Daily Archives: February 9, 2015

Why Depression, Why?

I awoke feeling sad and barely able to move. I managed to get out of bed but I’m fighting every single minute to not go back there and go to sleep.

I want to cry, I think I would if I had the energy to do it. I think I’ll take myself up on that nap.


Okay, so there are two sides to every story. This story has dumbassery on my side, as well as the flip side.

Last month the shrink increased my Prozac from 10mg twice a day, to 20 mg twice a day.

I called in for refills this morning and they tell me insurance won’t fill it til the 21rst. But I have two pills left, this is wrong. Except it wasn’t wrong. The shrink failed to tell me that he was changing WHEN I took my meds. So for the last two weeks, I’ve been taking my two pills a day like I did every day for the last two years since I have the mid day mood crash.
Oh, genius doctor doesn’t tell me or specify to the pharmacy that it should be two doses of 20mg every day. So they gave me 40mg pills (and in my dumbassery I didn’t notice because the pharmacy is always switching manufacturers and giving me different colored pills that are the same med). OOOPSIE.

I called the dr office. Of course, there is no doctor on premises, ever, so they have to contact his nurse at the hospital 80 miles away and she generally doesn’t respond until Wednesday when she is in our local office. I explained to the receptionist what had happened and she said, “No wonder you’re feeling so good.”
These people are morons, considering I’ve been taking double the dose and am still barely keeping my head above water.
I told her my primary concern was not being on them until the 21rst when the script renews. Quitting meds is bad, quitting SSRIs cold turkey is treacherous.

I haven’t heard anything from them yet.
I feel like a dumbass, I should pay more attention. I am just so used to the status quo and he NEVER said, “You’ll be taking 40mg once a day instead of two pills a day.”
Damn it.
I suppose the high dose of anti dep could be why my panxiety has skyrocketed, though the shrinks claim these meds help anxiety. (Never did fuck all for mine.)

I am frustrated and disgusted, with myself, with the doctor’s office, with the pharmacy. You change the program, don’t tell me, I fail to realize there’s been a change, and I end up looking like I am popping Prozac to get high. Awesome.
Only anti depressant I’ve ever had that even remotely made me feel any kind of buzz was Cymbalta and I didn’t abuse it. I may have doubled a dose due to bad memory but I never used it inappropriately.
So why would I misuse one that by itself in a dose does fuck all? That receptionist pissed me off. I never said, “I’ve been feeling good.” So her comment about, “No wonder you’ve been feeling so good” was inappropriate.
Not to mention I now feel like some degenerate braindead moron who can’t even accidentally “overdose” and feel better than “meh, I’m surviving.”

Ass trashery.
Dumb assery.

I focus so much on everything but myself, this stuff gets lost in the shuffle. I think this blog is honestly the only thing I do that is really about me. Every other minute of my day is spent caring for kid, cats, the shop, the house…And I get the short end of the stick because I can’t even be bothered to doublecheck something for my own wellfare, I just act on the assumption there’s been no deviation because I was not informed of one.

Bloody hell.
It’s my own idiocy and yet, I still feel like the doctor’s instructions should have been clearer. Not to mention my pharmacy’s policy on doling out less pills in a higher dose if it’s not specified otherwise. Hard to divide a fucking capsule, people. The double doses are necessary when it’s in capsule form.

I’ve been dyeing my hair for 30 years and I still read the instructions just in case the timing is different on some brands. Yet my meds…I just blindly assumed they were same as always, just higher dose.
I feel stupid.
I also realize I need to find a better balance. I have responsibilities but I am not going to be able to do anything for anyone if I don’t start paying a little more mind to my own necessities.

Still salty about the receptionist comment.
How can you work in a psych office (she’s been there almost ten years) and be stupid enough to think an increased dose will make someone super happy? Manic, maybe. But “feeling good” when day after day the best I can describe how I am feeling is…okay-ish..

20 Days of Valentines—Day 13


Click the image to find more fruit to pluck on Etsy.

The Rock Show


This is a rock!

If you are looking for an Aerosmith concert description here, you are in the wrong place. I mean seriously the wrong place.

When I say “rock show” that’s exactly what I mean. A show full of rocks. And rocks, and rocks, and more rocks.

Well, let me back up a little. I knew this thing was coming. Since I went last year. And this was one of the highlights of my husband’s year. Sort of a Disneyland experience for him. As last week went along I was dreading it. And I wasn’t feeling too good to start with.

On Thursday of last week, I had set up a date to go and have afternoon tea with a friend of mine. This is Tammy, a girl I met through NAMI. She has serious depression and is as kind as they come. I woke up on Thursday with severe anxiety. I couldn’t move. I took two Klonopin and cancelled on her. I felt like the worst kind of scumbag, but she was so gracious about it. So the whole weekend started off like crap.

Friday morning I woke up and my husband was zipping around the house singing because it was time to get up and pack to go to the ROCK SHOW! I. DID. NOT. WANT. TO. GO. I begged and pleaded to be left at home with my daughter for the weekend. No go. My husband was pretty firm. I was going. But oh my god, my couch looked good! I crawled to the shower and my husband stood watch in case I tried to escape. (He was singing about rocks all this time, of course!) I showered, got dressed, and dried my hair. I threw some stuff in a duffel bag and was ready. I have a travel toiletry bag I keep ready and I just threw that in. And I don’t wear a lot of make up to a rock show.

My husband’s friend showed up. Kenneth. If I think my husband is cheerful, this guy is worse. I’ve known him like thirty years and have never seen him in a bad mood. He knows a lot about everything but will only tell you if you ask. When the kids were little we could always count on him to help with the woodworking, leather stuff, and the derby cars in Scouts. Of course he loves rocks.

So we’re off for a two hour drive to the rock show. I had my trusty headphones and audiobook which calmed me down a great deal. (I am getting addicted to getting through books on audio instead of visually. Much easier with the bipolar.)

Now there are something like 23 venues of rock displays at this thing. So we stop at one and start looking. And I mean looking. And it was hot. But I dutifully looked over everything and made appropriate comments.

I had decided early on I could not do this dumb rock stuff if I had no goal. I have a friend who has a grandson who is starting to collect rocks. So I figured I’d pick up a few things for him. (He has a sister who is bipolar, BTW, so I know he suffers, too.) Once I had a goal in mind it was better.

We spent about 4 hours at the first venue and headed to the hotel. The guys (my son was along too) decided to go out to eat and see a movie. I was invited of course, but all I could see was that nice big clean bed. I tucked in with some snacks, my audiobook and computer and some Klonopin and happily spent the night.

The venues didn’t open the next day till 10, so we slept in a bit. We ate breakfast at the hotel and got on the road. I was dreading today. A full day of rocks. Yes, they had gems and jewelry, but well, I don’t wear a ton of jewelry and I have some. And it is pricey. So it’s basically rocks. But some are pretty rocks. It’s just that after two hours or so they all look the same. But not to my husband and Kenneth. Each one needs to be picked up, handled and admired. ACK!

We sat down to eat lunch and I quickly devised a plan. I decided I would talk them into dropping me back at the hotel and I could rest for the afternoon. They were really cooperative about it and back I went to the bed and audiobook. Things were looking up.

Yesterday was hell day. My feet hurt before we started. We got going about nine and today was PURCHASE day…no more looking. Oh boy. We had backpacks, but rocks are heavy. I finally volunteered to take the shuttle back to the parking area with all the backpacks and unload them at the car. I got a lot of brownie points for this.

They were so determined not to miss anything that we didn’t even have lunch. Kenneth had some beef jerky and we all split that and kept looking while we ate. I did manage to snag a Diet Coke somewhere.

There was no going back to the nice hotel bed because we had had to check out as it was our last day. So I was stuck. But I soldiered on and did the best I could. I was patient, even when my husband got in a discussion and turned down a rock he really wanted cause the lady wouldn’t come down an extra ten dollars. (I wanted to wring his neck).

FINALLY, about four or so, I heard Kenneth say “I think I’m done.” I think both he and my husband had run out of their rock allowance money. I staggered back to the car and got that audiobook on and got home.

I am sore and tired today but I did it. My husband had a lot of fun and he didn’t have to worry about me being alone. I handled it pretty much like a “normal” person. We came home with a plethora of rocks and I got some very nice ones for the grandson.

Can’t wait till next year!


Maternal Mental Health Forum #MMHForum2015

Email dated February 9, 2015 from Joy Burkhard, Founder & Director and Kelly Nielson, Event Chair, www.camaternalmentalhealth.com, #MMHForum2015: Nearly 140 people will join us for our sold-out forum this Thursday! But, we don’t want anyone missing out, so now we are offering a…

This is my daughter….. and I am so proud

http:// https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=927329550634871&set=vb.100000735053489&type=3&theaterFiled under: bi-polar

Dissociative Identity Disorder and the Libido


Severe trigger warnings here for blurred lines between foreplay and sex with adults and kids, in terms of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

I need help with my own reading and logic here and crowdsourcing seems the fairest way to achieve that. I am not going to respond to comments, I’m just interested in how YOU see it.

I couldn’t work out from the post, which confused me hugely, who was doing what to who at what age/s – the story seemed to change direction after every statement. I only know people with DID who actually won’t let their child parts online – because online can be freaking lethal for children (and for childhood sexual abuse survivors like me too), so I’m kinda lost here.

This is from a newer post:

recently my two girlfriends have taken over foreplay, especially KA. It’s pretty tame right now because for her it’s all about romance. But she wants our ‘romantic interludes’ as she calls them. Karen still finishes things, but it’s an entirely new thing for someone to want to be with me sexually.

Wait – these are the underage girlfriends who aren’t sexualised? Performing foreplay?? Maybe I am just lost. I found this on the about page:

“Karen is the host who relates to me as my wife, my first “girl.” Amy is my (insider) daughter. She’s the 9-year old full of life and exuberance. She and Karen control the bulk of the mental abilities. She’s the business woman and loves to crow that she is a genius to me! Alley(lieu) is now my sexy girlfriend. She was the defender who used to hate me but has learned to turn that passion to protecting others externally, not only internally. Sophia is my sweetheart/the youngest insider. She loves doing puzzles and connects Tina to all the other girls. Shellie is Alley’s little sister. She wants me to be her platonic boyfriend. She also is the mechanical engineer and bookworm of the group. KA was the inside mother, but now she is my second girlfriend. She’s the lover art/creativity, food and fashion. Tina is the last girl to come out. She had all the worst rules and trauma to overcome. But she has overcome so many things, and has contributed greatly to the group the more she has been healed.”

Originally posted on Loving My DID Girl(s):

(Trigger warning. This talk about sex is pretty generic, but please use care.)

My wife and I have been married for over 26 years. Sex has always been a source of stress for both of us. But until we began the healing journey for her dissociative identity disorder 6 years ago, I never understood the reasons for our troubles. This entry emanates from our personal experience, and I would love comments from others about their own experiences even if they differ from ours.

As I tried to do some research for this subject, I realized how little information was available on the internet that would apply to couples touched by d.i.d. I included a few links at the end of this entry, but I found the information very unsatisfactory.

I included Jung’s framework as a place to start this topic:

Jung’s definition of libido differed significantly from Freud’s… Jung was…

View original 1,107 more words

What If This Is As Good As It Gets?

In reply to the WordPress Daily Prompt Feb.9, 2015 Silver Screen Take a quote from your favorite movie — there’s the title of your post. Now, write! ________________________________ My favorite movie of all time is As Good As It Gets. There are endless quotable lines in that movie, but the one I decided to use is the title line, said by… Read more →

monologue minus zero

Three or four days worth of brainvomit.

I smiled with my mouth, not just my mind when I read this …

INTERVIEWER Do you have any long-range ambitions or regrets as a writer?
GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ I think my answer is the same as the one I gave you about fame. I was asked the other day if I would be interested in the Nobel Prize, but I think that for me it would be an absolute catastrophe. I would certainly be interested in deserving it, but to receive it would be terrible. It would just complicate even more the problems of fame. The only thing I really regret in life is not having a daughter.

… just like I did sometime in the 80s, when I read that Bob Dylan said he’d always wanted to be a cinema usher.

All I can do is be me. Whoever that is. Bob Dylan


I like those (often purely intellectual) journeys to places where conventions are dissected and compared to the person’s perceptions of reality.

Who are men, that they can insult men? Who are these people who wear pants and dresses and sneer? What am I talking about? I’m talking about human helplessness and unbelievable loneliness in the darkness of birth and death and asking ‘What is there to laugh about in that?’ ‘How can you be clever in a meatgrinder?’ ‘Who makes fun of misery?’
Jack Kerouac – Desolation Angels

Considering all the commonalities of ‘the human condition’, we misunderstand each other incredibly badly.

Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

The Buddhist answer is the simplest one, I think? ‘All life is suffering,’ which doesn’t mean we get to sit sadly on our arses if there is something that can be thought or done about it. I like this article very much, because it distinguishes between the sort of depression that needs meds and the sort that needs a brisk walk etc. And this is an interesting one, by a Nichiren Buddhist psychiatrist. I need to read about Islam and Christianity’s views on mental illness. Please feel free to educate me.

Here is my new favourite word, which lazarusandlithium used casually in a blog post the other day. I googled it and suddenly my day got better. I’ve decided that it solves the how-are-you conundrum.


Person: How are you?
Me: (with a huge smile and maybe even an airpunch) I am TENEBRIFIC thanks!
Person: *thinks* Can’t she pronounce ‘terrific’? Is it something to do with Tenerife? Wtf do I say now??
Person: Er … glad to hear it … oh look at that butterfly, the weather’s lovely, oh shit I’m late …
Person: *scurries off*
Me: *stroking imaginary goatee (or real goat)* Muhahahahaha etc.


It comes from the Latin for dark – tenebrae. And it’s been bottled (I’m rolling my eyes to a dangerous degree at this). Gloaming is twilight/dusk, pike is a fish, a weapon or a hill.


Dark dusk fish.
Dark dusk dangerous pointy thing.
Dark dusk pointy hill.

I’d love to know what it’s made of. I’m thinking either minced glow worms or Fairy Liquid (English stuff for washing dishes).


I’m not sure whether I started writing this post on Friday or Saturday, but I do know that yesterday (Saturday) was the best day I’ve had in ages. I did a lot of housework, read stuff, watched stuff, ate stuff. I took a sleeping pill and for a change, it worked fast.

This morning I woke up (and by ‘woke up’ I mean that girldog beat me up till I woke) blurry and headachy. I’d had those exhaustingly vivid and irritating dreams – thank you lamotrigine – and it took me ages to locate a very few brain cells and to function vaguely. I don’t usually waste much time getting even more depressed by questioning why I’m sad at any given time, but I did, for bloody hours. Butterflies, ffs, it was mostly due to the time of the year, the colour of the butterflies and one of those sad, sad associations that I don’t want to think about anymore today.

Tonight; it’s tonight now and in 20mins time it’ll be Monday morning. Tonight I am lying here feeling utterly bleak and being thrashed from the inside out, by lamotrigine heartburn. It’s ludicrously painful, but it’ll only last a few days. I’m on 300mg of lamotrigine now. In the meantime, I am totally enchanting. There’s the rash on my forearms and feet, a scowl on my face and I keep burping. I am charm personified today.


Got distracted, then slept and now it’s properly Monday. Anxious as fuck for no good reason, and sad – sadder – saddest.

And that was this morning and now it’s afternoon and today is good bad angry sad fried fucked and every molecule I have is vibrating wrong. I’m doing all the right damn things, even took girldog for a good run on her own, because hyaenadog’s spine issue means he needs gentler exercise. Urghhhhhhh. Etc. I am too jittery to write now.

Off to do more sensible things. Bah.

Blow by Blow Account of Panxiety Attack


10:33 a.m.
My skin is crawling with anxiety. Paranoia is seeping in. I have no idea why. My ear itches, I assume someone is talking about me. (Thank you for that superstition, mom.) I am on edge. There was a knock at the door and all I could think is, what the fuck has gone wrong now.
I took a xanax.
Still I feel like I have bugs crawling all over me. I am itchy. Twitchy. Even my lips and scalp itch.
My nose itches, and again, thank you mom, I think someone is going to call or come by. What the fuck has gone wrong now…
It started last night, this can of crazy opening itself. I can find no trigger. It is maddening.
11:50 a.m.

I have numbed the crazy.
Last resort, of course. Truth be told, I can’t stand medicating unless I am at wits’ end.
And today I was.
The bug crawly feeling is gone. The paranoia is tuned down to two.
I feel shitty for not being tough enough to do it on my own. It keeps getting shoved down my throat that “you can control” it.
Telling someone they can control mental illness is as stupid, and dangerous, as telling a diabetic they don’t need insulin, they can just “think positively” and “will” their sugar levels into check.
12:27 pm

The bugs are back.
No, I don’t mean I see bugs.
But bugs crawling on the skin is the best analogy I can make to describe the heightened paranoia and anxiety. I am starting to think Xanax has a very brief half life. Maybe I have become immune to its properties to ward off anxiety. It works on violent panic attacks. Generalized anxiety…that turns into panxiety…Not as much.
Maybe I am allergic to my laundry soap or body wash and that’s why every inch of skin feels itchy like bugs are crawling. I have allergies out the wazoo.
But prior to having my daughter, I never had paranoia or anxiety this bad.
There’d been hope the whole pregnancy/labor/childbirth thing might shock my chemicals normal.
Instead, I think it’s gotten worse.
Thank god for my fragmented soul and compartmentalized personality. I can paste on the happy face and fool people for the most part while shielding my child from mommy’s crazy.
I just wish something would shield me from my crazy.
3:16 p.m.

Picked my kid up from mom’s. Took me ninety mins to get her to leave because there were other kids there. And when I walked in, Spook let out a shriek, “Mommy, you’re not supposed to be here, you’re ruining it!”
Yeah, I felt wanted. And I have her 26 hours to play there.
Then I get her home and not two minutes in she starts throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t let her wear her muddy shoes inside.
Then it was being told she needed pants because her dress is too short.
Parenting is a thankless job. She always acts out like this when she goes to my mom’s. My mom has no rules, everything is yes.
Not to mention all the lies she told mom (like I make her go to bed at 7pm) trying to start shit.
My anxiety was bad.
This isn’t helping.
I just wish I could find a way to reach my daughter. Firmness doesn’t work, calm and quiet doesn’t work, nothing bloody works.
I’d say for being so unstable, I am doing pretty damn well considering how difficult my child is.
Though it is no wonder my anxiety is off the charts and I am so exhausted every minute of the day. Between mental illness and a headstrong disobedient kid, it drains you.
Least the bug feeling is gone.
For now.
3:55 p.m.

My daughter wanted to videotape me using her Leap Pad.
I played along, did the zombie mommy/want brains thing.
But I am so high strung and self conscious, it made me start breaking out in hives.
This is why I don’t do video chat.
Or maybe the hives are because my dad is coming by. A visit with both parents in one day…Yeah, that’d do it.
6:30 p.m.

I wave the white flag. My kid refused to eat what I fixed for supper, threw a hissy fit even though she has eaten it many times before. I’ve had enough. Time to curl up in bed. If I am lucky, I will let her lay down in my bed and she will stop complaining.
7:00 p.m.

Starting to calm down. Fucking phone rings. Now my anxiety is up and my kid is bouncing off walls again. Fuck
8:10 p.m.

Once again, getting her to wind down…And the damned phone rings again. My mood is vile, my nerves are frayed ropes, and I am really just exhausted.
10:50 p.m.

Kid finally fell asleep. After an hour of her snoring and hogging the bed, I carried her to her own bed. Only then did I begin to relax. Truth be told, I don’t like to sleep with others. It makes me nervous. I am up and down too often and the stress of not waking a bedmate is too much.
Of course, now my mind won’t stop churning and I took the xanax.
Tick tock.
I was ready to zonk at 6:30, tapped the fuck out.
Always good to know my battery bunny neurotic brain always has the energy to hasten my descent into madness.