I’m Not Okay

::queue song::

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRFhNZNu_xw

Okay so the song doesn’t really relate… but I’m NOT okay.

I AM NOT OKAY AND I AM TIRED OF NEVER FEELING OKAY AND I WOULD GIVE USE OF MY LEGS TO FEEL OKAY FOR JUST A FUCKING MINUTE.

I’m tired and irritable and I want to scream and throw shit and hurt people. There’s a PC that’s been sitting on my desk at work, and if I had less control of myself I’d take it and go beat a coworker to death with it. I don’t even care which coworker… but I’d beat their skull in with a PC.

I just want to hurt people. I want people to hurt because I hurt and there’s no wound to blame it on. It’s just fucked up emotional turmoil that no one understands or cares about, and it’s got me all fucked up.

Why?

Because this is my life. This is going to be life until such a time as my life ends. This isn’t “the summer I was kinda sad” or some little pothole in the generally good life that is mine. This is my severe mental illness that never goes away, and never gets noticeably better, and will never have a fucking cure. I’m just damned to go through the rest of life feeling hopeless and shitty and impulsively getting drunk so I don’t feel hopeless and shitty for a couple of hours.

Friday I got my bangles back from fuccboi. I call him that, because that’s what I see him as now. He was nice enough, to be honest. We had a couple drinks and I invited him to the gig I was going to, because after three Saisons I was bored and I didn’t care if he tagged along, so long as I didn’t have to bring him back to that side of town. He agreed to cab/Uber/Lyft home. I invited Bird. I got drunk. It was great. 130 came and I went home, and reminded fuccboi I wasn’t taking him home. Somehow he managed to get a ride from Bird… and good for her, being a better person than me, but I was manic and drunk and I don’t give a fuck.

Saturday and Sunday all I did was sit high out of my mind and binge watch Adam Ruins Everything. It’s weird, because I actually felt pretty good when I got up on Saturday, but I still couldn’t DO anything. I sat there for two days, binge eating, and only left the house to go to a movie with mom, where I also ate. I felt like a worthless piece of shit on Sunday evening… and I was correct about that.

All the shit I want to do, all the goals I have for the next year, and all I could fucking do was nothing this weekend.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes you deserve to do nothing. Nothing can be great… this was not great. I could have cleaned up the backyard, done something in the basement, folded the rest of my clothes, mopped, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, LITERALLY ANYTHING, but no…

I got up this morning and decided this has GOT to end. It sounds motivational, but mostly I’m just pissed off at myself. I’m officially so fat I am sometimes out of breath just trying to wipe my ass. That’s not an exaggeration, that’s the reality of my body trying to maneuver all this fat around so I can reach and most of it cramming into my chest cavity against my diaphragm. That’s too fat. It’s official. It’s too fat. And this weekend? Too much wasted time. Fucking wasted all that time that I could have done something with. And it’s gotta stop, because if it doesn’t stop I have no reason to live.

I talk about suicide a lot. Do you know why? Because I think about suicide a lot. My life is already so fucking meaningless that the only reasons I’m still around is so my mom doesn’t kill HERself, and because I have dogs that I don’t want going back to shelter care. I’m not here because life has meaning, or because life is secretly beautiful, or anything so wonderful as that. I’m here because dying is inconvenient at the moment, but if I’m just going to give up why let my mom watch as I slowly kill myself with food and depression, I could save us both a tortured journey to my grave.

I weighed 288.8 this morning. That’s officially the fattest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I literally didn’t move this weekend. That’s officially the laziest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m turning into my grandmother. I just need to get on disability and be addicted to daytime court shows. I can die in my chair, suffocating on my own neck fat. That’s not how she died, but it’s the image I have of her burned into my brain from childhood… just drinking coffee and falling asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand. I loved my grandmother, but I never want to be that. If I’m going to be that, I’d rather be dead.

So if my life is going to be me, not being emotionally okay ever again, I might as well torture myself down to normal people sizes. I’d settle for a Torrid zero, which is a large… a size 12… It’s not the 130 lbs I’ve always wanted to be… but it’s a lot fucking better than here. It’s 3 dress sizes… it’s a lot… but honestly… it’s not like I’m doing anything better with my time, am I?

A Double Post Kinda Day – Still Blue

What am I doing?!

I don’t know, but I keep texting him anyways. It’s not like I’m in love, or even lust, but I keep texting him. I guess I’m lonely. It’s not as though I have anyone to generally talk to about being sad. A stranger can chat without prying. I can talk to a stranger without thinking about anything important. It’s a nice escape from everything, I guess.

I suppose some people talk to their friends, but even with the small group of friends I keep I can’t imagine bothering them with my emotional turmoil. I mean, what do they care?

Most don’t: that’s the short answer. Having been removed from my immediate life for long enough, I have tried reaching out to my friend in California, but unsurprisingly he’s not really interested in it. I’m not sure why it’s surprising, as I’ve always felt him a touch self-absorbed anyway, but it hurts nonetheless. I tried telling a friend in Maine, because she’s another person I needn’t look in the eye when I spout my emotionally fucked bullshit, but while she’s concerned she isn’t really sure how to handle it. She just tries to reassure me, which is about as effective as it sounds reassuring a crazy person would be. Ha.

I have not tried to talk to my local friends, or my best friend in Oregon, about my meds or how I’m feeling. At my lowest I made it known to Bird that I was struggling, but I can’t imagine actually trying to explain a bipolar thought pattern to her. I considered trying to tell my bipolar friend, but he’s also very self-absorbed. He doesn’t even really do a good job at pretending to care about others; he’s just hellbent on trying to feel like a person again. I can’t really blame him for that… it’s hard the first time you lose yourself.

I could never REALLY talk to the Mothership about my bipolar. She understands depression, but only to the point she’s managed to build her own little barricade of coping mechanisms. So if I’m too depressed to get out of bed, that’s beyond her realm of understanding… so I, too, get out of bed and trudge on into the day, knowing that as soon as I walk through my front door I’m allowed to hit the floor and not move again until the next morning if I have to… and I have. No, my darling mother has major depression, not bipolar, so she doesn’t get mania. She doesn’t have highs that come in waves of feeling powerful, vengeful, or even happy. She doesn’t know what it feels like to think yourself invincible. She just knows the blue… the malaise… the ongoing sea of endless nothing. At least she sort of gets half of it, I guess. When I want to cry but have no reasons, she gets that… and she worries about all those depression-y things that crop up from time to time.

Knowing kinda half the story isn’t enough to understand, though. I can’t explain to her why mania is a problem or the complicated dance the two weave across the dance floor of my personality. I can’t explain why I do some things, or what it’s REALLY like to hear a voice you’re aware is all in your head. I can’t explain to her everything I’ve done under the influence of one episode or another. I can’t explain why there’s so shame behind my eyes and why certain innocuous things seem to hurt me. No, it’s not enough to know the half-truth of a disease and what ways it can eat at a heart.

So I keep texting him, even though I’ve already told him we shouldn’t see each other romantically. I hold my breath each time the phone buzzes, hoping it’s the nice young man that barely knows me. We don’t talk about my bipolar, or depression, or mania, or the voices, or how sometimes I think I’d rather die than have to get out of bed. I don’t feel the urge to tell him I’m struggling, or that going home at the end of a long work day is awful because there are little living things there relying on me to care for them. I don’t feel like I have to confess. It’s just small talk… How was your day? Did you see that film? What time are you free for a drink on Saturday? It’s nothing important. It’s nothing that hurts.

I don’t love him or lust for him… I don’t ache for him, and I definitely don’t want to be in his bed or his arms… but it’s just nice to fill the time with bullshit, I guess. When real life is so hard, the meaningless becomes quite pleasant.

I’m Back To Blue

I cancelled my shrink appointment in October, so I’m definitely on my own for mood management again. I hate the med trials, and the very nonchalant way shrinks are just like,

“You have to try shit till it works… that’s all we can do.”

Why is that all they can do? If I have a lung infection they don’t give me random meds until something works. They isolated the likely cause of of lung infections and prescribe antibiotics accordingly. So if I’m having symptoms, why can’t they take those symptoms and give me the BEST option for the most likely culprit of my symptoms?

I’m sad.
You’re bipolar.

Maybe, but I’m only worried about the sad?

We’re gonna treat the mania.

I don’t care about the mania.
Nah, we’re gonna treat the mania.

Will that help the sad?

In theory it might. If not, we’ll add more meds later.

I don’t want more meds. Can we just treat the sad?

No, we’re going to treat the mania and later we can treat the sad.

BUT I’M NOT WORRIED ABOUT THE MANIA!!! I JUST DON’T WANT TO BE SAD ANYMORE GOD DAMN IT! WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!

This is why we have to treat the mania… you’re irritable.

Literally my experience with the psychiatric community.

I sometimes worry about my future, as the only thing I can predict about it is that I’ll think about suicide. I already do that a lot, so it’s not a far fetched idea to think that will persist. I worry about reaching a place where I’m in between pets, mom has died, and I feel alone… cuz that’s when it could definitely happen. I don’t have a resilient force of will with suicide, it’s just always been inconvenient. If it were suddenly less inconvenient, I’m not sure what I’d do. I only tried the once as a teenager, and that was a complete failure I never tried to repeat again.

I dunno. I just feel hopeless about everything. I wanna move us to Oregon for a change of scenery, but I have no reason to think that will improve my depression. I’ll just be depressed around a lot of trees instead of in the ‘burbs of Denver. It’s worth a shot, I guess. It’s got Mothership motivated to try and get shit done, at least. A light at the end of the tunnel… just hope it’s not a train.

Aside from being really tired and crying in the bathroom at work, I seem pretty normal, though. I’m even supposed to go see that guy again on Saturday to get my bangles back from him. He’s really nice. I’m still sad that isn’t gonna work out. I don’t really think that subjecting a normal human being to my bipolar sociopathic ass is really good for either of us, though. People like me are what Lifetime movies are trying to warn you about.

Randomly, I keep thinking about my ex… the one I’d like to drag into the street an beat to death before setting his body on fire… I’m not sure why. It’s been almost 8 years since the breakup, and I’ve ever dated since then, but I can’t let it go. I still wanna hurt him. I guess that’s from the lack of meds. All the emotions that swirl underneath my calm demeanor are bubbling over cuz they can. It’s just a random thing to feel so angry about this much time later. Some hurts never go away, I guess….

Anyways, I’m depressed…. but I think it’s okay right now.

I’m gonna try to start hitting the gym… I hate the gym, but I do sleep better if I can get all the rage out… and I’d like to lose some weight if that’s possible (like a whole person worth of weight, tbh).

Lying to Mental Healthcare Professionals

Friday sucked. Actually the whole week sucked. I started the week with weird dreams. That progressed into NO SLEEP Tuesday and Wednesday night. I had to take a literal mental health day on Thursday because I was losing it, and on top of not sleeping I’d spent all week trying to cleanup a schedule that should have been clean. It was genuinely frustrating.

I spend Thursday in bed, and then when the house got too hot to sleep I went to buy shit to make cookies. I don’t bake, but I wanted to make cookies. I made four batches total, two of which were totally inedible because they were overwhelmingly gross and salty, one was fine but dry, and one was legit good. I was kind of listless. I don’t know why I wanted to make cookies. I didn’t want to eat them; I had two cookies from the okay batches and gave the rest to mothership. I just liked making them. I can’t really tell you why.

DrugItem_537

I’d been suffering through the side effects of my Abilify. The worst were the hot flashes. I would get REALLY hot, which I’m always kind of hot anyways, and then dizzy and nauseous, and it was just flat out sucked. I’m 28; I didn’t need to get a preview of menopause. So Friday night I debated taking my pill because I was going out. I ended up taking it, because I’m responsible, but I then ended up sweating to the point my friend was concerned for my health and took me home. Let’s not mention that I spent two hours picking an outfit and trying to look cute, or how my makeup melted off my face, or how when I got home I was so disappointed that I cried and went straight to bed.

I emailed my pdoc the next morning, but because it’s Kaiser, she didn’t get back to me till today. In the time between the two events I’ve quit cold turkey… but I didn’t tell her that. It was on accident, really, because Saturday night I went to David’s for an anime night, and forgot to take it before I left. I wasn’t about to take it the next morning… I have played that game and it was too terrible. So, I forgot. Then Sunday was such a good day for me, I just decided not to take it anymore. My pdoc doesn’t know that… I told her I wouldn’t tamper with my meds until I heard from her, but…. I’m tampering.

Saturday was a nice day, though. Mom and I started by taking the dogs to the vet. I was still visibly sad about the night before, but I tried to be in a good mood. The chihuahuas, Bdo & Guy, did great, except that Guy is overweight. Afterwards we took some time apart, and then went to get mani-pedis. It was nice. I got a weird beetle green. And to wrap up mom-time we went to a seafood place and got fried seafood plates.

p166036_d_v8_aa1de99fa25e7190c239f01f6f8dcd2123

That evening I went to D2’s for an anime night. I subjected him to Paprika and Metropolis while we ate $60 worth of sushi (because stoners and fat kids like sushi). It was a lot of fun. We’re having a follow up night on Friday to watch Howl’s Moving Castle and Wizards, which isn’t really anime, but I consider it honorary anime. Bird was supposed to come, but I guess she got wrapped up with other things that feel through, and she essentially slept through it all.

Sunday morning I got up, dressed like a Time Lord and went to the Renaissance Festival with my mom. We stopped at a hat shop, and I finished off my Time Lady look with a nice hat and a flower-tie thing. I wanna make those now… I need to hit Goodwill. And figure out where to buy a sewing kit… We had a lovely day at RenFest and walked until we both thought we were gonna drop.

On the way home we hit the grocery, and I spent the rest of the day not standing.

It turned into a good weekend… but it’s been a trial… not gonna lie.

Latuda Costs $1120.00

So… yesterday was awful.

It didn’t START awful. Like, I didn’t wake up already feeling like I should kill myself or blow up a medical building, but I ended the day debating both. I did neither, I promise.

So yesterday I went to see my old primary care doctor, because Kaiser is a piece of shit system that hasn’t afforded me the ability to see any kind of NEW primary care doctor, even though it’s April. I don’t know if I told you guys how hard getting this appointment was, so a brief recap was that I got accused of trying to commit insurance fraud. So, I already didn’t feel GREAT about going in, but I like my doctor and felt like she could throw me a metaphorical bone.

The appointment was as expected, except that the nurse that took my blood pressure and stuff also gave me a Peep… That was unexpectedly nice.

‚Äč

I had to field the normal questions, such as whether I’d lost interest in hobbies, if I still go out, etc. Every answer was, of course, overwhelmingly bleak, so I tossed in that I had a friend to help get me out of the house, and that mom also tried to get me to do things… seemed to make her feel better, even if it’s something of a mixed truth.

She wrote me a script for Latuda, which is an antipsychotic currently being used to treat bipolar depression. It’s not unusual for a bipolar to take an antipsychotic, and I’ve taken one before that was supposed to help with my irritability (it didn’t help with that, but it gave me some wicked nightmares). The reason doctors give out things like antipsychotics to treat bipolar depression, is because if you give us something like an SSRI there’s a good chance we’ll be stuck in a manic state, and they say that can be really dangerous. I disagree, on the grounds that my mania is the best part of my life… but you can’t trust a manic bipolar… we’re impulsive and irrational… so they say.

So I went back to work, but this headache I’d been fighting all day got the best of me and I ended up going home early, before I reached a point where I couldn’t drive. I went home and changed, and then went to the Kaiser pharmacy by the house. I hate that pharmacy… it’s full of weird people, sick people, and Kaiser employees that seem about as happy to work there as I am to have Kaiser Insurance. Still, I was excited to finally get something that could bring some spark of relief. My life has been so heavy and dark recently, that the spark of hope was blinding.

All my hope was obliterated when the pharmacist, who was quite unpleasant to start with, loudly said that my medication cost $1120.00 and that my doctor should put me on something cheaper. People in the back of the pharmacy gasped, and I… didn’t know what to do. She continued on about how Kaiser’s formulary is available online and some other useless facts that didn’t help anyone and just further embarrassed me. So, I just left. I felt like someone had just run over my dog and then blamed me having the audacity to own a dog for why they killed it. I felt like nothing mattered anymore. I was completely devastated.

In my stupor, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I mean what do people do when they’ve lost literally all hope of life ever getting better? Oddly enough, as often as I’ve considered and mulled over suicide, in this moment of absolute wreckage I didn’t consider that at all. I just felt lost and hopeless and like I was drowning. I cried all the way home, which wasn’t really that far, and then decided I should just talk to my mom. She was at a vet appointment for Ava, so I sat on her doorstep and waited for her to come home.

There were tears and stuff, but essentially she just told me to call my doc and see if there was an alternative medication. I did that, but it’s almost 11am the next day and I haven’t heard from the office…

My mom convinced me to try and make a mental health appointment with Kaiser again, so I did that this morning. Kinda.

This part of Kaiser really adds insult to injury. I’m at a place where I need to see a mental health professional. I don’t know how low OTHER people have to be to see a mental health professional, but for me it’s pretty close to rock bottom. Well, since I “self-referred” myself Kaiser won’t schedule the appointment until I have a conversation with a psychiatric nurse and convince her that I’m sick enough to see a doctor. The idea is that she approves the self referral. It’s just insulting, though. I’ve never had to convince someone that I needed a shrink before, and it makes me want to slit my wrists in a Kaiser building and spell out AM I SICK ENOUGH NOW!? all over their walls. Like, this is a shitty way to treat people who are crazy.

Still, I’m sucking it up and I’ll do the fucking phone call… I’m not going to be happy about it. Every single fiber of my being wanted to tell the appointment guy that this is fucked up and I shouldn’t have to convince a nurse that I’m potentially suicidal in order to get an appointment with someone who can give me something for it. The thing about that is that I know that guy is just doing his job… so… I try not freak out on people who are just trying to live. Also, if you mention that this might be some kind of emergency, they just want you to go to an ER. I don’t need an ER right now… and actually if I did I still probably wouldn’t go to one… What’s the point of living if you’re just gonna rack up an incredible amount of medical debt to hang over your head for the rest of your life? Like… no… that doesn’t appeal to me.

We’ll see what happens.

The one thing about hitting a rock bottom, even if it’s not the lowest I can get, is that today doesn’t bother me so much. Work is still shitty, but why wouldn’t it be? I’m still fat, but I don’t care. My overwhelming sadness has been replaced with apathy. Somehow that’s still an improvement. I think when I get home I’m gonna spring and get my Adobe Creative Cloud… start reteaching myself how to make art with it. I can’t draw, but maybe I can restore some old photos or make a collage or something… just something. Cuz why not?

If yesterday didn’t end me, it just proves that it’s going to take something worse than losing all hope for life before I check out early.