Daily Archives: May 26, 2015

“She’s a member of the prozac club…”  Yeah, that’s a lawyer’s way of discrediting witnesses.

Guess what? You’ve just shrunk your jury pool to elementary school children and Scientologists because a large percentage of the population has been on in the past, or is currently on, a med like prozac. It’s not a sin, it’s not incompetence. I am pretty resentful that so much as taking an anti depressant warrants such labeling, as if anyone who could “catch” depression is somehow inept.

Prior to being diagnosed with any mental health problem, I was just considered “weird” “awkward” or “eccentric.” And I was actually okay with that, figuring that my dysfunctional life had lead me to that place of dysfunction. Deep down, though, I always knew *something* was off in my brain. It didn’t matter how much I bullied myself, or how much I changed my behavior. The cycles were the same. Up, down, briefly stable, to the moon high, and back into the gutter low. Always anxious, always panicking even without a trigger. Something was wrong with me that wasn’t my fault.

But then came the counselors. I turned down meds. I talked until I was blue in the face. Still, the cycles remained the same. So I acquiesced to medication. The cycles remained the same, except the depression were worse and the manic episodes longer and more severe.

That happens when you give straight anti depressants to a bipolar patient.

Fast forward to 2006 when I was finally diagnosed as bipolar and given mood stabilizers. Suddenly, I wasn’t spending money like water on shit I didn’t need and I had no desire to. I wasn’t goofy happy for no reason, taking chances, making impulsive decisions. I was no longer screaming mad and throwing things, nor was I bawling and hiding in closets. It felt like, wow, this makes a difference.

Except…It’s never cured the depressions. I’m to the point where I’ve tried 3/4 of the anti depressants in the pharmacy. First gen, second gen, SSRI, SNRI, MAOI. The doctors look at me with revulsion, I’ve tried so many, as if I chose for them to work briefly and quit or not work at all or give heinous side effects. I am a pain in their side because I don’t fit inside their neat little box of “it works for a million other people, the problem is you.”

They don’t consider a complex multiple diagnosis. Nor do they consider all the meds they have you on for said disorders and how they might or might not combine for best results. They only care of there’s a chance for a dangerous interaction. For all they know, giving Zoloft to someone with a hormonal imbalance may make them more depressed. They don’t know, yet they still seem to place blame and responsibility on the patient.

So here I am, 13 years on disability, still jumping through hoops trying to prove I am indeed disabled, while med after med fails and counseling does absolutely no good because my biggest problem isn’t my personality. It’s what my mind state is that affects my personality. If I am in a depression, it stands to reason I am not going to be shiny happy people. If I am manic, then I’m going to be intrepid and limitless only to come down and fail once again. That’s not my personality. But back when I didn’t know what mental illness was and it could be blamed on my personality..At least I had some sense of control and dignity. I wasn’t a member of the Prozac club, my very intelligence being questioned and tainted. I was just “the weird girl.” And frankly, society’s so cruel, being the weird girl is a lot better than being the bipolar chick. People believe in weirdness. You’d be surprised by how few believe in mental illness.

I guess, if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d think the same way. Anyone who’s tried over 20 medications and only ever had good results with four…Obviously, they’re just looking for a pill to fix them. It’s to the point where I feel responsible for making my doctors happy by lying and saying the meds work when they don’t. That’s sad. I don’t want to fail anyone, not myself, not my kid, not my doctor. And yet, time after time, there it is. I arm myself with research, information, the experience of others, I provide journal entries to give a peek inside my daily mind…And still, I am made to feel like somehow it’s my fault for not responding to what a million others do. And face it, if that were how it worked, they wouldn’t need dozens of different formulas for the medications. (My old shrink said the only one that should be on the formulary at all was Zoloft and that shit made me suicidally depressed.) I feel like it’s a losing battle. I’m not looking for a cure in a pill, I just want to feel better, enjoy the things I used to, and make it STICK.

Did a diagnosis do me any favors?

I’m not sure it did, from a self esteem point of view. Yeah, I have the diagnosis and it explains much of my dysfunction. But I’m still viewed as “a member of the prozac club”, like somehow having imbalanced brain chemicals is some sort of mental hindrance to intelligence. I have no doubts that I am fairly smart. I was in gifted classes in school, honor roll,et al. I’m not dumb.

I do, however, have a disability, and it’s not simply being a member of the “prozac club”. If your body is sick, people tell you to take the time to heal and they make concessions for whatever is hindering you from keeping up with the able bodied.

If your mind is sick, somehow you’re just irrelevant and lazy. Never mind that the brain is the epicenter that runs every response in our bodies, physical and emotional.

Can you imagine if a computer had a virus that affected every aspect of its functionality? Oh, no, must remove it, must fix it, can’t run a computer if it’s corrupted.

The human brain is a computer. Mental illness is the virus. We’re not running properly and our meds are our anti virus program. Except no matter how much you update, there’s always some little asshole creating a new virus to infect your brain.

In some ways, I am grateful for my mental health diagnosis. I know it’s not just me being some loser. And mood stabilizers stave off the worst parts like the crying and screaming and doing impulsive self harming things.

In other ways…It’s like having a biohazard label stuck to my forehead for the rest of my life.

I blame society, and its collective ignorance and lack of compassion, for that.

Punishing people for seeking help with an illness is abhorrent.

We are in the midst of a hellacious thunderstorm. Had to close the windows, the rain’s coming down so hard. Which of course means I am now baking in the humidity. Fortunately, it waited until after I’d ventured into the dish for spawn drop off. Unfortunately, today is supposed to be school fun day and as it was to be outdoors…The poor kids are out of luck. That makes me sad for them. They earned a fun day. I guess by afternoon it could dry up but the mud, oh, the mud…Meh.

I am having this issue with being out in public at this time. Yesterday was…an excerpt from what I wrote but never posted.

I had to run a quick errand in the dish today, took no more than ten minutes including drive time…But I felt like I was psychologically naked and vulnerable and there was no reason to feel that way. It almost felt like having a target painted on me and everyone is armed with guns. Which is at odds with how I feel sometimes, which hovers between apathy and a get it done mentality, or the “ten feet tall and bulletproof” mentality. I’m hoping this simpering thing is just hormonal. I don’t like feeling weak. I should have stopped and put gas in the car as it’s nearing the orange mark. But I felt so freaked out and vulnerable, I said fuck it, I’ll do it later. Now I worry I might run out of gas, which is pretty much my norm, I get near the 1/4 mark and start feeling scared of that. I just…couldn’t manage to push myself any more on this day.

While out this morning, I bribed myself into finally stopping to put gas in the car. Of course, that didn’t fare well because the bribe was a bag of this beef jerky I love…Idgets phased it out and now all there is are the pricy brand name ass trash kinds I can’t stand. FUCK. Instead I got a fountain Dr. Pepper (first soda in two days) and a bag of Italian recipe Gardettos. Damn it, I liked that tender cuts beef jerky. Assholes. Still feeling like a target but that could have been the bright yellow shirt I slept in and wore out cos it’s comfortable even if it makes me look like a parade float. (Yesterday, I wore clothes I hadn’t slept in, even a bra, not because I care, but because ouch, chafing.) I got back in time to put trash by the curb and then it began pouring. Of course, it seems like it’s done now, which is going to amp the humidity to stifling levels. UGGH. No happy fucking medium in the midwest.

The way I am starting to view my life is, at the start of the week, I have this elaborate design of dominoes all lined up. They’re in the shape of a pegacorn and it’s beautiful and there’s this bratty little kid called mental illness just salivating at the chance to tip the first one over and set off a chain reaction. I just never know when it’s coming. Could be car troubles, loud noise, my kid having a fit, a call from family…Or all that might not even work up a breeze and the dominoes all remain standing in their lovely pattern. It’s a precarious place to live, never knowing if things will remain in tact or if one tiny thing will set off a chain reaction and bring it all crashing down. Makes you afraid to move. Long as the pattern remains and all dominoes are standing, you might stand a chance. If that first domino goes, for whatever reason…Downward spiral.

The dominoes almost went flying down yesterday after dad brought my kid home. From yesterday’s unposted rubbish:

Dad brought my kid home. Thus started The Lecture. She was an angel for them (never mind how much sugar they plied her with, she didn’t get aggressive and act up for them so it must just be me making shit up) and they did this and that and she played at the park and with other kids and…Maybe it’s just the pms thing making me super sensitive but that alone about made me burst into tears. I get it, I am a failure as a mother.
Then came the other lecture, about “for what you pay to live here you could have a nice house.” Yeah, a two bedroom where I’d have to pay trash and water thus saving fuck all for less room. Just to impress him. I live check to check, I couldn’t even come up with half a security deposit. My credit is shit.  And I asked him what the hell I am supposed to do. Brilliant sage had no answer for that, just more than condemnation, somehow voicing that I am providing an unfit life for my kid. I’m not blowing it out of proportion, he does this a few times a month. Never with an answer, just the lecture to make me feel shitty even though I am doing the best I can.
They even insulted my ability to groom my kid’s hair and said they’d take her for a proper summer haircut. And my anger was boiling up and I just muttered, “Yeah, priorities, looking good is all that matters.”
God if I could perfect the burst-into-flames look, he’d be cremains by now.
That’s my family. Not a nice word from any of them about how well I’ve done. Just lectures about what I am not getting right. And my kid starts in on me right through the door. I want ice cream. I want cookies. Poppy let me have them. I say after supper, it starts a pouting fit. She demanded to play on Neopets, I told her not until she asked nicely.
Even without my mental disorders, I have enough on my plate to want to crawl into a closet and cover my ears while sobbing. My family is the bane of my existence, the destroyers of my self esteem, the ones quick to judge me and point out all I do wrong yet never ever tell me if I did something well.
I got hit by this notion, hey, one day I could just save up money and me and Spook can take off, go anywhere else. And it smashed into me, I can’t do fuck all. Second I do, The Donor will catch wind of it and suddenly decide he’s interested in seeing her and I’ll be charged with taking her out of state.
Trapped. By mental illness, by my family, by my right not to take my kid where we might flourish. Not that I’m gonna win the lottery, it was just this fleeting “I could…” But no, I can’t.
Yet I still keep going. And get no credit from those who are supposed to love me unconditionally. I can barely stand to be around my family. And that’s when I’m not hormonal and in crampy back aching pain. They are toxic.
And yeah, yeah, they love me in their own way and mean well.
Good intentions do fuck all to repair the damage they do to my self esteem every time they see me. No matter how hard they’ve seen me struggle with my mental stuff, they still think it’s a lazy personality and I choose not to snap out of it. I. want. to. be. an. orphan.

It haunted me the whole evening, that twenty minute visit that made me feel like the world’s biggest failure. He was on about “What if one of your meth head neighbors blow the whole place up?” (Already been in a building that caught fire, had to move, bfd.) Then he said, “well, what are you gonna do if they decide to just shut the whole trailer park down?” Um…That could happen with any place I live. Even if I owned a home, the powers that be could come along and decide to build a highway through my property. My dad is just a fucking gloom monger, not to mention plain cruel. Like I don’t run through worst case scenarios on a daily basis. Like I need his fucking help.

And part of me knows exactly where this is going, he does it a couple of times a year. There’s probably a property open or about to be open in their armpit little town and they want me to move over there. To save money, of course. Which if I paid two hundred in rent, fifty, for water, fifty for trash, then needed ten bucks in gas every time I needed to run to town for groceries…Not saved a fucking thing. It’s because they want to see her more. And he manipulates me, never hears what I have to say. I’m 42, I wish he’d leave me the fuck alone. I’ve told him as much, which results in him bringing up every cent he’s ever spent on me, like I am indebted to kiss his ass forever. Mom is the same. Which is why I resent them doing anything for me, it’s gonna cost even more in the end.

Of course, the hormonal thing is making me wayy more sensitive than I normally am. The desire to claw out eyeballs will pass. I hope.

It occurred to me between Spook staying with my mom then with my dad, I spent maybe seven hours with my kid the whole three day weekend. That’s wrong. I feel like a slacker. And it’s not like it made me any less stressed, truthfully, it just gave me new ones. Still, I can’t keep her from her grandparents and I can’t keep her glued to my side just so I feel like I am being a responsible mom. I just don’t like feeling as if I shunted her off to avoid being responsible. I know it’s my own distorted thought but knowing my family, even if the sleepovers were their idea, they probably castigate me, saying, “She doesn’t even want to be with her kid.” My counselors always thought I was embellishing or dramatizing. Then I took my mom along once (though it was for my sister cos I never mattered enough for her to be bothered) and the counselor pulled me aside later and told me my family is indeed toxic and I should limit my exposure to them for my own good. Sad considering she spent less than an hour in my mom’s presence. try a lifetime with her and my dad both chiseling away while mental illness eats your brain too.

Spook said something last night about me never smiling and always sounding mad. Made me feel like shit. The off affect is not in my control, I sound the same no matter what I say even when trying to speak softly and lovingly. I told my kid, I know I’m not fun mommy right now, hell, I’m not even pleasant mommy these days. But I do love her and it’s not on purpose that I am so wonky, I am trying to get better. I can’t compete with the fun grandparents with the money to take her places or the grandmother who lets her bills go and does without food so she can buy the fun gifts. I don’t want to compete with them because I don’t think they’re right. Maybe it’s the grandparents right to spoil grandchildren but to completely usurp me over and over and put me down in front of my kid…
Vile creatures I am tied to only by fucking happenstance DNA. I doubt my kid understands but I am TRYING.

Storm is over. I should do something housework-y. Instead I think I am just gonna breathe and not tempt the dominoes.