I don’t hear voices telling me to kill. I don’t have violent outbursts. But I feel psychotic. The level of fear and paranoia have reached fever pitch. I constantly feel scared and threatened, suspicious of every sound, every person who passes by. I tell myself it’s not real, it’s my illness, but it FEELS so damned real it sets off that physical fight or flight panic response like gangbusters. I don’t think anyone can understand or even empathize because it does sound crazy and it’s not really textbook. It is, however, my unfortunate reality.

Today has sucked. I buried 4 dead kittens. We had a power outtage during the night and it corrupted my external hard drive so when I got things running again, all my file paths were fucked and no longer usable. I needed a sitter today to go answer R’s beck and call and mom never did return my call. I had a nervous stomach. Since I started the Paxil, I feel like a narcoleptic, my limbs feel like they weigh a ton and no amount of sleep makes me feel rested.

I am fucking frustrated, but also pissed off. I didn’t ask for this. I’m of the mind that genetics raped me. It gave me this junk dna without my consent. I’m not some evil monster who has mood swings for shits and giggles. I am ILL. And it was done against my will, so maybe I’m not being so demanding expecting a little empathy instead of all this “suck it up” and “try harder,you LET it get you down.”

I watched a show the other day, and while yes, it is fiction, it depicted a shrink forcing his severely phobic patient to face his panic inducing fears. And all I could think was, if a shrink did that to me, I’d sue them. That’s not therapy, that is exploitation of someone who has some major issues going on. Maybe immersion therapy works for the select few. For most of us, it would make things worse to the point of hospitalization.

Which I’ve actually thought about a lot lately. Nothing is getting better doing it outpatient. But the sad truth is, you go in for an appendectomy, no one goes to court and uses it to declare you an unfit mom. If I sign myself into the rubber ramada, I am as much as giving up my parental rights for the next 14 years. People aren’t forgiving of mental patients, especially those who’ve had to be hospitalized. Mainly, single moms who have an errant baby daddy who’;d probably relish the chance to use a hospitalization as a way to get custody and avoid paying support. Do I sound paranoid? Fuckers should quit making me be. It doesn’t make it any less real.

Fact is, society at large cannot differentiate between “Mentally ill” or “Mentally ill and a danger to self and others”. They actually view hospitalization as a character weakness.

And I’m not convinced it would do me any good, either. I’m back in that weird space where finding the magic bullet, aka pill, is the name of the game. I’m not saying the right med will cure me, but if it would just get me back in my right mind…I’d be grateful. This should be prime manic time for me, where I get uber energetic and happy and hopeful. Instead, I am dreading every single part of life. Everything. I’m being ripped off, ffs.

Ass trash day. I can’t wait to go to sleep. Except I take Paxil at night and it keeps me awake yet I can’t stay awake during the day. How’s that for fucked up. I just know it wasnt like this on the Viibryd. This started as I stopped it and started Paxil and the shrink did say it makes some people tired. I didn’t realize he meant ALL THE TIME. I won’t last long on this crap if this doesn’t lift soon. People don’t understand why you haven’t raked your yard or why you’re ready for bed at 7pm and when you say “I started a new med” they just act like it’s Tylenol. They have ZERO clue of the side effects of this toxin we so gleefully pump into ourselves in an effort to claw our way out of the depressive abyss.

I haven’t heard from a soul today, even the usual suspects, and it’s making me paranoid. Did I offend someone? I burn bridges like an arsonist burns down buildings. Or am I making myself overly important by assuming it’s anything to do with me?

My brain has been busy with its thoughts today. My skull aches. I need a break from thinking. I will probably take a Trazadone. Screw the hangover. Then I’ll just have to deal with the fucked up nightmares it gives me. I can handle chainsaw wielding killers. I can handle venomous snakes. The one I had the other night was a bank alert telling me my account had been hacked. THAT is a true nightmare. If you don’t agree, try dealing with on line banking one day.

2 Responses to “Psychotically,yours”

  1. If someone tried immersion therapy with me, they would probably get the ever-loving shit beaten out of them. I cannot possibly see anything different happening but me Hulking out.

  2. A friend I have who has Bipolar and PTSD, someone who admits she has a chemical imbalance and shouldn’t be treated like a criminal, says that she should take less medication as it’s bad for her body and soul, and should pray more.

    Er, what? I’m sorry but WHAT? Because prayer undoes abuse. Because prayer undoes rape. Because prayer undoes chemical imbalances.

    I replied ‘I take issue with that last sentiment etc….’ And she replied ‘each to their own’

    Much love to you darling.

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