Daily Archives: February 9, 2013

Wal-Mart is hell on earth

My head is killing me. I thought it was Xanax withdrawal since she swapped it for klonopin. So I hit the stash (makes me sound like a druggie,eh?) and took .25 of Xanax. Headache still hasn’t gone away so it’s gotta be something else, maybe going back on Cymbalta or a side effect of starting the klonopin. It just all adds up to a wonderful day in the fucking neighborhood.

Bipolar disorder, fuckest thou!

Had to get food earlier. At Super Wal Mart. Which is only less grueling than a date with the Marquis de Sade. I hate going to that place. Of course, in a small town, where they have a stranglehold and you have no other options, it’s a catch 22.

Mid way through, with my kid wandering about not listening to me and declaring “I want” every ten seconds, I got hit by a wave of wooziness and was overly warm and sweating. My heart started to ricochet off my chest walls and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. It was all I could do to make it to the register and pay for stuff. My initial instinct was to abandon the cart, pick up my kid, and flee to the nearest exit. It happens pretty much every time I have to go to that store, because it’s just always so packed. I dread having to go there and try to keep it to one trip a month if I can. I looove hearing the uber chipper fucks who say, “See, you had a panic attack but you worked through it, you CAN handle it.” Sure, I could probably handle a couple of hours on a torture rack. Doesn’t mean I want to or should have to. Fuck. Stupid stupid people. It put me in a mental state for two hours, had to immediately come home instead of finishing all my errands at once. Had to regroup.

Speaks to what wonders the fucking klonopin is thus far doing. I have tried klonopin and ativan and seroquel for my panic. None work. Xanax works. And I wouldn’t have a two month stash if I abused it. To me, it’s like Tylenol, I take it when I need it. But nooo, the doctors have to have this attitude where you’re not an individual, you’re just part of a collective of people who have abused the stuff and therefore, it is eeeevil. Never mind that it works. No, that’s not important. What’s important is the doctor not feel like the pharmacist is looking down on them for prescribing the addictive xanax.

Look at what I went through withdrawing from Effexor. Sooo much worse than Xanax withdrawal. Yet doctors aren’t ushering patients off it.


I get sooo sick of well meaning people who cop an attitude toward xanax just because it didn’t work for them or they couldn’t hack the controlled addiction or withdrawal. It’s no different than a person who responds to ibuprofen but not Tylenol. We are all different. And not all of us abuse the stuff.

Yes, I am tirading because while I brought up going off the xanax in favor of klonopin, it was more for the doctor’s comfort than me. She’s held that ax over my head for over  a year now and I got sick of it, it only adds to the anxiety. I’m  a “rip off the band aid” kind of girl. Of course, I thought the crazy woman would slowly step down the xanax, not cold turkey me with the hope that “klonopin will take over, you won’t have withdrawal effects.” If that’s the case, then why doesn’t every doctor who takes a patient of xanax bypass withdrawal by putting them on klonopin? I’m not entirely convinced she has a clue what she is doing.

But what do I know, I’m just the mental patient.

I got hit with a thought earlier about, “What has been so traumatic and bad about your life? You’ve never been homeless or hungry and you’ve been loved (albeit usually short term). What has made you so angry and aloof?”

And it just hit me: The mental stuff.

Without it, I would probably be able to chalk it all up to “life sometimes sucks”.

But when every day is spent with this dark cloud overhead…it stands to reason you’re not going to be unscathed. Sure, others have it worse. But this is MY life, and this mental shit has always detracted from my quality of life. I think it warrants some anger and frustration and a little bit of an attitude.

That being said…

I’m gonna take a page from my other blog Psychodome and list 5 things I am grateful for in my life.

5.) music- if there’s music in hell but not in heaven, I want to go straight to hell, fuck the collecting $200

4.) TV shows- perfect medium for someone with my gnat like attention span, I learn a lot from tv, believe it or not. I figure two more years of forensic shows and I could probably pull off an evidence free murder. (That’s a joke, ffs.)

3.) Dr. Pepper Yes, soda is bad for me and I would be thinner without it. I don’t care. As soon as I meet a man who makes me as happy as Dr. Pepper, I will quit soda and get skinny.

2.) Cats Wanna impress me for Valentine’s day? Screw a bouquet of flowers, hand me a basket of kittens. I absolutely adore cats, big and small. Way more cuddly than a man. And surprisingly, lower maintenance. Ideally, I would find a man who loves cats as  much as I do, but oddly most men who like cats are gay. What’s that about, anyway?

1. My daughter. I waited a long time for her, was told I’d likely never be a mom. Having her has been an incredible journey and continues to be. She makes me laugh everyday, makes me remember why I am still battling my demons and bothering when every incorrect signal my fucked up brain is sending me tells me to just give up. She is the sun, the moon, the stars. But we’re not gonna tell her that, don’t want her getting an ego ;) Mommy loves her, that’s all she needs to know.


And so on

Ever since I was diagnosed with depression in March 2001 and started on my ride across the cobblestones of my mind, I have found my greatest source of acceptance, empathy and understanding from fellow members of support groups, as well as online forums, run by such organisations as the leading U.K. charity, Depression Alliance.

From time to time people – none of them cyclists – will lecture me about the perils of the road (for them) caused by cyclists oblivious to their surroundings.  While their tongues are waving merrily in the breeze of their own making, I am biting mine. The other striking thing about these people (indulge me, why not lump a whole lot of people together just because….oh never mind)……the other striking thing is they don’t profess to suffer any kind of mental anguish themselves.

Last week I was bemoaning glib attitudes towards people, like myself, with mental health problems.

Problems, like a nasty rash, a sore shoulder or what to wear to work on Monday when the washing machine went on the blink over the weekend. That is what I find the people I refer to above think of as ‘mental health problems’. That, and it’s contagious.  Even the world-renowned Dr……o.k., o.k. why be petty? Even the world-renowned Dr Dolittle* wonders if peer – led groups like the ones I have mentioned can actually cause us to relapse.  Maybe if they were facilitated by a psychiatrist on the other hand…….

Those glib attitudes I was fulminating against haven’t just gone away in the last week as readers in Austria, Belgium, Bolivia, Canada, Denmark, England Finland, Germany and elsewhere…..sat quaking in their boots as they read my rant.

The sort of quackery that I was complaining about in last week’s edition is all the more pernicious because it sounds like such good sense.  The kind of thing I should be saying as I dole out the wisdom of my experiences in the crazy lane of life like so much Lithium.

In my role as a Peer Supporter working with people with much the same daily – o.k. hourly - challenges as me what works is……

Tune in next week to find out!

Only kidding.  What works is silence.  Not the kind of silence that we meet a good deal of the time when other folks get wind of why we’re ‘having an early night’, or declare, with some justification, that ‘I am the rightful heir to the Scottish throne’. But the kind of silence there is freewheeling down a country lane with only the shy swish of the tyres on the road to accompany you.

It’s the kind of silence that makes most people in my position (and me some of the time) feel full of advice and guidance, brimming with the answers. But this kind of silence allows for space, the kind of space that the car drivers I was referring to earlier wish we would leave so that they could accelerate past us just to meet us soon enough at the traffic lights. It’s the kind of space that leaves room for both of us.  Listening, this smooth swish of silence, establishes a rapport (noun) relation; connection, especially harmonious or sympathetic relation. See under: acceptance, empathy, understanding, and most of all love.

Next time you think you have something useful to say, don’t say it.


* Not his real name

from The Ring and the Book

…All the seventeen years,

Not once did a suspicion visit me

How very different a lot is mine

From any other woman’s in the world.

The reason must be, ’twas step by step

It got to grow so terrible and strange:

These strange woes stole on tiptoe, as it were,

Into my neighbourhood and privacy,

Sat down where I sat, laid them where I lay;

And I was found familiarized with fear,

When friends broke in, held up a torch and cried

‘Why, you Pompilia, in the cavern thus,

‘How came that arm of yours about a wolf?

‘And soft the length, – lies in and out your feet

‘And laps you round the knee, – a snake it is!’

And so on.

Robert Browning (1812 – 1889)

Refilled to late….delusions are here

I went on a 8 day trip to Austin TX recently and while there I ran out of my antipsychotic Abilify. It has now been 5 nights and 6 days without it but the pharmacy just messaged me that my script was ready. But Since I have been off of it I have felt a shroud lifting. But as it lifts it takes parts of my logic with it. For example, pull a metaphorical band aid made of Abilify off your hairy arm. When the sticky part is yanked off there are arm hairs stuck to it which to me are pieces of logic. Making sense?

Example….Last night at house I kept talking to Patrick because I thought he was in the home when My logical side recalled him leaving for work. So I looked through the house and was stupefied to realize he was not there. When he got home this morning…12 hours later, I felt as though only a couple of hours had passed and it was still night time. I told him I wanted to go out to dinner and he looked at me with concern. I said again that I was hungry and he said we could go get breakfast because it was 7am not pm. I had to go outside and see the location of the sun rising before I felt on cue with the right time.

Then I laid down with my man and he kissed me on the forehead and told me to take a nap since I didn’t sleep the night before. Before sleep set in I kept hearing my name so I finally asked Patrick to stop messing with me. He was not at ease with this at all. So I got out of bed and Patrick asked what I thought I was doing. I said I was going to eat something to which he responded” what mealtime” was it. I laughed and said lunch (crossing my fingers I was right) which i was.

I know I need to pick up the medicine and swallow a pill but I feel delirious. I am light headed, confused, tired, and fairly unsure if I really need Abilify or if my body became addicted to it?

Blessed Quiet

Today is delightfully quiet thus far. While my little one is still feeling a bit crap, she’s not been screaming and flailing as much, which I am grateful for. She’s taking a little rest now, so my husband and I are enjoying the companionable quiet that is our preferred state (the TV is on as background noise, but it’s not an annoyance). Except for my shoulders refusing to unhunch, this seems to me an ideal picture of relaxing. Well, and the feel in my head that there might be another migraine forming, but that’s not a surprise based on having had one a few days ago.

So yes, for now? I’m going to try to get my shoulders to try and cooperate. I’m going to drink lots of water. And above all, I’m going to enjoy my weekend. I hope everyone else is doing the same.


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