Bran spent the weekend with his daddy, so I was free to do as I wished. Saturday I ran errands, returning a few things to Wal-mart, stopping by a few stores to [FINALLY] find myself a CD-playing alarm clock [mine broke like FOREVER ago], and do a bit more Christmas shopping, for small things. I picked up a laptop bag for Rod, even though I was kind of really hoping Kris would get it for him. Not because of the cost - but because, it would be nice for her to get something he'd like/wants. I have a feeling that, like always, she won't get anything really 'worth it' for him.
I was also able to visit Joli [again, finally]. I spent a few hours over there, got to meet with her parents and was actually nice to them. I also made an effort to bring her roommates into the conversations and I feel like I did pretty well. They are all awesome young women and it just felt rude to completely ignore them. The coffee cups I got at the dollar store for RM and BC [they sit next to me at work], I decided to go back and get three more. That way, I have a small gift for all three of them. I might make them bracelets, too - I haven't yet decided.
Saturday evening was spent with Amitchi, going out to Japanese and then going to seeing Zombieland [which was freaking FUNNY, if totally gory]. Got to bed late because I came home and finished wrapping things I had started wrapping before leaving to meet Amitchi, and didn't really get in bed until like midnight.
Sunday was spent being lazy at home practically all day, then going out to dinner with Rod and helping him Christmas shop for the kids. We got home, wrapped them [bickering the whole time] and all in all it was a very fun, very relaxing weekend. ^+^
- Location:home
- Mood:
awake
I was not supposed to take a lunch, since I was getting off early to go to the doc, but I requested to take one anyway and was approved. The thing of it was, I couldn't take my lunch at the time I normally do - 11am - and they asked me to take it at 2pm. Well, I was supposed to leave work at 3pm for my pdoc appt, and I was like, 'um ... if I go at 2, I won't be coming back because of ...' MJ looked at me and kind of smiled funny, 'and that is a problem ... how?' I laughed, because really, it wasn't a problem at all. It just hadn't connected right in my brain.
So I decided to pick Bran up early and took him with me to Wal-mart, and got a new pair of sneakers. All the women's sneakers were POS's, so I actually got a pair from the teen-boys section, and a new pair of cute socks because it rained like hell all day and with the holes in my other sneakers my feet were soaked. And I HATE walking around in wet socks.
From there we went to my pdoc appt, where I dumped everything on Dr. Messias, leaving out nothing. He decided to raise my Celexa back up to 20mg and told me to call him on Monday to let him know how it went, whether there was a change. He has yet to pick me out a new physician, which kind of worries me, but said he will have one picked out by Monday. He wants to consult with the clinic manager - another detail that kind of worries me. Am I really so fucked up, that he has to consult the clinic manager to decide what new doc I will have??
Well, from there we went to the lawyers office to settle my grandfather's will. I met my sister and brother there, as well as my sister's youngest, Kay-Kay. She and Bran had fun playing in the corner while the lawyer spoke with us and distributed things. From there Kris suggested going to dinner, and Kit wanted to pick something up to take home 'to George.' I kind of freaked just a little bit, but tried not to let it show too much. "George? Who's George? He's staying at the HOUSE??" They both looked at me like I was bonkers and my sister said, 'well of course - Kit had to get down here and back SOMEhow.' [he lives in North Carolina]
I felt like a moron, and was seriously trying not to panic. I don't do well with strangers in my 'safe zone', especially when I'm not balanced. I ran back to Wal-Mart as soon as we went to our separate cars and left, supposedly to all get dinner. Bran was riding with them [to be with Kay-Kay], so I was alone and I seriously needed the time alone. By the time I got home I had kind of adapted to the idea, though I still wasn't comfortable with it.
He turned out to be a great guy, really nice, and I like him. But when I got home both Kris and Kit kind of made me feel stupid and uncomfortable. I don't think they meant it, not really, but it SO did not help with me being all over the place. I wasn't embarrassed about them doing it in front of George or anything, I just felt shitty in general. Both Kit and Kris [privately] mentioned how I seemed down and out of sorts, but they didn't change their manner or anything. I was glad when Kris left, bad as that sounds, and things kind of eased up. I started chatting with George and they convinced me to have a mixed drink with them [I only had one, because I had Bran]. All in all, the rest of the night went well.
They will be down until Friday morning, so I only have to deal with having someone else in 'my territory' until then. On one hand I'll be glad they're gone, on the other I guess I'll kind of miss them.
- Location:work
- Mood:
blah
Sometimes it's just too hard. Thinking, being, eating, interacting ... it's just too hard.
A side-note, not particularly bright, but there: tomorrow I have an appt with Dr. Messias. I plan to tell him everything that's been happening, all the changes, though a lot of good it will do. Tomorrow is the last appointment I will have with him because he's leaving, moving out of state. He'll be assigning me a new pdoc tomorrow ... which will make that what? Four psychiatrists seen in three years? More? Less?
I really wish he wasn't leaving, and maybe beneath it all the imminent loss of him has something to do with all of this. Maybe. I haven't thought of him/it much. I did email him at the beginning of last week, letting him know that when I was admitted the pdoc I saw in-house - the resident - I particularly liked. Dr ... Khan? I can't remember right now, but I think that's it. The thing is, I don't want to start seeing him, if he's going to graduate in 6 months or a year because where will I be then? Right exactly where I am now. Floundering, and practically doctor-less.
Occured to me, too, that Dr. Messias changed my meds the last time I saw him, some five to six weeks ago. He lowered my Celexa from 20mg to 10mg, because he felt that the anti-d aspects of the Celexa might have been interfering with my balance. The thing is, I was put on the Celexa because of my growing irritability/anger/rages. I've never had problems with those before ... and I've heard that some patients put on Lamictal have anger issues like that, popping up. Not sure why, or even if mine has anything similar to do with it.
What I do know:
1] I was on Lamictal, approx.200mg give or take, for nearly 2 years before the anger/ferocity got too much for me to handle. And dangerous.
2] The Celexa helped when I put on it, 20mg daily.
3] The Celexa made me dream 500% more than I normally do [which is a LOT anyway], and because of that after 2 months on it with no 'restful' sleep I had a sort of break. Was taken off of it immediately and put on Seroquel to knock my ass out.
4] Had a horrible reaction to Seroquel and took myself off after 2 wks. Begged to be put back on Celexa [the anger was inching back], but with a sleep-aid [NOT Seroquel] added to counter-act it. Thus, the reenstatement of Celexa 20mg/day, and Ambien, 10mg/night.
5] Gradually grew more and more imbalanced. Due to the fact that the Lamictal went generic? Not sure, but to help Dr. M. raises the dose from 200mg to 300mg. This seems to work well.
6] Jared states our marriage is over and I fall, fast and hard.
7] Over-dose on Ambien.
8] After discharge, am denied being allowed to remain on Ambien, though I picked up the last refill and have been taking it as I did before the 'incident' [ie. 2-3 nights a week].
9] Cut back on the Celexa to 10mg as Dr. M. instructed a few weeks ago.
10] Hel-LO irritability and [now] major depression.
......... I thought it would help me to list it all out, take an objective view to it all, maybe help me feel a little better or be able to get a clearer view of everything and guess what?
It didn't work.
- Location:home
- Mood:
crushed - Music:Flyleaf - "The Kind"
After having taken my sleeping meds - which, coincidentally, I am not supposed to have, considering they are the ones I over-dosed on when I tried to commit suicide last month [the month before? time is relative again]. But there was still a single refill left and I got it a week after i was discharged just because I could, and because I knew my doc wouldn't prescribe me another sleep aid, not after me having popped back so many.
But here I am, waiting still for it to work. I've tried reading, I've tried laying in darkness, and nearly 57 minutes after taking it, I'm just now showing [vague] signs of drowsiness. Which leads me to the point where I have to face the fact that my brain is restless. It hasn't seemed so, but rarely does it, in the beginning.
Add to that, a driving need to purchase things. It doesn't matter what it is, or how much. Thank gods its Christmas time and I have an excuse.
Add to that, my sleep schedule is shot.
Add to that, my schedule is shot because of the Holidays and I don't think I've been taking my meds correctly this past week.
Add in a growing sense of irritation and bursts of rapid-rabid anger at anything, everything, and mostly the B, and when that faulters, falling into a sense of doldrums as if I've forgotten what I'm supposed to do just then, or before ...
Then today, where the morning went badly [but honestly, it could have been recovered, really], then just seemed to get worse. The coffee wasn't strong enough, I couldn't figure out what I needed to do or when or why, I felt like shit, I was tired as fuck, and absolutely-positively as low as I could go without sinking beneath my desk. Hours of this before it hits me.
.... well, damn. I'm depressed.
Mark it on the calendar, folks. It's the first time I can pin-point and state that I am presently depressed, after my stint in 3South. The high has slowly piltered away. The positive sense of freedom, the "I can handle this" attitude and the "It WILL get better" is trailing down the decline and where does that leave me?
Somewhere in the middle just now, mud covering my boots and sucking at them as it tries to impair the precarious balance I have on the rocks beneath me. Further below is darkness - darkness and heat and nothingness - and while I try to stand in place something within me, illusive and just as dark, just wants me to let go.
It's now [or earlier, or all day] that I begin to think of my time in 3South. I miss everyone there. Joli and Jennifer and Jennifer. The unnamed little Korean woman who never spoke, Dante [who's name was actually something completely different] and Ms. Willems who was constantly trying to feed other people things she had horded from her breakfast or lunch tray. The feisty old woman with Alzheimer's who constantly threatened to break the nurse's arms off, and who told her daughter repeatedly that she hated her and she was ugly ... only to turn around a minute later to reminisce about something and dote on that very same daughter.
I miss the center room where nothing stood except four couch-chairs that were uncomfortable and all there was to do, watching people and listening. I miss the nurses explaining that you are on Line-of-Sight and must be in the vicinity of a nurse who can see you at all times. I miss the cold uncomfortable beds that make horrendous noises every time you try to move in them, and the general cold in the whole area that made you bumdle up in multiple blankets and shuffle around in thick socks to try and staw warm.
I miss group-therapy and watching the videos every hour, miss being called for food trays and inspecting what I may or may not eat. I miss talking - or not talking - to the others, learning their stories, knowing exactly what they're talking about in such a way that I don't even have to say "I understand." They don't even need to hear you say it because they already know.
During that time, however long it may be, we are all family. They are sisters and brothers in misery and short flights of joy or irritation. A single hour passes like three or four and time stretches on indominably, so by the time you leave [which for me, was early evening, the day after I was admitted] it felt like you'd been there for weeks. Joli had - been there for weeks, I mean. Eleven was the count when I was her roommate, but that was not including her time spent in the ICU.
She is thirty-something and about a third my size, fragile, small. I felt protective of her from the very beginning. She was the first non-medical-staff person that spoke with me, before she even knew we'd be roommates. She showed me around and introduced me to a few people, her tone quiet and sing-song as if she wanted so desperately to be cheerful but somethiing - meds, depression, physical recovery - held her back. There was a lisp to her words and sometimes a drooping to the right side of her face.
Joli was admitted because she had tried to commit suicide, by drinking 20 fluid ounces of antifreeze. It shut down most to all of her vital organs, including her kidneys, and she was close to dying. By sheer luck [or prayer, or however you want to view it] her kidneys all of a sudden kicked back in. A few weeks later she was ready to leave and sent down to the psych ward, where I met her a few weeks later.
I don't blame her for doing what she did; her situation was horrible, but it's hers to tell so I'll say nothing more about it. I felt sorry for her but more than that, kinship. I had Jared bring a sweater I had been about to toss to donation because it was too small, and when he brought it while we were in-house I gave it to her. It took some time for her to understand that it was a gift, and that I didn't want it back.
I've kept in touch with her randomly since; she was discharged a week or so after i was and is in a half-way home of sorts set up through a Church. I keep meaning to call her and visit her again, possibly take her some of the pumpkin bread I made for Turkey Day. In fact, I think I'll do that. I'll call her tomorrow, no matter what, check and see what day is good for her, and stop be to drop her off some pumpkin bread and chat.
She's my only link to 3South right now.
Maybe my first link. Because, if anything decelarates to the point it did where I was set - and DID - trying to severe this mortal existance - I now know what it's like to be there in 3South. It's not some forbidding, yawning mountain or tortures. It's not luxurious, but not a torture chamber, either. I'd rather go there than cut myself raw, or drive myself nuts with over-stimulation for weeks on end. When things get close to their worst - I'd rather go there to try and balance things out before they explode.
- Location:home
- Mood: depressed
- Music:none
Work today went passively. I probably should have focused more and actually got some things done. Instead, I spent most of my time collecting information on Yule and avoiding even thinking of my NaNo. Second day, and still only 4 words written. *sigh* I so suck right now.
I studied up a lot on Samhain history and rites and rituals, but didn't get to actually do any of them because I had Bran and we were up at Kris's house. I'm hoping I can plan Yule a little bit better. Tonight is the Mourning Moon - the full moon for November.
About.com's Definition of the Mourning Moon:
In November, the Mourning Moon is upon us. It's also known as the Fog Moon or Snow Moon, depending on where you live. Some Native American tribes referred to it simply as The Moon When Deer Shed Antlers (although in most regions it's more accurate to say they're shedding their velvet - a buck doesn't usually lose antlers until later in the winter, unless you're very far north). In the early Celtic society, November was the beginning of the new year -- why not use the magic of this moon phase to celebrate new beginnings?
Correspondences:
Colors: Gray, blues
Gemstones: Lapis lazuli, turquoise, topaz
Trees: Cypress, alder, hazel
Gods: Bastet, Isis, Kali, Hecate, Astarte
Herbs: Thistle, betony, verbena, fennel
Element: Water
This is a time of washing away the baggage of the past and letting it go. Once you've done that, you'll be able to focus on the joys of the future. During the Mourning Moon phase, say goodbye to bad habits and toxic relationships, and get a fresh start for the new year. Work on developing and strengthening your connection with Deity.
..... Again, i won't be able to do a ceremony or anything tonight because I have Bran and no money to purchase supplies, plus I have no idea where ANY of my things are, but I plan to do tonight what I did on Samhain eve - meditate on the intentions behind the Sabbat [or in this case, Esbat].
Amazing, how much I just had to GIVE UP to be with Jared. My beliefs, for one. Now that I'm on my own? Yes, I can happily say, "I am Wiccan. If I want to pray to multiple gods, that's my right. If I want to do ritual and incorporate Diety in my life, I will."
Go, me. I am reclaiming who I was, and on my way to finding out exactly who I want to be now. ^_~
- Location:home [Rod's house]
- Mood:
accomplished
Yes, I am still alive after - what? Four months? I don't know, I lost count somewhere. It's typical of me to keep with something for a long while, then be absent from it. Anyway, a lot has happened in those four months, and I mean a LOT.
Exactly what, is kind of wishy-washy in my memories. Of course. Bran had his 4th birthday party ... of which I can recall only a little. I think there was a dinosaur theme. There was, and an Ice Age: Return of the Dinosaurs cake that I had to drive 45 minutes out to pick up. Then all the toys he got were Transformers. Which, I'm not complaining - I just thought it was a little ironic.
The most adventure has come in the past two weeks. Jared, my dearest husband of the past five years and my first love, stated two weeks ago on a Sunday that that was it, he was finished. He packed up and left, moving back in with his mom. I was alternately devastated and 'good riddance!' of course, then by Tuesday of that week fell into a black depressed. This was it, it was definite. And damned if I was going to make my son go through the stress and hassle of being caught between two families, two lives, traded back and forth from one holiday to another, stuck between fighting parents and spoiled rotten somewhere in between.
So what does my genius self do? I try to commit suicide.
The most painless way, from what I researched, was by sleeping meds. So, I took the rest of the Ambien I had. Now, very rarely can one commit suicide by taking Ambien alone, so I put a few Xanax in there, and some Melatonin just to kind of top it off. My cocktail: 14 Ambien, 6 Xanax, and 3 Melatonin.
I don't remember the next morning very clearly of course, being pretty much out of it. I *do* remember speaking to one of my coaches from work, and when she asked me what was wrong I snapped, "Well APPARENTLY, I woke UP."
That was my catch-phrase. I drifted between utter bemusement, disbelief, and shear pissiness that all circled back around to that phrase that I couldn't help muttering to myself. Apparently, I woke up. I can't believe I ACTUALLY WOKE up.
No, now dramatic end for me. Or end, period, which I was kind of looking forward to, really. I had a suicide note written out, had eaten my favorite snack and taken a hot bath earlier, was in comfortable nightclothes and waited until I had spoken with Bran one last time [he was with his dad that night]. Had the pills in a nice little glass bowl on my nightstand, and downed them with the last little bit of Dr. Pepper we had. I didn't dare try to guess where I would go, since I'm not much one for believing in heaven or hell, and just tried not to think of it.
But APPARENTLY I actually WOKE UP.
Talk about a deal-breaker.
The cops came and tried to break in the house, Jared was uber-pissed as all hell, and I was driven to the ER in a nice little red-and-white taxi cab they call an ambulance. Stuck out in the hallway of the ER from 11am to 7:50pm, wherein I was then admitted to the lovely 3South, the resident psych ward. No pumping of the stomach for me, no castor oil or anything. I guess they figured since I WOKE UP I would be okay.
Funny thing of it is, I finally found out why they always portray crazy people in the movies as staring off into space. It's not always because they're way 'out there,' it's because if you're on "line of sight" then you can't move beyond the main hall, which only had three chairs in it, by the way. So there wasn't anything TO do, except stare off into space. And if you tried to set your head on your hand and nap? Gods forbid. They suddenly want to grill you about how you're feeling and are you depressed? Are you thinking anymore bad thoughts?
Why, no. No, ma'am, I'm just contemplating how fucking BORED I am and trying to IMAGINE myself as far away from here as possible, which you just fucking RUINED by saying something.
Thankfully Rod and Kris visited me the next day, and I had a roommate that was nice. After attending every group held, and visiting three doctors sessions, including one where I sat in a room full of twelve or so psych students, Dr. Messias agreed to release me, so long as it was into the care of my stepfather.
And here I am. Two weeks later, living with Rod, and kind of thankful for it. He's not here most of the time, he pulls his own weight in cleaning and cooking, he never fusses at me or bitches or criticizes me, allows me to be who I am and doesn't try to crowd me ... it just feels surreal.
The ultimately weird thing is, I'm not so sure this is a bad thing anymore, the separation with Jared, I mean. Sure, I don't get to see Bran EVERY night, but we are doing shared custody so I have him with me half the week. And damn ... I LOVE my son and all, no one can dispute that, but it's nice to have time to myself again. Before, I had Bran with me basically 24/7. I had to practically beg Jared's mom to take him whenever I needed a few hours away, and that was rarely. I'm not stressing over every little thing I do or so, not staring at loads of housework and chores to do that never get done because no one helps, am not getting criticized for what I say or think. I can research into things I want to, whenever I want to, drop everything and go to the bookstore at 9 at night if I want to, and it's just ... wow. I'm enjoying it. I really am.
Don't get me wrong; I love Jared. I still do. But if he came up to me and said he changed his mind?
... I think I'd be kind of hard pressed to go back.
- Location:Rod's house [home?]
- Mood:
cheerful - Music:none
Every though is painful, in a way that doesn't quite hurt in anything physical sense. Just the effort to do so, just hearing your inner monologue is like to make you grimace and wince and want to cry. There is a dissonance - to you, to the world - something that is just NOT RIGHT. Every slight thing is overwhelming, every thing is frightening on a cellular level. Not terrifying, only an intimidation that you shrink from. In that moment your greatest wish is to climb beneath your desk, hiding beneath the cover, turn yourself into a little ball of nothing and hide in darkness for eternity.
People try to speak with you and have no idea that you can no longer function. Your replies come slow and there is confusion in your every word, even if you technically know - or SHOULD know - what you're saying. As quickly as it's said, it's forgotten. Conversations stutter and fall short because in the middle of a sentence you cannot remember what was being said. You are lost, hopelessly lost, in every thing. Writing something by hand, lists and such, are not easy but can be done because they can be put down a single word at a time. And when it is forgotten you can hesitate, time itself frozen in a moment that lasts a lifetime, and then all of a sudden it comes back to you, what you were doing, and you are able to look at the last word put down and - hopefully - continue.
You look stupid. You feel stupid. You are lost and drowning in a world of sensations that never stop, never cease they're racket. You cannot keep up no matter how hard you try. The sound of a television grates against your mind, the ring of a phone jolts you violently. You cannot wash dishes or type or clean because you cannot hold things, you cannot lift things or push them down. Your body is suddenly out of sync with your mind; you drop something and cannot comprehend at first what happened, are too confused to react, cannot remember what you are supposed to do about it.
It comes and you are destroyed. For however long it lasts, you are a wreck. One plus one no longer equals two, it resembles a prime number divided by seventeen and added to the square root of pie, and there's no way you can work through the math to find what you are supposed to do, or who you are supposed to be.
I left tonight.
He was upset over something, criticizing me again and I tried to focus on something material, packing up our winter clothes and straightening things. I hadn’t gotten anything for his grandfather for father’s day and it was all my fault, that he had asked me to do one thing – one simple thing – and I hadn’t done it. Nevermind the fact that I’ve been keeping the house clean this week, that I’ve cooked dinner almost every night, that I had gotten gifts for both him and his father. Nevermind the fact that my own step-father wouldn’t get a present because I didn’t have the money. I couldn’t do one simple thing because I hadn’t got something for his grandfather.
This was not the first thing that he bitched at me for. I can’t remember what the other was. Either way, he threw his hands up while I was folding the winter clothes and said those fated words – “We’re through.”
Okay.
I packed again, pulling out the bag I used the first time and took an empty box, making sure both were full with clothes. The whole time he’s in there trying to argue with me, trying to get me involved in it, trying to push his point in. “Are you really going to leave? Because tell me now and I’ll leave. I’ll take the boys and we’ll be gone.”
I’m there packing. “Does it look like I’m leaving?”
He didn’t want me to go but I was serious. So dead serious. The begging I’ve never heard from him came then, interspersed with, “Are you really going to leave now? Because tell me and I’ll –” whatever, in such a defensive, tough manner. Long and short we had it out, yelling at times, talking quietly at times. I told him ‘this is the absolute last time’ because he kept telling me he didn’t want me to go. Then it occurred to me – I’ve said ‘this is the last time’ three times. Three times.
Still, I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. He asked for my forgiveness, for another chance to start our life over now, with everything that happened before just gone. He said he didn’t mean to say it was over, etc etc etc. Did I believe him? About the former, I want to. About the latter, not a chance in hell, and I told him that. He knew exactly what he was saying when he said it. He just didn’t think I’d go with it.
One more time. I told him I would make him happy and I’d stay. I’d stay for him. Then I got up [I was lying on the bed with him crouched next to it] and went to work on dinner. He followed, all of a sudden screaming at me, saying I had made him feel like shit by saying it that way. I’m not talking about yelling, I’m talking about screaming.
That was enough. That was the dividing line. I got my things and left. He tried to stop me, and I went anyway. Got down the street before I realized I had left my cell phone, turned back. He asked if I was staying and I said no, got my cellphone. He demanded I tell Branwyn what was happening so I did, honestly, and told him I was leaving but I loved him and it wasn’t his fault at all. Jared stood in front of the door with his hand on the handle and refused to move to let me leave. I went around through the back door and left. Made it half-way through
I call Jared and tell him I’ve been in an accident and his first words are, “Are you hurt?” and then, “What did you do?”
Not ‘what happened’ but ‘what did you do?’
He came and we stayed there for almost two hours while the cop got everything down and written up. What happened was the girl in front of me hit the white SUV in front of her. Personally, for how quickly she came back I’m thinking she meant to run. It wasn’t just a back-up to try and put distance during an accident [which you’re not supposed to do] I mean, her back bumper had bent mine in until I was worried one of the tired would be punctured. She slammed back into me, not just nudged me.
Anyway there was nothing to do but to go home. So here I am, back at home, waiting for him to lose his cool again.
Let me share with you what depression is like, when it incapacitates a once-normal human being.
Heaviness. Ten pound weights are strapped to each arm and each leg; a five-pound collar is latched around your throat. It is hard, so hard to move, and the basic will to do so has gone. You are a slave, to darkness, to misery, and though you may not see the chains you can feel them, dragging you down.
Disorientation. You cannot remember where you are, what you're doing and why. You might have a clue - a wisp of thought that you grab at desperately with both hands, clutching it tightly for fear it will be lost as well. Try as you might the wisp begins to fade or is just as suddenly not there and you flounder, nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep you aloft. You attempt to focus on just one thought, just a single detail, and yet your mind slides away from it just as soon as you feel you can grasp it. You are left staring in space, wondering who you are and why you're there.
Incomprehension. Piece by piece the world falls apart. Colors blur and then darken, unbearably dull, becoming nothing more than a vision of grey and black like a bruise upon your soul. Simple actions become impossible; your body does not remember how and your mind withers under the pressure to comprehend … anything. Getting up, moving, eating or living becomes a task too hard to undertake. You merely exist and even that exhausts you.
Pain. Everything hurts, everything … aches. You cannot pinpoint where or why, it merely does, everywhere.
It is too difficult to do anything, go anywhere, think of anything.
Thus is depression.
Heaviness. Ten pound weights are strapped to each arm and each leg; a five-pound collar is latched around your throat. It is hard, so hard to move, and the basic will to do so has gone. You are a slave, to darkness, to misery, and though you may not see the chains you can feel them, dragging you down.
Disorientation. You cannot remember where you are, what you're doing and why. You might have a clue - a wisp of thought that you grab at desperately with both hands, clutching it tightly for fear it will be lost as well. Try as you might the wisp begins to fade or is just as suddenly not there and you flounder, nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep you aloft. You attempt to focus on just one thought, just a single detail, and yet your mind slides away from it just as soon as you feel you can grasp it. You are left staring in space, wondering who you are and why you're there.
Incomprehension. Piece by piece the world falls apart. Colors blur and then darken, unbearably dull, becoming nothing more than a vision of grey and black like a bruise upon your soul. Simple actions become impossible; your body does not remember how and your mind withers under the pressure to comprehend … anything. Getting up, moving, eating or living becomes a task too hard to undertake. You merely exist and even that exhausts you.
Pain. Everything hurts, everything … aches. You cannot pinpoint where or why, it merely does, everywhere.
It is too difficult to do anything, go anywhere, think of anything.
Thus is depression.
So I was up and down last week, with a few more 'ups' than 'downs'. I should have figured I'd crash, which happened last night, the lowest I've ever been in a while. I wasn't suicidal, I just didn't have enough energy to care either way. I was a slug basically, felt too light and like if I stayed still long enough I'd become invisible. It kept startling me when my kid came up and touched me because I almost didn't think I was real anymore, only partially there.
It was weird. Lasted all morning, and then by late afternoon the feeling had passed but I was still incredibly low. I hung in there and forced myself to get up randomly, doing clothes and washing about 10 dishes or so, to make sure I didn't totally collapse. I was 'with it' enough to let the boys pick out a few movies and put them in so they could watch them and play in the living room [where I was on the couch]. Jared came home from work early morning so he was there, too. I even managed to get up and let them go outside, while I sat in a chair on the back porch and read about a chapter and a half in a book I'm reading [which is not much ... I usually can read about 4 chapters in that amount of time, but I couldn't concentrate long enough].
It was weird. Lasted all morning, and then by late afternoon the feeling had passed but I was still incredibly low. I hung in there and forced myself to get up randomly, doing clothes and washing about 10 dishes or so, to make sure I didn't totally collapse. I was 'with it' enough to let the boys pick out a few movies and put them in so they could watch them and play in the living room [where I was on the couch]. Jared came home from work early morning so he was there, too. I even managed to get up and let them go outside, while I sat in a chair on the back porch and read about a chapter and a half in a book I'm reading [which is not much ... I usually can read about 4 chapters in that amount of time, but I couldn't concentrate long enough].
Now this morning is starting out decent enough - I don't feel depressed, lighter somehow though not exactly happy - but when I think about writing or updating Facebook or reading posts on WebMD I get that old avoidance issue going. I want to, but then again I don't. The words just won't come and I just don't seem to have the energy or the willpower to try and dredge them up.
It was hard getting my thoughts together enough to write this. But I wanted to say it, in case I disappear. I still don't feel entirely 'here,' and like I might blow away out of existence at any second.
It was hard getting my thoughts together enough to write this. But I wanted to say it, in case I disappear. I still don't feel entirely 'here,' and like I might blow away out of existence at any second.
- Location:work
- Mood: morose
The down-side of the night: Jared came home bitching for the second day in a row. He's been bitchy and snappish with me the past two days and I finally told him to stop - I drew the line and reminded him of his promise. He said he didn't care and that was the final straw for me. You tell me you don't care about what you promised, then fine. I'll leave. I started packing and he wouldn't let me go. He didn't beg me to stay, but he kept drawing me into an argument and I kept trying to get out of it, but I'd be sucked in anyway. He complained about my cleaning - that I can't ever do it right [now that I AM cleaning, apparently I'm not doing it "RIGHT"] and that I need to do it one room at a time. I told him he needed to accept me the way I am, which means understanding and accepting the fact that my mind doesn't work like that; I bounce between chores and do random things in spurts. He didn't say he'd try but seemed agreeable enough. Long and short, I stayed. Again. But I pointed out to him that he does this to me every time, that he does it because he knows I'll always come back because I love him and I don't want it to be over. He said he absolutely loved me too and I believe he meant it.
I took my nightly meds and was reading "Madness: A Bipolar Life" which is always triggering for me and by the time I was supposed to go to sleep both had hyped me up. I played with the teddy that MC sent me for Christmas and he did the hokey-pokey and danced to some free-style pop and jazz that played in my head for nearly an hour. Jared wok up and told me to start acting my age, to quit acting like a child.
This morning and throughout the day I got a lot done, including almost completely straightening up the dining room which is a major feat and I'm proud of considering I told Jared yesterday I would try to have it done today. When our downstairs flooded and the shelves had to come out, everything was put in three big boxes or piled on our dining room table; I've been working on clearing that out, putting everything up, and I've done a good job. *pats self on back*
We went over to his mother's house for dinner, where she fixed hot-dogs and I fiddled with trying to put extra protection on their laptop. It was nice though Jared and I bickered a bit and toward the end I started feeling bad [I think I shouldn't have put the pickles on my hot-dog; I've never eaten a hot dog with pickles on it and now I know why]. So Bran and I came over, he took a bath, and now we're both ready for bed.
I confided in his mom that I think I've gained so much weight because of the meds. I mean, I've gained 15 pounds in just the amount of time I've been on the Geodon. I've played with the idea and I might stop taking the Geodon for a while, just to see if I automatically lose that weight, and to see if getting to sleep becomes easier. The agitation it leaves me with after I take it is exhausting.
- Location:home
- Mood: tired
= BOOKS =
“How to Survive your Bipolar Brain (and stay functional)” By Bob Bradley
“Bipolar Disorder Demystified” by Lana R. Castle
“Bipolar Disorder for Dummies” by Candida Fink MD
“Madness: A Bipolar Life” by Marya Hornbacher
“A Mood Apart” by Peter C. Whybrow MD
“A Brilliant Madness” by Patty Duke and Gloria Hochman
“The Bipolar Child” by Demitri Papolos, M.D., and Janice Papolos
“We Heard the Angels of Madness” by Diane and Lisa Berger
“The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Managing Your Moods” by Psy. D., ASPP, John D. Preston
“An Unquiet Mind” by Kay Redfield Jamison
"The Bipolar Disorder Survival Guide" by David Miklowski MD
"The Bipolar Workbook Tools For Controlling Your Mood Swings" by Monica Basco, PhD
= WEBSITES =
http://www.facingus.org
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/b
http://www.bipolardisorder.com/index.js
http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageSer
http://www.realmentalhealth.com/ (24 hr chat)
http://www.bpso.org (for significant others)
http://www.newhopenow.org (Free 24/7 live IM counselors)
= Help-lines =
Hope Line Network: (800) 422-HOPE (1-800-422-4673)
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: (toll free) (800) 273-TALK (1-800-273-8255)
SAMHSA's National Mental Health Information Center: (800) 789-2647
Mental Health America:(800) 969-6642
The Alcoholism and Addiction Treatment Hotline (800) 993-1161
Nationwide Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center Hotline (866) 96-SOBER (1-866-967-6237)
Substance Abuse Help: (800) 622-HELP
- Location:home
- Mood:
bouncy - Music:"Move Along" ~ All American Rejects
Let me start off by saying I hate anxiety. I loathe it. Can't stand the feeling, where your chest grows tight and aches and you can feel it creeping up into your throat like you've choked on a wishbone and can't swallow it back down. No amount of drink with help it, no amount of talking will ease it. It's just there.
Deep breathing might help, might not. Xanax might help, might not. A bullet to the brain might help. Most definitely would end the anxiety, that's for sure.
No but seriously, not suicidal. Really, not. Though it kind of worries me that I've been seriously suicidal twice - almost three times - in the past few months. I haven't been suicidal since I was in high school, when I used to fantasize about cutting my wrists and got off at the thought of all the blood that would come out. I would use that as my safety blanket before I went to sleep, though even then I didn't seem close to it; the thought alone was just comfort. I didn't want to die. There was just something about imagining all that blood that eased something inside of me.
I guess it's rooted in the gory dreams I used to have all the time. I didn't want to leave the world behind and Be No More. I'm not a masochist and I certainly don’t have a fetish for pain or blood. At least not often. Very, very rarely. Only when I've got an urge to self-harm, which I don't have right now.
Just the anxiety, which is driving me nuts. I've had a good day today, a good day the past few days. Just normal, regular ol' days that make me feel actually normal. Except for Tuesday, but I'll get into that in a minute. Starting Tuesday I had a bad anxiety attack in the evening, and then again yesterday, and now again today. I mean, lasting more than an hour or more, that pain in the chest, the trembling legs, everything.
Tuesday was just a bad night anyway. Jared warned me he'd be drinking, enough that he wouldn't be able to pick Bran up and I was okay with that. James was at our house and Keith came over and that was okay, too - they're cool. Then he asked if he could go to James' house and drink some more, that James wasn't drinking and would bring him home. Okay. Awesomeness. Really, I was honestly perfectly fine with that.
But then about an hour after he left the anxiety began. I asked him before he left, a bit paranoid that he'd be screwing around with other women there, and he swore he wouldn't. I tried to believe him. I have no reason to doubt him, after all. But an hour after he left it turned from a worry into a fear, and then from a fear into a terror, and then from a terror into a certainty. My husband was cheating on me. He was fucking some little skinny-assed hussy at the prodding of drunk friends. He was screwing her because his inhibitions were low and his friends were egging him on, because I'm such a loser wife and he needed to actually get some 'real' pussy.
It got so bad I couldn't sleep. I actually took my blanket, went in Branwyn's room and laid down next to him on his tiny bed. Was still awake in that anxiety-terror-certainty when Jared got home around 12 or 1 and found us there, ushering us both into our bed because I was terrified to leave Bran. I was in just enough of a state of paranoia that I couldn't talk much and he just thought I was exceptionally tired/half-asleep, which is why he took Bran into our room - so I'd follow. You know, the momma-lion not wanting to leave her cub.
He - Jared - was surprisingly sober. More-so than when he'd left, and he didn't get mad at me or anything, didn't try to fuss at me for being in Bran's bed. He just ushered us in there together and we all three went to sleep.
Since then, he was exceptionally snappish yesterday but I attribute that to a hang-over. He's been nicer since.
And today he had an appointment with his PCP and actually went!! *shock* The pain in his hands he's been bitching about, which I attributed to arthritis, is actually carpel tunnel. They'll be doing an EMG, trying some steroid injections, and therapy before they even get close to possible surgery. But for how bad it is, he said it sounded like it was a very real possibility.
And all I'm thinking is "Well, damn. I thought I'd get it before he did …"
Now, that does not mean I've been without cycling. I have, and its been difficult. Yesterday I was low almost the whole day and then brightened toward the evening, as if everything just got loads easier to handle. The day before I started out low, got very high during mid-day, and then by evening I was practically sludge. Yes loves, rapid-cycling. Ain't it grand?
It doesn't help that the past two days I've been in immense pain, my stomach hurting and everything feeling like I haven't drunk any water in a million years and I'm dehydrated and hot and swollen. Figured out what it was - FINALLY - last night when I went to bed. See, a little over a year ago when I was in that terrible accident that nearly killed Bran and landed both of us in the hospital, they gave me a prescript. for a high dose of Ibeuprofen [sp?] for the pain. About a week after I ended back in the ER with the same symptoms - great pain around my stomach area, especially beneath my ribs and MOST especially whenever I ate anything. Like I have this huge hard balloon inside me that is just pressing against everything else until it all nearly liquifies. They diagnosed me with gastritis due to the Ibeuprofen.
Well, never let it be said I was very smart. I had a headache on Wednesday fit to break my skull and the only thing I could get from a friend was Ibeuprofen. I forgot why I never take it - I know I can't take Asprin because it makes me nauseous and makes the headache worse, and knew I stayed away from Ibeuprofen for some reason but couldn't remember why. So I bummed a couple off of her, took some on Wednesday, then took some again on Thursday because the headache persisted. Finally managed to get the headache to go away with about 1500mg of Tylenol I bummed from Jared's mom on Thursday night, but by then I guess the damage was already done.
Bad thing about gastritis, you can either pay to go see someone and then pay for a prescript., or you can just wait it out. I'm having to wait it out, and it's not cool. At all.
Other than that, I've had avoidance issues. I've been lonely and wanting desperately to reach out to people, to renew friendships and do things for people, and yet I've been avoiding things, too. Mixed. I want to network and interact with my friends, but I don't want to talk on the phone or I don't have the energy to write an email [or update my journal]. I'm just in the "Don't Notice Me - Don't Forget Me" type of mood, probably because I am so up and down.
I see my pdoc again on this Thursday but I'm not sure I want to pay the major bill I'll have from her. I set up an appointment with a new pdoc [I know, I know, my 4th one] for the 30th, so I'm undecided as to whether I should reschedule Dr. Lentz until after that, so that I may not have to see her again if I decide I like the new doc - Dr. Stepleman - better, or should I go see her anyway? Suggestions?
It's just, I don't like the way she treats me. The rushing-through of the appts has remained, and I'm still reeling from the fact that she told me it was my fault for losing a prescript. Hel-LO! I kept all 3 prescript.s together, turned them all into the pharmacy together, and yet they couldn't find the prescript for the 150mg Lamictal twice a day. I called her and she goes, "Well you must have lost it." I tried to explain that I didn't - that I kept them all together and that it must have been the pharmacy - and she goes, "Well you must have lost it because I have a copy on my pad that I wrote it out." I'm sitting here thinking, WTF does it matter? I don't care what happened I only care about the result. Can you bloody well call me in the prescript or not?? I mean, it's not like Lamictal is a narcotic and I'm a pill-pusher or something. Damn. She must have said that I lost it about 3 or 4 times.
Now why the hell would you tell an unbalanced self-harm bipolar that it's their fault that something was lost, and make it seem - at first - like they might not be able to get their meds filled? Hello fear, anxiety, and desperation. Not to mention guilt after-the-fact.
So I don't know. I really don't. Pay over $100 to visit a woman I don't like, possibly have her make changes I don't approve of, and then see another one in a few weeks? Or reschedule hers, see this other doc and run the risk of absolutely hating her and having to run back to Dr. Lentz, who will be upset at me for rescheduling?
I told her in the beginning that I had appointment with both her and Dr. Shevitz scheduled simultaneously because I wanted to get a feel for her before I decided to give him up, which I guess was a mistake. She seemed to take it well but brushed it off, seeming disapproving because she kept telling me to choose one or the other. I should have realized then, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Now? Not so much.
- Location:home
- Mood: indifferent
- Music:"Robots"
Point is, today has been a good day. A REALLY good day. Because I'm being productive, I'm doing things at my own pace without being hurried, I am not being stressed by being at work. It's on days like this that I sorely wish I didn't HAVE to work, that I could draw disability or something, because I'd be so much more stable. I would need a schedule - like volunteering somewhere twice a week and going perhaps to support groups on their assigned evenings, which I can only do a few times a month right now because my schedule's just too packed. But it would be soooo much easier.
Then again, I'd also be home to spend more time with my son, bond with him better, and I'd be able to write more on my books and hopefully get a few of them published, since I'll actually have the time to work on editing them and submitting them to publishers - neither of which I have the time to do now.
Yet, I know I won't possibly be eligible for dissability [I have worked at my current job 5 years], and I can't just quit with absolutely no pay. I hold the family insurance and make almost $17/hr. I pay for the electricity bill, the water bill, the vehicle insurance, and a credit program we're on that costs $250/month. The rest - almost $600/month - I pay simply for gas and daycare costs. So a cut in pay I could do. A lack of pay? No.
So hard ... just so very hard sometimes.
- Mood:
discontent
Lately I've been running the gamut in regards to emotions and cycles and I'm getting tired of it.
Yesterday morning I was slow and depressed, then by around 9 or 10 I turned optimistic. Then I started getting jumpy and spazzy, an itching beneath my skin, a high sensitivity to sound etc, the precludes to a manic episode.
We went out on the boat and the sunshine helped a lot, and when we got back in I was tired [everyone was] and we all took a nap. On getting up from the nap I started slowing down again and by bedtime I could barely stand myself, I was so depressed. Also again, getting easily overstimulated because just hearing my son say "Mommy" one more time made me want to sit down and cry.
I took my Ambien last night and apparently asked my husband some questions about whether he would admit me if I really needed it, even if I didn't want to go. He asked why and I told him I was having thoughts of hurting myself again. I only vaguely remember pieces of this conversation, but it was apparently enough that he was worried and asked me this morning if I was any better.
I am very sleepy right now, and slow, but there's a positivity beneath it, like I feel like I can have a good day. Don't know if that will happen, or last.
Pain, Pain, Go Away - 8:38
The urge to hurt myself is coming on again. I can feel it, vibrating inside of me, cleverly hidden in silent voices that scream inside my skull. A knife blade here, a shard of glass there, an accident that isn’t really an accident at all …
I am not ashamed of it. I should be, I want to be, but I’m not. I’ve noticed that some things Jared tries to make me feel guilty over, there ends up just being a big black hole. Like I just can’t feel guilt in that manner anymore, like I was forced to feel it so much as a child and growing up that I no longer have the capacity to. Cutting is like that.
I know I should be ashamed of it, of wanting it and doing it, but I can’t. There is a void in place of those emotions, a gaping hole that just needs a big sign propped in front of it that screams, “DANGER. INSANITY AHEAD. ENTER AT OWN DIRE RISK.”
It’s not easy to deny. There’s a numbness that comes right where I want to cut most, the one place that sticks out in my head. My left wrist has been like that for years now. It’s the first place I have an urge to cut at, and the only place I haven’t given in to. I know it will be deep. I know I will hit a vein. I know it will be considered an attempt at suicide – which it would not be, I don’t want to die – and I know it would blow everything to hell and back.
I still want to though.
Really … really, bad.
Loss of Self - 9:53
I did cut myself. Not deeply because honestly I’m not one for pain. I am, but I’m not. I want pain, but I don’t. So they are deep enough to scar, to bleed, but never deep enough to warrant an ER visit.
Twice on my thigh, once on my ankle – virgin flesh, both – and then on my arm where another cut had been made around the time that I scratched the shit out of my hand. Hopefully it won’t be noticed, because the scar is unusually dark and stands out. Mid-forearm, nowhere close to a vein.
It’s a way to control it, to satisfy the need to cut without doing a terrible lot of damage. I’m not going to be stupid this time; if this continues, if the want gets worse and the rest starts fraying more than it already is, then I’ll let myself be admitted. I don’t want to, but I can’t very well help it at this point. The first question – the deciding question – they always ask is, “Are you a danger to yourself or others?”
Why yes. Yes, I am.
There was a broken drinking glass outside on the front walk, sitting up against the house that had been there for ages. A couple of fights ago, oh maybe two months now, when I broke down I was laughing and crying at once and sounded even a little crazy to myself when I told him he had no idea what it took for me to not go out there and use that glass on myself. Because you know, the glass is sharper. It will cut better, deeper, without as much pain. I didn’t tell him as much, only that I was sorely tempted. Greatly, horribly tempted.
A week later I noticed the glass was conspicuously absent. Does my husband love me? Why yes, I believe he does.
Why have I not completely lost it and been admitted yet, no matter what has happened or how badly things have gone for me in the past? Restraint. For some reason, some how, some way, I developed a sense of restraint that keeps me doing the ‘right’ thing. Acting the right way, reigning in what could be disastrous. I can let that go, though, and they would have to sedate me. I know it, can sense it, because that energy and strength is bubbling just beneath, always.
And what do they say about things that are subdued or shoved down too hard for too long? Yes, my loves – it explodes. In your face, when you least expect it.
I am worried about a psychotic break. Is it likely? I really don’t know. I’ve been worried about it for half a year or so now. I’m only getting worse, it seems.
A random thought: this may be due to the generic Lamictal [lamotrigine] that I’m on. I’ve heard of some people who take the generic now and are doing worse off, almost as badly as they are with no meds, now that it’s changed from the name-brand. Am I one of those people? Is it not just the fact that my bipolar tendencies are getting worse, just that the meds aren’t helping any more?
Of course, they always say that if you have treatment and then it stops, there will be a quiet lull and then it comes back, stronger and worse than ever before.
Hello, break-down of my soul. I’ve been expecting you.
- Location:home
- Mood: depressed
Excitement. Above all, this overwhelming sense of thrill, like anything and everything would be a kick-ass adventure and you want to do it ALL. In three days. Three hours. Fuck it – you want to do it all NOW. Your chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe because oh my god, Oh My God, OH MY GOD. There’s so much to do in your life, and so little fucking time that you just better get your ass in gear because Oh. My. GOD!
Invincibility. Something within you expands. You can physically feel it, like your soul has suddenly gotten too big for your measly little body. It’s pushing out, not painfully, just in a way that makes you feel twice as big as you normally are. You are untouchable now – invincible. You could do anything you wanted and no one could touch you. Light comes from you and you fucking shine because there’s just so MUCH to you, within you, bursting to get out.
Sensitivity. Your skin turns ultrasensitive, almost to the point of being numb. You know when an appendage falls asleep and it’s waking up, that tingling, almost vibrating feeling just before the painful little pinpricks set in? That’s what it feels like. Anything that touches is you is magnified because you can feel it ALL. Everything is brand new to you – things you’ve seen a million times, you are now seeing for the first time, truly SEEING them. It’s like your whole life you’ve been living in some sort of cloud, like those allergy commercials where everything is only slightly dull and then the veil is pulled away and everything is in sharp color, amazing detail. The world you live in is suddenly beautiful, even death, even dismemberment, because remember nothing can touch you.
Thou art God.
… now, perhaps you’re only a lesser God, you might not be the salvation of all humanity, but you are an all-powerful being to be reckoned with.
Just a hint, a breathless thought, a moment that’s here and then passes maybe lasting for a day, an hour, a few minutes. A spark that lights and burns and burns until suddenly a wind catches hold and douses it out.
Thus is mania.
- Location:home
- Mood: bouncy
Let's see ... I left off shortly after the almost-admission, when Jared and I were to split up and then came back together. His frustration has remained, though we did kind of do a give-and-take today, where he admitted he felt like I was angry at him [which I had no idea of]. This is a major step because if he tells me when he's not feeling appreciated or when he feels like I'm 'against' him, then maybe he'll open up a bit more in general. Not sure, but we'll see.
Last night we went out to dinner with his parents. It was ... singular. Not nice, because I was congratulating myself [silently, of course] on not getting upset because there were SO MANY people there, all talking loud enough that you couldn't hardly hear anyone next to you. This, in an O'Charley's, which is a family restaurant. I was getting moody because it was like Jared didn't want to listen to a thing I said, and if I opened my mouth it immediately felt like an 'ignore' switch was flipped among everyone. Not that that's true - that's just how it felt. Suddenly I didn't want to say anything, which got his mother worrying because then I lost my appetite and ate only one bite of my food. I had to go out to the car to get some tylenol for a new headache that was coming on ... and realized I wasn't doing so well after-all, when I seriously almost just stayed in the car.
Too much stimulation. Gods, that doesn't sound like it would be that bad of a problem until you're there, in the middle of it. I was managing to hold it together admirably, I wasn't freaking out or anything, but it was slowly, slowly, SLOWLY getting worse. Just shows I am starting to balance out, because it would have taken a few more hours to get to the breaking point.
Jared was a little pissed at me after but I could tell he was trying to reign it in, and again he started talking, asking me what was wrong and why I had to act like that [but he didn't get snappish like usual]. He wasn't overly gentle about it, he just wasn't biting my head off. So yeah, I'd take that. Happily, I'll take that any day over getting yelled at. I explained to him about the overstimulation, told him the truth - that I was feeling that same itch underneath my skin that I did the day they took me to the ER [which, I think, sank into his head in a different way; now when I say I'm not doing too well or that I'm 'itching' he takes it seriously]. We drove around just a little bit, went to check out some new phones, but stayed away from places like Wal-Mart even though I think he had wanted to.
Makes me wonder if I'm developing a social phobia. It seems like my bipolar is getting worse, the older I get. My previous p-doc [Dr. Evans - the only one who counts, in my opinion] classified me as BP2 at first, which I kind of knew myself. But then in later notes she puts me down as BP1. Well, BP1 usually means the more extreme cases, generally with psychosis, who have at least one psychotic break if not more in their lifetime. Scary, to think I might be building up to a psychotic break. Will I just be like I get now, only worse? Or will I actually begin thinking I'm the daughter of God? Will I sing naked on roof-tops, or just dance around Wal-Mart singing until someone calls the cops? Will I try to cut my wrists or start talking to people who just aren't there?
Scary. Really, truly, honestly. It worries me sometimes.
Today I have both boys and we went to storytime; Jared's been at work and has a full day planned because he went to a fellow firefighter's wedding and is now at the reception. I don't mind having the boys and they're being good so far. Storytime was a success, and I met up with Holly there and we let the boys play in a little playground thing they have in the mall, like we did a few weeks ago. It was awesome.
Holly had turned out to be a surprise. She's really cool and isn't pushy in the way I was afraid she'd be. Or intimidated by, or whatever. I don't know; I can't think of the right words. She's a strong personality, but not over-powering like I was cautious about her possibly being. We fit really well, and she's open to talking about anything [even the size of her husband's ... well, you get the idea. Apparently he's VERY big].
We're going to see the Fast and the Furious 4 tonight, since I wanted to take the boys anyway. She suggested we all go together and I thought that was awesome. Jared declined, of course, told me he didn't want to 'sit there' but I know it's because he just doesn't like seeing movies in the theatre. Still, I wish he'd come with us sometimes. He's promised to take me and the boys out on his parent's boat tomorrow morning after he gets off work, to fish and just spend time out at the lake, and I think it's a great idea. I'm looking forward to it, a lot, and I know he's serious because the boat's already sitting in our front yard. The boys will absolutely LOVE it.
ps. also spending too much money out the ass. Got to reign myself in before I start having trouble paying the bills ... again.
- Location:home
- Mood:
contemplative - Music:"Sober" ~ Pink
There is another man apparently admitted for mania; when I see him a nurse murmurs this to me with a sympathizing smile toward him. He is humming a song to himself, giggling a bit and playing with an extensive set of Leggos. I take a sliding dive to the floor and end up underneath one of his legs, lying on my belly and propped up on my elbows, watching with complete and utter fascination as he plays. His is a skinny man with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He grins at me, eager as a child sharing a toy. We end up tangled together with just that type of innocence, playing with the Leggos, oblivious to everyone else for a while.
When I realize they are after me I get up and skitter away again, trying to keep shy of the nurses and doctors. I run into them randomly because I can no longer tell who is a nurse or a doctor, versus who is merely someone there to wait. They blend in together as one mass.
At some point I begin having trouble talking. It seems as if my tongue is swollen, or perhaps my mouth is just no longer capable of coherent speech. It comes and goes but is getting worse as I prance in and out of the waiting room, passing an observatory room with ten or so beds, most of which are occupied by small people. The nurses are looking for me; they are going to admit me into the psychiatric ward for the mania I am experiencing and I don’t want to be. I can’t let myself be.
I bounce over to sit down next to an old man who complains congenially to me about something or other. He doesn’t want to be here either but is having trouble with his chest and asthma. I sit there and chat with him and he grows tired, so he moves to lie down next to me and sprawls in my lap. I pet his head and sing him a song, a little warbley and off-tune because I am losing the function to speak again, until I am only able to hum at him. He murmurs a soft thank you and mentions that his asthma has not hurt since I’ve been with him; something about my presence seems to make it go away.
I shift him over to lie on the couch by himself when I notice a small group of young girls trying to write something down. They need help and I go over to, but I can’t speak beyond half-words anymore. I manage to get across to them that’s its due to mania and I smile. They have no idea what I’m saying or talking about so they give him humoring smiles back and nod.
There is conflict over who should take me home with them, if I am not to be admitted. My mother is there, Rod – my stepfather – is there, and Jared – my husband – is there. Most of my discomfort now comes from the fact that I cannot decide who I want to go with. So much indecision, so much discomfort in not being able to chose.
The Big Gay Chip on My Shoulder
I am a straight man, with a big gay chip on my shoulder.
A while back on my Twitter page (yes, I know how ridiculous it sounds), I mentioned that, if I believed in the devil, Pat Robertson might be him.
Being a fairly liberal-leaning guy with either liberal friends or Republican and Christian friends who don't believe that being one has anything to do with the other, I was surprised at how many people took offense to what I had to say.
These people weren't friends of Mr. Robertson but friends, apparently, of God. They had "spoken" with him and he had assured them that he was no friend of the gays. He also told them that he loved America more than any other country and was a huge fan of Dancing With the Stars.
The small controversy or "Twitter-versy" (patent on phrase pending) all started when I had made the mistake of asking why two people of the same sex shouldn't be able to make the same life-long commitment and (more importantly) under the same god, as straight people. Why can't my gay friends be as happily married as my wife and I? It seemed simple to me, but let me start off by telling you a series of things that I believe to be true:
I am a person who believes that people are born gay. I don't think you have any control over what moves you or to whom you're attracted. That's why it's called an attraction and not a choice.
I believe that America is a great nation of even greater people. I also believe that anyone who says that this is a "Christian nation" has RHS, or revisionist history syndrome, and doesn't realize that most of our founding fathers were either atheist or at least could see, even in the 1700s, that all through Europe at the time, religion was the cause of so much persecution that they needed to put into their brand new constitution a SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE so that the ideals of a group of people could never be forced onto the whole. (I also find it funny when people point out to me that it says "one nation under god" in our pledge of allegiance, not realizing that this was an addition made in 1954 during the communism scare of the McCarthy era. It's not surprising, however, knowing that these same people would punch me in the mouth if I called Jesus a Jew.)
I believe the fact that an atheist, who doesn't believe in God at all, is allowed to enter into the holy land of marriage while a gay Christian is not, shows that this law is arbitrary. Are we to believe that anyone who doesn't live their life according to the King James Bible isn't protected by the same laws that protect those who do? Using the same argument that I've seen on the 700 Club, that would mean that Jewish, Hindu, or Muslim weddings are also null and void.
I believe that to deny this right to the gay population is to say to them, "this god is not your god and he doesn't love you." There isn't one person who is against gay marriage that can give me a reason why it shouldn't be legal without bringing God or their religion into it. Still, I'm amazed at the audacity of a small, misdirected group of the ultra-conservative Christian right wing, to spend millions of dollars, in a recession, on advertisements to stop two men or women who love each other from being able to be married, but when you present any opposition to them, they accuse you of attacking their religion. Isn't it funny that the people who are the quickest to take someone's basic rights to happiness are always the loudest to scream when someone attacks their right to do so?
But this isn't a paper about religion. How could it be? Since we clearly have a separation of church and state, how could a conversation about laws have anything to do with religion at all? I'm writing about basic civil rights. We've been here before, fighting for the rights of African Americans or women to vote, or the rights of Jewish Americans to worship as they see fit. And, just as whites fought for African Americans or Christians for Jewish Americans, straight people must stand up and be a voice for gay people.
I've heard it said before, many times, that if two men or two women are allowed to join into a civil union together, why can't they be happy with that and why is it so important that they call it marriage? In essence, what's in a name?
A civil union has to do with death. It's essentially a document that gives you lower taxes and the right to let your faux spouse collect your insurance when you pass away. A marriage is about life. It's about a commitment. And this argument is about allowing people to have the right to make that commitment, even if it doesn't make sense to you. Anything else falls under the category of "separate but equal" and we know how that works out.
The support of legalizing gay marriage is in no way meant to change the ideals of the section of Christians who believe that homosexuality is a sin. But we should refuse to let other people's ideals shape the way we live our lives. Each of us has a short ride on this earth and as long as we stay in our lane, and don't affect someone else's ride, we should be allowed to drive as we see fit.
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