Archive for the bipolar disorder Category

Happy New Year, Surprise, You Get A New Psychiatrist…again!

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on January 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Twice this week I’ve been knocked for a loop by things I was never warned of. First came the landlord basically selling out to a management company. Today, after almost 6 weeks waiting to see Dr. B…The office called to tell me this was his last week there, he was gone from the practice, so my appointment for the 15th was off. I was told they’d provide me with refills but I’d need to choose one of their other doctors and the soonest they could get me in is…March. By then I will have survived 4 months of winter depression without any medication changes or psychiatric support.

I would have cried or had a meltdown but it’s become so goddamn common in this town…Find a decent shrink, they leave within a couple of years. Now I have to start over with a new one, a woman a friend reccommended (I figure if she got his chronic pot fried brain functioning properly, she must be a miracle worker) and once again, I am tasked with imploring this new doctor to see how troubled I am and take me seriously. And her only frame of reference will be the months of futility when I was seeing doc nurse.

I am pretty hopeless. I had a few hours of blind determination. “These people aren’t gonna help me, it’s all on me now.” But it gave way to just feeling defeated again. Bipolar itself is instability and since 2008, this will be my seventh different doctor at this same place. And none of the changes were my doing, it was either the docs leaving or scheduling problems or staffing shortage. That’s a lot of damn psychiatrists to go through, to have no choice but to endure the revolving door. The doctor is the gatekeeper I need for my disability to remain active and I can’t even get in for 8 more weeks. How is that remotely helpful? Just to get a med change, I’ll be required to go the hospital outpatient, make a psych complaint that concerns them enough to get the on call doc to see me…Ffs, could they have hobbled me a little more, think I still have one good toe to stand on….

Mental healthcare is lacking everywhere but in the UNited States where we are supposedly so progressive and wealthy as a nation…There is zero excuse for such a lapse, and a negligent one, in my mental healthcare. Perhaps my own stubbornness was an issue as I bet I could have gotten in with doc nurse a couple weeks before the actual psych doc but…doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity. That was never going to take me seriously, see how hobbled I am by my disorders, and help me. Her mind was made up probably from the first appointment. And because I was sympathetic to their short staffing and didn’t want to rock the boat and make it more difficult…I screwed myself out of the second best shrink I’ve ever had. I saw him not quite 2 years and that man was amazing. Seems to be the pattern, though, with all the shrinks in town. They put in 2 years and out they go, probably screaming into the night.

I am lost. Not giving up but it gets more appealing with every blow life hands me. It took me two days to find energy to do dishes and fix myself something more than microwave food to eat. I’m not suicidal but I sure as hell ain’t on solid ground. By the time I see the new doc, it will be nearing spring and the seasonal affect will start to slowly lift. 4 months without a check in, med change, nothing. And the charlatans have the nerve to claim they give us 25 minute appointments and bill insurance $260 for it even when it’s just a psych nurse. I used to feel mad that insurance companies put caps on what they will allow and pay out but seeing that bill recently, knowing that woman sure as hell did not spend 25 minutes with me….it’s infuriating. At least Dr. B served his time to earn it.

I just…no doc, not sure if we’re going to be evicted at any moment, depression not lightening up…And the sleep problems, oh, dear god. I woke at 3:30 today and spent an hour trying to get back to sleep but it was futile so I sat at my desk and started proofing the last revision of the same novel I’ve been trying to perfect for almost 10 years now. And it kept me entertained right until I got the spawn on the bus, then I caved in to catnapping in 20 minutes increments. I got maybe an extra 2 hours of sleep but again, in increments so not exactly restful. Just enough to get me through the day.

At one point, I was thinking, damn, this book is really good, maybe I haven’t perfected it because it’s just…done.

And then it went way off the reservation and the whole tone changed which in turn morphed the characters and storyline in a direction I despised and it was like, fuck! I can always read my writing and know when my moods shifted, it reflects in how the story flows along for awhile and makes sense and then next I know, it’s like, who the hell wrote this garbage, this character would never say or do that shit!

I am always having to explain and prove how my mental conditions are a disability but I think when they even impact the one thing I love more than my kid and cats-my writing- I’d say that’s pretty disabling. Throw in the inability to focus and stay on track and it doesn’t matter that I’m a half ass decent writer. It just becomes drivel even I find cringeworthy.

Then again, getting that call about the psychiatrist situation may have put my mood in the gutter enough to make my revision seem worse than it actually is. I don’t know. I keep getting kicked in the head here on a daily basis and I’m at a loss how to handle it. Just keep going until I can’t go anymore, I guess.

Just…could the sacred pegacorn throw me a damned bone of not suckiness once in awhile? I’m not a great person but I sure as hell don’t deserve to have this much instability heaped on my already unstable mind. People want to know why I can’t get my feet under me and remain standing…

THIS. No patient, psych or medical, should be subjected to such a perpetual revolving door of providers. It’s doing more harm than good and the rule is, first do no harm.

They have failed.

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If Only My Body Raced As Much As My Mind

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on January 10, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Plus side…I seemed to have gotten some much needed sleep last night by taking 9mg melatonin. (What’s next, rehab for addiction to the very herbals the docs prefer we take?) I woke up a few times but I actually felt rested when I got up this morning. I wasn’t shattered when my daughter started her usual morning routine of “it’s still dark out, why are you waking me up at midnight, MOMMY?”

My mind is racing. Nothing substantive. Nothing productive. I have a sink full of dishes I could be washing, piles of laundry I could be running through and taking to the laundromat. I could be dyeing my hair, fixing the clogged vaccuum and cleaning the floors..

Unfortunately, the bipolar brain does not operate with logic. Just because my brain is busy and thoughts are racing, 99% of the time it doesn’t equal productivity or even positive physical energy. Depression makes sure of this. It’s 40 some odd degrees today but damn and gray, so that also tugs at my energy level. It’s frustrating.

To my credit last night, I managed to rally enough to get my kid and I fed, bathed, and I played with her for a spell before my attention span wandered and she pretty much declared me a bad playmate. (If I can’t please an i year old, what employer is going to be satisfied with my attention deficit depressed anxious mind???) I was in bed by 9 but it was nearing ten when I finally nodded off.

But hey, I survived it. Now I have to survive five more days of rain and gloom, at least, plus all the rigors of being a single mom and all the responsibilities when really…I’d be just as content to sleep til around April when the seasonal lifts and the weather improves. What person with seasonal affective disorder wouldn’t want to bypass the misery of depression? There is zero value to months of feeling joyless, powerless, and like your only respite is sleep.

Throw in the racing thoughts that add absolutely nothing positive to your existence…

I know you’re not supposed to throw around the term ‘hate’ because it’s so negative to your own mental health…but I really HATE bipolar disorder and I really fucking HATE depression.

Sleep May Be For The Weak, But I’d Settle For Some Weakness Right Now

Posted in sleep disorders with tags , , , on January 9, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

4:41 a.m. I’ve been awake for a half hour now. Think it’s the third time I have wakened since going to bed a little after ten. This is so exhausting a frustrating. I think the perpetually disrupted sleep cycles may well drive me over the edge before my other disorders or even the stress of living in a world gone mad. I can’t battle this other stuff when my mind and body are constantly deprived of proper rest.

I have always had sleep disturbances, since I was 10 years old and it’d take me an hour or two of just laying in bed to get to sleep. Too much sleep, running on little sleep, flourishing with only six hours-as long as it’s solid- I am used to this facet of my disorders.

What has mutated and become unbearable is this wake and sleep and wake and sleep, and often wake in a panic for no reason where the spinning thoughts set in and by the time I get calmed down…it’s time for the alarm to get my kid up for school. Nine times out of ten no matter how tired or under rested, I am unable to go back to sleep even after she leaves. The wake and sleep cycle wasn’t exactly a new thing, I used to have to get up and go to the bathroom sometimes but I’d always trudge back along and once under the covers, go back to sleep.

Since having my daughter…Uninterrupted sleep is a foreign concept. I used to think it was new mom anxiety, checking to make sure the newborn was breathing, just marveling at her little sleeping body. Then she became a toddler and I was terrified she’d fall out of bed or get up and go decide to turn on a stove burner and so I couldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. After that she spent the better part of 3 years either sleeping in my bed or getting up within 2 hours of me tucking her into her own then fussingm til she could sleep in my bed.

Thankfully she has been sleeping through for the most part for about a year now with some isolated incidents and yet…she’s 8 and I still wake every two hours or so. And it’s not even like it’s because of bad dreams because when I am in these winter depressions, I welcome even bad dreams cos I can always wake from them. This depressive mental state is inescapable so I prefer sleep. Yet I can’t stay down more than a couple of hours at a time. It’s no wonder I am short tempered, grumpy, tired by 7 p.m. and unable to find energy to do much of anything.

I am bloody well exhausted and my psych nurse’s idea of helping is to prescribe some lame anti histamine that’s been cross labeled for sleep. I could have gotten benadryl. Not that those anti histamines work anymore, I have such allergies and hive inducing anxiety, I pretty much lived on benadryl and such for 30 years so it’s totally ineffective, not to mention it makes me loopy so if I do need to pee in the middle of the night, I walk into walls and stumble around. Useless.

I don’t want the answer is here.

I just remember someone I knew from my early social media dabblings (die die die, social media) and she’d be up for days then sleep for days but she’d always quip, “Sleep is for the weak” when she was on a manic kick.

Right now…I’d be just fine with some weakness if it meant even six hours of uninterrupted sleep for a couple of weeks. My tank is on empty and until it is refilled…I’m not sure any med regime is going to help with my mental state because one of the biggest issues is never experiencing a full healthy sleep cycle so my body and mind feel remotely rested.

Ninety minutes til the alarm goes off. Oh and even though I’ve eaten nothing for almost 24 hours, I now have reflux which really hurts and makes it even harder to focus on calming myself and at least catching another hour of sleep.

Who am kidding. By the time I calm the anxiety and racing thoughts, I’ll likely have 15 minutes before the alarm goes off.

8 years of this. And I can’t even say it’s my kid or my mommy anxiety. Something is very wrong.

For once, I want to be weak, if it means getting some damned sleep.

She’s 8 now

Can People With Mental Health Diagnoses Ever Trust Their Own Feelings?

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on December 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday’s post, I was feeling secure in my realization that Trintellix had caused my disorders to become worse (and this is very common with anti-depressants, especially when on a two med regimine)…Today I am filled with fear and self doubt. As the calendar nears my appointment with Dr. B in two weeks, I find myself riddled with self doubt because the psych nurse seemed to doubt my sincerity, as well as the severity of my disorders, so it has trickled down and made me question myself, my motives, my ability to view things objectively without my sporadic wrong thoughts tainting my perceptions and feelings
.

It isn’t merely the mental health professionals who constantly make us doubt ourselves, either. We are constantly barraged with relatives and friends and basic acquaintances all too quick to negate their own rude behavior by blaming our hurt feelings or sense of disrespect by blaming our disorders and invalidating whatever emotions we have by saying we’ve distorted it.

So with so much going against us, how can we ever trust our own feelings?

I struggle with this on a daily basis. I am not a weak willed person. My school life was living hell filled with verbal abuse and even physical bullying yet I never backed down to become what they expected me to be. I liked what I liked, popular or not, and I was stubborn to the very end. I never changed who I was at my core, on the outside in my fashion style nor on the inside where I felt bullies were wastes of oxygen and far weaker than I could ever. Over the years, I have held tough to these views against complete adversity. So I am not one easily swayed.

However, when it comes to my thought disorder and anxiety issues…I falter and second guess and doubt myself and wonder if others aren’t right. That no feeling I have is ever legitimae, that the masses are right and I am the one in the wrong because so many people mitigate responsibility for their shitty behavior by placing blame on me for being ‘crazy’. What doesn’t help is the fact that often, my perceptions are amplified and turn out to be wrong or simply less of a problem when my mood cycles rapidly.

When you have a mental health professional who seems skeptical and does nothing to help you when you feel you are in crisis (if you don’t claim suicidal or homicidal ideation, it’s damn near impossible to get into even a day program)…self doubt takes over and because we are programmed from an early age to hold doctors in high regard as if they can never do any wrong…It’s a hellish way to live your life and certainly cause for questioning whether the effort to take the meds and seek the care are worthwhile.

Counseling, what the docs and nurse consider necessary, served only to confuse me more when new counselors decided three sessions in I had a new personality disorder. Which if they are right, I spent 20 years working on fixing traits of my previous diagnosis when all along I was Disorder X so now I have to start all over again…and lather, rinse, repeat, for when the next doc or therapist comes along and decides to slap me with yet another new label. It’s frustrating, maddening, it wreaks havoc on your self esteem and makes it nearly impossible to trust yourself.

What has become my bottom line however is that these professionals spend very little time with me, they don’t care about mitigating circumstances, they don’t care how the merry go round of counselors with all their different biases damage our minds and self esteem even more. They don’t know us. And if they can’t take time to get to know us to make our treatment more effective, then the only thing left to trust, for better or worse, is ourselves. We live with ourselves 24-7, we suffer the endless cycles of being up, being down, being stable.

And what has become clear to me, without the aid of any professional, is that if something is still bothering me a couple of weeks later after multiple mood shifts…then I can pretty much trust that that particular feeling is for real. Otherwise, it would have passed with the mood swings. Learning this is a huge sign of how much I have grown and how much self awareness I have gained.

Maybe many of my behaviors are personalty related. Maybe much of it amounts to bad medication cocktails or endless rapid cycling mixed with long depressive bouts during the winter, Maybe it’sa combination of everything.

I know I cannot keep going through life in perpetual self doubt. There is no way I was stronger as a bullied 14 year old who was powerless to escape the bad situation.

Self doubt is what seeking treatment for my disorders got me. Counseling made me full of self doubt and confused me even more than my disorders. Do I give up on it or do I keep fighting to find my happy medium?

Positive reinforcement can go a long way but when I am not even getting that from the people who are supposed to help me…and I have felt this way for months and months and made every effort to be fair and not overreact simply because psych nurse’s bedside manner doesn’t suit me…

I’ve got no choice but to trust myself. Because I know I am honest, sincere, and dedicated to getting better. I cannot allow some bad experiences defeat me from my goal of emotional balance. I don’t know what the answer is but I’d say started with removing negative anxiety inducing people from my life is a good start. If they don’t give me empathy and the benefit of the doubt…

There is no reason for me to reciprocate. Of this, I am certain.

When Anti Depressants Make Things Worse

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on December 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Do NOT try this at home, kids.

Last week I bottomed out and got to thinking…the nurse doc thingie has pretty much written me off cos I had a booze bender the day before an appointment…I told R more than once that I had been slapped with a bad label and it upset me…but he responded with “whatever” and “does this woman know you?”

That was when it hit me. She does NOT know me. I bet she’s spent less than ten minutes over the last six months perusing my file before appointments. She is inexperienced, which in itself is malpractice for someone with my history of med resistant instability…She may well be a perfectly nice person, but she is…lacking in what I need in my treatment.

So R’s question, even if he is an elitist version of satan, got me to thinking. What could make me start behaving in a way contrary to my own nature? What had me so anxious and stressed that I would even need to dull things with alcohol to the extent I was reeking of it the next day? And furthermore, what the hell could make me not be interested in spending time with my child and finding my cats so vile and annoying????

It hit me then that much like a few before it, my anti depressant might be the culprit. It might help me remain upright and semi functional but was it also making me strung out on anxiety?

There was only one way to determine this.

I quit Trintellix cold turkey.

No withdrawal. Within a couple of days (and no doubt, not being at the shop and dealing with R helped) I was feeling less hostile, less anxious, more interested in my kid and cats…

Hell,we even had a GREAT Christmas Eve at my mom’s with zero family drama. Christmas day was spent at home, warm and cozy.

Six days later without Trintellix and I am wanting to play with my kid (long as my attention span allows, anyway), I am more patient with her even when she is acting like a twonk, I find joy in my cats again…

The nurse dog thingie can make all the wrong judgments she wants and blame drinking, or my personality, or whatever…but I honestly put it to the test and I am feeling BETTER WITHOUT TRINTELLIX.

I reiterate, do NOT do this at home. It is ill advised to stop meds without a professional’s consent but since doc nurse thingie put me in suicide bomber mode, the last thing I wanted was to call and try to get her to sign off…When I first started it and called to tell them about agonizing stomach aches, they said keep taking it and get my lithium level checked. Apparently, my misery is not of importance to her and her minions. So I took matters into my own hands.

And had there been a backslide, I’d have gone right back to the nausea stomach inducing lice crawling nasty medication. But the fact that going off of it made me feel less anxious and less hostile…kind of indicates it was the wrong medication. I got so busy focusing on being functional to pleas Satan, er, R, that I failed to notice the abrupt change in my own personality. And the fact not even my so called psych professional noticed kind of speaks volumes. I just didn’t want another med to fail, I wanted this to be ‘the one’ , to be successful, because your psych professionals are a bit like mom and dad, you may have your issues and resentments, but ultimately, you want to please them, even if it’s a fallacy.

I’m sure there will be backlack for my ‘poor’ choice to stop the Trintellix cold turkey, but since I did stop it…I have needed less Xanax, had fewer meltdowns and stress fits, and even though still waking up multiple times a night…I’ve found a reduction in waking with panic attacks. That, for me, is a ringing endorsement for stopping the medication.

Right or wrong…I am already feeling better. And R made an appearance last night which caused my condition to re-emerge, resulting in waking with panic attacks today cos I just can’t handle his oppressiveness anymore…So the nurse doc thingie wasn’t willing to say I needed to rid myself of whatever is causing me to be so nervous and contrary to my own identity…

I did her job for her. I also got my furnace working Saturday night by using Google rather than panicking and calling R. What this tells me is…

I’m a hot mess and my mood’s going to ebb and flow and crash and burn cos of seasonal depression…but I will be damned if nurse doc thingie is going to make me give up on myself. It may be her idea of tough love, but she set me back quite a bit in my trust in my own mental healthcare. I wish I could sue the whole place because she made me feel so hopeless and unworthy.

She is wrong.

I am going to make it out of this hole someday and I will do it without R and in spite of my noobie psych nurse who made me feel about as shitty as anyone ever has. My mistakes may be called out and I will own them, but that gives her no right to question my sincerity. If she knew me at all, like Dr. B, did, she would have recognized I’d done a 180 against my own values and identity.

She’s not gonna defeat me, nor is R. I am taking back my life and I will handle the fall out. I am tired of being enslaved to someone’s bias, to someone’s financial manipulations (fuck you, keep the car, I’ll drive my bucket of bolts).

DONE.

That may be the sanest thought I have had in months.

#Not Everything Is My Fault Just Because I Have A Thought Disorder

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on December 21, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so yeah, I am totally making fun of Twitter with the hashtag symbol because I think it’s asinine but til the season to be catty…

I am at the end of my rope with the sleep disturbance, R, my kid, and today I came to the shop with some bedding to dry and Kenny started in on when is he going to fix your dryer, this is costing money on the power bill…

Cripes, cut me a break here, flying spaghetti monster, God, Budha, whatever deity is pulling the strings of suckage.

It took forever for the melatonin to kick in last night. When it did, it was after 9:30. And bam, I was awake at 10:18 and while checking the time on my phone, I saw I had missed a call at 9:49 from his highness. Four years of being told not to call after nine p.m. as it impacts the effectiveness of my sleep pills and he still disregards it, ffs. That got the anxiety and agitation flowing. I woke again after midnight, after one, then around four, and on the one day my kid could have slept in an extra 15 minutes because it’s pajama day at school so there was no fashion crisis to battle…she wakes at 6 then wants to cuddle in my bed which entails her yapping, squirming, kicking, and basically not cuddling, just irking me. So the sleep experience was shoddy, as usual.

But since she woke me up, my brain started rioting again, stressing over R and this shop and oh, the hellidays. My sister and stepmonster had a public incident at Wal-Mart that involved kicking each other-all because dad and stepmonster got a Christmas card from one of my sister’s friends they don’t like and they were mad my sis gave out their address. WTF? This friend has been to their house multiple times, and all she did was mail a card, why is that kicking in public worthy? Of course, later the stepmonster called to apologize to my sister for being an ass but still…It does not bode well for the hellidays at mom’s house with dad’s faction and sis’s friends’ faction all present.

Already dreading it because this monstrosity of a dollhouse mom got my kid is like 4 feet tall and taking days and two people to assemble and we’re not even sure how to haul the damn thing home outside of dad bringing a truck into town and they bring the SUV for Christmas so my kid will have a toy at grandma’s she can’t get home til after Christmas…and Spook has already been on the warpath because I told her Santa couldn’t afford any Pokemon stuff cos she wanted a tablet and those cost a lot of money….so she had a melt down and started screaming and bawling about how I probably got her dollar store junk that breaks so easy and she hates me and I am the worse mom ever….last night’s battle was over her wearing her ‘favorite’ pajama shirt to school when it has stains on it. I finally relented because I wasn’t going to get peace otherwise and maybe that is my downfall, but I also told her when the kids tease her and the school turns me in for not providing my kid with unstained clothing, I hope she enjoys reaping what she has sewn. I may suck at folding and putting away laundry, but that child NEVER goes without clean, unstained clothes.

That’s pretty much been my entire week, her tantrums, R’s lack of respect, now Kenny making me feel shitty for using a dryer that isn’t his, isn’t on his property, and won’t affect the amount he pays to live here, anyway, because I already told R about not raising his rent simply because he doesn’t have time to fix my dryer. He was supposed to do it last weekend but oh, stuff came up. Yet the other night he was off to fix a neighbor’s washer cos wifey asked him to. I’VE BEEN WAITING SIX WEEKS FOR MY DRYER TO GET FIXED!!!! If this doesn’t help with my decision whether to burn this bridge to the ground, nothing will. I am at the bottom of the food chain and no amount of hoops I jump through will change this. He is who he is and frankly, it’s oppressive and dragging me down.

I have to break up with his shop and since I know that displeasing him comes with backlash, it will mean the end of the friendship, thus I’ll be breaking up with Mrs. R, too, and I really, really like her. But..I can’t live 7 days a week waking with panic attacks because this man is running himself into the ground and expects me to go along with him. It’s unhealthy. I’d be better off waiting tables or washing dishes. Then I’d know the boss would respect me enough not to call after 9 p.m. and oh, I’d be making minimum wage instead of waiting for this elusive promise of a car which isn’t even necessarily the car I want.

Sounds so simple.

Doing it gracefully….not so simple. Last time I told him I wasn’t up to doing his shop bidding he went off, told me he was carrying me, and that I needed to stand on my own two feet. We didn’t speak for 5 months.

I hate burning bridges but some people leave you no choice. I will attempt to do it in a semi professional manner with a resignation letter utizling positive words and emphasizing no ill will. What he does after that is out of my hands.

Now…to work up the nerve to do it. Man, one thing the counselors could have taught me was how to handle confrontation gracefully. I suck at that.

But then, when everything always ends up being blamed on you and your wrong perceptions, every single time….You start viewing it mathmatically. If you have a problem with 99% of the people you encounter the only common denominator is you, so you must be the only problem. YOU suck.

Except sometimes…it’s not me. And sometimes, it’s a little me and a lot of others. I have no problem owning my faults but when I am trying to be honorable, respectful, and honest and it bites me on the ass because someone else has a personality disorder…

Hard to have faith in the goodness of people when they keep proving you wrong.

Emotional Balance Is The New Happy

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on December 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

20 plus years of counseling pretty much ran me into the ground, made me more confused than I already was, and taught me very little. And I know why. Because society insists we all embrace the exact same things to gain normalcy. Pursuit of happiness is a joke, and a fallacy, for a depressive mind. It’s setting yourself up to fail.

So to avoid the insanity of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome…

My new goal…forget happy.

I want to be an emotionally balanced person.
her
Balance can tip a bit either way so perfection is not reqired and that is a prerequisite when dealing with bipolar disorder. Perfection will never be attained. Reaching for it will be your repeated failure. Accepting that balance may well be the best you can do-and just might be even better than the so called norm of happiness, could be just the right medicine for me.

My measure of well being will be how far the scales tilt one way or the other. Part of reaching my goal of being emotionally well balanced will be the elimination of certain stress inducers. Cutting out cancer in a body is considered part of the cure, and I think the same can be said of emotional things. Someone or something that is cancerous to me emotionally and cannot be met with a compromise needs to be excised.

The professionals can tell me I am wrong to view it this way, intolerant, incapable of acceptance, not taking responsibility for my own poor character….whatever terms they want to flog me with…it’s no longer relevant.

I went to see a qualified mental health nurse practitioner and rather than do anything to help me, she made me feel like I should go kill myself. Her fault? My fault? Bad fit? It doesn’t matter. It sparked a desire in me to change things because if I wait for these professionals to help me, I might as well drink the Kool Aid now. They don’t see me often enough to know me, and furthermore, they simply don’t care. They are doing a job same as the guy who sells me gas for my car and I don’t expect him to care that I can’t stop crying or that I am always so irate and anxious, I feel I need hospitalized to avoid ‘going off’. So why should I expect psych professionals to do more than their bare minimum? They are there to push labels and pills, not give a damn about their patients, apparently.

Counselors are pretty much the same. At least the new regime. Twenty years ago I believed in therapy and felt to an extent, it helped. Since the focus went to cognitive and the counselors seem more tough love than empathetic and supportive…I’d like to cut out the middleman.

No one can beat me up emotionally better than I can beat myself up.

If this comes off as bitter, it’s really not.

I’ve found some clarity in the last few days. I no longer want to take meds that make me nauseated or cause me to throw up. I no longer want to try to fit into some cookie cutter mold where I chase this happy thing when all I want is my brain to be more well than sick. Maybe some of us aren’t meant to be happy. Maybe some of us require the struggle and strife to make it all worthwhile. Nothing wrong with that.

Amazing what a good night’s sleep can do. And I did wake up a few times but I went right back down. No booze. Just my bedtime Xanax and 6mg melatonin on top of only getting 4 hours sleep the night before. Guess the key to feeling truly rested is to just wear myself down to nothing over a couple of days. Doesn’t sound healthy or optimal but it beats the hell out of that Vistaril the psych nurse prescribed. I don’t understand why they can’t grasp that any med that renders me too loopy to get out of bed when my kid is crying at night is a hindrance rather than help. That’s not non compliance, that is wanting to be able to be a mom.

And any professional who could make that seem like a bad thing is very bad at their job.

So…balance. I am going to find it eventually. It’s one goal I’m not going to give up on, no matter how defeated my psych professionals make me feel.

I hope for the sake of their other patients they just don’t like me because otherwise…it means they really suck at their job and should be sued for malpractice.