And The Shit Show Gets Shittier

I was having trouble getting my mind to slow down last night in spite of antihistamines and melatonin and now that my Xanax has been cut to 1 mg for the entire day and night…it was miserable. Round and round my thoughts went. I heard a text come in and ignored it, knowing if I so much as looked at the time, I’d be drawn out of ‘mental prep’ for sleep and back to the rat race…After a half hour of toss and turn and stewing anger at this doctor who has never met me yet has robbed me of the only peace of mind I’ve ever gotten from these craptastic meds…I sat up in frustration and looked at my phone.

My heart sank. My brain cried NO NO NO, LET THIS BE A BAD SICK JOKE, NO NO NO.

The dog that my daughter loves so much at her grandma’s house got hit by a car. 😦

Chelsea did not make it, in spite of beating a year long battle with diabetes and sugar levels nearing the comatose point…she got loose and a car speeding down the street just..ran her down. It was going to happen sooner or later, they had that dog 2 years before I even had my kid, so Chelsea was an old pup. And dumb as dirt. But my daughter loves her so much. We just saw her the other day and she was cheerful and playing with Spook and my kid spent more time gushing over that dog than her grandmother. A few days before, my sister was being a goof and dressed all the animals up. This is our last pic of Chelsea rocking a punk rock outfit.

I was sick the rest of the night and had to take more melatonin, more benadryl, more Vistaril. Whereas a single 1 mg Xanax would have likely combined with the melatonin and gotten me out of my panic stupor…I’ve been elevated to taking even more pills than I was before. Now that kids have figured out how to get high on Benadryl, no doubt they will soon take that off the shelves and I’ll be in some skanky alley trying to score heroin cos that is way less dangerous than prescribed benzos…Dogressing.

I did not wake Spook. I did not tell her this morning. When I tucked her in, she was actually happy and looking forward to school today. They do this 100th day of school celebration and she hates this place so much, I could not crush her with this heart breaking news, not when she finally found a little moment of hope and happiness. Spook’s pretty detached when it comes to people or cats dying, but she had a very special bond with this dog. I fear how hard she is going to take it when I am forced to break her heart and tell her that her best friend is…gone forever. I am not looking forward to that conversation. I weighed it heavily, for hours, since I could not get my mind to quiet last night, and as much as I try to respect her with the ugly trust and not exclude her even from the sucky parts of life…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her and deal with the fall out. Let her have her fun day at school. One thing life makes plenty of time for is suffering.

I should be in town paying the rent. Once again, I find myself addled with cramps and a low mood but nerves so jumpy it’s like my own brain has a taser it keeps poking me with. Let the landlord come to the door, let him evict us. I am just so damned exhausted. I am not up to a trip to town. Maybe tomorrow. Which is what I’ve said for three days. Would have been much easier if I could have paid it Thursday when we were in town but noo, paying a day early confuses the landlord on the dates and it becomes this whole debacle so I try to only pay on the first, never before. Unfortunately, battling my current shaky mental state, this often leads to me not paying til the 4th or 5th. He’s not said anything nor does he charge more than a buck a day after the tenth, but it bothers me. I was always on time or early with the trailer park slumlord. (He apparently says NONE of us there paid rent on time, which how can people not wonder why we were allowed to remain there for ten years if we didn’t pay???Idiot negates his own argument.)

I started some laundry, emptied some trash, refilled ice cube trays, put on clean clothes. Still not worked my way to a bath. More than being dirty, it’s having greasy gross hair and scalp that really bugs me. I can use Irish Spring and wet wipes and lotions and perfumes to smell nice but the hair…ugh, that’s always the thing that breaks me. Even that is taking longer and longer than these days.
Cripes, every sound makes me jump. I feel like if I leave this safe spot in my bedroom something bad will happen. I know it’s not rational but it’s very real for me. Why don’t the professionals give a damn about quality of life? And I was thinking, these people don’t give a damn about the patients getting hooked on drugs or suffering withdrawal. If that were legit, that doctor would have taken note of me being yanked off Prozac cold turkey after being on 60 mgs for months. They don’t care that I suffered through that, they just want to cover their asses legally over ‘addictive’ substances. It need not be addictive to alter your brain enough to cause withdrawal. I swear these people got their degrees from a Cracker Jack Box.

I know, I need to stop harping on it and either accept it as my doomed fate or try to find a new office..Again, though, it goes back to crap insurance no one accepts, plus transportation since the only other psych docs are a 110 mile round trip from my house…and I’m driving on two tires showing belts so…

GAH. My kid is the only thing that is saving me from myself these days. I blame this osych center and their good intentions. Well intentioned people are the bane of my existence cos their good intentions are usually for their own self interests and it means I suffer for it.

I guess today is just gonna be spent in mourning over a family member lost (we love our animals that much) and ponder how best to tell Spook and comfort her broken little heart. The rest of this stuff is static, noise, and it may push me over the edge in the end which is why I am going to harp the hell on the topic. The system failed my sister’s brother in law, hospitalizing him for a couple days, sending him home with nothing more than a script that he couldn’t afford to fill and he hung himself two days later yet they were never held accountable…I got some mega issues with the psych pro community and they’re just getting worse.

What I know from experience, though, is that these medication zealots come and go and if I can just hunker down and survive a few months, chances are I will either get a better doc or even go with telepsychiatry. It may change nothing as far as the benzos go but if I walk out of that appointment feeling supported, hopeful, and worthwhile, that would be a wonderful upgrade from what I am dealing with at this time. It is truly upsetting because I’ve read so many blogs where people have these great psych nurses and counselors and doctors and I WANT THAT.

The midwest is all 9 circles of hell. Dante’s Inferno indeed.

R.I.P Chelsea pup. You were and are loved and I am so sorry your life ended this way.

Such a shit show.


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