The Mass Defective

Stripped away

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 19:13:00 +0000

A tearful, emotional wreck is what my therapist had to deal with today. Every bit of the hopelessness I've been feeling and trying to suppress since I was last in the hospital was regurgitated into the air of her office the moment I opened my mouth. The quickness with which it spewed forth and the heaviness of it all caught us both completely off guard.

NEVER have I broken down in front of anyone the way I did today and I'm still stunned that I wasn't able to prevent it from happening. I feel ashamed, vulnerable, naked...like all my protective walls were stripped away in a split second, revealing the weak, frightened little girl I've always kept locked behind them.

My T tried to assure me that it was okay to let it out. Said that I didn't need to keep up the same fake facade I do when I'm around my daughter, and everyone else, that everything is okay so they don't constantly worry about me, worry that I'm going to commit suicide. That her office was a safe haven to release all those emotions.

Why her? Why now? And most of all, why wasn't I strong enough to hold everything back like I usually do? Her biggest concern was of course for my safety. She kept asking if I should be in the hospital. When I said no, she said that she would accept that answer because apparently my all my previous therapists at this center told her that I know best when I can no longer keep myself safe and need to be inpatient.

My response was if that were so true, then why did I try to kill myself earlier this year. Of course she knew nothing about that incident in April, and neither did anyone else at the center, because it happened before I started seeing her, but after my last therapist dumped me. I could tell it put doubt into her mind as to whether to believe me that I would keep myself safe. Could see her mentally wrestling with the thought, should I call 911 right now or not?

I told her I would try to get through the next week as best I could. If I drank too much or took too many pills in order to numb the pain to survive, then that was what I would do, and I wouldn't allow myself or anyone else to beat me up for resorting to such harmful measures. If it keeps me alive for another week, then as negative a coping skill as it may be, at least I coped in some manner and didn't end my life.

After seeing her, I headed to the dentist for my root canal. The procedure itself didn't hurt, but the after effects hurt like hell. Luckily they gave me a prescription for Vicodin, not knowing my desire to engage in some extreme self abuse. I now have Vicodin, Darvocet, tons of Valium, plenty of liquor and lots of razor blades at my disposal. I may not come through this next week unscathed, but I will hopefully at least make it through.

Terribly wrong

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 22:03:00 +0000

You know something is terribly wrong with your mind when you dream that you're being sexually molested by a female relative, only to wake up, fall back asleep and have another dream where you're conversing with a bunch of white rabbits as a huge wanted poster hangs on the wall beside you and pictured on it is an extremely large rabbit that's wanted for raping humans.

Even Alice never tripped that badly. So let that be a warning to anyone that decides to mix Seroquel and Darvocet, large doses of Clindamycin and ibuprofen, and then add beer into the mix as well. I'll definitely refrain from ever doing that again.

In other news, I'm contemplating whether or not I should go to the outpatient group at the hospital tomorrow morning. A part of me thinks it would be a good idea, especially since I'm struggling with my emotions and with keeping myself safe. Another part of me thinks it would be a bad idea, because I am struggling with my emotions and trying to keep myself safe.

I'm just not sure I can handle the added stress, not after how badly last week, in its entirety, sucked ass. I'm treading on already dangerously thin ice and I know tomorrow is going to be a crappy day because 1) I see my therapist; and 2) I'm having a root canal done that I can't afford to pay for. Do I really want to risk adding to my misery by attending a group that may or may not turn out to be very triggering?

Sensory overload

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 05:55:00 +0000

Resident: "Hey Dr. S, I just finished doing charts, is it okay if I scrub in on your surgery?"

Me: "He's not the one that's going to be spread eagle on the table with his fucking vagina on display for everyone to see, shouldn't you be asking me if I will allow you to be in the operating room?"

Resident (peering around the curtain that blocked my view of her & Dr. S): "I'm so sorry, you're absolutely right. Would it be alright if I observed your surgery?"

Me: "NO."

By the time that exchange even happened I was already about to rip out the IV, get dressed and run out the front door. The area where they prep patients for outpatient surgeries at this particular hospital has absolutely no privacy. Each "room" was walled off by thin curtains on three sides. The aisle that ran down the middle was no wider than 5 feet, so not only could you hear every little detail about what was going on with the people in the "rooms" next to you, you could hear every little detail going on in all 18 of these "rooms".

You could hear the children crying, families chatting, nurses asking health histories, anesthesiologists consulting with patients, doctors explaining what each person was having done, machines bleeping, etc. There was so much noise I was having sensory overload and there was nothing I could do to block it all out. The result...a complete and utter meltdown, which included one of the worst panic attacks I've had in my life.

I was two seconds away from calling the whole thing off when they finally came to take me to the operating room. By then, my hands had gone completely numb and I kept asking the nurse if my fingers were still there. She tried to reassure me they were, but I couldn't get my mind to focus in on where I was and to look at my hands. I was starting to hyperventilate and about ready to pass out and/or throw up.

More than 24 hours have passed and I still feel over-stimulated. My mind is racing at what seems to be a million miles per hour, drawing my attention in so many different directions that I can't grasp onto a single thought for more than a few seconds. The rage that has been kicked up as a result of the storm in my head has been unbearable. I cut the hell out of myself last night, but it offered no relief. Today I'm going to resort to chemical interventions in hopes of making all this stop. I can't take it any longer.

A random stranger

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 18:19:00 +0000

I noticed that I kept thinking about my therapist quite a bit yesterday. The new one, Ms. M, that I haven't mentioned much. Talking to her is like talking to a random stranger on a bus who happens to over hear you thinking out loud to yourself about how hot the weather is or how slow traffic seems to be moving. They respond to your comment and suddenly you're drawn into small talk. You refrain from revealing anything personal about yourself because you don't know this person and chances are, you will probably never cross paths with them ever again.

That's how I feel each time I walk into my T's office. Like she's a random stranger I make small talk with and someone who I will probably never see again once our session is over. There is no feeling of permanence to her presence. Despite her office being decorated with personal items like photographs, she doesn't yet have her name on her door like everyone else. She doesn't have personalized business cards yet. Her voice mail isn't even properly set up with a personal greeting.

Given how swiftly my last therapist left, without any advance warning at all, I'm afraid this woman is going to leave too or be asked to leave when the typical new employee grace period of 90 days is up. She'll just disappear one day without explanation. My natural response, given that I sense this is merely a temporary relationship, is to resist trying to form any sort of attachment to her. Remain at a safe emotional distance rather than risk feeling abandoned yet again.

Knowing I'm deliberately keeping her at arm's length and behind my safety barrier might explain why it feels so empty to talk to her, but I keep wondering if I'd even connect with her if I allowed myself to try. She seems so...dry, for lack of a better word. Or maybe indifferent is a better description. Like I mentioned here back in May, she seems to lack a genuine desire to help people, or at least to help me. I find that very troublesome because I've never encountered it before. Even the worst of the therapists I've had in the past at least came across most of the time as truly wanting to help, even if they failed miserably at it.

Anyway, tomorrow is my surgery and hopefully all will go well. I don't expect there will be any complications other than the usual anesthesia one where they are unable to wake me afterward. That's just par for the course though, so I'm used to it. As for my dental problem, the pain is so severe I didn't sleep at all last night. I had to see my primary doctor today and she said there is an infection in the tooth that is severe enough that it has caused the lymph nodes in my neck to swell. She said that is why the Darvocet doesn't feel like it has been working. So I'm now on antibiotics four times a day for the next 10 days. Joy. I feel like I'm starting up my own pharmacy over here.

Brief reprieve

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 21:29:00 +0000

Finally, a brief reprieve. I called the gyne, explained the situation and he called in a script for Darvocet. I only just took the first pill about 10 minutes ago, so I don't know if it's going to alleviate any of my pain, but hopefully it will do something. If I'm still hurting in half an hour, I can take a second one if need be. I vaguely remember being on this after one of my surgeries, but that was a few years back and I can't recall if it worked or not.

I also broke down and scheduled the root canal, because there is no way I'm going to lose a tooth and have a hillbilly gap in my mouth. Even if that means I go without food and can't pay my cellphone bill and car insurance this month, so be it. I'm NOT losing a tooth. Monday was the soonest they could get me in, which is what prompted the call to the gyne. The pain has gotten so intense that I can't think straight.

Last night I was in such bad shape from the pain, from the PMDD, from the stress, that I did pull out the razor. The urge to keep cutting and cutting was overwhelming, but I resisted temptation and kept damage to a minimum. It was cut or resort to much more drastic measures. I'm giving myself credit for choosing the lesser of two evils.

I really hope the Darvocet works. Before all this pain, I managed to read not only Prozac Nation, but I also got through Ella Minnow Pea in just a couple of hours and I followed that up by quickly reading Animal Farm by George Orwell. I'd really like to be able to concentrate so I can continue to read more. The next book I've decided to tackle is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

Being punished

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 02:55:00 +0000

I'm being punished with this pain, with all this stress, I just know I am. I know that I'm cursed. The problem is, I'm not sure exactly why. Why have I been selected to suffer day in and day out? Even when I try to bring some happiness into my life, I get a reality slap that lets me know that happiness is for others to experience, not me. Why? Why can't I be happy and be allowed to enjoy it for more than a day or at most, a week?

Is it because I took my daughter on vacation to see her grandma and spent money I'd diligently saved? Money that I probably should have used to finalize my divorce, even though that would have meant choosing to place my daughter's need to see her grandma second to the rat fucking bastard sperm donor.

Is it because I refuse to subscribe to the theory that psychotropic medications are helpful?

Is it because I'm a useless fucking human being that's continually a burden on others? Even when I try to be as self-sufficient as my sick mind will allow, I still know I'm dependent upon others in various ways, like needing someone else to provide a roof over my head because I can't afford a place of my own.

Or is it simply because this is my life. This has always been my life. If I'm not desperately hurting in some way, a curve ball is thrown my way to make sure I do hurt, in every way imaginable, all at the same time.

I'm grasping at straws trying to figure this out. It doesn't make sense. I didn't do anything wrong. I've been a good person. Yet I'm the one that gets saddled with all the pain, continuously. It never ends, and probably will never end as long as I try to remain alive.

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 21:39:00 +0000

And since I didn't need any more misery on my plate right now, I of course got shoveled another load of it. The dentist says I need a root canal, which insurance doesn't cover. So unless I can pull $500 out of my ass, I'm in pain until who the fuck knows when because all she said she could prescribe was Tylenol 3.

I decided to go with my own $20 temporary fix...Jack Daniels. I'll just drink myself into oblivion. Won't be long before I can't feel a damn fucking thing.

I hate life.

It's still pouring

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 19:40:00 +0000

During the pre-op testing and registration, the nurse tells me that I need to stop taking the ibuprofen and naproxen.

"What do you propose I take for this excruciating toothache and for my cramps from hell??"

"You can take Tylenol."

"And if Tylenol doesn't work for me? Am I just supposed to suffer?"

"You could call and ask the dentist or your gyne for some Tylenol 3."

I just look at the woman and think, am I talking to myself here? Didn't I just say that Tylenol doesn't work? Just cuz it has some codeine in it, doesn't change the fact that the main ingredient is friggan Tylenol.

And still it pours some more....

After the pre-op testing, I get in the car and call my dentist.

"I'm sorry, he no longer takes Medicaid."

"What?!? I just saw the guy."

"As of June 30th, he no longer accepts your insurance. I can have him call in a prescription for the pain until you can find another dentist though."

"No thanks, I'll just suffer. Apparently that is what the gods are demanding I do and far be it for me to interrupt their plans."

Life is just a series of very, very cruel jokes. I'm sorry, but I for one am not laughing.

It always has to pour

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 04:36:00 +0000

Given that I'm old-er, you'd think I'd have suffered from numerous toothaches in my lifetime. Most people I know in my age bracket have mouthfuls of fillings and other dental work. I guess you could say I was blessed in the dental department because I've never had much of a problem with my teeth until, that is, the introduction of psychotropic meds into my life.

This is not just another feeble attempt on my part at making an excuse to go off these poisons, though I will add it to the growing list of evidence that the drugs actually do more harm than good. A link between psychotropic meds and oral complications has been clearly documented and it's not solely due to lack of proper hygiene and care in patients that are mentally ill. A big contributing factor is that many of the medications used to treat mental illness cause dry mouth. Without adequate saliva, your teeth are much more prone to tooth decay and other problems.

I'm currently trying to endure the pain of the second toothache I've ever had in my lifetime (yes, I've only had two of them), one that came on very suddenly and is caused by a cavity that was not there when I had my teeth cleaned a month ago. To combat the pain that started on Friday (it would be just my luck that it would happen over a holiday weekend), I've been downing ibuprofen and naproxen like candy. I've also been using ice and an oral anesthetic to numb the area, with little success. The most relief I got was yesterday when I was at my sister's house, drinking heavily and distracted from how much pain I was in. Unfortunately, the pain was so severe today that nothing provided any relief.

I just really hope I can get in to see my dentist tomorrow and they can work around my schedule, which already includes pre-op testing for my surgery this coming Friday and therapy appointments for both me and the kiddie. There is absolutely no way I can tolerate this pain any longer.

Oh and just to make my life even more miserable, cuz with me it never just rains, it always has to pour...I got my period today. Can I please just die already? Please?

Did I miss something

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 22:01:00 +0000

Never one to read books when they're supposedly the "flavor of the month" or however many months they spend on the best seller list, I finally sat down and read Prozac Nation...literally. I sat down and five hours later I was finished.

It wasn't that it was such an enthralling story that I was held captive and couldn't put it down, I simply kept reading because I was waiting for the part where it turned interesting. Waiting for that moment when I could say "wow, what a brilliant piece of literature". Unfortunately, that moment never came. Did I miss something by not having read it in the midst of the 90's when it was first released and Prozac was the pill du jour? Was there a certain irony to the book at that particular time that made it so rave-worthy?

While there were brief instances throughout the book where I could relate to the author's plight, I mostly just wanted to slap Elizabeth Wurtzel upside the head. I found her at best, annoying; at worst, quite possibly the most emotionally manipulative and needy person I've ever had the misfortune of coming across. Words I'm quite positive others have used to describe me, especially in times of my repetitive crises.

Unlike the raves on the back cover of the book, one of which declares "the pain and despair Wurtzel describes are as real as they are excruciatingly rendered", I thought her attempt at describing life with chronic depression fell completely flat. Her use of the metaphor of depression as a black wave sounded rather benign and she never reached the depth of explanation of just how suffocating that wave really is.

She kept longing to be inflicted with something seemingly more tangible, like chemical dependency, in hopes that it would then become an easier puzzle to solve. But tangible is exactly how her depression came across to me. Throughout the entire book it felt as if her depression was an ever present backpack filled with rocks that she constantly lugged around for a decade before finally realizing towards the end that all she had to do was take it off, set it down and voilà, life was better. Having severe depression myself, I know full well that is not how she saw things, but that was my interpretation of it from her writing.

In the realm of memoirs that center around mental illness, I'd say this is in the top five of worst ones I've ever read. I just don't get what all the hype was about. Hopefully the next book I've chosen to read, a satire about language called Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn, is far more interesting.

Vacation & other boring stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 00:07:00 +0000

I rescheduled the appointment I had with my pdoc later this month to August. Upon reading through all my emails yesterday, I found out that they moved up the annual Windy City Rubber Ducky Derby. According to an email I got back in November, it was originally scheduled for August, but I guess they had to nix that idea and move it up.

Seems trivial to change my pdoc appointment just so I can watch them dump thousands of rubber duckies into the Chicago River, but it's something my sister and I have been taking our daughters to every year since it started, and we plan to keep going. We go watch that and if the weather cooperates, we head to the beach for the rest of the afternoon. I'm sure my pdoc is in no hurry to see me anyway, especially not after my last visit and the tearful telephone plea that followed.

I managed to make it through vacation without battling my brain about the medications. I was all too willing to take the Seroquel in hopes it would knock me out so I didn't feel the pain in my spine. Didn't work out that way though and I only snagged about 3-4 hours of sleep a night.

As I mentioned, vacation was long, tiring and emotional, but still we had fun. On the way down we stopped in Gatlinburg, TN so my daughter could see the Smoky Mountains. We went horseback riding through the mountains when we first arrived, which was just beautiful. We even saw a coyote along the path. He stopped and stared at us for a bit, and we did the same, but eventually he lost interest first and walked away.

It was stifling hot in Gatlinburg. The humidity was unreal. We tried walking around for awhile after we'd checked into our hotel, perusing all the local shops, but we quickly turned around and returned to the air conditioned comfort of our room. Turns out that even though there are tons of shops, there isn't much variety...it's the same dozen or so shops, just with different names. They all pretty much sell the same stuff. After the sun started to set, we went and sat on our balcony which overlooked a mountain stream.

We drove through Pigeon Forge on our way to Gatlinburg, but we didn't dare stop, unless we were forced to because of a red light. What an absolutely scary and overtly touristy place that town is. If anyone is familiar with the area, that place is the poster child for what I'd consider the ultimate "HORROR VACATION SPOT"! It's even worse than Wisconsin Dells. It boggles my mind that people would deliberately go to such a place AND fork out their hard earned money to do so. Everything about it screamed cheesy, over-priced, white-trash heaven.

The next morning we headed off for Myrtle Beach via the mountains. I'm not afraid of heights at all, but I was getting scared trying to drive through the Smoky's. I'd look up and get dizzy, or look off to the side where there was a huge drop-off and get panicky. I stopped several times under the guise that it was a good spot for the kiddie to take some photographs, but I was really just stopping so I could get my panic attacks under control before I passed out. I don't know why that happened. I'd driven that exact same route when I was in my late teens and didn't have a problem back then, except that I didn't know what the term "down-shift" meant and so I was smoking the brakes on my sister's car trying to get it to slow down.

The weather in Myrtle Beach was also stifling. It hadn't yet warmed up much in Chicago, so we were not accustomed to the heat and humidity yet. I felt like I was melting most of the time we were outside. We'd get up early in the morning to do things and then spend the afternoon indoors somewhere. Only got sunburned on my scalp though, cuz I was slathering suntan lotion on my skin constantly.

In Myrtle Beach we did a lot of stuff...lots of shopping (mostly bought stuff for the kiddie, but I did get two swimsuits and a pair of sunglasses for myself), hung out at the beach a lot, ate out at a different restaurant for dinner every night, took a four hour cruise out on the Atlantic, etc.

Out of everything we did, I think I liked the parasailing best. When I made the reservation before we left, I was excited to try it, but I had almost completely psyched myself out of doing it by the time the day rolled around for us to go. It was too late to cancel by the time I was scared shitless, so I had to at least get on the boat and in order to even do that I had to take a bunch of Valium.

They make you sign a waiver before you get on the boat that says you don't suffer from any of a list of ailments or conditions, including mental illness. I had several of them, but signed it anyway. I could understand not doing it if you were pregnant, had a seizure disorder or heart condition, but if you're screwy in the head? My daughter said it's probably because they don't want someone that's suicidal going six stories above the ocean and trying to get out of their harness so they could fall to their death. I'm deathly afraid of water, which is why I was psyching myself out of even going, so there's no chance in hell I'd try and commit suicide while parasailing.

The guys on the boat apparently pick the people that look the most nervous to go first. Luckily the Valium had kicked in and even though I was panicking on the inside, I looked completely relaxed on the surface. Up until they finally picked us to go (we were second to last out of about 12 people, two of which went up solo), I still wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it, but I'm glad I did cuz it was amazing. It's so peaceful and quiet once you're up in the air, not scary at all. We didn't see any fish, dolphins or sting rays, like some of the others had seen, but we did see a fairly large shark.

We were out on the Atlantic on our cruise when we found out that Michael Jackson had died. At first we thought my daughter's boyfriend was just yanking our chain, but I texted and confirmed it with a friend of mine. Most of the celebs that passed away did so while we were on vacation...Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, etc.

We tried to avoid TV as much as possible, because shortly after we arrived in Myrtle Beach, the whole scandal involving the South Carolina governor and his mistress in Argentina broke. We're like what the fuck? We just dealt with our own governor scandal that was constantly on the news, now we go to another state and have to listen to every station talking about another scandal? The governor scandals are following us around!

Back home

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:16:00 +0000

We're back home from our trip to Myrtle Beach. It was long, tiring, emotional and still we managed to have fun. It was our first time visiting the kiddie's grandma since her grandpa passed away last year. I thought things would be hardest when we first arrived and the loss truly hit home when he wasn't there to greet us and take his precious granddaughter into his arms. However, the real struggle was having to say good-bye to grandma knowing we were leaving her all alone in that house and that she would be alone for the one year anniversary of his death.

I've not been doing well since we arrived home yesterday evening. I didn't sleep much while we were gone and it finally caught up with me today. I spent 90% of the day in bed. I did force myself out of the house at around 7 pm because we were scheduled to have our NAMI board meeting tonight, but when I arrived at our President's house, no one was home. Rather than be pissed off that no one bothered to tell me the meeting was cancelled, I was relieved that I didn't have to interact with anyone.

Numerous medical problems arose over the past week that need to be addressed in the very near future. The biggest is a problem with my lower back and spinal cord. It's been a problem I've dealt with off and on since I went into labor with my daughter, but it was always a temporary pain that I could deal with. It is now a constant and it feels as if my spinal column has been breached. I only know what that even would feel like because when I received an epidural to kill my labor pains, the anesthesiologist accidentally hit my spinal cord and my entire body involuntarily jumped from the pain. That's the same problem I'm having now, only it doesn't go away. Every nerve is on edge and I randomly have incidents where my entire body involuntary convulses multiple times throughout the day.

There's a lot I'd love to write about, but it's time to force myself to take the Seroquel and hopefully it will make me drowsy enough to ignore the pain in my spine so I can sleep.

I'm contradicing myself

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 19:04:00 +0000

At times it's extremely difficult to read my own blog, especially when I'm clinging tightly to the pendulum as it continuously swings from sane to insane, or rather less insane to even more insane, as there is no such thing as true sanity in the world. Reading it forces me to acknowledge that I'm contradicting myself with each post because I'm not holding myself together very well.

I broke down yesterday and left a message for my pdoc to call me. The paranoia wanted to castigate him for ever prescribing the Seroquel in the first place. That I now knew it wasn't meant to help me sleep as I so sheepishly believed, but instead he gave it to me because he was in cahoots with the pharma companies to get as many people addicted to their "DRUGS" as possible. His reward was kickbacks from big pharma and of course increased dividends from the stock he owned in such companies.

Luckily he didn't call back yesterday and instead called at 9 am this morning. After yet another night of no sleep, I tearfully begged him to please call in a script for Seroquel to my pharmacy. I have to wonder what the guy must think of me. Less than a week ago I was refusing to take the stuff and now I'm pleading with him to make some available to me.

So the battle against the medications continues to rage on, but at this point I'm just going to throw my hands up and say I'm not sure where the truth lies right now. Are the medications truly making me sicker or is my mind simply falling deeper into the clutches of mental illness? With my luck, the answer probably lies within that illusive grey area that I can never seem to navigate. In any case, for the next two weeks I need to force the struggle out of my consciousness, it needs to become a moot point. The kiddie and I leave for vacation in a couple of days and my plan is to have as much fun as possible, as if this were the last vacation the two of us will ever share.

Holding me hostage

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 00:43:00 +0000

I feel like I need to give a name to the beast inside that's ravaging my brain. The one that keeps opening long closed doors to the past and letting horrific memories spew forth. The creature that keeps trying to persuade me to act on the frightfully disturbing actions it feels I should take, against myself and others. The thing that feeds off my resolve to get better, twisting it around and using it to somehow strengthen its own resolve to destroy me. The being that is holding me hostage in my own body.

Others have made attempts at naming it. Mental illness. Borderline Personality Disorder. Bipolar Disorder. Anxiety/Panic Disorder. Depression. Psychosis. None of those seems to acknowledge its parasitic nature though. They don't adequately explain the emotional hell this monster forces me to endure on a daily basis. Even I can't find words powerful enough to convey just how much I suffer.

I know it is this leech that is draining away my will to live. The one poisoning my brain yet deceitfully laying blame on the medications. Yet knowing and believing are two very different realms that I'm not capable of comprehending, at least not at the exact same time, which is what I must do in order to circumvent the distorted messages I'm receiving and find the truth. Time is running out.

Not lucky enough

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 01:03:00 +0000

Not quite sure what to do with myself this evening. I've tried starting nearly a dozen different activities and quickly became disinterested in all of them. I don't know if I'm just overly bored or suffering from an acute case of anhedonia. All the things I love to do most....hang out with my daughter, listen to music, read, even posting here...they all seem like chores rather than fun. It's just adding to the aggravation I already feel from dealing with my rage and medication issues.

Managed to do a little cleaning earlier, since the OCD side of me won't leave for vacation without the house being spotless. There's a laundry list of other things that need to get done before we leave on Thursday, but I have no desire to do any of them. I'm trying not to focus on what limited time I have left, but instead on how to break things down into smaller tasks so they seem more manageable. I've even bribed my daughter and her boyfriend with money to clean the car, a chore I hate worse than cooking.

I know everything will get done in time, I just wish I was more excited to be getting away. Sometimes I am, and other times all I do is dread the thought of returning because I know what I have to come back to. Occasionally I go so far as to think of ways where we'd never have to return, usually in the form of some gruesome, deadly car accident, thus avoiding the whole divorce, the usually mini-meltdown and the other negatives that I know will await my homecoming. Unfortunately, I'm not lucky enough to die in a freak accident.

Legal drug junkie

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 23:46:00 +0000

Out of curiosity, I took the Zonegran last night. I wanted to see what, if any, effect it would have on me. As I kind of suspected, it didn't make me even the slightest bit drowsy, which meant I didn't sleep. At. All. By the time 4 am rolled around I was ready to rip my hair out in frustration so I dipped into my Valium stash and took 15 mgs, hoping that would help. I was almost ready to breakdown and take 50 mgs of Seroquel but knew I couldn't. I had to be awake at 8 am to take my car in to have the brakes checked and if I took the Seroquel, there was no way I'd be able to safely drive to the repair shop because I'd be fighting to keep my eyes open.

In tears, I finally took 100 mgs at 8:00 am so that I'd fall asleep as soon as I returned home from dropping my car off. I will never be free of my dependence on Seroquel, NEVER. This one drug has fucked up my brain chemistry so badly that it is nearly impossible for me to ever fall asleep without it. Being that it is an antipsychotic, it doesn't even help with the symptoms it is supposed to...the paranoia, the hallucinations, the racing thoughts. The only thing it does is have complete control over the switch in my brain that controls sleep.

I feel like this medication has turned me into a "legal drug junkie" and my pdoc is my drug dealer. I'm sure some people will claim I don't meet the criteria for junkie because I don't need more Seroquel to produce the same effect. However, I physically NEED to take this drug every night and that in itself is just as inherently harmful as being a cocaine or heroin addict. All in all, the whole situation is highly ironic considering my pdoc keeps trying to claim I am an alcoholic, yet I don't ever have the urge to drink.

Maddeningly frustrated

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 21:27:00 +0000

As expected, the pdoc was none to happy that I quit my meds. When I explained part of the reasoning behind why...the part about how I think they are making my overall symptoms of mental illness worse, especially the Seroquel...he said that my thinking was distorted, which is what I knew he'd say.

The comparison he tried to use to convince me it was a distortion was of a cancer patient undergoing chemotherapy that decides to stop treatment because it is making them sicker in the short-term even though that treatment might eventually cure them. My response was 1) the medications I've been taking will never cure me, there isn't even the slightest chance in hell that will happen and we both know it; and 2) chemotherapy is a short-term treatment, patients don't endure the negative side effects from it continuously for years on end like I have with these psychotropic meds.

Apparently he didn't understand that I didn't want to be on any more medications because he started offering alternatives to replace the Seroquel. The first was some older medication that I'd never heard of and can't remember the name of. I immediately nixed that idea after he told me the main side effects tended to be severe dry mouth and constipation. I told him those were two of the three reasons I stopped the Cymbalta and Wellbutrin (the third was because of the insomnia). In fact those symptoms were so bad that I was constantly dehydrated despite drinking more water than the average person is expected to drink in a day and I'd wake up choking, on the few nights I did get some sleep, because my mouth was so dry. Plus I didn't appreciate needing to take even more pills to deal with the constipation, especially when I was already popping more than a dozen pills a day.

I didn't like his second alternative either, which was Zonegran, an anticonvulsant. He said that while other medications in the same class are often used for depression and bipolar (Neurontin, Lamictal, Trileptal and Depakote are just a few), Zonegran typically isn't. I've taken the others, with the exception of Depakote, and not one of them ever made me sleepy.

When I didn't respond favorably to either option, he asked me what I was looking for. I said all I wanted was to be able to sleep...WITHOUT needing to take medication to do so. I don't think that is too much to ask for or to expect. I want to figure out how to function like I used to WITHOUT my brain being dependent on Seroquel or any other drug. He just shook his head and said it wasn't realistic for me to expect to not take any medication.

I finally relented and took the prescription for Zonegran. After getting it filled and reading the pamphlet with all the side effects, I doubt I'll be taking it. It has major warnings about yet another of Seroquel's negative side effects that I'm desperately trying to be rid of...the risk of heat stroke.

What the fuck?!?! Which lose/lose option do you choose? Take potentially deadly medications that don't really help all that much, or try to face off against a potentially deadly illness without pharmaceutical intervention? I'm screwed either way. I'm so maddeningly frustrated it's not even funny!

A few fleeting moments

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 05:08:00 +0000

For the first time in over a year, I noticed the ceiling tiles in my T's office look like they've been stabbed repeatedly with a knife, which had a surprisingly calming effect on me the longer I stared at them. I say over a year despite having only seen her for less than a month because she inherited the office the last T had. My focus remained on those tiles for our entire session. I was too afraid to look down and catch a glimpse of my own body. The obsessive thoughts were concentrated on my weight today and I was very anxious, something the T noticed immediately. The few times I did look down, I made sure to close my eyes first.

I tried to explain that the sandals I was wearing weren't feeling right with the pants I had on and it was making me feel as if I weighed 1,000 lbs. Each time I caught sight of my thighs, I could swear each was the size of a baby elephant. I actually asked her if I could take the sandals off because they were bothering me that badly. From the outside it had to appear very bizarre, but I seriously couldn't handle the anxiety it was generating.

Instead of making me feel like a freak, she actually did fairly well in making me feel a little bit safe in her office. Even after I told her about the medications, her response wasn't one that I expected. She merely said that if I could maintain without being heavily medicated, she was all for it. She also didn't panic and become too focused on the comment that I made when she first asked how I was doing. I responded by telling her that it was a good thing I wasn't allowed to own a gun because I was so full of rage, that if I had one, I would be shooting random people on the street for being fucking idiots.

It was nice to talk to someone and not have them zero in all the negatives. She didn't chastise me for drinking, going off my meds or going on shopping rampages. Instead she praised me for the little positive things I did. Yes, I did spend a lot of money I don't have to be wasting, but I put some of it to good use in buying the supplies to vent some of my anger via art. Yes, I am drinking, but it's not a constant everyday thing. Yes, I did refuse the ex's help in taking the papers to the help desk at the court, but that's probably for the best. Yes, I have put the divorce stuff on hold, but it's only temporary so I can concentrate on the things I need to get finished before we leave for vacation.

At one point she did ask if I thought I needed more help, meaning should I be in the hospital. I said no, I'm too busy for that. I'm looking forward to vacation, to getting away from here and all the reminders of how much I suck at life. I know that I do have to return to all this and face it again, but for 10+ days, I have an escape.

She also offered to talk to my pdoc about how I'm doing and the things I told her today, but I said I'd prefer if she didn't. She said she would respect my choice and not talk to him behind my back. Do I trust her not to? Um...NO. Despite her reassurances that she wouldn't, I wouldn't put it past her to call anyway. Everyone that has ever tried to assure me things would be one way, ended up being the catalyst behind why things turned out another way.

I suppose I should mirror her reaction and focus on the positive. My being able to ever trust this woman still has a long, oh so very long, way to go; but at least I felt safe in her office for a few fleeting moments.

I do know

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 04:29:00 +0000

Today was another Jekyll and Hyde day as far as emotions were concerned. I never knew what to expect from one minute to the next. Rage continues to maintain its prominence and at times it scares me to death because it is so voracious when it comes on. It totally consumes me in seconds, but in a flash it can disappear just as quickly. I think it is also beginning to scare the family. No one has dared acknowledge the violent vocal outbursts, but there's no denying that everyone has heard them. Hell, the neighbors have probably heard some of them because I constantly feel as if the house is a sauna so I've kept the windows open, even at night, so I don't suffocate.

The best course of action at this point would be to simply acknowledge that I need to be medicated again, however that is not as simple a gesture as one would think. I honestly believe that my emotions are so out of control because of the medications. My symptoms were never as severe as they have been since that first psychotropic medication entered my body. I was never in a psych hospital until AFTER I was on these medications. The more medications, the more trips to the psych unit, the more suicide attempts. Even if no one else is willing to entertain the concept of medications causing mental illness, I clearly see a connection between medications and the progression to more severe symptoms.

Since I see both my T and my pdoc this week, I'm going to bring this up to them. I'm sure they'll try to convince me otherwise, try to make me believe that I'm delusional, but they have to know where I stand. I want them to know that I need to get back to the person I was before the medications. She has to still exist. Somewhere inside, she just has to.

In other news, I watched the Tony awards tonight and I think I have a new favorite musical...Next To Normal. I'd love to make it to New York to see it, but since I'm poor, I'll just have to wait until it eventually opens here in Chicago. When it does, I'll be one of the first in line to see it.

The story is basically about a mother struggling with bipolar that is worsening and the effect her illness has on her family. Other things addressed in the musical include grieving a loss, suicide, drug abuse, ECT, ethics in modern psychiatry and suburban life.

The song they sang during the Tony's is a combination of two songs, "You Don't Know" and "I Am The One". I almost immediately started crying when actress Alice Ripley began singing "You Don't know". Why? Because I DO KNOW! I especially what it's like to die alive. Below are the lyrics and I found a video of the song on YouTube as well.

Note: If you have a spouse or significant other that has been or is trying to be supportive, the second song, "I Am The One", will probably also make you cry.

You Don't Know

Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?
Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?
It's like living on a cliff side not knowing when you'll dive.
Do you know, do you know, what it's like to die alive?

When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if you look back.
You don't know.
I know you don't know.
You say that you're hurting, it sure doesn't show.
You don't know.
It lays me so low, when you say let go.
And I say, you don't know.

The sensation that you're screaming, but you never make a sound.
Or the feelings that you're falling, but you never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at you day by day by day by day.
You don't know, you don't know, what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done.

Explode or implode

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 23:31:00 +0000

This weekend I need to bleach my sheets without anyone noticing. As I prepared my bed for sleep, I saw that there were blood stains underneath my pillow and blanket. Normally I try to make sure the wounds have been dry for at least an hour before I lay down in order to prevent such a thing from happening, and I thought I did this the other night, but still somehow blood seeped through my pajamas and onto the sheets. Perhaps the cuts were more severe than I had originally thought.

Rage has been my primary emotion and there are only two ways I know to deal with it...explode or implode. I've done both a great deal this week as I've endured one problem after another. My explosions have mainly consisted of throwing things and screaming out my frustrations with profanities, but usually not while others are around. Imploding has mostly consisted of cutting, with a little drinking thrown in. I was so full of rage two nights ago I went and bought a pack of cigarettes hoping the nicotine would calm me down, a vice I used to turn to in the past. I never even made it through the first one before I decided there was no way I could resume that bad habit.

Surprisingly I did manage to complete some tasks in between the overwhelming desire to commit suicide or murder. The hotels are booked for our vacation and a few activities have been chosen aside from just hanging out at the beach all day every day. I was able to get my surgery scheduled for next month. I even scheduled an appointment with the T for next week.

Attending the morning process group at the hospital on Monday was hard. I'm limited in what I'm allowed to contribute to the group, and that can be frustrating, but I'm glad I went. I managed to ask what the process is for someone that's done the program already but has "fallen off the wagon". That wasn't even in reference to drinking, as the term is so often used. When I say I've fallen off the wagon, I mean that my life is sucking ass more & more every day, and it's getting really hard to incorporate the positive skills I've been taught in order to cope. They said that I should go to the intake department if I feel that's what I need to do.

One of the skills I did learn that I have been trying to utilize regularly is the expressive therapy. During my shopping rampage last week, one of the stores I hit was the art supply store. I bought tons of paper in various sizes, pastel chalks and oil crayons. I've managed to produce several pieces that have the family rather impressed, especially since I've never shown any artistic ability in my entire life. The only time I even have any is when I'm raging or severely depressed and I'm not about to tell them that.

Next week should mess up my already disorganized schedule even more. The kiddie only has three days of school left, but they aren't full days and she doesn't need to be there at the same time each day. The daily confusion should aid in my making my pdoc appointment on Thursday though, so I suppose I should consider it a plus.

I put all the divorce crap on hold this week, except for having to talk to the stupid fuckhead about what's going on. He was insisting that I give him all the paperwork so he can go to the help desk at the courthouse and see what they tell him. Just what I need, to pass things off on the one person on this planet guaranteed to screw everything into a bigger mess...no thank you. He just doesn't want me to consult with a lawyer, because I'm insisting he pay for it since I've paid for everything else.

Of course without even doing anything, he's created an even bigger headache for me in other areas. Either debt collectors are after him or he's in even more trouble with the law because I now have private investigators coming to my house looking for him. I just pretend I don't know him and say no one by that name has ever lived here. I'm not trying to protect his ass, I'm just trying to protect my own. Last thing I need is for them to find out I'm still married to the rat bastard and have them try to come after me for whatever it is they want him for.

With the kiddie's shortened schedule, I'll hopefully be sane enough to call the lawyer and set up an initial visit. Since I don't have time to return to court until after July 15th, it's not a pressing issue, but I realize I can only put it off for so long. I do have to face it so I can finally be legally free and clear of Mr. Shit-For-Brains.

Caught up with me

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 03:42:00 +0000

The stresses of life and lack of sleep finally caught up with me. Went to bed at midnight yesterday and slept straight through until 3:30 pm today. When I woke and looked at the clock, I thought maybe I had set the alarm and in trying to turn it off, I mistakenly changed the time as I so often do. After checking my cellphone though, the realization hit that I had actually slept that long and it was a restful sleep. No waking up hour after hour screaming in terror. No tossing and turning for hours on end, unable to fall asleep.

Wish I could say that sleep came all on its own, but I did take about 100 mgs of Seroquel. I had also been drinking prior to taking it. Didn't drink a lot of alcohol though and what I did consume was watered down with lots of ice and cranberry juice. But apparently it was just enough to help me get some much needed rest.

Since tomorrow is Monday, I'm planning to attend the morning process group at the hospital. Like I said in my last post, I'm trying to regroup. Trying to get this week off to a good start so I can start working on the things that need to get done. The primary tasks for this week all revolve around our vacation. I need to make some hotel reservations for the trip down there and back, plus I need to have my car brakes and engine inspected since we'll be driving.

Today, once I finally did wake, I managed to change my blog a little. I really like the new masthead, but there are some other changes I'd really like to make. I just got tired of trying to figure out why I couldn't get some things to work the way I wanted and rather than work myself into a tizzy, I figured it'd be best to just save the changes I'd made so far and move on to other things.

If I have the restraint, I'm planning to call the phone number for a lawyer I got through the Illinois Bar Association referral program sometime this week. I'll just explain the situation, tell her that I'm not looking for her to represent me, I just need her to review the paperwork I have and offer guidance without charging me an arm and a leg. We'll see how the week starts off though. If things turn crappy, I'm not calling.

I still haven't even decided if I'm calling the new T back. She called the house after I'd left her office on Friday and the message I received says she called "just to check in and please give her a call back to schedule our next apptmt". I'm pissed as hell that she even called my house instead of calling my cellphone. I have repeatedly told the center that they ARE NOT allowed to leave messages for me at my home number. I made that very clear to my last T there, but still they ignore my request. Surely that must be a violation of the HIPAA law.

I don't want to see the woman this week because I have to meet with my gyne and I know that will be bad news. I also don't want to meet with her next week because I see my pdoc and I already know that isn't going to go well either. I'll wait and see how things go, then I call her when I feel comfortable doing so.

Trying to regroup

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Sat, 30 May 2009 19:50:00 +0000

After the disastrous last couple of days I think I've finally calmed enough and I'm now desperately trying to regroup. At noon on Thursday, I ran out to the hardware store and stocked up on razor blades. A trip to the liquor store followed. Once I returned home, I proceeded to drown out my pain with alcohol and blood until about 4 am on Friday when I finally passed out cold. Fortunately my sister, who had accompanied me to the courthouse, volunteered to picked my daughter up from school since she knew I was in no state of mind to be driving...and she didn't even know about the drinking and cutting.

Friday was almost as crappy as Thursday because I had an appointment with my therapist. I became so upset and angry during our session that I eventually walked out on her in tears after about 20 minutes. It was apparent we weren't going to get anywhere and my only choice was to leave before I strangled the bitch. I didn't feel safe going home because I figured my T was going to call 911, so I decided to go on a shopping rampage instead. In order to avoid being tracked by credit card purchases in case the authorities were looking for me, I withdrew a shitload of cash from my account. Surprisingly, I only spent about half of what I withdrew.

I did manage to call the social worker on staff at our police department on Thursday, hoping she could provide some sort of legal referral. Unfortunately she could only point me to the agencies I've already tried to utilize but don't qualify for assistance from because I just miss their income cut off. I make about $500 too much in Social Security Disability, something everyone seems to find incredulous, as if I'm making it up. These were the same places my T was telling me I could get help from as well, which is why I became so enraged with her. I'd already told her they couldn't help me but she wouldn't listen.

At this point, even if I can figure out where to find help to figure out what the fuck the court still wants from me in terms of paperwork so I can get this fucking divorce, I haven't a clue when I could even schedule another court date. June is booked solid. Next week I meet with the gyne for more testing and to find out when I need to schedule my surgery in July. Whenever that date is, I'll be laid up for at least a week afterwards...and that's if nothing is cancerous.

A part of me keeps hoping they do find cancer, but I'm just not that lucky. So I have to screw my head back on straight and figure out where the hell to go from here.

I did send the stupid fuckhead a nasty email telling him we're still married and I didn't know when the divorce would ever be finalized since he's a fucking deadbeat piece of shit that isn't helping to pay for anything, nor is he willing to provide any assistance to help make sure things are getting done. He of course never responded back.

I just don't know what else the court fucking wants from me. I went to the help desk. I talked to the lawyer there and she assured me that everything I had was in order, and the two things I didn't have done I was able to complete before I showed up on Thursday, so I don't know why the judge says more still needs to be done. He couldn't even assure me that the two additional things he was asking for were the only two remaining things I'd need. This shouldn't be so fucking hard. It's not like anything is in dispute, or there is any property to split. There isn't even a question of child support. Everything is done. I just need the fucking judge to sign the fucking piece of paper saying I'm no longer fucking married to this fucking worthless piece of shit any more!

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Thu, 28 May 2009 15:30:00 +0000

Nothing went as planned today and I'm still fucking married to the biggest asshole on the face of the planet. I'm so done with all this bullshit I have to deal with. I can't take it any longer. I'm so sick of struggling just so I can get fucked over day after day after day. There's no point, there's no reason, there's no purpose to life when there's nothing but pain and misery. Even when I do everything that's asked of me, even when I do more than what's asked of me, it's still not right, it's still not good enough. I will never be able to meet expectations because even when I'm doing all the right things, the rules are changed, the rug gets pulled out from under me and I fail. I'm tired of failing. I'm tired of every fucking thing.

A hero of war...

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 25 May 2009 23:48:00 +0000

This is probably far more appropriate for Veteran's Day than it is for Memorial Day, but I'm going to post it today anyway because I think this is a powerful song and because we're still in the midst of a war that is killing our soldiers, as well as soldiers from other countries. Rise Against is one of my favorite bands. The following was copied from their MySpace page - myspace.com/riseagainst.

We've just completed our new video for the song "Hero Of War" off of our record, Appeal To Reason. "Hero Of War" is the story of one soldier, not all soldiers, as he battles not just the war around him, but the war that rages within. Inspired by true events, we were given the choice to either document the tribulations of these times as they unfold around us, or ignore them. To ignore these problems, in our opinion, is letting down the brave men and women who risk everything. "Hero Of War" is our attempt to lift the stigma that surrounds everything from the skyrocketing suicide rate of troops, torture, internal sexual abuse, an under-funded VA, and the growing number of military personnel fighting Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as they return home. We hope this song and this video help the simmering dialogue about these problems evolve into a rolling boil.

-Rise Against

"The notion that a radical is one who hates his country is naive and usually idiotic. He is, more likely, one who likes his country more that the rest of us, and is this more disturbed that the rest of us when he sees it debauched. He is not a bad citizen turning to crime, he is a good citizen driven to despair." H.L. Mencken

SUPPORT THE TROOPS: END THE WAR

Hero Of War

Being cautious

noreply@blogger.com (Sid) — Mon, 25 May 2009 18:45:00 +0000

I'm to the point where I'm ready to give up on ever sleeping again. Going completely insane from no sleep would be a far better option than being racked by nightmares each time I close my eyes. Every night since Wednesday I have woken up screaming numerous times and have had to turn all the lights on in order to reassure myself that what had just played out in my mind wasn't real.

In the last one I had early this morning before I finally gave up on sleep, I looked down to find I was holding the decomposing corpse of a baby in my hands. I haven't a clue whose baby it was or why I was holding it. I felt the decaying flesh coming off in my hands as the putrid smell of death hit me and I dropped the thing in the mud from which it appeared to have been pulled. Hours have passed and I still can't get the image out of my head, it's nauseating.

The emotions I so desperately wanted to feel are slow to return. Sadness is the only one that has shown itself with any regularity. Tears start flowing at the slightest provocation. I'm being cautious so as to not linger on the despondency for more than a few minutes so I don't end up wallowing in it. I try to acknowledge its existence, allow myself to briefly feel it and then let it pass. I've been successful so far, hopefully I will continue to be as effectual when the rest of my emotions begin flooding in.

I haven't mention to anyone that I've gone off my meds. I know they'd immediately disapprove rather than try to understand my concerns and be supportive of my decision. Plenty of people cope with mental illness without being medicated, I'd like to be one of them. I think I not only have more skills to maintain control but I'm also actively using them. I know I've unsuccessfully gone off my meds in the past but I realize why. The choice to do so was made abruptly without any thought of how to manage without the chemical intervention. I feel stronger and more in control than I have in the past.

The only concern I currently have about coping is on Thursday, when I go before the judge. I'm anxious about what the outcome will be. I so desperately want for him to sign the divorce decree. I'm confident that I have all the appropriate paperwork and that it is filled out correctly. I don't expect the judge to issue a continuance on the grounds that more information is needed, but I realize that is always a possibility. I just need to remain calm and listen to what he says. Thankfully my sister will be with me for emotional support. This is one instance where I think I'll allow myself to take some medication. I'm know I'm going to need some Valium to help maintain my composure and prevent a panic attack.

I don't typically grasp onto hope, but I'm going to for this. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that everything will go smoothly.