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turtle-to-eternity · 4 years ago

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Psychiatric Medications Are Good, Actually

You may think getting prescribed medication to regulate your mood, or improve your focus, or manage your anxiety, is weakness.

Maybe you think you should be able to handle it on your own, and that if you can't it's your fault.

Maybe you think the mental healthcare system just isn't worth it.

None of that is true. Let me explain.

Listen, our minds are projected by our brains. The brain is a physical organ like any other. It's not divine, it's not special, it is just as prone to defect and error as any other part of the human body.

Is a man with no legs weak for using a wheelchair? No.

Is a woman with a missing hand weak for using a prosthetic? No.

Is a person with diabetes weak for taking insulin? No.

Then why would anyone be weak for taking psychiatric medication?

A brain is not supposed to leave you frequently feeling anxious, or self-loathing, or depressed. If it does, it's not working right.

Medication fixes that. Just like insulin fixes a diabetic's high blood sugar. You aren't going to leave a broken leg untreated. Don't try to leave a broken brain untreated.

I have experienced first hand how life-changing psychiatric medication is for those with dysfunctional brain chemistry.

But before we get to that, a story about how even seeking help can be a struggle. And how that should never stop you.

I regret no part of my effort to improve my lot in life. Go to the bottom of this post to see the important point, if you feel uncomfortable reading my story.

So after going a general physician about my numerous mental health concerns, and getting put on Zoloft, I was directed towards a psychiatry office about 45 minutes away from me.

I did not have insurance, and even though I had $10,000 at my disposal I suspect that was why they gave me a nurse practitioner. They gave a first time psychiatry patient a provider that was RIDICULOUSLY underqualified compared to the actual psychiatrist.

Oh boy, did it show.

She started reading questions out from her clipboard, half of which I already answered filling out paperwork, and actively stopped me from talking whenever I tried to expand upon anything relevant to my issues. She could not have given less of a damn about my concern.

Of course I gave '9's and '10's to questions relating to mood swings, concentration, and daydreaming, and trouble sleeping. She also especially wanted me to shut up when I started talking about how awful school is/was. She just completely ignored all I said that could be even tangentially related to ADHD.

At the end she said I was depressed and anxious and threw out Zoloft (which I had only been on for a week) and gave me Effexor for depression and anxiety, and Trazodone for sleep and depression.

I had to forcibly bring up ADHD myself. About how hard it was to so much as watch a tv show consistently. About my despair at not progressing in my GED program. She said 'Can't never could.'

'I'd like to try Strattera.' I said.

'Well we could put you on Wellbutrin.' She said after a deep sigh.

'Strattera has a better chance of results, and I don't want to leave without trying something for my problems.' I said, barely civilly.

So she gave me a script for the maximum daily dosage of Strattera. I felt good. I took a stand and even had a shot at progress. However, it was disturbing how stubbornly opposed she was to even the idea of ADHD.

Strattera didn't really work. It leveled out my mood and gave me some motivation, but my mind still pushed itself away from anything that demanded concentration. Be it work or leisure.

However, Effexor greatly dampened my sense of anxiety in everyday life. I started a photography hobby, walked around outside no matter how many people were there, and started 'dating' (for lack of a better term) online. It definitely worked.

So when I came back to that nurse, I told her about how things had improved. How Strattera calmed me down to a moderate degree. She was quick to put the credit entirely on antidepressants, though. Naturally. Strattera wasn't doing its most important job and had terrible side effects for me, so I asked to try another ADHD medication.

'Well maybe you could take the Strattera a little closer to when you want to, like, do stuff. Then it'll work better for you.'

That is not remotely how Strattera works.

Holy god damn, this lady has absolutely no knowledge about ADHD or the medications she is giving me.

'I'd like to try a first line medication.' I said firmly.

'Well there's a lot of medications for ADHD, honey.' She said smugly.

Then she absolutely floored me.

'You haven't really been evaluated for ADHD yet so we can't really give you amphetamines.'

What.

Why did you ask me all those questions before, then? Why did Strattera affect me in a way consistent with an ADHD person? Why are you being so suspiciously stubborn?

'So how can I be evaluated, then?' I asked her.

'You said no insurance, right?' She asked back.

When I confirmed that, she got up and said 'Let me go ask the doctor if you can get some stimulants, sweetie.'

15 minutes later she came back with a script for Wellbutrin.

I was in despair.

My life, on hold for years, now for another month. When help was just in arm's reach.

I started spending tons of money on food. The Wellbutrin replacing Strattera brought back the mood swings within days. The first day they came back, I called that office to cancel my follow up appointment. I was going back to the doctor I originally saw.

But for the month up to that, I ate like crazy. I gained back 20 pounds. I stopped blogging, I stopped Duolingo, I stopped doing anything but watching YouTube videos and sleeping.

I did get a job that I had applied for before my fall off the deep end. My state of mind greatly improved once I had work. But still I did nothing.

Then I went back to the original doctor.

He was patient, understanding, and asked relevant questions. This general practitioner spent more time talking with me in 1 visit than a psychiatric nurse had in 2.

He diagnosed me with ADHD, and gave me 5mg Focalin.

The weight of the world came off my shoulders. The Focalin has had absolutely no effect on me but drowsiness. But that doesn't matter right now. I am being taken seriously, and am being helped.

And this right here is the important part.

The medication helped immensely.

Once I got back to taking the Effexor regularly, my mood drastically improved. I talk to real people of my own volition occasionally. I take pictures of myself without fear. I am making plans and believing in them. I am believing in myself, for the first time in my life.

Yes, 1 nurse treated me like I didn't matter.

But 1 doctor changed everything for me.

He listens to me, works with me, and is invested in helping me. He is going to get my medications right, make sure they stay right.

Then, once I find the right stimulant, I will be unstoppable.

This life is mine, I will never lose hold of it again.

#life blogging #self improvement #actually adhd #mental heath awareness #mental health #mental heath support #depression #anxiety #antidepressants

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naturallyalisia · 4 years ago

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Today Was A “Bad Day”...

And that’s okay ! Today wasn’t one of the best days, I knew it was going to be a bad day from the moment I woke up. I felt it last night when I missed my 2nd dose of Wellbutrin to mingle and socially drink because I could not for the life of me connect with the people around me. I was aware that I was emotionally shut off, a few people even asked if I was alright because of how low my energy fell. I didn’t panic or feel bad and fortunately my partner ushered me to rest upstairs but I was completely void of any emotional reaction at all. That, mixed with a missed dose and alcohol ( I managed to eat a shit ton too and unintentionally ate cake with walnuts that I’m allergic to) threw me off that night and the following day. Today I was physically and mentally weak.. I could barely walk or muster the energy to do anything. I made sure to take my medication at my normal time in the morning and this feeling lasted all the way until it was time for my 2nd dose. I’ll share with you below how I managed my “bad day”. Maybe it can help you manage yours.

Find Your Reason To Wake Up

Waking up this morning was difficult. I didn’t want to I just wanted to stay in bed. The reason why I didn’t was because if I did, I knew I would feel horrible about it later. Even more so now I’m working on establishing a routine and structure to help me go through my days. My days now consist of waking up early (8am,9am) going for a decent length walk, and coming home to chart out what I need or what to accomplish for the day. So far I’ve been consistent and I know it would break my heart if I didn’t do it. It’s important to me.

Today I Don’t Feel Like Doing Anything, But I Have Responsibilities..

On days like these, I don’t want to do anything like.. at all. Dishes piled up in the sink and on the counter ? New kitchen appliances need to wiped and put away ? Food ? That’s still a thing ? Do I really have to call them today ? The answer is probably yes. Today was difficult I didn’t do nearly as much as I wanted but I still tried. I didn’t overwhelm my brain by bouncing from one thing to the next ( I didn't have the energy to do so anyway) I just took things a step/thing at a time. Luckily I had my husband to help me with the most daunting tasks and lend a hand with the things I couldn’t manage by myself. If you have a support system utilize it, ask for help if you need it and appreciate it if you’re blessed enough to have it. If not, do not do not beat yourself up. You are trying your best everyday and thats all that matters. One task at a time, Just start.

Don’t Beat Yourself Up For How You're Feeling

Sometimes tired is an understatement. You could have gotten 8 hours of sleep and still wake up feeling like the walking dead and like you've been hit by a truck. You’re feeling gross ? sad ? Or just “bad” overall ? That’s okay. It happens, these feelings will pass. It’s not permanent and its nothing to feel sorry over. This was and still is an issue for me, somehow I believe that feeling this way and being “immobile” is a major inconvenience to those around me especially my partner. I’ve come to understand that you should be kind to yourself in these moods. Be open with how your feeling to yourself and the person in your life if you have one. Allow yourself to rest and rejuvenate. Give yourself Grace. If you can understand that for someone else. You can understand that for you too.This too shall pass (and it did)

Give Yourself A Positive Affirmations

I love affirmations don’t do it as much as I should but I do. While I acknowledged today was going to be a “bad” day, in the same breath I said “but, I will try and make the best of the day and find the good” So I kept that in mind all day. Acknowledging my feelings but finding little ways to enjoy the day (i.e, messaging friends, listening to music etc.)

Decompress When You Can!

Rest and Rejuvenate. I mean that. After a certain point in the day my body was like nope. I laid on the couch, curled up and rested. My partner brought me a pillow and played some brain games to strengthen my focus and other stuff on Luminosity. I didn’t do anything else at this point. The only thing I did do afterwords was sort through photos and that was after my energy rose abit. Energy levels are vital in structure and routine. I will write about that a another time

Bonus * Take Your Medication On Time Regardless of The Circumstance*

There’s a reason why you take your medication at a certain time so why stray from it if your doctor didn’t say otherwise ? This was my responsibility to make sure I took my medication and not drink alcohol when I know it could cause an adverse reaction. I didn’t. I was irresponsible just for the sake of comfort and blending in which probably was the cause for this “bad” day. So unless directed otherwise take your medication as your doctor or primary care physician directed. It could really mess things up. it’s definitely easier said than done but don’t let saving face or shame make you make decisions that could be detrimental to you health wise. I wanted to avoid questions or conversation on why I wasn’t drinking. I didn’t want to say I was on medication because it leads to “oh what are you taking?” Then it gets awkward. I hate awkward. So my goal is to find a way how to deal with conversations like this and share them with you in the future. My other goal is to never let that happen again. Health First.

And that’s my personal experience with “bad days” and how to manage them! Be Well! We Made another day!

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-unhealthy · 5 years ago

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Let’s give this another go then I guess.

First of all I have zero idea if there are any active accounts following this one or my other but please take the opportunity to engage on my posts so I know if I should be censoring my own work for others. With that, let’s dive in. I’ve got so many cliche lines flowing through my head and for some reason the one one I can call up right at this moment if the proof is in the poison... Why that one. Maybe there’s a reason, who knows... moving on. Wording has never been my strong suit, neither was storytelling at any age... always getting made fun of because I got too carried away giving nonsensical details that really had no business in the story unless you are well me and believe in your heart that they are supposed to be there. Now, we’ve have some pretty low couple of months lately and I mean I’d like to say there are many people to blame ... but who knows if I could be implicated in said guilt party. Anyways, where to start. Roped into the thinking that my ex boyfriend could just pretend to be a decent person long enough for me to get my things and life partially sorted before he starts poking his nose in places that it very clearly does not belong... but that’s the funny thing about narcissists, they cannot comprehend what it is they are being asked to apologize for - meanwhile they can blend in with just about the best of them in terms of being the best, well versed apologizers in the game. I used to blame my own issues and previous life experiences for the reason as to why I wasn’t completely capable of apolgizing for my actions but I always ALWAYS knew why that was being asked of me... it’s really not a hard concept to grasp. He raped one of my very best friends while I was not two feet away, asleep in bed with my earplugs in and dead to the world. Before I was given any information past “temptation was there, and I cheated on you”, I was struck with a possible truth from her on again off again ex boyfriend, he texted me while I was at work and his message read... “you left her, and he raped her”. That in itself is enough to send a normally mentally sane person into a fit of rage with no end point. So please, in your expert opinions what possible outcome would have been the most “appropriate” in this exact situation. Now I can sum it up as; betrayal, sadness, empty, disgust, a loss of fight and something along the lines of pure hatred. I’d like to be able to tell you that I do not think I am an angry human, I’m really not but life events, experiences and unfortunately mental health wise: getting fucked...on repeat can do this kind of thing to a younger early mid twenties woman. Sending her compltely out of sync with every aspect of her life and existence... Yet there I was, with a phone cord so long it could have wrapped around my whole body, a number of times over. There I lay, drug induced and threading this phone cord through the exposed metal in the trunk of my 2005 Ford Focus, hoping that I will have enough time and energy through these Wellbutrin and Ativan to finally make something come of all my hurt and pain thoroughout this life. Someone will be able to realize that I am ending my own pain and I am in no way shape or form belittling anyone elses pain of grief. But how on earth is someone supposed to handle all of these things.

My relationship with my dad, my sadness, the fact that I was running so very low on “the fight” and spent all those nights crying myself to sleep for what? To have him win and not ever have to suffer any sort of consequences whatsoever. I am really hoping that someday he gets whats coming for him and I hope that shit stings just as much as getting your freaking nipples pierced.

Now, the rape, the abortion, the emotional blackouts, the worry, the anxiety, the loss of interest, the lack of sleep, everything that could go wrong was going wrong and it really was only a matter of time before someone or something came crashing down... and then what, we pick up the pieces like we’ve been preparing for since I was 12... telling myself this would be the year that I no longer continue my breath at night. I thought about it so often, like intrusive thoughts but there’s no escaping them, no matter how many times you squeeze your eyes shut, count sheep, deep breathing, yoga and any of bullshit excuse for trying to help you get some shut eye when you can’t even comprehend quite how you got here - let alone having to wake up every day and realizing you are still in the same spot, like your roots have been planted but not in the place you wanted and not with the people that you love. Instead these mandatory roots have been planted and there’s absolutely no coming back from it anymore...What else is there to do at that point besides sit there and wonder how your family is doing, if your niece has started walking yet. Maybe you were in the position I was in, or maybe that same mindset miles away from ever thinking you would even be capable of strangling yourself with a phone cord in the trunk of your car just trying to make the pain stop. The pain I’m referring to is actually most likely in direct line with the thinking of “every breath, every ounce of air that I am breathing is being wasted and I cannot hang on any longer... every moment hurts me and I do not understand why I cannot stop thinking of these things. But also, I am so numb that I could cut my arm open the right way and still not feel anything at all. I don’t understand how both can be received from someone so in between these two mindsets and how I’m supposed to deal with these urges and opportunities on my own but while also being told you can’t leave the house because you are risking everyone else’s life...

That’s enough for today,

-Faith(y)

#tired #suicidal #trigger warning #suicide #justlisten #justread #nonsense #waiting for a will

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pisati · 6 years ago

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I keep getting that feeling I always get when I feel like I need to write something, but it’s all played out. I’ve gone over all of it. old feelings I don’t care to rehash because they’re gone, all the bullshit with my mom, feeling like I want to leave, waiting til something happens.

something feels blank. blanker than usual. I didn’t start the 150 XR wellbutrin until last tuesday, but I’ve been feeling pretty bad all month so far. the first week of the month was PMS week, and usually I give myself a little space because I know it’s always at least one of the moods or the cramps or the nausea that week. but it never picked back up. I did have a rough go of it last week and I feel like I’m still recovering. any little thing is enough to put me in a mood. my mood tracker has shown pretty consistently low marks the last 3 weeks and I don’t know what that’s about. I can’t correlate it to anything in particular.

the root of it comes down to fear. not an anxiety fear; a dread fear. I’m scared things won’t work out, but I’m not anxious, if that makes sense. I know something will work out one way or another, but beyond that I’m scared of never being where I want to be. never being able to do something I enjoy, never being able to earn enough, never being able to even physically feel better. I have to hope that something will improve; I don’t want to look at things as so black and white. but the concept of “never” is still a very real possibility and I can’t ignore it. I’d take even marginally better, but it’s still kind of depressing to think that I might not ever be back to the way I used to be before I “got sick”. or whatever the fuck happened to me. I don’t remember being healthy and it breaks my heart to think that I may never be able to feel it again.

I went on a walk the other day and I came back in much more pain than when I left. I had a rough night as far as my jaw, and I took 400mg ibuprofen to stave off the headache I woke up with. I came back home after 2.5 miles to my entire face hurting. pounding headache, my nose burning and everything around it hurt. I smelled blood. I even felt a little drippy so I blew my nose (once I could pull myself off the floor), but there was no blood. I’ve never gotten a nosebleed. maybe I was mistaking the rats’ cage smell for something metallic.

I didn’t even have the energy to be upset that I came home from yet another walk and all I could do was curl up on my floor with my eyes closed. once I could open them I went to open twitter on my phone and hit a random app, only realizing it wasn’t twitter a second or two after it opened. I opened my closet and then tried to throw my tissue in the laundry hamper, because for some reason my brain confused my desire to put my clothes in the hamper with the tissue I was holding. only realized my mistake once the tissue was in midair. once I pulled myself off the floor I took another 400mg of ibuprofen, changed, and got back into bed. I hate crashing like that. I didn’t think my cognitive function got noticeably worse after exertion but apparently it does. thankfully it doesn’t last for long, but... this has never happened before. maybe in a year or two it’ll take me even longer to recover. god only knows.

that’s scary. I’m already waking up almost every day with a headache. I can’t control how much sleep I get, even when I take something for it. and nothing works for more than a few days at a time. my jaw’s been hurting for just about a year now, and that causes all kinds of head pain. when everything in my head hurts for no reason and ibuprofen doesn’t make it all go away... that alone is enough to make me hate existing.

I feel like I shouldn’t ask myself “what if I get worse?” and just focus on my day-to-day. but the fact is, it’s already gotten worse. I’m doing the best I can, though sometimes it doesn’t feel like the best I can do. I suppose instead I could ask myself “what if I plateau?” what if it stops getting worse? that’s at least semi-hopeful. but what if I never get better? I can’t just ignore that possibility. the thought that I may never be able to support myself in the kind of society we’ve created is so fucking depressing. I’m still remembering that time either last year or in 2017 when it hit me very suddenly that I also may never have someone with me and I may need to be okay alone. I don’t have a plan for the possibility that I get worse.

I used to hope one day I’d get married. I guess I still have that hope, but it’s a much more nebulous concept at this point. it almost doesn’t seem like a realistic thing for me to set as a goal. I will say it’s probably spared me a lot of anguish to essentially have written it off. if it does happen it’ll just be one of those nice things, I guess. I remember being in middle and high school, being so incredibly jealous of my best friend for always being in a relationship, all my friends who would talk to their crushes and get close enough to date them. I’d had some moments, but they never went anywhere. I’m sure I spent all those years pining over some dumb boy or another. one to the next. I remember how devastated I was when I thought this one kid in my math class might have liked me back and he asked another girl to junior prom. I didn’t even go that year. charlotte had her boyfriend, everyone else was asking everyone else. I went to senior prom just because I felt like I should at least go to one high school prom in my life, but nobody asked me. it felt like a waste of time and money anyway. I still have my dress, I don’t know what to do with it.

just... all that pain I was in. and I don’t feel any of it anymore. I’m not all that jealous of anyone. maybe it’s because I’ve since learned that being in a relationship doesn’t entail being in a good relationship. I’ve learned over and over again. from friends, from my parents. it would be nice, in theory, I think. a good one. I like going to the store with someone and actually enjoying shopping (but when was the last time I did that?). I don’t think I’d like any of the sappy stuff (have I ever?) but the idea of someone who likes me enough to even try, that’s.. wow. I haven’t even entertained those thoughts in a long time. I guess I feel it’s almost pointless to. I hurt myself enough in the past over lacking it, why keep that up? maybe I had this ideal in my head, and now I’m not even sure it’s possible. I don’t know what a secure, loving relationship is like. it’s like when people tell me I don’t know what I’m missing when they try to get me to eat some food I’ve already refused. you’re right; I don’t know. and I will never have to know if I never try it. nothing for me to be all that upset about.

but then I think about my future. what if I don’t have anyone, ever? the incident that sparked that existential spiral was so benign. I was sitting at a stoplight and watched a van turn out of the cross-street; a woman driving and an older woman in the passenger seat. I flashed forward to my future. couldn’t picture myself having anyone to drive me around when I got old. I don’t mind being alone now, but what happens if I get older and have nobody? I couldn’t even be like my dad; he at least had me and my brother as crutches. what if I get worse and I’m alone?

I know I see things differently than I used to. I feel differently. I know I’ve been feeling blank most recently; the lows still hit pretty hard but I just feel stuck in them. rather than needing to fight myself or find a way out of them. I let them run their course. I remember feeling less skeptical of people’s intentions with me. I guess it didn’t occur to me that other people could experience attraction to me but not to me. because that’s not how I am. I remember being amazed the first time a boy went down on me. wow, he must really like me if he’s willing to do that. amazing how I’ve managed to backtrack on that idea entirely. oh god, this again. I know that look. I feel every hesitation in movement, every second too long the eyes land on any part of me. please don’t put your hand there. please don’t want me. you don’t actually. you think you do for now but you don’t. you don’t mean anything you’re doing. you want what you want and once you’ve got it that’s it. it’s got nothing to do with me and in fact you wouldn’t even be thinking like that if you knew me and on and on. do I value myself that little? or do I trust other people’s intentions that little? do I have good reason to?

that kind of thinking contributed to the blankness. I don’t feel at all the way I used to. I’m not sure I know how to. could be that I just haven’t had the opportunity to, but it’s hard to know. sometimes I ask myself if I see it as a loss of innocence; I’m sure that’s part of it. I at least understand now that not everyone likes people for who they are and are attracted to them in that way if they like them enough. I don’t know why that should prevent me from being able to feel how I did before. why it should make me so distrustful. so stressed at the prospect of someone being interested in me. I used to want that. very much. there’s a chance that one of these days it’ll happen and it’ll be good and healthy and not painful, and yet... I don’t seem to believe that it’s possible. I put a stop to just about everything before it even starts. I can’t even begin to reason out why, besides self-defense. self-preservation. but what’s left to preserve?

bad experiences in the past might be a reason, sure, but I’ve accepted at this point that I let myself get hurt. other people don’t see things the way I do. it is what it is. I’ve honestly forgotten a lot of it; how bad it hurt. I wrote post after post about it while I was in it; paragraph after paragraph and never resolving anything. it just hurt so bad. I can barely remember it but the fear is still there. kind of like with my mom. I forgot a lot of the shit she did to me in high school. I forgot that all of that was probably the reason I don’t feel comfortable telling her anything, even now. I forgot the reason, I kept the fear.

sometimes I like writing with no objective. it’s nice to get some of the running narrative out of my head. sometimes I get close to whatever it is I feel like I need to write about, but sometimes it’s just a feeling that doesn’t quite go away. these are things I know I’ve thought about and haven’t ever really expressed; sometimes it’s just nice to find the right words. sometimes it’s the same things, and I feel like I need to get them out over and over.

I really do need to focus on the few good things I have coming up. I’m seeing one of my favorite bands on sunday, and maybe if I stay late I’ll get to meet them. maybe. I’m not looking forward to all the grown-ass men who are likely going to make the audience annoying at best to be in, because that’s been the case both other times I’ve seen them, but if I can get to the venue early enough and get up front hopefully I’ll be alright.

one of my best friends is coming down next week for a show; he said he can come down wednesday and maybe stay til friday, but I reminded him there’s a book store of sorts in baltimore that we really like and they’re apparently overflowing with books; he was already aware of this and the fact that they’re only open on weekends, so he said he’d check his calendar and see if he could stick around til saturday or sunday. that’ll hopefully be nice. just getting to spend time with a friend. I don’t really have anything in mind to do for all that time, though, besides the show. we’ve always managed to figure something out. I’m not really sure how I feel about it. spending time with him used to be a really nice thing for me but ever since the latter half of 2017 I’ve been even sort of nervous about it. it’s weird to be so distant from someone you’ve been so close to; this person’s seen me naked and yet I’m a little unsure of how to act with them. maybe because it was never clear-cut. because I got hurt and pulled back. because he told me he missed talking to me. I’m not sure how to be much of anything but blank around him at this point. we can still talk and joke like we always have. I just feel weird about all of it. I just need to focus on the fact that he’s a friend who’s coming to visit and it’ll be a nice few days. that’s it. digging up the past doesn’t serve much purpose at this point anyhow.

pride’s coming up; Aria and I are going to do the parade with the ace meetup she found again, and she wanted to do a craft day, so I’m going to have to decide on a shirt design I want. I like the shirt I made years ago and wore to pride last year, but I think it’s time for something else. I’m excited to plan outfits and all that with a fellow ace. I’m still amazed after all these years we still vibe so well and we both ended up ace, ha

farm jam’s coming up too, and I’m trying to plan a little better than I have in previous years. I need a new tent; I want one of my own that’s taller and at least a little bigger; I have a cot this year and I don’t think it would fit very well in the tent I have now. not to mention it’s a tent we’ve had for years, it’s not even mine, and I used it last year and it was really hard to deal with. the queen air mattress I’d been able to borrow filled the whole tent so it was near impossible to get in and out, plus it didn’t even fill all the way so I was really struggling to get up from it. it was almost impossible to change clothes. plus I had The Bucket, and there was almost no room to use it comfortably. also not ideal when you need a light in the tent, and then people can see all the shadows inside. it would be nice to get one of those darkening tents. but the ones I’ve found are all pretty low to the ground. maybe I’ll go to the sporting goods store one of these days, instead of searching the same few tents on amazon. I need to figure out my food situation too, but I think I know how I can be better prepared this year. meal prep is easy enough, and I can always pack snacks that can be taken home in case I don’t get around to eating them there. the challenge is going to be finding things that either don’t need to be cooked or don’t need much in the way of cooking. we have a fire pit every year but it’s very hard to cook over an open fire, contrary to what you’d think. it took me at least an hour last year to get water hot enough to cook the ramen I brought, and even then I don’t think it boiled. I know there’s things I can make that don’t need to be cooked, but I’ll definitely have to prep it all beforehand. we’ve had issues in the past where everyone in the group will pack enough for themselves and also for everyone else, thinking people will want to share. then we all have so much extra food we end up having to bring home. I did better last year, but still had extra. I need to think of other things to bring to the farm too, so I won’t be bored. I didn’t think I was all that bored last year, and I didn’t even use most of what I brought. maybe just a crochet thing or some other craft (maybe my stones for wrapping?), and my guitar. a book too; it was nice having The Book Thief last year. I think I brought it my first year too, and it was nice to have as company while my anxiety was doing what it does. I’m sure I could pack lighter this year, but I also don’t want to bring too little, you know? one thing I won’t skimp on is blankets. I brought as many as I could last year and I was still cold at night. it gets into the 50s at night. maybe I should see if I can find a little cordless space heater? or something that can keep my tent warm at night that won’t catch everything on fire, lol. [a quick google search told me that portable tent heaters do exist. that might have to go on my shopping list. I get entirely too cold at night and this year I won’t have a queen-sized mattress to hold all my blankets]

then of course scotland. I haven’t traveled internationally... well, I’d say in a few years, but I did just go to Cozumel last year. it didn’t quite feel like international travel, though. we went to a resort, with a bunch of other white people vacationing and the Mexican staff catering to us. the last genuine experience I had was Iceland. it doesn’t feel like it’s been 3.5 years, but it also does. I miss it a ton. I don’t know how my anxiety’s going to do with this. I already know I’m going to struggle a little through farm jam. it’s happened every year. then I’m going to have to come home and, within a few days, get on a plane. two planes. alone, for the first time in my life. I know I’ll be nervous once I stop moving. I’m not sure why that is. I want to say it’s got something to do with unfamiliarity. once I stop moving I can become more aware of where I am and what’s around me. I don’t know where the issue comes from with unfamiliarity, but I’ve always had that. something like neophobia, but not quite. I don’t really feel afraid of new things, necessarily. just some deep-rooted discomfort with it. I feel like most people have some level of discomfort with things they’re unfamiliar with; that’s only natural. but not everyone gets anxiety attacks over it. could be partly because anxiety triggers nausea, and from there the emeto anxiety takes over. it’s hard to know. I’m just glad I have a pretty decent handle over it. I could be in much worse shape mentally, for sure. so many people I know have issues much more complex than mine and while mine aren’t exactly easy to deal with, I’ve been able to power through a lot of them without help. and I think doing that made me stronger in some ways too. I don’t want to know where I’d be if I had some kind of vice as a crutch.

I would say I forget where I was going with this, but it never had a direction to begin with.

tomorrow I need to clean the rats’ cage, and I need to write a letter back to my friend in jail. I got his letter maybe a week ago and I need to just sit down and come up with something to write in response.

seems like a lot of my time lately is spent waiting to get through the day. I’m nervous to come back from scotland. I’m nervous that I’ll have heard back from this job by then, and I’m nervous either way it goes. I’m of course nervous I won’t get it, but I’m also not ready to lose my down time if I do. I feel like these last 10 and a half months have breezed by. like they didn’t even happen. I still don’t feel rested enough. I’m already kind of dreading going, because I’m dreading coming back. I hate being so bothered by the fact that everything ends.

I don’t really have much after that to look forward to. my birthday, maybe. I don’t have the energy to do anything for it this year. I don’t have anything I want to do. nobody I really care to spend it with. just a few years ago I was sad thinking my friends forgot and I tried to make plans to be around them for my birthday so it wouldn’t completely suck. I just don’t care anymore. sad to already be so disenchanted with the few little things in life people seem to care about. I would say, well, maybe I’ll have a job by then, but it’s a saturday this year. cool.

I’m not looking forward to winter. already. barely out of this last one and I’m already dreading the next. I really need to move somewhere where it’s warm year-round. everything about existing feels so much worse when it’s cloudy and grey and cold.

it’ll be a year in september since my dad passed. a month and a day after my birthday. we told some of his friends that we wanted to do a celebration of life for him, but that still hasn’t happened. I’m not sure if it’s going to, and I’m not sure how that’ll look to friends and family. I almost don’t care at this point. I should have told people to mourn how they saw fit. I’m sure that’s what he would’ve wanted anyway. a celebration of life if nothing else, but dad wasn’t really one for parties either. I know he wanted some of his ashes scattered in Iceland. one of these days I’ll be able to do it. but I know he’d have been just fine with people remembering him in their own ways. I miss him a ton. I knew I would, of course, but it never really hit me how permanent it’d be once it happened. I really would never be able to talk to him again. as frustrating as it could be, I do miss his random calls and rambling to me for an hour. his text puns. how he’d sometimes bring me a bowl of ice cream at some point in the evening when we were watching something or I was on my computer.

sometimes it hits me how different things are in my life already. I never saw them like this, and I can’t say I really like it. I’m 24 and I don’t have my dad anymore. I knew since I was 13 that one day this was going to happen. but still somehow it didn’t seem real. I still had my dad, after all. he was sick, but he was there. I don’t even have my sick dad anymore. I watched him dying. I felt his cold, stiff hands. I didn’t get to say goodbye. sometimes I still look at the box of ashes at the foot of my bed and it hits me like a truck again.

I’m honestly a little scared that no matter how good things get for me, it’ll never be good enough. I don’t know what to do about that feeling. I do feel like I appreciate where I am and what I have and how lucky I’ve been, but maybe I need to work harder at that.

I’m tired of this feeling. I don’t know what it is. besides blank, it’s just... unpleasant. it’s not even melancholy. something does feel bad, but it’s not quite sad either. maybe it’s just all these little worries eating at me. I’m sure I’d feel a lot lighter not having to worry. but wouldn’t everyone?

I’m tired of thinking. I spent all day wanting to get up and do something and I didn’t. I wanted to work on my crochet bag, and I didn’t. I wanted to work on that letter, and I didn’t. I took a nap, I watched a lot of hulu, I did some crosswords, I ate a few things, I stayed in bed. I just don’t feel up to much. I don’t like much of anything about the person I’ve been lately, but I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t induce energy. sometimes a shower and picking up my room do make me feel a good bit better, but man. I don’t feel up to showering every day while I don’t have to, but I feel so gross if I don’t. my hair’s been a pretty big source of distress for me lately. there’s nothing I can do about it and that makes me feel even worse. it’s so thin and it looks worse when it gets greasy, which it does very quickly because of 1. how thin and fine it is, and 2. how naturally oily my fucking skin is. sometimes I wish I could lose a bunch of weight so I wouldn’t look so big with such thin hair. maybe with a skinnier frame it wouldn’t look so bad. I don’t know.

I guess I should61ry to sleep. I’m afraid it’ll be just another one of those nights. the last few I’ve only managed to keep myself out for 4 hours max at a time. could just be one of those phases I’m in. yesterday I was so fucking tired. going for 15-16 hours on 5-ish total hours of sleep, and I was out quicker than usual just before midnight. still felt half-awake by the time my phone dinged at 4:30 ish. I’m pretty sure I woke up at 2-something having to pee. hard to remember.

I’m just kind of tired of existing right now. I can’t say everything sucks, but I feel just so beat up. I don’t think I have a purpose here, but it’s hard to even find anything that makes me feel like my existing is worth it at all. I don’t know.

#more long rambly posts #I do miss writing to write #getting it all out; whatever it is

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breesays · 6 years ago

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Grow little bean sprout, grow

A couple of my mom-IG and FB friends have checked up on me, remembering the pressures of being so intensely needed by their newborns. And it IS pretty crazy, how many hours a day it takes to just caring for this tiny human. Feeding, burping, changing, soothing, loving. Just when you’ve finished meeting the full realm of basic needs, it’s time to begin again. And these early days, you operate knowing (hoping?) you’re just GROWING this little bean sprout. Caring and cultivating. Troubleshooting. Cleaning. Cycle, rinse, repeat.

I was only a functioning human being at the beginning of this week because Tim extended his paternity leave. Hopefully by the time he goes back, the Wellbutrin will have cleared some of the mental fog, my boobs will no longer be in pain and… I don’t know, maybe there will just be less crying around here. Between me and the baby, Tim and the cats have had a lot of soothing to do.

As of Tuesday, I’m cleared to do yoga, pick up my 20 lb cat, take baths and other things that might make me feel good. My OB also mentioned getting out of the house, for mental health purposes—but it’s getting out of the house (with baby) that gives me a lot of anxiety. Also? I’ve had these lapses in judgement when I DO go out, as if I’ve forgotten how to be a functioning member of society. Today I was going 87 MPH on the 2 freeway for I don’t know how long before I remembered, oh right, speed limit, that’s a thing.

Also, if I were to venture outside, what the hell would I WEAR? I’m 20 lbs too heavy for most of my “regular” clothes but most of my maternity stuff isn’t suited for SUMMER WEATHER. At the very least, since I’ve stopped pumping, I don’t have to worry about being able to half-undress every few hours. It’s still sports bras and ice packs for a few more days ‘round here, though. Can’t wait ’til I stop hurting and leaking. Maybe two more days?

ALSO ALSO the few times I HAVE been outside, when people (well, mostly doctors) have asked how I’m doing I’ve CRIED. Everyone is like, “Oh at least go out to a coffee shop.” What if I pull that shit on a barista? They don’t get paid enough to deal with my emotions.

In various forums/groups, other moms have been like, “I’ve been taking my baby out since she was 5 days old!” And I’m like… I have personal anxiety about doing things (i.e. going to the post office), so adding another tiny human being, whose safety I am entirely responsible for, really takes it to 11. I have not had a panic attack, but that’s because I know what I need to do (or, consequently, not do) to keep them from happening. I think there should be some kind of shadowing program offered for first time moms. You get to follow someone experienced around and see how they handle various baby situations.

Futhermore, calling bullshit on all the Pinterest charts that said we’d only need like, 148 NB diapers. We have gone through more than 500 by now, and he’s still got lbs to go before we even try a size 1.

Is there a baby bingo game? Like where you get to check off things like baby pooing on you (check), baby throwing up on your face (not yet), baby wanting to be held the very minute your food is ready (X infinity), etc? And when you get BINGO, some angel nanny just walks into your life and handles shit for like four hours while you sleep? TM me, by the way.

So that’s where I’m at right now. I can’t believe people have multiple children. You’re goddamn wizards. Thanks for reading.

#parenting #breesays #mom life #newborn #maternity leave #babies

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unrequited-words · 6 years ago

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I feel pretty good this morning. I woke up around 4:45 and got ready and about 5:15 I decided to get in my steps this morning. I finally got all 10000 steps in which is great and I'm probably going to take a nap later because my sleep schedule is so fucked up and I'm so exhausted.

I think in the next 6 months I really can lose 50 lb if I really try and I think my focus right now is exercise and getting healthy because my mental health is shit. My psychiatrist took me off of Wellbutrin because of my insomnia and I've been taking Prozac which helps curb my anger and helps with my depression but I noticed the first week I took it I was barely functioning and I'm starting to think I need to start taking Wellbutrin again.

I'm supposed to go see her tomorrow in the afternoon and I'm just like not really looking forward to it because she's always late and I have to really tell her I need something else to help me because this is barely keeping my head above water. I'm supposed to be seeing my psychiatrist tomorrow and as much as I like seeing her I am a little nervous because I don't know what my mental health is. It's gotten so bad that I'm actually Googling symptoms of a nervous breakdown because I don't know

I know it's not a nervous breakdown I just know that I need more medication and I know that Prozac isn't really helping me. And I want to talk to her and ask her should I still continue the Wellbutrin. I've been taking medicine at night which really really really has been helping me sleep but I took it so late last night that I only got 2 hours of sleep when usually I take this medication and it helps me get 6 to 7 hours of sleep

I think one of the main reasons my mental health is so shity is when I started talking to R. I've been saying how I'm cutting him out of my life and how I blocked him but it seems like he always comes back and then he's a nice and then when I say no about certain things he completely blocks me and I'm just like beer in our thirties I'm not interested I just want a friend and this is clearly not the way it's supposed to go I don't know I mean he really opened up my eyes when it came to my degree I'm basically wishing I can give them my degree back because it is not helping me getting into the door in writing and I'm just feel like a fucking failure 7 years ago when I started this journey of higher education I said to myself I don't want a degree that's not going to get me anywhere I don't want to degree to where I owe $50,000 in student loan debt and real life it's a fucking paperweight because at this point I'm starting to think so

And I really think that's part of my problem it's like I tried when my dad died to really improve my life and my life for the last seven years has been nothing but shit. I have struggled with part-time jobs to pay for school and now at 33 on thinking is this fucking really it because I don't have it anymore in me to go get a Masters or to be a fucking teacher I think I'm just so burnt out with everything it just sucks because here I am four classes away from getting my Bachelor's and I regret it I mean yeah people in my family warned me saying I can go in a teaching but I don't want to go into teaching I want to write I want to be in a cubicle creating contact and instead I don't have any of these skills none whatsoever so I don't know what to do I have put thousands upon thousands of dollars in my education and honestly I wish I can go back and just get a fucking trade because this is some bullshit

I don't want to work in a warehouse because it's minimum wage I could get my hands dirty and go into construction if I wanted to Anna maybe I'm thinking maybe that's the road I need to go into because clearly what I'm doing is not making me fucking happy as long as I can get a job that can support me I'll be fine

I just feel really fucking lonely. I've been seeking out people to be friends with, and to chat with and it's nothing it's not even fucking worth it. And I think I just need to escape from it all I don't need people texting me and blowing up my phone saying they're thinking about me and in the next breath I tell them no and they block me

I figured out what it's important and it's not politics and it's not fighting it's not family bulshit it's putting me first it's saying no more often doing what I want to do it's going on a walk when I want to it's not having to answer to anybody and I get that you are nervous when I walk because it's dark and I live in a big city but I mean I still feel like I am a fucking bird and a cage I really feel like I have no free time because I've always had someone to answer to and what's really fucking scary is I'm repeating the exact same life as my mother and I need to find to do something different and I think that's the most scary fucking thing ever

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intertwined-fates · 6 years ago

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07/26/2018 HELP

Hello, fellow followers and other valued individuals who may be reading this. I dislike stooping to ask for help, but I'm currently at a loss. I'll be real with you and try to keep it brief. About a year ago, as you see in this instagram post I hit an extremely low point. I was losing everything. My family had broken apart. I lost my step-father, the one man who finally gave me a father after being abandoned by my biological one very young... and no, he didn't pass away.

The person I trusted with everything, my secrets, my fears, my hopes, and dreams... cheated on my mother after ten years and had been actively cheating on her for several months prior to when my mother found out. My best friend of nine years and our other mutuals abandoned me. They couldn't deal with my disorders anymore (psychotic depression, generalized anxiety disorder). My boyfriend at the time had been supportive as possible, but I knew deep in my heart that my depression was consuming me. I didn't like who I became when depressed... how could I put him through that side of me? I couldn't imagine a life without my family together. It shattered me and the only joy I had left was my daycare job. Even that was hard to hold onto, considering I worked a second job where employees, including myself, were sexually harassed.

August 6th, 2017 my mother and three younger siblings packed up to leave. A friend of my mother's and their family was allowing us to live with them while my mother worked her ass off earning money so we could move out and get away from what toxic environment our home had become. I stayed home and told them I'd make the drive later on my own. I didn't bother making up any excuses and they didn't push me to follow. Part of me was waiting for my stepdad to come back because I knew he would be showing up eventually... well, I was hiding in my room, waiting for him when I heard the door open. I heard him open the front door, then go into his bedroom and leave again. I wanted to call out and beg him to fix what he had done. I wanted him to confess all the wrongful doings he had done by cheating on my mother who loved him so unconditionally. I also wanted to scream at him for ruining what family I finally had in my heart. But, I didn't do any of that. I went out there and he offered to talk. I told him I didn't have anything to say. He left and I assumed he wouldn't come back. I wish he would have stayed and acknowledged the pain in my eyes.

That's when I lost myself. I realized I was home alone, I had alcohol, energy drinks, and my three prescriptions in the kitchen. I went into the bathroom and brought all of that, a hello kitty blanket, notebook, pen, and shut the door. I sat down and started to take the pills, counting as I swallowed them. I took twenty-five antidepressants including 25mg lamictal, 150mg wellbutrin, and 150mg of sertraline. I don't remember how many I took of each, but those were the dosages for each individual pill. As I took the pills, I tried to create a goodbye on the paper. I couldn't focus and my hands were so shaky. I tried to write how sorry I was and how I loved everyone. I ended up getting frustrated and scribbled all over the page. That's when it really set in. I was fucked. I was going to do severe damage to my kidneys or actually die if I stayed there. My mom and siblings were out of town by then. My stepdad was god knows where. I was alone and I was going to die. I didn't want to call an ambulance. I would be alone with strangers, then. So I walked outside, sat on the porch steps and started calling my stepdad. He didn't pick up. I tried over and over and he didn't pick up. I texted him what you see below. He almost hadn't come... which still scares me to think about what would have happened if he hadn't come.

I walked up to the car when he pulled up and got inside. I sat there and stared at the seat with my blanket wrapped around me. I then mumbled for him to take me to the hospital. Through the corner of my eye, I could see he was confused and I felt like he was angry at me... he asked me why and I told him what I had done. He said my name. I felt hopeless. He took me to the hospital and they made me change into a gown while a lady with glasses watched. They took my belongings and the lady laid me down on the bed. She started asking me why I did what I did and what I had done while my stepdad sat in a chair and watched them hook me up to different machines. Everything was so fuzzy to me. I felt like I was in between being alive and dead. My mother was called and she sped over an hour of distance to be by my side. She sat next to my stepdad and maybe this is twisted... but part of me hoped my failed attempt would bring them back together. At least, if I couldn't die... maybe my stepdad would realize how terrible of a decision he had made and would fix his mistake... but that didn't happen. He stayed in the room while they made me drink activated charcoal. Never fucking again... let me tell you. I've never tasted something so foul. Eventually, it made me throw up. The doctors told me I needed to throw up several times before they could do tests on me. Once I had thrown up many times, I fell asleep on and off in that room. When I woke up again, I was told I'd be going in a different hospital room. They moved me and explained I would stay overnight to be monitored. A guy was assigned to monitor me. I felt so uneasy. I couldn't sleep with him constantly staring at me. I wanted to disappear and every time I tried to pretend he wasn't there my heart rate would rise which only attracted more attention. I was stuck... and at one point, my stepdad and mom weren't in the room. I overheard that they were arguing in the parking lot... my mom came back into the room and confirmed that my stepdad had left to go talk to his girlfriend (who he had cheated on my mom with). My mom was fighting for him to get back in the room... she knew how much it meant to me for him to be there and he ... just... abandoned me for some whore. No different than what my biological father had done to my sister and me as kids.

I am twenty now. A year has nearly passed since that day. I am doing better than I ever imagined I would be. I teach toddlers at a local daycare. I have my first in-person lesbian relationship with someone who really clicks with me. My mom has a new boyfriend who treats her like a literal queen. He even took in my dog since I'm not able to pay the pet fee in our trailer. I am happy with my job and my new girlfriend. My biggest concern is money. While I love my job, I am not paid the best. I drive a 2002 Volkswagen Jetta that I have spent well over 1,000 dollars in repairs since March of 2017. I really need to save for a new vehicle and due to my suicide attempt, am trying to pay off hospital bills. I currently owe $1,571.83. It was over 2,000 dollars but I have been paying when I can to pay it off. I also have to pay for college. I cannot sign up for classes until I pay a 278 dollar fee because I dropped Summer classes due to stress. I could really use the help. On top of that, I pay for other bills and my car is unreliable...

Anything helps and if you are unable to donate and managed to read this far... please take this experience of mine as a reminder. Your life is never worth taking. You should embrace your life. No matter how gloomy things look now, you never know when you'll get a positive plot twist. You ARE capable of living a great life. I believe in every single one of you. My inbox here is always open as well or you may dm me at come_aliv3 on instagram. <3

Link to Paypal.me: paypal.me/SydneySutton

#support #donation #donate #suicide #suicideawareness #medical #signal boost #help #love #depression #paypal #bills #hospital #thank you so much

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flameontheotherside · 6 years ago

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XTC, MDMA, shrooms, Acid, DMT, etc.....

Okay so besides being a habitual stoner and shit... I do like to experiment. Simply experiment. I know most of yall rather party or what have you but I'm weird and rather pull an all-nighter playing WoW or something.

The thing I have a problem with is doing these things in a safe ways since being back on my "treatment plan". Before taking ANYTHING I ask my Dr and do some research irregardless of what he says because I'm a stubborn bitch and maybe with a death wish idk I'm just here.

Shrooms did nothing for me.

Maybe my friend made a bad batch or I took too little or idk. I saw wavy patterns but nothing cool like what my friends saw. Not fair. I don't really have a strong desire to try again. Especially now that I'm taking 4 medications.

Never done acid. Don't think I ever will because it might be one of those drugs that break me lol. No thanks. I was at a hospital where there was this dude who I think took way too much acid and was catatonic and shit. Freaky AF.

DMT also sounds like a death wish idk. It scares me.

Now XTC/MDMA is my area of most experience.

Since finding XTC is a cocktail of who knows what I strayed from that also because the comedown was reeeeaaaallly really bad for me. Even though the high is way more intense and longer, if there was actual hell on earth I was in it. I switched to the pure MDMA aka Molly. Of course I do the research and prepare for anything. At the comedown I take a klonopin or smoke a bowl of trees before passing out. I have like neither of those so for the past 2 or 3 weeks I've been riding it out until Erik says it's okay to take my night time meds and pass the fuck out. Seroquel can or will kill you if you don't wait long enough! Just throwing it out there.

If you're curious I take: 200 MG of Lamictal and 300mg wellbutrine in the morning

Then 200mg Seroquel and 100 of Lamictal at night.

So if I'm going to trip on a weekend...

I take my meds Friday morning and around 9-11pm take some MDMA and it wears off in about two hours depends if you snort or swallow. Tonight I nearly fucking died just snorting it because it kind of got caught at the back of my throat. Let me tell you: The shit tastes like Satan's asshole! Okay? I'm not even playing with you. So serious. No amount of water helped and when I tried mouthwash it was worse. Erik had a blast laughing at me of course and I was not amused at all. It was the worst taste... I nearly just threw up in my mouth. Oh my God it's indescribably disgusting beyond belief.

The morning after, I don't usually take my morning medications and I feel okay just really tired so I sleep most of a saturday and roll again at around 9-11. Do the same as before, wait a while to take my night meds and pass out. Then on Sunday take my meds as usual. No issues besides being tired as shit.

So what do I do when I trip?

While most people are partying lol I'm just talking to Erik. It's pretty fucking cool though. Prefer to be stoned but this is what I've got. I don't particularly care of MDMA to be honest with you because it's not natural like weed is. I get almost the same effect. For me, the difference is that MDMA keeps me awake and the comedown is annoying if I don't have klonopin or trees to help with it. When I smoke I get the same effects I have on MDMA except I pass the fuck out and wake up insanely hungry. I rather smoke.

I don't do this during the week because that's kind of stupid.

Made that mistake once. Never again. Seriously if you're on medications make sure you do your homework. Be smart about this shit and not like die. I had to explain to Erik how it all works since he's never "rolled" before. Since we are TF he feels everything I do so it's kind of new for him. I explained to him that while it's fun and shit, it's not something I really enjoy doing much. This is just temporary until Vince gets his ass up to get trees (he stopped smoking to pass a drug test) so when I'm bored on a weekend this is what I got. It had been years since doing this. This has been the first year I have in the past 5 or 6 years ago when I was close to a overdose (I wasn't on meds but should have been). That was scary enough to make me stop for 6 years lol. Fuck that noise.

Love you guys, GN! 😘💞💕❤️

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧Don’t forget to take a look at Erik’s blog ran by his amazing mom Dr Elisa Medhus. Lots of stuff about his afterlife and shit. channelingerik.com … And YouTube

There is a new Twin Flame in spirit support forum: Spirit Spouse Support Group check it out!

Get your first Twin Flame/Mediumship reading free and take a look at affordable detailed readings here! (◕‿◕)♡

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castlehead · 7 years ago

Text

[CAPARISON'D]

There is no judgment slightly more than kind Now left that wld apply to this suggestive thing

Artlessly done as it is, but like the Earth is artless, Myself the experience of the Earth I have, or

Rather, am able to communicate; sometimes Nothing more than that, and in those cases feel

I am but shavings of selfhood, not so held fully in A Physical Body, yet not even able to accurately

Imitate reality outside of my a priori orb: I always Fail to bring it back: example is one time I was

Supposed to buy pot for this trip to this dude I used To know's house in Martha's Vineyard but thought

Cops / Were throwing shade where I was even tho Probably like one patrol car had driven past me

Or whatever, somewhere on Columbus on the stoop Of this brownstone out of many -it was an affluent

Neighborhood, a few blocks from my house- and Anyway paranoia got to me before the dealer, whose

Name -which was really probably more like a nickname- Was 'Talon' -yo, man.. it's been so long I'd thought of

That. I remember: I ghosted into the / Better, darker Shade of pregnant shade my room had, the one I used

To hate and love at the same time, and which my irritated Mother oft wld clean up for me, and which smelt of humiliation,

Like a group of people opening your door and immediately Stepping in dog vomit -I feel indifferent about it as I am older

Now, and it's been two years since I dropped The ball and fell out of a window- I mean / Chicken'd

Out of getting the Pot.- The monotony is I almost Do get it, every time, stuffing it furiously

Into a fannypack i always lose, bc I must lose, it / Then End up having to purchase more fannypacks: o ugly futility: it is

Like when my gf and I lost our wallets pretty Sequentially, like, within the space of a week, the way

We [both of us] lose our minds, certainly, every day: and the spirit of-- Reality? It goes and expires, the schmuck, from exposure in snowy

Caverns after my 9th goddamn Fannypack. / It hid so long Within the ear and don’t come out but

As such, by its knotty refusals, tells me how meaning sounds: Now what’s the story here: these heroes, makars, tune

Up me, leave me a lyric without an epyllion, an extended Sequence of spongy self-regard that grows in the heart of

These strange routes to find my wallet, yet much like Exposure to cold climates, mayest I find where

Nestles this goon what who stole my griefy solemness

Took my schedule for my weeping: I must meet My grief-quota, and pushing myself into my findings

I perform more experiments with beakers and shit But in vain seem to leave my sanity figuratively burnt

In the corner, ignore her either bc I find her precious Or bc I am neglectful, and usually ignorant

OF the long-time effect of loosening yr circadian Rhythm, which I guess would be apposite to The rhythm of when it was time to cry in public.

Finagling finesse, or robbing silence Of hours and hours / Of record.

Which one is worse? And are either Productive? And will Vaping give

Me early onset Dementia? I don't want to be A dull boy. I feel like buried beneath the concrete

Built of all great men Looms the rind of the thing,

The res' residue of Gd. That prays away inside all heroes

Like the precious goop inside a jelly Donut, a goop or honey / They seem

To acquire endlessly from caverns of perspective As sound the mechanical counting thuds of heart.

. . . . . . . . . .

Of all the spooky diameters these figures tell me To follow till the finish, / These podunk palings

Are the worst. Stretching up the road indeterminately To someplace / Out of sight and that

The poet is not even sure is actually there. The thing you have done, the court of bees in

My head tell me, While you do not mind a response To this yet you tiptoe / Over that, puts pressure on

The work of a gaggle / Of random bros that can clone Themselves / Sifting into creation like wild atomic dust.

I hear this propounding from the court of bees, Crones lift up the light to me like strange furniture,

Double over under its [wait] weight and drop that Massive coffin of light into the local undrained swamp.

In that fabulous mire will yr body sleep; you will always Harbor / In your chest that detailed yet subtle truth about you nobody

Knws about for certain, the thing you had no choice to Be, that blurs yr eyes, I speak of it you, saith the swarm.

. . . . . . . . . .

Honestly, write as speech of moment, yeh: Stuff about / The time passing, your thighmuscles

Clenching as you sit here realizing u clench Yr ass too, and then everything goes

Into this goofy rhythm of tearsdrops of moment And the same your toes, / Some anxiety hoping

To accelerate the past / From you and your palings. Surrounding you, as if to jump you for money-

-Flits the doom that could fit in like I didn't in Highschool; yes I became the cliché misfit as

The spirit’s lull in me, waiting for shitty misfit Carnage to end: I had to welcome it, it was

The life of me, it was either that or liberation From life-entire. Almost dozing off, the security

Guard in my brain hears a rustling in the bushes. / Try To deck out these pithy voices in something

Nice and acceptable, a'saith, said The Bees, and Said the Bees, End up shaking no crown, / Nor did free myself

Of anything for nothing at all but what I did, a crime that Is, of being th the hellish flower flowering out my Lungs, into your basic realm with every breath,

As the voice of the speaker Of the pome seems undecided on who

Is actually speaking, me or you, I'd say The only thing to do is duel it out, poet

And the carnage in my hands, coming In frank whorls of feeling that efface

My sense of balance with its own glee Of shaky grip, which I trust, and I boil

With the energy / Of fifteen Wellbutrin today. I am left here to my work that's called, "To be all

The way true with myself" Which comes From this very domepiece here, you all. That I-

-Can ever be an audience to myself, forever, Is enough of an accomplishment as a poet.

. . . . . . . . . .

The writing, tho, is another voice telling me about Myself, knocking on my skull for hollow spots

To take a sledgehammer to. It drifts, I think, / Thru many People, explaining whatever's holy around them: like ticks

Finding weeds by the broken gate That grow in an unnatural sort of way like

They got sprayed with chemicals Or something, though,

Perhaps the ground is bad, by the broken gate. Where I make my desolate way to work,

Have my desolate work done, or to say, this crime: I say my continuum: I despoil my ego, sure, but that is not the crime. I-

-Intend the risk, but have in me some coward Pushing back, repeatedly asking me if I'm

Crazy or something: suddenly I am fallen To the breaches of the World, so as to find

My Gd., the one that is the baroque one, And wriggle about as if I was a child on her

First plane ride: my ears hurting popping Cabin pressure and hellish something

Outing my innermost / What if's about The Baby; so it, like conjuring a thesis

Statement, shapes something of all That contradicting Clay into

Something my inner nobody can handle, frail as he is he Lays muted, finally attached to the beauty / Of the flower

. . . . . . . . . .

In my lungs. Go inside an Outside place, something says,

Permeating thru a fog of voices, Pieces, The bees they are long gone,

And I am not alone: so: notice Yr location, detail by detail,

The plain sense here is there: My symmetry is more than bothered air:

It is calls to me made by the telephone: I listen patiently to the dialtone as it weeps,

All things then taking on a character of Consciousness. I apply my consciousness

To others, like ravens do maybe. And then It is / Almost done, as is the inching doom:

I should b at this moment receiving Nourishment from feeding Tube, A coma patient suspended in Unbroken sleep, loved ones hoping He'll waken to his will again, Those I love / Doubly forsaken By me who thought he ws. forsaken

By the World.-- This perpetuity is a moody little fate I have in me, It is the location I notice, like you said, you, thru The fog. Happy? Now it won't leave. It is like A mouse i'the wainscot [Dickinson] / Telling me Myself, poet or perhaps the man, or the opening sun Once more to strange and futile dawns since since I do live, and live: so I am: and I have my own

Special clan of becketts picking Sundries from their asses

Soothing my jagged impressions of the World With familiar image, smoothing like a ironing Board; and, they keep policing the fictions on Which rest the reasoning behind my writing Behavior, why I did a song so very long.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Old father old artificer Stand me now and ever in good stead." Rough the linens on my deathbed are, and scratchy, It's wool I always hated the texture of when I was A kid: now of course, am a Loathing Regular of All On the internet, / Intent on memes to the last, he was, That's what it'll say on my epitaph. / In all my strength I say, then, or entreaty my messd up life disappear into

The dawn that I think has something wrong With it, it seems like it is kind of off, like People who are confined in boarding houses For the mentally ill. From my screaming Radio I hear someone selling Cadillacs. It Was not midnight. It was not raining. It was The fence that was my crime, outstretched Into stupid distances like a Wyoming of the Dirty cosmos, dirtier than silence cures the Exegete. I profit sentence by sentence, see,

And the Ars Poetica is a way to send a treatment Of the play to The Hollywood. Sentence is a line Robbing my habitat, until I am inside looking in, For the sky stops at the ground, and that is all. The mirror falls, and I must write out savage Things like this, that make up their mind About what they are, interest only

In keeping symmetrical. My soul needs exit From any light, even of lamp, it needs a Hypnotic Like Ambien to trip out on and slump over Dinner with my family later, still fucked up on It. Then something stops, not time, I do Not want it to be anything like time. Perhaps Verbosity: but I do comment

On epiphanies well enough to know the sound OF epiphany, without knowing what exactly The sudden clarity reveals. Did one look at What one saw, or did one see what

One looked at? -Thats me stealing from Hart Crane. Great artists steal because they see

How a style can be improved, so adopt it, make It better. Such sins amass; the Angels sing, O Theft!

Theft! And I go ahead plant a knife enough a knife for some Australian guy to say, "THATS A KNIFE." But not

Enough to charge anybody with anything, then somehow Twist it into a hate crime, duly distracting The Angels

From their liminal matters of blame upon me I am / Not thieving, I am making belated what Came before me, sort of like Mars in retrograde;

The stiff providence of fences and unlimited Bougie refernces atone for my ubiquitous use

OF all the best parts of everything, to make them Better than they were, written by those

Who wore a style like a 18th century noble Wears a musket: protectively. He honors most My steal, sorry, i mean style, who works under it-

-To destroy the teacher, saith Whitman, But that is love: all he didnt have was a hand On the button ol Kimmy J is foaming at the mouth

To push, destruction is abstraction, sure; Destruction here is used loosely for the sake of Serenity of speaking phrases gone away

Like they all went on a family vacation or something. Bleed, and you will summon presence enough To empty yourself for sleep [Faulkner] or make An infidel of abraham and Split the-

-Planets [Melville] and this cosmos is a trunk Of Blanche Dubois fine french furs, I bet you think this is

That, as on I go in a struggle to prove to everyone That I saw God & junk, on that day I got high On SSRIs and grasped for sense only to find it Under the control of something espionage And aloof, darting eyes not like a villain

But like a Paranoid Raven, then dies me as opposed To not: Reversal of some happy bumps in the day To make up for all the spooky ones in the night That hint at me like the first oncomings of ALS And I have not a feature film but hope the grass Is green as well on this margent of further sides Then abrupt belief, to dive in an' conquer or Repel sense back to Plato's Cave, which is a-

-Reference I shouldnt be using as I oh puritanical collector Of souls, well, I havent read Plato at all but i feel like if i did

Id be made another mans satellite, as Emerson, Somewhat in the vein of Blake, says in his introduction

To the essay Nature, I think that's the one. So: A hawk crosses the sky like there was some

A to B GPS followment but it is probably just migrating early. Take everyone back to the city. [Ashbery]

FURTHERANCE

#poem #poetry #pome #powtry #writing #latest dookie #new work

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arewedoctorsyet-blog · 8 years ago

Text

SAMANTHA LOVES RITALIN

***Disclaimer: Get your drugs prescribed by an actual doctor to treat an actual condition with which you have been diagnosed after a consultation with said doctor to ensure your safety and wellness. Take only as prescribed. Don’t fuck around.

Samantha here. I am about to detail my experience on different psychiatric medications. If you make it through the whole thing, you might feel like I did years ago, before I knew there was a better way to live. I hope these words give you some kind of guidance or push to get the help you need.

When J and I sat down to discuss the logistics of our master plans, I remember worrying about my ability to perform in medical school. I began thinking out loud about how my mind never shuts off. How I don’t absorb anything I hear/read. People can say something directly to my face and I have no idea what they said. I lose everything. Deadlines are not a thing - I am oblivious to them constantly, even after leaving myself notes and reminders. Sticky notes all over my desk at work just blend into the background.

What if I have ADHD?

My profession is working with mentally ill children. I see kids (and medicate them) EVERY DAY who genuinely have ADHD. Those kids also have no impulse control…neither do I. Those kids blurt out every thought that pops into their head and it drives me crazy - but I do the same thing in meetings, and often get in trouble for running my mouth.

In school, my mind wanders off and runs at 100mph and burns through every topic but the one my teacher is talking about. I’ve been known for scrambling to do my homework for one class in the middle of a different class because it’s due in two hours, I forgot it was due and I wasn’t listening when the teacher was explaining how do it anyway.

These symptoms have been around as long as I can remember. In first grade I used to look at posters of animals in my classroom and imagine they were talking to me. My teacher was constantly yelling at me for pulling pens apart and making tiny buildings with my erasers. What the fuck did I actually learn in first grade???

THE POINT IS: these symptoms made school very, very difficult for me. And they never went away. When I was 15, in a fit of frustration I brought it up to my doctor during a routine visit. I felt ashamed and stupid because my grades were terrible and I was socially awkward and I didn’t know how to fix myself. I cried until I couldn’t even speak. My doctor gave me depression and anxiety screenings and I was through the roof on both. She asked if I wanted medication and my mom said, “She doesn’t need it.”

I was referred to a therapist, who I saw for about a year. I asked about ADHD, but she didn’t take me seriously - just chalked everything up to anxiety. She referred me for psychiatric testing just to humor me. I was seen by a doctor who listened to my mom and not me. When I explained my symptoms she interrupted and said, “You just really want something to be wrong with you.” I shut down and stopped seeing my therapist. I had officially been diagnosed a drama queen.

After I moved out of my mom’s house at 21, the persistent “anxiety” still hanging over my head, I realized that I could finally take charge of my own medical care. After some Googling, I began seeing a different therapist who specialized in my (non-ADHD related) symptoms and who actually listened to me. She recommended starting Zoloft for the anxiety that kept me awake all night. I increased my dosage every 6 months or so for about 2 years until it seemed to wear off altogether. At that point I had begun working at a job that was so mentally taxing that I lost all motivation to do anything. All I wanted to do was sleep. I asked my PA for help and she switched me to Effexor.

Effexor was great until my refills took an extra week or so to process due to insurance issues EVERY MONTH. The withdrawal from Effexor was un-fucking-bearable. Blurred vision, dizzy spells, nausea and headache that lasted for days. Even when I finally got another pill in me, it took at least 24 hours before I felt right again. Oh yeah, and you can’t have orgasms on it. That didn’t bother me until I got engaged and thought maybe I deserved more out of that whole arrangement. So then I tapered off the Effexor and started Wellbutrin.

THAT WAS A HORRIBLE TIME. Even the lower doses caused withdrawal times ten for a solid four weeks until it was completely gone from my system. But Wellbutrin is magical!!!!! It actually works well on both depression and ADHD, so my PA and my psychiatrist are very confident in the combination of Wellbutrin and Ritalin that I am now on.

I started the Ritalin on Saturday. I did a lot less fucking around than I normally do on a Saturday. Sunday I studied for a biology test, literally all day with a break in between to watch Snake City (which is ten times scarier when you’re paying attention) and to walk my dogs. Monday (today) I remembered what I studied. Taking the exam today was a totally different experience. I could clearly transfer memories of my notes into writing AND IT’S ACTUALLY THE CORRECT SHIT.

At night I’m sleeping like a damn baby. A well-established baby who has healthy sleep routines, not like a shitty newborn who doesn’t know what time it is. That’s how I used to sleep - like a shitty newborn baby.

That was a lot of difficult things to experience just trying to get myself “right.” I wish I had been brave enough to talk to the doctor alone and advocate for myself instead of letting my mom speak for me when I was younger. She truly didn’t know the half of it because I never told her. I felt guilty saying anything that might upset her. I wish I hadn’t spent so much mental energy punishing and blaming myself for not being “normal.”

If you are still reading this, maybe you know exactly what I mean. Maybe you haven’t taken the leap to get help yet. But you’re worth it, and you should. Don’t waste a single second listening to someone tell you that your problems aren’t important. You deserve to be in charge of yourself. You deserve to feel safe inside your mind and out in the world. You deserve to be the best version of yourself, and if you need some help getting there, then for fuck’s sake, take it! I love you. You can do this.

#mental illness #ADHD #anxiety #depression #mental health #psychiatry #samantha post #medication #medications #meds

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christiechritter · 5 years ago

Text

My depression, it’s history, and my extremely long winded way of trying to help anyone who might need it by typing out my own reasoning so my own eyes can read it.

Thinking back on it now, I am pretty sure I had depression as far back as high school and maybe even middle school to an extent. We were always moving. I never was able to keep friends. I was always the weird one in groups. I was ok with that I think. But I remember how messy my room always stayed because even thinking of cleaning it caused me to shut down. Teenage angst it was called at the time. Just being a teenager. Those mood swings are just hormones. I did have quite a bit of hormone trouble, thanks to PCOS. When you have your period at the age of 17 that lasted 6 full months nonstop, your hormones will jerk you around. But that is a story for a different time.

I met my husband my senior year of high school. It was one of those “BUT I LOVE HIM” kind of things. I didn’t know what I was doing. I never had a boyfriend and now there is this guy 10 years my senior that wants me? He asked my fathers permission for my hand in marriage after only 3 months of knowing me. Dad said “yes, but only if you wait a year before marrying.”

My father was killed just 2 months later. I think maybe had that not happened, I might have eventually emerged from my depression maybe? I don’t know for sure. But that one single tragic happening basically cemented me into a way of life. I am still with the man that asked my father for my hand. And it isn’t a lie to say that the only reason that my husband and I lasted those next few years is because he knew Dad. He talked with him. Dad approved of him. I was clinging to him. And it was so very not easy those first 5 or so years, trust me. But again, a story for a different time.

Life went on.

7 years ago today, I took my first real steps in managing my depression. I had gotten to the point that I could physically and mentally tell that if something didn’t change, something was going to go bad. So I made an appointment with a regular clinic doctor. And I got on my first antidepressant.

And today I sit here, literal tears streaming down my face as I write this. Because crying comes so easy. As does the self-doubt. The self-depreciation. The self-hatred. And the outward hatred in general. Because the depression is still just as real as it was 7 years ago.

In the ensuing 7 years, my depression has ebbed and flowed. I have been on a few antidepressants as I worked my way through them trying to find what worked and what didn’t. Wellbutrin did the best. Prozac almost destroyed me. I still don’t remember whole chunks of time that I was on Prozac. My memory became mush. Not only did I stop remembering what I was doing minute to minute, what I ate for breakfast that day, or who I saw the day before. I also started losing childhood memories. Things I have always known were now gone. Things I always prided myself in knowing how to do? Disappeared. I have tried therapy, both the in person kind once I got insurance and the BetterHelp.com option. The in person kind helped, as I could spend an hour ranting about anything I wanted to for a full hour to a person that didn’t know anyone or anything in my life and they sat there and took it. There was a freedom in that release. Then it stopped because I lost my job due to downsizing. Again.

Today, my depression is almost at the same level as it was 7 years ago, when it had almost gotten to be too much. And it isn’t as easy to hide as it was 7 years ago or even 20+ years ago. Hell, 7 years ago I would never have thought of sitting down and writing all this out. Yet here I am, hiding tears away from my husband as I write about a subject that isn’t unique to me but I am feeling acutely.

So why am I writing this long ass diatribe on a platform I have no friends on today?

Because 7 years ago today, I was just starting on the work needed to get better. And I am still working on that. Except now, I am much more vocal about it. I tell people I’m depressed without hesitation. Some understand. They get a look in their eyes that is half empathy and half.. something else. They know it. Because they feel it. Then others... well, they never experienced it. They look at me like I grew a second head sometimes. How dare I say something like that? No, I’m just sad, they would say. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better. What do you have to be depressed about? These words continue in 2019, but happen less so I think. And that is good.

I also write this because maybe.. just maybe.. someone will read it. And they will understand. Or maybe someone who is struggling will read it and realize they are not alone. That someone out there is also struggling. And that somehow makes them feel better in some sadistic but totally necessary way.

Having depression doesn’t make you a bad person. Having depression doesn’t make you worthless. Yes I know the voices are telling you differently. I know, because my voice won’t fucking shut up. ‘You’re house is a disaster because you are a shit person. You should be embarrassed and ashamed to live like you do. No wonder you don’t have any friends, you can’t invite them over. Why don’t you get up and clean something you filthy slob. Of course you aren’t good at your job, you can barely keep yourself together. What makes you think you can perform at work at a pace that isn’t dumb? Damn, are you always eating? How fat can you possibly get?”

My voice inside my head exaggerates my insecurities. It amplifies my fears. It gives strength to everything that is wrong with me.

And trust me.. all of those things up there were thoughts I had today. TODAY.

If you find yourself having these thoughts, you aren’t lost. Find some time in between bouts of self-hate and depreciation to come up with a plan.

And that plan all revolves around small steps. Physical examples of effort to combat the emotional thoughts brought on by depression.

House is a giant disaster area and the mere thought of all the cleaning that would need to be done just to get it to a level most people would consider “liveable” and leaves you exhausted just to think about? Pick one thing and just clean it. Don’t pressure yourself to have a whole room clean by the end of the day or it’s useless. Clean the dishes. Too many dishes? Clean a plate. Then another if you feel up to it. Maybe a bowl. Or switch focus. Dust your TV. Polish a mirror. Straighten pillows on the couch. Take out the trash. Whatever you can mentally and physically handle, no matter how small, do it. That one step will help quieten that voice. Because you can look at that one small thing and say “See? It’s cleaner. I know I can do it. Just give me time.”

Feel like you don’t have friends? Remember that you don’t have to invite people over to your house to be friends. You can be friends with people you have never even met on the internet. Through my love of writing, I have met some of the best people I have ever known and I have never met some of them. Not going to lie, it might be daunting to get started on that. Where does one begin to even try to find a foothold in this gargantuan place called the internet? Pick an interest that you love or want to know more about and Google it. Find a message board to participate in. Find a chat room with like minded people to talk to. Like games? Discord is an up and coming, quickly growing platform where people have whole servers based on players and games. Like books? Google “find friends who like books”. Feeling adventurous and filled with courage? There is actually a Bumble for Friends. Seriously.

Feeling like you are worthless at your job? Good news is, there are metrics for that. Find an area that you can tell you need improvement in and ask your supervisor for training. Maybe your company offers its own sort of training program that you can sign up for without your supervisor, if that is too scary. Find one thing you want to improve, one small thing. And find the info.

Feeling too fat to care? Or generally just hate yourself? One small thing.. find 1 thing that you like about yourself. One thing. Do you like the way your eyes are shaped, how they reflect your smile when someone manages to make you laugh? Do you like the particular way a color of lipstick looks on your lips? Do you like a particular pair of pants that make your butt just look damn good? It doesn’t have to be big and it doesn’t have to be life changing. But you are not just your fat. You are not just your stringy hair. You are not just your pale skin or flat feet. You are not just those things that you fixate on.

Are any of these one small things going to magically make your depression disappear? No, of course not. You may have stretches of time that you are sure that you are actually going backwards instead of making progress despite doing all the small things you can. And that’s ok. But those small things add up. Eventually, that penny becomes a nickel.

Remember about 3 years ago when you started reading this extremely long post, I told you that I feel like I am almost at the same level I was 7 years ago when I started trying to get myself worked on? I wasn’t lying or exaggerating. A bus could hit me right now and I might actually appreciate the relief. I have bitten my nails down to the quick over and over till they just about bled because I like the way the pain feels. My own form of self harm.

I keep trying despite it.

You can do this. You can keep trying, despite it all. Don’t ignore the voice as that is self-delusion. But you can certainly scoff at it in disdain in between bouts of anxiety and times of stress. If you haven’t tried medicine, consider it. If you haven’t tried therapy, I highly recommend it. If you haven’t tried reaching out to a friend, swallow your fear. If you haven’t written out an extremely long post on a forum that you have no followers or friends on and you barely use, try it. Because I tell you, my eyes have dried up. And I feel oddly... stronger. And extremely nervous that anyone is ever going to read this at all. But let’s not dwell on that.

I don’t know you but I believe in you. Actually, I might know you. But I still believe in you. I want to help. I need help. Maybe this has helped someone.

Now to go take that bath I have been screaming at myself about.

#depression #anxiety #seekhelp #dosmallthings #youarentworthless #youarentalone #imsorrythisissolong

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pisati · 6 years ago

Text

I’m not sure what it is or why, but something feels bad.

it could definitely still be PMS. I haven’t gotten the mood swings in a while, but my PMS symptoms change month to month, it seems.

I don’t know if my wellbutrin dose is high enough. my friend started at 150 and is on 300 now; I had to work my way up to 100. but I almost feel like I felt better on 75. still not good, but that Bad Feeling is back now. not strong, but it’s there. I feel blank most of the time. existing in the present moment because that’s all I have the energy to do. but now with a hint of sad.

my health situation is starting to get to me. I thought I’d be fine with a lifelong diagnosis, and there are some things I’ve just accepted are going to be lifelong problems for me. maybe it’s more that I still don’t have an answer and I may not get one. even if I get an official CFS diagnosis, that’s a cop-out. it’s a death sentence, diagnosis-wise. it means they can’t find anything actually wrong with me and can’t diagnose me with anything else, but I’m still unwell. there’s no test for it, you just kind of arrive there by process of elimination. at least the medical community is starting to recognize it as legitimate and heavily impactful on people’s lives, but... I don’t know who will take me seriously if I get that. it’s like telling doctors you have anxiety. if I ever have a problem, that must be the cause.

I feel like I’ll need to mourn. I don’t remember being better-functioning exactly, but I’ve read things I’ve written from back then and I don’t know how I did it. I feel sick to my core thinking that this might be the best it’ll ever get. I had this idea of the person I wanted to be one day, and I’ll probably never get there. I never even had very lofty goals for myself; I just saw myself with a little more color in my skin, being a little more active and being able to stay and succeed in academia. I miss research. I miss learning because I loved it.

people don’t seem to understand that I’m not trying to limit myself. I know I’ve been able to do more things before. just because I could do them then, that doesn’t always mean I can do them now. people don’t believe me when I try to talk about my cognitive function. it’s so much more complicated than it sounds on the surface. people hear me say I have issues with memory and they’ll tell me “well you remembered xyz so it can’t be that bad!” like... I never said I lost anything. I don’t blank out memories entirely, usually. brains are complicated. there’s some information that’s easier to retrieve. if I follow my usual sludge bucket analogy... that’s the stuff that’s floating at or near the top. sometimes it might be a little bit of a struggle, but it’s easier overall. that’s where my conversational information is. I can fake normalcy pretty well with some minimal tip-of-the-tongue and inconsequential forgetfulness [sitting here knowing the word ‘inconsequential’ is the word I’m looking for and really having to dig to pull it out; typical, but harmless]. some things are much deeper in the sludge and therefore much harder to pull out. sludge isn’t static; things move up and down. that’s how I managed to remember my doctor’s office is off the Ballston metro stop up until the one day I couldn’t. it wasn’t that I forgot. it was that that information was impossible to retrieve in that moment. I never would have guessed thinking could take so much energy, until it started taking much of what little I have.

people with CFS have described the feeling as starting every day with a low battery. that’s definitely true. sometimes I’ll get lucky and wake up feeling maybe 60%. most of the time it feels like 40%. I can do what I have to for a bit, but it really doesn’t take much anymore to exhaust me entirely.

I’m terrified that 60% is the best I’ll ever get. I know I’ll have to change my idea of my ideal self. my ideal future. I’ll have to set my sights a little shorter. but god... I don’t want to. I don’t want to kill myself trying to push myself too hard, but my goals would be well within reach if I were just fucking healthy. if I could sleep through a night and wake up in the morning feeling rested. if I could walk a few miles and not come home feeling too drained to do anything else with my day. so many people take those kind of things for granted. sometimes I feel like I do mourn; how much better I could have done in school if I could have just gotten enough sleep and if my brain could have worked right. it did enough to earn very good grades and pass all my classes, even the hardest ones, but I know I could have done better.

my dad makes scattered cameos in my dreams. I saw my grandpa in a dream for what feels like the first time last night. I’ve been feeling like there’s a lot of tears I’ve been holding back over the last few weeks. dad should have been here for my brother’s graduation. he should have been in the audience next to me and in the reception afterwards, talking about the keynote speaker’s speech. cracking jokes that make all of us groan. pulling both of us in for a hug, walking around phipps with us. he really would have liked it.

he was stressing me out to the point of tears the last few months, but I miss him so fucking much.

I keep taking in rats and caring for them. I love it. I love them and want to do what I can for them. but it hit me while holding fitzie and petting him that his time is coming soon too. I’ve seen so much death. I’ve held pets while they died, I gave one CPR to no avail, I’ve held their lifeless little bodies and cried and cried. I can see fitzie like I saw frankie. his limp tail. I can see louie with nothing behind his eyes; ollie one day too. every rat I’ve ever fostered. the babies; in two short years, some unfortunately less, some hopefully more. I didn’t want to think that way about such young ones. I want to enjoy the present, enjoy what I have while I have it. but that end is always coming. and it’s so permanent. there is, and then there isn’t, and there never will be again. being so close to it; I wonder what it’s like sometimes. when it’s my time, if I’ll know. who’ll be there to hold my hand. if there’ll be anyone at all. my dad was alone.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. maybe I’m trying to get it out so it doesn’t keep eating at me, if that’s what’s contributing to my mood. getting it out doesn’t seem to help all that much. I just hope I feel better tomorrow. that I remember what to tell my psychiatrist tuesday. I do have a lot to be thankful for, still, and a lot to look forward to. just. I’m really not feeling great right now.

#blah blah #whatever

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