Archive for the bipolar disorder Category

When Therapy Isn’t Therapeutic

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on December 9, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Woke in the middle of the night with racing thoughts again. The sleeping pills don’t do it, be it melatonin, vistoril, benadryl…My anxiety level, since my last appointment with doc nurse, has soared to a level that haunts my sleep. Therapy, therapy, therapy, it just keeps stampeding my brain. The fact that I explained why I am so reluctant to go to the only place that takes my insurance and her blatant dismissal of it has me irate and feeling bad about myself. If my mental healthcare professional dismisses me so easily, what hope do I have of finding another therapist that will take me seriously and do more good than harm?

Round and round my mind goes like a hamster on a wheel. A hamster hopped up on meth and cocaine.

I am pondering going to the counseling place and telling them the doc nurse said I need to be counseled so here I am, just don’t count on me opening up to anyone. Since the shift in mental health care from simply venting and learning to process shifted to the cognitive behavioral crap, I’ve found counseling a waste of my time.Having my quirks labeled (Oooh, I talked about vampires during a session and I had pink hair, I am sooo schizotypal!) or hey, I was manic and agitated so I must have histrionic personality disorder…Let us not forget symptoms of bipolar meaning to one counselor that I am DEFINITELY borderline when the therapist before her unequivocally said I am NOT.

How is any of this helpful to me? It’s confusing and it’s detrimental to my self esteem. It’s akin to telling me to go hang out with people who will insult me and invalidate my every feeling and calling it helpful.

Am I just stubborn? Prideful? Unwilling to make an effort?

I guess since my past experiences were so utterly discouraging, maybe I am wary of making the effort again. Especially since the counseling center merged with a big hospital and they’re a ‘behavioral’ health center. Maybe I need to stop drinking when the stress mounts. Maybe I shouldn’t lie so much, but hey, if I tell people I had a bad mental health day instead of lying that I had the flu, they get uneasy and hostile because mental illness isn’t real. And isn’t this behavioral center basically saying the same? That no matter our legit diagnoses of imbalance, we’re all just distorting facts and need to ‘retrain’ our brains to behave in a manner that is current with psych trends?

Honestly, last thing I want is to be labeled non compliant. I also have zero desire to expose myself, again, to an experience that proves far more negative and confusing than positive and helpful.

Because the minute I admit I’ve had bad experiences or disagree with a diagosis or a counselor’s tecnique, bam, I’m gonna get slapped with yet another personality disorder, paranoid, anti social, likely both. Why would anyone want to do that?

Best I can tell at this moment, my biggest problems are A, lack of self confidence, which in part stems from both bipolar disorder and the very treatment I’m receiving for it, and also, a defiant child who physically attacks me. Neither of which have a thing to do with my personality quirks. I will never be changing my rebellious nature, not now that I have grown enough to know I am doing it for the right reasons and not just idly to my own detriment. I am not gonna stop dyeing my hair funky colors or stop wearing black and skulls. I’m not going to stop being introverted (which,btw, there was talk about turning *that* trait into a disorder), I am not going to become a social butterfly. I have zero desire to be any of those things. I want help with what is troubling me but the entire therapy and intake process is to label me with all these personality flaws rather than help specifically with what is causing the most trouble. My green and black hair is hardly a culprit here, even if others find it freakish. (It’s about to become bright red in a few days cos, hey, I can.)

I am so envious when I read others’ posts about how helpful therapy is for them. It’s been so long for me. Probably since the 90’s when the counseling place was on the other side of town and I saw Roni, then Paul. After that, it was all downhill. I liked Denise and Debbie okay, but that last one who changed my entire diagnosis after 3 intake sessions…she did far more harm than good and it’s not simply me disagreeing with her. The therapist who left thus requiring me to see Yoyo said I was not borderline, I just had traits and many could be tied to bipolar cycles.

If their own people can’t agree on anything….I fail to see how they are going to help me. They’ve already done enough damage, pardon me if I’m not anxious for them to do more. And honestly, if I go in there with an attitude and I truly feel I cannot be open there as R’s daughter works there so she’d have access to all my session notes and she’s known for telling her daddy about clients….

Being placed in this hellish position angers me, dismays me, and frustrates me.Which is probably why not even sleeping pills can keep me down at night. I’m being haunted with the threat of being labeled non compliant if I don’t get therapy yet the only therapy available is more damaging to my psyche than no therapy.

Talk about a catch 22 from hell.


Unstable Thought Disorder

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on December 8, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I heard schizophrenia referred to as a ‘thought disorder’ and it got me to thinking how misleading it is for the DSM (Dumbassery Simpleton Manual) to classify bipolar and depression as ‘mood disorders’. Because were they simply mood disorders, we would not require massive amounts of medications to balance them, nor would we need constant therapy shoved down our throats because hey, you can ‘snap out’ of a bad mood, or a bad mood can simply pass with time. When something is your constant companion and a way of life…

Seems to me that is a thought disorder indeed.

Last week my stress level reached fever pitch and my thoughts kept telling me I was coming undone, hospital straightjacket ready. I was convinced the sky was falling, the nurse doc basically assassinated my character and invalidated my very existence, and that having the landlord’s people fix my furnace would result in eviction simply because *someone* doesn’t like my standard of tidiness. I was hell bent on this all being factual because it was how I felt, how I was thinking, and it was very real at that time.

This week, however, after a bit of time away from the shop and drama and trauma…plus getting the heat fixed and surviving the packed auditorium for my daughter’s Christmas program…I know my mental stability is tenuous, at best, but my thoughts seem less disordered, less convinced of doom. I am thinking more clearly.

And while the psych professionals don’t seem to lend it much credence, I think a lot of it is every month I experience brutal menstrual dysphoria to the extent that I may as well be pregnant, the hormone overload is so extreme. That’s 10 days a month and by the time I regain equilibrium from that, I am still battling the pre-existing bipolar and anxiety thus my thoughts are often distorted, amplified, or downright wrong. This is a thought disorder.

The psychiatric community is reluctant to call bipolar and depression as such because so often, bipolar isn’t accompanied by psychosis, so we don’t hear voices or see things that aren’t there. We still perceive things incorrectly and the ebb and flow of it all isn’t simply a ‘mood disorder’. Moods can pass, shift, swing, but in rapid cycling bipolar…It’s just a constant roller coaster ride of thought disorders, never being able to trust yourself, wondering if you are always wrong or misconstruing things. The self doubt alone could drive a person mad.

Let’s not leave out the self loathing the thought disorder leads to. Going through life with a legitimate disability yet being made to feel like a lazy, weak, parasite at every turn really wrecks your self image and confidence.And for me, the constant varying opinions, diagnoses, and general attitudes of the psych professionals who are supposed to help me, are a hindrance that increases my self loathing.

I am far from perfect. I make poor choices. Some when my disordered thoughts overwhelm my common sense, some by conscious choice to simply ignore the angel on my shoulder and go with the devil on the other one telling me it’s okay to occasionally be a rebel and have a few drinks to unwind. At least I am honest about and not deluding myself. I have a coping disorder. I also have mega self esteem issues, but how am I ever going to deal with those when my psych professionals are making me feel invalidated?

So in addition to the thought disorders, there is very real anxiety disorder which mimicks the physical symptoms of a cardiac episode and honestly, it wears me down. To have a psych pro like nurse doc seem so dismissive of that really makes me question this whole ‘treatment’ thing. If they are causing more harm than good…Maybe I’d be better off just drinking myself into oblivion daily.

Or maybe that is a disordered thought brought on by frustration and healthcare professional who is simply a wrong fit for my needs.

Never knowing for sure which is fact is a bitch.

Humbled and Jumbled

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on December 4, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

After Friday, the day from hell, I am finally back to a decent mental space but it’s precarious, at best. I don’t know how it can be anything else considering the demands placed on me from R and my child randomly physically attacking me for trying to set limits. I’m already juggling depression, anxiety, stress, and sleep deprivation. Yet…

My Friday appointment did not go well with nurse doc. I went in and immediately started ranting about all the strain and yeah, yeah, I know, that’s what therapy is for, not the actual professionals. Try not making me wait 6 weeks between appointments, you might know what’s going on with me and I won’t need to go on a tirade to demonstrating how close to the edge I am.

As usual, she made me feel an inch tall. I think her empathy bone is broken, honestly. There I was, pouring out my soul, admitting, yes, you busted me, I smell like booze because occasionally and I drink ritas and sometimes I even spill them and don’t bother changing my clothes…Fair enough, call me on my bullshit, I have it coming. But when I told her flat out, it’s 16 hours a week and it’s been three months and I simply cannot keep up with the demands and expectations R has. I’m simply not ready to work yet.

And in this apathy filled voice she asks, “How will you know when you are ready?”

Pretty sure when my meds work more than six months at a time and I can manage the bare minimum without ending up on a crisis hotline.

Of course, it makes me look on the wrong side, because sure, I’ve been a bad girl, mixing meds and booze, but the choice between sleep meds that knock me on my ass and give me hangovers verses being able to sleep after a couple of drinks and not having a hangover…Okay, excuses, excuses. I got called on my crap, I own it, she was right on that part.

But it’s not like I’ve ever truly taken to her. Every month since I started seeing her I end up venting about feeling so dismissed, like she is unsupportive, has no empathy….And as if to prove me right, after I’d already told her that the keyboard clacking unnerved me…she started doing it again!!!! I said I’d be fine with her writing notes or using a recorder yet she has to do the very thing that makes me freak out! Not professional. And probably not personal or intentional, she likely sees so many patients she just forgot that the clacking makes me edgy.

Oddly, it was the final straw for me, Not simply feeling ignored or chastised, but the disrespect of clacking when I’d voiced my issues with it. That was what finally gave me the balls to make an appointment with Dr. B over nurse doc. I have to wait til January 15th but it will be worth it. Though my permanent record is botched, thanks to my own idiocy of reverting back to ritas to dull the anxiety and sleep. It’s so weird because I’ve had half a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet for two months and never once drank a drop. I apparently can’t even have a drinking problem within the normal parameters.

I got the go to therapy lecture, again. I told her to find me any place else and I’d go-I explained completely why the local place is such a conflict of interest where I won’t even be able to open up. She could not have cared less. If she cared, she’d have said, “you check the phone book and I’ll ask around, too.” Instead she told me I needed to check the phone book and get some intensive therapy. Yet every time I go to therapy, it’s just insurance paying for me to vent to someone while I figure things out on my own gracelessly. What’s the fucking point? And why didn’t she suggested maybe my kid who hits me needs a therapist or doctor? Dr. B has said it before. Yet doc nurse doesn’t seem to care.

And I can sense she doesn’t consider me disabled. Some things you just know based on how someone repeatedly treats you and it’s obvious she thinks my every problem is either lack of solid sleep or I need therapy. She could have easily wrote me a note to get out of the shop for a week or so, let me get my brain back together. I should have switched back to Dr. B months ago, I always had a feeling about nurse doc. (Or whatever she actually is, a master’s degree doesn’t make you helpful to patients, I know that much.) Now my file is going to make me look like a malingerer partying loser.

I never go out. I don’t go to concerts or live shows even though I love music. Half the time I can’t work up energy to shower. I can barely wear clean clothes. I can’t keep up with housework 99% of the time. I am putting forth every inch of effort and my life basically hangs in the balance of someone who’s had their degree a year or less.

Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt but one thing is fore sure: I am fine being called for my bad behaviors but I have a dozen entries about my misgivings about her long before that so this is not something knee jerk “been caught being bad” reaction. If I don’t feel like they’re on my side…I guess I should just buy my own straightjacket because that’s all doc nurse did for me, is jumble my feelings so much I’m not sure if I hate myself or what. Which was what the last ‘therapist’, with 2 years experience under her belt, did when she changed my 20 plus year diagnosis after only 3 sessions. These people are supposed to help me, and they are the ones doing as much damage as the mental illness itself.

In other news…our furnace needs a new main board and chances are I will be blamed for having too much stuff and dust so I’ve not exactly broken my back to call the scumlord. I have however kicked ass for three days towards cleaning the place up. Lots left to go but today alone I rearranged the living room completely, AND managed a trip to Wal-mart. I think Mrs R’s impromptu uninvited visit the other night while he was looking at the furnace helped motivate me to clean a little lest she report me for being an unfit parent. Of course, I’ve seen her idea of filthy so I might as well give up now. My stuff is old and it ain’t ever gonna be all shiny clean. But she and him got into a yelling fight in my laundry room cos he’d been gone two weeks and he didn’t rush to her side and….He should have mentioned he was using family time to look at my furniture. I do not need people screaming at each other making me feel unwelcome in my own home, ffs. And why would they put me in that position?

I thought I’d at least get the weekend to myself then yesterday when we finally ran to the store…he calls and makes me feel shitty for leaving home because he needed to drop by and have me put some file on flash drive for him. I basically put in Friday for free (because even though I wasn’t needed, if I had tried to leave before it was time, he’d have guilt tripped me, and seriously, it’s what he does.) I’d be better off waiting tables, at least once your schedule is done, you can have a life. Not with R and his shop, even before the ‘real’ job, it was living and breathing that shop 7 days a week. I can’t be him and I can’t be what he needs me to be.

And no matter what doc nurse thinks, I’m not ready to tell people how stable and capable I am when it’s a blatant lie. And what kind of mental health professional would place a patient in a spot where they have to fake stability and lie about it? Okay, she never said that, but still, it’s how she made me feel and she’s the ONLY doctor to ever make me feel that way. Even the horrid “I’m a psychiatrist but I don’t think people need to take medication” was better at being supportive than she is. And he called me on my crap all the time and by that, I mean, he loathed giving me Xanax and constantly wanted me on clownapin. I met him halfway and cut my Xanax level in half and he could live with that.

So when even your worst has been trumped out of 20 plus doctors and therapist…it may simply be a bad fit or maybe…I won’t go there but I think it goes without saying. You should never make a depressed person feel more depressed about themselves.

As for her Vistoril…it’s not helping -put me to sleep or stay asleep but now when I get up at night to go to the bathroom, I’m all wobbly and walking into walls. A former shrink said Vistoril (however it is spelled) would not be strong enough for someone with my sleep disturbance history. She was right. If I’m getting bruises walking into walls and shit, I should at least get a buzz or six solid hours of sleep out of it.

Trintellix Side Effects SUCK

Posted in bipolar disorder, Uncategorized with tags , , , on November 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Lost the med lottery today. I ate first, took my Trintellix, and BAM. Stomach ache and nausea so bad I think the flu is more appealing. THIS is why people don’t want to take meds or stay on them. I missed maybe two doses and there was no withdrawal, but even after two doses missed, you go right back to the original side effects from the first months of treatment and dose increases. It’s maddening. Yet I am reluctant to give up on it because it’s kept me vertical this long, it’s doing something. I dread taking it every day, though. It’s like trying to work yourself up to go in for a root canal. It’s worse than lithium nausea ever thought of being. While I know it will pass once I get a week of solid dose built back up, but still. Two missed doses should not involve in such nasty side effects. But alas, I know, I’m the one who got so scatterbrained I forgot my meds, I brought it on myself. My fault or not, the fact is, Trintellix has been one of the harshest meds I’ve been on.

Another NUTSYFUCKINGKOOKOO side effect from this medication, which of course, the doctors deny yet the message boards are full of people experiencing it as well, is the itching. Not just my whole skin, but my scalp. It’s got me using special shampoos, checking me and my kid constantly for head lice. And that’s precisely how it feels every single day no matter how long I am on it…Like living with a headful of lice crawling around in my hair and on my scalp.

I’m out of bed and dressed and doing my prison term. I mean, at the shop. R texted yesterday about his needs. Didn’t bother asking how I am. Doesn’t care the customers are pissed off, that he’s running the business into the ground. He gives zero fucks about anyone but his own needs. And I get it, he’s been out of state for two and a half weeks, he missed Thanksgiving with his family, he’s in limbo, unsure when they’re gonna be finished with the job and come back…I get it, he’s stressed,too, and then he has to come back to all this mess at the shop. BUT he brought this on himself. We have all tried to tell him, he is too egomaniacal to listen. So he kind of made his bed and needs to lie in it. And I think I deserve a goddamn Christmas bonus for dealing with all the enraged people who cuss me, yell at me, hang up on me, slam the door on me. But he would never think to do something so thoughtful and kind.

He’s the ‘I don’t want to know about the pregnancy,labor, or birth, just give me the baby’ type. I am the “Was the pregnancy difficult? How long were you in labor? How’s the baby? Any complications post partum?” I want the whole story because I care. I can’t stop being this person and he can’t stop being that person. It’s always been a tightrope act of our personalities clashing or meshing. I just don’t know I need another thoughtless insulting person who takes me for granted in my life when my family has it covered in spades. Tis why I have the three week plan in place. Though, I’m kind of plotting bitch cos I ain’t telling him about til after he fixes our heat. (Landlord told me if I blew another $200 main board I’d have to pay for it and the lazy Hvac guys always say it’s the board or else they’d have to know something and do some work, so fuck that, I’m gonna be a devious snake and have R fix it. That can be my Christmas bonus…please don’t think I’m horrible, heat is kind of necessity.)

At least I am not alone in my views here. All his friends, and even customers, say he’s ruined the place and the reputation. Least this time I know it’s not bipolar distortion or my personality flaw. He screwed the pooch on this one.

My kid had a warbler last night. First one in days. I shouldn’t have let her have the single peanut butter cup. Sugar always sends her around the bend but I find absolute denial makes kids sneak stuff and I don’t want her feeling she has to sneak food, even junk food, so she develops some shame disorder over food. But she went off the rails about being stupid and ugly, though the timing was convenient. She’d informed me she and a bunch of other kids were playing tag more like hockey slamfest so they all got lunch and recess detentions today. I can’t very well be disciplinarian and all when my kid’s having a self confidence meltdown, right? My mom says I make stuff up about how bad Spook acts out, that I make it worse than it is, like I am out to get her or something. No, that was my mom, always so harsh on me yet clueless that she was. I am interested in my kid not becoming a sociopath, being her friend is not my job. I make nothing up, this is her behavior. If I wanted to frame job her, I’d never point out her good behaviors. Hell, if I weren’t a loving, devoted mom, I’d have done run away from home because frankly, living in fear of an 8 year old going violent on me isn’t a pleasant life. But here I am, still trying, and my mom is accusing me of making it all up. As if I have a damned thing to gain by saying Spook misbehaves when she doesn’t.

This morning was no better. She had church last night so didn’t get to sleep til 9:30, come alarm today she started yelling at me it was too early and she was tired. Maybe the late night church thing needs to be done away if she can’t manage on an hour less sleep.

I’m not gonna say I am handling things with much grace. I’m hanging by some frayed thread here (while the sensation of crawling bugs on my scalp is making me nuts, but at least the nausea has subsided). I must have wakened 4 times during the night and I only hit snooze twice today because out of the gate…my brain starts spinning and stressing and worrying. How am I gonna get Christmas and pay all the bills? The car keeps dying on me, idle is too low, what am I gonna do if it keels over? Ugh, do I have to see the apathetic psych nurse who makes me feel so shitty? Isn’t there a better med that won’t make me feel like I have year round head lice? Round and round it goes, where it stops…I wish I knew.

But hey world, I am serving my time, vertical and at least wearing clothes I didn’t sleep in. I haven’t showered in 4 days but hey, as long as I am upright….I really hate life sometimes. I hate bipolar life. And more than anything…I despise depression. It’s one of the cruelest disorders one can live with. And one you won’t find much empathy for even amongst psychiatric professionals. Joy, joy, happy, happy.

Z-whack me now, please.

Just What The Psych Nurse Wasn’t Smart Enough To Have Ordered

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

So yesterday’s ‘sick out’ proved an efficient brain reboot. Toward afternoon the panic and inertia passed and I got up, did dishes, cleaned cat boxes, started washing laundry, vacuumed, cooked a good meal. Spook and I were medded and bedded by 7 p.m. though it took me quite a bit longer to fall asleep as we ran out of melatonin. I even blocked the cats from my room so I could sleep. And I did…for 40 minutes before a text from R came in asking if he had given me enough money to cover me coming into the shop this week while he’s still out of state. HUH? He’s been gone two weeks and what he did give me for Christmas and gas went toward a vet bill for Shady so…But I wasn’t about to let him fuck up my lingering Xanax-sleepiness so I sent a simple “nope” text and went back to sleep.

Only to waken again at 3 a.m. Toss, turn, go to the bathroom, check on kid and cats, back to bed, huddling under covers cos hey, my heat is still out and it wasn’t even an issue cos it was 70 degrees outside but the nights are a lot colder…In the midst of checking in on my kid, I accidentally woke her and was treated to 90 minutes of trying to get her to go back to sleep so I could, as well…Took 0.5 mg Xanax and nada…up,down, toss, turn. The anxiety of this shop situation, R, and my finances has me a damned trainwreck. The good news was, 4 a.m. I checked my bank balance and yay, the check was deposited thus negating my immediate need to tell R Yeah, we need you to get us some stuff…HATE doing that. It never ceases to amaze me how he will loan a couple hundred to Mark or whoever, no questions asked, but then, they all have jobs so they are more worthy than fronting me $20 without guilt, considering how much I do to help him. It’s not boasting or holding something over his head, it is fact. If anyone deserves the help, it’s the disabled mom with a small child, don’cha think? But nooo, I gotta grovel and be made to feel subhuman and he says it’s all in my head but he’s full of shit. Because I’ve been present when Kenny or Mark or Jim or whoever asked to bum $20 or whatever, and not once has he ever said, “You’re broke already? What do you do with your money?”

He says it to me almost every single fucking time. And I am EARNING the good favor yet still get insulted and made to feel shitty.

Finally around 5 a.m. I started to nod off. Down side, when the alarm went off, Xanax haze told me I still needed to sleep. Amazing how it doesn’t make me at all sleepy during the day or even immediately at night, but if I take it after midnight or whatever, come alarm time, I’m all groggy and lethargic. How does that even fucking work? But I got up and moving.

Yesterday’s brain reboot worked. I got dressed, loaded up wet laundry, put gas in the car, got a few cleaning supplies, came to the shop. To find I’d misseded Ex package and some angry customer tried to pick her TV up three days in a row and left a furious post it note. Join the fucking club, there are so many angry customers right now. And R won’t listen to me. He just says he will get to it when he gets to it, fuck them. If his mechanic treated him that way towards his car, he’d punch him. Yet he carries on that way and it’s me and the customers who are wrong. He needs to pick a job and do it and let the other go and since this shop is gasping and death rattling, just close it down. Much as I see a need for the business…

Fifty plus years it has operated under the current name and in the 9 or so years since R took it over, it managed to stay afloat, barely, but he was just that good at what he does. He still is. But if it takes six months to get one item fixed because this other job has him all tied up out of state and such….GIVE IT UP ALREADY. Because he is tarnishing this place’s name, ruining it, basically. The customers are what matters and his whole ‘fuck them, it will get done when I have the time’ thing is wrecking it. No, maybe you’re not entitled to instant service but if something’s been sitting 3 months and not even diagnosed…death knoll. Bring on the coffins.

I am ranting. It’s okay. I need a good rant. I’ve already got a guy coming to pick up something he left in September, another man who wanted a home install, and all I can do is gush meaningless apologies to everyone and try not to take their irritation or blatant hostility in some cases, personally. Which, fyi, with panic disorder, is pretty much impossible. If apathy were a remote default for me, I’d choose it over constantly feeling overwhelmed, guilty, weak, angry, sad, etc.

Which is one more thing to bring up with nurse practitioner- I thought it was just hormones but for four weeks now I have been tearing up at the drop of the hat and it’s not my norm on mood stabilizers so it’s a sign the antidepressant combo’s not working. I am loathe to drop Trintellix, in spite of it having the bizarre side effect of making my scalp itch and giving me the constant delusion I have head lice….because nasty side effects or not, it has kept me up and shambling. I think, like all my other meds, after a year, Wellbutrin has just decided to give up on me. Can’t wait to see how she handles being told this. Just the thought of her ‘would you like fries with that’ apathy makes me cringe and never want to go back.

For months I have agonized and told myself it’s all me, I am the one with an attitude problem, perception problem, she’s just inexperienced and I am impatient…But really, she’s just not a good fit, certainly not for someone with an extensive med resistant history like I have. Time to go back to Dr. B, IF he will even take me back. Which they’d better fit me in because changing me to doc nurse was THEIR doing, if he had room for other patients, there was no reason to change me. Idgets.

Ranting and venting aside…while I am sure word made it to R I didn’t come in yesterday but truth is, I don’t care. The reboot was what it took to get me through a tough mental health day and here I am, back on both feet, accomplishing stuff even if my stomach is churning with dread and anxiety. Maybe needing a break makes me weak or maybe it was just a really smart move the so called psych professional could have sugested. If one day helped this much, imagine what a few weeks might do to help me.

Unfortunately, she’ll be far too busy asking about my appetite and sleep to suggest a break would be good for my mental health. That and making me feel like I am being asked if I want fries with that burger.

Mental health care in this place is a fucking joke.

Bipolar Disorder,ADD, and Racing Thoughts

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on November 26, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Earlier was a long venting, renty post to purge the week’s demons.

This evening I find myself less overwhelmed with emotions and more frustrated with the curse of bipolar, its subsidiaries (my shrink says often ADD and ADHD come hand in hand with bipolar disorder and goes undiagnosed far too often), and of course, the prescription insurance plans who refuse to cover necessary medications people like me truly do need to benefit to functionality and quality of life.

I do not have the hyperactivity form of attention deficit. I do, however, have rabid racing thoughts and it’s quite maddening. What is more maddening is that a simple low dose of Focalin helps 75% toward this particulaly brutal aspect of my bipolar disorder and yet, insurance refuses to pay for it no matter what the doctor says is best and necessary. Even generic Focalin and similar meds are so pricey, I can’t pay out of pocket. So where does that leave me (and many others, I am sure)?

It leaves us being held hostage by our spiraling thoughts that stampede and race day in and day out, hindering ability to focus and finish basic tasks, read a book, write coherent posts (read my blog lately?). It’s not bad enough to constantly be at war with the immediate symptoms of bipolar, which, too, includes racing thoughts. Having a secondary diagnosis of attention deficit with racing thoughts yet not being able to get the relief you need due to financial restraints is insult to injury.

I find it so reprehensible to have a diagnosis for this particular hindering disorder yet even with the doctor signing off on it, I can’t afford the meds and insurance won’t cover it. As if we simply make up stuff so we can take even more pills.

While it is very true that a plethora of people use ADD/ADHD stimulant meds, and abuse them, for no reason other than all night cram sessions or keeping up with their kids’ extracurricular activities…For those of us who have legit disorders, their irresponsibility and utter selfishness rob of us what could greatly improve our quality of life NOT TO MENTION, ability to gain employment. No employer wants someone so scatterbrained they can’t complete small tasks, let alone major ones, and more often than not, that small dose of Focalin helps put me on track. I won’t say it’s 100% long term effective, but some of it is the ebb and flow of the bipolar ups, downs, and crippling depressions. No drug is a true miracle worker.

I am truly frustrated that my writing-which is all I have ever been good at, and the one thing I absolutely love doing-suffers because my brain moves so fast and has so many topics at once it’s like being in a money booth with a wind machine trying to grab at currency but being unable to grab more than two singles. Too much blowing around in my brain like juggling a dozen ping pong balls and I drop them constantly thus my intelligence comes into question. People think I am so lazy flake or dingbat and that is infuriating.

Unfortunately, with ACA on the chopping block, which likely means us disabled will be turned out into the cold as well, I see no solution in sight. It just seems to me that with the attention deficit and churning thoughts being such a hindrance, properly diagnosed over multiple years by multiple doctors, yet I am still not worthy of the expense when it could so improve my life, my child’s life, our entire situation…Big pharma, insurance companies, and the system as a whole are unintereted in helping anyone who isn’t crapping hundred dollar bills to afford the costlier drugs.

As a post note…To all those who pop Adderall, etc, to get high, gain energy, cram tests…Your selfishness means people who need-and deserve-that help- are often unable to get it even when we are legally entitled to it. So thanks for that, assholes. You rank right up there with big pharma and prescription insurance plans.

I matter, and I should be able to get the medication I need, even if I could only cover a fraction of it. Instead of hurling judgments at those with mental disorders, how about the powers that be come up with a plan to help us help ourselves by making these needed meds affordable?

I’m already in my pajamas, I know I am dreaming. Big pharma will do the right thing about the same time as politicians gain a soul.

Hot Fucking Psychological Mess

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on November 25, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I survived the holiday madness only to have a complete meltdown last night. I panicked and called the local counseling center because my kid went ballistic when I tried to move her table as she had it blocking her path in her room thus making it a fire hazard…She attacked me, then tried to break the dvd player.This, after her trying to stab me with a pen in the morning, because she insisted family is spelled -ey and no amount of proof-dictionary, google, our state family medical card…nothing was getting through to her and she came at me. So…I cracked my lids.

I guess I was so upset the on call counseling operator decided I needed bigger guns than they had on call cos I was referred to an 800 number then put through half an hour of questions about me and my kid and did I feel I needed them to send authorities to come take her away. THIS IS WHAT I AM TRYING TO FUCKING AVOID!!! This is why I’ve been reluctant to push too hard on the counseling angle, because rather than let me talk and seek advice, they want to take the most drastic route. And by then Spook had calmed down, so much so I assumed while I was bawling on the phone to this random operator that she had worn herself to sleep.

Nope. She was awake and started crying and saying she didn’t want to be taken away, but then she flip flopped and said it’d be okay if they took her away for two weeks as long as they didn’t make her eat nasty food and we could talk on the phone. (Feel the fucking love???) This all followed me daring to be stupid enough to confided in my mother about Spook trying to stab me and my mom snapping, “You need to stop putting off getting her help!”

So I tried to get her some help only to be rejected by the local place, which was fine, I didn’t even want to go there as their child psych pro happens to be R’s judgmental eldest daughter with the master’s degree…So after being rejected and referred what I got was A.) “We’ll send someone to your house tonight to remove her” or B,” “Call this number Monday” for a counseling center 90 miles away from us. Um..Yeah, that’s the psych ward my sister and brother both spent time in as teenagers cos they were ‘troubled youth’. My kid does not need hospitalized, we do not need to be seperated or have our home invaded by ‘behavioral experts’. My kid needs evaluated by a shrink because all this aggressive slash violent behavior seems triggered by the word no, and worsened by being shoveled sweets (my mom let her eat an entire pie Thanksgiving day behind my back, thus turning her feral).

I reached out for logical help, not drastic measures and certainly not signing my kid into a psychiatric hospital. Once again, good intentions lead to being made to feel even worse for reaching out because now I’m in some system and they probably will come take my kid away and not because she is violent toward me but because our house is falling apart, messy, and oh, our heat went out again and R is out of town til at least Wednesday night (thank God we are having a warm burst the next 5 days)…

I wanted counseling for her, maybe sessions for us together. I want help figuring out how to curb her behaviors, how to handle my own reactions to them, and because I reached out for help during a meltdown that was a long time coming considering how hormonal and stressed I have been as of late…they will probably come to our door and see my nasty caved in floors and threadbare carpet no shampooer can get truly clean and of course, one of the kittens will have likely hurled ten seconds prior thus making it look like I don’t clean up after them and…

I need to breathe. I am panicking.

Maybe calling that behavior center would be a good thing. But my car shimmies over 25 miles an hour so I’m not gonna be driving her 180 miles to a psych ward and her state insurance won’t cover it anyway which was why in my dark hour of need I tried the local center. Even though it would be an enormous conflict of interest (would any of YOU want to take your kid or yourself to a center where their prized therapist sat in front of you at a cookout and griped about being on call and having to check in on a client and saying “I really don’t want to talk to this bitch” about said client????????????????????????????). Oh and let us not forget the confidentiality breaches left and right that come from that same place, and that precededed Ms. Master’s Degree, it’s just a small town and when family members get the same counselor, for some reason the counselor thinks that means confidentiality is waived…Oh and let me add, Ms. Child Pyschology Wunderkind just had to remove her Kindgertner from religious school due to behavior issues and put her in lowly public school…If she’s got a child of her own that’s problematic, how is that gonna help me with my child? Especially because the times we’ve been around her socially she has exhibited nothing but judgment and critiquing my child…

I’m spiraling, I know. I am just fucking freaked out.

I am further melting down with the shop stress as he’s been gone almost two weeks, nothing is getting done, people are pissed and wanting their money back and take their stuff elsewhere…I can’t handle the confrontation on top of everything else.

I am out of talk time on my phone so I got a crappy free app which apparently has echo feedback from hell and I realized with no minutes on my own number, the school can’t reach me should Spook need to come home so I went to the page to try to edit personal info and at least put in the app number as secondary and it wouldn’t let me change my own fucking information.

The new kitten, Vex, is still keeping me awake half the nights, as is Spook, entering another one of her sleep with mommy phases so even my bed and sleep are nightmares.

I am trying to be strong and tough it out but inside, I am fucking screaming my fool head off.

Amidst all the chaos of holiday week, I missed a couple of days of my meds ( I can’t juggle everything,ffs!) so when I took my Trintellix this morning, I got sicker than a dog. I forgot how harsh the 5 mg was, let alone missing the 20 mg a couple of days and popping back on it. I started feeling better but for several hours, I was in gastric hell. I’ve given up on Wellbutrin, whatever it was doing has ended. I am hopeless for the most part.

Yet I fantasize about just abandoning this whole ‘normal conventional’life and doing something different…like moving to Mexico and selling tourist crap or finding some small coastal town in Maine and spending days on the beach playing with my kid. I want to leave behind all this stressful shit of politics and whether the president is a good person or whether taking a knee at a ballgame is some big crime against America…I just want to be at peace and lead a quiet life with bouts of pure joy. We don’t need fancy stuff. In fact, acquiring all the stuff we have actually makes me less happy because my chaotic brain can’t organize for shit and it just piles up and becomes a depressing hindrance and I can’t even sort myself enough to start pitching whatever I can live without.

I am a hot fucking mess and not even one that’s fascinating. But if anyone every says I’m not giving it my all and trying my hardest, even to my own psychological detriment, I’ll gladly call them liars to their face. I am giving everything I’ve got and then some and ya know what I am getting in return?

A nervous breakdown and probably some do gooder who will take my kid away because I dared to reach out for advice when I hit my breaking point and didn’t know how to handle being attacked by an 8 year old.

I need a time out. From R’s demands, from my family’s put downs, from my kid’s tantrums…But my kid and I are bonded and her fits are my cross to bear. I can’t help thinking we both just need out of this humdrum existence. A clean break, far away from the oppression of my family and this town.

Sounds loopy and naive, right?

Loops and naive could prove to be our savior so I’m not ruling it out. Adults can run away from home. I just need to get my head on straight, calm down, and start figuring out how to find this peaceful place where my daughter and I can enjoy life. There will be struggle, always, but I have to have faith that somewhere there is a place for us where we would be calmer, happier, and maybe live happily ever after. Loopy and naive are all I have left.

I don’t see how a desire to live near a beach is so fanciful, though. It doesn’t have to be Malibu. Just some place far from my skeletons and demons, where I could start to heal, where I could introduce Spook to a vast culture and a variety things this place doesn’t offer…

Maybe I’m loopy. Maybe I am mid breakdown and in denial.

Or maybe I am finally realizing that possessions don’t mean that much, but environment, especially one that nourishes your spirit, could be just what the doctor didn’t order but is desperately needed.