Archive for bipolar disorder

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.

Are you suicidal, ask the Psychiatric Professionals

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , on December 4, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

No trigger intended…

But it’s a legitimate question our psych professionals ask us…Most of, I am betting, are truthful 85% of the time…The other 15%…being suicidal is very different from simply being so exhausted you want to cease to exist.

There have been times in my life when I was so down, so desperate, so in need of peace…Yes, I was suicidal and maybe it was more than ideation. Maybe in those dark moments I formulated a plan.

More often, though, there was no will to live. Just a will to sleep, to not feel anxious, to not be depressed, to not feel like the demands of others were pulling me limb from limb…Thus the desire to simply cease to exist was prevalent.

The psych professionals don’t seem to grasp this concept as well as if you plainly say, “Yeah, I wannt kill myself.”

That is THEIR failure. Assuming simply because we don’t intend to harm ourselves that we are not in the clutches of a dire mental cycle is simply wrong. Take us seriously because we are here, trying to bare our souls, and admit…we don’t know how much more we can’t take before we simply break.

Ignoring us (as my psych nurse/doc/indian chief, whatever she is, does) is bordering on malpractice. Of course, I don’t want to be hospitalized, and of course, I don’t want to hurt myself…I live for my child, my cats, my love of music, TV, books, writing….There ARE things out there I still love and enjoy.

BUT if my psychiatric state prohibits me from enjoying said things, let alone valuing them…Yeah, wanting to cease to exist is just as serious as suicidal ideation.

I’ve reached out so many times only to be swatted away (my perception, likely not their intent, but same result)…if someone says “I want to curl up on a ball and not live anymore” it SHOULD be as alarming as someone who admits they want to harm themselves.

Yet constantly we are dismissed, dismayed, and it helps fuel whatever personality disorder issues we may have by feeding our hostility, hatred, and resentment of not being heard.

Perhaps rather than asking us if we want to harm ourselves, the more pertinent question is…DO YOU HAVE ANY DESIRE TO KEEP FIGHTING TO LIVE?

Mine is there but waning and I really think that should make my psych professional care. did not.

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.

Psychological Flatline

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on November 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s been coming for weeks and for weeks, I tried to tell R that I was hitting my usual where the anxiety stress, and depression culminate in me crashing and burning. I won’t say I am down and out but for the first time in 3 months…I didn’t go to the shop like I am supposed to. I stayed home, accomplished nothing, but in all honesty…removing the guilt and all- it was precisely the sort of rebellious reboot my overwhelmed mind needed. I just flat lined. I had every intention of going to the shop…but more time passed, the more my psychological demons hovered and moved in for the kill. I knew going outside my safe space was as ill advised as trying to operate heavy machinery while on narcotics.

Of course, I will let R know I didn’t go in…when I get around to it. He was supposed to be en route home today but they’ve delayed him again out of state where he may not even be leaving by Friday. I just was not in a strong enough mental frame to go to that damned shop with all the pissed off people wanting their shit fixed or their diagnostic fee returned. Because we did bank deposit before he left and I have no access to cash or bank accounts to refund money, nor authority to do so. All these people are pissed off and while he’s pissy about the real job keeping him gone over two weeks…he isn’t the who has to listen to angry customers and try to explain why the hell a business would take their money and say they’ll do a timely repair when the damned owner and tech can’t even get his ass back to state to do the bloody work…

Tomorrow, I am determined (and praying to the sacred pegacorn) that I don’t flat line again but he’s so far behind there’s nothing for me to do but get yelled at by angry people demanding their money back. Would any sane person want to take on the stress of someone else overestimating their own abilities? He says he’s got it all handled, he can do both jobs, but if Job A sends you out of state for two plus weeks meanwhile new items keep coming in, on top of the old stuff that’ss not been fixed…He has placed me in an impossible situation, and the toll it is taking on my mental health is enormous.

So today I flaked out and flat lined but maybe tomorrow I will feel stronger. And if I don’t well, I guess he won’t be helping me get my kid’s Christmas or getting my heat fixed or helping me with a differemt car and it’s ok. I don’t owe this man my sanity. Spook and I are pretty good at being poor and doing without. It’s no longer worthwhile. It’s harmful to me, in fact. He chose to do the doctor lawyer nobel laureate multi tasking work thing. I got dragged in by necessity and him guilt tripping me.

I want out. I need out. I just need a way to do it gracefully without bridges burning and I don’t know how to do that because sledgehammer honesty doesn’t work with him. He doesn’t hear me. So I guess that leaves me holding gasoline and a match. What today taught me is…NOTHING is worth your sanity and also, NOTHING can be done about depressive and anxiety breaks except to let yourself break and try to put back the pieces together.