Nap And Nightmares

I unintentionally took two brief naps today. I woke from both bathed in sweat and fearful.

I’d like to say it was some slasher flick horror scene that I had dreamt.

Nope.

I dreamed about being younger and when my mental state caused everything to go to shit and I ended up living with either my mom or my dad’s crew.

Fact I woke bathed in sweat but not at all overheated has to tell you just how horrific these memory/nightmares are for me.

The shrinks want to pile on Prozasin or whatever to stave off the dreams.

Except what I am dreaming is what I have had to deal with my whole life. For me ending up in homeless shelter would be less traumatizing. Even in my dreams, my parents behave the same and there is always some twist to make it worse.

I also felt shitty napping while Spook was home on a snow day but I can honestly say based on the TV programming schedule, I was never out more than 45 minutes and I had already warned her that during my monthly curse, I sleep a LOT, but should she need me, wake me up. Guilt is still heavy.

I got five texts tonight from family and friends who totally forgot my birthday this week. I don’t want to hold a grudge but my hormones are in ‘let’s swing a metal mace and bat at their skulls’ space so I pretend it wasn’t hurtful.

I have been so preoccupied trying to see the brighter side of things it gives the impression that I a suffering from “depression lite”. Onn the contrary, most of my time is spent thinking the world would be better off without me and that I am so damn tired I just want to go sleep and stay there til..the masses stop being asses.

I am finding no joy yet grasping for anything to counter balance this blackened soul version that is being perceived.

But since when I am responsible for how others perceive my writing, my feelings, my life at this time?

Things suck from the inside of my blackened mind.

Whatever rays of sunshine seep in, my mind is convinced are lights from an oncoming train.

Depressing? Negative? A downer? Hells yeah.

But welcome to reality for some of us.

Maybe next week my hormonal dysphoria will abate. Maybe the weather will be less cold and gloomy. Maybe my mind state will improve and things won’t seem so pointless.

Today is just not that day.

Now it’s nearing 9 p.m., my kid has already crashed, and I am ready to retire to Fort Blankie myself.

I wish I dreamt of machete wielding hockey mask wearing monsters.

But alas, my horror stories are based on facts within my own family, a nightmare I can never wake from.

You gotta wonder…if her reality sucks so much yet her dreams are so traumatizing she’d prefer sleep and nightmares…This woman is not having a good mental health day.

Feeling Alone and Being Lonely Are Two Different Things

I want a Z Wacker sooo bad right now. I am filled with hormonal anger and dysphoria and my iffy med state. I gave up soda and NO, tea or other caffeinated drinks do not count as caffeine because it is the damn flavor and carbonation I like in soda. Now, after thinking I had all week to just drop out and feel hateful and vile and and shitty, R is coming over tonight to ‘visit’. He said the magic word. Mangoritas. If I ever needed OUT of my own head it is right now. I have cramps and have been battling migraines but have no painkiller. I ate chili last night and endurd 20 hours of gut agony in spite of taking 3 Pepcid. This week is just utter ass trash and I WANT MY FUCKING Z WHACKER! Some people can afford a bag to hit or join a boxing gym. I just want my Z Whacker so I can go batshit on our already dying of fugus issues trees in the yard. Just get OUT some of this vitriole that is suddenly sweeping me up in its maelstrom.

I was managing yesterday. Listening to new music, trying to text and email and ‘be present’ amongst the normals. Guess what? I sent out 4 emails and 6 texts in the last three days and got NO replies!!!! And I am the one who is anti social? Okay, people get busy, but ya know, if you can’t reply in 3 days, do NOT fucking dare say I am the bad friend. You’re obviously too busy to include me in your life or I am just that insignificant that I don’t even warrant a three word auto email or text reply. Whatever. You’re hurting all TWO of my fucking feelings. Rudeness, however, is simply, well, fucking rude and fuck you, too. R was supposed to be out of town this week so I sent him a text telling him to let me know when he got back. Instead of that, he waits a few days and puts me on the spot and says he will be here tonight. What the fuck is that? Ignore me three days then I am supposed to feel honored and jump at the chance for your greatness to grace me? And pathetic being that I am, I see even the inconvenience as a win for me because at least you’re bringing me the nectar of the alcohol gods to help me forget I am in physical pain and in mental hell.

I am really not a lonely person, at all. I get bored sometimes. Sometimes I get to feeling a bit social. Sometimes I’m just trying to adapt the whole normal human affect and ‘like’ company or whatever.

But I am not lonely.

However, and most people lack the emotional IQ to discern this one, I feel so very alone. No likes on my posts, no return texts, no emails returned, not even an irritating call from my family. But then I try to let someone know I a feeling real bad here and could use a little basic compassion to boost my mental state a little…

AND I AM ALL FUCKING ALONE.

Which is why I bemoan the old days of depression chat rooms because back then, no matter what time day or night, I always had a place and people to turn to so this feeling alone never became so prevalent I fell further down the rabbit hole. Now everything is APPS and even the support ones are filled with trolls or people looking to get laid or tell you how you’re the awful person who won’t listen to their stories of self injury for six hours straight.

I am not sure I have ever felt this alone in my 47 years.

Some of it is me, hormonal, meds fucked up, in pain, trying not to think about the delicious tingly crispness of soda on my tongue…But things have changed for the worse on line in many ways. And I fucking hate using my phone for communication. LOL. How fucked up is that? Everything is an app and my even my ‘fat finger’ keyboard does not make it easy for me to talk to people via text and I mainly use it to look up things. My computer keyboard has always been my communication device. But other than gamers it doesn’t seem like people are too big on line with computers for the purposes of making friends or having mental health support.

I know, grow up and adapt, times change.

And if my only options to adapt are a format I am uncomfortable using and running into a rash of people who are more toxic than me…

Maybe feeling alone is what I have to adapt to.

Okay,bring on the narcissistic republicans clowns, I force fed myself a sufficient dose of metal music via Sirius Hair Nation, now I feel more badass than whiny bitch.

But alas the Trump fanboy won’t show for another 2 or 3 hours which means god knows how many more mood swings and opportunities to start going back to feeling fragile and wimpy. And hey, I LOVE fucking Wednesday 13, but even I don’t wave the pompoms and talk the dude up the way R does the orange hued dumpster fire. Sounds like a 14 year old boy band fanboy and kinda grosses me out.

Least today I slept. A LOT. After oversleeping and my kid coming within 15 minutes of missing the bus because I change an alarm tone and set the snooze pace wrong and wow…After not sleeping for four days, all I did today from 9 a.m. til 3 p.m. was sleep. And I am ready to sleep some fucking more. My nightmares are better than my current mental state.

Being alone truly doesn’t bother me 99.9% of the time.

But when the mental health demons start stampeding my brain…Feeling alone is probably the worst feeling on Earth. The only saving grace is knowing IF you can ride it out and not let the dark thoughts drive you beyond the point of no return, you can make it even if you are all alone.

For my daughter, I plaster on a smile and give her hugs and don’t lay any of this at her doorstep. Just blame the cramps and force more smiles, maybe a lame mom joke.

But this 3 day migraine coming from being without my Cymbalta is kicking my fucking ass. Antidepressant withdrawal even unintentionally is a bitch. Hopefully the doc can have it all straightened out by Saturday and I can get my meds back on track.

It’s only January 9th and already 9 days of 2020 feels like an entire year because nothing is going right.

I WANT MY Z WHACKER. My birthday is January 22nd, hint hint hint?

I doubt I would ever use the thing but I sure as hell would put it up on a nice shelf in my living room just to show my devotion to Z Nation and maybe remind a couple of idgets that crazy people armed with awesome weapons should not be trifled with.

I’d name the Z Whacker Addy, of course, and hug it and kiss it and pet it and call it George…

Don’t ask.

More metal needed. Of course, ballads bring me down so I am gonna try Octane. I could use a heavy dose of some angry Motionless In White.

But yeah. Feeling alone does not equal lonely. Otherwise I’d be thriled with having company.

Sometimes the most alone feeling on Earth is when you are ‘with’ peoplem who don’t understand mental health issues and treat you like a wimp who needs to suck it up.

So yeah. Alone doesn’t even really mean you are by yourself.

It just means you’re totally on your own even in a crowded room.

I’m about to cut a bitch for a Dr. Pepper or a Cymblata, whatever gets rid of this fucking headache that won’t go away.

Anti depressant withdrawal is a real thing, for those who don’t know.

Day Five, New Year’s Resolution Broken

I set ONE tiny resolution for myself for 2020. To stop beating myself up overm the crippling symptoms and side effects of depression. Five days in, and I right back to berating myself because I have cramps and do not feel very well today. I slept til almost 11 a.,, through multiple calls from my dad. I took Trazadone last night and I just could night pry myself out of bed. Next I know, he has stepmonster calling me from her cell, guess he thought I was avoiding their home number or some shit and she ordered me to call him, he wants to talk to me. And I am just like, good god, I missed 2 calls between 8 a.m. and 11 a.m., is he a fucking stalker or what? Returning that call took a lot of energy out of me. As if three calls from them and them stopping by didn’t completely burst my feeling safe in my bubble. Getting real fed up with the constant intrusion of ‘this place is hiring’ or ‘you need to apply here’. My shrink is not going to sign off on anything until he feels I am stable enough to potentially do the work and maintain it. I have not quit trying, I have just lowered my goals, seeking something low stress, not crowded, that my past won’t bar me from doing.

So sick of a 20 year old misdemeanor shoplifting charge preventing me from getting home care jobs. I have like 14 offers last year and had it not been for this damn state law prohibiting theft charges from working in health, they’d have hired me on the spot. BUT NO, LET US LEGALIZE POT AND PARDON 11,000 pot charges. It boggle my mind that not even felonious assault bars people from working in the healthcare field here, but misdemeanor theft, well, what awful people who made one bad choice and can NEVER atone for it because the system won’t permit it.

I think the bottom line is, I don’t feel physically well and I am just laying in bed, trying to work through it since I have no painkillers on hand, and by allowing myself to just be in pain and uncomfortable and mentally limited…I’ve got my family in my head, yelling at me to get over it, stop being a wussy, grow up, I work 70 hours a week at the age of 73, get up off your ass…Such toxic people even if well meaning.

I need to just breathe and vegetate and evict their idiotic words out of my head. It’s so much easier said than done. And honestly, I don’t know that I hate my family, I just hate their methods of communicating. Dad called my kid an idiot 2 months ago and now she wants nothing to with them. I tried to explain that to then, suggest maybe they could explain why they said it so rudely and apologize…and they went off on how she needs to put on the big girl panties and she was being an idiot and blah blah blah. They’ve actually accused me of turning her against them but they have managed to do it all by themselves and because they won’t change their harsh communication methods and insulting manners, I don’t think any amount of me talking to her will make Spook forgive them. They are just so thick headed. If we talked to them the way they talk to us with the loudness and cussing and name calling, they’d have a fit and shut us out indefinitely. But when they do it, we all gotta suck it up and deal.

There goes that thing I hate, people who don’t play fair on the playground.

At least R came by last night and fixed our hot water heater.

Which my dad felt he had to stick his nose into and ask why I didn’t call the landlord’s son in law first and it’s like, that dude lives 120 miles round trip away and them getting someone on a weekend would have cost a fortune and maybe taken two days. I asked R, he came, he fixed, we chattered (politics, ugh, if he had the power he would nominate Trump to sainthood and burn every democrat at the stake) I just do not understand why my dad has to weigh in on every factor of our lives. He isn’t paying our rent or power or water or car insurance. This is OUR home and if I wanna go pick up some drifter to fix the water heater, then it’s my choice, don’t fucking nutt in and question me.

Still haven’t gotten to down, waiting for the shrink to contact the pharmacy about my Cymbalta increase. Been waiting since Monday. I knew something was off when I got a refill of Trazadone but he told me wasn’t wanting to start me on it yet. How the hell do they manage to screw up such a basic computer skill even my cats could get it right? And it has been EVERY provider they’ve ever had since everything went electronic script. So I am down a week of progress due to this fuck up and it costs me gas money to go to town again, and causes me so much extra stress. PAPER SCRIPTS, MOTHERFUCKERS. If escripts had proven reliable for me even once I wouldn’t be so pissy about it, but man, this has become a monthly thing.

Now I am getting a headache behind one eye, indicating I am getting too stressed out. I am also hungry but have zero idea what I want and zero energy to fix it.

Maybe I don’t even meet the one small goal rule today. I am out of bed mostly. Phyical pain on top of the mental goblins does not lead to being productive.

So I will just endure and hope tomorrow…will be different.

Think I need to go back to the old retrain the brain method of snapping myself with a rubber band on the wrist. I used to do it to keep my anxiety at bay or to remind myself just because someone infuriates me does not mean I need to blow up on them.

Now I need one to snap every time one of those negative ‘thoughts from others’ invades my brain. I know I am doing my best and their ignorance on mental health issue severity is not my problem.

Damn, I give a good self pep talk. Now if I could only EVICT these toxic people from my head and let my own thoughts win out. Cos sure, not being very functional makes me feel bad about myself but I’ve been on this bipolar coaster so long, I also know these days happen and sometimes…just gotta ride it out.

Trudge And Sludge: This Is Life

A commercial this morning really drove home the point of life: It is, for most of us, trudge and sludge, day after day. I think what makes it more challenging, at least for me, is that my mental state constantly shifts, depending on mood, anxiety, activity level, social interaction, monthly hormonal changes. I can’t count on feeling the same way every single day. I spent two weeks on a relatively functional ‘high’ then came crashing back down. Part of it is indeed hormonal issues which will eventually subside (just to occur again next month, egad) but the start of new medications, two at the same time, and increase in another, well it’s a bumpy ride. And it is just beginning because the dosages can be raised again, which if the current mental state is any indication, it will be necessary and unavoidable.

I dream of stability within the walls of my own mind. More than money or success or love…I dream of living in the same mental space 24-7. Normal ups and downs brought on by situational issues as opposed to random “I want to die” thoughts followed by “I feel pretty good today, life may not be so sucky after all.” Usually the Lamictal takes care of the abrupt shifts in mood but with the new med regime, it’s kind of gone to hell in a handbasket. I mean, I am not flying off the handle or crying or going manic, but I do swing from low to lower then to middle then back down. After 26 years of med adjustments you’d think I’d be used to it. I am not. It irritates me and pisses me off.

Adding to my chagrin of ‘sludge and trudge’ daily life is the fact that much as I need calm and routine to some degree…the monotany wears me down. Different day, same shit. But if I have something on the agenda like a dr appointment or school event, it upsets the delicate balance of my calm routine and I slide downward. It’s like The Princess and the Pea. I can’t get comfortable, ever. And I am so far from being princessy (I eat food off the floor and don’t even care if it’s the 5 second rule, whatever) but never finding a happy medium is torturesome.

I get sick of complaining. I hate myself for complaining. I wish I could just snap out of it, bury it all, compartmentalize, get over it. BE NORMAL. And I have always despised the term normal because normal is ugh, boring…But when it comes to mental state, normal would be a welcome change. To wake up in the morning full of energy and positivity rather than pulling the cover over my head and hoping my kid sleeps an extra 10 minutes because I am not ready to face another day of being in the darkness of my own mind.

Shrinks have said I bring on the darkness because I listen to heavy metal, wear black, and dig Halloween and horror movies. They could not be more wrong. Those things have always made me happy. They are darkness I can escape if I CHOOSE to do so. Mental health issues, not so much. It’s like I get little say in the matter and whatever control I have over my brain is limited to not Z Whacking people or having screaming mimis. And that’s years of training myself to paste on the happy face and voice and grit my way through the feelings of anger and aggression. I wish I could ‘train’ my brain to just be happy no matter how shitty the circumstances.

Depression does not work that way.

So another day trudging in the sludge. This is life. My life, anyway.Keep fucking going.

I am just exhausted from living this way. And what scares me even more is that it will never change even for a few days. Too long spent in a depression really brings out your inner doom and gloom monger.

Is it any wonder so many of us crave manic episodes as much as we crave stability?

More terrifying is the prospect of having to go back on Lithium in addition to the Lamictal to curb all this up and down stuff. I’d rather gouge out my eyes than put up with lithium side effects and the lab work.

You’d think over the course of 60 years they’d find a way to make such an effective medication less riddled with side effects that make it nearly impossible to tolerate.

What a dreamer I am.

The Day and Night Clusterfuck

I have lately been doing several posts on how not being able to properly sleep at night impacts your entire day and any plans you might have made. Mainly because prior to Abilify, I had insomnia cranked to 7. Now it’s cranked above 10 and the best my psych nurse can say is take 10 mg melatonin. So I do and it gets me maybe 90 minutes before I wake again and I need more melatonin and then sometimes, even tripling the dose doesn’t make me sleep. I feel aggravated, pissed off, and plain exhausted.

Life does not go on hold just because you didn’t get your proper zzzzs. No one cares that you spent more time awake than asleep so your focus is off, you awareness is clouded, and your physical and mental states are just plain foggy and exhausted. They cut you zero slack. My dad keeps telling me about one of his trucker buddies who kept working at a grain elevator in spite of a broken leg. I can’t fucking compete with that. But there is a bit of difference between a broken leg and the anxiety/panic physical symptms I am experiencing that require multiple rushed trips to the bathroom doubled over in agony. The broken leg may be more of an impairment but you can’t crap your pants every time you get panicked and expect to keep jobs, friends, romantic relationships…I’d call that a major hindrance to functionality.

Right now, it’s not yet 3 p.m. and all I can think of is bedtime. For awhile, I’d shaken that. But today I am truly tired cos my total sleep last night was about 4 hours and that was in increments. I’m bloody tired, man. I am a space case. My body feels bruised and aches. It was all I could do to mow 1/8 of the lawn. I had thought I might make it to town to do the open interviews for fast food hell but…I need a bath and I am just too damn drained. PLus, I submitted an app over a week ago, my brother directly addressed his manager with my name, and I haven’t even gotten a pity call for a pity interview. They just don’t want me and I don’t blame them. I am overqualified intellectually, yet due to my panic attacks, underqualified to deal with their massive rush crowds of petri dish dwellers. Maybe them not calling me is the universe sparing me from more failure and bad references, idk.

I just know I can’t get to sleep to take a power nap so I have at least 5 more hours of consciousness with ovary oompa loompas, spine devils, and the agony of being conscious when I am too tired to even breathe or blink. This is my daily life. If I am lucky, I get one day that is not like this.

But yeah, sure, employers, I am totally ready to work and stable and cured and I won’t let you down.

I want a chance to see if I can prove even myself wrong but if I were rich and a betting person…

I guess I wouldn’t put my money on me, either. Exhaustion plays hell on self esteem, too.

Bramble On- FML Version

I see the psych nurse in an hour. It has taken every bit of energy in me to fight the ovary and spine oompa loopmas and just put on clean clothes, brush my hair, and add some deodorant. My allergies are drowning me. It is cool and foggy out so of course, that does not help my mood. I just feel in pain and pissed off and what I really wanna do is stay home in bed all day…Then later, I may have to give my brother a ride to town for work and to say I am less than enthused would be underfuckingstatement of the year.

Oh, there I am doing that profanity thing that offends people.

Do I have to curse so much?

No, but cursing a lot doesn’t get you put on death row. Stabbing stupid people who piss you off tends to get you in prison waiting for your last meal. So I will keep fucking cursing, you fucking fuck. If you take it personally, not my problem. I know it’s more fashionable to be a hate spewing racist lying hypocritical dumpster fire these days but…I am content making sailors on shore leave blush and run back to the ship. It’s who I was at 14, I see no need to change it at 46, just because some puritans find it offensive. Them being offended offends me, but they dont apologize to me.

Yeah, I am in a really BAD mood, but I am REALLY in pain. And I don’t know if the nurse is gonna revert to old form and I will spend my appointment talking to her back while she sounds as interested as in my plan to later clean my belly button lint…

Hormones are vile, evil things, necessary as they may be. They are totally fucking my mental state up right now and this is perhaps why no one wants to interact with me on this blog. I get likes, but very few comments, and after 9 years, I’m kinda burning out on the whole ‘well maybe they have nothing to say’ thing. I think because of my moods and foul mouth and anger issues, people are reluctant to chime in.

Here’s a clue: THIS BLOG IS INTERACTIVE, FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A COMMENT. I DON’T HAVE TO AGREE WITH YOU AND VICE VERSA BUT I CAN ASSURE YOU…I am really not that much of a bitchbeast, outside hormone-a-palooza. I’m…a spitfire. Who spent the morning snugglebuggling under the comforter with the kittens. So…

DON’T BE AFRAID TO COMMENT, EVEN IF YOU JUST WANT TO BANTER OR SAY SUP OR WHATEVER. I do not bite. Not on the first date, anyway.

Let’s just get this damn trip to town and appointment over with. My comforter and kittens are beckoning me back to snuggle buggle warm land.
——-
Survived trip to. town.
Nurse reverted back to spending the entire appointment with her back turned while she clacked on the computer keyboard. At least she asked a few questions and seemed friendly enough. I just…I will never be ok with the way I have to talk to her back, I still say it’s rude and unprofessional.
Gonna up the Buspar and start Abilify.
And in a month if I find out their telepsychiatry thing is set up, I am transferring. Might bite me on the ass, devil you know and all that, but I can’t face every appointment with someone’s back turned toward me.
—–
M’kay…

I went 18 hours without painkiller. My toughness is gone, the oompa loompas stomping my ovaries and spine win.
—–
Lies…

I ended up on a 45 minute call listening to my dad prattle on and forgot all about the pain pills. Pain didn’t go away but I did manage to feed myself some food. I am up 6 pounds from last month, which was not amusing. Because last time I was having a vanilla shake every single day. This last month I didn’t have any shakes and I gained in spite of one meal a day, tons of water, celery, melon, etc. My genetics are a clusterfuck.
—–
Latuda commercial…

“I wasn’t happy with myself and I missed out on so much.”

I find this offensive. It implies that bipolar depression is a character flaw for us to be unhappy with as opposed to an overall feeling of hopelessness, worthlessness, and darkness.

Yeah, you miss out on a lot when depressed, bipolar or clinical or seasonal. It is NOT a character defect where you just aren’t happy with who you are. That is so wrong.
—-

I keep getting pop up ads…

well not pop ups, but suggestions..for those home health worker jobs I can’t qualify for. 😦 It really makes me bummed out.
Oh, and I rejected for several more minimum wage must-be-brain-surgeon positions at restuarants.
Not giving up but gonna regroup, for sure. In my hormonal pained state, FML is just the beginning of my bad attitude.
—–
A kennel assistant…

job just popped up in my feed so I immediately applied.
I don’t have the experience required aside from being a lifelong pet owner who prefers pets over people and it sounds like a really sketchy place to work but…

I love animals so why not throw my hat in the ring? Rejection is becoming like breathing, it just is.
—–
Since I used…

my time helping R out for the car that never happened, I was asked to rate his business as a place to work.

I gave him pretty rave reviews. Because I am nice, and it’s not his fault I am a trainwreck. Also, it said to be nice, not fair, so maybe I played up the positive more than the negative. But as it was one friend helping another to get extras for my kid and a car, it’s not like it was actual employment. I can cut R some slack. Though I was honest about how people treat electronics as disposable and don’t want to pay to fix them, which lead to him needed to get a full time job and the shop simply became a side hobby/business and took less importance. I was the one who took the flak for the slow work and delays, so…

But all things considered, I did all but nominate him to be Ironman or Green Lantern.

He’s good at what he does, I will never deny that. I consider myself lucky to hook up a dvd player to a TV right the first time, let alone fix them.
—–
My back hurts and I…

have a kitten perched on the back of my neck. I think it is time to disturb Mr. Mudvayne so that I can lay flat and pray to a herd of pegacorns that the painkiller kicks in soon.

Fresh Hell, Served Stale

I did not have a good night. My kid started in on me, being uncooperative and I stewed over the ‘mandated Xanax dose lowering’ because part of my routine is 2 mg at bedtime…Now I don’t even get that for the entire damn day. And I feel bad cos M. is just a practitioner and she can’t control what this Dr. Dictator hands down as practice wide edicts. At the same time, I don’t feel connected to this nurse and I don’t dislike her, but she does not give me good signs on being supportive of my limitations. You know when you’ve got a pro that is all “Team you!” M, perhaps newness to the job or area, she’s not unpleasant but…I also don’t think she’d go to bat for me in a review on my disability claim. Not that unsupportive psychs have ever stopped me from fighting for myself.

I took 12 mg melatonin, 200 mg antihistamine, and 0.5 mg Xanax around 7 p.m.

I figured I would zonk out while watching the ABC special on the final days of JFK Jr (and I don’t even know why I watched that other than promos hyping it up, that whole Kennedy thing was my mom’s spiel but I guess repeats get old and new is new). Ten p.m came around and I still wasn’t sleepy. I was agitated, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable, in severe menstrual pain. The cats were fighting and the neighbors had an ambulance in the drive and visitors parked on my lot, engines running, til almost midnight. It was nerve wracking, and while I tried to be empathatic more than nosey or irate about whatever they had going on…

I could not even get my number counting bedtime routine down, my heartbeat was as deafening as the beep beep beep of the ambulance backing into their drive and the slam of all the visitor’s car doors. I got through Perry Mason (yeah, the old black and white ones, I like a good mystery) and then an episode of Hitchcock Presents (sooo need a digital antenna that pulls stations in from more than 30 miles away) and another episode of Chicago P.D. but I was getting more agitated and finally said fuck it and took a 1mg Xanax. I still have some left from before Dr Dictator’s edict but now they are precious precious little things to be treasured and hoarded. The stress of having this limitation slapped on me, without them even calling to explain it to me, and it coming from a doctor who has not once ever seen me…I was livid, furious, depressed, stressed.

Maybe it’s rebellious me having a knee jerk reaction to being told ‘you can’t do X anymore, you have to do Y.” But arbitrary rebellion tantrums were over in my thirties, I realized it is great to rebel as long as you do it for the right reasons and it doesn’t hurt yourself or others more than the principle is worth.

It was after 3 a.m. last I knew when finally I started getting sleepy (and another 3 mg melatonin) and I was in pain and knowing that soon the alarm would go off, with the fear that getting too sleep so late and getting so little sleep could cause me to sleep through the alarm…Dr. Dictator and her nurse minion really put me into a fresh hell, only they served it stale because I’ve been battling idget professionals like that my whole life. They don’t care who you are as an individual, it’s one size fits all medicine and it’s borderline malpractice to not at least taper me down dose wise. I’m super salty toward them now and it’s suckage cos I thought, hey, finally they got a staff member to stay more than a month, she’s seemingly competent and I don’t dislike her…I should have known the other shoe would drop and it’d be made of concrete and land on my damn head.

So I guess I got about 4 hours of sleep, off and on, cos I can’t get physically comfortable even with painkillers and my brain is rioting. I took my first Celexa this morning, by itself, because I want to see if it alone makes me sleepy or hyper or sick, before I take it with the Wellbutrin. I got my kid off to school, and now I am watching the morning Perry Mason, super pissed cos I can’t even do videos on my phone due to the failed micro sd card so it just feels like nothing is going right so why shouldn’t I be depressed and give in to all the dark thoughts? NOt like my providers really give a fuck.

Three more months of winter and maybe just maybe the horizon will look less like a mushroom cloud. UNtil then…this is what I am stuck with and I do not like it one bit. I feel betrayed by Dr Dictator, unsupported by nurse M, and surrounded by nothing but fucking suckage.

Everyone says depression doesn’t kill. People just ‘take the easy way out’ and commit suicide.

They’re full of shit, there’s nothing easy about coming to the point where you feel there’s no wiggle room, ever.

Depression kills, they just don’t have a nice little ‘murdered by mental illness’ box to check on their death forms.

Happy fucking new year.