Daily Archives: February 12, 2014

Letting Go

I’ve thought, prayed, used my best sister as a sounding board and had Scripture online verify it  just a few minutes after I’d made my decision regarding something that happened in my past and forever altered my life. “Remember not the former things nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; […]

Anger and Truffles

Lyrics | Public Image Limited lyrics - Rise lyrics

Whiny woman in commercial, "Help! My car broke down and I need help!"


Crazy woman curled up on couch,"I broke down, and I can't even ask for help!"

Sigh. Breathe...breathe...breathe... let the anger overcome your anxiety. Point out the wrongdoings of another and make a plan to rip them a new asshole. Get their fucking name. Go after them by phone. Leave them a message. Follow up if you don't get a call back. Leave them a hand-written letter next time you go to the clinic they happen to work at.

One of the most unbearable fuck-ups that I cannot deal with without ripping a few new assholes is mistakes or problems with medications. I've even been banned from a pharmacy many years ago. This time, it's personal. I can't be making trips to and from the drugstore because my spouse resents (I suspect) driving me, and I HATE to ask. I will have to do it again very soon for another medication fuck up.

I swore while speaking with the dude working in the pharmacy when I called today about my limited re-fill of clonazepam that they fucked up. NO, MOTHERFUCKER, you do NOT go there.


I had to force a hug upon my non-supportive spouse before I left for the shrink on the bus today. He acted like it was no big deal to him, that he did not understand at all. After this many fucking years? Get a fucking clue! What do I have to do? Wear a sign around my neck? A sandwich board?

I made it out the back door of the building in my dark sunglasses and favorite boots, listening to happy iPod walking songs. I watched a wee murder of crows gathering around the base of a tree and poking around it. They were so close to me but had no fear. I managed to cross a few streets to the bus stop without getting hit. The last time I went out, I think I just crossed the streets and forgot to even look around me.

The bus stop was crowded, which was a little disappointing, because there was no place to sit. Luckily, the bus came early and took me away with my music, and personal space shield. I couldn't wait to get to the part of the route that passed the large cemetery to look, and wish I was wandering around there, listening to music.

Just after I got off the bus, I put on "Don't Fear (The Reaper), which has become a silly habit. I lost a button on the way in the shrink's office. At the shrink's, I bawled the whole time and talked mostly about how to try to better communicate with my spouse, make him more aware of his hurtful words, what the hell he means by some of them, and shit like that. I had green tea.

My spouse picked me up at 1pm and "Don't Fear (The Reaper) immediately came on the radio. It reminded me of how I wanted to shoot myself so badly last summer, and how quietly and calmly suicidal I was. How I kept it all to myself. I had planned to get a weapon, a dress, boots, time, music, place, booze, pills, all that shit. Then something happened that switched the suicidal thought from "ON" to "OFF". It was weird. But I can't write about it because no one in the whole world knows about it but me, and I'm going to keep it that way. So... I guess for some reason, I want to live.

At least live long enough to get to the drugstore and buy a few boxes of truffles and a See's sampler. Maybe even more!

We swung by the drugstore on the way home, the spouse was in a rush, so we ended up with nothing, but I'll have to go back for more meds, and will try to ride the bus again if he won't go with me. There will be fine chocolates here. I swear!

Better living through Rx and fine chocolates? Fuck yeah!


Drugs vs. Drugs

I’ve been vastly depressed lately – Pit of Despair depressed. And let’s not forget anxiety; there’s plenty of that too.

I’m sure that the Vicodin I’m taking for my bulging disk/pinched nerve isn’t helping any with my moods.

So, physical misery or emotional misery? Which do I choose?

Either way, it’s hard to get any work done.


By the way, the combo that the Vicodin is fighting is Zoloft, Ativan, Ambien, Inderal, and Lamictal. But more on that later.


…is the name of the cancer charity that was set up by cancer survivor Lance Armstrong in 1997, a year after he was diagnosed, aged 25, with testicular cancer that rapidly spread to his lungs and brain.

I am writing this having just seen the documentary about his drug – fuelled career as a cyclist, ‘The Armstrong Lie’. I knew that the film would trigger feelings of anger, resentment and betrayal in me. He is being sued by former sponsors for $100 million.He owes me £13.98 for the 2 books of his which I bought, along with countless others, keen to read his inspiring story of his triumph in the face of life threatening adversity.

Naturally enough the film focuses on the unravelling of his career as the world’s greates cyclist. But there was something else in the film, something that unsettled me.

There was a portion of the film that showed him having treatment in hospital, visiting cancer wards, and speaking about the work of the Livestrong Foundation. It was his experience and influence in what the film called ‘the cancer community’ that made me identify with him, and those people living with cancer whom he inspired.

He is a peer. He has shared experience of suffering from a disease that nearly killed him. He can connect with people in the cancer community because he knows what it’s like. Thankfully, cancer – and male cancers in particular much thanks to him – no longer attract the stigma they once did.

What hit home for me was that I am a peer, too. While I have never had cancer, I do know what it is like to belong to communities of people who suffer from mental illness. I know the power that these relationships have played in maintaining my health, and the crucial role they play in supporting me when I am sick. The sense of empathy, hope, and acceptance that exchanging experiences has is a relief from the indifference, marginalisation, isolation and helplessness that provides the background music for the dull thud of days.

Not everyone who I meet who suffers from mental health problems are very nice. I am not very nice some of the time. Most of the time mental illness is all we have in common.

I guess the story of Lance Armstrong, the drug cheat, the cancer survivor and campaigner, is an uncomfortable reminder for me of the strain on the limits of my empathy that even mental illness can have.

I felt a cleavage in my mind

As if my brain had split;

I tried to match it, seam by seam,

But could not make it fit.

The thought behind I strove to join

Unto the thought before,

But sequence ravelled out of reach,

Like balls upon a floor.

Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

Depressed & Restless

I am feeling so depressed and restless.

I have reasons:

1. I got a job, but it turned out to be just part time when I thought it was going to be full time. I know I shouldn’t be depressed about that, but dddaaammmnnnitttt!!!!

2. I don’t have money to do anything. At all. I had to lie and cancel my therapist appt today because I didn’t have 25.00 to spare.

3. We have no heat in our house right now until after the weekend. So, we are pretty much sitting in front of heaters not moving. Its 48 degrees in my house right now, and tonight its going to snow. Booooooooo.

4. I still have NO IDEA what I am doing at any moment in my day, life, year, forever. Its really frustrating, but I’m still in such a rut.

I thought by not drinking or smoking and taking meds that I would finally understand what was going on with me and start to live, but lately all I have been doing is the waiting game. Also it doesn’t help that I got into another argument with my husband over something dumb last night. While I have to deal with me, I also have to mother him, which isn’t fair. Uugghhhh!!

I hate feeling like this.

Filed under: depressed, Ranting, Spouses

Are All Medications Taken For Bipolar Disorder worth the risk?


I want to make it clear up front that in no way I am encouraging anyone to go off their medications.  If they are working for you and you are staying stable as a result, that is great.  However, I would be careful about the side effects. Are they worth it?  Keep a close eye on out for them.  Be educated about what the side effects are and let your doctor know if you recognize any.  You both can decide at that time if it is worth taking the medication.

Something that psychiatrists have been doing is prescribing anti-psychotics long term for those with mental illness.  They are now finding out that this is not good for the patient.  Well, I wish they had figured this out before I was treated that way at a high dose. My hands are now shaking. Some articles that support this are at the end of this blog article.

I have been treated by various medications over 25 years for my bipolar disorder.  I, unfortunately, am sensitive to medications and have had serious side effects.  I have had pancreatitis, heart problems landing me in icu, and other minor things.  The worst was dystonia and Tardive dyskinesia

I was lucky to recover from this as usually it is irreversible.  However, my hand shaking can be a sign this is yet to come.

When I realized that the side effects of the medications were starting to become prevalent, I got of the anti-psychotic medication I was taking  as soon as I could. However, since the doctor had me on so much of it, it was very difficult to wean myself off it.  I was addicted to this medication.  Almost everything I read said that it is very difficult to stop taking this medication.   Withdrawal from Psychiatric Meds Can Be Painful, Lengthy

I have to ask to what extent should I be taking medications like this?  For me, It is not worth taking something that I get addicted to like this and could have caused permanent damage.   I think when it comes down to it my former doctor is not responsible.  I know he got kicks from the pharmaceutical companies. Meanwhile, it was my life he was playing with.  I am glad that I was smart enough to change to a new doctor and was able to successfully get off that medication. Over-Medicated America

So, for me, it is not worth the risk of taking something long term that can result in permanent damage. Dystonia was worse than anything you can imagine. I do not want to ever experience that again.

Long-Term Use of Some Antipsychotics Not Warranted in Older Adults: Study

 Antipsychotic Medication for Bipolar Disorder (Note it says short term use)

Things I Wish I Had Known Before Taking Antipsychotics

Four Major Antipsychotic Drugs Found Lacking in Long Term for Older Adults

My Head Feels It Will Blow Up

I think it has something to do with my dad being a prisoner in a nursing home.  He looks so helpless there.  And he’s developed a belief that the nursing home is run by Nazis.

When my dad was a corporal in the US Army in World War II, one of his jobs was to go into villages that the Nazis had taken over–this was in the Alsace–and make sure that it was actually the Nazis and not somebody else.  Then he would radio his outfit, and they would rain artillery fire on the village and blow it up.

Dad knew that the Nazis did not kill or run out all the people whose village they took over.  They simply moved into their houses, ate their food, raped their daughters, and held that position for the advancing front.  Dad knew that when he called in fire on those villages, he was calling in fire on the innocent people that the Nazis were using as human shields.

Long before there was a acronym for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dad had it.  He spent most nights fighting hand-to-hand, even though he denies that he ever did that in the war.  Often my mother had to go sleep in the guest room to avoid getting unwittingly assaulted.

She vehemently denies that he has PTSD–a service-related condition that would qualify him for lots of important VA benefits.  If he doesn’t, then why the kicking and punching, why the paranoia, why the things that remain half-said, the conversations begun and ended in a shudder……why are there Nazis in the nursing home?

Tonight he waved me in to him and whispered conspiratorially: “Your mother may not believe this, and heck, you may not believe this either, but they are meeting tonight in the square.”

“What square, Dad?”

“The town square.  The square of THIS town.”

“Who’s meeting in the square tonight?”

“The ones we fought against in the war, the ones that wanted–US–GONE.  We won that one, but they’re back.  You be careful out there.”

I nodded.   “I’ll be careful, Dad.  You be careful too.”

He closes his eyes, shudders.  I hear no more from him tonight.  A few words of small talk, a few observations about Noga the Lhasa Apso, who is a welcome visitor.  Tonight Dad “doesn’t think she likes him.  The only reason she comes is that I bring her.”

I stay two hours, then they put Dad to bed.  He is looking very black in the face, bitter.  He falls asleep, but I wake him to kiss the top of his bald head just like always when I say goodbye.

Tonight he doesn’t say “I love you.”

Shaken and stirred

Weird day. I had errands to run which put me into the anxiety stratosphere because two stops involved the bigger stores and I got woozy and dizzy and it was daunting. That it only seems to happen when I am out in the petri dish seems to say to me that the dish causes great anxiety. No amount of self pep talks is working. It’s become physical symptom inducing and my resentment for the status quo and it’s “deep breathing” and “suck it up” mentality is immense. I’m off my butt, dealing, out there trying to function and get shit done, but I’m not a moron and I can’t just pretend I don’t feel like I’m gonna faint cos the panic is so bad. Denial is not in my skillset.

Mood seemed okay–ish for most of the day, especially once I was out of the dish and back in safe space. It did, however, crash at one point with no trigger and a toe tag was required. It had died.

Got a surprise visitor that made me half manic with anxiety because as much as I like the woman, she is a housekeeping snob and I know my slob-chic style will likely have her in therapy and gossiping for weeks to come. Oh,well. Mrs. R (ha, so long since I mentioned that drama who remembers?) stopped to say she misses visiting with me and Spook and he apparently fed her some story and was all angry at me.  Because I didn’t answer my phone when he called. That’s all it was, and he tells her something else entirely. This is why I am a misanthrope. But she is very nice and he is…whatever. That’s twice now, Sunday, Kenny came to visit. R is the only one pissed off at me and holding grudges. Go figure.

Needless to say though a surprise visit, even if it were from the sweepstakes people with a check, sent me into this anxiety induced tailspin. I’m not mad, just disoriented. I haven’t liked surprised visits for over ten years since my brain got scrambled and every tiny thing became this huge stressor. Just need to regain equilibrium.

Thus far it is proving difficult. Tomorrow is my kid’s V’tine’s party for school so I had to fill out her little Valentine’s. I bought the cupcakes for the party so I have to drive her in the morning to drop those off. Then in the afternoon I see the shrink. I will have to leave my kid at my mom’s and hope my mom doesnt start in on me because I can’t well be mean to a woman who is waiting for her mri results to find out if she has an aneurysm…

Stress stress, everywhere. I am shaken and stirred. I keep telling myself to breathe. Not a big deal. I will cope. Blah blah blah. But I am once again having the weakness and dizziness that accompanies the anxiety when it overwhelms and logic is getting its ass kicked. My focus is all over the map. My stomach is knotted up.

Mrs. R pointed out, “Well, you handled it all so well for so long, what happened?”

That’s precisely the problem. I don’t juggle well. When given too much to juggle for too long…It wears me down. My meds fail…And no matter how hard I cling, it;s just down the drain. I never noticed it until a counselor pointed it out as a factor in why she felt it crucial that I go on disability. I can manage so much. But life doesn’t limit what it places on you and too much always sends me into a tailspin. Though a lot of people can’t manage as they had been when their meds quit working and alter their mind frame. Not exclusive to me.

Ok. Now is time to convince myself even though my spleen has ice crystals on it, I really must shower. Though I feel so tapped out all I want is warm blankets and sleep. I can juggle,sure.

But this is the price, being ground down to dust.

I despise juggling.