The Mass Defective

My soul aches

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 20:23:00 +0000

The weight of the hopelessness I'm lugging around is crushing and it is becoming increasingly harder to move in any direction. I desperately want to cry out in defeat, but I know the moment I do, the burden I carry and all the pain that comes along with it won't just disappear. Everything will get transferred onto my daughter's shoulders and it will then be her pain, her burden to bear.

At times I find myself getting angry for having had to endure the life I've been cursed with, but I know that's a waste of the precious little energy I have left. Getting angry won't change anything.

Other times I cry for having had the audacity at one point to want more from life, to think that I deserved more. Had I just accepted the fact that I wasn't meant to be alive when I knew full well that was my reality, I wouldn't have brought a child into the world who will now suffer the consequences of my selfishness in trying to believe I could be happy.

My soul aches to the core. I can't go on living, but I can't bear to destroy my daughter's life.

A consistent theme

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 05:47:00 +0000

Lately I can't help thinking how incredibly twisted it is that I view being a patient in the mental health system as the most traumatic event in my life. It outranks being physically, verbally and emotionally abused by my mother. It even wins out over being molested as a child. With those kinds of abuse, you quickly learn to expect the invalidation and the violation of your person, as horribly painful and shameful as it may be.

No one ever expects to be invalidated or violated by a therapist, pdoc or other mental health worker. Yet that has been a consistent theme as I've meandered my way through the system. My first experiences should have set off blaring warning alarms that I was entering dangerous territory, but again, it is not what one expects when they're seeking help.

I first met with a therapist when my daughter was about 2 months old because I was severely depressed, nonfunctional and had been diagnosed with panic attacks by an ER doctor. Her treatment recommendation? I just needed to be around other mothers and everything would be peachy keen. About a week later, I had my first psychotic break and had my ex not been home that morning, I doubt my daughter or I would be alive today.

That event led to my first ever appointment with a psychiatrist. After talking with her and answering her questions for about 20 minutes, she finally says to me in a very irritated and condescending voice, "I think you're going to be extremely difficult to work with, but I guess I'll do it anyway". I was stunned. I told her not to do me any fucking favors and I never went back.

Both those instances should have raised some serious red flags. They should have solidified my stance that there is no help out there for me. But I obviously ignored the warnings and I've continued to pay for my ignorance. When will enough be enough?

As hellish as possible

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 05:58:00 +0000

Saw my pdoc on Thursday. It was the first time he's seen me since I left the hospital on November 29th and he seemed genuinely concerned that I'm doing as poorly as I am. He blamed the medication, saying that it has only been about 2 weeks, so it hasn't fully kicked in yet. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it's not the meds at all, it's the fact that I have completely lost the will to live.

I did ask for something to calm the increasingly frequent and severe panic attacks that have been plaguing me. When he asked if I had any thoughts on what I'd like to take, I requested the Valium because it's the only thing that's really provided any relief. Instead he decided to give me Ativan, which I've been on in the past with little relief. At that time I was taking one pill every morning, swallowing it whole as instructed. This time he told me I should take one at the onset of the panic attack and dissolve it under my tongue so that it gets into my system faster.

Seems pointless to keep taking all these meds when I know the end is just around the corner, but if they offer even a 5% reduction in my suffering between now and then, I'll take it at this point. I'm so fucking tired of hurting.

Everyday I can feel the universe conspiring around me to make my final days as hellish as possible. I'm not entitled to even a fleeting moment of peace or happiness. Anything that I try to accomplish gets turned into a nightmare. It's gotten so bad that I feel as if I should just take to my bed and stay there except when my daughter needs me to drive her somewhere.

I honestly don't think I've ever wanted out of this miserable life more than I do right now.

No magic pill

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 05:56:00 +0000

It's been awhile since I last posted and there are several reasons why, mostly because I've taken up permanent residency in my head and spend my days crying, in bed or plotting out when would be a good time to die. Sometimes I'm doing all three at once.

To others, my current condition is rather disturbing and is made all the more worse when you factor in my having spent all of last week in the hospital. My daughter and therapist finally persuaded me to go in on November 23rd and I persuaded my doctor to let me go home on the 29th. Still not sure why I agreed to go in, I knew it would be a waste of time. No one can help me find the will to continue on living. There's no magic pill for that.

I had my pdoc put me back on the MAOI I was on in 2006. Back then it made me feel the best I have in the last 10 years and I was hoping for a repeat performance, even though the results only lasted for a couple of months the first time. Unfortunately the feel good effect hasn't happened this time, probably because my depression isn't being fueled by any chemical imbalance, it's being driven by complete hopelessness. I was upfront about the hopelessness with the nurse that was doing my discharge paperwork, and while she did question whether I was really ready to go home, I simply explained that hope wasn't something I'd ever find no matter how long they kept me locked up.

Being on an MAOI right now probably isn't a good thing. I find myself crossing the line in hopes of "accidentally" inducing a fatal increase in blood pressure, a dangerous side effect when an MAOI is mixed with a whole host of foods and medications. I disregarded the warning on the Sudafed box and took it several times, but just my luck, no reaction. My pdoc kept me on Buspar despite it being on the list of forbidden meds and I've had no reaction to that either. Wonder what it'll take. I realize I'm playing Russian Roulette, but I honestly don't care any more.

My therapist finally comprehends just how thin the thread I'm hanging by is. Someone else finally understands just how beyond hopeless I feel. I guess she talked to her supervisor about my treatment plan and explained to him that I'm in no position mentally to be setting goals that require change. That there's no point in focusing on change when the basic will to live isn't even there. She managed to par my treatment down to just helping me get from one day to the next.

I honestly don't think I'm going to survive much longer and I really want to let my daughter know how terminal my condition really is, but everyone keeps advising against that. I'm trying to understand their objections, so I haven't said anything yet. I know the news would be extremely shocking for her to hear, but it would offer a chance for her prepare, to get some closure, instead of just coming home one day and suddenly being slammed with the news that her mom is dead.

I don't know. I feel as if I've finally reached the end and there's nothing left.

Parred down

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 06:20:00 +0000

When you get lost inside your own head, it's hard to tackle tasks outside yourself. The subsequent guilt that follows only adds to the misery and increases the withdrawal. There's so much I should be doing, but just forcing myself out of bed each day robs me of all energy that I haven't the strength to do anything else.

There's cleaning that needs to be done, bills that need to be paid, important phone calls that need to be made...yet I'm ignoring all of it, secretly hoping it will all just disappear. My days have been parred down to permit only a minimal level of functioning because I can't tolerate anything more. No enjoyment is derived from the things I once loved. Anything that requires concentration and comprehension, like reading other blogs, has pretty much been shelved.

I'm so looking forward to next week because there is no school, no therapy, no other commitments; and I can stay in bed even more than the 12 hours a day I currently am. My daughter had hoped I'd be in the hospital so she told all her teachers I wouldn't be there for any parent/teacher conferences, thus relieving me of what would have been a difficult and stressful commitment to keep. I'll still contact all her teachers to see how she's doing (even though I already know cuz she tells me), but it'll be via email so I don't actually need to verbally converse with anyone.

I've been invited to my sister's house for Thanksgiving, but I haven't yet decided if I'll go. Being friendly and interacting with others seems so far beyond my capabilities right now. My daughter has already made plans to spend the holiday with her boyfriend, which she's done the last several years, and I'm fine with that. At least when she's with his family, there are quite a few other people her age she can hang out with.

If I could just curl up and die right now, I'd be the happiest person on the planet. Unfortunately that's not an option and so staying in bed as much as possible will be my only salvation until I can give myself permission to call it quits.

Bits and pieces

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 05:03:00 +0000

The double life I lead is wearing thin and as that happens, bits and pieces of the real me are exposed to those that have been none the wiser for years. Glimpses of the insanity within get put on display in front of people I had hoped would never learn the truth.

My cracked facade allowed some very delusional remarks to seep through recently. Since it was in an online community, no one knows that what I said was fueled by the beyond intoxicated state I was in. In the grand scheme of things though, knowing I was drunk isn't going to change anyone's perception of me and what I said.

I was so drunk that I'm not even sure what entirely transpired and therefore don't know just how bad the situation really is in order to rectify the damage. I'm torn between never going back there, confessing and apologizing for what I do remember, and just disappearing for awhile til things blow over and people have forgotten.

If my therapist or pdoc knew about this situation, it'd be more ammunition to use against me in their desperate search for the means to involuntarily commit me to the hospital. They haven't yet been able to get me to even hint at the fact that I may possibly be a danger to myself, so their hands are tied in how much they can intervene. My therapist is smart enough to at least realize that even if there is a plan, there will be no immediate action if for no other reason than there is no one else here to look after my daughter.

Of course her attention quickly shifted to when I'll be able to see her next. She said Monday of next week the clinic is having a mandatory paperwork day, so she won't be able to see any clients. The next several weeks after that I won't be able to see her because the psychiatrist that usually works on Mondays will be leaving the country and because of some fucked up Medicare or Medicaid rule, one is required to be in the office in order for her to see patients.

She kept insisting that I switch my schedule and come in to see her on Wednesday or Saturday, the only other days she works. When I refused, she became increasingly concerned. Eventually she gave me a card for our next visit, which will be December 21st, but said she'd call me every Monday until that date to check in with me at our regular time. I haven't answered my phone or responded to text messages in over a month, so I hope she doesn't seriously believe I'm going to pick up when she calls.

They will not win the war

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 04:09:00 +0000

"The crux of psychiatry & psychology is that they both view the subjective world of supposed insanity through the misperception of objectivity. - The Mass Defective"

With that one sentence, I think I've finally given voice to exactly how I feel about the whole mental health establishment and all the hypocrisy that exists within it. These are not exact sciences despite what the proponents would like the masses to believe. They are built on an extremely splintered foundation of theories and hypotheses, with a minuscule portion of the cracks having been cemented shut with solid evidence.

Psychiatry is all about control and psychology is about manipulation, thus allowing no room for opposition. Because I refuse to blindly follow along and submit to their conjecture (the constant accusation of being willful instead of willing is clear proof of that), I'm labeled a difficult patient and given the scarlet letter of diagnoses, Borderline Personality Disorder. I feel as if all my questioning is rattling the shaky foundation upon which their belief system about mental health/illness rests and they are scared to death that I'm going to force it to crumbled if it turns out I'm actually right about my situation.

Yet the manipulation has taken root in my head to the point that I cannot extricate myself from this flawed system where all my thoughts are seen as wrong and distorted, where I'm viewed as less intelligent with no insight. Treated as less than human.

They may have won this battle, but they will not win the war.

Welcome to my world

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 05:24:00 +0000

My will to live is tanking fast and I'm unsure what the hell to do. I don't want to go into the damn hospital yet again. Past experience has shown there's no point to that type of intervention. Even if I wanted to, that's not an option right now because there is no one, and I mean NO ONE, here to look after my daughter. I'm on my own for the next week and a half.

The visions playing out in my head are frightening and easily within my grasp, but there are those fucking obligations which prevent me from acting and making any of them a reality. No one to care for my daughter, a choir concert tomorrow, a college visit on Saturday, etc. I'm forced to hang on when all I want to do is give up.

I'm sure others would view that as a positive, ie: the obligations keep me from supposedly making the rash decision of ending my life. Given how many fucking years suicide has been on my mind, trust me, it no longer falls into the category of "rash" decisions.

Tried reaching out to a "friend" of mine earlier, to talk and let her know that I was struggling. This "friend" has reached out to me many times and I have always been there for her, yet she ignored me. As the Sick Puppies wrote....

Welcome to my world
Where everyone I ever need
Always ends up leaving me alone

Another lesson burned
And I'm drowning in the ashes
Kicking
Screaming
Welcome to my world

I don't know why I bother, I honestly don't.

Veteran's Day

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

In honor of Veteran's Day, I'm reposting an entry I did back in May. I may not support the war, but I sure as hell support all the troops from around the world that are risking their lives on a daily basis for the freedoms so many take for granted. May they all return home soon, safe and sound. Thank you for your courage and sacrifice.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

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

Obligations

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:28:00 +0000

Insanity is being so damn rigid in your thinking that obligations to others supercede your ability to kill yourself. I'm tethered to a life I can't stand to be living any longer by these damn obligations that my head has determined are more important than my own happiness, my own freedom from hell on earth. That's beyond fucking insane.

I straight up asked my therapist yesterday to please tell me I'm wasting her time so that I could give myself permission to quit. I'm so fucking sick of this sense of obligation that forces me to continue going week after week despite knowing that it isn't helpful and never will be. The obligation stems from everyone telling me I need to be in therapy. I need to do this for my daughter. Blah, Blah, Blah.

She wouldn't say it, even though we both know it's true. Aren't therapists supposed to be there to help? If this is what I would find helpful, why couldn't she just say four little words..."you're wasting my time". I wasn't looking for permission to give up on life entirely, I just desperately need to stop therapy and something in my brain will not allow me to do that unless someone else gives me the okay first. Instead she said that she wasn't going to give up on me. She wants me to keep showing up every week, whether or not I ever say another word to her.

Why can't I just say fuck it all, take control and just fucking quit on my own? Why do I need someone else's okay? When and how did this sick, twisted adherence to obligations even take hold? I suppose at one point it probably gave me a sense of control, now all it does is control me and drive me crazy.

Nothing feels worse to me than being betrayed by my own brain...nothing.

Surge of sadness

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 14:42:00 +0000

It's a rare occasion when I'm out of bed before noon, so I'm extremely irritated that it's not even 9 am and I'm wide awake even though I brought this upon myself. I decided I'm getting off Seroquel even if it kills me, so I've been taking half doses for the last couple of days. Hopefully at some point my brain will realize it isn't ever going to get any more than that and will readjust to allow me to sleep 8 hours on the half dose. When it does, I'll halve it again and continue.

Spurned on by the lack of sleep, my depression has progressed from a numb nuisance to a surge of sadness. I'm no longer annoyed that I can't feel anything, because suddenly I'm feeling everything. Every pent up emotion I haven't been able to access since March/April is bubbling to the surface. It's both a relief and a worry. I know all this needs to come out, but there also needs to be balance so I don't get swept away into the sea of misery.

Spent the better part of the weekend reading my old paper journals trying to find some shred of evidence that there is more to my insanity than just depression. Searching for signs that any of the other labels thrown at me - Bipolar II, Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD, etc. - might actually apply. Didn't find anything to corroborate any of those diagnoses. No signs, no symptoms prior to being told I suffer from this or that. All I found was me trying to pigeon-hole myself into each diagnosis AFTER it was tossed my way, especially the BPD, which was rather disturbing.

The experience has left me with even more mixed and suspicious feelings about the whole mental health establishment than ever. My journals clearly show the greatest deterioration in my mental health happened AFTER I'd started receiving treatment, not before. I was moderately depressed going in, but after screwing around with medications and therapy, I'm completely nonfunctional. How does that happen? What the fuck did these people do to my mind? And is it reversible?

Grave injustice

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 03:29:00 +0000

A grave injustice was inflicted upon my daughter by her school and it has me beyond fucking pissed off. For the second year in a row, she was shafted and not inducted into her school's chapter of the National Honor Society. Supposedly the reason is because she got too many negative reviews from teachers. Unfortunately they won't reveal the names of the teachers, nor will they verify that these teachers have ever even had any contact with my daughter in order to be able to offer a "sound, professional judgment" as is required per the NHS rules.

In the past, particularly last year, we had a lot, and I mean A LOT, of problems with just the attendance office alone confusing my daughter with another student who shares the same name, despite the fact that this other kid is MALE! Even though I would always provide her student ID#, which was clearly different from this other kid's, they were still screwing up her attendance records, marking her truant for days I called her out sick or marking her truant for classes she had attended. It got to the point where her counselor told us to stop calling the attendance office and call him instead any time my daughter would be absent.

Given that experience, and the fact that I've heard nothing but praise from all of her teachers about what a wonderful student she is and how they wish they had more like her, we strongly believe that the teachers giving her bad reviews are mistaking her for this other student and are teachers that haven't a clue who my daughter is since she's never been a student in any of their classes.

Yet we have no recourse. There is no appeals process available and she is just screwed out of an opportunity she richly deserves. Academically she outranks at least 50% of the students that were accepted into NHS. When it comes to volunteer and activity hours, she knows for a fact that she has more than twice as many as most of her friends that are in NHS and she volunteers on her own time, not because it's required for certain classes like many of the other students.

The response we've been getting from her teachers that are now learning she wasn't inducted is one of shock and disbelief. Even students that she is less than friendly with that are in NHS are expressing their own shock. The principal of the school even believes my daughter should be in NHS because he knows her from when she was on the student advisory council, but yet he won't intervene on her behalf because he says his hands are tied.

Another kicker in this story is that the teacher that oversees NHS at her school, and is the one that sent her the rejection letters both this year and last, is the very teacher that adores her so much and thinks so highly of her that she wrote a glowing letter of recommendation, a letter my daughter needed for her application to Northwestern University!

There are serious red flags going off that these supposedly bad reviews are not legit, and surely someone has the power to say "wait a minute, we need to do something", even if there is no official appeals process in the bylaws.

Oh, and to add insult to injury, she actually had to sit through the entire induction ceremony and watch as all these other students received an honor she should have gotten. She's in chamber choir and they sing the National Anthem at the beginning of the ceremony and the school's fight song at the end. Sure she could have refused to go, but that would have meant letting down the rest of the choir and she was not willing to do that.

I cry every time I think about this situation. My daughter has had to overcome so many major obstacles in life to get to where she is today and instead of being rewarded for it, she's being fucked over. This could potentially hurt her chances at winning merit scholarships because she'll be up against students of the same caliber as herself academically, and being in NHS (or not) could be THE deciding factor on who gets the money.

My daughter just wants me to let it go. She says since the induction ceremony has passed there's nothing we can do to get her inducted now, even if we submit a formal complaint to the national level (all they'll do at national is investigate the chapter and make sure they are adhering to the rules in the future, they won't actually do anything to help an individual student that's been wrongly rejected). She tells me that if I continue to ruminate about it and continually get upset by it, then she will as well and then guess what? They win. She will have allowed them to beat her down and make her feel inferior, something she refuses to let that happen.

Even in the face of adversity and a glaring injustice, my daughter wants to take the high road and be the better person. That right there is a HUGE testament to her character and honor. Too bad she can't list that on college and scholarship applications.

Chugging along

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 23:47:00 +0000

Despite feeling as if the world is moving in slow motion, I still keep chugging along. Every task seems impossible, especially dragging myself out of bed, but when I'm finally successful (usually by 2 pm), I make sure the first thing I do is clean up in some way...be it wash my hair and brush my teeth or get in the shower, and then I get dressed. It doesn't seem worth the amount of energy I expend, but I somehow feel that if I can delude myself into thinking I'm doing something worthwhile for myself, maybe I'll eventually be deluded into thinking I'm going to survive the current storm.

The anxiety continues to fester and any little stressor sends me over the edge. I spend 50% of my waking hours crying over one thing or another. Luckily I can hide in my room without anyone asking "what's wrong", as if they really care to hear that I'm failing at life yet again.

Lack of money has been a huge problem as the days tick away, getting ever closer to my daughter's 18th birthday and graduation. Yesterday I learned that we will continue to receive the extra amount from Social Security we've been receiving for her until she graduates, however beginning in February, instead of depositing the money into my account, they will now give it directly to her. I don't understand their logic with that since the whole reason they even pay us that money is so that I can take care of her. The only thing paying her will do is complicate getting the bills paid since she doesn't have a checking account.

One of my biggest concerns beyond that is come June 1st, we lose a third of our income when Social Security stops paying the extra amount for her, but I certainly don't lose a third of my bills, so I haven't a clue how we're going to get by. My daughter will still be living with me full time until she heads off to college and even if she's lucky enough to find a summer job, it will only be part time and won't pay much. Guess it'll be back to food stamps, a thought I don't relish only because that means having to go to the local DHS office which always triggers a massive panic attack...even when I do take Valium.

Anyway, tomorrow is Halloween and I'm going to spend it with my daughter, her boyfriend, my sister and my nieces. I'm not particularly up for socializing, but some of the feedback I got from this post made me realize that spending time with my nieces is something that's very important to me and I know it's important to them as well. So I'm going to sleep in as I usually do, get up and get showered, then head over to my sister's for some quality time with her little ones. Even if it only temporarily improves my mood, I suppose that's better than not at all. Plus I know it'll have a big impact on them that their Auntie Sid was there to go trick or treating with them.

Out of ideas

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 23:11:00 +0000

I'm not sure exactly what I said in order to walk out of my T's office on Monday, but it obviously had to sound believable because despite really wanting me to go inpatient, she let me leave. For awhile she was getting downright pushy, hounding me on the issue, however when I gave her no ammunition to use against me, she was forced to back down.

I readily admit that I am starting to struggle, but I'm not in need of hospitalization. I just need sleep, lots of sleep...and I need something other than alcohol to kill the anxiety, which is worsening by the day. I've tried relaxation tapes, deep breathing, tons of different distractions, but the anxiety continues to grow and strengthen. It's been a long time since I've had to deal with this level of distress and I've run out of ideas on how to cope.

It pisses me off that my pdoc will no longer prescribe any benzos. I was taking the Valium as prescribed 99% of the time for quite a few years, yet I'm being penalized for that 1% when I made some bad choices. I acknowledge I made a huge mistake earlier this year, but should I really be forced to suffer through agonizing levels of anxiety for the rest of my life as a result? How helpful is that for recovery?

Next week when I see my therapist, I guess I'll ask her to put the wheels in motion so I can have a consult with one of their psychiatrists. I really don't feel comfortable switching pdocs and I have no idea how long it'll take before I can get an appointment, but if that's what it takes in order to get treatment for my anxiety, then I guess I have to take that necessary step. Switching pdocs beats drowning myself in liquor or taking up other bad habits in order to cope.

Panicky

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 01:47:00 +0000

Intense anxiety keeps washing over me in waves. One minute I'm fine and the next I'm drowning in panic, unable to breathe. I'd like to take some Valium, but my supply is limited and I feel as if though I should save it for when I really need it.

Tomorrow, if I don't end up backing out, I have an appointment with my therapist, which might explain why I'm so panicky. I don't want her to overreact to the things I may or may not tell her. From the outside looking in, my situation is far more scarier and dire than it is from my perspective.

If I do go, I'm going to be on guard because I already feel as if I'll be walking into a trap. I'll leave early and make sure everything appears safe before I go in the building. I'll also watch the receptionists and see if they're acting suspiciously. The first sign of anything out of the ordinary and I'm leaving.

People try to be so sneaky and I've fallen victim to their deceit before, but I refuse to let it happen again. As the saying goes...fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

Shaky grasp

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:58:00 +0000

I can't seem to extricate my mind from its fixation on doing some serious self-harm. From the moment I wake, I'm continuously bombarded with thoughts and images of what my head would love to do to my body, if only the remnants of sanity would step aside and allow it to happen. In hopes of appeasing the beast within to gain even a momentary reprieve from the barrage, I broke down and cut last night.

Since I have not engaged in that behaviour in quite awhile and I wasn't driven to do it by the rage that usually fuels the need, I wasn't sure what to expect. Unfortunately it did not produce the result I'd hoped for. Instead of feeling a sense of relief, I began to feel more and more inhuman because the liquid flowing from the cuts did not look like blood. It wasn't the deep crimson color one normally associates with blood. Christmas red is what comes to mind, that bright, bright red. It also didn't have the usual consistency, it was too watery and would not clot.

Now I'm not only struggling to ward off the visions playing over and over in my head, but I have to listen to the voice inside saying it was right, I don't really exist. I'm trying my best to hold onto what I believe reality might be, but it's a very shaky grasp.

At times I lose control of myself to the voices in my head. I'll be in the midst of a conversation with someone when I suddenly hear an inappropriate comment spoken and realize it came from me, yet I don't remember even having the thought, let alone forming the words. One example was my sister making a comment about how cute my new haircut was and I replied that it is cute, I'll make a very pretty corpse. I think I was more startled and disturbed at hearing that than she was.

I don't quite understand what's going on, and I certainly can't explain it to anyone else. I feel as if I should just keep my mouth shut and say nothing until this entire episode has passed.

Pull was too strong

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 03:22:00 +0000

As if driven by some unseen force, I made my way through Walmart today, a store I rarely venture into because sheer panic usually sets in before I can even get out of my car. I'd gone to get wiper blades but walk out with a knife instead. The pull was too strong, the voice too loud.

Logic tells me I should get rid of it, but the mere thought of doing so creates a tremendous surge of anxiety, unlike any I've felt in a long time, and I become paralyzed. How can the idea of disposing of an object I know is solely meant to inflict self harm be so traumatic that it sends me into an intense panic attack? You'd think the opposite would be true. You'd think I'd panic knowing it's in my possession and what I will eventually use it for.

Guess that's a sign of a truly sick mind, though I would say I'm feeling fine. I'm not suicidal at all. I did down the bottle of wine as I said I would on Monday and I did manage to sleep until about 5 pm on Tuesday. How it got to be Wednesday already, I don't know. I just hope I remember tomorrow is Thursday when I wake up because I made an appointment to go get my hair done.

I also hope I can make it through Friday, which is always the absolute worst day of the year for me. The kiddie and I made plans to go out, but she has a pretty severe case of the flu (thankfully not the swine version) and I'm not sure she'll be up for running around downtown. Hopefully she'll be better by then. I really want to be out & about where I can turn off my cellphone and be completely inaccessible.

I hate life

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 22:35:00 +0000

Why is it that when I'm emotionally unstable, everything around me goes to shit too? It's a never ending cycle. This isn't even stuff that would normally happen that maybe I'm just unable to deal with because I am in a precarious state. The most random, bizarre things keep happening. It seriously feels like the gods are conspiring to make sure my life sucks more ass than it did the day before. For instance, the sewer suddenly backed up into the house at the end of last week for no apparent reason. Even the plumber that came out could offer no explanation because the pipe wasn't blocked.

My favorite happened today. I had to drive from Chicago to the Iowa border at 4 am to pick my daughter up because she got slammed hard with the flu while on a trip out there with her choir for a music festival.

I was so beyond livid and so incredibly tired of dealing with all this crap that I called my therapist at 5:30 am to cancel my appointment. Even though I would be back in time, I wasn't up for driving out to her office after driving 6 hours to and from Iowa on no sleep and I'd need to get my daughter to the doctor sometime after we got back. I forget what I said in my message other than I'm so ready to give up on life and that I didn't know if I'd ever bother to reschedule.

She called me back when she got into the office and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. When I said no, she tried to get me to contract for safety. I said I wasn't making any promises to anyone. I told her I managed to get home without slamming my car into an overpass at 90 miles per hour, which was the only thing on my mind the entire way there and back, so kudos to me.

My T managed to convince me to at least schedule an appointment for next Monday, though I told her I wasn't sure if I'd bother to show. She really wants me to come in and see her on Wednesday, but I'm not sure that's a good idea.

Tonight I plan to cuddle up with a nice bottle of Merlot and a whole lot of Seroquel. I plan on sleeping the entire day tomorrow since the kiddie will be staying home from school. If I stay asleep, I won't be able to act on the overwhelming desire to grab a kitchen knife and stab the fucking shit out of myself. I hate life. I truly do.

Better huh?

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 21:37:00 +0000

Yesterday I called and cancelled my therapy appointment for Monday. I tried to convince myself it was okay to cancel because I had something more important to do, visit a college campus with my daughter since she will be off school for Columbus Day. The excuse was a feeble attempt on my part to try and assuage the guilt that comes whenever I back out of a commitment, but I knew when I made the call my daughter was already making other plans for Monday and a college visit wasn't on the list.

The reality is, I can't handle therapy. I find it nonproductive and traumatizing, but I can't figure out how to give myself permission to quit when everyone keeps telling me that therapy is what I need in order to get better. That it's what I must do for my daughter. It's just getting harder and harder to even care anymore.

The voices are back, shouting their derogatory remarks all day and night. A pall has fallen over my world, making everything appear dark, dull and lifeless. I'm beyond exhausted. My body feels like it's turning to stone. Each movement more difficult than the last. Lifting my head off the pillow becomes a chore that doesn't seem worth the exertion.

Better huh? What if there is no better? What if this is all my life will ever be...a constant struggle to get from one breath to the next?

Feedback needed

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 23:23:00 +0000

I don't normally do this, but I'd like to ask all my readers for some feedback on the following questions...

- How do you think your life would be different if you did not have a mental illness?

- What would you want to be doing with your life that you aren't currently doing because your mental health has interfered with those dreams or goals?

- What constitutes "a life worth living" to you?

These questions can apply to a variety of areas of life - family, friends, hobbies, career - so think about those different areas when answering. If you don't have a mental illness, you can use any physical limitation that may have altered the plans you had for your life.

I'm not looking for off the wall, "if money were no object", type answers. I can imagine the things I'd be doing with my time if I were independently wealthy. It's easy to dream big. The problem is, I can't dream small. I can't dream realistically. And that's why I'm asking these questions.

My therapist, just like others in the past, has asked me to think about what kind of life I'd like to be living if I weren't sick. I've never had an answer to that question. Even when I wasn't disabled by my illnesses, I was just trudging through the cesspool of life. I'd make decisions without ever thinking them through because I had no direction, no goals, and then deal with the consequences after.

I can't grasp the concept of what a life worth living even looks like because I have never wanted life. I've been trying to grab hold of death for as long as I can remember that life is unimaginable to me. Right now I live for my daughter, to take care of her needs. I don't live for myself and I know that's a huge obstacle I have to overcome if I ever hope to get better.

So I'd appreciate any and all replies to the questions I've asked. I'd like to try to catch a glimpse of what life could possibly be, even if it's through the eyes of others. Maybe that will help me begin to formulate a plan, some tiny goals, for my own life.

Either leave your response in the comments or email me at the_mass_defective@yahoo.com

Thanks in advance to all who reply!

Soul-sucking depression

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 21:32:00 +0000

How do you describe what it feels like so others even vaguely comprehend the recurring, soul-sucking depression? The bleakness that smothers every inch of your being until you're suffocating on a stagnant darkness, visible only to yourself, that leaves you feeling beyond desperate for a quick ending, any ending, that finally obliterates all the years of pain and torment. It all seems so vivid in my world, but no one around me can seem to fathom the level of misery I'm drowning in.

Once again they've started in with the "fake it until you make it" spiel. "Do something different." I guess I'm the only one who remembers that I finally took that route last year. I also seem to be the only one that recalls exactly how detrimental it turned out to be....three hospital stays in two months, a whole lot of binge drinking and a suicide attempt.

Why does this hit every single year? Why does it even hit at all? What happened six years ago that completely destroyed my ability to maintain some semblance of sanity on a regular basis? After all these years, why haven't I found an effective coping mechanism, one that doesn't involve self harm? Why does it become so impossible to do even the simplest of tasks, like brushing my teeth? Why am I so cut off from my emotions that instead of being able to feel them, they are manifesting themselves as physical symptoms...headaches, fatigue, nausea, etc?

I'm so tired of this roller coaster, yet I don't know what else to do, what else to try, in order to get it to stop.

I want to cry

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 00:04:00 +0000

...but the tears won't come.

Something needs to break through the void before the rage does and for once I wish for it to be the sadness. I desperately want to feel it, need to feel it. Every inch of my being tells me this is what must happen, but how do you feel anything when there simply is nothing?

Don't believe I'm real

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 04:29:00 +0000

Another week slipped by without a word written. I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. I really don't want to end up deserting my blog altogether, but if feels as if that's the direction I'm heading in, at least at this point.

It also seems as if time has been frozen and September will never end. I keep looking at the calendar waiting to change it to October, but that day never comes. Instead of a mere 25 days, it feels as if this month has lasted 25 years. Probably a side effect of the disconnect I've been struggling with. My daughter seems to think September is speeding by, as do a few other people I've mentioned the lag to.

I've discussed what's going on with my therapist and she's just happy I haven't cut or had anything to drink, as if those are the first things I turn to when the pervasive feeling of emptiness returns. Obviously the woman still knows nothing about me. During these moments, self injury rarely ever enters the picture. I'm too afraid to cut because I don't believe I'm real, that I actually exist. I don't want to risk having that fear validated by cutting and finding there is no blood inside of me.

As for drinking, there's absolutely no desire for that. The bottle of jack remains on my desk untouched. The wine is still sitting in the wine rack unchilled. The case of beer is on the floor and still full. Another example of why I can't possibly be an alcoholic...I'm not "powerless" over the stuff. I have bottles of alcohol sitting around the house all the time and never touch them. Never have to fight off any urges because there are none. A true alcoholic would be hard pressed to resist the temptation, especially the bottle of jack that's always right there in front of me as I sit at my desk.

A friend mentioned talking to my pdoc about a change of meds, but I don't see that as a viable option considering I don't want to even be on any meds at all. There isn't anything that's going to make me feel whole again, make me feel human. I'm just going to ride this out and see where it takes me. I don't have the life inside right now to do much else.

Unreal

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 22:02:00 +0000

Normally when I go MIA for over a week, it usually means I'm in the hospital. That wasn't the case this time around though. I've just been at a complete loss for words. On the rare occasion when I could think of something to write about, the desire to sit down and generate a post wasn't there.

I've sunk into my own little hole of isolation where I'm not very cognizant of the world around me. Ask me what day it is and chances are I'll give you the wrong answer. Ask me if it's morning, afternoon or night and I'd get that wrong too. I've missed appointments and shown up days early for others. I'm a week ahead of everyone else, yet also a week behind.

I feel unreal, almost inhuman. I often wonder if I'm the only one living in my reality. Wonder if everyone and everything else is just a figment of my imagination. That's how powerful my disconnect from the world feels. It's as if I stopped ceasing to exist sometime over the past two weeks, but somehow I'm still in the midst of it all. I don't know, it's hard to explain. Maybe I was never here to begin with...

Feel the pull

the_mass_defective@yahoo.com (Sid) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 22:23:00 +0000

I'm at a loss for words. I've started at least half a dozen posts in the last couple of days but ended up deleting them all. The thoughts seemed too coerced, too contrived, lacking emotion...

And that's the problem. My entire life feels that way, not just my thoughts. Since my daughter returned to school, it feels like I've fallen into an emotional void. Lightning bolts of rage flash out from time to time, but other than that, there's nothing.

Despite the best of intentions, I end up spending more time in bed than doing the things I feel I should be. I've wanted to clean the house all week, but it took until today to muster the willpower to clean part of the bathroom and do a little dusting. There's no reason for me to have put that and other stuff off all week. There's no reason I couldn't have finished the cleaning today. I feel as if I'm just being lazy, but not really.

I can feel the pull of the undertow, the depression nipping at my heels trying to drag me down, and I'm not sure what direction to go in. I've seen where faking it has gotten me year after year. What other options are there?