! Fuck...

I felt so shitty, ashamed, down, like a fucking failure, an idiot, loser fucking ape on prescription meds that can't fucking leave this fucking place. I felt like throwing up and my head hurt, so I took a chance and took the aspirin. There wasn't going to be any treadmill for me.

Time just flew by as I had "Supernatural" going on in the background, and I just blew the whole day, and it turned my stomach so badly. I didn't want to think and so I lost myself literally by digging in the trash on the computer. Files that were supposed to be deleted from the browser, from the bin, from the "cleaner" app that I downloaded free years ago, and kept up to date. Yet I found this shit still hiding away in the computer. It even seemed m$n had even developed little profiles and all sorts of programs and commands to work around yours that get into anything and everthing that you have, where you go, what you do, proxy or not, and they save this shit. I noticed that tor browser and keeping an eye on your uploads and download times as well as scanning what you downloaded for every identifiable mark, code, number, crack, cert, note, you name it, and they are in cahoots with google, so you know I wiped those fuckers out of my computer as far as I could tell, but I will keep checking, and checking on some other bothersome shit. I don't know how I manage to spend so much time like that without going crazy or getting bored like ordinary people would. I guess because it's a big puzzle that will certainly never be solved by the likes of a self-declared technophobe like me. I felt especially sick when I came across this comment made in a document, "BA What are the odds that some idiot will name his mutex ether-rot-mutex!" Today, I officially name my "mutex" Ether-Rot-Mutex! Whateverthefuck.

I know I shouldn't be so down on myself for not making such a HUGE move today, and on a hot one, too, where I'd actually have to carry around water. That's one of those odd things that irritates me about people. I don't know why. I can at least feel a sense of relief that there were no new bills in the mail, but that I won't have the convenience of paying them online until I get a decent antivirus program, although I'm not totally sure wny when I'm already being spied upon by m$n, comca$t, google, and whoever manages to track me that I haven't blocked out. Plus the NSA, maybe the CIA and FBI too.

I hope the weather takes a terrible turn tomorrow, and there are thunderstorms with lightening and pouring rain! That way, I may actually want to get outside, and it may even get the spouse off of work for a bit, and he could come and get me, and take me down to get another bus pass. The more rain out, the less tourists and shit, less people on the buses. I'm telling myself anything I fucking can to ease the anxiety, talk it right the fuck out of my head. Do a rain dance, dreaming in my sleep. Pray to the Great Spirit for my baby, some loved ones, children who suffer, women who suffer, people dying over controlling people, land, stupid old religions, old grudges, money, and oil.

I'm almost glad now that I don't have access to the real news online, it's been making me insane enough on the morning fuckin tv - yelling at it and wanting to pull my hair out. I can't stand it. I'm "forced" to at least hear the tv news in the morning when I'm up at the same time as the spouse. He gets his news online. 

And now I finally shower and go to bed to lie in front of that fan in my underwear... Hopefully to be wakened by alarms and storms.

July Fucking Sucked. For the Most Part.

See?! I fucking told you July was the worst month of the year for me.

No New Antipsychotic Is Good News?

Won't you have a piece of the pie too?

Found this in "images" and it looks like it could be for a couple different antipsychotics, eventual side effects if a lot of weight is gained from them, and no action is being taken.





The date that I quit the generic seroquel was May 18, and I still haven't had an anxiety attack. I still haven't gone out on a whim and jumped on a bus anywhere either. Disappointing, but not totally. I did not cause myself to develop agoraphobia to the extent that it has affected me, and I have to remind myself of that, and stop mentally punishing myself for that.

One thing I do need to do though, is make more of an effort to literally take steps out the door. Have a smoke on the balcony or on the bench near the door outside where you're not supposed to, due to stupid smoking laws. There, on the bench, I can sit and count the red roses that are trying to grow and bloom in spite of an overgrown bush of some sort trying to steal their sunlight.

Then there is the starschmucks on the corner that I was going to on occasion, which I'm really getting tired of. All of their seats are uncomfortable cheap pieces of shit, and it doesn't help my back, that's been acting up since I went off the seroquel.

I only realized today why I was a little instantly teary/instantly not - pms! I had an appointment with my Dr shrinker today and 4 weeks ago, so this would be the time! No wonder I was feeling a little weird and kind of down the other day. I haven't had mood swings though. It's pretty damn amazing. He - my Dr - told me today that the topomax actually does work for some people to manage the mood swings, but he's used to using more successful meds, and since I'm in that "spectrum" of disorders (bipolar), that it's eventually going to come back. I agreed. It's always been a pattern, no matter what the med cocktail.

We talked about what med to add, and I told him that I'd been doing some research. It turned out that we had been thinking of the same things. Abilify or generic Geodon (ziprasidone). I had been doing research over the weekend and making myself paranoid over what I'd end up with (or refusing to take). I found a shitload of terrible side effects for women for abilify, lots of possible side effects for all drugs in that damn class. So I had thought I'd try the ziprasidone again since it had gone generic, checked my Medicare Part D insurance, saw it was $80 a month. Ouch, but way less than abilify. 

I'd had the brand name ziprasidone before, Geodon, given to me for free, as the clinic I went to had a ton of free samples they were getting all the time. It was ok the last time I took it, but I can't remember what was going on at the time that I switched to something else. I'm sure I was on a few different things. What's new. 

I'm just glad I left the office without a single tear shed, and without a new Rx for an antipsychotic. I especially didn't want one because I woke up this morning all off balance, and have been all afternoon. I got up and nearly fell over on my way to the bathroom. After that, I was having to be careful not to hit the walls, etc. I was wearing my sunglasses at the Dr's office, and don't remember being so off balance there. Maybe I was faking it. They didn't try to make me get weighed in public, but asked how much I weighed for the record. I'd lost 10lbs of seroquel weight already. My word was good enough! :) I don't know, but the second I walked out the last set of doors into the daylight, when I was done with it all, I was all off balance again, even with sunglasses. 

Lucky I got a ride from the spouse. He didn't care about going to work anyway today. He's on "light duty" for 2 weeks due to injury at work, and filing an L&I claim. The owner of the co. is such a dick that he actually said in a meeting (I was told) with all workers present, that workers will be paying more because of L&I claims (referring to the spouse). Blame? Threatening? Both? I'd want to punch the fucker's face in. I can see why he wants to get the fuck out of there. Bad, bad scene and fuck-ups running the jobs, he says, doing things wrong. 

He said the other day that his life is weird, but he wouldn't really explain what he meant. He said "... living here, this place, us..." Then a bit later I said "your 'broken down wife'", as he once referred to me, thinking it was not an insult. Well it was a long time ago, and it stuck. He didn't really want to talk any more about it. I couldn't get him to talk much this morning either apart from what a dick the owner of his co. is. 

What will become of us? We need to talk, and he just can't seem to get into it...

I Gotta Get Outta This Place!

I'm gonna go Billith if I don't get out alone tomorrow!

I'm over my cold, and ready to go out. Tomorrow is the perfect morning. I don't care if the spouse is going to work or not, I'm getting the hell out of here for my own sanity! Sanity?
D'oh! Whatever! He'll have to make his own damn coffee. He's fine, going back to work soon, so not my problem.

I'm going to have to venture out past starschmuckfucks one day very soon too. I'm sick of that shithole, even it I can drag my computer down there, and use up their electricity.

Off to bed early, up early, coffee early, smoke early, then exercise. :D It will be ok...

Happy International Sushi Day/Night


What a bratty little cat I have! Waking me up around 3:30am, crawling around on the top of my hair and pillow, licking it, and purring. I managed to push her off a few times, but she came back, and did it again about 45 minutes later. That time, I thought I had her settled sitting next to me and purring. Wrong! Once again, she was in my hair, and had got on my last nerve. I had to get out of bed and look for her. She disappeared in the bedroom. So I went to the other room and called to her. She doesn't always come, but this time she did. Sucker! I threw off the damn hoodies that were hanging on the top of the bedroom door, and shut it. Message delivered.

I had another one of those "end of the world" dreams that I have a habit of doing, but this time was really different. I was lost for a while, walking down the street, which I knew was one of few of "the rich". I was headed toward some shelter of sorts that had been made by me and two other strangers: 1 dude, 1 chick. That was our little home, a squat.

There were no street signs, and the houses looked like the typical houses in a better neighborhood near here. From a distance though, you could see great chunks of streets risen, as if hit by a serious earthquake, smoke, fires, homes and buildings destroyed.

We, the remaining 3, I thought, were supposed to go out alone and gather supplies and bring them back to share. So we all snuck out and went our separate ways.

I ended up sneaking into a house that had what I thought were some surviving kittens, and no people. I was wrong. I was "caught" with the kitten while picking up cat toys by a young Japanese woman.

She said "Oh you must be the cleaning lady." I put the cat down and agreed, continuing to pick up whatever I could find that was on the floor. She told me that I didn't speak Japanese, of course, and that I was doing a good job. Then she said "Ok, when you're finished, I will pay you." Her parents came home at that time and she spoke to them and pointed at me. The three of them looked at me and walked away.

I thought WTF? of course, and realized I was in what was left of what was Japan, of all places.

I did a half-assed cleaning job, and snuck into the kitchen, but couldn't read any of the labels on the food. So I looked in the fridge and grabbed what looked edible. I had a black canvas bag on me for this purpose, and I started to leave.

"Hey, wait!" the young woman yelled at me. I froze. "I have to pay you. Here," she said, and handed me $22 american dollars. I bowed and said "Ok, thank you," and slipped out the front door.

I walked quickly down the street, but things didn't look quite the same. It seemed like I was walking forever, zig-zagging here and there, then finally admitting to myself that I'm lost. I sat down on the ground, next to a building. Fuck knows what kind of business it was. I couldn't read the sign. I pulled the money out of my black trench coat pocket and stared at it, thinking WTF am I going to do with $22? I'm fucking lost!

Bizarre. Never had a dream about being in a country that I haven't been to, but maybe this is just another new "end of the world" dream scenario that I'll end up repeating, like the others. Hopefully I won't be living it as the fucking cleaning lady!

Well, I'm back on my feet aka the treadmill since being sick, and like the idea of going easy today. While I was on the treadmill watching Supernatural, an alert came up on the tv for the game for Spain v Chile. I had to wonder when that was set, because I didn't see the spouse fucking around with the remote this morning.

I was up at 6, because I forgot to turn my alarm on, so I thought I better hurry with the coffee, so I made it, in spite of not feeling 100% (thanks cold and cat!). My spouse got a call from his boss asking about him. He said he texted him around 3am and said he wasn't coming in (due to his back and his leg). He told me his boss said, "Oh, that was you?" Sounds like the stupid fuck he described to me.

Well, tomorrow I should be feeling "normal"ish and ready to see what life feels like without that poison in my system, and without that terrible cold. Interesting... I'm going to try to make an attempt to go outside, but am probably already jinxing myself by making a plan, however loose. We'll see.

Yet Another Reason I Don’t Call Myself A Feminist


I came across this article the other day and it made me feel kind of sick. They never posted my comment because I didn't agree that it was "brilliant", I guess: 


FRIDAY, JUN 13, 2014 09:46 AM PDT 
Don’t want to give that guy your phone number? Let him talk to bell hooks instead!
A new app lets the feminist icon drop some wisdom to dudes who don't know how to take "no" for an answer
Katie McDonough

"I love it when brilliant and tech savvy feminists do something brilliant and tech savvy.

This "feminist phone intervention" is kind of perfect. If you're at a bar, in the supermarket, walking down the street or anywhere, really (street harassment and unwanted sexual advances are not location specific) and someone asks for your number and won't take no for an answer, you can now give that person icon bell hooks' number. Well, not exactly bell hooks' number but a generic number that will serve up an automated quote from the writer and activist through text or voicemail...

The makers of the hotline explain their inspiration like this:

protect your privacy while dropping some feminist knowledge when your unwanted "suitor" calls or texts.

because we're raised to know it's safer to give a fake phone number than to directly reject an aggressive guy.

because women are still threatened and punished for rejecting advances.

because (669) UGH-ASIF, WTF-DUDE, and MAJR-SHADE were taken.

because why give any old fake number, when you can gave bell hooks screen your calls?

so next time, just give out this number: (669) 221-6251 tech to protect."

This is what they'll get:

“If any female feels she need anything beyond herself to legitimate and validate her existence, she is already giving away her power to be self-defining, her agency.”


Reality is, if you give a guy a number, he can check it right then and there, and find out it's fake, that you lied to him, and get more than twice as pissed off at you for lying to his face. That may have made things much worse. Why not just say no. If that doesn't work, say it in the meanest, nastiest, equally threatening way you have to, if you need to, or call 911, or have the common sense to get the fuck out of there! 

What is it about lying about a stupid phone number that makes this particular fake-phone- number-giving-thingie the "feminist" thing to do? Protecting your privacy "while dropping some feminist knowledge" when your unwanted "suitor" calls or texts."? Do they honestly think they're going to listen to more than 2 seconds to realize it's not your number? Do you really think they're going to listen to this "feminist knowledge" you "dropped" on them? Do you really think it's a good idea when you're "in a bar or supermarket"? You're still there. Smart. Real smart. Brilliant. 

I wonder if this woman ever really walked the streets at night alone, walked in "no-go" areas alone? Walked anywhere alone? Dealt with physical abuse? I seriously doubt it.

I think this shitty article really rubbed me wrong because it involved a person talking about "feminism" and lying. I'm not really fond of the article because it involves lying, something that has become one of my most hated things in the world:  being told a lie, or having to even think of attempting to lie. I don't feel the need to lie. I find it horribly insulting to be lied to. Pretty fucking low, as in way down there low. Life or death situation is going to change things, if it has to. If lying is accepted and promoted as "feminism", I take no part in it. It gives people another reason to dislike or hate women (or men) that refer to themselves as "feminists". No more fuel needed for that fire!

I'm not sticking up for dicks who won't take "no" for an answer. In the end, you just have to be aware of your surroundings and people, and not completely tune out with your phones or whatever. Be prepared to stand up for yourself, and make an escape plan that you can live with. If you lie, better you than me.

Sad thing is that there's just too much hatred between people. I don't want to live like that. I don't want to be kept inside because of fear or anxiety, and it's not fear that keeps me inside. I'm still dealing with the agoraphobia, unfortunately. It's sad that people in general no longer use their manners, and that irritates me more when I'm already anxious and irritable out in public. Another thing that can set off some uglyass public angerfest. Embarrassing.

Love

It's all in my head. It's all in my head. It's all in my head.