Tag Archives: Mental Health

Provigil….. And Stuff

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I’ve been waiting for a prior authorization from my psychiatrist to go through with my insurance company for a couple of weeks now, on a medicine called Provigil. It’s a drug that is used to promote wakefulness in adults who have certain sleep disorders, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and things of that nature. It is also been used to help treat depression and several other things as well, I believe. Though it has traits of an amphetamine, it is not one. It’s an expensive drug and I did not expect the prior authorization to go through, I figured they’d deny it and we’d have to appeal it and go through all that nonsense.

The reason I thought that, was because I had already been through that battle once, a few years back with my old primary care physician. She tried like hell to get me on this medication and that damn insurance turned her down every effin time. I mean she jumped through hoops trying to get me on this medication and getting the proof or enough proof that I needed it and would benefit from it. In the end, I never did end up getting approved.

So anyway, I was standing in the kitchen yesterday and my husband walked up and tossed me a piece of mail. It was from my insurance company, I get stuff from them all the time, and I won’t lie, I don’t open most of my mail, it sits, unopened, indefinitely for the most part, unless it’s a bill or something else “important”. I’m sure I probably miss some stuff that I should be reading, but nevertheless, my unopened mail piles grow and then turn into boxes of unopened and opened mail along with receipts, and we start over again. Whew!!! LOL I went a little off the trail there for a second, but as I was saying, I was holding this piece of mail from the insurance company, and I went to throw it up on the counter and something caught my eye, I can’t remember what it said, ‘approval’ maybe, but it was enough to make me think of my prior authorization and open it. Sure enough, it was a letter stating that they had approved my prior authorization for Provigil and that it was now covered for me to take for a year, before I’m up for revaluation!!! Woo hoo!! Truly, thank you God!!!!<3

So I finally got approved for it, so I can try it and see if it makes a difference and helps me so that I’m not so tired and sleeping all the time; and also I can see if it helps with the depression at all. It’d be so nice if it helped with both. My only fear is that my body will become tolerant to it too quickly and it will no longer work like it did in the beginning, or like it should. My body does that with medications, all kinds of medications, even things like antibiotics and crap, it’s nuts. I did it to myself though, ruined my body by being an addict, this is just one of the results of being a recovering addict. I pretty much rewired everything in my brain, it’s hard to get that back, if you even can, and I don’t think you’ll ever get all of it. There I go being Negative Nancy again though, God, it’s terrible, like I just set myself up for failure and disappointment with my thoughts and words!! I don’t wanna be that person.

What I’m really hoping, is that this Provigil, in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on, the mood stabilizer, and the anti anxiety medication, will finally make a difference I can actually feel. I wanted to write, ‘lol’ back there just now, after I said, “What I’m really hoping is that this Provigil in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on…..” and so on, because I realized how funny and crazy that really sounds…. maybe not to you or anyone else, but to me it does, if only because it’s my life and I’m thinking to myself, “Look at you, do you hear all those medications you’re on? What in the hell happened here? You’re a headcase. It always comes back to this, it seems like no matter what it always comes back to the “mental illnesses” that I deal with and it’s like it’s a never ending battle, I just thought, how funny the predictability of all this is and what a nut I felt like after listing off all those different types of meds I’m on. I’m giving it a shot though, because why the hell shouldn’t I really, I mean, anything within reason is worth a shot if it might make you feel better.

I’ll give all these medications a chance to work together in my system to see if together they make a difference that not only I can feel, but that can be seen by those close to me hopefully too. I know it takes time for everything to get into your system, everything has a different saturation point, so I think it’s probably best that I give it at least two months, if not three, before deciding whether or not it’s all making any difference or not. I’d like to try to keep a med journal, lol, but for me that’s like, I don’t even know, lol. Let’s just say I don’t do well on commitment to those sorts of things. Hell, one of my biggest problems with all this depression and medication crap is, I have a really hard time remembering to take my morning doses of my medications!!!! I am almost thirty years old, and I still cannot take my medications like an adult.

For years now I’ve struggled with taking my medications in the morning. Night meds have never been a problem, I always take my night meds and there’s nothing “good” in my night meds either, lol, just to be clear. I’ve tried all kinds of different things to get myself to take my meds in the morning. I have a sign that hangs from the cupboard right in front of my face that says, ” Take Your A.M. Meds!!”….. I don’t even notice it most days. My meds sit on “my” counter, the one I go to to roll my cigarettes, use my computer, everything, it’s like my central location. They’re right there next to me basically, and yet for a long time, morning after morning I did not take them, or only took them one day here, miss a day, then take them again the next day, miss two days, take them two days, like that. In the last year and a half I have been more conscious about taking my morning meds and somehow making sure I do it. While I haven’t been great at it, I’m still better than I was, and in the last I’d say month, since I got out of the psychiatric ward, I’ve been taking them way more consistently, because instead of not taking them because it’s “too late” in the day now, I’ve been taking them no matter what time I remember, as long as it’s not past like 2 p.m., because I don’t want them too close to my night meds. I figure even if I’m not taking them at the same time everyday, at least I’m taking them and they’re getting into my system so they can start to work hopefully. 

I’ll continue to work on taking my medications every morning like I’m supposed to. I don’t think it’s about finding a way to remind myself, because I’ve set alarms on my phone, taped up the sign, set them right next to me, and I still don’t take them like I’m supposed to. I feel like I’m a fucking idiot, like I’m defective, like what the fuck is wrong with me. Why don’t I just take my meds in the morning, like any other “normal” person would do? Whatever the reason is, I know I can get this right and start taking them every single day until it becomes so familiar that I could do it in your sleep, until it becomes as familiar as breathing each day. The damnedest thing is, if someone reminds me or tells me basically, to go take my meds, I take them right away, without hesitation. My husband sometimes tries to help me by reminding me, but he forgets too. A few friends have said they’d call me every morning, and they did, for a little while, but eventually it ended. And that’s okay, for all of them, because really it’s not their responsibility. It was nice of all of them to try and help me. I do appreciate it, but it’s not someone else’s job to see to it that I take my meds each morning, although I must admit, it sure makes it a lot easier. I’m going to have to do this on my own somehow though, I have to. 

I saw my therapist today and one of the things we talked about was ECT (electroconvulsive) therapy, to help alleviate and possibly eliminate this depression. It’s actually something I’ve thought about a lot over the last few years, and looked into online some too, I’m the one who brought it up to my therapist. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to think it sounded like a totally crazy idea at all, in fact he talked very positively about it and even gave me a brief account of a patient of his who underwent treatment not too long ago and seems to be doing great now, much better. He did talk about the possibility of some short term memory loss, and I brought up my concern with him about long term memory loss. I told him about a friend I have who underwent ECT treatment sometime in the last ten years, and he seems to have lost a lot of his long term memory, like his memories of certain things. My therapist didn’t really have much to say on that, like he wasn’t really sure, but I’ll look into it more closely. Anyway, we talked about it and decided that since I’ve been on what seems like almost every psych med there is out there, all to little or no avail for one reason or the other, it’s not a bad idea to talk to my psychiatrist about it when I see him at the beginning of May. So that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to talk to him about ECT and see what his perspective on it is, and whether or not he thinks it would benefit me in particular. We shall see what he has to say! 

For me, everyday the struggle is real, just as I know it is for a whole lot of people out there, so many people that have it WAY worse than what I could ever dream of having it, and so I try to be thankful that I don’t have it like that and I’ve got it the way it is, even if that’s less than ideal to me. I do a lot of things to myself I think, or I make them worse at least, blow them out of proportion, or think things that aren’t true or real – just paranoid thoughts in my head because of the way my life has been. It’s like I sabotage everything good in my life eventually, including relatioships, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it or by the time I do, it’s too late. I am living in this misery, depression, sadness, and anger, along with a list of other emotions, and I’m trying to figure out how to fix it, how to get out of it, knowing that I put myself in it, so it starts with me. I’m the one who had to change all this, no one else can do it for me, I’ve always know that, The problem is that it is so damn hard. Getting out of this pit I’m in, it feels impossible to climb out of most days. It’s like I’m barely dragging on. But I don’t want to be this way, so I must do something to change it, and this is where the battle starts, conflicting thoughts. I want life to be one way, but I don’t want to do the work to change it. I’m still going at it though, I haven’t given up so far. 

I think that’s enough rambling for me for one night, lol. I’m never sure if I actually have a point when I’m writing, I just kind of get that blank screen in front of me and it’s like my mind says, “AndGo!!” really fast, lol, and I’m off and writing. Thoughts spilling out on top of one another, my mind going ninety miles an hour. I’m sure some of you can probably see my “free” form writing style in my posts, lol. Thanks for baring with me folks!! 🙂 

The Day My Mom Died

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It’s true what they say, you never know when it’s going to be the last time you see someone, the last day that you ever spend with them. It was a Monday night, April the twelfth of 2014, my mom and I had just moved back up north from Flint that past August of 2003, so that my mom could be with her husband who’d just gotten out of prison. I wasn’t exactly happy about this move, as it would be taking me out of Flint, out of the city, and my crack supply would literally disappear over night. I was just barely eighteen, I could have said no, but I knew my mom wouldn’t let that happen. So I ended up giving into her and her husband and following them up north with our stuff loaded down in a truck, a u haul trailer and my car. We got high on rocks the whole way up there, each in our own separate vehicles. See, my mom had been a drug addict earlier in my life, then an alcoholic and then she quit everything completely when I was around ten or eleven. When I was sixteen though, she relapsed with coke/crack. I was dating a guy who sold it and he lived in the apartment with us and eventually my mom just said screw it I think. By that time she only had one lung, she’d had one half at a time removed, two surgeries,  on the right side I believe, due to lung cancer. Then we moved to Flint and it got even worse for both of us, so that’s when she decided to move us back up north. again. She knew we had to I think, for my sake if any. 

As reluctant as I was to move back up north with my mom and step dad, step family, I knew that without my mom I would die on the streets of Flint before nineteen. So I went and at first things were really bad for me, I went through some sort of psychological withdrawal from crack/cocaine. It was intense and nuts and nothing I’d ever want to experience again. Stupid ol’ me though, I had friends in the next town up, a town a little bigger than the one we were living in, and they could get crack and coke. Of course it wasn’t the same grade as the stuff in Flint, it was cut like crazy and half the time wouldn’t even cook up, but my mom and I bought it none – the – less. 😦 How sick we were, how terribly sick mentally and physically we were. To still be seeking this out, this crap that we had left one city for to come back home to get away, and it followed us, we still managed to find it. Thankfully it wasn’t as easy to get up north and it cost way more and like I said the quality was poor, so that discouraged my mom from wanting to buy it, because she couldn’t turn it into rock form. So this went on on and off from the time we moved up there in August 2003, to the night of April 12th 2004. 

I knew what I was doing was wrong, enabling my mother to get crack, when I knew she only had one lung, and I knew she was supposed to be on oxygen most of the time, I knew that crack could kill her in an instant. But she was my mom, and when she begged me to do it for her, I felt this sick guiltiness, and I was so torn. Do I do this for her, or don’t I? Too often I found myself doing as she’d asked me to, and then I’d end up staying with her and getting high!! Who in the HELL DOES THAT???!!! With their own MOTHER! But I did, we did. And I dare someone to say she didn’t love me, because that woman went through hell for me, trying to make sure I had what I needed and wanted. She was a good mom, she tried her hardest with me, but I didn’t listen and I did what I wanted and that’s’ one of the things I regret. I should’ve respected what she did and didn’t want me to do, because it wasn’t much. There’s no sense in dwelling on what I should’ve done to be a better daughter though I guess, although I do. 

I had been out all day the day of the twelfth, or most of it anyway. Running around to see who had dope. Somewhere around evening time, early night time, I arrived back home with my a guy, the dealer. I knew my mom would want some, so I decided to help her out since she asked me to. She gave him the cash she had on her and we stayed a little while, but when she was done smoking it, she wanted me to go up the the ATM and get more cash for her, and I just couldn’t do it. Even though we did drugs together, I still cared about my mom, her health, smoking crack and cigarettes with only one lung, I cared about her financial situation as she was a set income each month. So I wasn’t gonna let her get money that she didn’t have for this shit, out of her ATM. She tried saying she’d just go but my buddy said nope he couldn’t sell her anymore. She got mad, very mad for a little while….. but then she calmed down and she hugged me and told me thank you. I just looked at her and said, “I love you mom, but you’d had enough.” I ended up giving her enough for maybe a hit or two before we left and she seemed content with that. Before I left for the night, I apologized to her again, and she said sorry to me once more as well. We said, “Good night, I love you”, gave each other kisses, and she told me to be safe as I backed out of the driveway. I waved to her and honked as I pulled away, I could see her standing in the window of the door. 

That night I ended up partying for a awhile and then ending up at a hotel room with the guy who not only sold dope but smoked it. We partied together in his room, just him and I and late that night/early that morning, we fell asleep. When it was time to be out of the hotel room, I dropped him off somewhere and began driving home. I was tired and I wanted to go lay down some more in my bed. When I got home I should’ve known immediately that something was wrong. My mom’s truck was still in the driveway, and there were a few other vehicles I didn’t know in the yard. Plus my step grandparents who lived next door, were gone. It should’ve seemed odd that there’s was the only car gone. When I walked into the trailer, my mom and her husbands bedroom was directly in sight of the front door. I looked in there and didn’t see anyone, but oddly, what I did see was all the bedding tore off their bad. Now several times my step dad had wet the bed due to being too messed up to get up and go, so I though maybe it was one of those nights. I called out around the trailer, no one answered, I check for people, but no one was there. So I decided I was going to lay down in my room til everyone got home, although I just couldn’t figure out where they all were, who’s cars were in my driveway – my stepbrother’s friends maybe? And why was my moms truck parked out front. Initially I thought maybe her and her husband went somewhere with her in-laws next door. Anyway, I had laid down and I was just starting to drift off to sleep when I thought I heard knocking at the door, I wasn’t going to answer it, but then it stopped and for some reason, something made me get up and run out there. It was my aunt Eve.  

It was unusual to see her at our home at that time of day especially, since she normally would be working. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see that she was in her work uniform, she had been getting in her car when I finally opened the door and yelled, so I went to my room to get my glasses so I could see. When I came out my aunt had made it inside and I could see she was dressed in work clothes. She told me that I needed to get ready so we could go to the hospital, which was about 35 – 40 minutes from where we lived; and that my mom had been taken by ambulance that morning and we needed to get up there. Because no one could find me or get a hold of me, I had no idea, and I’d had people looking for me and trying to find me all morning…. but I was asleep, in a hotel room, after spending the night getting high on crack. My aunt had left work and driven down to our home in a last desperate attempt that maybe I was home but just not answering the phone, or something like that maybe, but either way, she drove 40 miles down to our place to see if I was there because she knew I needed to be found. She didn’t say whether or not she knew if my mom was alive or dead or what condition she was in other than that they found her without a pulse…. those were here exact words, “your mom was taken by ambulance this morning, and when they found her, she had no pulse”….. that left room for thoughts that they could have restarted her heart, that maybe they did CPR and she started breathing again, I was hoping for all kinds of things. After a brief call to the hospital to be sure how to get there around the road construction that was being done up there at the time, we were on our way. It’s a long, wooded stretch of land between the town I was living in and the city that the hospital was in, and my aunt and I barely spoke the entire way, me in the passenger seat thinking this was the longest ride in my life and praying fervently to God that he please let my mom still be alive, please don’t let her be dead God, please don’t take her from me, that He couldn’t possibly let that happen. 

Finally we arrived to the emergency department of the city hospital, parked and got out, but as soon as I had gotten out, before I’d even shut my door I think, my uncle’s wife, who was standing next to their car with my uncle, started screaming at me, “She’s gone Lily, she’s fucking GONE, your mom’s fuckin gone God dammit!!!” Instantly I fell to my knees and curled up into a little ball, right there on the concrete of the parking lot, I curled up into a tight fetal position and my mind was just gone. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry, I could hear but it all sounded far away, like an echo…. my family picked me up and carried me into the emergency room department in that position. I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, but I do remember being taken into a “family room”, that’s just off the ER waiting room area. My whole family was in there it seemed like, even though it wasn’t, but my step-dad (which I say with a very snotty voice) was there, my aunt Eve’s daughter (my cousin), my uncle and his wife, the one who had screamed at me in the parking lot, and some other people I don’t remember. Although I’m not sure when, eventually I unfurled myself from the fetal position I had curled up into in the parking lot of the emergency room. I think I was in a state of shock because I don’t really remember saying a lot, and although I’m sure I was crying, I don’t clearly remember that either, everything was like a blur, and it seemed to all be moving so fast, too many people in too small of a room, things like that. Two things that do stand out to me are when my uncle grabbed me by the throat and slammed me up against the brick wall and screamed into my face, “You killed her! You finally fucking killed her you little bitch, are you happy!!” A security guard and my family members got him off of me, and made him leave the hospital, but by that time, it was too late, the damage was already done, in that moment I was sure he was right, I was sure it was my fault she was dead.  Sometime before my uncle’s violent outburst toward me, a social worker or grief support counselor for the hospital, or something like that, asked me if I wanted to go back and see my mom’s body. I remember saying no, but for whatever reason, this woman wheeled me into my mom’s cubicle and shut the curtain behind us. I will never forget the way my mother looked, lying there on that hospital bed/gurney, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face, her sheet, lavender and purple gingham with flowers, still wrapped around her, covering her up, she looked as though she were just sleeping. I touched her body, her hands, her face, kissed her forehead and cheek, and then the woman wheeled me back out. I’m still not sure to this day if it was a good thing that that woman took me in there or not. 

So all this had happened, and things were starting to sink in a little more, there were still a bunch of people around. I remember sitting against the cool brick wall with my knees up hugging them, not really sure what was going to happen next. Well, as it turns out, my aunt Eve and a couple other family members decided to have me petitioned into the psychiatric unit there at the hospital, their reason being because I had always said that if something happened to my mom, if she died, I’d kill myself. With the fact that I wasn’t completely off drugs yet and my mental health issues weren’t being addressed at the time, I guess they decided that was the best thing, I don’t really know. I spent three days in the psychiatric unit there at the hospital, I got out the day before her funeral. My step dad had all of my stuff packed and sitting in the garage by the time I got out of the psychiatric hospital. I went to stay with my aunt Eve the day I got out, so I could get clothes for the funeral and what not. I remember being pretty numb, it was all like it wasn’t really happening. I wrote a poem for my mom and read it at her funeral without breaking down into a bawling baby. I remember being very surprised at the number of people in the funeral home for her service. There was no more sitting room, standing only in the back. It amazed me and made me so proud that MY mom had touched this many peoples lives enough for them to attend her funeral service. 

All those days came and went so fast. I ended up homeless for awhile after, but that’s another story. The events of those days, that day, that week, they forever changed who I was and who I’d become later. To me, on that day, I lost not only my mom, but my best friend in the whole world, the one person who always had my back and believed in me even at my worst, the strongest, bravest, kindest and most loving women/person that I’ve ever known. For a long time I blamed myself for her death, if I hadn’t have brought crack home with me that night, maybe if I’d have made sure she got less, whatever way you want to think of it, all those what if’s, they can make a person insane. I’ve finally accepted that it wasn’t my fault that she died, that the Lord has a time and a plan for everyone and it was just her time to go, even if that meant it’d hurt me like hell. It’s been eleven years now this past April 13th, and I still miss her all the time. While I may not think of her constantly like I once did, she’s never far from my thoughts and forever in my heart. It hurts still when I think about what it’d be like if she were still alive today, when I think about her missing out on her grand kids, seeing them be born, watching them grow and playing with them, spoiling them rotten as I have no doubt she would. She couldn’t be there to walk me down the aisle when I got married, or to see us buy our first home, all those things, things that people take for granted far too often. I regret every foul thing I said to my mother and my regrets for what I put her through as a preteen and teen are so deep I could wade in them, but there’s nothing I can do to change any of that now. I know my mom loved me more than life itself. She always made sure I was taken care of despite our situation. She was an all around amazing person. If there’s one thing people can get from reading this, it’s that you should never take your loved ones for granted, or the time that you have with them either. You should try to cherish every moment that you have together, whether it be your mom, dad, sister, brother, spouse, cousin, whomever, be so grateful that you have them there with you at that exact moment, because you never know when you’re going to lose them. Only the Lord knows when our time is up, and it could be at any given moment, I could post this and then fall over dead with a heart attack, I mean seriously. Take your time here seriously, don’t waste it on petty stuff, use it doing truly important and good things, like being with the ones you love the most, because you’ll miss them when they’re gone. 

 

90 Miles An Hour

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Holy shit my mind is racing right now!! Aaahhh! How can I go from melancholy and lonely to a near manic state in such a brief period of time??!! I mean, I know because it’s been explained to me by psychiatrists and therapists alike, but I hate it. I most not have enough of my meds in my system consistently yet, or something. It feels almost like anxiety as well. It’s a big jumbled up crazy feeling and I do not like it Sam I Am. *sigh*

How I Ended Up In The Psychiatric Unit and More

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I will start by saying that I have had a deep underlying depression for a long time now, I have been battling it for quite some time.

Then I will jump into a separate story, but one that goes along with everything that happened in a way. See, my husband and I have had two flea market booths for three years now. Our kids have always been a part of it, and they have been coming most every weekend this whole time now. They are both under ten. About a month ago my husband took our boys, plus his twenty one year old nephew and his one and a half year old son, to the flea market with him one day. The owner of the flea market has a bad temper and can be very moody and temperamental. Well, our nephew’s little guy fell and hit his head on the concrete floor about ten minutes before opening time. The owner of the flea market came flying over to our nephew and began yelling at him, demanding to know “what the fuck was going on over here, what’s all this noise”, and proceeded to tell our nephew that “he and his little asshole needed to get out of his building”, my husband was standing there the whole time in disbelief. A little later that day, the owner came to my husband and told him that from now vendors cannot have children under that age of ten with them. He told my husband that it’s always been in the “bylaws” and handed him a print out of those supposed rules. So when they came home and told me, you may guess that I was highly annoyed, as that’s not just my husband’s booths, they’re mine as well. I chose to vent a little on my personal facebook page, giving an account of what happened and stating how wrong I thought the owner was and that he apparently needs some anger management. Well, the owner was given a copy of my post on fb, and he was ready to kick my husband out that day. My husband managed to talk him into letting him stay, but neither myself nor my kids or anyone in my husbands family is allowed in there anymore. Which means that I now will be taking care of both my boys all weekend long, by myself. 

Now some may be thinking to themselves, “why is it an issue that she has to take care of her kids by herself?” The honest answer is, they do not listen to me because I never enforced punishments with them, instead I’ve always yelled and made idle threats. So now at five and seven, when I DO punish them, or try to, it’s like a joke to them, and because I don’t stay consistent, it doesn’t stick. I don’t stay consistent because truthfully, it’s a lot of frickin work, hard work, and I often just don’t have the motivation to do so. So a day of taking care of them alone for eight hours, is like a day of torture for me, and that’s sad. It should not be that way, because I do love my sons with all my heart, they’re the reason I’m still here, but man…. They sure can make it easy for me to allow them to drive me crazy. I often beat myself up about this, and I feel like a poor excuse for a mother because I can’t even control my own children, but it’s all truth. I WANT to be a better mom, I WANT to be able to get my kids to listen, and so on. With that said, ever since this no kids at the flea market thing has caused weekends to be miserable, I fight with my husband every Saturday and Sunday morning, having an extremely child like fit over the fact that he’s continuing to stay at the flea market instead of staying home with me and helping, because he knows. 

The morning of Sunday March 8th, I lost it. I woke up completely pissed off because I just did not feel like taking care of both the boys by myself that day, but yet I wouldn’t allow him to take them to his sister’s house because it’s disgusting and just isn’t a good place for them. Plus I was so angry at myself for not being able to care for my kids like a normal mom, and that was just making me angrier, and though no one knew, it wasn’t at them, it was at myself that I was getting angrier at, because I could feel myself losing it over this, this stupid thing. I yelled at my husband, called him all kinds of names, said I wasn’t watching the kids, that I would go back to the bedroom, all kinds of stupid, ignorant things. I was SO angry, not just at this whole situation, but at everything it seemed. I had cut myself the day before, not in front of my children or anything, it was later in the evening when my husband was home. Cutting is something I haven’t done since I was a teenager, but I took a utility knife/box cutter, and I locked myself in the bathroom and made several cuts. My husband found out because he somehow managed to see them. So during this fight on Sunday, he eventually tells me he’s calling the police to come get me, he picks up the phone and starts to call…. and I go ballistic, totally nuts, I blacked out….. I reached over the hallway banister and pulled his hair so hard that I picked him up off his seat, my husband is not a small man. I continued on into the dining room where I was told that I picked up the microwave and threw it across the room, and also destroyed the stand it was on, and managed to crack the antique French provincial desk that my husband bought me for Christmas, I cracked it all the way around. I seriously and honestly do not remember this, because I would’ve stopped because of my kids had I known what I was doing. My husband said they were yelling “mommy just stop, please stop and it won’t be so bad” pleading with me to stop the madness I was in. It brings me to tears and tears my heart apart that they had to see that. How can they trust a mother like that? I can’t imagine what their little heads were thinking, are still thinking. God how I have really fucked up with this one…. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to them…. that memory of me will always be there in their minds and I hate that, but my stupid, selfish ass did that.  

So the police came and they called the EMS and by that time I was calmed down considerably but still very upset. I had also went to the kitchen to start taking as many of Klonopin as I could while my husband was on the phone with 911. So I imagine that had some effect to me being calmer. He smacked the bottle out of my hand so I couldn’t continue taking them, so I hadn’t ingested enough to be concerned about. I went cooperatively with the EMS and the police to the emergency room at our local hospital. The let me put a bra on and grab a few things before they took me and they were very nice. I gave my boys big kisses and hugs before I left and told them how sorry mommy was and that I was going to go to the hospital to get better and how much I loved them, then I walked out the door and got in the ambulance and left for the hospital. I actually got down to the psych unit pretty quick. I thought I was prepared for this, that I was really going to try to get better. I had no intentions of messing up or doing anything crazy while in there. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way for me. 

That first evening/night that I was at the psychiatric unit, I went into one of the recreation rooms/areas to call my husband. I don’t know why I even called him in the first place because I should’ve known he wasn’t going to have anything positive to say, and probably nothing nice either, but I called anyway, hoping that this time it’d be different. The definition of insanity, right? Doing something over and over even expecting a different result. Anyway, I don’t even remember our conversation, all I remember is slamming the receiver down as hard as I could, (which apparently broke the entire phone), after that I remember bits and pieces, but for the most part I don’t remember much. I know what I was told by staff and patients the next day. I was screaming when I slammed the phone down, I left the rec room and tipped over the big potted tree they had in the hallway, then I went down to my room and continued screaming and hollering, staff gave me two shots of Ativan, and I still carried on, eventually tipping over my dresser. That’s when it got bad I guess, because like eight guys were outside my door, staff and security and they carried me out of my room kicking and screaming, trying to BITE and SPIT, down to the seclusion and restraints room, where they proceeded to strap me down and inject me with Geodon, and I eventually calmed down, but it was still all kind of hazy to me. Almost all the things I just said I did, is information I gathered from staff and patients. 

I have been hospitalized more times than I care to count since I was twelve years old, and NEVER, I mean NEVER, have I had to be put in restraints. Now here I am, almost thirty fucking years old and look at me! I acted like a complete and total lunatic, not once, but TWICE in one day!!! Who the fuck does that?! That day was apparently it for me, my breaking point, for whatever reason, it’s what made the damn burst and it all came flooding out. Even though I know people do these kinds of things, that shit happens, it still does not stop me from feeling like a complete and total asshole, ashamed, embarrassed, heart broken that my kids had to see part of that, like a failure as a mother/parent, or from feeling so damn stupid for behaving that way. You just don’t do that… but I did, and I have before, sometimes close to that degree of severity. I should have this right by now, I should be able to deal with bipolar and borderline personality disorder and anxiety, better than this. I should be able to remember my meds EVERY single morning, instead of one day I do and the next day I don’t, so they never get into my system right. I take my night meds every night, but there are certain meds that can’t be taken at night and I’m out of options as far as putting me on something different, I’ve been on literally almost everything. I feel like a freak, like a giant mess, a fuck up. I can’t seem to get life straight and it shouldn’t be that hard.

Some of you may read this and think wow she needs to get it together or what kind of parent does that, some may think I’m doing a woe is me type of thing, and some may think I’m being hard on myself, beating myself up, whatever the case, just as you’re entitled to think what you want about this, so am I. This isn’t a pity part woe is me post btw, I want to clear that up now. “In My Words” is supposed to be about my life, my world, my feelings, the way I see things. That’s the whole purpose of this, that and to help even one person in some way by just one of my posts even. That would make all this worth it, for just that one person I touched. 

I stayed in the psychiatric unit for eight days total. I didn’t sleep the whole stay this time like I have before in the past. I got up and went to all the groups, not just the rec group/arts & crafts group, I went to each one, and I stayed the whole time no matter how bored I got. I tried to get something out of each of the groups I attended. I journaled, I worked on my DBT Skills book, I read. The one thing I noticed I didn’t do enough of was pray… I need to work on that big time. I didn’t get along with the doctor, I’ve dealt with him two other times in a different psychiatric facility in a different area of the state, and we didn’t get along then. He’s callous, cold, uncaring, and he’s been doing this for too long. I didn’t feel like I got much use out of him. The only change he made for me was to add Paxil to my other two psch meds that I take. I’ve been on Paxil before, but it’s been so long I can’t remember if it worked or if I gave it enough time to work, etc. So I figure I’ll try it again for a few months, see what happens. All in all, I don’t really feel much better than I did when I went into the hospital. It would help if my husband and I could get along, if he would stop blaming me for literally ALL of our problems, stop screaming at me and calling me nasty names, that would all help things a lot, but I know I’m dreaming. I will never be good enough for him, because no matter how good I can be doing, he always finds something that I’m wrong about or doing wrong or are wrong for, whatever as long as I’m wrong. So it’s often like, why even try? But there’s a part of me that knows I need to build myself up, learn to not let his meanness and cruelness get to me or hurt me anymore, because I know that he too is sick mentally, but will not get help for it. He is truly right and living in his own world…. meaning no one can tell him anything, he simply doesn’t believe them, even if it’s one hundred people telling him, he’s right. Anyway, like I said, I don’t feel a lot different, but I think I have a little more motivation to get better than before. 

I am not proud of what happened, about what I did, by any means. I’m actually very embarrassed and ashamed by my selfish and childish actions, but unfortunately they happened, and I can’t go back and change them no matter how hard I try. I normally do not freak out like this, I mean I have freaked out before, but this, this was different. I truly do think my mind had had enough and it just could not take anymore. I am so sorry to my boys, for putting them through that, and I hope one day I can help them understand why mommy has done some of the things she’s done. I’m a little sorry to my husband because I know each time I’ve been hospitalized or had a moment, he’s cared, even if he didn’t show it on the surface all the time. Although some of the times, if he hadn’t hurt me the way he did, emotionally that is, I most likely wouldn’t have freaked out. No matter what though, there are no excuses for my actions and behaviors, whether I black out or not, I should know enough to stop way before it gets to that point. I’m am almost thirty fuckin years old!! I need to get with the program or something. I feel like I’ve been trying forever to “get better” and I do good for a little while but then BLAM!, it’s back to the same old shit. Depression, anger, sometimes mania, anxiety, all of it, it starts rearing it’s ugly head again, and I lose myself with it. I have to conquer this once and for all. I need to work this every single day of my life, work to correct this, to find solutions and things that can work to finally squelch this crap. Nothing happens overnight I know, as much as I’d like it too, as we all would probably. This will take time, but I have to be sure and do it every day, try to live differently every day, because that is the only thing I can do, is try to make the next day more positive than the one I’m in. I know my strides will start out small, but I believe I can build them up, more and more until I’m taking large strides and I’ve finally achieved some things in life and living it. Bipolar, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, those things may always be there, but I don’t have to let them continue to take over me. Even though I may not feel motivated to do this, and I just want to sleep all the time, I know this is something I must force myself to do. I’m hoping that over time, there will be a detectable growth in different areas of my life, of my life in general. It’s time, time for me to be an adult, to do the things that I don’t want to do out of pure laziness and lack of motivation…. if my mom were still alive, she’d slap me stupid for living like this, oh my gosh would she be nuts with me, lol. She was an OCD clean person and she had a way or ritual for doing everything, and everything got done on time, she was always early for appointments, I’m always late, lol. Yeah, she’d be very upset with me. So I try to use that as motivation, that I’m doing it because I’d want to make my mom proud could she see me from Heaven. 

I don’t know, an eight day hospital stay just didn’t seem to work the way I was hoping it would, maybe I put too much into the whole thing, too much hope. I knew the depression wasn’t going to go away in the short time I was there, but I guess that crazy part of me hoped it would somehow. That I’d leave feeling happy and chipper. But meds take time to work, too long if you ask me, four to six weeks, sometimes longer, is a long time to wait for someone who’s feeling depressed or manic or anxious or suicidal, etx. I’m going to do whateverP I have to to make sure I take my meds not only at night but in the morning too!! I’ve got a sign taped up right where I can see it first thing, I’ve set an alarm before, but I’ll figure it out and I’ll get on the consistently. I was thinking of keeping a little med journal about how I’m feeling each day and see if the meds are actually helping, and recording when I actually took them, if I did. I have to start with baby steps, or I’m never going to start at all and I’ll be this way for the rest of my life and that is so not what I want. So here I go, on this journey to “feel better”, this journey to getting my mental health in check once and for all, here I go down this path to learning to deal with my emotions in better ways, here I go in my struggle to take my meds correctly, just here I go! It is time, twenty – nine almost thirty years old with two kids and a husband of eight years, it just way overdue, it’s way past time for me to be getting it together, so I guess it’s now or never. I’m attending therapy once a week, or once every two weeks, I’m working on DBT.  I’m going to start slow and go from there, one day at a time. 

P.S. I realize that there is absolutely NO excuses for the things I did. Mentally ill or not, nothing I did was okay. There aren’t excuses for any of it, and I’m not trying to give any. Thanks! 😉 

Don’t Bring People Home From The Psych Ward

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So I was admitted to the local psychiatric unit on March 8th I believe it was. While in there, I met quite a few people, as they were almost at full capacity. One of the people I met was a woman, Hannah we’ll call her, who was in there because she had drank herself nearly to death, a blood alcohol level of .60, she was on a ventilator, all kinds of crazy stuff, plus she has epileptic seizures too. I liked her, we got along and it turned out she knows my aunt and my uncle that passed away in October. Her and my aunt spent a lot of time together in jail/rehab. Anyway, Hannah was getting out on the same day as me and she had no place to go. She was supposed to go to the homeless shelter in town. For some messed up reason though, I was having a hard time with the thought of her having to go to the shelter like that, straight out of the psych unit. So, being the do now think later fool that I am, I suggested that maybe my husband would pick her up when he picked me up, and that maybe she could come stay the night with us and go to the shelter the next day. She came home with us and we started talking about it and I thought, well maybe she can stay here til she finds a living arrangement suitable for her. At this time she seemed fine, a bit slower in certain ways, but generally alright. I knew in the psych ward that she was kind of out of it a lot, but I figured that was the meds they had her on in there and coming down off alcohol. 

She had appointments that she had to go to for the next like two days after we got out, so the shelter was like less of a priority to her. She had made it clear that she didn’t want to go there at all. My husband and I were thinking of giving her two weeks and then she’d have to do something from there, but the longer she stayed, the more I realized just how sick she really was. It was like the first day was fine. The second day was alright, but the later it got, the more she changed, it was as if she were drunk, but I knew she couldn’t be, because I had been with her all day long. She was unsteady on her feet, walking into thing, etc. She slurred her words and often didn’t make much sense.Like I said, the later it got, the worse she got, falling asleep with cigarettes and food in her mouth. I literally had to make her lay down, so I knew she was safe and the rest of my house was safe, before I could go to bed; and she absolutely did not want to stay in bed, she kept getting up, saying “oh well I just need this” and “I’m just gonna smoke one last cigarette” and eventually I got to the point where I was losing my patience and starting to get snippy with her, raising my voice and losing my cool. 

It got to the point where I started talking my tobacco to bed with me, because that was what she was smoking, my stuff. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except that she went through over half a bag of tobacco in three days. I sat her down and explained to her that I needed her to respect the fact that I did not want her smoking in my house at night while everyone was sleeping, because she was not safe with a cigarette in that condition and that I did not need her setting my house on fire with my babies and husband in it. She objected of course, saying that she was fine with a cigarette at night, but I told her I knew better, that I’d seen her fall asleep before. She got upset about it and made a wise crack about how she’d just smoke cigarette butts. I turned around and looked at her and said, “If you can’t respect my children’s lives enough to not smoke at night, then I can’t have you here Hannah.” She got poutty and she finally went and laid down. Every night after that she got like that at night time, almost as if she were drunk. It started to get where she was like that during the day too. In a matter of days she declined. It was sad and fast and I wasn’t sure what to do with her, but I knew I couldn’t take care of her on m own. I felt very guilty and bad about that. Then the final straw happened. I got up on Friday or Saturday night and I happened to catch her in the smoking room, smoking cigarette butts. I was furious. The ONE thing I had asked her not to do in my home, she had done anyway and furthermore, she tried to make me feel guilty about it. Like I was the bad guy for being mad, but no, that’s bs, because she knew better and she just couldn’t see what she did that was wrong. 

That night she was like, “Fine, I’ll leave, I’m just causing more stress in your life and you don’t need that”, and I felt bad, but it was true. I couldn’t take care of her the way she needed to be taken care of and she wouldn’t really listen to me. I knew I had to get her somewhere where they had the resources to get her in touch with all the right channels. She didn’t wanna go anywhere I suggested, including a sober living treatment facility down state, but then all of a sudden she says that she never said she wouldn’t go down to one, so I was like, “okay, that’s another option” The next day comes and she is calling everyone she can think of to see if she can go stay with them…. and none of them wanted her, she either couldn’t, or they didn’t want her. She’s almost forty years old and she’s burned a lot of bridges. I want to be her friend, but I can’t be what she needs, I can only support her in doing the right things, I can’t take care of her in my home. I talked to her brother who’s living in his truck right now, and he said it, their parents have pretty much give up on them. It’s truly sad. So I watched her call around to all these friends and family members asking for help, and I keep seeing her get more and more frustrated because she’s not getting her own way. She ended up finding a girl she’d known a long time who’s a nurse at the hospital, who was willing to come get her, but just for the night. She has a life too, a kid and work, daycare she lives in low income based housing where they wanna know all your business. I don’t know what she’ doing now. 

I’ve tried to get a hold of someone in her family. I’d like to know what’s going on. But I haven’t heard anything and I know she’s mad at me for it. But if she would’ve kept staying here it would’ve enabled her to not do the right thing and it was time. Hopefully she’s at the shelter right now getting the help she needs. I just hope she is seeing the truth about how bad her brain damage really is. I care for the girl a lot and I’m praying for her constantly. It was just something that I found I couldn’t handle. I have too many problems of my own that I need to work on. I hope that doesn’t sound cold and callous.  I really like her and I care about what happens to her  but I just couldn’t take the responsibility for her. I pray she gets the help she needs, I believe she will. Hopefully I get a hold of her soon…. But for now, let’s just say, I learned you can’t save others, It has to come from within that person. 

I truly do wish her all the best. I’m just not well enough myself yet in order to be trying to help someone else. I should’ve seen it before, but I didn’t. Lesson learned. 

Sexual Frustration

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feel so alone right now, like no one will ever understand. I also feel ridiculous for feeling this way over something like sex, but I can’t help it. I feel like it’s going to drive me insane, combined with everything else in my life it’s just becoming too much. See, I am almost thirty years old and my husband is twenty-five years older than me, making him fifty-five this year, and as I’ve mentioned in other blog posts, we have not had actual intercourse in what’s going on three years now I believe, give or take a little. He has severe type one diabetes, as well as neuropathy and gout arthritis and a few other things. He’s on a lot of medications of course too. We have tried all kinds of things, pills, pumps, creams, you name it, and nothing…. he just cannot get an erection. 

There was a time when we were at least still having oral sex and doing the things we could still do, but even that has become rare. A big part of this has to do with the state of our marriage, as we do not get along well at all and are often fighting. To be honest, most of the time I cannot stand him, and the thought of him touching me appalls me. He is a mean and nasty man and most days I wish I would’ve never married him. (I know some of you are saying at this point, “then why don’t you just leave him”, unfortunately, that is not possible, which is a whole other story in itself that I’ll save for another time.) There are days where I try to force myself to have feelings like I used to for him, I pray that God will help me to get those feelings back. For the most part though, most days I have no attraction of any kind to him and I am simply co-existing with him. There are days when he tries to be nice, I can tell, and for those few hours or for that day, I see the man I married. Occasionally we do make love, (if you can call it that), and when we do, I am forcing myself to do so the whole time, as well as thinking of someone else the whole time too. Sad and pathetic, I know. 

I have always been a very sexual person. In my younger years I was extremely promiscuous. I’ve always loved sex, wanting it everyday if I could get it. I love every thing about sex. I started having sex at very young age, too young, and I pretty much never went without for more than month at a time after that. When I married my husband we had a very active sex life all the way up until he started having ED problems. Then it was like I was just cut off abruptly. This was like a shock to the system or the psyche more like for me. Of course I have toys and I know how to take care of myself, but it’s just not the same. Just as only having oral sex with my husband just isn’t the same. It’s not the same as being penetrated by a man. 

I could go out and find some random guy and bang his brains out, of this I have no doubt…. but that isn’t what I want. I get offers from different guys that I’ve known for however long, messaging me on facebook, etc. And as tempting as that sometimes is…. there is only one person that I want to have sex with…. and though it should be my husband, it’s not….. D is the only man that I want, but I can’t have him. (If you’ve read other blog posts you’ll know that D is the man that I love but am not with and can never have.) I have begged him and begged him to please, please come see me, just once, just one time and I swear this would all be better…. but for reasons of his own, he is not able to come. I don’t know if this means that he’ll never be able to come, or if it means that someday he’ll be able to, but he just doesn’t know when so he doesn’t say anything about it, I don’t know….. Whatever the case, this man D, he is the only one that I want and I want him so bad that there are days that I truly feel like I’m going to come completely unglued, go for real live nuts. I ache inside for him to make love to me, my heart hurts so bad. I sometimes wish that someone else would come along and make me feel the way he does, but someone who can actually see me, someone who can come to me. This has been going on for a year and a half with D and I now, and it was bad before him, but now that he’s in my life and I’ve fallen so deeply in love with him, it just makes it even worse. 

I actually started going back to therapy over this and some other things recently. That’s how bad this is, how serious. I already have a deep underlying depression that I’m working on fixing, and now I have this to add to the depression and let me tell you, most days I think a lot about dying. No, I’m not suicidal, not in the manner that I’m going to do something to myself, however I do not care whether I live or die, in fact, I pray for death most days. It isn’t just not having sex that makes me feel that way of course, there are a whole bunch of reasons combined together that make me feel that way, the not being able to have sex is just like the icing on the cake…. it’s like what makes the cookie crumble…. and this cookie feels like she’s crumbling most of the time. I am on depression meds, I’ve been taking them right, as well as my mood stabilizers. I’m back in therapy. I pray all the time, I read His word. I don’t know what else to do. I know this may sound ridiculous to some, but I just want to have sex!!!!!! At this point, I’m almost starting to not care who with, but then I regain my composure. 

I don’t know anymore…. I’m not in love with my husband, he can’t have sex with me either way….. I’m in love with a man I shouldn’t be, a man who’s married himself and lives fifteen hours away…. I want sex so bad I can’t stand myself…. I’m depressed all the time…. I feel hopeless most days…… as always, I’m a mess. 

A Little Overwhelmed

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As I sit here trying to work on the DBT (dialectical behavior therapy) workbook that my counselor just gave me, I find myself overcome with some strong emotions and for no apparent reason that I can really see, at least, nothing that’s out of the ordinary. It’s starting to bother me, the way I’m feeling. This isn’t the first time this has happened of course, it happens quite often actually, but for some reason, today it’s bothering me a little more and I guess I felt compelled to write. I think I find something therapeutic in writing about my feelings, my life, privately or publicly, (although I must say 😉 I do like this publicly thing). 

I recently started seeing my therapist again and am scheduled to see my psychiatrist for the first time since October. My therapist is deeply concerned about what he called “a deep underlying depression” that I’ve been in for awhile. He actually expressed that normally he would suggest that I be hospitalized, but because of an incident that I had in October with the head doctor (the only doctor) of the psychiatric ward in our hospital, in which said head doc/psychiatrist made me leave, my therapist was not recommending that I go. Instead I’m going to see my psychiatrist soon and continuing my therapy sessions with him, as well as doing my best to work DBT (dialectical behavior therapy) alone, since there are no groups in our area or any nearby areas. It is possible to do DBT solo with the aid of a therapist/counselor, it’s just a little harder because you don’t really have anyone to help you be accountable, things like that. 

So today I’m sitting here, trying to work on this workbook, my husband is lying down, my kids have the day off of school for the second day in a row due to the weather/temperature and are being totally crazy and not listening, I’m really missing D and am wishing he would get a hold of me since it’s his day off, and I’m waiting for someone to stop by too (have I mentioned I have no patience?) Suddenly I start feeling really sad and irritable, where my attitude just becomes totally negative and I get that stinkin’ thinkin’ going on, where the negative thoughts just start rolling in, over and over again. I hate feeling like this, but I’m starting to recognize when it’s happening sooner and more often as time goes on. It’s doing something to stop it or make it less intense that I need to work on. It just really hit me today for some reason. I know I’ll be alright eventually, but for right now, it sucks. There’s just so much, so much in life that I should be doing, so much that’s messed up, so much that hurts, so much that seems unfair, but then I feel like I’m whining…. and maybe I am, but it’s how I feel. 

In a perfect world, lol, I would be sitting here working on something else productive because I’d be mental illness free, but hey, it is what it is, right? Now my job is to deal with it. Also in a perfect world my kids would be listening to me, lol again, I would be married to D so I wouldn’t have to be missing him, and he’d be up helping me with the kids. Ha ha ha…. now THAT’S a dream, lol. It’s okay though, because I imagine that if that’s the way it was supposed to be, it’d be that way, and it’s not, so it must not have been right for my life for one reason or another…. then again, who knows, I could have no idea what I’m talking about. 

Tired of Being Tired

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I am so tired of being tired. All I do is sleep, literally. After the kids leave for school, I go back to bed, and my husband’s the one who takes them out to the bus stop. I go back to sleep, but in the living room, in our recliner. Some mornings I’ll stay up for a little while, messing around on the computer or whatever, definitely not doing the things I should be doing, the housekeeping, mom and wife stuff I should be doing, and so much more. Instead I sleep in the chair for most of the day and sometimes I’ll get up and go to the bed once the kids are home and sleep there, it’s awful. I’m literally always tired.I have two auto immune diseases, I’ve been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis, the psoriatic part causes plaques of psoriasis and the arthritis part attacks small joints in my body. There’s more to it than just that, but I’m not going to go into detail right now. The point is, it’s been proven that people with auto immune diseases, including psoriatic arthritis, often have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. The doctor I saw for three and a half years before she left town was excellent, Dr. W,  and she’s the one who helped me discover that this was most likely part of my problem with being tired. She also had me do sleep studies, testing for narcolepsy, they came back negative, but when a new sleep doctor came to town, she had me go see him for a consultation as well and he wanted to retest me, repeating the narcolepsy sleep study, but he wanted to score it himself. I never went in for that study. I just couldn’t do it again. I struggled with all the ones I’d had prior, terrible anxiety, not being able to smoke, and yes when you smoke that’s a big deal. I recently started seeing a new psychiatrist and he’s also a sleep doctor, and he told me that there is a such a thing a s Narcoleptic Syndrome, where the person experiences many narcoleptic like symptoms, but don’t have enough to pass the test for it. I fall asleep on my feet sometimes, uncontrollably, I just fade out…. I do it in random places at random times. It’s not all the time, it’s just sometimes. I also get so tired that I just cannot keep my eyes open anymore and I literally have to close them or I know I’ll fall out. It is awful. I’ve been on Dexadrine before, which is basically legal speed, and while it helped at first, the effect wore off because of the damage I’ve done to my body by being an addict, my tolerance has grown insanely high to medications. So it doesn’t work on me like it does others. Plus it was causing vocal and motor tics. So I’ve been off that for a while, but it’s hard. I know that being depressed does not help this situation, and I also know that not eating right is not helping this situation and that’s not anyone else’s fault but my own. I need to learn to start being a big girl, even though I often dread it. This tired all the time thing though…. there’s got to be something. I know, I know, people are gonna say exercise, eat right, take vitamins, etc. A lot of this stuff though, when not having been done regularly in a long time or ever, is much easier said than done. All of this takes motivation, and that, well, that’s a whole other topic, but I am definitely lacking it. Anyway, I just felt like getting a little steam out, lol, thank you. ;-p 

My Darkness Part 2

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As stated in Part 1 of this, after the incident where Sean, my future husband at the time, hugged me while I was crying, we started seeing each other regularly. He even left and went to his brothers downstate for a couple weeks and I found out what his brothers number was through some friends and called him down there and told him he better get his ass back up here because I was waiting for him…. lol, oh my. He was on the bus back up here the next day…. 🙂 He pretty much moved in with me at that point, I was living in a tiny efficiency apartment, sleeping on the floor while Travis slept in a play pen, and four months later we were married. I was so sure that it was the right thing to do, not taking into account that I depended on Sean to feed my addiction, even though he thought he was helping because he was controlling how much I took, making sure it wasn’t “too much”, just enough to keep me from getting sick. I now know that somewhere in the back of my mind, this was part of the reason I was with him, part of the reason I married him, this and the fact that he took excellent care of Travis, treating him as if he were his own and loving him that way too I think. Eventually as time went on, we began bickering as couples often do, but it turned into something way more than just bickering, it turned into arguing, fighting, and all out war sometimes. We fought over all kinds of things, but when I was an addict, we mostly fought over that and things related to it. I stole pain medication from him, lied to him, begged him to find ways to get me what I needed to keep from being sick, As I’ve said before, I went to rehab/detox several times and never completed it once, plus all the trips I took to the psychiatric ward. I was terrible, an awful mess. Also as I said before though, I had been praying for a couple of years for the Lord to just please take these cravings away, please take this addiction away…. and one day, I woke up, and it was just gone, the cravings weren’t there anymore. I’ve been clean since. This happened shortly after the birth of our son James, but I was an active addict all the way through his pregnancy. Actually, the doctor had me on a drug called Subutex to help keep me clean, it was supposed to take away the cravings for opiates, kind of in a similar fashion to Methadone. Anyway, Subutex is a main ingredient to Suboxone which is used to stop cravings in opiate addicts. Since I was pregnant I couldn’t take Suboxone. So I took Subutex for almost my whole pregnancy, the doctor who prescribed it told me that if my baby went through withdrawals, they would be a lot less severe than those of a baby born addicted to Methadone. Not true. My son James was born severely addicted and was flown out to the other side of the state within 24 hours of being born, he spent 31 days in the NICU weening off of opiates on Methadone. He went through withdrawals even after the hospital, just not as severe. All because of my stupid addiction, my selfishness, and no this is not a pity party, I don’t feel bad for myself, I do get angry at myself sometimes however. My son is now five years old, healthy, and smart as whip, but it could’ve been different. We’re lucky. So, like I said, shortly after James was born is when the cravings stopped and I stopped abusing opiates. It was great not battling that addiction everyday, trying to fight those cravings and losing…. but I was still battling bad bouts of depression, and they started lasting longer each time it seemed. At one point I was seriously considering shooting myself. I was having postpartum depression after having James and then not being able to take him home with us for thirty-one days, I think it was all getting to me. One day when no one was home I closed and locked our bedroom door, took one of my husbands guns out from behind the door, and I sat down on the bed with it, looking it over, seeing if I could figure out how to load it, and then, I put the gun in my mouth, to see if I could pull the trigger with it in my mouth. I ended up telling Sean about it within the next few days after that incident. I knew then that I needed some kind of help. I ended up being hospitalized like four times in one quarter that year, once for blacking out and trying to stab Sean in the shoulder, but when I spun him around, he had baby James in his arms and it snapped me out of it. I was in a bad way during that time of my life, as far as my depression went, and I was shifting from one mood to the next so rapidly. I have been diagnosed with Ultradian Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not going to explain right now what that is, but lets just say that it feels like being on a roller coaster of emotions that can change at any given moment. With the help of a great primary care physician and a really good friend, Ms. Sally, whom I began calling my spiritual mom, I was able to start battling this. I was going to mental health regularly and I was doing my best to take my meds consistently. Eventually we received a notice that the man we were renting from had not been paying his land contract payments and that our home would go up for sheriff’s auction in a few weeks. Our only options were to take the house over on land contract, (which it had too many problems for us to do that on our budget), or move. So, we began the search for a place to live. My husband has a felony on his record from thirty something years ago, and hasn’t been in trouble since, but people still held that against us, and finding a place proved harder than we thought. We ended up in a basement apartment, with only one window in the whole place, underneath a tanning salon, on a main road, with no yard or anything else. We originally intended on staying for only a little while, a year at the most, but we ended up being there for almost three years…. and let me tell you, they were three miserable years. Living in a place with no natural light and already being depressed…. HA! I”m sure you can imagine what was bound to happen. My depression just kept getting worse, my marriage just kept getting worse. I also started working on the adult cam website and met D during this time. In my husband’s eyes I can do nothing right, and that is not just an exaggeration. In his mind, I am the cause of ALL of our problems, and he will/has even gone as far as to tell this to people we know, including pastors, and he’s completely serious about this. He truly believes that our problems are all from me, he says that he’ll admit he doesn’t make them better by being nasty and mean to me and yelling, etc, but that if I didn’t do what I do, he wouldn’t do what he does. He always tells me to fix my problems and our problems will go away. To me, that is just soooo infuriating. He’s almost fifty-five years old, I highly doubt he’s going to change his ways now. He is forever getting nasty with me, calling me names, putting me down. He has told me before that getting off drugs wasn’t enough. I know I am not a gem, I’m not easy to live with by any means, I am aware of this. I am not a good housewife, I don’t clean, or cook, or do laundry, or open mail and respond to it, I don’t pay the bills, (he does), I don’t do the things with my kids that I should do, don’t spend quality time with them like I should. We moved in October of 2014 to a house that we are buying on land contract. It is a beautiful home on 2.3 acres of land with a two car garage and like five outbuildings. Our property is beautiful, has a huge garden plot on it, lots of trees. The house is gorgeous. I have not unpacked one single box, with the exception of the main bathroom, and that’s it. We have a whole garage full of boxes, plus an enclosed porch full, and some in the house…. and I haven’t even started. And obviously I’m not keeping up on the cleaning either. I do not want for this house to end up nasty, it’s embarrassing, yet I just can’t seem to force myself to do anything. I’m tired literally ALL the time, all I ever wanna do is sleep, especially during the day, and then it seems I’m up til late at night. Even when I am awake during the day, I’m sluggish and I have no ambition. My diet is poor, I rarely eat, and when I do, it’s junk, it’s nothing that’s good for me. Yet we don’t have any kind of food assistance and so that doesn’t help, it’s not like we have a huge selection as to what we can buy. So I know my diet plays a part in the way that I feel. I saw a friend recently that I haven’t seen in several years, we sat down and caught up for a bit, and they said to me, “You’ve given up haven’t you…. I can see it in your face when you talk”, and they were right in a sense, I have given up to an extent. I mean, I’m married to a man that I don’t really want to be married to, yet I DO NOT have a choice, and no, no I don’t have a choice seriously. I cannot survive financially without my husband, and because of my physical issues, and mental ones too, I am not able to work the type of jobs that I have the education level to get, since I don’t have a G.E.D. or diploma. Not only that, but I would have to fight for my youngest son, and my chances of winning with my history aren’t that great. Not to mention, Sean is the type that would take off with him to a different state, he doesn’t care what the law says. Also, as sad as it may sound, pathetic, but I can’t raise these boys alone. They have no respect for me and I have no control over them. It’s their dad they listen to, not me, I’m a joke, and when I do try to spank them now or tell them to do something, they laugh. There are a lot of reasons that people just don’t understand as to why I can’t leave my husband. Trust me, if I could, I would. It is not easy being married to one man, but being totally in love with another, it’s not easy when you know you should have all these feelings for your husband, but you feel them for another man…. it is not easy knowing that this other man is happily married, and that even though he loves you, you will never be first place. I get so fucking tired of hurting, I am so tired of aching inside. I wouldn’t actually kill myself, but everyday when I wake up, I am disappointed that I woke up and have to face another day. I pray for the Lord to take me home, to let my time be up, I ask him daily. I am stuck in this life, I made my bed, and now I am lying in it. I married a man that I did not know long enough, and now I am suffering the consequences of it, along with trying to deal with my mental/emotional disorders, mainly depression. Because I did not think ahead like I thought I did. My boys are growing up in this environment that is just not good for them. They are learning things that they should not be learning. I am so afraid they are going to screwed in the head because of their father and myself, and it will be no one’s fault but my own for not saving them, for not protecting them. Everyone tells me how strong I am because of the things I’ve been through since childhood, but you know what, I get tired of being strong, and  maybe I just don’t have it in me to be strong any longer. This darkness, it wraps itself around me, as soon I start to see daylight, it wraps me in total darkness…… This is my darkness, and it’s not even the full shebang… the full story. This is a condensed version. Somewhere in this darkness, there has to be a light…. doesn’t there? 

My Darkness Part 1

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I am drowning in my depression… it’s just not getting any better. I mean, I’ve been depressed off and on for years now, since I was twelve to be exact, and maybe earlier, but twelve is when it was first documented. It seems like most of my life I’ve been depressed in one form or another, even as a child. I always remember feeling this kind of like hole inside of me that needed to be filled somehow…. an emptiness deep inside of me, and I just wanted to fill it, to fill that hole, that emptiness. This dark void that needed to be occupied. I got stomach aches a lot and the doctors could find no physical reason for them. I ate a lot, food was my comfort. I was a heavy kid because of it, which only made things worse. As I started to get older, things started to change, they got worse. At the age of twelve, I started cutting myself, having outbursts…. I became sexually active at twelve and not just with one guy, but with whatever guy would have me… I began smoking pot, cigarettes, and drinking, hanging out with older teens. My mom, a then single, working mother, she couldn’t control me and didn’t know what to do…. and all along, there was this bitter depression, this woeful sadness, eating away at me. At that age, I had no idea what to do about what I was feeling, so I acted out in different ways, mainly sex, smoking pot, drinking, running off and doing what I wanted… you name it. From twelve years old to eighteen years old…. I was out of control with emotions, up and down constantly. I went to see my first psychiatrist at age twelve. He put me on the first of many medications I’d take over the years. If I took them right, the meds proved helpful, but if I stopped taking them correctly (which I often did and still do), I ended up being a mess again. I still to this day don’t know why it’s so hard for me to take my medications correctly. At sixteen I became addicted to cocaine and eventually crack. By eighteen I was a full blown crack addict. It was terrible, living in Flint I had constant access to it. When I was high I felt on top of the world, but when I started to come down, well, that was the worst, that’s when the depression hit me the worst. Finally my mom moved us back up north and I got clean. I still struggled with my bipolar/depression though, and my borderline personality disorder. A few months before I turned nineteen, my mom passed away one night while I was out partying. None of my family would take me in, my step dad had my stuff packed and out in the garage three days later. I was so lost and with nowhere to go, I felt even more lost. I ended up on Mackinac Island, taking a job I had already been hired for before my mom passed away. It didn’t last, I was fired. I ended up staying with friends until my aunt finally let me stay with her, and a few months after that, I ended up back with ex, Jason. Things were good with him at first, I got back on my meds regularly, he had always been good to me previously when we were together. I moved in with him and his dad, eventually we got our own place… eventually he started hitting me. I ended up being distanced from my family, I had no friends and wasn’t allowed to have any, he went everywhere with me, he took me to work and picked me up, I never had the car to myself, I couldn’t even go to the store around the block from us by myself. While he didn’t beat me on a daily basis, he hit me enough. He was controlling and he made me believe that everything was my fault. The whole time, I was depressed. I was however, taking my meds correctly at the time, and so things weren’t as bad as they could’ve been. My relationship with Jason ended a day or two after we moved just outside of town, I confronted him about cheating on me…. he tried to kill me. We split that night, he moved in with his new girl, someone who was supposed to be my friend. I didn’t think I’d make it through that break up, it hurt so bad…. I was so depressed. I made an impulsive decision a few days later and a friend took me down to Walbridge, OH where I moved in with a guy friend that I had that lived there. Big mistake. I was not ready to be in that sort of a relationship, and that’s what he wanted. I was running out of my psych meds and my pain meds and so I was starting to get sick. I got mixed up in some cocaine again one night… things just weren’t going well. I ended up taking my last paycheck from Michigan and getting a bus ticket to my dad’s in Flint. My dad and I have a sketchy relationship, we don’t know each other very well, he wasn’t around growing up. So I moved in with him, he was on the road a lot. Things were going well, my brother was going to get out of rehab soon…. and then one day, the next door neighbor guys came over to party, and they brought cocaine. After that, it was all downhill. I ended up getting kicked out of my dads and literally living on the streets or with people I barely knew. I was back on crack again, badly. I took a lot of money from a man I was staying with at the peak point of insanity, and ended up in the ER in downtown Flint, praying he didn’t come in there after me. They weren’t going to see me, the hospital wasn’t, it was like 4:30 a.m. and all of a sudden my cousin’s ex wife walked in, she lived forty-five minutes away, she took one look at me and said, “What in the hell are you doing!?” She’d come for a totally different reason, had no clue I was there, but she couldn’t leave me there. She got me back up north with my aunt, and I was off crack again, for the second time. I got my old job back at the Shell station, my aunt bought me a van and I was getting on my feet, I was on meds again. I got pregnant for my first son a few months later, I was twenty-one. I did good through my pregnancy, I also met a guy. We got an apartment together, I had my son, things were good. Although the guy I was with was an alcoholic. He ended up leaving me a few weeks after my son was born. I was extremely scared and depressed, but I knew I had this life to provide for…. I was also very addicted to opiates. Somewhere between moving back up here from Flint and getting pregnant, I had become a bad opiate addict, even using during my pregnancy. 😦 I was going to lose my apartment, he had left me behind on rent, I had just started working at Staples, but I wasn’t going to make it. I moved in with a guy that I had no interest in like that at all, because I knew it was a roof over my son and mine’s head. This guy was a drunk and had six kids of his own…. it was with him that I met my husband. My husband sold his pain pills sometimes, and being an opiate addict, that’s how I met him, as I’ve told you in another post, we started seeing each other when the drunk guy kicked me and my son out in the middle of the winter, no place to go. I ended up going to the house my husband was at, and he hugged me and told me everything would be alright when he saw me crying. After that, we were never apart. Always though, through everything, my depression has haunted me, plagued me, afflicting me sometimes and others just lurking in the shadows, waiting.   – To Be Continued