Archive for the anxiety disorders Category

Not A Happy Camper

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , on May 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, we went live with our fundraiser to at least raise gas money so Spook can attend day camp in town on a scholarship and we have not received a single donation. We got one share, and we appreciate it. But seriously, guys, i know I’m always the whiny fundraiser queen but it isn’t for lack of trying. I just got an email closing out my application for a maid at a hotel in town, they filled it. I WAS UP AGAINST 52 OTHER APPLICANTS, and those were just the on line ones, not including people who walked in and filled out paper apps. Not to mention I have never worked as a maid (I barely made it 3 mights as a hotel auditor, but I was working another job full time so I can’t say I was able to give it my all) so it’s pretty obvious with no experience and no current references, I was not getting that job. Much like the camp counselor gig, the home health care gigs, the insurance customer advocate gig…I’m not a hot property, I get it. My applied for and rejected folder is starting to resemble a word file in page numbers.

But I am still trying and I am only asking for marginal help FOR MY KID TO ATTEND CAMP. They feed and snack them, it’s all scholarship. I am just responsible for gas to get her there and pick her up. That’s going to be about 40 miles every day Mon-Fri and if I can’t get her there, then I have to live with the guilt of knowing I let my kid take up the spot some other well deserving child could have had cos their parents live in town and can afford to drive them there. It’s about $38 a week for that many trips to town. If I lived in town, it would not be an issue. But since I have to take her to town, leave her, come home then drive all the way back…God, what a pain in the ass.

What would make more sense if is a funraiser to get us the hell out of Armpit but last year when we had 2 weeks to move and not a dime to do it, we raised $110. I’ve got enough failure going on without inviting more. It brings me down, for sure. I feel like with so many people competing for so few jobs and me not having current references, I am never going to get a job, never going to be able to work and get us out of this hellmouth, away from my dad’s toxicity…And with a job, I might be able to afford a decent damn psychiatrist who’s primary concern would be my well being and not pleasing an authority figure with how few medications being prescribed…

Right now, all I can focus on because I am wiped out is Spook and day camp. She is sooo excited. I told my dad about it and he bitched that I will be wasting gas, racking up miles on my car and wearing down the tires, and besides, I don’t work so why do I need a camp to babysit my kid…and it wasn’t ever about that, I just get tired of never being able to afford to take her anywhere the entire summer. This is her chance to return to school and start 5th grade with some great memories. I want that for her, so badly. She is my only focus right now.

Her and the other half of the yard I can’t work myself up to do because the humidity makes me choke on sinus drainage. And the only reason the yard worries me isn’t appearance or worry about the landlord, it’s because I can ‘t handle my dad attacking me yet again on a matter I’ve made clear is none of his business but he’s too much of a dick to butt out.

Spook is the priority now, so don’t do it for me, do it for her. And if cash makes you uneasy, they do have prepaid gift cards for use only at gas stations for fuel only. That’s what we’re trying to raise money for, 11 weeks times about $38 a week for fuel. And if I could just get us out of this ass trash place, it wouldn’t be an issue but I’m drained. I applied for a factory job I am unqualified for because it was the only new listing and guess how many others applied..66. NO ONE CAN SAY I AM NOT TRYING. I want out of here more than I have ever wanted anything before, I think. Because my dad stressing me out and the fuel and $70 minimum every month whether we use a drop of water a month….If I could get us back to town, we could afford rent, power, insurance, water, trash, internet, and still be able to buy food, feed the cats (who are now on day 5 without a morsel of crunchy food and my dad damn well knows it but can’t even take pity on them cos he’s so busy holding a grudge against me), put gas in the car…because in town we could apply for subsidized housing thus lower rent thus saving money to put towards all else…

I’m freaking out, time to shut it down. God, I really don’t miss R and his political tirades but I sometimes sure do miss him showing up with some Mangoritas to shut up the voices in my head.

Help for Spook to go to daycamp, please, even a share is amazing.

https://www.gofundme.com/summer-camp-and-vacation-fundraiser

Direct deposit without big fees is paypal (and it is instantaneous, fundraiser takes days to pay out) and please note that it is for us both, not just for me. My kid and i are a package deal.

paypal.me/MorgueAndSpook

Our video explaining things, very short clip.

Merci.

I’m gonna go freak out and panic now.

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Space Invaded

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on May 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Dad and stepmonster came to swap out the air conditioners today. I found her cryptonite to get her out of my space fast. Gain wax melts. She was gagging and coughing and had to run outside, then my dad started griping, like I specifically did it to offend her. It’s a scent that heightens my mood and lowers my anxiety, I find it calming. And I pay the rent and power so fuck ’em. It was awkward having them in my space. This is safe sacred space I don’t even like invaded by my kid’s little friends. Having my negative family invade it feels like an assault of some sort. But it was a necessary evil as the old unit that came with the house was screwed down and nailed in and it disintegrated in rust at the bottom plus it weighed about a hundred pounds so no way was anyone civilized getting that thing yanked. Their redneckery was needed. Now we have the newer unit that works well, though it is smaller. I think what I like most is that it has a timer so I can turn if off at night but have it kick on before we get up and also, it dehumidifies. Of course, it was a gift several years back from a friend who was uneasy with the idea of Spook and I smothering in the trailer with no air.

I was really glad when they left. Now I just need to get a big snake to park in the living room in a terrarium and they will NEVER ever set foot in here again. That would be wondermous. It was all I could do not to laugh at my dad’s hypocrisy. He was talking about his ritzy neighbors being nosy and ‘they must have a drone flying over town since they know everyone’s business’. He is constantly remarking how many times my landlord’s son or I make am trip to the gas station or to town. Yet he says he doesn’t give a fuck (he literally put it that way) what any of us are doing. He’s so deluded, it’s almost sad. How people can be so totally unaware of their own quirks is beyond me. Though to me a quirk tends to be harmless, the shit they have going on is anything but harmless. I’m so sick of the racist and homophobic and classist jokes. It’s not funny to anyone but them and some Trump fans, so…no one in their right fucking mind.

I accomplished a lot today except for the lawn. It rained briefly but it was enough to make the grass slippery enough that I almost fell on the concrete, my shoes were so wet, so I said, meh, tomorrow. I folded 5 baskets of laundry, did dishes, cooked, moved furniture, dealt with the assault on my safe space…It’s been a full day and I can go to bed not feeling like shit about myself. Well, sort of.

So I did not get that day camp counselor job, already knew that. I don’t know if it was a consolation prize or what because initially I was told it would be $40-$50 a week for Spook to attend the day camp in town. Today they called and said she got a full scholarship, it runs June 10th, til August, M-F 9-4:30. I can’t afford that kind of gas. But to save my sanity, have time to look for work, and keep her from having a miserable summer, I’ve got to try to find a way to at least float until I get hired somewhere. I really want this for her, and the overnight ‘vacation’. I gave up on the fundraiser when it went 3 weeks without getting a cent and it broke her heart but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice Minecraft time to do social media promotion so…

Now I’m doing it again. I will just post the video and link and I will keep doing it and if it pisses people off or offends or whatever…so be it. If someone can raise thousands to be cryogenically frozen after death, then we can raise a couple grand for daycamp fuel and a brief vacation. Not giving up this time. Because I am going to suck it up and start doing social media. At some point. And hope to hell it’s not a repeat from 11 years ago when it all went to shit and became more harrassment and insults than connections and friendships. It was truly traumatizing.

So…How about you help me spread the word? See. Not asking for a dime there. Just a share. For Spook.

Burned Up, Burned Out, Just Burned

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , , on May 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Good news? Burnout is an official medical diagnosis. Bad news? It only applies to job burn out, not the uber legitimate simply burned out from the struggle of life. Because only a job can burn you out. Not a child who is never pleased, who bellows mom mom mom mommy mom mom constantly, complains incessantly, and on top of it all, dealing with asshole family members, inept psych care, and a deadbeat ex who won’t contribute a dime to his daughter’s existence yet goes around telling everyone what a good man he is…

Nope. No way could anyone legitimately burn out and break down from all that. Only a demeaning or demanding job. Pfft. Utter bullshit.

Well, yesterday was bare minimum functional day. I did what I had to but beyond that, I was just exhausted. Start and stop sleep 7 days a week takes a toll and you get bone tired and don’t even have the excuse of hard work to use. So it leads to self loathing and feeling lazy and then I have plenty of people around me to confirm this is how they view me and round and round we go…

Again, no legit burn out from this, either.

Today I have started a load of laundry, washed dishes, put on clean clothes, and fed my kid a very browned omelette cos Julia Child I am not. Now I have 6 baskets of clothes to fold and put away and a football sized lawn to mow by myself with just a push mower. Yay. My kid has been out of school 4 days and one day she spent with my dad til bedtime yet I am already feeling the strain. To my chagrin, she was glued to me and being so overwhelming, I broke down and let her use my tablet even though she just broke her THIRD one. I am scared she will break mine but it would be taking one for the team, so to speak. She still ain’t getting near my laptop or desktop, computers are sacred. Tablet is newer with more bells and whistles but…I grew up on an actual keyboard, not a touch screen, so this is my wheelhouse. I will leave touch screen tech to her generation though she needs a bloody tablet made by the Tonka Tough toy company, she’s a bloody menace.

I am back to focusing on little more than going to sleep. Thanks for that, psych nurse. She stressed me out with all this talk of taking away the one antidepressant that helps. Now I can’t focus on progress when she’s weaning my dose downward and it’s dragging me down with it. I have searched my soul on this matter, trying to find a way to make it my fault, to make her the good guy, and me the overly demanding mental basketcase. It just isn’t true. She is not a good fit. And not having any options speaks volumes about the psych center, doesn’t it? They can’t get good help, they can’t keep the mediocre help they do get, and on the pegacorn occasion they get a great doc, they can’t keep them either. I can think of only ONE good thing about this current psych nurse and that is at least she stopped the revolving door of providers I was going through. Not by choice, mind you, they lost 3 doctors last year alone. But if I could look forward to an appointment or at least not dread it…That would be worth some instability.

What makes me the maddest is not being treated like an individual. This girl is so young and inexperienced, she thinks the book stuff is gospel and she allows zero room for individuality. That is upsetting. Frankly, it pisses me off. She has been the worst of the bunch on this issue and wow, after 9 providers in 15 years, that is saying something. She is a bad fit. I want to call her filthy names and vent my rage but it won’t help my cause. It only makes me look like the bratty bad guy. And I am not. Not this time, anyway. I can be irrational and unfair but this time…I’m not in the wrong. Maybe she isn’t either. Maybe it’s just a very very bad fucking fit. There, I swore a little, all better.

Um…Nope. Still bone weary and exhausted and burned out. I can’t think of a single positive in the next 3 days. Just more of the same. Wake up, get mommed and I’m bored-to death and more housework and cats that are hungry for actual cat food which I have none of. Today they got ramen. I am doing what I can, I didn’t say I liked it.

Now…chill out and wait for the grass to dry enough so I can mow. Before my dad starts in on me about lowering property values cos my lawn looks shitty. Geeze, he doesn’t even own a property over here and my landlord has never said anything to me about it not being mowed within an hour of a rainstorm making it grow half a inch. My dad is a freak, like Hank Hill, only he doesn’t sell propane and propane accesorries. Still a lawnmower obsessed redneck.

No, I don’t have anything good to say about anyone. It’s called PMS. Everyone should have such a severe case every month and then tell me how nasty I am. This is me holding in the nasty. If I let the real venom out to play…I’d lose all 4 of my regular readers.

To All The Bots Who Read My Blog…

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Put that title to the tune of “To all the girls I’ve Loved before” by Julio Iglesius and it’s funny. Relevancy? I keep getting these stop signs with exclaimation points from certain accounts that like my posts, warning me they are either bots or suspicious activity. I am starting to think all I have reading are bots. I honestly did not see it coming that no one would give me ten bucks to feed my cats. Seriously, if I were a scam artist, I’d have aimed for more than ten bucks. I just wanted gas to get to town and cash to buy a few pounds of food. Geesh. People are cruel, if it isn’t Night Of The Living Scam Bot. Hell, I was even willing to repay the money via paypal come Friday. But at least I horde old pasta that says expired and the cats will eat it. It fucks up their digestion but it suffices…

We took out on our out of town errand today to put flowers on family graves. I’d been on lock down here in Armpit for 5 days straight so by the time I hit the interstate doing 65, my perception was that the car was barely moving. It felt so alien, so bizarre. And because my car’s instrument panel is pretty effed up and inaccurate, it’s entirely possible I could be doing 30 and it reads as 60. But I doubt it. I’ve just been trapped here due to no gas in the car (not even to get groceries) so the isolation leads me to perceive things oddly. I’m no outdoors person or social butterfly but being couped up that long does distort your view of reality when you finally resume life ‘out there’. And it isn’t like I don’t make the effort, we go to the minimart, we walked to the friendship library box. There’s just nowhere to go in this town, and with high humidity, I start choking up sinus drainage and my kid starts griping about the heat so walking ceases to be relaxing or healthy and becomes one more stressful task. I guess what matters is that I keep trying to get out whatever way I can.

Dad put two gallons of gas in the car and gave us fake flowers and off we went. My kid found stuff to gripe about, of course. I was too focused on my perception issue which brought on sheer panic and spinning thoughts. I’ve never had problems discerning reality from fiction so this is disturbing. I don’t need to be gone 7 days a week but being on poverty lock down for 5 days straight is really unhealthy.And adding to my chagrin is the fact that my family all have four times my income so they can afford to take her to town to the park, to ride the ferris wheel, to the dairy bell for lunch and dessert and frosties at Mickey D’s and shopping for clothes and toys…No wonder she is so bored with me. It’s hell on the self esteem. And that she is so ungrateful and disrespectful only to me is a wound that no bandage or sutures can mend. I never expected to be her bestie favoritest person cos I do have rules I enforce, but I also never expected to raise such a shallow child who’d throw me under the bus for a banana split.

My neighbor girl got hired at Mickey D’s. I applied 3 weeks ago for the third time and not even a request to come to an open interview. That smarts. Oh, fuck such prissy terminology, it bloody well stings. I am a hard worker as long as I stay in my right mind. People view it as a character flaw but it’s the disorders. Otherwise they would not have been declared disabilities. If I had a leg injury and needed frequent breaks to sit down, it’d be fine. I melt down when placed under too much pressure due to my unstable mental state, that’s just lazy and bad character. What the fuck kind of disability protection is that? Oh, right, it’s not, cos only physical disability is legit.

Spook bailed to go to my dad’s cos they have a neighbor girl she plays with. This town is supposed to be so charming small town America and friendly and yet I try to talk to these parents when I run into them and suggest playdates, and they just blow me off. I am an outside, always will be, and they are not letting me into their little clique of flannel and denim and farm machinery. Even if I assimilated, I would still be excluded.

I want to get us the hell out of here but that would require a successful fundraiser with people willing to help. I see families of people accused of murder raising thousands for their defense, or raising money to be cryogenically frozen at death, and I am baffled by what it is I am doing wrong to motivate people. It’s a shame there isn’t some ‘check’ y’all could run on me to check my situation and finances and know I am not a scam artist and I am trying to get work. It does not good to offer proof, though, if your readers are bots. Not even porn bots who talk dirty to me. Damn. Then again maybe gmail is wrong and they’re not suspicious at all, Idk.

I want to take a nap. Too bad daylight and humidity do not lend to this. Out of melatonin so I can’t even knock myself out and hope to wake in a better mental state. So I will ramble and post and they will be ignored and that is okay. I’m just not one of the lucky bloggers who can post ten times a day about literally nothing but how their day is going and get 40 likes.

And I curse the day I even signed up for wordpress sometimes because at least livejournal was equally apathetic and had no like button. I was unpopular but I didn’t have it shoved in my face daily so I didn’t get neurotic about it. Then again, I have met amazing friends here so it’s a catch 22. And I can’t blame my insecurity on the like button or bots or anything but myself. And those who lended to me becoming so insecure by constant invalidation and borderline bullying.

The new behavioral therapy says you can’t blame your problems on anything but yourself and your inability to cope but if you removed all the negative input from supposed well meaning people, would I still be this insecure husk? I’m thinking no, so I can blame them for helping me down this path. Now I just gotta figure out a way OFF the fucking path, out of the darkness, and into the light.

I will wear sunglasses since bright light freaks me out.

Blank this Blankety Blanking Blank

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on May 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The above was a favorite saying of a long lost beloved friend who vanished off line almost ten years ago. I’ve never forgotten him, how he made me laugh. He got me into Murderdolls and Wednesday 13. He wrote me letters from the psych ward. He sent me macacre artwork that delighted me. He was a mixture of gentle and rough and fucked up and innocent. He was my first adopted spawn. I named our kitten Tyketto after an old hair metal band but I call him Tyko, because my friend called himself Tyko The Psycho. Like Morgueticia is my creation to move in the on line shadows, that was his moniker, never one to be stopped from making light of his own mental health issues that were, honestly, very dark, often violent, and yet, only a fraction of what and who he was.

So while you may flinch at rhe above ‘profanity’, it just makes me smile.

It is a segue, of sorts, into what sparked this post. Not the desire to edit myself, but to rant about how frequently my mind just goes blank. And it happens in a matter of seconds. I go to pull up a browser and look up something in that 5 seconds, it vanishes and I am blank. It may come to me eventually, but it never miraculously comes to me in the moment.

The psych nurse says this is a symptom of depression and once depression is under control, this will alleviate.

They have all been saying this for the past ten years, to no avail. R always thought I was messing with him, ‘forgetting’ stuff just to be an irritating troll. Unfortunately, this is my reality and it isn’t exclusive to stuff I don’t find interesting. It is every tiny facet of my thought process.

Now the psych nurse wants to remove my antidepressant and leave me on only two antipsychotics, which have a long record of doing NOTHING to help the depression. In fact, every single time I’ve listened to them and gone without an antidepressant, I’ve decompensated and they don’t listen. I am speaking up for myself by seeing her supervising doctor in July, but by then when she’s yanked what little support I have with Wellbutrin, God knows what mental state I will be in. This woman is single handledly ruining my progress and all anyone seems focused on is ‘you just want your high dose benzos back’. No, that is beside the point, I’d be okay just to go up 0.5 so I could have one at bedtime to slow my thoughts.

My issue is removing a longtime clinically depressed patient from a medication that works. It does cause anxiety and heighten it, but it was an informed trade off I made to escape the darkness.

Sadly, I do not have a stash of Wellbutrin 300 the way I have tons of lithium, lamictal, and xanax. Best I could do is defy her with Prozac as I have an asstone of it leftover. (Funny how she yanks my meds after I have already paid to refill them.) I don’t like defying them because it makes them right about psych patients being non compliant. Yet I cannot allow her to undo the little progress the current combo has made.

I just want to be able to remember what I was thinking 5 seconds ago. Is that asking too much? And at what point when she has deemed me ‘cured’ of the symptoms persist and she wakes up and says, hey, something else is going on here, you’re not doing as well as I thought…That would require humility and I don’t believe she has any. For someone with so little practical experience, she gives off airs of superiority, even talking down about the approaches previous doctors have taken with my medication, making it clear she feels they were pushing too many pills. Which cannot possibly be linked to them getting kudos from benzo nazi for reducing the amount of meds patients are taking. I think they’ve gone overboard with the benzo edict, now it’s spreading to antidepressants which do NOT make me manic or high or do anything but keep my head above water.

Blank this blankety blanking blank.

Frustration is a hellish perpetual state to be in.

Untitled-All The Good Post Titles Were Taken

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Sadly, I have noted that a catchy title gets a post more views. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but I went back and retitled a past post and it went from two measly views to 13…No added content. No added tags or a change of category or fancy pictures or prose. Just a stupid title change. An idiotic title, no less. I liked the original title because it truly spoke of how I felt in that post and yet it gathered moss untitle I dumbed it up with some catchy idiotic title. Pfft. Mind you, I often give my posts wacky quirky titles intentionally and that is all me and if people read them, so be it. But it really chafes to know the SAME FUCKING POST gained 11 readers all because I gave it a cutesy title. Having said all that…I am grateful for every view and especially grateful if it resonates enough for a like. This may come as a shock to y’all but it wasn’t until I printed out ONE of my posts that I realized just how long they are. 3 bloody pages and an entire squid milked of ink, geesh, I need an editing app for my brain.

Today has been stressful to be so uneventful. But no day where my dad calls at 7:45 a.m. ordering me to get out in the yard and start picking up limbs knocked down by last night’s storm is going to be a good day. The ritziest house in town still had all the limbs littering their yard hours later, they weren’t spazzing out over it. I don’t know why he does. Guess cos he and stepmonster have appointed themselves the yard police of Armpitopia. I honestly don’t get why people like them so much except maybe they don’t have to spend much time with them. If you did, then reality would kick you in the face. They are conceited, they are narcissistic, they are controlling, and they’re stuck up when it comes to their own agenda. They give zero damns if you have a knife plunging out of your skull, their blood sugar numbers (usually brought up high because they don’t eat right, they just talk about doing it) are more relevant. Them them them. I find it…overpowering.

No, irony is not lost on me. I have a blog and do nothing but talk about me me me me, I, me. Sometimes Spook and the cats. Butmostly me. Because I can’t speak for anyone but myself and this blog is sort of centered around MY struggle with mental health issues so it’d be downright bizarre if I talked about everything and everyone but me. I assure you, in my real day to day interactions I am not so ranty and complain-y. This is my space to be that way, so forgive me if sorry, not sorry.

I finally got a break from my needy tantrum throwing screaming spawn but never knowing when they might swoop in to bring her back and make some demands on me doesn’t lessen the stress. Already, dad is ordering me about, saying he will put gas in the car and give me the flowers to go put on my mom’s family’s graves since he can’t stand going to that town. (Yet, he can’t understand why Spook and I are so unhappy in this town, it’s like the ability to draw a parallel is not in his skillset.) I told him I was just gonna go Friday or Monday when my check comes and i can put gas in the car. Nope, Not good enough, he wants it done tomorrow. But rather than give me money for gas, no, like a child, I have to meet him at the gas station so he can watch me pump it, see how much goes in, then he will go in and pay for it.

I don’t know how not to be offended by that but it’s the way he has treated me and my sister since we were kids. Yet his man child son gets to keep his entire paycheck, not even drive himself to work or pay for gas, not pay for rent or food or expenses of any sort…I don’t know how not to be offended.

I am thankful for drafts, I will say that. Earlier I was all hormonally dysphoric and went on some tear about anxiety and fury towards the psych nurse (I swear, I fantasize about slapping her smug overly made up face!) Thankfully I lost my train of rage thought and just saved it to drafts and started this one fresh. Bet it’s still too fucking long. I need that editing app for my brain, damn it. I think it’s called Focalin, but my craptastic psych nurse won’t prescribe it. God forbid we should have meds that enhance our quality of life.

Anyway, high anxiety, low energy, total situational depression and hormonal rage feelings. That has been my day. One thing I can say, aside from sorry for the squids that had to be milked for 3 pages of printer ink for that post I wanted a hard copy of, is…with some editing, it was a well written piece and I might even send it to psych nurse’s supervisor, the one who oversees the actual medicine, not the clinic director. She was useless toward getting M’s bedside manner to lose the ice cubes and spikes. I doubt the benzo nazi will even blink but it was well written and heartfelt.

First do no harm absolutely should apply to psychiatric care providers.

Or the title that got the attention, Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care or some shit like that.

My heart feels very sad for mankind when bubbleheaded titles trump well written ones. Our communal ADHD as a country is showing and it is not flattering.

Climbing Walls and Crawling Skin: Life With Anxiety and Panic Disorders

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , , on May 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

For a couple of weeks, anyway, I thought my generalized anxiety disorder was being kept in check by Buspar and a Xanax chaser for the panic attacks and racing, fear filled thoughts. It only took one bad appointment with an inexperienced and obtuse psych nurse practitioner and her student nurse for me to disintegrate back into a paranoid, shaky, unable to focus or beat my panic induced inertia. I am livid and feeling helpless and hopeless. Because I don’t have any options other than this woman and I simply do not think-and never did from the get- that she has the experience and expertise to treat bipolar two disorder with seasonal depression. She’s talking about stripping away my singular antidepressant therapy and that terrifies me as much as their office wide nazi like edict taking everyone’s benzo doses down to barely adequate.

The thought of facing fall without an antidepressant-or two-in place and working terrifies me. I don’t want to go down the blackened rabbit hole again.

The fact this woman would suggest it, and be serious about it, terrifies me more.

I accepted that Wellbutrin would heighten my anxiety when I asked to go back on it after a few months break. It has been the only antidepressant that truly treats my depression and inertia with any efficacy. I did not choose to go back on it lightly. It is definitely weighing the lesser evil. What I did not foresee, however, was them handing down the strict edict on my beloved Xanax. Not all of us are addicted junkies who need climbing doses. In 20 years, I have never ever gone above 3 mg a day and often, I asked to have the dose lowered when I was coping well. And when my psych center had experienced, adequate doctors, this was a non issue. They recognized that xanax is an effective drug for people with severe anxiety and panic disorders and they trusted me to ration myself and only use what I needed. Towards the end right before the edict taking me from 3mg to 1 mg daily, I was taking 0.5 twice during the day and saving the other 2 mg for the really really bad panic attacks or bad insomnia nights. I have an enormous stash of 0.5’s, 1 mg, .25 mg. I can be trusted to monitor my usage. And I am proud to say that I have learned coping mechanisms so my go to isn’t reaching for the pills.

Today, however, it was 2.5 right out of the gate because this nurse has me freaking out. I have never felt so ignored in my life, nor have I ever had a psych professional make me feel so cornered, so vulnerable, and just utterly powerless. She seems unaware of her impact and her edicts having a bad impact on me. Her goal, likely to please her supervisor, is to get me on as few meds as possible. Well, that was the goal all along through every doctor. What they all understood was that life is fluid and rapid cycling bipolar two means what your goal is and what you need to do to survive are often very different things. I miss that level of expertise, that trust they placed in me to know what was best for me and when. I no longer feel like she trusts me or even believes a word I say, for that matter. She has zero concept of how disabling my conditions are. I can’t truly open up to someone whose back is turned to me the whole appointment while she clacks on the computer and shows zero empathy. Her detachement is a bad fit for me and I haven’t experienced it since the last time they stuck me with a nurse practitioner.

I have friends who RAVE about how amazing their psych NP’s are. I was open to the possibility because some of those friends have complex diagnoses so I figured the nurses would be just as knowledgeable as a doctor. What they lack, though, is experience and the ability to let go of all the book taught stuff and LISTEN to what the individual patient needs. It is not my goal to vilify this woman, as I am sure there are others who do find her an absolute godsend. I am just one person who finds it a bad fit, like shoving my size 11 foot into a size 8 shoe and wondering why does it hurt so much and make me walk funny. This should never be cause for a patient to feel guilty or non-compliant. Finding the right fit in any doctor or counselor or even a lawyer is crucial to being able to open up and try your hardest. When someone makes you feel minimized and does not seem to grasp the severity of your personal situations, it feeds into the desire to give up because it seems so hopeless.

I am limited by insurance acceptance and geographical location in my options. Plus, I’ve been with this center 13 years, through about 9 doctors and 2 NP’s. It was always my go to place, my godsend, my miracle working center who never gave up on me and never minimized me or pushed me beyond my comfort zone to the point I needed to take a double dose of Xanax. I just don’t know how to slow my mind and heartbeat and wobbling knees any other way. I breathe, I count, I picture stop signs and recite mantras, I have aromatherapy and sound therapy. I do EVERYTHING but their counseling and that is because my insurance covers only inept people who break confidentiality. This place thinks therapy is so crucial but they won’t let me see their staff counselors due to money. If anything, it is them who make therapy seem impossible. I can’t see someone I can’t trust, I tried that and it put me off therapy for years. So I turn to my peers in the on line community who help me calm down, gain perspective, and they validate my concerns about this NP being a bad fit and they cheer me on as a strong, tough woman who has this.

What I may not have is summer vacation with a bored kid. I didn’t get the camp counselor job, and I can’t afford to send her there, so we’re conjoined twins for the next three months after 1:30 today. Talk about being under pressure and having my anxiety heightened and metastasized. Oddly, I am calmer this summer and I credit the Buspar for that. I am just going to have to get creative and try to find cheap or free stuff for her to keep busy and pray it goes by fast. Maybe her starting counseling will help, too. And it has me unwillingly pondering going to the now behavioral health place, if only for advice on how to handle how stressful this situation with the nurse practitioner is for me. But again, I got burned badly by that place and it happened twice, so…I’m gunshy and wary, to say the least.

For today even with xanax, I am climbing walls and my skin is crawling off my bones. One 20 minute psych appointment with a bad fitting nurse sent me into a tailspin. I am salty because I was starting to feel well. Then she persisted in having me talk to her back, letting the student commandeer my session, and talking about removing the very medication keeping me afloat. Enter terror and panic that has NOTHING to do with being hooked on drugs or preferring popping a pill to alternative coping skills. I should have the right to say, this isn’t working, bad fit, my needs are not being met and I feel trampled. It should not equal non compliance or addiction or being difficult.

We should all be able to take charge of our psychiatric care and have input that the professionals do not trample and quash and send us into tailspins and down rabbit holes. That is unprofessional and borderline malpractice. I just want to be treated as an individual with my own experiences and my own genetic way of processing meds. This woman told me I wouldn’t have withdrawal from Prozac and I had 3 weeks of hellish withdrawal. Because I am not a textbook case and treating me as such does a disservice to me. As a supervisor, the psychiatrist in charge should be made aware that her staff is breaking the cardinal rule in the medical field.

Do no harm.

This last appointment, great harm was done to me. I am not okay with that.