Category: Medication

The Best Laid Plans…….

Okay, here’s the sitch with not going to school this semester.

After Mom’s little tirades and big tirades about how I wasn’t earning my keep, how everyone keeps a 40 hour a week job and comes home and cooks dinner, does a load of laundry or two and then cleans and picks up after themselves……then swinging over to I’ll be too scared with you sleeping in a camp site with a knife for protection, they’ll just take it away from you and slice you open.  They enjoy stuff like that…..You don’t care about me.  I’m afraid I’m going to die alone and even with you here, you can’t even be helpful to me for that…..  I’m going to stop now, my head is starting to hurt.  Even with all her blustering I was set on going to school.  I figured if I could work from home on Thursday, my sister coming in the evening to take care of her I could skip the traffic and nap before class and then with chemical aids like 5 hr. energy and soda I should be able to stay awake on the way home and not have to stay at the state park.  Easy peasy.  She wasn’t going to talk me out of going to school because she was scared.  I was kind of looking forward to being that close to the beach to hear it in the morning when I got up.

I talked to my bestest friend in the world and she just simply said “There are too many moving parts to that plan to work well,” and I realized she was right.  I think if she said the exact same thing as what my Mom said I probably would have listened to her.  Yes, that sounds like an immature reaction on my end, but I know my BFF wants what’s best for me whereas my Mom just wants whats best for her, so I don’t trust any of her advise.  I realize that is part of her narcissism, and I know in some ways she can’t control it.  She has to realize something is wrong with herself before she can start changing, and she will never see the error of her ways.  So after more thought and prayer and thinking as to what I could do to move my plans forward if I didn’t attend school.

So here’s the plan:

  1. I pay for my Continuing Education Credits
  2. I study and pass the test
  3. I pay the money and fill out the form
  4. I get my certificate back

With my certificate in hand by January, I will be able to look for a blood letting job and sign up for the online course for medical terminology and put on my resume that I know my education wasn’t very accredited but I am going to an accredited college that will teach me the right stuff, and by being so proactive in my education it will make me look like a good egg.  Everyone wants good eggs, bad eggs smell to high heaven, and even if you get rid of them their odor lingers for days/weeks/months to come.

One thing I found out while researching state parks for California.  They have a special pass for the disabled.  You pay $2.50 for the form processing and then you get 1/2 off your cost for camping and day use of the park.  I looked at there definition of “disability” and depression is one of them.  I realize that as things are getting better for me in that arena I will need to apply for it soon while I’m still in this maelstrom of emotions.  I want to start camping.  Glamping for longer times in the wilderness, but camping for weekends anyway.  I can afford that, it might be all that I will be able to afford for vacations in my life so I might as well embrace it now and get the stuff that I want and need for the wilderness experience.

Playing in Traffic

Just when I think things are going well the urge to go play in traffic and/or the compulsion to play Death-By-Chocolate reasserts it’s self into my consciousness. What’s really frustrating is I’ve made the decision to go down another step on the Lexapro and now because of these ugly specters I’m second guessing my recovery in general and abstract. I’m still going to reduce, of course. I won’t know that I’ll unravel unless I start pulling at the threads holding me together. I can always go back up if I find myself standing in the middle of the street.

Lulu Blue

My car is blue, and I call her Lulu.   Lulu has been having motivational problems.  The engin is fine, the tires are fine, the brakes are fine, the transmission, on the other hand, is whining like a school-boy after getting his family jewels rearranged for the first time.  It seemed like the perfect metaphor to depression for me.  I recognize the engagement of the mind, racing and racing, going around and around in circles, having everything needed for forward motivation.  Sometimes jolting forward and squealing the tires, sometimes just listlessly motoring along praying to get from point D to point E on the journey of life.  Feeling like you’re never going to get to H no matter how long you try.  Don’t even think about J, that’s completely out of the question.  I consulted a professional and he told me t get this stuff called Lucas Slip-Stop.  So, I picked up a bottle and poured it into Lulu’s transmission.  And we got traction again!  There was motivation without whining.  I had my Lulu back.

How is this like me….Seriously, you need me to spell it out.  I feel like my beat up old Chevy in so many ways, and it’s like the physical incarnation of my emotional persona.  I feel every single mile of the more than 200k miles it’s carried me through, and seriously, I’m tired of carrying it around with me. (Not Lulu though, I love Lulu, that car runs on tithing blessings).  Because of the weight of all the baggage, the dirt, the grim, gunk and other deteriorating factors in my life, I am weighed down, unmotivated to move forward.  Enter Lexapro, the pharmaceutical equivalent of Slip-Stop.  It arressted my decline and with increased use and improvement I’m able to engage better with the world.  I can even contemplate navigating my own life, I think for the first time.

Like an idiot I kept fogetting to take my social meds over this week.  And trust me it doesn’t take long for the seratonin to drain out like transmission fuid through a faulty seal.  Stuff happens at work and I’m spinning and upset, frustrated and incapable of focusing.  I was even in enough of a snit to want to quit today.  I thought I progressed enough so when something so predictable happens I shouldn’t be phased by it, it’s an indication that something is low or in need of topping off. The best and most remarkable thing is that even though I’m angry and I keep having to have to take refuge in my “happy place”  I’m still fundamentally, deep-down, hopefully happy. I’m a little worried that I won’t ever be able to get off these meds to be normal…or to what my semblance of normal should be…..but I know that I can and will get through it.

I’ve purhased a few new books:

Darkness Visible

Fixing depression through mindfulness

Jesus Wept

And another one I don’t knw the name of right now.

I recognize that I’m out of the darkness of the void but being firmly planted here on the bleeding edge of it is scary and I’m aware it’s going to take work, preparation and in sme cases a heroic effort not to fall back into depression’s strong, locked, comfortable ever-waiting arms.

The Ups, Downs and Pratfalls of Anger

So, I’ve been off my anti-anxiety pills for close to a week now, and I have to say, I’m doing much better than I anticipated.  I’ve also, for some inexplicable reason, stopped taking all my mental and physical meds, I guess to see what happens.  I’m grumblely, meaning when I’m asked to do something I grumble and moan behind the backs of the people that are demanding it of me.  Sometimes I put things away rather abruptly, but I’m not harsh to the other person.  Grant it, I’m not very mobile and I really resent the idea that I’m still expected to clean and play step-and-fetch it.

But the up feeling that I have from the fall-out of the whole “I’m ashamed of the way you look” BS, after my shopping, and I still stroke my purse like it’s a wonder in my life, I’m still feeling over all, very good about myself and about what I did.  True, I still haven’t hung up my new clothes, they aren’t the symbols of my up-yours like I thought they’d be, but rather a side effect.  I’m never going to change who I am innately to please two people who are so narrow in their view of life they can’t abide anyone or anything that doesn’t fit within their known universe.

See, that ranting, above, that’s that down side of not having my pills and I’m so easily startled, and I jump every time I hear Moms voice.  I don’t want to be around her, and I’m rather pissed off at C.  She knows that I’m sort of just limping along in life right now, and that I still need to take care of my mom, does she call?  Of course not.  She left her phone at work so now if we need her we have to call her husband, as she informed us as they were on their way out to Kareoke….And she says I’m embarrassing?

I guess the biggest side-effect of not being level on my meds was the swan dive I sort of took out the garage door.  I had just come home from the dentist appointment that wasn’t, did some shopping and was going to snuggle with Sammy for a while before Mother got up.  But she heard I was home and was demanding breakfast.  I told her what her options were and she felt so put out that we didn’t have bagels left, and would lower her standards to English muffins and as I was going out to the freezer to get them, wearing my reading glasses, which really aren’t for wandering around the house in, I stepped on an aluminum can I didn’t see and slid off the step, I sort of caught myself, then at the very last minute I lost it and my left foot turned in.

So, yea, I’m still feeling euphoric from the shopping spree, but I guess I’m still a danger to myself without the meds.  They better get here soon, I don’t want to know what will happen if I go for two weeks without them.

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Whipped Cream

Okay, a rather long title.  I’m still flying a little bit on the cheese cake(s) from my celebratory vengeance expedition at the local mall.  Perhaps I should say that revenge is best dished up with a credit card and someone elses money.  It goes back to the whole “I’m really ashamed of the way you present yourself.” and “I don’t want you to embarrass me” crap that I got from my sister today and my mother on Saturday.  So,  went shopping to buy clothes to wear to work with my sister.  Despite the fact that I got a great deal on the clothes, like saving over $200 on the majority of it, I used the money I’m supposed to pay my sister with.  Can’t have both, money and a sister that doesn’t embarass you.  Pick one.  I do have to say, retail therapy is VERY effective.

I did something I can’t believe I did but I have absolutely no regret on and that was buying a purse that is all leather, that fits all my writing paraphernalia and is just elegantly understated and is so not the tattered bag I’ve been carrying around with me because it fit everything I needed to carry around.  It’s sitting here next to me and the smell of the leather is soooooo nice.

So, let’s address the issues at hand.  First of all, I got angry and went shopping.  Everyone I talked to about how I had been so mightily abused agreed with me, even though I looked horrible, dirty shirt and torn jeans and tennis shoes, everyone agreed that was just out-of-bounds for anyone to say to another person, especially a family member.  But the sting of the anger that I normally would have been fussing at before, even though I’m off my anti-anxiety pills briefly due to supply, has me feeling more empathy for Cyndi and even understanding that she thinks it’s okay.  I’m trying to get beyond the crap our childhood has mired us in, she’s happy as a clam up to her nose in it.  She is hurting me because she is hurting and doesn’t realize it, and I can’t hate her for that.  And I’m going to keep trying to maintain that attitude.

So, the clothes, socks, pj bottoms, purse, make-up, face care and make-up brushes are my ways of compensating myself for the slight by giving Mom and C what they want, me to not shame them in public.  Of course, this doesn’t mean I won’t wear the dirty shirt and the torn jeans when we’re out as a family.  I’m not going to stop who I am because it offends their narrow interpretation of what the world should look like in order to be accepted.  They can just bite me if they think  I’m ever going to be like them.  The one thing I am keeping is my Mickey Mouse watch.  They can pry that off my cold dead wrist before I’ll give that up.

I love my purse.

The Winds Blow Against Me

The breath of negativity seems to be pushing against my resolve not to melt into a gibbering puddle of tears.  Today, I’ve been told that my sister is ashamed of me, that I’m a hoarder who needs help and that since I didn’t make any money this year so I’ve lost my mothers exemption because I apparently am no longer worthy of it.

Okay, so I’m sensitive today.  My teeth have been on edge all day, wanting to scream and run away.  I’ve had images of sawing through my wrists again.  My anxiety level is high, and I’m running low on my anti anxiety pills.  The next few days are going to be an unmitigated joy. (That’s sarcasm, btw, in case you don’t read sarcasm fluently).

It didn’t help watching Hoarding: Buried Alive on TV today because Mom lost the remote in the garbage so we couldn’t change the channel.  It taught me something though….Messy inside, messy outside – tidy inside tidy outside.  I need to put more effort into keeping my surroundings neat and tidy, I know it’s something I need to learn to grow up and do, at least according to the blowhards that are content to sit back and judge me.  Maybe I am being a big baby and I’m throwing a sort of rebellious tantrum, but F’em.  I’m ging to go through the Bradshaw stages, starting with infant and work my way through to healing my wounded inner child back to being a wonder child and champion myself the way I never have been in my life.  I am a loved daughter of God, and I am worth the effort and time this is going to take.  So, yea, F’em.  I’m not shameful, I’m not a hoarder and I don’t need the exemption.  I don’t need them F’ing up my growth or their attempts to blow me off course.

A Well Medicated Machine

I chatted with Dr. W the other day and he would like me to come in every day….he feels I’m a breath of fresh air.  So, I’m doing well.  Backing down the Lexapro from 50 back to 40 has relieved the tension in my jaw, something that I’m able to counter with carrot sticks and the Buspar is still keeping me from climbing out of my skin and keeping me from losing it when things get bad.  So, I know IT’S NOT ME.

Mom on the other hand has decided to go off all psyche meds and feels the pacemaker will keep her sane.  It might bloody well keep her sane, but it’s really messing with my wellbeing.  I don’t want to be around her because I’m tired of feeling like I’m being used by her.  If she’s trying to manipulate me into getting a job she’s winning.  If she thinks I’m going to pay for a house keeper out of my money, she’s so not going to win that one.

I am feeling a little manipulated because she did a major one last night.  I’ve been sick.  She played sick all day too because I was.  It’s either to make me feel bad and take care of her because she’s sicker than I am or she wanted to guilt me into doing the dishes with bleach because she wanted me to feel like I had poisoned her with the filth in the kitchen or that I don’t clean the dishes well enough to keep her well.  So, I did the dishes, she still mewed about how sick she felt, how she didn’t think she could make it to Patrick’s dinner party and wanted me to go instead of her, I refused.  I already told him I was sick and I couldn’t make it.  She tried guilting me into going, tried bribing me into going, then Patrick called and said he couldn’t pick her up so I had to bring her.  Finally she pulled the “what if I throw up and want to leave early” card and I gave in.  She thought I didn’t want to go because I didn’t have the money to cover my bill.  It turns out I do have the money, I just didn’t want to be trapped in the car with her and I wanted the house all to myself for an hour or two……

I’m stopping this now before I get all wrapped up in some sort of straight jacket of righteous indignation.  I was manipulated which means I allowed it.  She was doing what she does, it’s my fault.  I should be pissed at myself instead of at her. It’s just easier to blame her than to blame my screwed up internal wiring.  If it’s her fault I don’t have to change.  I need to change because I don’t want to be here any more.  I don’t want to be treated like a servant and I don’t want to snap at her like she’s a burden.  Currently, without her meds, she is a burden to me.  I can’t to anything for myself without having to have to include her, or bring her along, or feed her the same things…etc.  She wants to saddle her identity to mine and be what I am, but I won’t allow her to share in the identity I’ve had to struggle to form.  Yes, she was never allowed that as a child, but honestly, neither was I.  I’m trying to make this time a time where she can do that, find herself,  for herself.  I’m not willing to share mine.

I need to get back to reading on a daily basis, and writing on a daily basis too.  I keep talking about spending the time doing 300 lines a day, but I’ve only done it once or twice.  Mom needs me, yes, but she can’t have me all the time, I can’t handle it without her medication and I’m not going to put myself in harms way because she is messing with the mechanisms in our relationship.

The Ants Go Marching One By One

I sweear it feels like I have bugs crawling on me all the time, and some have burrowed beneith my skin and tickle me for fun.  I scratch and scratch and there isn’t even a welt when I’m done, so I know it’s not a histamine reaction, it’s just all in my head….Like I need the image of an ant hill nesteled in my brain sending out raiding parties to look for bits of me they can bring back to the nest to feed the little larval neurosis the queen gives birth to daily.