I’ve been so busy setting up the revamped website that I haven’t had time to write. Instead, Today I’ll give you this video that has been making the rounds on Facebook and Youtube Enjoy the laugh
In Memoriam
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Daily Archives: June 5, 2013
Okay, Maybe Not
As I sit here in a fuzzy bubble of meh, I have to take a moment to accept that nah, I’m not really any better. If I were, I’d be making the rounds of social networks properly, and actually talking to friends. Mind, I do feel more stable, but… could it be the Zoloft? I really don’t know. I do know that just the ambient noise of people in this house has spiked my anxiety to a point where I want to lash out, though not much I can do about that besides telling people to go away (in progress).
Really though, I’m tired. My kiddo sprained her ankle a few days ago, and being 3 and some, she’s especially stubborn about everything. So she’s being especially snotty about us horrible big people trying to make her walk on it, even though it’s not broken, barely bruised, and it doesn’t hurt her to put pressure on it (we’ve been doing hand manipulation/physio on it, and she’ll happily shove her little foot into our hands). She was already trying to be extra demanding of being picked up and carried, so this plays right into her desire wheelhouse. *grumps*
Ah well, what can I really do but continue to take things as they come? *smiles wanly* It’s not like things are bad — they’re just a bit meh. I’m not quite apathetic, I’m not quite frazzled, I’m just sort of here, occasionally spiking, but mainly flowing onward. It’s hard to qualify it in black or white concrete terms, hence settling for something sort of indifferent. It is what is. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, maybe it’s just age getting to me (*shakes walker impotently*). It is what is.
Anyhoos, me and my overly reflective self are going to enjoy this Cup-a-Soup that I retrieved from its secret location (I only like Minestrone, so I hide it to make sure there’s some for me), and then return to the workplace joy that is achieving balance… in accounts. But hey, balance! *grins*
Hope everyone is having a good one.
<3
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Getting There
The last time I posted about my time in the hospital, a reader asked me how I got there. Today’s post is my answer to that question.
I write extensively on my suicidal thoughts. If you think these may be triggering for you, I suggest you skip this post.
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I had slowly been sliding down the gorge of dangerous depression. It was not a sudden change. I had been losing my footing on previously familiar territory; I was struggling to do homework and keep up with my classes, I had stopped attending my club meetings, I wasn’t contributing in class. It was like I was being replaced by this alien creature who couldn’t handle my life. I watched myself attempt to function from a little glass box across the room. I saw myself fight to just get a few hours of sleep. After a depressed day at school, mania claimed me. I was hyper and nauseous for the hours until I collapsed.
But I’m not sure those patterns alone would have gotten me to the hospital. The key for me was when my suicidal thoughts progressed into a plan. I gave away some of my most precious belongings as well as things I didn’t want to bother my parents with. One morning, I woke up early, and I wrote letters explaining what I had to do, my reasons, and my apologies to family members, friends, teachers. I planned on disfiguring my face so that there wouldn’t be an open casket at my funeral. I chose my outfit, complete with shoes. Then I went to school.
That day at school, I felt sick. I kept thinking of my brother, Ben. I didn’t want him to be affected by my actions. I wanted him to stay the perfect all-American boy that he is. I didn’t want him to be judged by my actions. I knew what I was planning on doing would impact how people saw him forever. Maybe some foolish people wouldn’t take the time to get to know him because he would be “the boy whose sister killed herself.” Still, I was unable to trust that I wouldn’t hurt myself if I went home. No one would be home after school for a while, so I went to the Food Lion where Chris works. He told his understanding boss that I couldn’t be by myself, and they let me sit there until my mom could pick me up. When she picked me up, I told her that I was afraid I would hurt myself, but I didn’t tell her the whole story. I should have.
The next morning, I was greeted by those scary suicidal thoughts. My mom drove me to school, and I told her about my thoughts and about my desire to stay alive for Ben. I cried. So did she. But I got out the car and went to class.
I couldn’t function at school. No work got done. All I could think about was home much I needed to die. For the first time, I used my Crisis Pass (a little slip of paper that lets me leave class and go to the counseling center). I went to the school psychologist and fell apart. I explained my thoughts and feelings; we called my mom, therapist, and psychiatrist. We determined that I needed to go to the hospital for an psychiatric evaluation. It’s not normal or acceptable to feel that awful.
My mom took me home, and then we went to the hospital. After many, many hours, a blood test, a urine test, several evaluations, and a grilled cheese sandwich, I was admitted for voluntary inpatient psychiatric care.
Oh, did I mention that it was my dad’s birthday?
In retrospect, my therapist and I have determined that I waited too long to go to the hospital. I should have gone before I began to materialize a plan. When your thoughts move beyond feelings of misery and sadness to thoughts of action, it’s critical that you get help.
When we exercise, we’re told that we should listen to our bodies, but in our everyday lives do we spend enough time listening to our minds? We give ourselves warning signs, we beg for help. We need to tune to the right frequency and listen. We need to not fear the consequences of taking care of ourselves. I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I didn’t want to miss school. Staying at school, I sat in the chair, but was I really present? It was more valuable for me to go to the hospital so that I was able to have a successful rest of the school year. Let’s get our priorities straight, right?
In closing, I believe that if you are unsure of whether or not you should be in the hospital, if you have doubt about your safety, if you are scared, you should go. Going to the hospital does not mean you’ll be in inpatient care for a week like I was. It means you will be evaluated and a care plan suited to your needs will be created. Advocate for yourself, your health, and your safety. Be honest about the thoughts and feelings you’ve been having. It can be a frightening experience, but your life is worth it!
***
If you have any more questions about my hospital stay, I’m willing to answer. I would like others to benefit from my experience in any way that they can.
Stay safe,
Jenna
If isn’t one thing, it’s another
Cramps moved to my back today, signaling the nearing end of this month’s curse. Not pleasant, but better than cramps and searing back pain together.
Mood was subdued. Not up, not down, not really even in between. Kind of numb. Like, here I am, I don’t wanna be, but I am, blah blah blah.
Of course, it was noted that I was not laughing at R’s jokes.
I swear the man expects me to be happy fun ball all the time. Truth is, sometimes, I just don’t find the things he says or repeats funny. Different senses of humor is all. But even when it is funny and I give the obligatory smile because, ya know, my soul is dying…It’s never enough. He always shifts everything to make it seem like I am the one making demands of him, expecting him to make me happy, et al. He plays epic mind games, rivaling the donor.
It makes each day rather stressful.
Because he is so non self aware, he can’t grasp that he too is annoying, let alone grasp that when he feels uneasy, or doesn’t want to deal with something (like me), he turns the tables and gets me so confused I just want to scream.
But because I am who and what I am, I keep replaying every interaction in my mind, just in case it is all me and he walks on water. Cos ya know, to hear him tell it, while he admits “I am sure I do have my personality flaws…” he doesn’t think he’s that bad and it’s all me. Oddly, other people have the same issues with him I do on some levels. But it’s still not him.
I keep wondering if I am vilifying him. That does seem to be a facet of my personality, the need to constantly single out one person to vilify and vent my anger toward, even if it is with snippy little cut downs. Of course, I do that when I am sad, scared, threatened,hurt. I hate it, it makes me feel so small and petty and vindictive, but I can’t seem to unlearn the behavior. Hell, if could just “unlearn” all the hurtful things that brought about that behavior, then all would be well.
I find it strange no one has ever cared enough to dig deep and figure out why I act the way I do at times. I guess it’s easier to think I’m just a bad person than to realize that I have been hurt so many times there’s this gaping chasm in my soul that leaves me exposed and the only protection I have is to lash out, big and small.
One more thing to ask the sunshine spewer tomorrow, how to fix that aspect of my behavior. Because I’ll be damned if I know.
I will say this. I did not have any tears today, or any particular flashes of anger, toward him or anyone. What a difference a day and fading hormones makes. Once again, I wonder why no one has ever cared enough to show some empathy during curse week. That would make a world of difference. I don’t lash out much at all if I feel safe and respected and heard. Dismissal, disrespect, hurt-these are the things that set me off, and cause full blow ups for one week a month.
But I suppose it’s unfair of me to expect others to invest in me that much. They all have their reasons and excuses which I am to accept if I really care about them. It’s never reciprocal, though. I don’t know how not to be mad about that. Life isn’t fair, but you go emotionally bankrupt if you can’t even get a basic compromise and quid pro quo out of your personal relationships. Maybe I dwell on it too much, I don’t know.
So while the mood was…manageable…
The anxiety reared its ugly head and manifested as this nail biting (IF I bit my nails, I do not, I actually do this thing where I rub my fingertips together in circles, half the time don’t realize I am even doing it) anxiety borderline panic. He had two outcalls and no car so he was using mine and while I trust him implicitly with the car, considering he’s my mechanic…I have an attachment disorder to my “comfort zone” and the things that comprise my comfort zone. Like my car. So when it is gone for two hours, I get antsy. I was pacing, chain smoking, getting paranoid…Anxiety became panic. I hated every minute of it because it made me feel so asinine. I don’t know what is wrong with me. But it’s been this way as long as I can remember. I never could stand being away from my home, my cats, my car, any of the things that provided my cushiony safe zone.
Went to pick up my kid. My mom’s zoo was in full swing, with 5 houseguests. They let all the kids dig a two feet deep sand pit and my kid was covered head to toe. My mom made a comment about “how did you end up with a kid who loves being outside?” Yeah, well, if I didn’t break out from contact with every form of nature save the air, and have massive headaches from bright light (sun, fluorescent, et) I might enjoy the outdoors, too. She’s always saying something like that, taking a dig at me. “How’d she get so happy with you as her mom?” “She just loves people, she’s so friendly, are you sure she’s yours?”
I realized that I take digs like that, too. Learned it from her. I really need to unlearn it. Problem is, my brain has become so muddled, I don’t view some of the things as I say as shots. I’m simply making a statement about how I truthfully feel. I preach manners but maybe I need to learn some myself and not just open mouth and insert both feet, socks, and shoes.
Took Spook to get new shoes, she broke both pairs my mom bought her last month. More money I didn’t have to spare. We got some Domino’s parmesan bites (they are fucking awesome) and went to the library because I had read all my books and was starting to get an anxiety attack at the prospect of having nothing to read. Hopefully ten thick novels will keep me busy for awhile.
R has already called and made the assumption I will be there tomorrow. After last week when he told me I don’t have to be there everyday, yet here he is expecting it.
But ya know what? I cajoled him into buying me a coffin purse since I have been looking for six months to replace mine…So maybe I just need to look at this a different way. Sure, he is using me, but maybe if I use him back, it can be a comfy quid pro quo. Sad it has to be like this, but the man is determined to not hear a thing I say and not remember a thing he says in order to butter me up. I’m tired of fighting it, for this week at least. I may tell him I am taking Friday off whether he likes it or not. The truth is best, but worse comes to worse, I’ll claim to have no sitter. God, I hate people who drive me to such things. If that sounds like a cop out, well, I have been honest and and I have been assertive but he always plays that manipulation card, trying to appeal to my ego: “No one does what you do, you’re the best.” Um, anyone who can use Google and read can do the same thing I do. I’m not special, just computer literate and persistent. But I always fall for it, because I am just that insecure and pathetic…
Hey, maybe the shop ape will be there, get me off the hook.
My head hurts. I took my kid to the library tonight and she kept talking loudly and stomping about and being a real butthead. People were giving me dirty looks but geesh, I am sick of not being able to do anything without a sitter. Bad enough I have to get one just to go buy tobacco stuff at the smoke shop. There’s no smoking there, but the government says minors can’t be in the store. But hey, I can take her into a store with a ton of booze AND cigarettes and that’s cool. WTF is that?
I have been up since 5 am, I hope I fall asleep quickly and easily.
Then get up and do it all over again, rinse, lather, repeat. Gets old. Unfortunately, I am in such a rut, I don’t have a clue how to break free. And I am just so damn mentally shaky right now, I’m not convinced it’s the right time to go starting anything like college courses or whatever. Sad as it makes me, I think it’s time to go back to Lithium. Then when that quits in a couple of years, I’ll go back to Lamictal. My entire life is rinse, lather, repeat. That’s not negativity, it’s a statement of fact. I wish I were surrounded by people with the emotional IQ to grasp the concept.
I read a story today about how California has these new laws concerning guns, and they have been going to people’s doors once finding out they spent two days in a psych ward or took an anti depressant for six months ten years ago but stopped…and taking their guns away. Now I am no gun nut, and maybe mentally ill people shouldn’t own guns. But considering the large percentage of people who are anti depressants, it seems to me like a rather expedient, and legal, way upend second amendment rights. I mean, they confiscated guns owned by a woman’s husband because mentally ill people can’t have access to guns. What’s next? Your weight is outside their neat little chart so they send your picture to McDonald’s and ban you being served?
The American public is so stupid, they don’t see this shit is happening, and it’s only going to get worse. I may be paranoid, but it doesn’t make me wrong. We are stepping into a very Orwellian future here, and I am scared as hell. The government should fear its people, and yet, we are becoming prisoners to our government.
Oh, I read an article today by this big shot journalist and he’s bipolar and he talked about how its affected his life and he’s been hospitalized and et al and he views it not as a curse, but as a gift. THAT IS MENTALLY ILL. This is not a gift. This is a goddamned curse, and telling people they will eventually be cured even though it’s hard makes me want to kick him in the shin. Thanks for sharing your story, dude, you’re entitled to your opinions, but even if I am wrong, I will never in a gazillion years view bipolar disorder and my multitude of other disorders as anything but a curse. Sure, it’s helped shape me into who I am, made me more empathetic and sympathetic, helped me become self aware. Doesn’t make it a good thing, just means I am playing the hand I was dealt. Joylessly, I might add. There is much to celebrate in life. Having a mental disorder is not on that list.
C’est la vie.
Time to lull scumbag brain to sleep with a book so I can forget all my tentacles for awhile. Provided scumbag brain cooperates. Which is about as likely as my kid listening to a damn word I say. But a ghoul can dream…
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