Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Traffic Jam Of The Brain

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on January 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

“It’s a traffic jam of the brain…makes you wanna scream and shout…”
—-Scritti Politti. “Let’s Go All The Way”

It’s been days since I have written and it’s not because I don’t need a good rant or venting session. It’s because I DO have a traffic jam of the brain. Too many thoughts and utter frustration that I can’t assemble them into some facsimile of coherent prose. I swear the racing jumbled thoughts get worse by the day and all the professionals can say is “it’s anxiety” or “retrain your mind using better coping behaviors”.

To which I say…fuckest thou.

Yesterday was my birthday. Happy #45. For my birthday. I got…ten bucks from someone not even technically related to me, and she did it because even MY OWN ASS TRASH FATHER couldn’t be bothered with even a card. He did call the day before to say happy birthday and razz me about my old age, adding, “We called today because we’re just going to be too busy tomorrow.” And yep, not even a text on my actual birthday. In addition to nothing but insult and injury, our heat has been out going on 5 days and the landscum,er, lord, keeps dicking me around with the guy is gonna be there this day, then this day, no, this day…It’s fucking heat, not a dammned luxury during winter!!!!!

I managed, for the first time in A BLOODY WEEK, to shower yesterday…and promptly kitten Vex pissed on me and my nice clean, warm clothes. And that’s a statement about my entire birthday, even though my sister did bring me a card and some Halloween cupcakes cos that’s all the decorating stuff she had but it was sweet of her. Otherwise, I felt pissed on. My kid was having meltdowns about school, then declaring her hatred for all birthdays except her own cos it’s not about her, then she was on about gym class and homework….

2018 blows goats.

Jan 1-K’s suicide.

2nd week- uncle dying of bone cancer in ICU 8 straight days with the flu and additional infection they had to call in infectious disease specialist for, he’s intubated and just sleeps, mom’s been there 9 days straight. Oh and hey, here, have a new shrink for yourself, but not until March, apparently our psych nurse doesn’t find your case important enough for sooner treatment.

3rd week- no fucking heat day after day thus I am uncomfortable. Which until today was okay because it was in the fifties and I was the only one complaining, I really really have something in my body that makes me cold even when it’s not. The monthly curse arrives with agonizing cramps. I get peed on by a cat, on my birthday, essentially pissed on by my father, dicked around by the landlord, and oh, a $335 power/heating bill I cannot possibly pay and since I’ve already had an extension, I am so screwed.

I HATE JANUARY 2018.

I’m exhausted, obviously, why else would I be awake at 4:25 a.m. with frozen hands typing…I’ve been up every two hours for four days, truly stressed about the heating situation. How this is acceptable is beyond me. Stupid things a tiny space heater is gonna keep us warm when it’s made to warm a bathroom, not a place with 3 bedrooms and two full baths. I am holding my temper in check, barely, because I want to rant and I think this is rant worthy, but because things are so precarious with the holding company now owning the place and scumlord simply being ‘manager’, I don’t dare get too ‘stand up for myself’ lest it rock the boat.

In spite of all this…I am hanging tough. I am not melting down, at least not in a major way. So much for the professionals saying I just quit when things get too tough. (Oh maybe they didn’t say it, or didn’t put it that bluntly, but I got the gist from nurse doc,grrr, my bete noir.) Getting off Trintellix, getting away from R, and laying off booze has helped immensely. I also tossed aside Paxis and went back on leftover Pristiq, which, I checked, and this was the last working combo I had when I was seeing Dr. B before he abandoned me. (Yeah, yeah, he likely got a better job offer, not all about me, blah blah blah.) I am just gonna keep with the Pristiq/wellbutrin/Lamictal cocktail til I see the new doc in March. As long as it gets me through. I don’t see how they left me much choice. That nurse saw me crumbling and gave zero fucks and if it were within my power, I would sue her on principle for being so apathetic that it has caused me great mental anguish and contributed to me not trusting or believing in psych professionals.

Which leads me to the other traffic jam in my brain, which makes L.A. traffic snarls look tame: the whole therapy/personality disorder thing. In the attempt to be fair and take a long hard look at myself and determine how my own behavior contributes to my condition…All I’ve realized is that borderline and bipiolar disorder mimick each other so closely, it’s not a shocker the pros can’t figure it out seeing me 20 minutes every 6 weeks. I am not in denial, I do have some borderline characteristics. The difference is, I LIKE being alone, I almost want to be abandoned once the shine has gone off of relationships. And that’s just me, people bore me easily and my hobbies don’t require other people. Unless you, too, like binge watching the shows I like, watching me read the books I like, listening to the music I like…I like what I like and I am damned sick of it turning into a personality disorder.

I am too damned old for this level of confusion and the professionals are what caused it. If I could just live outside their stupid labels and just be an individual…But nope. Mental health care is getting worse now that some doctors are using computer algorithms to determine pat treatments for the top 7 mental disorders. No, I am not making that up. Google ‘mental health treatment algorithm”. I don’t even trust those things to give me relevant adds on my gmail. Dear God, I write one message about a condom joke and next I know, I’ve got ads from the top ten rubber manufacturers in the world. Fuck you, Google, and fuck you, doctors, for using an algorithm because you’re too damned lazy to treat us as individuals and WORK to help us. Honestly, if the computer algorithm is doing the work, then let’s allow everyone with a computer to become a shrink. Not like it takes special know how these days to use a computer.

I am further haunted by March’s appointment with the new doctor. I need to get her on my side, seem sincere (I can come off as insincere when I am really nervous or ‘off’), and I need to do it without a lot of rambling and going off topic. Because aside from Dr. B, none of them give a rat’s ass about getting me on track, they just say ‘get therapy’. And I would, except the only place my insurance covers, is a hot pit of incompetence and confidentiality breakers. They think I need it so bad yet not one of their therapists in office can offer me a price break? Proof they only care about the money, not the client. Makes it hard for me to take their word for anything.

Okay…I need to warm my hands under fort blankie so I will end this rant. But hey…I showered and I wrote all within a 24 hour period…I’m gonna call it a win.

Not saying a lot for 2018 that this counts as a win but I will take it.

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Lost

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on January 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My disorders, and the extreme cold thus my kid being glommed onto me due to school being cancelled, has me hanging by a thread. It takes every ounce of strength to just fix her cheese and crackers or a turkey sandwich. Vacuuming feels like futile because the thing spits out more than it sucks up and I can’t find any clogs. Dishes get washed and pile right back up. Finances took a bad bad turn so I can’t even afford to go to the laundromat, that is WHEN my car doors aren’t frozen shut.

To top it all off, after my sister’s brother in law’s suicide New Year’s Day…our uncle is in the hospital 40 miles away, with bone cancer, pneumonia, and the flu and his heart is failing, they don’t think he’s going to make it. Mom’s been living up there by his side as he is her last living sibling (of nine) and she is taking it really hard even if they barely spoke for the last 30 years.

I feel like an idget for complaining about my petty little plight, but depression gives zero fucks. I have actually taken to writing to stave off my own thought madness and finished an entire Jonathan Kellerman novel in 3 days. And now I have started a second one by him only…

All the psychology gobbledygook where the main psychologist character diagnosis everyone’s disorders…Now I am all paranoid about what my docs think of me. And what life maiming notes doc nurse put in my chart and how that will taint the new doc against me in March. Is it logical? The level of terror and paranoia (terr-anoia?) is illogical but human behavior dictates that most people, even professionals, will take the word of their colleagues in the form of session notes and possibly commit to that notion before giving a new client a chance to present.

That is my biggest fear.

The whole cognitive and mindfulness drivel is about living in the now, changing your negative thoughts and behaviors, yet if your past leads to problems in your present, it’s kind of hard not to beat yourself up.

Once I started reading about my meds and how alcohol can cause seizures with Wellbutrin…I got the message loud and clear. I fucked up by drinking. It was self medicating to dull the nerves and noise but I’d thought at worse it would make me sleepy and hells yeah, I want that. But seizures??? And the nurse didn’t even mention that even while giving me her disapproving expression. I guess what with my Google-itis before there was Google, just the desktop prescription manual, I should know every med and side effect ver batim but this one…I did not know. I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die. I mean, I don’t much want to live these days but I have a kid and even a momentary lapse in working thru my misery and trying to off myself could mean they take her away from me….Irksome as her behavior can be, she is my heart and I don’t want to hurt her, me, or die, or lose her because they deem me unfit.

Unstable, sure. Were I stable I could handle a damned job and get out of this self esteem purgatory. Maybe even live a little better than paycheck to paycheck and getting food stamps. I TRIED, the whole thing with R and helping at the shop would get me a decent car…Once I hit my breaking point, he just swept me aside. His way or no way, as always. Not a word since I said no more. Some friend. But I did try! I was even thinking differently than I had in the past, thinking that having a routine of sorts, getting out of the house, helping out, gave me purpose and self worth. This was no small feat, me walking away from a better car. It was him and his bidding or me in a rubber room and I truly believe this even if doc nurse blew it off completely.

I am trying to be different. But with my spotty psych care and crap choices for therapy, it feels hopeless. And reading books where terms like “bipolar axis 2” and “thinking disorder” and “borderlines” are thrown around wily nily…I start going ocd with the thoughts that because I have some flaws and some quirks (I don’t want cured of my quirks, wearing black and liking skulls hurts no one) that I will always be written off as some behavioral problem who needs medicated and ushered out, tough love. Which was what doc nurse seemed to be giving.

I need to let it go but I’m not there yet. Which is another point, my therapists hated my process of holding a grudge for months and maybe years until I could let some stuff go. (I still haven’t quite let go of how the donor basically ditched his daughter, even though the counselor told me 6 years I had to let it go…I ain’t fucking Elsa.) All my insecurities and neuroses and self doubt start bubbling to the surface and maybe now is not the time to be reading a book on the topic of bipolar and personality disorders because obviously it’s been a trigger. But then isn’t the new tough love therapy about facing what triggers you?

Bloody hell! I am lost. I want to do well, be better, and yet I feel doomed. And it’s not merely circumstantial depression, this is full blown seasonal wish-I-was-a-hibernating-bear depression. I mean, really, bathing twice in a week is the best I can do? My idea of hygiene is deodorant and brushing my hair? I wear the same clothes 2 days at a time sometimes…All of this seems more of a red flag than one alcohol bender but the nurse doc..doc nurse…whatever the hell she is…

LOST.

And again…not letting it go. NOT ELSA.

Though in the midwest this year I am frozen.

Homelessness Impending?

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on January 6, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

It was shaping up to be just another lackluster cold Saturday…then I got my mail.

Slumlord sold the entire trailer park to a management company. Supposedly the rules remain the same and he still manages but now it has become iffy. The lease we had was with HIM. Now at any time they can change whatever rules (no pets, etc) and we have zero recourse but to move. They can decide we have to move and give us a five day eviction notice even though rent is paid for 3 more weeks. (Yeah, it happens,I have been there, rent paid, nowhere to go, five days’ notice.)

For three years my doom and gloom father kept telling me, your landlord has a gambling problem, he’s in debt, you’re gonna end up homeless.

For three years, every few months, I’d be flogged with this, by my dad, and confront the landlord who’d laugh me off and say it was ludicrous that he’d be selling the place.

Just 3 months ago I asked him flat out and he once again laughed and denied it.

I guess during the summer when every resident got a notice from city municipals about the entire trailer park water bills being in 3 month arrears and in danger of being shut off…I should have gotten the hint.

But stupid idget that I am, I guess I stuck my head in the sand and wrongly chose to believe what I was being told by someone who has the morality of an alley cat and even less scruples.

This is not good, at all. Worse, I started to panic and talk to myself when reading the notice and my kid overhead me so now I have transferred, inadvertently, my anxiety about our living situation, onto her.WTF is wrong with me? She’s 8? I should have been able to keep my mouth shut and my demeanor stalwart. Instead…panic happened and now, in addition to me being freaked out…she is, too.

I suck.

But then, I was operating on the whole therapy driven ‘you gotta trust people or you are a paranoid psych case” propoganda. Turns out, I apparently had every reason to doubt and mistrust this landlord.

May have taken 30 years but he finally managed to bankrupt himself, or at least lose enough money on the gambling boats, for it to come to this.

Now my kid is worried what will happen to our cats, will we have to live in a shelter…and before this last week, I would have said, we can always live in grandma’s basement (long as we pay even though most of the people who have stayed there aren’t family and never paid a cent cos hey, my family are assholes)…

But my sister’s brother in law committed suicide in their basement New Year’s Day. They just got the blood cleaned up (guess hanging yourself is messier than fiction portrays.)

I can’t live in a sucide basement. I’m a damned ghoul and even I can’t do that. My sister, way harder emotionally than I am, has already vowed to never set foot down there again after all this…so that would leave me and my daughter to a living room with a single couch, hard floors, and a lack of heat. Worse than we have now. Because they have 5 bedrooms and all of them are filled. My dad lives 8 miles out of town in Bumfuck, with no extra space and even when R and I were speaking…he made it very clear Spook and I were unwelcome.

So am I putting the horse ahead of the cart with my panic disorder or am I just consciously exploring options should this new management company decide to weed us all out? Maybe us, in particular, for too many cats and bug problems, or maybe all of us cos they want to create a more upper crusty place? Am I overreacting, underreacting, being a moron?

The anxiety makes it am impossible thing to discern.

The fact that I recognize this, as well as use words like ‘discern’ tells me that whatever my psych problems…my intelligence is NOT in question.

Unfortunately lots of intelligent well spoken people, even without mental disorders, end up homeless in spite of good intentions and best efforts…

So. Where does that leave my child, me and our furfamily?

I guess we won’t have a clue until the next time I check the mailbox and get a kick to the head.

If my psychiatrist tells me I am being ridiculous, I swear I am going to sue him. I think this is the ideal circumstance for anyone to start feeling a bit panicked.

What sane person with no excess income would find the prospect of being homeless during February not anxiety provoking?

And face it-the new management company actually robs me of the loose prior security I had to fall back on, from a legal standpoint so…I am basically naked in front of the classroom here. If I wasn’t having minor spazouts before getting my mail, I am having major ones now.

And I think it’s justified. I chose to take someone’s word and now…

They have proven my choice to be ignorant.

Optimism…destroys.

The Racing Thoughts Monster

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on January 5, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

After my last nurse doc appointment, it became clear to me that very few professionals can distinguish an attention deficit disorder as authentic if you’re already diagnosed as bipolar or with anxiety issues. I am not going to debate this because it is a losing battle. The professionals, at this point, have harmed as much as helped me. None of them can agree on anything, they just muddy the waters and fill me with more self doubt and confusion. Am I ADD? I believe I am, and Dr. B said it was often a secondary component of bipolar disorder but the nurse doc made it seem that all my ADD symotoms are byproducts of anxiety. Wtf?

So this post isn’t going to debate the validity of having/not having ADD. Instead, I’d like to focus on the bane of my existence: racing thoughts. It is never ending and the meds do little to help with this symptom. My brain spins constantly, I wake up in the middle of the night with racing thoughts and a rapid heartbeat. I can’t focus enough to talk myself off that ledge, and just trying to focus on one thought stresses me out so much and I feel like such a failure for not being able to slow them down…it’s hellish.

Yesterday was a good mental health day, at least for the first half. Then some misbehavior from my child, as well as the problems my sister’s family is having with financial constraints on burying their dead, my mood darkened and I started snapping. In my defense, the kid stepped on the kitten and damn near crushed him, then lied twice before fessing up that she had done it. Accidents I understand. Lying twice to my face then having zero concern for the kitten, but only caring about saving her own butt…Bipolar or not, I find this a triggering matter for the calmest parent. It just crushed me for part of the day to go so well, and it was- I felt shitty for feeling good considering what my sister and them are facing. But I also loved feeling good because it’s a rarity in a turmoil riddled mind. To have it crash down into me being a snappy anger filled monster…it was crushing.

Today I was going to at least go to the grocery store after my kid was off to school…Except I woke twice during the night from bad dreams with a racing heart and racing thoughts so my sleep was not good. Then at 6 a.m. I woke and checked the time, saw I had email, and it was from the school saying due to low temps, they’d be doing a two hour late start day. And that sent me into a further panic, because I was already scared after 2 weeks of sleeping in, I’d miss the alarm and make her late. Now I had to schedule our routine two hours later and I figured I’d screw that up too, so this created more anxiety. Even after she had gone…I felt drained and tired. And it was single digits outside until noon when it hit a whopping 12 degrees so I didn’t really feel like battling the car and its dying fits. So I stayed in, did nothing, and by the time she got home…I felt more calm and better balanced.

We played dollhouse. We watched two of our favorite sitcoms. But by 8 p.m. after all her demands for more toys and her litany of physical ailments because she had a cold and a cough lingers and oh, the noise at school gave her a migraine so she needs to stay home tomorrow…and I just get so tired of hearing it. If I took her to the doctor every time she asked me to due to ailment of the week, they’d have me up on Munchausen by proxy charges. Yet I also live in fear that the time I write it off as drama llama behavior, it will be the one time she’s truly ill and I end up being neglectful. This daily balancing act is grueling. Earlier, I thought I might sit down at the desktop computer and stare down the blinking cursor, try to get back into my fiction writing. 5 hours with my kid’s constant complaints and demands and utter lack of gratitude or empathy…

I just want to sleep.

Except once I got her down, my scumbag brain started in with the racing thoughts. Anxiety over my coming appointment with Dr. B and how to handle it without seeming erratic and well, bonkers yet make him understand how serious things have been for me while under the doc nurse care. I worry about my sis and them and how devastated they are with K’s suicide.

Oddly, all this stress and anxiety is still more preferable to the stress I was subjected to under the thumb of he whose initial will not be typed.

Racing thoughts are a cruel thing to have and to have them discounted repeatedly angers me. It does keep me from normal life, normal relationships, even reading a damn book or staying on topic in a journal post. Inability to shut the thoughts down and focus makes it difficult to play with my child or even watch a movie with her. And the racing thoughts play hell on falling asleep and staying asleep.

Focalin helped with this. It didn’t make me hyper or high. The fact that it simply made it easier for me to slow the thoughts and focus was what lent credence to the ADD as a secondary diagnosis to bipolar. If you don’t have the disorder, the medication will either have no impact or it will make you high, right? Unfortunately, doctors and insurance companies fail to see this. I am still furious that I can’t get a drug I could desperately use and it’s not even lack of a doc writing a script. It’s because insurance won’t pay and even as a generic, I can’t afford it. Something so vital to helping my mental state and quality of life shouldn’t be unobtainable. The fact the professionals do so little to help us figure a way around the cost (like writing the manufacturer and asking for a discount rate) tells me that racing thoughts and an inability to sit still for long or focus on a ninety minute movie or a 300 page book…

I just don’t think the professionals care anymore. About any of us. But then I am cycnical and I have had some pretty lousy experiences though I don’t even harbor as much resentment for the quack who damn near killed me by not sending me to a psych hospital due to a near fatal reaction to Nardil. That was lack of communication between doctors and hospitals and basic ignorance. They didn’t intend to harm me. This nurse doc…maybe harm was not the intent, but it was the result. And no, I’m probably not going to let it go any time soon because this woman really, really messed with my head.

Bottom line…sometimes, I just want my brain to shut up. I am tired of the thoughts and feelings and how extreme it all is, or sometimes, lack of extreme because I can’t feel anything. When your biggest hurdle in life is your own brain’s unwillingness to cooperate…it sometimes feel like I am doomed no matter how hard I try.

And to that distorted thought from scumbag brain, I have only this to say:

Fuck. You. You. lie.

I’m only doomed if I quit fighting because some psych professionals are really lackluster at their jobs. I won’t quit fighting. I will go down swinging. Ya know, if my brain slows down enough to remember to swing.

Negative Effects Of Anxiety Overload

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on December 23, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

My dad brought by my gift, a gift card for Wal-Mart and my kid was having a fit because not one family memeber even thought to take her out to choose a gift for me…so even though the car is nearing E we drove the ten miles there and back.

The place was packed, of course. I was on red alert and trying to keep an eye on my kid all the while dodging elbow to elbow shoppers and hey, my stepmom and my dad were shopping there and even amidst that huge store and chaos…I ran into stepmom. Luckily I was getting new high top tennis shoes, something they’d approve of. And it’s sad that at 44, with a GIFT card, I still have to concern myself with buying practical stuff lest they jump my ass. And they do jump me and my sister, constantly, for buying soda, for smokes, for spending too much on gas to run around town…It’s ludicrous and yet…I did get some frivoulous stuff when I was sure she was on the other side of the store.

And that was when we hit a snag but I didn’t realize it til later. I was so rattled, so nervous, and my kid couldn’t decide on a gift for me yet she kept meandering off and pointing out all the stuff I SHOULD spend my Christmas money on to buy her (as if a $200 dollhouse mom got her and a fucking tablet I got her aren’t enough!!!) I know she is just a kid and kids do that but she takes it to an extreme. My parents used to give us a five dollar bill to buy them each a gift and I never once considered spending it on myself. Instead, I relished the joy of surprising them with something I had chosen. My kid…is different.

Anyway… I bought what I thought was a luxury eyeliner for ten bloody bucks…survived the trip out of the massive chaos of traffic, terrified and almost getting hit due to my own distraction…got home, turns out it was a waste of ten bucks cos it’s eye brow liner. Had I not been so panicked and distracted, I would have seen that. But I just wanted to get in and get out, I was desperate and terrified.

And that’s where the anxiety is the hitch in my personal and my old work life.

I get too panicked and scattered, I make stupid mistakes, and usually to my own detriment. Because in the middle of chaos, I can’t gather the racing thoughts and all the panic sensors going off. Even the doctors admit the physical symptoms of panic attacks mimick a heart attack and while it won’t kill me…if I can’t focus and gather my thoughts and pay attention…What good am I as an employee or even in a relationship?

I am distracted because the anxiety is too much, I cash a fifty and give them sixty in change by accident cos my brain says, no they gave you a hundred dollar bill. (true story and that was my mistake and I paid for it, literally and figuratively.)

In a relationship, I am exposed to too much chaos, I spend the night turning into a sweaty mess and throwing up in the bathroom.

And this was 20 years ago.

Since I had Spook, it’s gotten so much worse, like a cancer metastasizing and devouring my nervous system. I carry on about it because IT IS A BIG DEAL. And I fear it’s gonna result in a car wreck because I can’t keep my scattered brain focused. (Does not help with a kid in the back talking non stop.) I already had humper incident a couple years back because I was stressed by traffic and hit the gas too much instead of braking. Luckily no damage or injury occured but I was hesitant to drive for awhile after that.

How insurance can be allowed to refuse coverage of an ADD medicine that could help me focus and avoid being overtaken by the churning thoughts and anxiety is beyond me. And the way things are going with Trumpcare trying to obliterate Obamacare (which, also is not perfect, even if it benefits you, it’s got its issues,too) but I get a feeling very soon even my anti depressants will be denied unless they fall into certain categories, like ‘costs the insurance company over ten bucks’.

It’s criminal is what it is, denying coverage of a med that could benefit me so much. I mentioned it to the nurse doc and she just scoffed, “They only pay if you’re in school or working” then she pointed out that it’s the anxiety doing it, thus I don’t really need Focalin, I’m just confusing the lack of focus due to being anxious. I am surprised she hasn’t questioned my status as a human being, she seems to disbelieve every other thing out of my mouth.

I am just so frustrated and flustered…And depressed that I wasted ten bucks of my Christmas money on a product I will never use as I already have caterpillar eyebrows. If I had just been calm and focused…

But it’s my mistake and I get to live with it and that has been so much of my life story. Not every bad choice is because of my mental disorders, but many of them really are a direct result of those and it’s cruel that even my mental health professionals seem so dismissive of that fact.

Got Advice?

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , on December 21, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Not even 8 p.m. yet and I’ve already taken melatonin because my brain is on overload. Tough couple of days with my kid and her anger bursts. This situation with R and the shop has me waking up before the alarm even goes off in a panic, brain swirling because the man had the nerve to tell me to ‘get more business coming into the shop’. He won’t spend a dime on advertising locally and December-March are usually very dead months anyway due to Christmas sales and then tax refunds, people buy new stuff instead of fixing old stuff. And that statement from him made me feel like it’s somehow my fault that business is slower than he’d like.

I even talked to Kenny about it and he happens to agree with me. R is letting that shop get a bad rep by working two jobs and repairs taking so long. And the way he does things really irritates me. He fixes new items that net better profit over finishing the stuff that’s been sitting there since August. His only commitment is to beer and money. And I am sick of living in anxious misery. At least if I got my meds straight enough (and going back to Dr. B should be a good start, hell, he might even decide that day program might benefit me whereas the nurse never even brought it up) and at this point…I’ll figure out child care, I’ll do what I have to in order to get out of this endless cycle of having to be R’s welcome mat all in hopes of some gas money and this alleged car at the end of the rainbow.

I do apologize if it seems like I blame all my problems on him, but he is a large source of my stress and it aggravates the pre-existing condition. And the plan to stop drinking isn’t going to go well if he keeps showing up with mangoritas in hand, even when I have told him NOT to bring them. He sold me briefly on this, “That nurse doesn’t know you, I know you, and you don’t have a drinking problem.”

I probably should not be taking advice from a man who drinks 7 days a week, 365 days a year, even if he does manage to hold two jobs and make lots of money. But he’s my friend and he’s done some good things for me and I really don’t want the friendship to blow up or end. I just need to do my own thing for awhile and right now, that means getting myself straightened out and getting me and Spook into counseling because there is something wrong with the level of anger that child has and it’s always over being told ‘no’. She’s turned my home life into a living hell 5 days a week and I am sticking to my guns and not being yes mom, but she scares the hell out of me when she goes off.

Of course, R will never comprehend the importance of this. I am expected to juggle everything the way he and his uber wife and children do and it was never who I was nor who I am going to be. It’s like this vortex of suck with him, where he sucks me into what he wants and what I want is not even an afterthought. He has decided I need a different, better car-but oh, wait, it’s got to be the model he likes. I get no say in it, his mind is made up. What 44 year old woman wants someone to treat her like a child and tell her ‘this is what you’re going to drive co it’s what I like’? He’s being unreasonable and unfair. There are no boundaries anymore. Like the night his wife stormed into my home and they started bickering then cussing each other. I don’t need the stress.

So…If anyone reads this and has experience with emotionally stunted money hungry narcissists…please, please, please, tell me how to bow out gracefully and not start some sort of war. This shop thing is the closest I have to a work reference since 2002 and I do hope to get off disability soon so I kind of need to have him say good things about me. If I handle this wrong, it’s not going to end well for me.

Then again, it’s not going too well keeping the peace, either.

Seriously…The three or so people who read my posts…ANY ADVICE? Help. Please.

Dear Psychiatric Professional:Do not ever question my commitment to getting well

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on December 15, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Today started out okay. I was in the abyss yesterday. Today I got up, did laundry, even showered for the first time in almost a week. (Gross, yeah, yeah, meet depression.) I made a trip to Hel-mart aka Wal-Mart to get my kid’s tablet for Christmas, then I stopped a couple of other places to get some VHS tapes since we’re going retro with an abandoned dvd-vcr combo and Spook asked for more tapes. I even managed to get back to the shop early and continued feeding wet clothes into the dryer. I had a TV dinner for lunch.

Then I took my meds.

Lamictal and Wellbutrin, no problem.

Lithium and Trintellix: HUGE problem.

Now I am nauseous, my stomach is churning, and my head aches almost as if sleepy. THIS.

Anyone willing to keep taking medications that make them feel this sick multiple times a week, without warning…this is commitment to getting well. Admitting that meds that help you function are more important than a few hours of abject side effect misery.

Now my psych nurse apparently fails to see what a problem the side effects are. She is utterly disinterested and it angers me. After the last appointment when I was mid meltdown, wearing the same clothes I’d slept in (and spilled stuff on, so combined with not bathing, it’s amazing she could smell the alcohol on me.) Once I admitted to imbibing, her “do you want fries with that” indifference almost seemed to morph into dismissive disdain. Especially when I said I wasn’t ready to work and she asked “How will you know when you are ready?” Maybe the right question to ask when someone is stable, but for someone having a stress induced meltdown..It was cruel. As if saying I’m not trying hard enough. As if one bad choice during a particularly bad period in my life means I don’t want to get well or work.

That really stung.

And sad thing is, her notes go into my file and there will be no mention of her inexperience, or how they fed me to the wolves by sending me to her instead of keeping me with my original wonderful doctor. Her attitude, or at least my perception of it, will not go into the file. My trust issues which do impact my path to wellness won’t come into play. It will look like some poor choices during a dark time mean I’m not committed to getting better and everything is behavioral as opposed to influenced by my ever cycling bipolar disorder.

I realized how hopeless it is when I drove by what used to be the counseling center and it’s now called a ‘behavior center’. Um…NO. Implying mental disorders are behavioral is negligent and ignorant. One more reason I don’t want to go there. If someone is to help me, they need to recognize the huge role my disorders play. It’s not an excuse, it’s a legitimate explanation. But the tides have changed and counseling isn’t therapy anymore. It’s ‘flavor of the decade’ whatever is trending treatment. 80’s it was Prozac Nation, 90’s it was bipolar, then it was borderline personality disorder, now it’s all behavioral and cognitive-is-the-only-therapy other than useless mindfulness.

So hopeless.

Yet here I am, taking meds that make me feel like death and I keep taking them because I am committed to getting well. Because they may make me feel hopeless and have no faith in them but I still have faith in myself, even when I make poor choices or fail to be mindful at times. I believe in me.

If the professionals can’t recognize this, I don’t think I am the entire problem here. It’s about time the mental health professionals realize this. That often, they are part of the problem and while so eager to tell patients to change their behavior, be this, do that…

What do they do about failing us?

Their commitment to helping is what I question more than anything.

Maybe they have a behavior disorder.

Maybe that’s insulting.

No maybe.

It’s insulting to everyone and especially to people taking harsh medications in an effort to get better.

Still…I’m betting on myself. No one knows me better than I know myself and considering all of the personal growth and progress I have made, often without benefit of ‘counselors’…

My commitment is strong and I will not be defeated by psychiatric trends. Few years from now anyone who likes chocolate might find themselves labeled with a disorder.

Trends.