The Truth About Mental Health Treatment, Meds, And Memory

The last few days have been a challenge, to say the least. Shark week arrived early (likely due to all the stress from the car problems and such) and while it explains my gamut of emotions, including the white hot rage at being forced into a holding pattern for car repairs, followed by my idiot father reducing me tears after a phone call…It’s still one more bitter pill to swallow. Not only am I mentally off kilter, but once a month I become emotionally off kilter to the nth degree. And honestly, when I am in the grips of the monthly dysphoria, I can tell you to fuck off and really mean it, without guilt. Give me a few days, I’ll apologize when our regularly scheduled amount of crazy resumes.

What I have found this week is that…my intelligence has really suffered, be it age, that infamous Nardil incident that nearly killed me and resulted in some brain damage, or if it’s side effects from the plethora of meds I am taking trying to fix myself up into some semblance of…functional…Fact is, in addition to the limitations of mental imbalance, I am also experiencing limitation from the meds to treat it.

I spent 3 days in a row at the shop, repaying R for all the time and effort he put into getting my car fixed…It has been brutal because A,) shark week pain and dysphoria, B.) Week two of trying to wean myself from Pristiq and the ensuing brain zaps and fog of withdrawal (driving me to take a 50mg every third day because damn it, those brain zaps and the fog are making me feel whacked out) and C.) because of my meds/ memory limitations and not being able to meet the expectations R has of me.

He has been trying for 5 years to teach me to read electronic schematics. Well, that’s a joke because my memory of numbers lasts about 2 seconds and me asking what was it again, annoys the fuck out of me. Like I am doing it purposely to annoy when in fact, it frustrates me to hell and back, too. Then he was trying to get me to comprehend PNP vs NPN resistors and such on the schematic and frankly…what he sees so clearly as an arrow pointing up or down…to my disheveled mind, it was like looking at a foreign language. I couldn’t tell for sure which was pointing up or down. How pathetic is that? And it really pissed him off and humiliated me because I am trying my best and scumbag brain just doesn’t get it.

The other day I even forgot how to count in fives and fucked up some change he gave me. Just…wasn’t there. Memory bank was blank.

So in addition to all the crap going on with my hormones and my meds and my very existence…I am supposed to hold my head up high when I can’t even interpret which direction a fucking arrow is pointing.

I was supposed to be paying him back by helping but instead I just got him more mixed up. Yay.

So while six different people this week have taken shots at me for not having a job..I have to come to terms with the fact that I may NEVER be able to hold any job I worked in in the past because my basic grasp of things is so fubar. Can’t keep numbers straight? Nope, no cashiering in my future. Can’t remember two seconds after what was asked of me? Guess even stocking shelves would be out. Hey, how about going back to school and learning a trade? Wait, I can’t do numbers, I can’t tell what way an arrow points, and I can’t carry out basic tasks because I forget them two seconds after being asked.

My future is not so bright I gotta wear shades. Fact is, short of working for myself or finding some uber understanding human to employee me, flaws, disabilities, and med side effects..even if the shrink says I am ready to work…I am screwed. I mean, seriously, so altered I can’t tell what way an arrow is pointing???? And I mean, I was in gifted classes in school so I am  not stupid but for whatever reason, my brain is failing at the most menial simple tasks.

I am not giving up on being well enough to work. It’s just not at this moment and I guess my cross to bear is listening to all these assholes around me tell me I seem perfectly fit for work to them if I would “snap out” of my moods.

It’s a barb wire cross to bear because here we are, taking these meds to get well, yet the meds make us have side effects as hindering as the original illness if not worse.

On another front, war has erupted in my family. My sis found her dream car and asked dad to cosign. He refused as the car cost more than blue book, needs tires, etc. Well, somehow, my sis got the loan and got her dream car. Now they are all pissed off at him and I am trying to remain neutral and be happy for my sister (mom thinks I am jealous cos it’s a shiny black car but really, I LIKE what I drive, why can’t anyone get that thru their thick skull????). So my dad called today and wants a dog sitter as usually my mom does it but since he refused to cosign the loan and dared call the car for the piece of crap it is outside the shiny paint job…Now he wants me to dog sit. Which involves a 25 mile round trip to their armpit town for 8 hours so they can run around and get haircuts and shit and he rubbed it in “your brother has to work.” Because the message isn’t clear enough already.

They offered to pay me.

I don’t need the money or anxiety of being outside my safe space that bad. In fact, I’d rather peel my flesh off with a paring knife than go babysit the dog. I am not a dog person. I like the dog, mind you, sweet dog, but dogs are so needy what with having to walk them and all the barking and slobbering and wanting  to play. Ugh.

It’s pathetic they’ve spoiled the dog so much they even need a sitter because if left alone, ever, he will  bark incessantly til the neighbors call the cops. And this man is judging me???

GRRR. I have spent all week at the shop pretty  much. My weekend should be mine. But since there’s war on all sides, if I turn down the “job” then I will be dragged further into it all. Mom and them will get all nasty about “they usually pay ME to watch the dog.)

Just a big bag of family shit drama I don’t fucking need.

Is it wrong to pray for an abrupt case of Flubola before Saturday?

So…that’s been my week.  Amazing I remember so much but hey, the embarrassing failures always stick. Too bad the rare instances of when I do well slide off like I am coated in Teflon.

Advertisements

One Response to “The Truth About Mental Health Treatment, Meds, And Memory”

  1. Ugh the memory thing is so awful. Bipolar causes it, the meds compound it and you end up sitting around knowing that you’re smart but not really being able to prove it anymore. I feel your pain Morgue. xo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: