Children Are Difficult

If you have, or have had, a two-year-old, my heart goes out to you.

This child will be the death of me. Whether he gets his way, or not, he’s the biggest terror. Allow me to elaborate...

If he’s got something to say, even if you’ve told him you don’t want to hear it, he’s gonna say it. You can’t stop him. If you try, he just starts shouting until he’s finished his thought.

He has this super weird thing about keeping the door to the basement open, and if you try to close it, it’s Tantrum Town. He’ll literally stand in the doorway just so you can’t close it. 

As with most kids, he either can’t smell, or simply doesn’t care about, his own stench. 

You can’t make him do anything, unless he’s getting rewarded by the act itself. 

And oh, the messes he creates. He loves them. He revels in them. His mess is his happy place.

This two-year-old of mine is actually 74. A 74-year-old narcissistic hoarder I was forced to call “dad” for 32 years. The “dad” who made fun of me, provoked me for his own amusement, and played the victim when I finally let him have it. This is my reality. 

He doesn’t have conversations. He has monologues. If you try to say something, even in response to what he’s saying, he’ll shout over you until he’s finished.

He wants the basement door open the entire time he’s upstairs. Why? Because he will, at some point, go back downstairs. This could be anywhere between a minute and several hours. The biggest problems with this are the fact that the basement rivals the temperature of Antarctica, and it reeks. *Read on...*

The basement reeks because the man is a hoarder. A vast majority of what’s in the basement is actual, literal garbage. Newspapers that are ten or more years old, VHS tapes he can’t watch because he has no VCR, towels that have been labeled “trash” by any sane person are being used as “blankets”. Then there’s the old TV that was replaced like four years ago, and the two (yes, two) old computers that are nothing more than oversized paperweights. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the attached video.

What?

That was an adventure I’d like to never experience again.

Earthquake. Aardbeving. Daeargryn. Terremoto.

My first earthquake happened this morning. A first for many Utahns. We have tiny, almost undetectable quakes just about every day. Today hit 5.7,  with aftershocks hitting up to 4.6.

In Utah, we get the possibility of “the big one” drilled into our brains from birth. It’s well known that Utah is a ticking time bomb, and has been for centuries. But it’s always been a “what if” situation. 

My entire life, I’ve maintained that “the big one” wouldn’t happen in my lifetime. I’m now rethinking that stance. I’m no scientist, but in my mind, this could have potentially set other quakes in motion. Could “the big one” be next? Could it be soon? 

I was sound asleep when it hit. People always talk about the sound of an earthquake. I heard nothing. I just felt it. Not gonna lie, I’m thankful for my hearing loss this morning.

Loads of people had damage to their homes and businesses. The bright spot was that there were no reported fatalities or serious injuries. I’m still surprised that the only thing in my house that fell was my Luna Lovegood figure. We got off super easy at my house. 

I’ve got a friend who lived in Japan for a while (go Army!), and she was keeping me sane in my panic. Telling me what’s normal and what to expect was a massive help!

Overall, not the best day. Here’s to tomorrow.

Don’t Panic

“Coronavirus, coronavirus, COVID-19”

As you’re well aware, we’ve got a global problem. It’s all over every news outlet. Every. Single. One. That’s all we’ve heard about for at least a couple weeks now. I don’t know about you, but I’d even be happy to see an “Epstein didn’t kill himself” meme. We’re bombarded with coronavirus updates everywhere we look, and it’s getting to us.

The media has blown it up so that people are hoarding things that really aren’t necessary. I mean, come on. Are you really going to use a thousand rolls of toilet paper in two weeks? That is, assuming you even get sick. And I promise, you don’t need to buy every bit of food you see. There are other people in your city. They need food, too.

The biggest problem I’m seeing, however, is the effects on mental health. Having all this shoved in our faces, and down our throats, 24/7, tends to bring us down. Whether it be the ever-rising death toll, the closures of restaurants and other social places, or wondering how to care for your kids while schools are out, you’re getting stressed. I get that there are some serious possible ramifications, but like my friend, Anna, said, “... hope for the best, and plan for the worst.”

Live now. Today. There are so many advantages to this whole social distancing thing:

-Go to the park. Big, open spaces. 

-Text, call, Skype, or FaceTime your friends and family. Today’s technology allows us to stay close, even when we’re separated. 

-Get out those Richard Simmons DVDs we all know you have. Sweat to those oldies without judgement. 

-But the most important thing you can do: check in with yourself, often. Are you ok? Are you worrying too much? Can you talk to someone if you need to?

Don’t let this get the best of you.

Steps

One foot in front of the other...

So I spoke to an enrollment person and officially applied. My projected start date is May 8. I contacted one of the other schools I took classes at, and got my transcript sent to SNHU. Not that there’s much there, but it could maybe save me a math class.

To be honest, I’m terrified. 

One really good thing about this school is that, if you take one class per eight-week term, you’re part-time (duh). But only one class more defines you as a full-time student. I’ll obviously be doing only one class at a time. At least for now. My life is constantly changing, so there may be a time when I can take two classes. And there may be terms when I just need a break.

Feeling a little better.

I have two friends (that I know of) who did their degrees online. They both loved doing it that way. Not gonna lie though, they’re both a truck load smarter than I am, so... 

One step forward, two steps back.

I’m always thinking how far behind I am in life compared to my friends. They all have school behind them, are married, have jobs, and most have kids (not in my plans, though). But something my mom always says is “Even if it takes you ten years... in ten years, you’ll still be better off than if you didn’t” (something like that, anyhow).

One step. That’s all I need.

Here goes nothing...

Picture of the day

Conisbrough from the top of the castle keep.

Well, "SNHU" To You, Too!

Money flying out the window in 3... 2... 1...

Since junior high, my favorite subject in school has been history. European history, to be precise. Not surprising, really. My mother's family came straight from the Netherlands, and my father's side came from England. Yes, I've had a slight obsession with England since I was five, but reading or watching their history is my favorite thing. Going there in 2018 was an absolute dream come true!

Ok, back on topic...

I've attended college. Twice. Two different schools. Four different majors. None of them in history. I've done majors in Special Ed, Criminal Psychology, English, and Social Media Marketing. Obviously, none of them stuck. I've now decided to apply at Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU) and do their online European History program.

I'm nervous. I mean, everything I've tried, I've failed. Not just when it comes to school. Everything.

I called up a good friend to talk about all this, and we came to a couple conclusions:

1. Failing is a part of life and learning.
2. Maybe online school will be better since there are no people around.

So, I filled out my FAFSA, hit that "Apply" button on SNHU's website, and am now in the process of pretending to wait like a patient person.

I'll only be able to do like two or three classes per year, so even if I do happen to succeed, it'll take until I'm ninety, but at least it's doing something.

Mystery link

Picture of the day (because I said so): I took this in 2015. It's the Utah State Capitol Building.

Fed Up

The reigning narcissist is at it again!

Ok, so the house we live in is... special. It has more problems than an entire city. If someone flushes the toilet while I’m in the shower, I get burned. When they turn on the sink to wash their hands right after, it rivals liquid nitrogen. Back and forth. Super fun. Wires are put together in no particular order, and I’m pretty sure it was partially built with popsicle sticks. **Disclaimer: My parents didn’t know any of this when they bought it. The original family lied thru their teeth** 

Tonight, we had what is quite possibly our 300,000th disaster. Backstory: I found a wet spot on the carpet yesterday. No big. Then it grew... a lot. Come to find out tonight that the wet spot goes all along the cupboard. Fantastic. Best part is that, in his highness’s hoarding, we’ve had a stack of extremely heavy boxes of flooring, sitting in the spot we need to get to, for around 15 years. “I’m going to redo our kitchen floor”... said the man who won’t even paint.

Obviously, we had to move those boxes to get to where we could see the floor. He decides that the perfect place for these boxes is exactly one inch away from my beautiful, and irreplaceable, wood music stand. Awesome. I moved them a whole six inches over, so my beloved stand wouldn’t even get close to getting hit. This was unacceptable. The narcissist moved them back. Why? Because he can’t be so inconvenienced as to have to walk six inches further to look out the front window. Heaven forbid! The world may end! I mean, how else is he supposed to know exactly what the neighbors are doing? Six. Inches.

I’m done just threatening to get rid of things. Things that haven’t even been seen in years? Buh-bye! Actual garbage? See ya! And to keep with the thought process of a narcissist, if I don’t need it, it gets trashed. 

I’m done living in a landfill that requires a hazmat suit to enter.

Music Speaks

I've got a quote on my bedroom wall that reads, "Where Words Fail, Music Speaks". It's all decked out with notes and curly... stuff. ANYHOW... My point is that, music affects everyone. It can calm you down, get you pumped, and get out those feelings we all have stored deep inside.

I've got so many playlists across all the apps and devices I use for music, that it can take ten solid minutes to find just the right one. I've got one for every emotion, every type of day, and one for each of my favorite artists with their greatest hits.

More often than not, I'm blasting something through any speaker I can connect to. I search for new stuff every day. This is then posted to my other blog (shameless plug in 3... 2... 1... Rie's Views).

"So what's your favorite genre?" Yes. I'll admit that I can't stand metal, hardcore punk, or rap, but I'm open to anything else.

Music affects everyone, all over the world, in many different ways. Check out some of my latest finds below (and click HERE)

I Give

I’m done.

I have nobody to talk to. If I text anyone about something the narcissist has done, it goes ignored. If I text pretty much anyone about a bad day, it’s either ignored, or turned around on that person's bad day. If I try to talk to my mom about the narcissistic hoarder, even if she, herself, was complaining about the exact same thing just five minutes ago, she gets mad at me. If I try to use ASL with her, she nods as if she understands, yet gets maybe one word. That is, when she doesn’t look away altogether. She’s not trying to learn the language at all. I’m putting in a truckload of effort to learn Dutch for her, yet she won’t even practice the ASL alphabet. 

Best part is that I’m expected to be the sounding board for EVERYONE! You had a bad day? I’m here. If I’m not 100% sympathetic to everything someone says, they get upset. If I call out the fact that you don’t listen to me, I’m suddenly a horrible person.

Every single one of my friends has a spouse they can talk to, they have family members they can talk to, and they have me. Every single day, they have support. I have support twice a month when I see my therapist. That’s a total of ninety minutes per month that I have to really talk out my problems. I try reaching out to friends, but at best, I get the “I’m sorry you have to deal with that” response. Thanks, but, like you, I need people to actually talk to. 

I’ve never had the support system everyone else has. My only sibling is as narcissistic as her adoring sad-sack of a father, my mother (whether she believes it or not) has been conditioned by the narcissist to bow to him so as to avoid confrontation, and my friends all have their own families and circles in the states they’ve moved to. I have zero friends in my entire state. Nobody to see a movie with, go to dinner with, or simply get out to a park with. I. Have. Nothing.

“Go out and meet people!” Right. If you’re saying that, you’ve obviously never been to Utah. You’ve got 2 options: Mormon churches and bars. Both are no-go for me. And now that my hearing is going, it makes it even harder. Yes, I’ve got hearing aids, but they’re more a pain than they are a help. I can’t hear hardly anything in a crowded room. Hearing people don’t want to be bothered, and the deaf community doesn’t accept late-deafened because we’re too “hearing-minded” (who woulda thunk?).

I am alone.

Support

The wonder that is social media...

Some of you may remember that, after I returned from the UK in September 2018, I lost some of my hearing. It’s progressive nerve damage that could take 50%-70%, depending on which doctor you ask. I have hearing aids, but believe me when I say they are no substitute for actual hearing.

A couple weeks ago, I stopped in at my local Deaf center to find out when ASL classes are. The woman up front was deaf (duh!). I’m sure my very limited sign skills are a joke around the office, but I did manage to understand that classes are full until this Fall.

Not being able to hear as well has put me in a space where I’m basically alone. When I’m in a restaurant, or trying to talk to more than one person, it’s near impossible to catch everything. It feels like when you go to a foreign country and have no idea what the locals are saying. You’re outside, looking in. It’s very isolating.

I found a group on Facebook for deaf and hard of hearing (HOH), and oh my wow... They’ve got so many helpful hints and ways to deal with what’s happening! Books, tips, understanding. It’s like a whole new world has opened up!

I’m usually not a supporter of social media. It creates too many problems. This, however, is a great use of it. Creating groups where people can connect with similar people with similar experiences. A+

Fun Fact

So, for those who don't know, I have started a second blog called Rie's Views. It's a music blog. Basically, I listen to music, then tell you what I think. You may thing that it doesn't sound very interesting, but if you follow along, I can guarantee you'll find something new!

When I finally get things organized, Monday's will be a review of an album, and Thursday's will be a 10-track playlist. I will also be continuing my posts on Instagram.

LINKS
You can follow along on the blog here: riesviews.blogspot.com
Instagram here : ries_views
Facebook here: Rie's Views

I'm sure there are other platforms I could use, but that's it for now.

I'm always open to suggestions on music, and you are completely welcome to disagree. Music is subjective- everyone has their likes and dislikes. My main goal is to get you to discover something you might not have found otherwise.

Go forth and explore! And if you like something, the biggest compliment you could give is hitting that share button!

Not Sorry

Not one bit.

Ok, so you know how a memory will pop into your head at the least convenient time? And then it makes it so you can’t think of anything else for the next three hours? Well that’s me tonight.

My whole life, I’ve had to apologise to people because they can’t handle who I am. I walk on eggshells around everyone because something about me “offends” them. The way I talk, the things I say, and how I say them tend to be on the top of the list. Best part is the things people get their knickers in a twist over are typically the things they do to me without me pointing it out. You don’t like the way I told you something? Suck it up, Buttercup. We’re adults. You can be a horrible person, but I basically have to treat you like a spoiled two-year-old who hasn’t ever heard the word “no”? Not the way things work.

Then there’s the whole thing about how I’m not “allowed” to be proud of my accomplishments. When I was in high school (let’s not talk about how long ago that was), I was talking to a friend about my dance. I simply mentioned that my team wins and I have a few trophies. Oh, the horror! He lectured me for the next twenty solid minutes on pride and how I shouldn’t “boast”. Dan Smith, you are SO one to talk! Your ego couldn’t make it through an industrial-size door.

My favorite, however, is how offended people get when I give them the opinion that they asked for. If I ask for yours and don’t like it, I say “thanks” and move on with my life.

In a country so “tolerant”, there are an awful lot of intolerant people. Funny that it’s usually the ones claiming to be so tolerant. 

So how about we all work on not being so fragile? Not everything someone does “wrong” needs to be announced. Things they do “right”, however, need to be said. Even if it’s just between the two of you.

Side note: As I know some will take it this way... I am in NO WAY saying I don’t fall into the “fragile” category. We all get upset at things people do and say. It’s just super annoying when people feel the need to point out and needle at everything, instead of just accepting the person as-is and moving on.

Dear Insurance Companies

How stupid can you get?

So, thanks to Medicare and my lack of choice in my own healthcare, my prescription plan changed companies. I’ve been cursed with Cigna, and oh my holy crap they’re stupid.

I was sent a list of the meds I take that told me which ones were and weren’t covered. One is an acne cream that is covered so long as I have a “taper plan”. So, you just expect my face to clear up after a couple months use and be fine after that? Makes perfect sense 🥴

My favorite, however, is quetiapine (generic Seroquel). It’s not covered because they seem to think that there’s something else that “works the same”. So, let me get this straight... You think that one psych med is the same as another? Why, then, are there so many? If one drug worked for everyone, that would be fine, but psych meds, which are extremely delicate in their balances, are not the same in the slightest. When you’ve found the magic mix, you can’t go playing with it because you don’t want to pay thirty cents more.

Shameless political plug: Medicare for all is not going to work unless you’re willing to pay $2,000 per month (or more) for medications that aren’t covered. Good luck with that.

In closing... Cigna, may you and your employees burn in the hell you’ve created for those who have had you thrown in their laps. I did not want you, I do not like you, please remove your head from the dark place it was obviously shoved up.

No Year’s Resolutions

Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.

First off... HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Now, every year, people all over the world make New Year’s resolutions. “I’m going to lose 100 pounds!” “I’m going to read 1,000 books!” “I’m going to meet Mr/Ms Right and get married!”

In reality, 99% will fail to complete these extreme and unrealistic goals. This results in negative thoughts and depression. Even if we set a reasonable goal, like keeping a certain area clean, we ultimately have our habits, and changing those is stupid hard.

Yes, habits can be changed, but I’ve noticed in my own life, and the lives of friends and family, that many of our habits are for self-preservation. Personally, I find cleaning cathartic. You probably wouldn’t know that if you walked into my house, but there’s a reason behind that. I intentionally allow my space to collect garbage and such so that I have something to clean when I need it. Sound ridiculous? Yeah... it does to me, too. 

Back on point: If you make resolutions, I pray you are able to complete them to your liking, and that you have the support you need to achieve your goals. If you choose to not make them, that doesn’t mean you can’t decide on July 27th (or any other day)  to start making a change. Do you, your way. Don’t let any person, thing, or tradition tell you how to improve you.

Improvements are on your schedule.

Christmas Z’s

Words. Those are things, right.

Anyone who has had their meds adjusted at all, can understand the oh-so-fun side effects. And when things are that far off, it’s difficult to be nice to basically anyone.

I’ve spent the last month or so on Depakote because, well, mania. It started out all right, for the most part. Then one day, it decided to make me super tired. It started out with sleeping nine to ten hours per night, but now I’m sleeping a good fifteen to eighteen hours a day. And even when I’m awake, I’m tired.

As you can imagine, this makes me feel so very useful. And since today is Christmas, there’s loads to do. Cooking, cleaning, being awake long enough to open presents... Thankfully, the thing I’m forced to call “sister” didn’t come over as early as it usually does, so I got a nap. I’ve been awake from that nap for two hours now, and I’m already needing another.

In other news... I hope you and yours had a very Merry Christmas 🎄 Spend time with the people you actually like. Don’t ever feel obligated to spend it with family if there are members who feel the need to treat you like trash. You deserve better than that. If you have to, do what I do when “sister” comes over: I bury my nose in a book, and block everything and everyone out.

Santa, Baby

Christmas. It’s a thing. Have a happy one.

As Christmas is like, super close, I thought I’d say something about it.

I know everyone has their list; things wanted or needed. I, however, would like to take the price tag off and offer something else. Yes, this is random. Deal with it.

For Kate: A kept hope that you will get a child of your own. You are always in my prayers.

For Anna: Hopes that you find happiness so far away from your family and friends.

For Kierstin: May your anxieties be hushed as you continue to grow. Know that I’m behind you 100%.

For Berkeley: May that stupid foot of yours finally get better! It’s beyond ridiculous.

For my mom: Hopes that the year goes by quickly and you have a happy retirement afterward!

For my aunt Ria: Prayers of support as you go through this tough time.

For Jemma & Lee: As you bring your new daughter into your lives, may you find joy in the harder times.

For Rose & Glen: Prayers you find happiness in your lives, work, and family.

For Amber: A big, BIG hug and know that I’m always here!

For Crystal: Again, congrats on the new job, and may it be everything you hope, and more!

I know I can’t do everyone, but Happy Christmas, and a great New Year for everyone ❤️

Last Place

*Quippy opening line goes here*

You know those friends? The ones you’d do anything for, whether you talk a lot or not? If they asked you to jump the Grand Canyon, you’d do it. I’m that person. However, I don’t have someone like that.

I’ve got a few good friends, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. It would just be nice to have a do-anything-for-you friend like everyone else has. 

Someone puts up a fundraiser, I’m first in line to share or donate (if I can). I put up a fundraiser, nothing. Someone posts something personal and emotional online, and they have hundreds of supporters. I do it, and it’s ignored.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I am simply someone created to create a sense of obligation in others. Not a strong enough sense to have anyone actually do anything, just enough to keep me as a Facebook friend. My happiness has  never been a factor. I simply exist to keep a seat warm.

I feel as though my role in life is to experience as many difficulties as possible so God can judge the charity of those around me. Feels real good to know I was never meant to be happy. Fuzzy bunnies couldn’t make me happier.

You want to know the best part? I won’t stop walking on coals for my friends. It’s just who I am. I’ll get nothing in return, and I’ll silently hold it against you, but I will always be there for you. Because that’s what friends do.

The Smaller Side Of Mental Health

Not my usual post, but hopefully it’ll get to the right people.

I’ve got a friend/sorority sister whose son, well, I’ll let you read for yourself. I copied this from her Facebook... Yes, I took the names out.

A lot can happen in the lives of our children that we never share with others. (Not just because husband’s in information security 😂)

 The good and the not so good often go un-posted and even just unsaid to anyone outside of our families and close friends. But it's time to open up about one of the hardest things that we are going through as a family. 

Our sweet son has been diagnosed with some unique challenges with Anxiety and Oppositional Defiant Disorder that we have been working with for a few years now, More recently he's also been diagnosed with Celiacs and juvenile RA. It's been such a learning experience for our whole family, but husband said it best in one of my many times of stress..."he came to us because you CAN do this, you CAN help him." #blessedwifemoment

I know God trusts us.

So from the suggestion of his Dr and therapist, through many, many prayers I finally could not deny any longer that we were supposed to get a dog, and train them as a service dog, to help our son.

This is not an easy or inexpensive process and we've been working on getting one for quite a while now. It's been though for is to decide what we can cut out of our lives to save money and what our family, especially the other 3  kids still needs to feel like this son isn't talking over or lives-even though many days he does.

We are so lucky to have some friends set up a Go Fund Me on our family's behalf. Donate if you can, share if you are willing, say a prayer or send good vibes that this will all work out and that we can help our sweet son. ❤️ #thankyou #wecandothis 

You can help here

The Most Horrible Time Of The Year

One. Één. Uno. Une.

Holidays are hard for many people, and for many reasons. For me, it’s because it’s just me. Single, unattached me. Everyone’s talking about their spouse and/or kids, and I’m all, “I’ve got my mom, two narcissists, and a brother-in-law.” No husband, no boyfriend, not even a date.

The last actual relationship I had was in 2007. It ended because he was 27 and ready to get married, and I had just turned 21 and wasn’t ready for that. Instead of waiting, he booked it. Yeah... that made me feel super worth it.

And now I’m significantly overweight, and not even fat guys wanna get to know the personality behind the pounds. Plus, when you’re over 25 and single in Utah, you’re basically labelled “defective” and a “lost cause”. 

Best part is seeing everyone’s family pictures, and hearing about traditions. Awesome.

So I’m not super festive. Bite me.

In other news: I’ve got a broken tooth and no way to cover the cost of the crown. If you enjoy my blog, a spectacular way to show it would be to donate 

HERE

Beware Of Resident: She Bites

I’m angry that I’m angry, and that makes me angry.

The picture most people have of mania is pure elation. Super happy and carefree. Those who watched “ER” would have seen a wider picture of the quicker-than-light switch to a “freak out”. What most people do not see is the anger.

Now, I know everyone experiences mania in their own way. You may be the one who is the happiest person alive during an episode. I, however, get annoyed, agitated, and straight up angry.

I learned the hard way to keep the majority of it off the internet. This time, I told friends that they’re better off not talking to me. Apparently this did not sink in, which lead to a shouting post to leave me be. 

I’m one of those who is super picky with those I will talk to when I feel particularly yucky. There are exactly 3. Outside of my therapist, of course. They know who they are, and I would hope they know why. 

I have lost friends (well, more like “friends”) through manic episodes. I’m not nice to mostly anyone, and anyone who hits that itty bitty last nerve is going to get a full-force verbal punch to the face.

So, please, let me be. My brain is giving me  a time ten million times harder than anything I’m giving you. No calls, no texts, no emails, no messages, no cards, not even smoke signals. None of those things (or any other form of communication you can come up with) will earn you a pleasant response. I will bite, your feelings will get hurt, and in the occasion you take this warning as a joke, you will no longer be part of my life. 

This, friends, is mania.

Kindness Is Contagious

Random acts of kindness are fun.

Ok, so I went to lunch with my mom today. We went to a place right across from the high school, so we were expecting loud, obnoxious teenagers. Granted, that’s like, every teenager on the planet, but still.

Anyhow, we get there behind four high school boys, and I was less than thrilled. You can imagine my reaction when they were, get this, quiet and respectful! They waited their turn, didn’t make the entire restaurant privy to their conversation by shouting, and cleaned up after themselves! 

When my mom and I left, I snapped a picture of the car and its plates. Here comes the fun part...

Schools are all too used to getting calls from people complaining about their students, so I decided to flip that. When I was finally transferred to the school police officer, I explained the situation, gave her the car info, and asked her to thank those four boys for behaving so nicely. 

You never know how far a simple compliment can go. You’ll never know how your behaviour affects that stranger you didn’t even talk to. Especially this time of year, patience and kindness are desperately needed and, when given, very much appreciated.

A challenge for everyone: Do five things that help someone else. Move a shopping cart out of the way, pick up the toy the stressed mother’s baby threw on the ground for the millionth time, tell someone they look nice... There are endless possibilities.

Go forth and be kind!

It’s A No From Me

Picture this...

If our moods had to audition for America’s Got Talent, how many would actually make the next round? Let’s see...

Depression: No desire to get out of bed, can barely lift limbs,  doesn’t want to talk despite need to, but really good at crying.

Mania: Annoyed at every little thing, overly critical of others and self, suicidal ideation typically higher, but house is super clean.

“Normal”: Doesn’t really know how to feel because you’re used to feeling so much, but can smile without crying inside, and can tolerate obnoxious people and situations.

Simon Cowell would have a blast with these. He asks Depression if they have a dog, sends Normal to the next round, and is afraid Mania will take his place as most critical and feared judge.

For the last couple weeks now, I have been so manic that I seriously can’t stand being in my own brain. I’ve got music on almost all day. When it’s not on, I’m reading or using Duolingo to learn Dutch, and even watching TV. 

I don’t like this. 

I hate this.

Stress Mess

So. Much. Fun.

Stress is a fact of life. Some have daily stress, some are blessed with just occasional stressful days. Wherever you are between those points, you’ve experienced this super fun thing.

An awesome thing about mental illness is that stress pokes its ugly head into our lives in so many different ways. Personally, it makes me manic. What you don’t see is the physical effects.

A little over a year ago, I had to get a new mattress. I wound up with a Tempur-Pedic. “Ooh! Fancy!” Yeah. And expensive, to boot. It was designed to mould to your body and straighten your spine. That’s all well and good... unless you’re stressed. Stress has a tendency to keep your muscles from relaxing. This is a massive problem for something that only works when you are, well, relaxed.

In the 13 months I’ve had this mattress, I’ve spent about 2 months in my recliner all night, and about 8 months having to spend part of the night out in the chair.

Best part: it’s not paid off and I’m already looking forward to the day I can get rid of the evil thing. I. Hate. It. It’s really fun in my case because, when I don’t sleep well, the mania gets worse and hangs on longer.

In closing, never again will I buy anything Tempur-Pedic. Ever.

Halloween Horrors

I have a love/hate relationship with Halloween...

This time of year has been a bit difficult since the Halloween right before my eleventh birthday. I absolutely love autumn and the holidays in it, but it also has a difficult memory.

October 25, 1997. My first time dealing with loss. In memory, at least. I heard about it on the 27th, when my mom was walking me to school. We got into the schoolyard, and were met by two giggling girls who were a year older. “Do you know Bryan Williams? He’s dead.” They we’re laughing at the fact that a classmate, and friend, of mine was dead.

Mom and I went straight into my classroom to find my teacher sitting on her desk, crying.

That day was a blur. The counselors came in to talk to us, but I frankly don’t remember much of anything. It wasn’t a normal day. No class work was done.

The day of his funeral was the day of our Halloween party. We had a substitute, which was weird for a party day. My mom picked me up during the party to go to Bryan’s funeral. 

There weren’t many people there, and that fact still gets to me today. A child was killed,  but there weren’t many people there.

Bryan David Williams,  ten years old, was killed because his only ride home chose to drive drunk. Bryan was thrown from the vehicle, and landed on his head- killing him instantly.

Passing Up, Or Passing On?

Backstory:

Growing up, my neighbourhood had a thing during October that was an absolute blast. You’d hear a knock on the door, but when you opened up, you’d find a treat, a picture of a ghost, and instructions. You were to put the picture in your window to mark that you’d been “had,” and drop treats at 2 other neighbours in the same way.

This is the most basic way things are spread. You have the opportunity every single day to pass along a simple kindness. With social media, you don’t even have to leave your house. 

You never know how far your kindness can go. A compliment, a greeting, holding the door for someone. Nothing is ever too small.

Now, I know country music isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but this song is everything I’m trying to express here...

Life Is Good

I’m almost afraid to write this...

I’ve been at work for two weeks now. Most of the time, I’d like to scream, but that’s not what I’ve been focusing on. My foot with dystonia has been a massive pain (to pun, or not to pun?), but the Vice Principal who is over me is super chill and doesn’t really care that I have to sit sometimes. The kids, for the most part, are great. Naturally there are some troublesome kids, but hey, it’s Jr High.

Today, I got what some people would call bad news, but I’m loving it. I don’t fully understand parts of it, but I do know that I get to do something that I’m both good at, and actually enjoy doing: organising. 

In the first week, I learned to hide in corners between classes because it’s easier to get through a raging river than it is to get through a stampede of teenagers.

I also became a bit of a bad guy for some of these kids. They kept telling me that they don’t like me. I tell them that, if they get to class and do what they’re told, they don’t have to talk to me. Guess they took it to heart! I honestly don’t care if they hate me, as long as they’re in class.

In conclusion, things are going quite well. I’m in shock, and praying this continues. Thank you all for the encouraging words, prayers, and support!

Coming Up Roses

Up, down, left, and finally... right.

My life stopped the end of December, 2010. I had two major reconstructive surgeries on my right leg 13 months apart. That’s when everything blew up. I mean, I’ve always had symptoms, and they took a major turn for the worse when I was 16/17-ish, but after being on a maximum dose of morphine for three days, followed by OxyContin, Percocet, and Ativan for a few weeks, my brain retaliated. Not nice.

I quit the job I’d had for four years in March, 2011. Partially because of the effects of surgery, and partially because I had to work with a teacher that made Mussolini look like a teddy bear.

After that, I was in and out of jobs so fast that I never really learned everyone’s names. I would work anywhere between three months and, yes, one week. Anxiety became my constant companion. I couldn’t go anywhere by myself unless I knew I was meeting someone there. Even at that, I’d wait in my car until that person showed up. I couldn’t even go to the gas station, where social interaction was almost a guaranteed zero. 

The last time I tried working was the beginning of the school year in 2017. I was technically employed for a month, but I wasn’t there more than ten days total. It was a disaster.

I was able to go to the UK last year, which was actually quite frightening. But I made it through. Not well, but I did it.

Sometime in the last six months, everything suddenly changed. I went to get gas on my own, I went to the bank, I started talking to people. And now, I honestly can’t recognise my life. It’s a complete 180 from what I’ve known for almost nine years. My moods have been relatively stable for a month, which has never happened. I’m going outside, moving, walking, even going to the nearby park to walk around. Exercise is a major mood lifter. The subsequent weight loss is also a mood lifter. 

With things being so much better, I decided to try applying at the local school district again this year, just to see what I could find. I got a few calls for elementary level special education paraeducator, office clerks, and one high school position that would have cost me more in gas than I’d get paid. Then a call came from a junior high offering a position I had never heard of: student mentor. I scheduled an interview just to find out what was involved. Since I haven’t been in the job game for so long, I didn’t really have any professional references. The principal asked if there were any former coworkers I could think of. One came to mind who was a vice principal when I worked at the high school (pre-surgery). Fast forward an hour, and I get a call asking me to call this junior high principal back. I called and was floored by what happened next. She told me that she had spoken with my former VP who told her, in essence, that she’d be an idiot if she didn’t hire me.

WHAT?!?!

I accepted the job, but asked for just 20 hours per week. That was fine, everything is good. I did my hire papers last Friday and am just waiting for my background check to come back. I should be able to start next week!

Umm...

What’s college for, again?

So my regular doctor’s office is a teaching clinic. I deal mostly with residents who have the title of “doctor,” but they’re still not experienced enough to work independently. This doesn’t bother me. I mean, everyone has to learn their job somehow, right? What bothers me is their lack of understanding on certain subjects.

I get it. No doctor can know everything about everything. But with the prevalence of mental illness these days, basic knowledge in the area should be mandatory for general practitioners. No, they needn’t know every psych med on the market, or even the symptoms of every disorder. But again, basic knowledge would be helpful.

Example:

I saw a new resident today who basically laid into me for not having a normal sleep schedule. He told me that I need to take melatonin at the same time every night until I get into a groove. I had to explain that there’s not a single medication available, whether it be over-the-counter or prescription, that can make me sleep. He did not believe this. I gave up trying to argue.

As someone who works as a GP, he was very good. He even works with my neurologist and knew about Dystonia. But his basic knowledge about mental health was severely lacking.

Now, I’ve (obviously) never been through medical school, but anyone who has been to any college or university knows that you’ve got to take a million classes which have exactly nothing to do with your major. Majoring in history? Well, you’ve got to take fifty math classes, memorise the chemical makeup of everything in existence, and speak four other languages. So shouldn’t medical school teach things outside their specialty? Just my own opinion...

I Present: My Life

Every. Single. Time.

Any time something good happens in my life, something terrible follows that’s so bad that it cancels out the good.

I grew up dancing. I had to have major reconstructive surgery on one leg. I can’t dance anymore.

I played clarinet (almost) all through high school. No more school, no more opportunity to play, ability diminishes. 

Make a new friend. They learn about my illness and quirks. They abandon me.

My parent’s first child decides to be a friend. A year later turns in on herself and becomes narcissist.

Friends leave for college and return afterward. Then they move out of state.

Found the best therapist. Moves somewhere I can’t go after her internship.

Get where I’m coming from? I have given up on anything good in my life lasting more than a month. Not that good things happen to me much, anyway. Even if I have a good day, the next day is hell on steroids.

I just give up.

Inconvenient

I hate my life.

Yet another reminder that my father is a self-absorbed, entitled narcissist. Everything that he deems to be in his way must be moved immediately following his repetitive question, “What do you want done with this?” Meanwhile, he keeps stuff all over- usually in our walking path. If I say anything about how it’s in the way, he pulls out his victim card. When that’s worn out, he attacks anything he can think of. “You’ve got stuff on the table.” So do you, hypocrite. 

In the midst of all this fun are his flying monkey (aka enabler) and his golden child. My mother (the flying monkey) will justify anything and everything the narcissist does and gets on his “Charmaine is the problem” train. If I say anything against him, she either gets upset, or flat out ignores me. I, on the other hand, must listen to her every complaint, every day, about her work. If I’m not reactive and sympathetic to every tiny thing she went through, I’m suddenly a terrible person.

Dinner time at our house has become “Charmaine can’t say anything without me rolling my eyes, interrupting, or passing it off as insignificant.” Oh, and heaven forbid I expect her to learn the language I need. If I start signing, she looks away. I’m making an effort to learn her language, she could at least attempt to understand mine.

Gray Rock Method is based on minimal interaction. One article I read pointed out, “If you don’t have to talk to them, don’t.” I haven’t said more that three words at a time to my father since February. Keeping him out of my personal life is more of a struggle because of two factors: I still life with his highness, and anything I tell my mother goes straight to him.

Overall, my mother and I have a pretty good relationship, despite her attachment to the narcissist. I’m starting to wonder, though, if I should just keep my personal life to myself. Any tiny bit of info that either of them get is fuel to the fire.

Any advice would be helpful.

Thanks in advance!

Insignificant

Don’t mind me, I’m good on my own.

I have never had the kind of supportive friends and family that other people always seem to have. If I ask that something be shared, like a blog post or video, I get maybe one person who does. 

I’ve recently started doing bits of history with (subjective) humour thrown in. Once, and only once, has my Facebook page been shared. No explanation with it, so no new followers. 

I’ve asked countless times for certain blog posts to be shared, and nothing. More often than not, I don’t get so much as a “like.”

Everyone else has so much support that when they ask their friends and family to share, it gets done. I honestly have zero idea why I even ask anymore. I’m obviously not important enough or good enough at anything that makes people want to pass along what I do. 

I’m the kind of friend that I don’t have. You ask for feedback, I give it. You ask for shares, I’ll most likely do it. If you need a favour, I’m first in line to help. 

I get somewhere around 0.00000001% the support that I give. I’m not gonna stop, because I’m a good friend. But it would be super nice to get just a fraction of support that friends and family are supposed to give.

Second Child

***You're here, now. You should check out some of my other posts***


Second best.

First child: “I broke a nail. It bled for a second.”

Parents: “Oh no! Which finger? How long was it? Let me see! You gotta put a bandage on it!”

Second child: “I’ve got a fatal illness.”

Parents: “I’ve been through that. You’ll live.”

——————-

First child: “I got a B on my math test.”

Parents: “That’s so great! I knew you were smart!”

Second child: “I got a B-.”

Parents: “You need to apply yourself more.”

——————-

First child: “I spend more on clothes than I do food.”

Parents: “Well you look incredible!”

Second child: “I splurged and bought a $10 album.”

Parents: “You need to manage your money better.”

———————

I frankly don’t believe ANY parent when they say they love their children equally. They can’t. Kids are individuals with different personalities, and nobody gets along with every personality. The problem comes when you dismiss one kid in favour of another, or treat that child as if they’re second best. Again... kids are individuals, not clones. One kid’s B is another kid’s D+. What one is good at, the other isn’t. What one fights, the other knows nothing about. 

Believe it or not, kids can tell when they’re second. And it gets more obvious as they get older. 

Check out my other blog 

here

New Beginnings

I started a thing.

For  a while now, I’ve been wanting to make videos. Ideas have come and gone, but I think I finally found something.

History has always fascinated me. Granted, I’m mostly interested in English history, but each city has its own interesting history. Today, I started with the Salt Lake City cemetery.

If you’ve lived in SLC for any amount of time, you’ve more than likely heard of some of the oddities surrounding the historic cemetery. Emo’s grave, “victim of the beast 666,” and a few others. There are also some very cool things, like the Christmas Box angel. My draw is a little more personal.

The views from the annex are stunning. If you’ve never been up there, you’re seriously missing out.

Anyhow, I made my very first video today. Every single first attempt sucks, no matter what you’re doing. I’ve got to learn how to do things better and try harder to stick to my own accent (you’ve gotta watch to believe it...). But I’m sure with helpful hints and (hopefully helpful) criticisms, I’ll get to where I want to be.

Up, Down, Inside Out

“Words taste like peaches.”- Ellie on “Chuck”

I’ve been having an absolute blast lately. I like to say that I’ve “broken through my meds.” Thanks to the brain-numbing effects of psych meds, I can’t think of another way to say it. Basically, my symptoms are too much for the meds to handle (ok, so I can find another way...). 

I’m maxed out at 400mg of Seroquel, but I’m far from stable. I don’t notice it during the day, being alone most of the time, but in the evening, it’s like I just... I don’t know... I feel everything. I feel fast, if that makes any sense. Manic, but to an extreme. It feels like I can feel my blood moving through my brain. It’s rather obnoxious.

The best part is trying to sleep at night. We have all seen the things on FB or IG that say something to the effect of, “Me: *tries to sleep* Brain: Allow me to give you a selection of your most embarrassing moments from your childhood.” Yeah... I got quite a few of those. 

My brain, however, prefers to remind me of everything that has angered me throughout my life, starting when I was around five or six. I get so beyond agitated that I don’t get to sleep until at least two in the A.M. Dreams are unbelievably vivid and usually wake me up several times before I finally give up around 7:00 and get out of bed.

It’s been somewhere around a month of this.

Here’s the kicker: Both meds that actually work for me are on my neurologist’s you-probably-shouldn’t-take-that-if-you-wanna-stop-twitching-anytime-soon list. Par-tay... 

I’m thinking twitching (and subsequently walking funny with horrid pain) isn’t a deal-breaker anymore. I’d rather feel stable than run marathons... or walk for three minutes.

If you had to choose in my position, which would you choose: physical pain or emotional turmoil?

Memorials

War has been going on since the beginning. Invasions, power struggles, retaliations, and other unknown reasons. No matter the reason, it leaves more than just physical scars.

PTSD (among others) is extremely common and extremely under-treated among soldiers. Most suffer in silence. Some can’t deal with it and wind up taking their own lives. Far too many wind up living on the streets. It’s the biggest tragedy, in my opinion, to lose someone heroic in such a terrible way.

Some who have served in action have said things like, “It’s (messed) up,” and “Nothing’s the same when you come back.” Those of us who haven’t served cannot truly understand the full extent of how they feel. 

To the men and women who fight for our safety and freedom, you are not alone. Help is available without judgement. Please reach out. Heroes deserve better.

There’s a hotline to call, text, or chat online. There’s even a number for the deaf and hard of hearing (link below).

You are never alone. We are behind you, and we support you. 

Click here for help

No More

0.5-1%

Narcissistic Personality Disorder affects between 0.5-1% of the population. 50-75% of those are men. Sounds relatively minimal, right? Wrong. Those percentages are only those who have been properly diagnosed. My father, like SO many others, have not been properly diagnosed. But then, why should he go to a psychiatrist? There's nothing wrong with him. I'm the one with problems, just ask him.

Yet another thing he refuses to believe is that he is a hoarder. His father was a hoarder, so you'd think that seeing his filth and having to clean it up would have clicked in his brain that he shouldn't do things like keep the broken ice maker from the fridge that hasn't even been inside the freezer in around ten years.

Five to fourteen million (nice and specific, huh?). That's how many people are compulsive hoarders in America. But again... he's not diagnosed because he sees no problem (that's the narcissism talking).
Then there's this.


I won't even get in to that.

But I am one hundred percent done with his crap. I have applied for a job that will allow me to move out. Here's hoping I get it and that it works out!

Side note: Did anyone get the Doctor Who reference, or am I just a lone geek?

Not Built For This

Who can do this?!

Yesterday, I decided to start treating the narcissist the same way he treats me (moving things I decide are in my way, pushing through without a word, pointing out every little thing he does wrong, etc). All I can say is I have no idea how anyone can do that on a regular basis.

The energy it takes to be so selfish and cruel is amazing. The emotions involved (which he lacks) are overwhelming. I never realised exactly how little self respect Narcissists have. I mean, how could you have self respect while treating your own CHILD like they don’t matter? 

I have said for upwards twenty years that he is the kind of person (can’t call a narcissist a man because they don’t possess crucial qualifications) who should have never gotten married, let alone had children. 

Funny thing about his children, though... His favourite is also a narcissist. Not quite sure how that works, but it’s happened. In my own way, I’ve never put up with his behaviours. As a child, when he’d push and push, I’d break and have what he deemed a “temper tantrum.” It was, in fact, a response to his *insert explitive here* behaviour. Now I push back. I refuse to give in and allow him to make me feel worthless, useless, and unwanted (his specialty).

So now I have to find a way to deal with him that doesn’t make me feel like a terrible person and let’s me maintain boundaries. I’m in a group on Facebook that has been super helpful. Someone gave me the link to an article on “the gray rock method.” Figuring out how to use that is gonna be an adventure because my therapist doesn’t really know anything about narcissism or its abuse. If anyone has any suggestions, my ears are open (so to speak).

Weak

Seriously... 

So yesterday was terrible. Actually, the last few days have been. They’ve all had at least one good thing in them, but overall, I haven’t had the best time. Nothing in particular, just not feeling great.

Flash forward to this morning...

As everyone who has ever experienced any kind of depression knows, fatigue can be a day stopper. All you can do sometimes is stay in bed. Today is that kind of day for me. I can barely lift my arms, my legs feel like they’re gonna buckle underneath me, even breathing is a conscious effort. Despite all this, I got up, got dressed, and left the house. 

Allow me to tell you exactly how bad that idea was...

I had to go to UPS to return a package. The thing itself wasn’t that big, but as we all know, Amazon will sometimes use freakishly big boxes for relatively small items. Just getting the empty box out the door was an adventure. Then I had to pack the not-as-light-as-I-wanted-it-to-be thing back into the box. I dropped the thing 4 times in 3 minutes. 

When I finally got it packed, the next struggle was driving. Yes... driving takes coordination and energy. I did get there, then proceeded to sit in my car for a solid ten minutes trying to get the energy to go inside.

I succeeded, but then had to drive to my mom’s office so I could pick her up for lunch. I know she’ll say I didn’t have to, but I’m a creature of habit, and Thursday is lunch day. 

Here’s hoping I make it home...

Moral of the story: don’t force yourself to do more than you can. It’s not fun.

The Best Medicine

Everyone needs to laugh, so I’ve stolen pictures off Instagram and compiled them here. Enjoy.

My Life, Ladies and Gents

One thing after another...

Ok, as most of you know, I had two major surgeries on my right leg a year apart. Both times I had to teach myself how to walk all over again. From December 2010 through at least June of 2012, I was (obviously) less active. I gained like thirty /forty pounds in that time. But it hasn’t stopped there...

Since I got home from the UK, I’ve gained another fifty or so pounds despite every effort. I got a Fitbit, joined a gym, got a diet app, and take (almost) daily walks. 

You can imagine how this is affecting my moods. I mean, I grew up a dancer. I didn’t weigh over a buck twenty until surgery. It’s the vicious cycle you always hear about. Eat, get depressed that you ate, feel fat, eat more because you’re depressed...

I’m stuck. I can’t afford to keep buying new, bigger clothes. This has got to stop, but I have no idea how. If there’s anyone in the area of Murray/Cottonwood Heights/Millcreek that would like to join the Vasa on Van Winkle and go with me two or three times a week, you’d be my hero! 

Some Thoughts

This could get random...

I was just talking to a friend, and our conversation turned to how I lost over two hundred Facebook “friends” when I posted my first post here. I’ve lost about another hundred in the years since. Some hurt, some had to get super nasty about how I get sad or angry “all the time” and how I’m “not allowed” to just because I have a mental illness (yes, really). But to be honest, most I hardly knew. Maybe we had a class back in jr high or something. No big deal there. I’ve got few friends, but like so many people have said, I’d rather have a few good friends than a load of fake ones.

Now... I haven’t spoken to the narcissist in somewhere between two and three months now. There was an all-out blowout a while back where I told him everything he does. His response to everything was, “I don’t understand. Can you explain?” But then, how do you expect a narcissist to understand that they do anything wrong? The one thing he could understand was when I told him that he never excuses himself, he just pushes through. He said he’d change that. Yeah... that lasted about 2 hours. But in the time I haven’t spoken to him, he’s actually managed to get WORSE! “Me, me, me. My way. This is what works for me. I need it this way. I need this special thing so I can complain it’s not like the usual.” Systems the family has had for years suddenly don’t work for him and we must now abide by what works for him.

And now the most random subject (opinion) today... If you haven’t heard of As December Falls, you’re seriously missing out. If you’re into that style, anyhow. They’ve got two EPs and just came out with their first full-length album. Not one of those disappoints. They’re an entirely independent band from Nottingham, England. So independent that when I got my hard copy of the album, the address was handwritten. 

Maybe...?

I've been noticing changes lately. I: joined a gym, went to get a new cell, went to get a new key, and even did the thing I have avoided since the day I got a driver's license (going through a drive-thru). I did all these things BY MYSELF, which has been impossible for the last several years.

Granted, I haven't spent much time doing any of these things, but I did them. I got out of bed, got dressed, left the house, got into my car, drove there, went inside, and actually spoke to people. Side note: I'm seriously freaking myself out just thinking about this. Although, my hearing aids have come in handy when I don't want to talk. It's actually kind of funny that most people just assume I'm deaf when they see the wires.

Random subject change in 3... 2... 1...

I would like to thank Stephanie for helping me out with learning how to sign and figure out how to do the actual video. This is happening, people! I'll let you know when the video is up. It'll be a while, but it'll get done.

Short post today. Thank you for your attention. You may now forget this and continue with your day.

Aspirations

Here goes nothing other than a couple hundred bucks...

Since I lost part of my hearing, I’ve been doing the best I can learning American Sign Language with the help of a printed dictionary as well as a dictionary app. I took  two years of ASL in high school, so I know the basics, but I will never sign properly. 

ASL is a language all its own. It’s got different sentence structure than we English-speakers are used to. I’ve worked on Spanish, Italian, and Dutch, but have yet to grasp their sentence structures. So basically I’m stuck using ASL signs in English order. This will inevitably irritate at least ninety percent of the deaf/hard-of-hearing community. Ask me if I care. As long as I can understand the sign, communication will be attainable.

I had an idea (which will also irritate signers everywhere) to make music videos using sign. This will basically be me doing the best I can while asking the community for help refining my skills. I’ve gotten myself just about everything I need to do this, including a tripod, microphone, and an actual camera bag to carry everything.

So, if you happen to be a signer (deaf or hearing), I could really use some help. I will continue to lose more and more of my hearing and will need to be able to communicate. Yes, I could take classes, but I dare you to do that when you, A- have exactly zero dollars, and B- can’t be around people for that long or that often.

I will set up an email to go along with my (attempt at a) YouTube channel for corrections, suggestions, or any help you can offer. All will be appreciated.

Explosion Imminent

I’m done holding back.

My whole life, most people have treated me poorly. Even friends. It’s always been, “Don’t do this, can’t say that. You have to be peaches and cream toward me, while I can treat you however I want. But if you even try standing up for yourself, I’ll just yell at you more.” This started at an early age and has never stopped. 

Family, friends, and one particular person in my extended family I’d really like to punch in the face. Repeatedly. 

I learned this lesson rather slowly, but by age nine, I learned which people to talk to about what, and which people would simply justify the actions of others. My father’s and sister’s actions were always justified and defended. Small wonder I can’t stand either of them.

That said, I had a few who were always on my side and condemned the actions of abusers. My guardian angels. One woman in particular lived just down the street from me, was involved in my life quite a bit (still is), and would get on Brooke’s case whenever she was on mine. 

To this day, I test the water with every single person I come across to find out what I can or can’t say. Starting with a new therapist takes quite a while for me. Often, I don’t say much for a few months.

So fair warning, I will not put up with being pushed down anymore. You expect me to me super nice, you’d better treat me the same. Because I promise you, I will let you know if you’re being uber jerk.

Yay...

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Four posts ago, I told y’all about a mysterious problem with my foot. I’ve known what it is for quite a while, but haven’t posted. No, I’m not dying, I simply haven’t thought about posting it.

So this mysterious problem is called Dystonia. It causes my foot to move on its own. All. The. Time. When I walk, my toes curl which makes it both difficult and painful. This started nearly two years ago. I went to doctor after doctor, two of whom told me I was imagining it and just needed to see a psychiatrist. I finally went to a neurologist who informed me that it was caused by Latuda. I figured this before and asked my med manager to switch me to something else. However, the neurologist told me there are like four meds I can take which don’t cause Dystonia. I’m on one of those now: Seroquel.

As you can imagine, this has taken quite a toll on me physically and emotionally. I used to be quite active, but now I can walk about five minutes without wanting to chop off my foot. I’ve gained weight because of this. That made me more depressed, and it’s just been a vicious cycle. Less movement causes more depression, which causes less movement. Yay side effects.

WebMD defines Dystonia:

Dystonia seems to be related to a problem in the basal ganglia. That's the area of the brain that is responsible for initiating muscle contractions. The problem involves the way the nerve cells communicate. Acquired dystonia is caused by damage to the basal ganglia.

It can last a few years or even be lifelong. All because I took a drug I didn’t want to take in the first place because I had heard about the side effects. My then med manager insisted that it was safe and I had nothing to worry about. That’s the last time I let anyone tell me to take a med I don’t want to take. 

Listen to your instincts. If you feel strongly about a medication, speak up. You know your mind and body better than anyone else.

The Narcissist

I’m beyond done.

As some of you know, I was raised by a Narcissistic father. He’s never been a dad. When I was young, I’d get angry and tell him to leave me alone. He’d laugh and mock me even when I was super small. 

As I grew older and developed more symptoms of my own illnesses, he took great joy in pushing my buttons then wonder why I was screaming at him. One specific memory come to mind...

I was in my early 20’s and hadn’t told anyone about my diagnosis yet. As usual, he pushed me to breaking point. Here comes the kicker... As I’m screaming at him, he keeps repeating, “You’re sick! You’re sick!” I picked up something heavy, prepared to throw it, and said, “Tell me that one more time.” He only backed off when my mom intervened.

Things he believes:

- He knows best. Doesn’t matter the subject or situation.

- He does nothing wrong. Ever. If you’re angry with him, it’s something you did, he’s just the victim.

- His opinion is the only one that matters.

- He’s always right. 

The list could go on, but you get the idea.

I stopped speaking to him almost 2 weeks ago. Not out of spite, out of self-preservation. I told my counsellor about this and she agrees that I need to distance myself while I try to find a way to coexist with him until I can move away. Honestly, there is never a way to coexist with a Narcissist. They take up too much space, if you get what I mean. That’s also why I hate when my sister comes over. One Narcissist is hard enough. Two is impossible. They feed off each other and it’s just an ego-stroking fest.

My mom is probably gonna not be too happy with this post, but it needs to be said. My mental stability is questionable, at best. I fight, not just my own illnesses, but his, as well. 

Bipolar Disorder is ugly, painful, and a general pain in the tush. Add on anxiety, social phobia, PTSD, and severe panic disorder and you’re in for a fun ride. I shouldn’t have to deal with him on top of all that. I honestly don’t know how long I can take it before I let him have a glimpse into my mind and what I think of him. I can rant with the best of em.

That’s all, folks.

Unwell

Great...

So my meds were changed a month ago. Things have been looking up, especially when my dose was doubled. I've been feeling pretty good for a couple weeks now. That is, until about two days ago.

I crashed. Big time. I lost most of my energy, desire to do anything, and I've gotten pretty quiet. Frankly, I don't understand it. You can call it typical for someone with rapid cycling, but I literally went to bed one night as manic as could be, and woke up the next morning in this funk. Not my usual switch. Typically I'm up and down hour by hour.

My counselor is independent, not with a clinic. Her schedule is packed, so I can't see her as often as I'd like. She seems to think I'm doing alright. I'm not convinced at the moment. I do, however, have a good friend I can email. She says I can email her any time I need to. It's not quite like actually talking, but seeing as how she lives in England and the seven hour time difference... Makes things difficult. But she knows exactly how I feel and has been through a lot of what I've gone through. I hope everyone has a friend that they can talk to like that.

I got distracted...

My point tonight is that I really don't feel well. The last thing I need is to watch a high intensity movie, but my dad wanted to watch something and he likes maybe three movies and guess what he wanted to watch... "White House Down." You don't get much more high intensity than that. I'm tempted to simply take my meds that knock me out and go to bed early.

Here's to a better tomorrow.

Ugh.

I’m so over 2018.

Since the day I got home from my trip to the U.K., my life has gone down the toilet. I got some wicked nasty bug I’m guessing while I was out and about the day before we left London that hit me in the plane. Oh, and I sprained my ankle in Edinburgh. Badly. Had to walk on it for like 4 days before I got home and was able to treat it. Yeah... that was fun.

The absolute worst part of this year came three days after I got home. September 27. I got a nasty inner ear infection in both my ears. Yeah, I took antibiotics and the infection cleared up. The pain, however, did not. I went to the ENT and he was concerned, so he had me do a hearing test. I’ve lost some of my hearing in both ears due to nerve damage caused by the infection. Nerve damage is permanent. The pain is caused by the nerves still dying inside my ears. Best part: it’s progressive, so I’ll lose about half my hearing. I got a second opinion. He said the same thing. 

So I’m not in a very good place right now. Sure, it’s not too bad right now, but it will be. So, yeah... that’s my last few months. It’s been a while since I’ve written, but my new therapist wants me to start up again. We'll see how it goes. 

Cranky Pants

Go away.

Story: I’ve had a problem since last June (ooh, mystery). Well, I went to doctor after doctor and none of them could figure out what was wrong. Then, clarity. I had the thought that one of my meds could be causing it. I called the pharmacist and she confirmed my suspicion. This particular med can, indeed, cause this issue.

I brought this to my med manager yesterday. She doubled one of my meds to make up for cutting the problematic med. So now I take the one morning and night. Genius me forgot to take said med this morning. With the other one cut significantly down, I’m not anywhere near where I’d like to be. I’m cranky, to put it nicely. I’m biting at the nice people, and I feel just plain miserable.

I haven’t felt this bad in over a year, before my meds were all sorted. Why do the meds that work have to have the worst side effects? Oh yeah... I react to everything. If it’s got side effects, you can bet I’ll get the worst ones. How am I supposed to stay stable when my meds try to kill me?

Now I just have to hope that taking another med twice a day helps as much as the other one did. I’m not holding my breath. Prayers and good vibes now being accepted!

The Struggle Is Real

I’m ready to have this stop now...

First off, Happy New Year! 

Now, to my story...

I’ve been manic now for over two months. It’s driving me nuts and I can honestly not understand why people enjoy this. Each day that drags on makes me more and more cranky. Everything gets on my nerves. Today was no different.

Since it’s a holiday, my mom had the day off. We sat around all morning watching NCIS on Netflix (for like the twelfth time...). You can imagine how thrilling that was to someone with the attention span of an oh look, squirrel! We were planning on going to a movie, but that wasn’t until one o’clock. By that time, I was ready to pull my hair out.

So we get to the theatre and find out that the movie we wanted to see was sold out. Last nerve=snapped. Alternate plans were made. My parents and I went to Barnes and Noble. I found a couple of new books (which I don’t have room for). On the way home, we stopped at Wendy’s for a snack. There’s a guy who works there that my father has a major man-crush on. See, my dad thinks he’s hilarious and that he must be so every minute of every day. My mom and I have learnt to ignore him, but new people haven’t heard his same old jokes a million times, so he takes advantage of the opportunity to annoy me. I mean, joke with them... which annoys me, so yeah. So he and this kid were talking/joking while I’m ready to punch them both.

By that time, I was ready to come home and put on my jammies. Problem: all my jammies are dirty so I had to do laundry. More NCIS until dinner. More annoyance at dinner. I’d finally had it, so I grabbed my set of Harry Potter and popped in Half-Blood Prince and grabbed a Diet Coke. Still no jammies, but at least I’ve got my favourite distraction!

I started a higher dose of my downer, but that doesn’t seem to be helping. I’ll be asking my med manager if I can quit one of my uppers next... But anyhow, if I’m cranky or if I snap at you, don’t take it personally. I’m going thru hell right now and you could get caught in the crossfire. 

Death is Painful

Nobody warned me that my life would be hell.

I’m dying. Slowly and painfully. At least, that’s how it feels. I feel like screaming during the day, but the nights are worse.

Every illness, mental or physical, gets worse at night. Since I’m a trained physician, I’ll tell you why. Or maybe I’ll just muse with my own opinions since I know nothing about this. In my opinion, it’s because you’ve fought all day long, you’ve had to, and at night, you get tired of doing just that. You let your guard down and every bit of pain you’ve suppressed all day rushes in and you’re flooded with every emotion you’re capable of at the moment.

Yes, nights are hard. Tonight is particularly difficult. I took a Xanax to see if that would keep it at bay, but no luck. The absolute worst part of nights right now, for me, is that I sleep for MAYBE two hours a night. The rest of the night,  I lay in bed, listening to my clocks tick. Fun, eh?

I haven’t slept more than five hours in quite a while. I’m not tired during the day. One symptom of mania is a lack of need for sleep, so I’m completely awake. Now if only I had something to do... I’ve got two crochet projects I’m working on, I’ve rearranged my room, and I’ve cleaned up parts of the house. Nothing holds my interest for more than a few minutes. Like, right now, I’m watching a movie I’ve been dying to see. I have no idea what’s going on because my mind is elsewhere. 

Oh well. Two more weeks and I can start my new meds. I’ll just look forward to that for now.

You. Out. Now.

I’m so beyond over this...

My head is spinning, I’ve got more energy than a three-year-old, and all I want to do is cry because I have exactly zero control over this. Just once, I’d like to be able to choose my mood. Like you always hear people saying, “Happiness is a choice.” Well my “happiness” comes with severe irritation and irrational, destructive behaviour.

I’m never this manic for this long. It usually lasts a week, maximum. I’ve been here for nearly 2 months now. I’m ready for it to be over.

You’d think that if I told my med manager that I’m manic, they’d put me on a downer. Not mine, tho! Oh no. She gave me a THIRD upper! Genius, right? A few weeks later, I asked for Depakote. I got a low dose, just 250 mg. It looked like it was working! But then it just kind of stayed where it was. It didn’t make me all better. Today, my dose was raised to 500. I pray this helps because I’m pretty sure I’ve lost more friends. Or at least ticked them off.  Like I said... destructive behaviour.

Prayers, thoughts, and good vibes welcome!

Really?

Are you serious?!

Back story:

I don’t exactly know what happened, but somewhere around July, my ankle popped and suddenly I couldn’t walk right. Since then, I’ve been walking on the outside of my foot with my ankle cocked outward. As you can imagine, this causes pain. Not mild pain, either. The pain radiates about halfway up my shin. If I force myself to walk with my foot flat, my foot cramps up and I look like I’m leaving the bar.

I went to a sports medicine doctor first. He sentenced me to physical therapy. I did that twice a week for four weeks and called it quits because I was just getting worse. 

Then I went to a podiatrist. He gave me insoles that are supposed to force my foot flat. All they did was make the outside of my foot hurt when I walked on it.

Today, I saw an orthopaedic surgeon. He poked, twisted, and flexed, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Here comes the good part... He took a look at my list of medications and asked what they were all for. I simply said that my psych meds were for depression because it’s easier to understand. Then he looks at me and asks, “Do you see a therapist?” I was totally thrown off, but I answered that I do. His response? “Maybe they have some insight.” 

Right... so I can’t walk right or without severe pain because I have a mental illness?! What kind of doctor are you?! Look, I came to you because I have a PHYSICAL problem, not so you could tell me that it’s all in my head because I take psych drugs! You’re not a psychiatrist. You know nothing about that. Stick to what you know and fix my bloody ankle!

This kind of thinking is totally and completely unacceptable and is everything I’m fighting. Unfortunately, however, it is the norm.

So if you’re looking for a surgeon in the SL valley, don’t go to Dr. James Morgan at TOSH.

Nothing

“I feel nothin.”- Capt. Barbosa

Today has been exceptionally difficult. The thing that started it all is that my therapist is a nutter. Not an experimental nutter, oh no. She’s a sit-back-and-see-what-you-figure-out-on-your-own nutter. She does absolutely nothing for me! A couple weeks ago, she suggested I work on radical acceptance, a DBT skill. Catch: she didn’t tell me what that meant, how to do it, or what to start with. I had to buy a DBT skills workbook and read about it. Not to mention that she thinks mindfulness is the cure. My stance on mindfulness is much less enthusiastic, to say the least. I told a friend (who never responded, btw) how I felt about it. I said, “Great. So I’m aware of these emotions. Now what?!” This therapist has a LOT to learn before she can do any good for anyone.

Add on top of that that I had to watch TV. All. Day. Long. My mom was home sick. She can do her word finds while the TV is on. I cannot. She suggested turning it off to read, but with as irritated as I was, reading really wasn’t an option. 

Tonight, even with the crappy mood I was in, I went to a church party. I’m in a new congregation that’s actually really great, but I didn’t feel well, so I left early.

So all in all, today sucked. I told y’all before how I wish I were dead every single day, right? Well today it was the first thought in the morning, and it’ll be the last thought as I go to sleep tonight. I. Hate. My. Life. That’s all there is to it. I got landed with “the worst case of Bipolar” my therapists and med managers have seen, not to mention anxiety so bad that it keeps me from going out (most of the time), let alone hold a job. I just want it to end, and it’s getting to a point where I’ll take matters into my own hands if something tragic doesn’t miraculously happen to me. I want to die. I’m done.

What’s In A Name?

Decisions, decisions...

For most of my life, I have chosen nicknames for myself. My name is Charmaine, but very few people are allowed to call me that. In elementary and junior high school, my friends called me Charm. It’s the first five letters of my first name, so at least it’s relevant. In high school, everyone called me CJ, though I have no J in my name. For several years now, I’ve asked that people refer to me as Rie. Being the last three letters of my middle name and the name my grandfather used to call my grandmother, thus far, it is my favourite nickname. Some have asked me why I don’t simply use my first name. I’ve never had an answer. Until now, that is.

Brooke wasn’t the only one who came down on me in school. Most of the kids did. Their favourite weapon was making fun of my name. As all my American readers know, there’s a brand of toilet paper that resembles my name. You can imagine the roads they went down with that. 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated my name, and the relentless abuse of it in school has made it so that I have never really owned it. It’s never felt like who I am. I don’t look in the mirror and see Charmaine. I’ve wanted to change it since I was eighteen years old, but today, it’s been a real thought. I’ve asked friends and family what they would think of the change, and most are supportive, but honestly, it gives me anxiety. 

So now I’m stuck with a potentially life changing decision. Keep the name that isn’t really mine, or go thru all sorts of government crap to get a name I can own? 

What’s your vote? Remain Charmaine, or change it to Anna-Maria?

Medication Conversation

This could get weird...

So I went out with a good friend to see a movie (Home Again. Super cute!) and go to dinner. Nothing fancy. Just two friends hanging out.

While we were at dinner, we started talking about mental health. I'm not entirely sure how we got there, but with this friend, it's a usual subject. Now, when I get talking, especially about a topic I'm passionate about, my mouth tends to run faster than my brain. My brain usually catches up fairly quickly, but tonight, I didn't realise what I'd said until I got home. I said, "I honestly dont know why I'm even on meds."

I only realised I had said that when I sat down to take my meds. I sat there, staring at the bottles and that sentence just kept going round and round in my head. I kept asking myself, "Why am I on meds?" I mean, I've been in a depression for near a year now even though I'm on an antidepressant. Side note: I've been down here because of a ridiculously strong birth control that depleted my testosterone level, and low testosterone causes depression. I got a testosterone implant that has done exactly zero for me. Thus continuing this train of thought.

So I ask again. Why do I take meds that do exactly nothing for me? I have no answer for this.

I used to think people were nuts when they'd say, "I miss my mania," but I totally get it now. I loathe being manic, but anything beats a year-long depression. Every now and then, I feel "funny." I'm never sure how to describe it, but sometimes I wonder if that's what good feels like. It feels funny because it's been so long since I've felt good that I no longer recognise it.

I have two friends that I know of who suffer from depression. One understands that Bipolar depression is different and much more difficult to treat. The other hasn't quite learned that yet. I appreciate her attempts to help me, but what works for depression doesn't touch Bipolar depression.

I'm at a loss. My meds don't help. I've tried others, but I get the bad reactions from them. One made me so dizzy that I was throwing up, and another has left me with permanent involuntary eye movements (super fun, let me tell you...). I've basically tried every med in the book. My new-ish med manager is so conservative that she'll start me on the lowest dose of something. Even when I told her that I wanted the one I'm on. I'd been on the highest dose for a year before she changed it, but when she put me back on, she put me on the lowest dose and expected it to work. And now with the testosterone implant... I'm on a low dose despite having a dangerously low level!

Revelation coming in 3... 2... 1...

Maybe it's just that I need a much higher dose of testosterone. Maybe my meds just can't keep up with my low level. Guess I'll just have to see next month when I get a higher dose. Only problem with that is that if it doesn't work and I still need a higher dose, I have to wait three whole months to raise it again.


Hmm...