Cognitive Therapy Rebellion

I spent most of my day in a dark depressive abyss, fairly certain I’m not fit to raise a fish, let alone be a mother. (And in all fairness, I’ve killed every fish/aquarium life I’ve ever had, so the kid making it to six seems to dispute this thought, good with kid, baaad with feesh.) I’m a good mom. I just have a low threshold for noise tolerance and disrespect. In this shiny happy people world it makes me a monster to  not find it adorable and normal when my kid swings a fist in my face.

Know what? Fuck it. It’s not acceptable behavior and if I let it slide, I’m creating the monster. So let me be the monster by declaring, she is too much for my nerves to handle without some fraying and wear and tear and yes, the “channeling satan” voice.

This just in: I am only human. It has zero to do with mental illness. This is basic human courtesy and no one wants to be yelled at or have swings taken at them. As for this “You allow it to happen” mentality…YOU are the same morons who’d put me in jail if I spanked her butt so do get off your Smart Phone and all your aps and your PTA throne and give me all the right answers. Otherwise, fuck off.

I’ve run the mood gamut since afternoon. The sun goes up, goes down, it drizzles, it’s cool, it gets humid…GRRR. I am so sensitive to every fucking tiny thing around me and the more I try to “get over it” the worse it gets. I LOOOVE gloom, it makes me feel calm, and yet as far as mood goes, it takes me down like a wrestler clotheslining me. WTF is that? I hate the sun but recognize its usefulness and respect that it is better for my mood than gloom. But also, gloom brings calm and I like calm so…Catch 22.

Watching this show Perception has brought me no clarity. I get that it’s fiction and all, but the scripts are based on scientific research. So when the schizophrenic lead character gets blown up by a bomb, lands in a coma in the hospital, undergoes brain surgery, and comes out spewing about how we can choose to be pessimistic or optimistic and it changes how we feel…

I HAVE MORE DISDAIN FOR THE FUCKTWAT THAT CAME UP WITH COGNITIVE BEHAVIOR THERAPY THAN I DO THE MONSTER THAT CREATED LOBOTOMIES.

I’m not gonna dispute CBT’s usefulness in CERTAIN individual treatment plans. For some, it’s a better option than medication. IF you are able to “recover”  without medication, though, then chances are pretty good your imbalance was never chemically based. Seriously, what the fuck. Read the plethora of mental health blogs about medications and side effects and adverse reactions. WHAT MORON WOULD CHOOSE TO POISON THEMSELVES IF SIMPLY TALKING AND CHANGING THEIR THOUGHT PATTERNS WOULD DO THE TRICK?

CBT has oversimplified things as far as mental health concerns go. For three days, my mood has been blackened, hopeless, full of self loathing. Nothing I did alleviated it. Nothing. It was just to be survived, to make it past that cycle without buying into the depression’s lies and doing something harmful to myself or others. There was not one moment involved where I simply had to view it as “This too shall pass.” I’m fucking bipolar, it passes is the whole mantra of this disorder. I live it so I know it. It doesn’t help, it doesn’t change a thing. Cognitive behavior techniques have done less for me than my own simple stubbornness.

For years I listened to therapists tell me to “Look at differently. Don’t assume the worst. View it as possibly this…”

Nada.Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

But thirty years ago when an asshole stoner kid in school told me I was so weird I should do the world a favor and just kill myself…NOPE. He’s the reason I’ve never considered suicide a viable option. Even if living is killing me, I am gonna live, goddamn it, rather than let a moron like that be right.

What? Anger and rebellion aren’t healthy? I’ve survived 30 years of suicidal thoughts and depressions by rebelling against that one idiot. Whereas thirty years of professionals telling me to see the sunny side up and puke sunshine and slide down rainbows have gotten me fuck all but more confused and resentful.

Most doctors, and I say *most* are willing to admit no one is really sure exactly how psychotropic meds work, it’s all a theory based on research, not hard science. This is why there are so many options for medication, why some respond to Snark-o-lel versus Doomtuda. That’s why they’re willing to keep working with you to find *what combo* works best for *your* specific case.

When it comes to therapy…It’s all paint by numbers. Cognitive is the popular kid on the block, followed by a few others involving exposure to triggers, desensitizing to triggers, et al. And for every person any of it helps, there are hundreds of us floundering, flailing, wondering why we’re such losers it won’t work for us.

I have zero faith in any of it, especially cognitive. Tonight, I forced myself to sit outside on the step. Never mind all my allergies or that one mosquito bite could lead to a dozen itchy welts all over my body. Never mind my freshly shaven already covered in bites legs. Nope. I decided fresh air would do me good BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE PROFESSIONALS SAY.

Two hours later…I am covered in even more bites which have turned into thick throbbing itching welts up and down my legs and thighs. And this was in spite of dousing myself in bug repellant. Everyone else gets tiny red dots. I have half dollar sized welts on my back thighs just from a half hour sitting outside.
I tried to tell myself it’s psychological. I itch because bugs suggest itchiness. I avoid the outdoors because it’s my bad personality. It’s all in my head, all a matter of how you look at it. So I chose to look at it positively and think, “I can do this, I can spend some time outside with my kid, it won’t kill me.”

It didn’t kill me.

But whereas before most of my bites, rash, and hives were limited to my ankles…I now have huge welts on my shoulders, side, hip, thighs, backs of my legs, and the itching is driving me insane in spite of a cold shower. The itchiness isn’t dying down, it’s just spreading.

So cognitive therapy gurus…Shove it up your ass. How you view things doesn’t change a fucking thing when there’s an actual problem. I tried to “think” myself past my allergies with optimism and “can do” attitude.

That worked as well as trying to convince myself I’m not manic, depressed, anxious, panicky, paranoid…Meaning, it did not work at all. Because the problem is real, not just something I created in my head for attention or to justify being a complainer.

It’s not simply how you view things. Some things cannot be gussied up. Mental illness, allergies, puking…Some things just aren’t shiny happy things. Telling yourself they are is as delusional as wearing a tinfoil hat, yet it’s a socially acceptable delusion professionals consider viable mental health treatment.

Trust me. If I could just “talk” myself out of my allergies, I wouldn’t have to live six months a year coated in Desitin, calamine lotion, and popping every anti histamine known to man in search of one that stops the itch without knocking me unconscious.

Just like, if I could “talk” myself out of feeling like life is pointless and everything is awful…I’d sure as hell be doing that instead of taking all these damned meds. I still can’t wrap my brain around the Latuda causing LACTATION. Side effects, hell, that’s just going too far with how a med affects a human body. That anyone’s ignorant enough to think any of us with mental issues would choose to take something that could result in turning into milk cows (male or female) boggles my mind.

Do the cognitive if it works for you.

But if you’re like me, and you think it’s useless…It’s not just you. It’s that one size fits all mentality and I am fucking sick of having my size ten foot shoved into a size three shoe just because the Douchebaggery Simpleton Module dictates it.

I’m itchy, I have huge frigging welts all over, the fresh air didn’t fix me because I am still depressed and I don’t care if you slather it in orgasmic chocolate…it fucking sucks.

Leave it to the mental health professionals to turn realism into a mental disorder. Yet if you have magical thinking, you’re mentally ill.

Remind me again who the “ill” ones are? Because I’m starting to think the very people we go to for answers and help are the crazy ones. In which case, the inmates truly are running the asylum.

 

 

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4 Responses to “Cognitive Therapy Rebellion”

  1. Take me to church, Morgue. Not like actual church but the saying or the song or whatever. I’m going to be real honest. Therapy has never helped me. Ever. I do it because I need documented data that I’m fucked up for my SSI case, but considering the notes in the margins about how my clothes are clean so I’m stable — when I’m CONSTANTLY THINKING OF WAYS TO KILL MYSELF — aren’t going to help me win my case, I’m two steps from FUCKITALL.

    As much as I hate meds, complain about them, am scared of them. The only times I’ve managed more tolerable days than bad days has been on meds. Any other shit is my paranoid mind trying to save the organs that make me convulse violently when I step into hospitals in pure terror.

    I know some of my shit is poor coping, but there isn’t a pep talk in the world that can convince my brain to calm its fucking moody tits. Pep talk might help me cross the street but it can’t and hasn’t and won’t control the moods. Maybe if we learned to use more percentage of our brains we could control the chemicals, move shit with our minds, etc. but right now? We are fucked.

    If it works for you, bravo. But don’t shove it up our ass.

  2. I’ve tried it twice in Partial, and it didn’t help me. Mind of matter may work for a VERY select few-but I HIGHLY doubt those people have a mental illness and are more needing a hat pin in the ass to motivate. So sick of the mentality that we can change our thoughts and behaviors without meds, blah blah blah. Bullshit. I sway you fuckers come live in our heads THEN spout your sunshiny rainbow puke. THey couldn’t do it.

    Now after this new med reaction it makes me wonder how much longer until I’m Rubber Ramada ready? I’m not hopeless or suicidal or “depressed”, I’m fucking empty and those damn fucking meds did it to me. I don’t like it one fucking bit. What’s so wrong with trying to cope in our OWN ways?! The inmates are running the show-they’re become the puppeteers and we are the unfortunate audience and clientele that will pay from now on.

    This lit a fire under my ass to DO something, so CHANGE this shit, because it’s un acfuckingceptable that we are treated like this, and you do EVERY you’re supposed to do for your disability and some moron assfuck that knows jack shit about mental illness at all decides your fate?! Fucking fuck. I see you struggle and fight every day and by god woman you’re fucking stronger than you give yourself credit for. I’m seriously gonna come visit and give you a big fucking hug and a whole carton of cigarettes and take R DOWN!

    • You go. girl! Reinforcements would not be turned down at this point, I’m so up and down and all over the fucking place. But that dead feeling…I found my cat Brimstone dead today…And I couldn’t even cry. Not one single goddamn tear. Which isn’t normal because when his sister died, I bawled my eyes out. Difference? Oh, right, Latarda and Trileptal. They changed my chemistry or some shit.

      Meds of doom. DOOM!

      On Tue, Jul 21, 2015 at 7:46 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

      • NO NOT BRIMSTONE! FUCKING MEDS! I got nothing here either. Empty, void, black hole, numb. I too blame the Latarda and Triflliptal. I’m posting about my meds right now. This is all utter bullshit. BULLSHIT I SAY! Wait-that was a feeling! Call the news outlets! I’m Bipolar! *Snarkasm is making a rare appearance…wtf?!

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