450

It's a milestone... or something.

This is post number 450, if that wasn't clear as mud, already. Lots has happened in the last six years. There's been good, bad, and embarrassingly bad. But, as always, you amazing readers keep me going through it all. Thank you!

Now for the point of this post...

I've been more or less steady for quite some time, now. Yes, I had to up my meds for both my sanity and sleep schedule, but still stable. Enter the amazingly big BUT... as always, things change.

I got a shot called Lupron, which most women, and probably many men, know the basics of. If you don't, look it up, because I'm too lazy to explain it. 

Anyhow, one side effect of Lupron can be depression. Seeing as how I've been chronically manic for quite some time, I thought this would either bring me down enough to lower my Seroquel, or simply be a welcome change. Wanna guess which one happened? Neither. At least, not yet.

I lowered my Seroquel back down to 400mg, but I still feel the darkness creeping inside. And since, when my moods change, I go from manic, to hypo-manic, to depression, I'm in that hypo place where I'm needing something to help me sleep. This helper is, you guessed it... SEROQUEL! 🎵All around the mulberry bush, the lady chased her sanity...🎵  (I know you sang that. Don't lie.)

Anyhow, I've been useless, lately. I walk between one and two miles per day. Total. For the entire day. My cello (I named it Flynn, judge me), has gotten zero love, this week. The piano (simply called the piano) has been touched for maybe 30 minutes total, this week. My Duolingo looks like a Wall Street crash, and I've read so little that I'm not entirely sure what's going on, anymore.

I'm not handling this well. 

Sometimes

Things are different, these days.

I watch a show called Random Acts, where they “do nice things for nice people”. Anyone can nominate someone they feel is deserving of a random act of kindness. The episode I just finished, really hit home with me.

The act was for a young girl, who has a love for aerobatic performing (I guess that’s the term?), who was traumatized by an undisclosed act of bullying. Her father mentioned her having night terrors, and everyone involved noticed that, a once happy child, was withdrawn and not as happy. It happens far too often.

This little girl was able to fight her way back to who she really is, thanks to the fact that she first came forward about what was happening to her. She began being more lively, happy, and had gone back to herself.

I looked at this child, and was actually bitter about my own experiences. But then I remembered... This isn’t the 90’s, anymore. There’s more awareness, more help, more encouragement to come forward. 

My life was pure, unadulterated hell because of certain members of my family, and one POS, who then got her followers to treat me the same. I’m over 30, and I still have night terrors. Yes, I’ve worked on much of my past, and have been able to make it over one mountain after another. But the fact remains, I was treated like, and lead to believe I was, useless, disposable, and not worth anything. Not just outside home, either...

But the thing that really connected me to this girl, was her love of dance and performing. She absolutely shone on that stage! 

For me, growing up, I always say I had two lives: One at school/home/church, and one at dance. Dance was my escape from everything and everyone. Yes, I danced on a team, but these were girls I didn’t know outside that studio (for the most part, anyhow), and therefore weren’t subject to two narcissists’, and POS’s mind-control tactics, so they judged me on who I was, not what these useless humans said I  was.

Yes, many adults knew what was going on, and tried to intervene. My mom tried talking to POS’s useless mom, which went about as well as you’d expect from the wording of this sentence. One of my teachers actually pulled POS aside, once, stared her in the face, and said, “I don’t like you”. But there wasn’t the help there is today.

Example: When I was in fourth grade, the Cracker Jack school psychologist decided that I was, in fact, the problem, stating that it was me who couldn’t get along with them. Yes, really. Her solution was to sit me in her office, and leave me there, all day long, for weeks on end, while giving me my schoolwork with no instruction or help. I didn’t get to go to recess, or even lunch. I was in there the entire day. I was being punished for being bullied. And POS got away with it.

Things she, my so-called sister, and the jackass narcissist have done, still haunt me. Jackass is probably the entire reason that, to this day, I can’t stand up for myself. Princess narcissist is the reason I’m super self-conscious about literally every move I make (“your handwriting is ugly”, “your face is making ugly looks”, “you can’t like that”, “that’s stupid that you do this”), and POS is the reason I have some serious trust issues. 

The funny thing about trauma from bullying is that, it’s that you remember; the people who defended you; the good times you had, even with them existing; every waking moment that they weren’t there to torture you... Those memories don’t stick. I can remember almost everything these useless humans have said, but the good times without them... Those memories are more sparse.

I’m glad there’s the help there is, today! And I’m thankful for the therapists I’ve had, who have helped me get to where I’m at! Trauma is permanent. Fact. But it doesn’t have to control your life, forever.

Discouraged

**SIGH**

It’s a well-known fact that I’ve not been good at keeping jobs over the last ten years. I honestly can’t even remember the vast majority of the jobs I’ve had, as most of them ended within just two weeks. However... Things have changed, for me, in the last year. Changed to the point of looking for full-time work.

I spend hours a day, just looking through job sites, as well as filling out applications on company sites. Of the, give or take, hundred jobs I’ve applied for, I’ve got just five interviews. They’ve all ended with the polite, if not damning, “We have a few more interviews to get through. We will let you know by the end of next week”. Anyone who has ever heard that, knows that that is code for, “We don’t want you, and we’re not going to call you. We just say this for politeness sake”.

It’s incredibly discouraging. Not working is a massive blow to my self-worth. Especially now that I’m ready to take the dive into functioning adulthood. I feel like this is definitely a step I’m ready to make, after spending years working on better managing my symptoms, and getting proper medications. Yes, I’m odd, but I’m fully capable of working. I want nothing more than for the right people, and the right job, to give me a chance! 

So, I guess the search for the proverbial needle in the haystack continues. As does the steady decline of my mental state, with each and every “no”.

Blown Away

Faith in humanity: restored!

So, long story short, my mom lives in a dump, and it’s 110% her husband’s fault. The two biggest problems upstairs are the kitchen floor and the master shower. “Awful” doesn’t even begin to describe them. No joke, this house should be condemned.

Anyhow, I decided to start a GoFundMe, since mom has no financial way of fixing these disaster zones. In twenty-four hours, it raised $240, and I’ve had no less than a dozen complete strangers offer their time and expertise! I’m blown away by the kindnesses people can do! These offers and donations have proven to me that, the real world is far from the negativity, hate, and general crap that social media has made us believe. People are awesome!

You can read the GoFundMe here (if I can get the link to work...)

GoFundMe for Mom

You may not know my mom, and the description of her in that link doesn’t even begin to explain just who she is. She gives and gives and gives. It’s her turn to have something given to her.

Constant Change Is Here To Stay

That was eye-opening...

Those who have followed my blog for a while (thank you), have probably noticed that I’m not the same person as when I started this, nearly seven years ago. I was going through some old posts, and was actually rather embarrassed at some of them.

Everyone changes. You grow up, your circumstances change, you find out you’ve got one or more mental illnesses. Literally anything can change who you are. Maybe not in massive, life-altering ways, but it happens. Best part is that we don’t always notice the changes in ourselves, unless you really look back.

One of the posts I read was about how I have nothing and no one. Back then, my brain was so foggy with anger, anxiety, and self-pity, that it wouldn’t allow me to see what I had. What I still have. I recently wrote some posts about all my amazing friends (not all of you were in it, but you are all very much appreciated). Those friends have had my back for years, and have never abandoned me. Those are real friends!

So many posts I’ve written have been obsolete for quite a while, now. The ones bemoaning my mania or deep depression, ones talking about how I couldn’t go out by myself, and some seriously heated rants that were far from appropriate (like calling out certain people).

No, I am not the same person I was when I first started this blog. I’m not even the same person I was a year ago. This is a good thing, in my case. It may have taken until my mid-thirties (yes, I’m really that old), but for the first time, in my entire life, I can see the top of this mountain I’ve been climbing. It’s a good feeling. 

Will I ever be “normal”? No. But, let’s face it, there’s no standard definition of normality, anyhow. My goal always has been, and probably will remain so for the foreseeable future, to appear as close to a functioning adult as possible. I’m almost there, but, like any other chronic, lifelong illness, I’ll have to keep treating it for the rest of my life.

Just want to say a giant thank you to all my supporters! Whether you’ve been with me for a month, a year, or the life of this blog, you mean the world to me! It’s you who keep me going! From family, to friends, to total strangers, it’s nice to see you all (in the “views” counter, at least)!

I Give Up

“No more.”— Bad Wolf (Rose) in Day of the Doctor.

Since my initial hearing loss, in September 2018, I’ve been to so many doctors that I’m pretty sure I’ve spent a solid six months’ time in offices and doing tests. Today, that ends.

I have been to ENTs, audiologists, and even a specialist who is supposed to be the best and has seen everything. Nobody has an answers, and nobody is willing to dig into the issue to find one. They’ve checked for holes, tumors, and even blood pressure, but there’s no answer.

As my friend put it, this is “... depressing, aggravating, and demoralizing...” Perfect words, dear friend. This is exactly how I feel.

When something goes wrong in your body, you expect a doctor to fix it. When that can’t be done, it’s beyond frustrating. I’m sure a solid 99.9% of you lovely readers have been through something similar. Maybe it was short-lived, maybe it has become a lifelong mystery. We have all been through trying to solve a health mystery. 

Modern medicine is marvelous, but doesn’t know everything. Despite what we want, sometimes there’s just no answer. The most frustrating part is when a doctor simply gives up, rather than digging deeper. I guess that’s just a TV medicine thing. 

Anyhow, I now have a a journey to take, to help me accept it. I am at the bottom of a cliff, having to climb straight up to find my acceptance. Here’s to learning to rock climb.

A Letter To Judy

Dear Judge Judy, 

Whenever someone does something irrational, you ask questions such as, “Are you on medication?” and “Have you been in a psychiatric facility, in the last six months?” These ignorant questions are a big reason why those who truly suffer can’t be taken seriously in this country. It also makes me wonder: Since you’re a grumpy, argumentative, demanding old bat, are you on the proper medication? 

By your own definition of mental illness, you need to be looking in a mirror when asking your signature questions. You often seem to be shouting at nothing, indicating schizophrenia. 

Example: Someone is explaining something further than you’d like, but since you don’t like it, so you proceed to tap your pen, while continuing to shout “I’m talking! Be quiet! I’ll shut off your mike!” long after that person has silenced.

Also by your own definition of mental illness, you could easily be diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, simply because you decide to change your mind, after hearing both sides. 

Do you see the faults in these diagnoses? Neither have legitimate symptoms. Symptoms of mental illnesses are often not obvious. Simply shouting at another person, does not mean that that person has an illness which needs medication. 

In conclusion, Judge Judy, you’re a joke of a celebrity. Unfortunately, people look to you for advice, and are getting Cracker Jack notions of law, order, and mental illness.