- I quit being somebody's lab-rat, and being at the whims of the team of medical "professionals" I have been given to. I will do something, or not do something, as I see fit, even if it makes absolutely no sense to anyone with an MD behind their name. My body, my mind, my choice.
- I quit on my dreams. Holding out hope for "a better day" is only stressing me out. I've been off work for four years as of my upcoming birthday, and the more I think about that, the more I want to fucking end it already.
- I quit focusing on the future. I'm going to find peace in the moment instead. Maybe there isn't peace to be had, but that's nothing clonazepam won't fix.
- I quit giving a shit what other people think of my illness. It is what it is, people. If you know me, you know I am a crazy type A perfectionist. If you think I chose to be mentally ill because I'm "lazy" or can't pull myself out of it because I'm not trying hard enough, it says everything about you, and very little about me.
- I quit caring what my "best" is. My best might be perfecting my ass-dent in the couch for the next 40 years.
- I quit feeling guilty for ANY REASON. Including, but not limited, to the following: not returning a phone call, not calling someone on their birthday because I feel too shitty, not attending someone's baptism because I can't be in crowds, etc. I'm hard enough on myself without help from stupid social expectations.
- I quit attaching my self worth to what I "used to be" and what I used to be able to accomplish. That was then (and a very dishonest then I might add), and this is now. Now is nothing like then.
- I quit worrying about what some third-party thinks or decides about my illness. It does NOT equal truth. Third-parties cannot see me in my day-to-day things, and therefore, can't comment accurately.
- I quit doing anything that does not feed my soul. Including, but not limited to: attending Christmas ANYTHING, family functions, visiting toxic family members, keeping toxic friends around, etc.
- I quit being around anyone that makes me feel lesser for any reason. I don't expect anyone to understand what's going on with me, but I do expect people to be understanding.
Showing posts with label Health Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Health Stuff. Show all posts
February 25, 2014
The "I Quit" Manifesto
December 23, 2013
Ritual Experiment #Shrug: Crafting Meditation
I've found my groove.
I've meant to post about this about a zillion times, but just haven't. So anyways, without further ado: The Solution.
So some of you might know that I've recently taken up silversmithing. I made Solstice presents for everyone, even, and have made some things for myself that I'm pretty proud of as well. I've received many compliments about the stuff I've made, and it's still sort of hard to accept that I might be pleased with something I've done for a change.
Long story short, I've had some medication changes that give me a lot of extra energy. And not in a good, "let's get things done around here" way... in a nervous "I need to do something with my hands or I'm going to EXPLODE" kind of way. But I don't feel so doped up all the time, so we're going to consider the new drugs a win in a sort of way. Anywho, the one thing that calms my nerves, is making jewelry.
So I sit there and file things, and I ask Brighid for a little help in making this piece extra special for its intended recipient, and I ask Lugh for some help when I'm soldering a particularly difficult piece. I ask Ganesha to help me out once in awhile as well, when something is being particularly stubborn, and I invoke Shiva to help me melt down old jewelry or things I've made mistakes on, and I ask for his blessing when something new and satisfactory is made from the old.
So after all my struggle with the whole "meditation requirement" on the DP, I think this is finally my answer. Crafting meditation. Might sound, well, different, but it works. (And you can be absolutely sure it's something I want to do more than once a week that doesn't feel like work). It's the only time when my head is clear, and I'm allowed to let those little "Voices from Beyond" in. You know. Those little voices that tell you that there's something to all this living stuff, and there's something beyond it as well. The Gods, your Higher Self, whatever you want to call it. It's in those quiet moments that that particular divine energy tends to find me best. I feel grounded and in tune with the universe all at once.
And I also get some pretty nice shinies out of it. Who knew?!
I've meant to post about this about a zillion times, but just haven't. So anyways, without further ado: The Solution.
So some of you might know that I've recently taken up silversmithing. I made Solstice presents for everyone, even, and have made some things for myself that I'm pretty proud of as well. I've received many compliments about the stuff I've made, and it's still sort of hard to accept that I might be pleased with something I've done for a change.
Long story short, I've had some medication changes that give me a lot of extra energy. And not in a good, "let's get things done around here" way... in a nervous "I need to do something with my hands or I'm going to EXPLODE" kind of way. But I don't feel so doped up all the time, so we're going to consider the new drugs a win in a sort of way. Anywho, the one thing that calms my nerves, is making jewelry.
So I sit there and file things, and I ask Brighid for a little help in making this piece extra special for its intended recipient, and I ask Lugh for some help when I'm soldering a particularly difficult piece. I ask Ganesha to help me out once in awhile as well, when something is being particularly stubborn, and I invoke Shiva to help me melt down old jewelry or things I've made mistakes on, and I ask for his blessing when something new and satisfactory is made from the old.
So after all my struggle with the whole "meditation requirement" on the DP, I think this is finally my answer. Crafting meditation. Might sound, well, different, but it works. (And you can be absolutely sure it's something I want to do more than once a week that doesn't feel like work). It's the only time when my head is clear, and I'm allowed to let those little "Voices from Beyond" in. You know. Those little voices that tell you that there's something to all this living stuff, and there's something beyond it as well. The Gods, your Higher Self, whatever you want to call it. It's in those quiet moments that that particular divine energy tends to find me best. I feel grounded and in tune with the universe all at once.
And I also get some pretty nice shinies out of it. Who knew?!
October 13, 2013
Ritual Experiment #I've-Lost-Track: Smudging, and The Morrigan?
I took a smudging course at a local Native arts shop, and found it pretty excellent. More than excellent really... it was quite healing.
So after a day of sobbing for an hour or two and dealing with the aftermath of that, I got out my candle I have devoted to The Morrigan, and smudged the SHIT out of my house. I smudged the corners, I smudged the windows, I even smudged the yard in the rain. I called to The Morrigan and Kali and any warrior goddess that would like to help me out of this dark, deep hole I find myself in.
I understand that overcoming 30+ years of bad thinking habits is not going to happen overnight, but with this last bout with Major Depressive Disorder, I am entering the fourth year since I last worked. Entering the 6th since I felt somewhat human.
I apologize for my giant Twitter rant earlier. I have a dark side of me. A very dark side. Sometimes that darkness wins out. And you know what? It should. A dear friend posted an article about feeling what you feel, despite whether it's "negative" or not, and that was an important reminder. It's basically how I've got where I am now... by constantly trying to be everything to everyone. With the best of intentions, I assure you. But I'm working out what that is going to look like in the future. I don't want to be like my father, approaching 60, and still in the throes of a panic disorder, because he always has to be kind to others first, instead of to himself... ever.
A lot of people have been good to me with this whole... okay... here's the fucking entire diagnosis, just so I can say it out loud and stop tiptoeing around the thing...
Okay. Now that we have that out of the way, and you have some inkling (or maybe not, if you're as aware of these things as approximately half of the population seems to be... sorry 'bout it) of how heavy of a diagnosis that is, maybe you have some understanding of why every so often I go offside about the unfairness of people, the world, the Gods, et cetera, ad infinitum.
So yes. A lot of people have been good to me, despite the stigma that persists with a mental health diagnosis of any kind. I even hate calling it mental health... no other disease has the potential subtext that I might actually secretly be CrAzY. I prefer to call it a Brain Disorder. A lot of people have been understanding, and some have shared similar experiences. Some people couldn't give two shits, or just plain don't have any life experience on which to form any empathy for my situation. All I want is a little love, really. I don't expect people to understand, but I would love a little understanding.
It's really hard (and totally my fault, my problem, and I don't expect anyone to fix this for me... but truth is truth) to see my family and friends going on and having perfectly happy lives while I mindlessly pass my days feeling too drugged up or too anxious or too exhausted to do anything. I'm jealous. I'll admit it. I'm happy that other people aren't similarly plagued with an affliction such as mine (and I do mean plagued... ironically enough sometimes I will randomly break into stress related hives... #leper). But it really, really sucks watching life pass me by from the sidelines. You're talking to a girl who was at the top of her professional and private game, without going into specifics that would identify me further. And I went from being everything, to being "that girl that had a complete nervous breakdown in the office and sobbed for two hours straight before anyone came to help her". It's frustrating when people complain about being nervous about going to someone's party, when I can't even get out of bed because I'm so anxious. I'll have to talk to people... I might not be able to stand near the door should I have a panic attack (I still have those on the daily... the drugs no longer work for me)... I can't drink anything before or during, because I can't use other people's or public restrooms... I am deathly afraid of eating in front of other people.... you get the picture. It's hard to keep my mouth shut when people complain about butterflies, regardless of how legitimate their complaint really is. Oh honey... I am so on an exponentially higher level than that....
No one wants this to be their life's story. I'm scared that I'll never get better, and yes, that is an option as to what might happen. I might never get any better than I am right now. I might kill myself. I am passively suicidal most of the time, A.K.A, in a state of disbelieving hopelessness, and am actively suicidal sometimes too. Those times are getting fewer and further between, but every so often, like it did today, it'll rear its ugly head and scare the crap out of everyone I know. I seem composed and completely not-depressed in person to most people. I know. I am far too good at wearing that hat, and it usually surprises people to hear this about me. "I had no idea!" etc. It isn't a bad thing... but it gives people a false impression of what's going on with me about 99% of the time. I'm getting better at asking for help, but it's still extremely hard for me.
So anyways. Back to this being religion-related. So I had a nice smudge, and I called to The Morrigan and Kali, and any other beings that would like to help me cleanse myself and this place of the negativity. It has its place, but I'm long overdue to have some progress. I've dealt with so much shit lately there should be flowers springing up everywhere. Believe me, it's RIPE in here. I find a lot of peace in actively pursuing bettering my situation... whether it's journalling, blogging, screaming on Twitter (lol) or doing some sort of spiritual practice. It feels better if I feel like I can grab even an inch of control of this thing, illusory or not.
I really hope Morrighan doesn't have a problem with me mixing cultural practices.
So after a day of sobbing for an hour or two and dealing with the aftermath of that, I got out my candle I have devoted to The Morrigan, and smudged the SHIT out of my house. I smudged the corners, I smudged the windows, I even smudged the yard in the rain. I called to The Morrigan and Kali and any warrior goddess that would like to help me out of this dark, deep hole I find myself in.
I understand that overcoming 30+ years of bad thinking habits is not going to happen overnight, but with this last bout with Major Depressive Disorder, I am entering the fourth year since I last worked. Entering the 6th since I felt somewhat human.
I apologize for my giant Twitter rant earlier. I have a dark side of me. A very dark side. Sometimes that darkness wins out. And you know what? It should. A dear friend posted an article about feeling what you feel, despite whether it's "negative" or not, and that was an important reminder. It's basically how I've got where I am now... by constantly trying to be everything to everyone. With the best of intentions, I assure you. But I'm working out what that is going to look like in the future. I don't want to be like my father, approaching 60, and still in the throes of a panic disorder, because he always has to be kind to others first, instead of to himself... ever.
A lot of people have been good to me with this whole... okay... here's the fucking entire diagnosis, just so I can say it out loud and stop tiptoeing around the thing...
Dysthymia complicated by Major Depressive Disorder, with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder and Acute Agoraphobia.
Okay. Now that we have that out of the way, and you have some inkling (or maybe not, if you're as aware of these things as approximately half of the population seems to be... sorry 'bout it) of how heavy of a diagnosis that is, maybe you have some understanding of why every so often I go offside about the unfairness of people, the world, the Gods, et cetera, ad infinitum.
So yes. A lot of people have been good to me, despite the stigma that persists with a mental health diagnosis of any kind. I even hate calling it mental health... no other disease has the potential subtext that I might actually secretly be CrAzY. I prefer to call it a Brain Disorder. A lot of people have been understanding, and some have shared similar experiences. Some people couldn't give two shits, or just plain don't have any life experience on which to form any empathy for my situation. All I want is a little love, really. I don't expect people to understand, but I would love a little understanding.
It's really hard (and totally my fault, my problem, and I don't expect anyone to fix this for me... but truth is truth) to see my family and friends going on and having perfectly happy lives while I mindlessly pass my days feeling too drugged up or too anxious or too exhausted to do anything. I'm jealous. I'll admit it. I'm happy that other people aren't similarly plagued with an affliction such as mine (and I do mean plagued... ironically enough sometimes I will randomly break into stress related hives... #leper). But it really, really sucks watching life pass me by from the sidelines. You're talking to a girl who was at the top of her professional and private game, without going into specifics that would identify me further. And I went from being everything, to being "that girl that had a complete nervous breakdown in the office and sobbed for two hours straight before anyone came to help her". It's frustrating when people complain about being nervous about going to someone's party, when I can't even get out of bed because I'm so anxious. I'll have to talk to people... I might not be able to stand near the door should I have a panic attack (I still have those on the daily... the drugs no longer work for me)... I can't drink anything before or during, because I can't use other people's or public restrooms... I am deathly afraid of eating in front of other people.... you get the picture. It's hard to keep my mouth shut when people complain about butterflies, regardless of how legitimate their complaint really is. Oh honey... I am so on an exponentially higher level than that....
No one wants this to be their life's story. I'm scared that I'll never get better, and yes, that is an option as to what might happen. I might never get any better than I am right now. I might kill myself. I am passively suicidal most of the time, A.K.A, in a state of disbelieving hopelessness, and am actively suicidal sometimes too. Those times are getting fewer and further between, but every so often, like it did today, it'll rear its ugly head and scare the crap out of everyone I know. I seem composed and completely not-depressed in person to most people. I know. I am far too good at wearing that hat, and it usually surprises people to hear this about me. "I had no idea!" etc. It isn't a bad thing... but it gives people a false impression of what's going on with me about 99% of the time. I'm getting better at asking for help, but it's still extremely hard for me.
So anyways. Back to this being religion-related. So I had a nice smudge, and I called to The Morrigan and Kali, and any other beings that would like to help me cleanse myself and this place of the negativity. It has its place, but I'm long overdue to have some progress. I've dealt with so much shit lately there should be flowers springing up everywhere. Believe me, it's RIPE in here. I find a lot of peace in actively pursuing bettering my situation... whether it's journalling, blogging, screaming on Twitter (lol) or doing some sort of spiritual practice. It feels better if I feel like I can grab even an inch of control of this thing, illusory or not.
I really hope Morrighan doesn't have a problem with me mixing cultural practices.
October 8, 2013
Drawing On the Gods (and Friends)
I haven't been myself lately. I've been tweaking some of my prescriptions, so I've been feeling extraordinarily drugged up and forgetful and spaced out and all of those good things. Here's a thought for today, though, that I find extremely poignant. I'm no longer Christian, but I still find the Bible beautiful, if taken in a non-dogmatic context.
I've been trying to do this. I've been trying to be open about my difficulties with mental health, and health in general, actually, and for the most part, I've been received with support. Turns out I am not a rock nor an island, regardless of what Simon and Garfunkel might idealize, and sharing my weaknesses and my struggles has brought me closer to people than I ever thought possible. It was inauthentic for me to put up that strong front. And although I'm told I'm incredibly good at it (unfortunately), ultimately I think it's hard for people to identify with someone who is constantly wearing a mask.
There's wisdom in them thar hills, and I intend to continue building my strength by admitting my weaknesses. Because that's the thing that's essentially human, and permeates all of human experience. It's the tie that binds.
I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:7-10
I've been trying to do this. I've been trying to be open about my difficulties with mental health, and health in general, actually, and for the most part, I've been received with support. Turns out I am not a rock nor an island, regardless of what Simon and Garfunkel might idealize, and sharing my weaknesses and my struggles has brought me closer to people than I ever thought possible. It was inauthentic for me to put up that strong front. And although I'm told I'm incredibly good at it (unfortunately), ultimately I think it's hard for people to identify with someone who is constantly wearing a mask.
There's wisdom in them thar hills, and I intend to continue building my strength by admitting my weaknesses. Because that's the thing that's essentially human, and permeates all of human experience. It's the tie that binds.
September 14, 2013
The Healing Power of the Moon
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
- Leonard Cohen
I'm not sure I can really describe this experience.
So tonight, we prepared to go outside to do our usual ritual. We being the dogs and J and I. We're outside, and I realize suddenly, once we are out of the shadow of our house, that the moon is actually illuminating our yard.
I decide to forgo the flashlight I had brought.
I struggled to read the text of my ritual. This made time for every word to feel intentional, and for me to feel the weight of each sound in my mouth. I could trace the lines between the moonlit page, my eyes, the neurons in my brain, the sound in my throat, and the way my tongue felt as it moved around my mouth.
Time slowed.
For a blessed moment, I felt still.
At points, the reflection of the moon on my laminated page would catch my eye the right way, and it was blinding, for a brief but brilliant moment.
I looked away from my page to give offerings, and I noticed my littlest canine companion quietly enjoying the coolness of the dewy grass, his eyes glinting in the soft moonlight. He looked peaceful and at home; he looked like he was in his element.
In what has been a tumultuous and chaotic time for all of us, I felt the door creak open just a little bit wider. A little more room for some light to get through. The moon illuminated the potential for us to have a healthy, happy, peaceful existence full of joy and refreshing moments of cool grass under our furry feet.
When you have endured such mind altering pain that more often than not you wished that your life had ended long ago, and the possibility of improvement seems like something you neither deserve nor reasonably ever expect, moments like this are rare. More than rare. Legendary. Elusive. They take on that fairy tale quality of something having occurred long ago and far away.
Seeing my little dog, my little kindred spirit, being calm and meditative in his own yard, brought tears to my eyes. Under the giant lunar goddess, with a cool breeze at our backs, I dared to dream that this might be my turning point.
Could it be that all of the cracks I've endured at the hands of an illness plagued existence have finally let in some light?
August 1, 2013
Lugh-NO-sadh?
Today marks the end of my official first "Year of Pagan Holidays".
Yay?
I dunno. It's kind of bumming me out how people are cheery about this particular holiday, even looking forward to it! And the best I can do is muster good wishes in return.
I find the cross quarter days a little strange. I've always celebrated the change in season, even as a Christian (especially the Autumn Equinox). But celebrating the harvest feels kind of foreign.
Intellectually, I understand why we celebrate Lughnasadh or Lammas, if you like. Reaping the benefits of what one has sewn, whether agriculturally or otherwise, is an important event. Seems worth celebrating. But that assumes something: that we feel like we have something to be thankful for.
Yes, living in Canada, I know I'm more privileged than probably 90% of the world, blah blah blah. I try not to forget that I have a roof over my head, and food in my fridge. Regardless, I'm finding this holiday to be a little difficult. What do I have to be thankful for in my life? Truly? I just feel like everything is falling apart, but take a moment and be thankful for all the good I've manifested this year?
Hate to sound like an Eeyore, but I'm a little short in the "good" department.
I feel like I've been having my nose rubbed in other people's happiness lately, and I think this just adds insult to injury. Not that I'm not happy for my family and friends - I am. Truly. But misery loves company, and today, I feel sadder than I have in a long time. Not that I'm expecting anyone to notice particularly, or care, because I realize how hard it is to try to interact with someone like myself when I'm feeling like this. It's hard to bring yourself down to this level and sympathize in a way that feels authentic. I have this problem with myself sometimes, even. I don't even want to be sympathetic to myself... I just want to be someone else.
So what's a person to do, except suffer silently?
Not even close to being a rhetorical question. I seriously don't know the answer.
So although this is not the popular response, it's the one I'm feeling. This isn't easy to say, or write, or have read. Part of my ability to accept my situation has turned out to be sharing it, and realizing that a lot of people are in my boat and have or have had similar experiences and feelings. So I guess I'll muddle my way through, and hopefully next year I'll have something to harvest. For real.
Yay?
I dunno. It's kind of bumming me out how people are cheery about this particular holiday, even looking forward to it! And the best I can do is muster good wishes in return.
I find the cross quarter days a little strange. I've always celebrated the change in season, even as a Christian (especially the Autumn Equinox). But celebrating the harvest feels kind of foreign.
Intellectually, I understand why we celebrate Lughnasadh or Lammas, if you like. Reaping the benefits of what one has sewn, whether agriculturally or otherwise, is an important event. Seems worth celebrating. But that assumes something: that we feel like we have something to be thankful for.
Yes, living in Canada, I know I'm more privileged than probably 90% of the world, blah blah blah. I try not to forget that I have a roof over my head, and food in my fridge. Regardless, I'm finding this holiday to be a little difficult. What do I have to be thankful for in my life? Truly? I just feel like everything is falling apart, but take a moment and be thankful for all the good I've manifested this year?
Hate to sound like an Eeyore, but I'm a little short in the "good" department.
I feel like I've been having my nose rubbed in other people's happiness lately, and I think this just adds insult to injury. Not that I'm not happy for my family and friends - I am. Truly. But misery loves company, and today, I feel sadder than I have in a long time. Not that I'm expecting anyone to notice particularly, or care, because I realize how hard it is to try to interact with someone like myself when I'm feeling like this. It's hard to bring yourself down to this level and sympathize in a way that feels authentic. I have this problem with myself sometimes, even. I don't even want to be sympathetic to myself... I just want to be someone else.
So what's a person to do, except suffer silently?
Not even close to being a rhetorical question. I seriously don't know the answer.
So although this is not the popular response, it's the one I'm feeling. This isn't easy to say, or write, or have read. Part of my ability to accept my situation has turned out to be sharing it, and realizing that a lot of people are in my boat and have or have had similar experiences and feelings. So I guess I'll muddle my way through, and hopefully next year I'll have something to harvest. For real.
July 31, 2013
Annoyed.
I can't shake this constant feeling of being annoyed. It's like someone has been poking me on the shoulder for a few weeks now, and I just want to turn around and bitch slap them.
Partially, it's my situation. I'm totally stuck between finding the right moment to move forward, and feeling not at all ready to do that. I keep thinking about where I could volunteer as a starting point, and it just seems so daunting. I don't think an hour a week would even be doable. Firstly, who would want to take me on? I feel like a liability with all my health problems. And secondly, what could I even do anyways? I can see myself joyfully taking on a new responsibility, and then getting joyfully punted out of it after I call in sick for the millionth time because I'm too unwell to do anything.
I'm having trouble concentrating with my DP stuff lately. I am re-reading Vedic Mythology because it's just not sinking in. I'm trying to take a lot of notes, but my lack of ability to concentrate and digest material just makes me feel really, really stupid. And I'm not, so that's frustrating. People ask me about things that I KNOW I know, and I just draw a blank. I'm not sure what can repair that...
31 is a weird age to be stuck. Everyone around me is having families, getting their careers well on their way, and I'm back to being 19 again. It's horribly painful. I don't know what I want to do for a living, if I even had the capacity to go through with it right now, and I am by no means ready to have kids. I don't think I'll ever be. Let's face it... if I don't get there by 35, I think it's probably not right to try. So I have 3.5 years to fix my life, if it's fixable to the amount it would need to be for me to try and get pregnant. And what if I want to go back to school? How do I fit both of those things in? My life is slowly slipping me by, and there's nothing I can seem to do to fix it.
I wish I could just grab the bull by the horns like I normally would, and take that one big step out of hell. But I can't even decide where a good starting place would even be.
I sort of feel like, why the fuck would I even bother? I know 31 seems young enough for those people who are 41 or 51 and starting a new career; it's all relative. And I AM going to go back to school... I'm not about to work at Walmart for the rest of my life. But 4 or 5 or more years of school at this point seems daunting.
The most fun part of all of this is: no one can decide these things but me.
#($*&@(#*&#@)$(#@*@)#*@)$&
July 18, 2013
Warning: Bitchy Post Ahead
I've neglected this blog for awhile, mostly because I've been having a really hard time, and I didn't feel like I had anything worth blogging about (or worth reading).
However, I've decided that a) I need some catharsis and b) even negative struggles are part of the journey. So here goes.
I've tried every treatment there is for my particular brand of depression, and I mean EVERYTHING aside from the electroshock therapy. Yes, they still do that. No, I'll never consent. I'm not getting very far. I got in a bit of a war last week when my well meaning but overworked psychiatrist criticized me for not having added on a drug that I've taken before, and that totally fucked up my sleep and gave me night terrors. (Yes, night terrors. Not nightmares. Those are for sissies. I'm talking about the "you wake up when someone is crawling through your window to stab you only to realize that you really haven't woken up at all and someone is still crawling through the window to stab you only to wake up and realize"... you get the picture.) So, obviously, I'm slightly trepidatious in attempting round 2 with this new drug. It's supposedly a good combo (google California Rocket Fuel... seriously. That's what this combo is called), but it also has a chance of increasing suicidal ideation and anxiety in the short term. Feeling like I've been feeling, I'm not sure I'm up for an increase in those feelings. I wouldn't consider myself suicidal, but... let's just say it's been a long time since I've felt that life was worth living for more than a brief moment. Anyways. Top that up with marital/familial issues and a lack of a good support system (or a lack of ability to call upon such when needed), and I've been feeling pretty fucked.
And then apparently my doctor picks yesterday as the moment I'm to go to the "contraception clinic" to figure out what my birth control should look like, since I have so many complicating factors. (Being insulin-dependent, all these head meds, and apparently high blood pressure, which isn't even an issue. I just really hate doctors, so every time I go, it's through the roof). My hubby had to surprise me with this appointment, because he knew had I have known that my doctor was cutting me off of my birth control, I would have probably smashed her windows in (not exaggerating).
So off we go, to the fucking hospital, and I hate fucking hospitals, because every time I go to one of these hellholes, I get a) mistreated (I've been left in a bedpan for over an hour, verbally abused to the point that the abuser got a week's worth in anger management, no clean sheets or gowns for almost a week... the list goes on), or b) people forget I'm human, and that part of my physiology includes panic and anxiety disorder, as well as Dysthymia complicated by Major Depressive Disorder and SHEER TERROR BROUGHT ON BY WHITE COATS.
Everything goes... okay. I didn't try to murder anyone, and I only broke down sobbing once. I had a complete breakdown before going, and my knees only shook hard enough that I could waddle to the building, instead of hubby having to carry me.
The part that gets me is this: as a kid, I was one of the lucky girls that had 10 day periods that basically looked like a murder scene. Cramps, mood swings, all to the nth degree. And they decide that this is something that's worth changing, right now, at this juncture, when I'm having such struggles with my mood already?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Yes. Let's take the person who is self described as unstable and who is never quite sure when she could legitimately be a danger to herself, and let's fuck with her hormones.
So I don't have any of my meds straight, I don't feel okay, I straight up tell them that this is a terrible idea, but I still have to go back in 3 months to provide a blood pressure record.
FUCK YOUR FUCKING BLOOD PRESSURE. I DO NOT HAVE HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE. REMEMBER THE CUFF YOU HAD ON ME FOR A WEEK WHILE I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL???? FUCKING 120/75 BABY. CHECK YOUR STUPID FUCKING NOTES.
This... this right here... is the sort of thing I deal with *all the time*. I mean ALL the time. I'm always dealing with asshole doctors that are always trying to fuck with the way I have things set out that WORK for me. My methods may not be perfect, but have you ever tried getting traction in life when there's not a single part of it that has steady footing?
And frankly, from my perspective, it's nothing short of a miracle that I haven't just taken a fistful of pills to this point, so a potential risk of 18/100,000 (that's a 0.018% chance, ladies and gentlemen), does not frighten me in the SLIGHTEST. When you feel as though you'd be better off dead most of the time, (whether that is an accurate fact or not, perception is reality), you tend not to care about such inconsequential details. It would be much more dangerous for me to get pregnant. It's more dangerous for me to be on the high dose of benzodiazepines that I've been on for over 2 years (only supposed to take them for a month or less at my current dosage). I am on too many Category X prescriptions, that I would have to have an abortion if I got pregnant. How's *that* for adding to mental health? Not that I'm really interested in sex (see: anti-depressants and their effect on sex drive), but is this something that is in line with the Hippocratic Oath? Really?
Never mind the fact that I can't eat half of the stuff that would allow me to be healthier. I have some as yet undiagnosed stomach problem that prevents me from eating pretty much anything raw. Sometimes vegetables entirely. My neck is in an absolute mess from an injury 10+ years ago, and I am in pain at least daily. My knee hasn't been right in over a month and I have no idea why. My birth control method would be pretty far down my list of priorities. Or, what about all this ear pain and dizzy spells? Should we take a look at that? The fact that my thyroid is out of control?
So this is my life right now. This is one of many examples on how my life is spiralling slowly out of control. I thought I hit rock bottom 3 years ago... maybe we're not there yet. And to think, the day before, I had got out my yoga mat and spent awhile chillin', and I found that I could still do a lot of stuff. I was feeling hopeful. Apparently that's not something that the universe is allowing me though right now: a moment's respite.
And you want to blindside me, and drag me into the hospital, to talk to me about my 0.018% chance of getting a blood clot?
However, I've decided that a) I need some catharsis and b) even negative struggles are part of the journey. So here goes.
I've tried every treatment there is for my particular brand of depression, and I mean EVERYTHING aside from the electroshock therapy. Yes, they still do that. No, I'll never consent. I'm not getting very far. I got in a bit of a war last week when my well meaning but overworked psychiatrist criticized me for not having added on a drug that I've taken before, and that totally fucked up my sleep and gave me night terrors. (Yes, night terrors. Not nightmares. Those are for sissies. I'm talking about the "you wake up when someone is crawling through your window to stab you only to realize that you really haven't woken up at all and someone is still crawling through the window to stab you only to wake up and realize"... you get the picture.) So, obviously, I'm slightly trepidatious in attempting round 2 with this new drug. It's supposedly a good combo (google California Rocket Fuel... seriously. That's what this combo is called), but it also has a chance of increasing suicidal ideation and anxiety in the short term. Feeling like I've been feeling, I'm not sure I'm up for an increase in those feelings. I wouldn't consider myself suicidal, but... let's just say it's been a long time since I've felt that life was worth living for more than a brief moment. Anyways. Top that up with marital/familial issues and a lack of a good support system (or a lack of ability to call upon such when needed), and I've been feeling pretty fucked.
And then apparently my doctor picks yesterday as the moment I'm to go to the "contraception clinic" to figure out what my birth control should look like, since I have so many complicating factors. (Being insulin-dependent, all these head meds, and apparently high blood pressure, which isn't even an issue. I just really hate doctors, so every time I go, it's through the roof). My hubby had to surprise me with this appointment, because he knew had I have known that my doctor was cutting me off of my birth control, I would have probably smashed her windows in (not exaggerating).
So off we go, to the fucking hospital, and I hate fucking hospitals, because every time I go to one of these hellholes, I get a) mistreated (I've been left in a bedpan for over an hour, verbally abused to the point that the abuser got a week's worth in anger management, no clean sheets or gowns for almost a week... the list goes on), or b) people forget I'm human, and that part of my physiology includes panic and anxiety disorder, as well as Dysthymia complicated by Major Depressive Disorder and SHEER TERROR BROUGHT ON BY WHITE COATS.
Everything goes... okay. I didn't try to murder anyone, and I only broke down sobbing once. I had a complete breakdown before going, and my knees only shook hard enough that I could waddle to the building, instead of hubby having to carry me.
The part that gets me is this: as a kid, I was one of the lucky girls that had 10 day periods that basically looked like a murder scene. Cramps, mood swings, all to the nth degree. And they decide that this is something that's worth changing, right now, at this juncture, when I'm having such struggles with my mood already?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Yes. Let's take the person who is self described as unstable and who is never quite sure when she could legitimately be a danger to herself, and let's fuck with her hormones.
So I don't have any of my meds straight, I don't feel okay, I straight up tell them that this is a terrible idea, but I still have to go back in 3 months to provide a blood pressure record.
FUCK YOUR FUCKING BLOOD PRESSURE. I DO NOT HAVE HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE. REMEMBER THE CUFF YOU HAD ON ME FOR A WEEK WHILE I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL???? FUCKING 120/75 BABY. CHECK YOUR STUPID FUCKING NOTES.
This... this right here... is the sort of thing I deal with *all the time*. I mean ALL the time. I'm always dealing with asshole doctors that are always trying to fuck with the way I have things set out that WORK for me. My methods may not be perfect, but have you ever tried getting traction in life when there's not a single part of it that has steady footing?
And frankly, from my perspective, it's nothing short of a miracle that I haven't just taken a fistful of pills to this point, so a potential risk of 18/100,000 (that's a 0.018% chance, ladies and gentlemen), does not frighten me in the SLIGHTEST. When you feel as though you'd be better off dead most of the time, (whether that is an accurate fact or not, perception is reality), you tend not to care about such inconsequential details. It would be much more dangerous for me to get pregnant. It's more dangerous for me to be on the high dose of benzodiazepines that I've been on for over 2 years (only supposed to take them for a month or less at my current dosage). I am on too many Category X prescriptions, that I would have to have an abortion if I got pregnant. How's *that* for adding to mental health? Not that I'm really interested in sex (see: anti-depressants and their effect on sex drive), but is this something that is in line with the Hippocratic Oath? Really?
Never mind the fact that I can't eat half of the stuff that would allow me to be healthier. I have some as yet undiagnosed stomach problem that prevents me from eating pretty much anything raw. Sometimes vegetables entirely. My neck is in an absolute mess from an injury 10+ years ago, and I am in pain at least daily. My knee hasn't been right in over a month and I have no idea why. My birth control method would be pretty far down my list of priorities. Or, what about all this ear pain and dizzy spells? Should we take a look at that? The fact that my thyroid is out of control?
So this is my life right now. This is one of many examples on how my life is spiralling slowly out of control. I thought I hit rock bottom 3 years ago... maybe we're not there yet. And to think, the day before, I had got out my yoga mat and spent awhile chillin', and I found that I could still do a lot of stuff. I was feeling hopeful. Apparently that's not something that the universe is allowing me though right now: a moment's respite.
And you want to blindside me, and drag me into the hospital, to talk to me about my 0.018% chance of getting a blood clot?
March 16, 2013
Best. Anti-infective. Ever.
If you're like me and you practically run a zoo out of your house, you're probably prone to nasty little infect-y cuts. Here's my awesome completely natural cure for infected injuries. No antibiotics involved!
Probably goes without saying that this should only be used on limbs. I don't imagine this would be too fun to accidentally get up your vajay. Or in your eye. Yeow.
- As much warm water as you need to submerge the thing run in the bathtub
- 7-10 drops of Tea Tree Oil (careful, this stuff is freaking potent)
- 1/4 cup of epsom salts
- 1-2 tablespoons of Aloe Vera gel
Soak your injured part for about 20 minutes or so. Rinse THOROUGHLY. You don't wanna have that TTO siting on your skin for longer than necessary. NASTY shit.
TMI warning: I get those infected toenails a lot because my dogs always seem to step on my feet (you would too if you had a 100 pound goldendoodle) and I'm just generally hard on my feet. (I think I've ripped a toenail half off at least twice this past month). This works much better than any antibiotic cream, alcohol, or hydrogen peroxide. Like, a LOT better. I usually have relief the next day, where I might be fighting one off for weeks otherwise. One or two of these footbaths and it's usually cured. I guess though, if you think about it, I don't imagine much WOULD live given the ingredients I listed. Tea Tree Oil would pull the chrome off a Buick. If you're the sufferer of a inadvertently removed toenail, also keeping it moist with a bandaid and a little moisturizer piled under the bandaid 24/7, and liberally, helps it grow back through soft skin.
Probably goes without saying that this should only be used on limbs. I don't imagine this would be too fun to accidentally get up your vajay. Or in your eye. Yeow.
- As much warm water as you need to submerge the thing run in the bathtub
- 7-10 drops of Tea Tree Oil (careful, this stuff is freaking potent)
- 1/4 cup of epsom salts
- 1-2 tablespoons of Aloe Vera gel
Soak your injured part for about 20 minutes or so. Rinse THOROUGHLY. You don't wanna have that TTO siting on your skin for longer than necessary. NASTY shit.
TMI warning: I get those infected toenails a lot because my dogs always seem to step on my feet (you would too if you had a 100 pound goldendoodle) and I'm just generally hard on my feet. (I think I've ripped a toenail half off at least twice this past month). This works much better than any antibiotic cream, alcohol, or hydrogen peroxide. Like, a LOT better. I usually have relief the next day, where I might be fighting one off for weeks otherwise. One or two of these footbaths and it's usually cured. I guess though, if you think about it, I don't imagine much WOULD live given the ingredients I listed. Tea Tree Oil would pull the chrome off a Buick. If you're the sufferer of a inadvertently removed toenail, also keeping it moist with a bandaid and a little moisturizer piled under the bandaid 24/7, and liberally, helps it grow back through soft skin.
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