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...

Dear Father

I finally get it.

I'm the younger of two girls in my family. No brothers. Just my "sister" and me. 

When I was little, I was what they call a daddy's girl, but as I grew older, my dad walked out of my life. He was still in the house, but he wasn't really part of my life. By the time I hit high school, I'd see him for maybe an hour a day because he was either working or in the depths of the pig sty he created in the basement. 

Now that he's retired and I'm at not working, I've come to realise something... I've realised that the man has absolutely no respect for me. He falls all over himself when my sister comes over; talking about her job for hours on end. My father values work, which is something I cannot do, therefore he doesn't value me.

I've told y'all before that he's a narcissist, which is hard enough to deal with on his good days, but this realisation actually kinda hurts. 

I hate my life.

Defective

Another one?!

I've got six weddings in three months and every one of them is significantly younger than I am. I just went to the wedding of a girl I used to babysit! And I'm still single.

It used to be that I'd get hit on by every guy in the room, but since I got fat, nobody takes a second look. I don't really blame them. I mean, I'm not particularly attracted to fat guys, so why should the guys I'm interested in be attracted to a fat girl? Not to mention my style now. I wear whatever fits. I used to be very well dressed! 

I've been going to the gym lately. I can't do much yet, but I still had to tighten my belt today. That should help, right?

I joke all the time about how I'm going to die alone, but the truth of the matter is that I'm terrified of just that. I'm terrified that, when my parents are gone, I'm going to be completely and totally alone.

I get that I have issues. Those aren't going to go away. But isn't there ANYONE out there who can deal with me?!

So now I'm sitting here crying because I'm so effing jealous of all these people I should be happy for. 

Pure Hatred

Hate. Loathe. Despise.

I have never, in my life, hated something so much. Brooke comes close, but this is by far worse. This thing is the worst thing that could possibly happen. What am I talking about? Chronic illness.

Whether it be physical or mental, chronic illness is never fun. My parents volunteer at a care centre and sometimes I go with them. These people are confined to wheelchairs, and some of them are literally losing their minds. It's heartbreaking!

While I can sympathise with those people, I can empathise with those struggling with mental illness. It's a never ending struggle. For those of us born with our problems, it's a lifelong journey of pain and suffering. I can't speak for everyone, but I, for one, hate it. 

I can't say enough how much I hate living from day to day knowing that I'm not normal, that I'm defective. I don't know how many others feel this way, but I most definitely do. Getting awarded disability benefits hasn't helped with this, either. Now it's official... I'm disabled. 

I hate this. I hate my illnesses.

Good

"I'm good. How are you?"

We've all said these words. If they're true or not is up to you. If you really care about the person you're talking to or not is also up to you. The thing that is not up to you is their response.

Once in a very rare while, I'll get a text from one of my friends saying something to the effect of, "I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?" I'll answer back that I'm good and ask the return question. This is when they lay all their life's problems onto me. But hey... I asked, right? Wanna know the funny thing? Not one of my friends knows that when I say, "I'm good," what I really mean is, "I'm dying. Please help me." If I say that I'm great, that's another story. 

My point is that they'll go on and on and I'll be genuinely sympathetic, but they don't bother to make sure that I'm really ok. 

This doesn't speak for all of my friends. I have one who will periodically ask how I'm doing and really want to know. And if I reach out to others in a crisis, they're right there for me. My problem is that some get a "good" from me, lay out all their problems, and don't ask further questions. Friendship is a two-way street. I'm not your therapist. I've got more problems than you'll ever see.

New Favourite?

Why do they do this?

I have totally and completely lost all respect for my favourite band, We the Kings. Why? Because they took a public political stance.

It doesn't matter if I agree or disagree with them, what matters is that someone with that much power should not be talking politics. There are way too many feeble-minded followers who will do whatever these people say. 

Take Katy Perry during the election. She was openly campaigning for her candidate. I had a friend who voted that way simply because "Katy said so." This friend didn't know what the platforms were she was voting for, nor did she care. She just wanted to be like Katy Perry.

No, I won't tell you who I voted for, nor will I tell you how I feel on any given political topic. I will let you decide things for yourself. The way America should be. Free-thinking instead of feeble-minded followers.

I'm listening to We the Kings right now and I can't seem to enjoy it as much. Maybe time to find a new favourite? We'll see.

Closure

Farewell.

I haven't posted in nearly two months. I just haven't had anything to say, I guess. Nobody has said anything to me about missing my posts, either, so...

Last Friday, I got a brand new car. I'm talking BRAND new. It had a whole ten miles on it when I signed the papers. Needless to say, I was excited. Well... until Sunday night.

I started thinking about my old car. All the things I'd done with it, all the places it took me. Worst part: there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. I'd had that car for nine and a half years and I was running on the original battery. That's unheard of! Sure it sucked in snow and the horn reminded me of Fran Drescher, but it was a great car! I started to feel like I'd betrayed my best friend. Just tossed it aside in favour of something shinier. So I had a bit of a meltdown.

Now I had a decision to make: keep the new car or return it and get my baby back. I thought about it all night and weighed the pros and cons of both. I loved that car, but the new one won out.

Monday morning, my parents and I went back to the dealer. We asked if they still had my license plates and one of the sales people went to find them. He was able to find them and gave them to me! Then we asked to see my car again and they were more that accommodating! They took me to it and even opened it so I could sit in it! I was able to say a proper goodbye to the thing that had been my everything for nine and a half years. 

This may all sound stupid to you, but I loved that car. Now I get to grow to love another one. And if you're in the SL valley and are looking for a car, I'd HIGHLY recommend Mark Miller Subaru! They bent over backwards for me!

Here's my baby when she was new in 2008. Goodbye baby.

 

Vici

Veni Vidi Vici.

For some time now I've been anxious in my own home. I made my dad turn on the alarm back on after my mom leaves for work because I'm left the only one upstairs and I'm asleep. 

Another thing I've changed is that I've been showering at night when my mom's home because I'm too afraid to do it in the morning with my dad downstairs. But today I vici'd the crap out of that.

Today I got up, checked to see if the alarm was on, and jumped in the shower while my dad was downstairs! Huzzah! I had to keep reminding myself that no one in their right mind would break in in broad daylight with two cars in the driveway, but I did it! 

I went to therapy this morning and my therapist was quite excited that I had conquered my fear. I'm not so sure it's conquered just yet, but it's a start!

Veni vidi vici. I came, I saw, I conquered.

Who Knew?

Well that was eye-opening...

My new med manager likes to run blood tests on new patients. She's got a form all ready with everything she wants checked. So I was a good girl, got my arm invaded with that pointy thing that I refuse to say, and got a blood draw.

When she got the results, she called me. Everything was fine with the exception of one hormone that I didn't even know women desperately needed. My testosterone level was at a 3. Normal for women is 50. 

Wanna take a guess at what low testosterone levels can do? It increases depression. Big time. 

Wanna take a guess what contributes to low testosterone? Birth control. I'm on a shot that's stronger than the pill, therefore causing lower and lower levels.

Wanna take a guess at the cost of an FDA approved testosterone replacement? Three hundred dollars every three months.

Wanna take a guess at how screwed I am?

I've got an appointment with my OB/GYN to discuss other birth control options. I'm not holding my breath, honestly, but we'll see. 

So if your depression seems to just hang on too long, ask your doctor to check your testosterone levels. Could do some good for women and men.

Busted

Ow.

I have a rare talent: I can get injured doing just about anything. I blew my wrist out when I was picking up someone's legs (don't ask), I blew my knee out when I turned around, and I threw my back out leaning on the counter. Well now I've blown my Achilles' tendon doing stairs.

I did this last Wednesday. Today is Saturday and I'm getting nowhere with it. Ok, maybe not "nowhere," but it still hurts to walk, cross my ankles, or put any kind of pressure on it without my walking boot. 

I'm telling you all this because, as we all know, physical restrictions can increase depression. I have had worse than zero attention span, my self-worth has plummeted, and all is like to do is curl up in bed and sleep all day. I've been going to bed earlier than usual because I'm just worn out. Thankfully, however, I'm not biting heads off, but my depression is definitely worse.

I'm doing the whole "rice" thing (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation), but the thing is just slow to heal. I'm even on 800 milligrams of ibuprofen! 

Prayers and good vibes are always welcome. I don't know how much longer I can do this... I may bite my own foot off.

Day By Day

Why not?

Not a day goes by where I don't wish I were dead. Doesn't matter if I'm depressed or having the best day of my life. Either way, I wish I could just die.

After seeing the fallout of a friend's suicide, I'm not a fan of taking matters into my own hands. I just wish that, maybe the train signal isn't working one day when I pass by, or what if that guy on his phone doesn't see the red light. Things like that cross my mind all day long. 

I tend to cry when I talk about this. Not because I'm scared to die, but because I can't get the one thing I really want. I'm a Christian, so my knowledge of an afterlife with no ailments is quite appealing. No more depression. No more anxiety. No more feeling like I have zero control over myself. 

Some people tell me that my pain is a reminder that I'm alive. They don't get that, to me, this is a bad thing. I don't know about you, but I hate pain. Physical, emotional, it all sucks! 

I guess my life is in God's hands. 

Easy Target

I give.

I've been bullied my whole life in every situation. We all know about Brooke in school and at church. I got one day's rest from that on Saturdays. What I never got a rest from was my sister. To this day she takes pride in tearing me down to make herself feel superior. 

Then came the time for me to work...

My first job, I worked with a "friend" of mine who made sure that I knew I wasn't as good at the job as she was. 

Skip ahead a few years to when I was working a book store. I was constantly berated because I wasn't reading as fast or as much as everyone else. Then there were two of the managers... They wouldn't let me take bathroom breaks, gave me extra work with unreasonable deadlines, and openly made fun of my weight. One night, I was about to get off shift when one of them said, "Rie can do it." This was a job that would have taken over an hour and I was off in ten minutes, so I said in the nastiest tone I'm capable of, "Nope. Rie is off in ten minutes."

Then I got a job at a music/movie store. Not long after I started, one guy quit and I was constantly reminded that he quit because he didn't like me. Even the store manager told me this. Now, we were allowed to pick the music played in the store as long as it didn't curse. I made a near fatal error by stating that I hate Frank Sinatra. So I got ripped apart for my taste in music. Then came the fun part... I got made fun of for being a Christian. Make fun of muslims and all hell breaks loose, but Christians are fair game? 

I suppose I'm too quiet and a bit naive. I find bullies everywhere I go. I'm a perma-victim. Yay me. 

The Bad Guy

I don't get it...

I'm often made out to be the bad guy in a situation. Dad pushes me to where I have a breakdown? I'm the bad guy. I tell my friends, repeatedly mind you, to give me back the thing they stole from me? I'm the bad guy. I put my foot down to maintain my safety and sanity? You got it... I'm the bad guy.

I'm easy to blame. I get all flustered when I'm angry, so defending myself doesn't go over well. I'm small and don't talk a lot. And let's not forget the fact that I'm "only" mentally ill.

People are far too quick to judge me on my behaviour like everything I do is calculated and purposeful. I don't get out of hand often anymore, but it still happens. Now hear me when I say this: I have exactly zero control over my emotions and only about fifty percent control over my behaviour, so to say I'm at fault for everything I do is preposterous. 

I'll own up to bad behaviour when I'm in control over myself, but don't you dare say that the things my mental illness controls is me. I HAVE a mental illness; I am not that illness. Understand that when you think I'm being rude, unusual, or inappropriate, that's the illness... not me. I've always been described as kindhearted, funloving, and giving. 

There is the illness, and there is me. Learn the difference.

Hey Sunshine

Clouds and snow and clouds.

For the last while, it's been cloudy most days. Now, I don't know about y'all, but for me, cloudy days increase my depression. I've had some pretty bad days in recent weeks. But when the sun comes out, it's like instant relief! Well... most of the time.

A couple of weeks ago, I had possibly the hardest day I've had lately, but by all accounts, I should have had one of the best. The sun was shining and I wasn't couped up in the house because I was running errands with my mom. I didn't understand it. I still don't. 

Yesterday I was driving home from having lunch with my parents and I was in heaven. The sun was out and it warmed up my car. That warmth surrounded me and it was like I had no worries in the world. 

Needless to say, I'm looking forward to summer. I'd say spring, but the way this winter has gone, we'll probably have snow into June here. I hope my pessimism is unfounded, however. I need blue skies and no more snow!

Is or Has?

"She's Bipolar."

Umm... No she's not. Add the word "disorder" next time you want to label someone as a mental illness. That would make you say, "She's Bipolar Disorder." Now does that sound fair? To label someone as the root of millions of people's problems? 

Now try saying it with "has" instead of "is." "She has Bipolar Disorder." Much better.

You wouldn't say it with any other mental illness, so why do it with Bipolar Disorder? I've never heard anyone labelled as depression. It's always that they have depression. Why, then, am I labelled as the illness itself and you are not?

Think. Learn. Don't get hit in the face.

Break Time

Maybe it's time for a time-out.

For the last few weeks, I've found it pretty hard to care about this blog. I feel like my writing is suffering because of my lack of caring. I don't share as much as I have been, either. My views are suffering as well. 

I was talking to my mom about this, and she said something that really stuck in my head. She said that maybe the blog has served its purpose. I thought about that and found that it really has. Originally, I intended to educate people on the realities of mental illness, but an unintentional lesson I learned was that I got to know myself inside and out. 

So unless I find a subject that I really feel needs sharing, I'm going to be taking a little break. Thank you all for your support over the years! 

As the Terminator said... I'll be back.

Enough Already!

Right.

So since the doctor in the emergency department told me to get off one of my meds (it was making me crazy!), this infernal depression is back. I've got one of those "happy light" things, but it doesn't seem to work for me. I've been pretty low for a few weeks now and I'm beyond tired of it. Now add on top of that the fact that I'm sick.

It started yesterday and just got worse today. This is the second time in six months that I've gotten sick. I don't get sick! What? Are these viruses on steroids or something?! The only times I get sick are when my allergies act up in the spring and fall. Before this last bout I had during last semester, I can't even remember the last time I was actually sick.

Depression already has physical effects. I don't need my head to be some kind of stuffed, useless ball along with it. 

I haven't been dealing with this very well. It's making me cranky and making my depression worse. I'm trying to not bite heads off, but I know I have a few times. 

In other news: I went for an intake appointment at the biggest facility in the valley today. I got all my paperwork done then I was supposed to see a therapist. My dad and I sat waiting for this therapist for very near an hour before finally leaving. Needless to say, I called another, smaller clinic when we got home.

They made me wait there an hour and a half total, while I feel like death, for no reason whatsoever. As my mom said... bad business. They knew I was coming and they weren't prepared. I won't be going back.

Snapped

Seriously?!

So I'm not in the best  of moods today as it is. I managed to force myself out of the house to have lunch with my parents, but on my way home, everything and everyone was getting on my last nerve. The real fun began in my neighbourhood...

I was coming along the main road to my house, when a sorry excuse for a man that I know comes and makes a left turn right in front of me after looking right at me! I've never liked this guy. He's rude, self-centred, and not the type to help you out unless you're popular in the area. He snapped my very last nerve, so I flipped him off. He then proceeds to follow me home and shout, "Was that really necessary?" Are you freaking kidding me?! Don't you dare bring your holier than thou attitude to me! So I shouted back that he saw me coming. He tried to deny it, so I told him that he actually stopped, looked right at me, and kept going. I slammed the door after that.

I don't hate many people, but the way this sorry excuse for a man has treated my family is unforgivable. And this isn't the first time he's pulled a left in front of me! This has happened at least five times before. So do I feel bad for flipping him off? Not for a second. 

On the bright side, my dad and I moved some very heavy furniture around right after I got home, so that got rid of all my angry energy!

Clearing My Mind

Really?!

So yesterday, I was cleaning my room as a way to get myself out of this stupid depression. I went to take some things into the basement and fell down the freaking stairs! You can imagine how genius I felt, but what really surprised me was the fact that it didn't make me angry. The only thing to come out of my mouth was a slightly-louder-than-usual "ouch." Sure it stayed on my mind, but not like it would have if I was still depressed and annoyed. So yay! Cleaning worked!

Today I'm all sore, but I'll live. I've got a massive bruise on my back and a pretty big one on my arm, but I'm still not upset about falling. 

Cleaning, for me, has always been a way to sort things out. "Tidy on the outside makes tidy on the inside" sort of thing. I still have exactly zero idea why I was depressed, but I'm definitely glad I'm out of it now! 

Next time I fall into depression, I think I'm going to organise my shirts by colour...

In A Pit

I'm so done with this.

I go to a friend's house twice a week to catch up and read for a bit. Yesterday we were talking about how we are when we're depressed. Mostly we talked about how every tiny thing gets on our nerves. Things that shouldn't even be things get turned into raging irritation. This is where I was yesterday.

It started after I had lunch. I noticed that the music I was listening to wasn't making me happy anymore. That was weird enough because We The Kings is one of my favourite bands. Then my dad came upstairs and I noticed that just his existence was irritating. That's when I knew for sure that I was falling into a depression.

Last night, however was the worst. See, my mom and I take our medications at the same time so neither of us forgets. I have punch that I take mine with. I opened the fridge to find my punch had been pushed to the back. No big deal, right? Wrong. I almost blew a fuse over it. That's when I gave in and started crying. 

When I'm not feeling well, my mom (and usually Dad, too) will stay up with me instead of going to bed. Last night, I put in the sixth Harry Potter and we watched that until I got tired. After all, depression in my house means Harry Potter night!

Today, I stayed in bed until ten thirty because, well, I have nothing to do. Having nothing to do generally adds to my depression. Maybe I'll reorganise my books again...

Work It

Something's gotta give...

Enrico Caruso, a famous opera singer, was once quoted to have said that his voice has him. Yes, he has a voice, but with fame comes give and take. He basically meant that he went wherever his voice was needed. He missed the birth of his daughter because his voice had to be somewhere. Get what I'm saying?

If that was clear as mud, allow me to explain my side of this. Yes, I have mental illnesses, but they also have me. Lately, it seems like I have less and less control over myself. My manic-depression is deciding what mood I'm in and when. I'm just along for the ride. My Anxiety is controlling where I go and what I do. I can't seem to get anywhere by myself lately. I have to have someone with me or know that I'm meeting someone there. My brain is controlling my life.

I looked for jobs again today. Bad idea. It does nothing but frustrate me. "Must have two years experience." "Customer service for busy office." Aren't there jobs out there for people who hate people?

I still marvel at the pure stupidity of my old med manager and therapist for saying that I can work. Right... So apparently being absolutely terrified of human contact makes me the perfect candidate for retail. I get so angry that I can't work. You think I like being labeled "disabled?" I'd rather die, but I know my limits and it's getting to a point where my front door is my limit.

I need to find a therapist who will work with me on my social phobia. My last one focused on the bullying trauma. That's not going to help me be a contributing member of society! I need to be able to say hello to someone without having a full-on panic attack! Does nobody realize this?! Help me!

I'm done with that rant now...

So, since leaving Facebook, my stress levels have gone way down. I don't miss it at all. No need to fear, however, I'm still on Twitter and Instagram. You can follow me there!

Twitter: @AROTBEblog
Insta: rie_define

I post the occasional picture on Insta and I don't really tweet except for my blog posts, but I'd love for all my friends to stay connected and meet new ones along the way!

Opera Drama

No more people. Please!

So my entire family went to see Man Of Lamancha done by the Utah Opera today. Since this particular episode isn't technically an opera (it's a musical), it was a full house. Full house in that theatre means we're cramped in there like sardines. Hardly any room to breathe.

Before the show, we waited in the lobby. Can I just say that people are loud? They have absolutely no consideration for anyone else, they'll shout over one another, and someone touched me! Never, ever touch me if you want to keep your hand! 

During the show, I was able to focus more on it rather than the hundreds of people surrounding me, except for the guy behind me... Every time he'd clap, it sounded like a .44 magnum going off right next to my ear! If you haven't caught on, I don't do well with loud noises. 

After the show, my mom and I found a hidden restroom which was far from populated. The time spent in there allowed many people to leave the theatre. I was happy with this. Then we got to the lobby... There weren't anywhere near as many people as there were before the show, but they were even louder! How?! Why?! Do you really need those on the space station to hear you?! I was getting extremely agitated and was just about to scream "shut up," but I talked my parents into leaving first.

Getting home was like coming home after a long trip. I was still slightly irritated, but the amazing dinner my mom made helped with that. Now my mom and I are sitting here watching NCIS and life is as it should be once more. There is balance in the force. Voldemort is defeated. The Doctor has saved mankind.

Pain In The Neck

Oww.

So yesterday was fun. I had an endoscopy where the doctor stretched my esophagus so that it would be normal sized. Yesterday was way worse, but today still sucks. I can't swallow solid food without severe pain. I'm not saying that's stopping me, I'm just saying it's not the brightest idea. 

To add insult to injury, I bit my bottom lip in my sleep. It's now bleeding and infected. Every time I move my mouth, I'm reminded of this. I've had to learn to use a straw on the right side of my mouth instead of the middle. Even talking... some words make my teeth hit the sore spot. And you can forget about putting lip gloss on! 

Now for the icing on the cake... I was looking at every job site I could for near an hour and found exactly nothing I can do. Everything is full time, requires knowledge or skills I don't possess, or is incredibly public customer service. With the knowledge and skills, I can learn that stuff, but nobody is willing to train! "Do not apply if you have no experience with Quick Books..." How am I supposed to get experience when nobody's willing to train?! Huh?!

In closing, today sucks. Except that I got to have lunch with my mom.

Nighttime

Winter.

Have I mentioned lately exactly how much I loathe this season? It's dark, it's cloudy, we've been dumped on by snow like three times since Christmas, and then there's the cold. The thing I hate most of all: the darkness. I've said before about how I hate darkness, and tonight is no better.

Today was pretty chill. My poor mom was home sick so there was a lot of TV watching and some time to read. Then came the call I'd been waiting for for two years... I have a hearing date for disability benefits! I was so excited! Then came the darkness...

Nighttime has a way of bringing out the depression in most people, and I'm no exception. As soon as the lights went out, my mind began to spin and my failed life came to the forefront. I mean, look at me. I can't handle going to school, let alone hold a job. The only times I get out of the house are with my mom, my weekly date with my friend, and to get to the clinic. Except I won't be going to any clinic until next month... I got an intake appointment with the biggest clinic in the valley on the ninth and I have no idea when I'll be assigned a therapist or med manager. Good thing I've got refills on my meds!

Besides not getting out much, I've succumbed to the fact that I will never marry. I'm going to die alone. Why? Well partly because I don't get out, and partly because nobody could handle me. I've heard from therapists and med managers alike that my moods are more extreme than others. I can barely deal with it, so how can I expect anyone else to? 

I really hate darkness.

Good Bye

I announced a few days ago that I had officially rejoined the Facebook world and have had nothing but attacks since. I could type "hello" and my so-called "friends" would attack me. Not the friends I actually see and communicate with. Oh no... these are the ones who I haven't seen or heard from in years, save it be through Facebook. So I'm announcing now that I'm leaving Facebook permanently. 

Sure, I could just delete them, but there's too many of them. I'd wind up with like five friends. Besides, Facebook is nothing but politics now and heaven forbid I State an opinion. If I don't agree with your stance, I ignore your post. If someone disagrees with my stance, all Hell breaks lose. That one, even close friends get in on, and yes I'm angry with them. I'm hurt that they couldn't simply ignore it and feel like they have to attack me. 

So good bye toxic atmosphere! No more Facebook, no more messenger.

Bad Clinic

So I just fired my clinic.

It's always irritated me that not one single person there respected my religion or my choice to participate in Christianity. They would use the name of my Lord and Saviour  like they do in movies- like it's just another curse word. When I told my therapist that I was participating more deeply in my church, she asked, "why?" Today, I saw my med manager and she told me to go to a different religion because it would be better. Excuse me? I found my truth. You're welcome to your truth, but don't you dare question mine or try to shove yours down my throat.

The best part, however, was today. I had brought in a paper from the state to be filled out by a medical professional to deem me disabled and unable to work. After explaining how I have been feeling for the past month or so to my med manager and my work history being known by my therapist, the two of them together decided that I am, in fact, not disabled. 

Allow me to rebut with a few facts about my work history... 

I had one job that I quit after a week. I have walked out of more jobs than I can remember, and after interviews, I avoid any job offer by ignoring their phone calls. Employment and I do not get along. At least not for more than a month. I can't deal with the public because people suck and will take out their mistakes on the poor cashier. I walked out of the one and only full time job I had a few years ago because they put me on attendance probation after I left one (yes, one) day a few hours early.

I'm the first to tell you I don't have a problem, but I also know my limits. I. Can't. Work. 

It's no secret that I've applied for disability benefits, and my therapist was more than willing to write a letter explaining just how bad my symptoms are and how they affect me working, so why would she deny me state benefits in the mean time? I don't get it.

So I'm now incredibly irritated and ready for war with whoever talks to me first. Friends: approach with caution. Unless you don't mind me venting.

Do It For You

"Stubborn." "Impudent." "Insolent." "Contemptuous."

These words have something in common (besides relative definition). Can you guess what they are? They are all words used to describe someone who needs help but refuses to get it. I know. I was there.

Years ago, I was called each and every one of these words by those who care about me because they could see that something wasn't quite right and I needed help. Granted, I sought therapy on my own, but medications were a whole other story. 

I was dead set convinced that I could handle this on my own; that God would get me through the hard times. My faith helped, but it only got me so far. Whenever people would suggest medication to me, I said I'd think about it just to placate them. I wanted nothing to do with meds. I didn't want the stigma. I didn't want people to look at me as weak. 

For quite a while, I was combative, rude to my family, and thought that, not only could I do this without meds, but that I knew better than everyone. For years, I'd have breakdowns that tore me down so far that I was tearing others down with me. I would fight with family and friends just because they got on my nerves. I had exactly zero tolerance. 

The big realisation came when I overdosed on pain killers. That's the point where I admitted to myself that I needed the help of therapy along with medication.

I tell you this because I don't want you to have to learn the hard way that I did. I don't want you to wind up in the hospital, hooked up to machines with a tube up your nose with a charcoal drip going down your throat. Don't make your loved ones see you that way.

 If you find it difficult to get along with people, are having breakdowns frequently, or feel like you can't control things, I beg you, get medication. 

There's a lot more tolerance toward mental health than there used to be. The people who love you will not think you are weak. In fact, it takes more strength to admit you need help than it does to deal with it alone. 

If you still can't do it for yourself, do it for your family and friends. They deserve the best version of you.

My Apology

I've always taken Agent Gibbs' rule to heart to never apologise because it's a sign of weakness, but a friend of mine taught me that it takes real strength to do so. So here goes nothing...

For a while now, my behaviour has been, at best, unpredictable. Looking back on the things I've said makes me hold my head down in shame. The level of straight up caustic words spewed from my mouth is, for some, unforgivable. I can't honestly say I don't blame these people because there are plenty of others who have stuck with me thru every dark day, but I hope they can find it in their hearts to forgive me one day.

I have had exactly zero control over my emotions and, yes, actions for the past month or so. The reason being that I was having a severe reaction to one of my medications that I was technically being overdosed on. It was prescribed, so don't get all panicky on me. Not even my doctor could have foreseen a reaction this bad. I wound up in the emergency room last night as a result of this reaction. 

To my friends who have stuck with me, I thank you and I am truly sorry for the things I have said. I pray we can move past this and I will try my best while I am detoxing to behave myself. This will take some time, so bear with me. I will rejoin the Facebook world once I can trust that I can be rational and kind once more. 

No More

I've been crying on and off all afternoon.

So I went to my first day of this semester, found out the load was going to be too much for me. I changed my schedule no less than three times after I got home. Everything I tried to sign up for was either full or late at night (like getting out at ten o'clock!). So I cried because I was frustrated. Now I'm sitting here crying because I figured out that I loathe school. It puts way too much pressure on me. So I made the big decision to drop out.

My parents are very supportive of my decision, as usual. Some of my friends are having issues with it, however. Mostly because they all think I can do it. I hate to fail everyone, but I'm on the edge of a total mental breakdown. Hospitals would be involved if I stay in and try. School simply isn't healthy for me. 

At least I can say I gave it a valiant effort. Thank you everyone who supported me through this. 

Round Two

I'm so nervous that I'm not going to sleep well tonight.

So school starts up again tomorrow. As I'm sitting here in the dark of night, my stomach is tying itself into knots. I had to watch a few videos for my IT class and, well... I'm not holding my breath for a good grade. I'm a techno idiot so doing much of anything with computers is basically not going to happen. I mean, I can use my word processor and navigate the internet, but besides that, I'm way out of my league.

It's not just that class, though. I also have to take interpersonal communications. Yeah... communicating isn't my strong point. I write because I can't talk. Now if I just have loads of papers due, I'll manage, but from what I've heard, it's more oral presentations. I'm protected from those, thankfully, but I don't know if this teacher will work with me. Here's hoping.

Besides the scary classes, it's going to be all new people. I don't like new people. I don't like people. I hate having to get to know someone new and I generally just keep it light ("Hi. Nice day, right?" and "Did you get this question?"). People can usually sense this and leave me alone. This is both a good and bad thing. I mean, I like making friends, but I also like being by myself. I'm stuck in the middle of "I'm here!" and "Go away." The worst is when I have a friend who is constantly in need of attention and validation. If that's what you're looking for, I'm not your girl. I learnt to validate myself, you can, too.

So we'll see how tomorrow goes. Wish me luck. 

The Blame Game

Why me?

I get blamed quite a bit for things I didn't do, and people tend to assume that I'd do something that I never would. It's always been annoying. Today it comes to a head.

Now, I can't remember every single one of these since it happens so often, but I'll give you a few insights.

A few days ago, my mom accused me of using the money she had given me for school on other things. She knows clear and well that I don't! Naturally, this accusation caught me off guard and it took some time to forgive her for thinking that way about me.

My Bishop (the leader of my congregation) threatened to make me speak during church, but he qualified it with "as long as you don't berate them the whole time."  Excuse me?! You obviously have no idea who I am...

As I posted a while back, my high school music teacher berated me in front of my entire section because she believed the word of a whiny, attention-seeking sycophant when he told her I was laughing at him. I was, in fact, goofing off with someone (who got no punishment, by the way...). 

My favourite,  however, was when I was twelve (I think...). I was on the school bus, waiting to go home. I was talking to my friend when the bus driver gets up and starts yelling for me to get off. She accused me of some terrible things including cursing at her as I got off. I have no doubt that Brooke had something to do with this. Side note: it was against policy for her to kick me off. She lost her job not long after that for other similar offences. 

I get so tired of people accusing me just because I'm there. What, am I just an easy target? Do I have a mischevious face? What makes people believe I'm capable of terrible things?!  

The Sixth Diagnosis

So I guess this is where I say "Happy New Year..."

My father has a real talent for making his wrongs against someone that person's fault. Like tonight. He was talking over me, not giving a rat's tush about what I was saying. Besides being irritated, I had to shout just to make sure he knew I was talking. He says to me, "You don't need to shout at me. Not a good idea." All this in possibly the most condescending, demeaning tone you've ever heard. So I said, "You weren't listening, so yes, good idea." He refused to listen to me yet again and still believes I was in the wrong. 

I've known for years that my father in an undiagnosed narcissist, but the ironic part is, he's an insecure narcissist. He'll take any slight against him as though he doesn't understsand why. Like now. I'm angry with him and he has exactly zero idea why.

I've gotten several books on how to deal with narcissists, but I suppose I actually have to read them for them to do any good. So that's my new goal. I'm going to finish at least two of my narcissist books this year. I'd say all of them, but I'm also trying to finish Harry Potter and a series by Janet Evanovich/Lee Goldberg (Fox and O'Hare. Great books!).

So basically, my extremely limited ego gets shot down by a man who supposedly cares for me. The ting is, when I'm stroking his ego, like listening to him tell me the same boring story for the millionth time, he's fine, but as soon as I try to get him to acknowledge me and my issues, he's got no idea what to do. 

Fun example: a few nights ago,  I asked him to stay up with me because I didn't want to be alone. He proceeded to tell me every aspect of his flashlight (it's tactical. Ooh...). Then he downloaded a flashlight app on his phone. He then proceeded to play with it. All the while, I'm sitting there, patiently listening. When I finally get too overwhelmed to take it anymore and bring up that I feel like crap, he has exactly zero idea what to say. If it's not about him, he's lost.

So I'm dealing with basically six diagnoses. Five of my own and his. I can't keep doing this much longer. I'm going to lose it with him one day.

Breathing

Have you ever felt all warm and comfy, yet completely empty inside? This is how I feel.

So , winter sucks. The nights are long, the sky is cloudy, and this whole snow thing I could definitely do without.  But alas, I live in Utah, and we're kind of known for having "the greatest snow on earth." Personally, I could do winter in Arizona.

Back to my point. With the cold, never ending nights, it's kind of like I've lost myself. I mean, last summer, I became pretty comfortable with who I am and how I think, but that part if me is missing right now. I feel empty, hollow. I'm not entirely sure how to explain it, but I think y'all know where I'm coming from.

I never like being alone, but winter makes it particularly difficult. My parents go to bed earlier than I do, so that leaves me to my own devices for an hour or two every night. Lately, I've been taking NyQuil just to knock me out so I don't have to be alone. At least alone and awake...

So I've rediscovered one of my favourite bands and they have a song that really works for me. If you're so inclined, find it on YouTube. It's called "Just Keep Breathing" by We The Kings.  So I just got to remember to just keep breathing when I feel like this. 

Thanks Amber

I'm going to catch flack for this post, but it has to be said.

I have played clarinet since I was eleven years old. My elementary band teacher kind of sucked, so I didn't learn to play very well. I was last chair from sixth grade all the way to my sophomore year of high school. I got lessons that summer and jumped to second chair, not only in the school, but in the district. I was actually good! I absolutely loved to play! Well... until my senior year. That's the year my band teacher taught me to hate music.

My high school band teacher has always played favourites. It's a well known fact. Another well known fact is that I was never one of her little pets. In fact, she disliked me. I have no idea why or what I did to make her feel that way toward me, but the fact remained. There are several accounts which prove my point. Allow me to explain...

Junior year I was second chair. Second in charge. Our section leader was going to be out for one of our pep band events (a football game). Teacher left third chair in charge. I don't know why, so don't ask.

Junior year during the musical... She sees Brad and Kathryn bullying me. She sees me in near tears. She ignores me. I felt like I couldn't go to her because I knew her distain for me. I couldn't tell her that two of her pets were bullying me because she wouldn't have believed me anyway.

Senior year I was supposed to be first chair, but once again, she doesn't like me. She takes, get this, fourth chair and puts him as first because "he's been taking lessons." I started lessons long before he had, and during the semester, I still had to teach him things. I was better than he was, and she knew it.

The worst offense, however, came near the end of the first semester. We were having a sectional out in the hall (that's where all the clarinets get together to practice our parts). I was goofing off with one of the sophomores. This one guy (we'll call him Princess although his name was Matt) thought we were laughing at him. Wait... he thought I  was laughing at him. Me. Specifically. So he goes and tells teacher, who then proceeds to berate me and demean me right in front of everyone. Me. Not the sophomore who was also laughing with me. I try to defend myself, but she wouldn't let me. I quit after that.

Amber Tuckness is nothing more than a bully.

Borderline or no?

Ok then.

So I went to therapy Friday and learnt something about myself that was quite a relief. See, I've always had this fear hat I had Borderline Personality Disorder as well, but what I learnt made it quite clear that I don't. My therapist said that if she could rename Borderline, she'd call it "invalidated childhood." While I did, indeed, have an invalidated childhood, I developed a skill that Borderlines do not. I learnt how to validate myself.

This definitely explains why I'm not one to fish for compliments or scramble for attention. Yes, I feel ignored a lot, but I'm not constantly seeking attention or validation. 

The biggest reason I was relieved to find out that I don't have Borderline is because I don't need to add anything to my list of diagnoses. I've already got five. That's plenty for one person. Nobody needs to hog all the diagnoses. Let others feel special too, right?

This has been weighing on me for a few years, so Friday was like lifting the world off my shoulders. I guess this will teach me to not read the DSM-5 and self-diagnose. Nobody should. Let the professionals do that. Lessons learned.

In other news: Christmas Eve is also the first day of Hanukkah. So whichever you celebrate, hope it's a happy one!  

Texts, Class, & Church

Day from Hell.

Today started off with me getting awakened by a group text. First off, I hate group texts. Loathe them with every fiber of my being. But this one was particularly obnoxious. It was my team wanting to meet an hour and a half before class started. Fan-freaking-tastic. So I get up, get ready, and I get there only to find one member of my team waiting. We were then joined by the other two guys in the group. I was stuck in a room of boys who would rather talk about the new gaming system than the presentation we had to give today.

Then there was class... We did our presentation. I not only made the powerpoint, but I was the clicker, changing the slides during the presentation. I participated. I cleared this participation with my pain in the butt teacher, who, after class decided that all the work I had put in wasn't enough and he wanted a video of me doing the entire presentation that my group had just done. So basically I did twice as much work as the rest of my team because Herr Hitler decided I didn't do enough.

And to top off my day, I had a church activity tonight. I've told y'all before about how I hate Utah Mormons and church activities... Tonight was no different. Well... I brought my friend from another church with me, so that was different. But the behavior of the rest of the people remained the same. My friend and I sat at a table with three guys to cut and tie fleece blankets (we're doing them for the children's hospital in town), and it was basically them and us. The three guys were talking among themselves and left us out almost entirely. My friend, being the person that she is (bless her!), interjected a few times into the guys' conversation, and one of the guys looked genuinely annoyed that she had said anything. The other two talked to me for maybe two minutes. All in all, there were about twenty people there, and I can really only say that my friend talked to me. No, I'm not the most outgoing person, but I'm DAMN funny when you actually take the time to get to know me! But that's the problem, isn't it? Nobody takes the time to talk to the quiet girl-- to get to know her.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... I am never more suicidal than when I'm at church or a church activity. Whichever religion you choose is supposed to make you feel whole, right? Make you feel like you're a part of something bigger. The only thing I feel is ignored, dejected, and suicidal. One of these days, I'm not going to stop for the idiot left turner and I'll just hit them dead on. Maybe that will do it. I can think of over a hundred ways to do it all without the chance of survival. All I need is the right push, and church gets me to that point every... freaking... week. If just one person would talk to me like I'm a human being, maybe I'd feel like I mattered once in a while.

Crazy

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!

So today was supposed to be a happy day, full of family and fun, right? Well... Mine was ruined by two sentences tonight. All day, my sister behaved herself. A couple of weeks ago, she even went so far as to say she accepted me, "skinny jeans and all." (She hates skinny jeans, btw.) But the two of us went out to get coffee and cocoa, and she blasted all the respect I had for her right out the window.

What could possibly be so offensive, you ask? Allow me to explain...

"You cray cray, Ducky, but you haven't been cray cray for awhile." A) Yes, she calls me Ducky. B) No she wasn't kidding. As you may now have guessed (or not, who knows), she was, in fact, referring to my mental illness. She called me crazy. She told me about a friend at work who "is Bipolar," and when I questioned whether he is or has, she insisted that he is. I tried to explain that Bipolar is something you have, not something you are, but she was having none of it. "He identifies with it." Well you just answered my question there, didn't ya, poopsie? But no, she doesn't get it.

If you've been following me regularly, you may remember about a year and a half ago, she backed me into a corner, towered over me while berating me, and my leg (mind of its own, I swear!) shot out and kicked her, almost knocking her down. To her ignorant mind, this is crazy. To her ignorant mind, I am not mentally ill... I am crazy.

It's difficult enough to tell people I have this burden without them making assumptions and straight up being rude to me (like in the psych ward), but to have my big sister, the one I've always looked up to no matter how much I hated her at whatever moment, to have her be so cruel and ignorant toward the biggest piece of me... I'm broken. Not even Brooke has said anything quite this cruel to me.

I now want nothing to do with her. I'll be polite, but I'll never tell her anything ever again. And when our parents are gone (morbid, I know), she'll have no place in my home or my life. I'm through bending over backwards for someone who thinks I'm nothing more than crazy.

Into The Darkness

Time is a friend to no man.

This whole time change thing really blows. Winter blows. Apparently I like the word "blows" now. Why do these things blow? Because with the time change, it's suddenly dark at 5:30. Winter blows because it's dark at 5:30. I'm sensing a correlation... You'd be right, side-thought! These two things definitely correlate.

I'm going to stop that now before this gets awkward...

With the longer nights and days growing shorter, my depression is all wonky. Like, I'll be fine-ish during the day, but as soon as the sun goes down, I'm sunk into a pit as low as Dante's Hell. I feel it physically, too. Like this pressure sitting on my chest that makes it hard to breathe, and on my shoulders that makes it hard to be upright.

The absolute worst part about all this darkness is my irrational fear of being alone. As I've mentioned before, I still live at home with my parents. I'll often hang around until the last second before they go to bed. But when they do, everything explodes and I'm suddenly depressed and anxious beyond words. Lately, I've been drugging myself with Nyquil just so I go to sleep earlier. The earlier I go to sleep, the less time I spend alone in the dark.

Darkness has represented aloneness to me since I was about ten years old (I think...) when my sister moved out of my room and back into her own. I've always hated the dark because of, again, my irrational fear of being alone. I HATE being alone. I'm slightly codependent that way.

The other night as I was lying in my bed in the dreaded dark, I was overcome by the thought of my grandma who passed away a year and three months ago. It was like I had just heard the news of her death all over again. The pure pain of it. I couldn't stop crying.

In closing...

I
HATE
THE
DARK!

Knowledge Is Power

Me.

I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with. My Facebook rants have stirred up things that ought not have been. When I'm crabby I say exactly what I mean and feelings have been hurt. When I'm manic, my almost maxed-out credit card (which my lovely parents are paying in my unemployment) gets a workout. But there's one thing I actually like about myself, and that is that I know myself. Inside and out, head to toe.

I was watching The Crown on Netflix tonight, and in it, there was a painter who was doing a portrait of Winston Churchill. I don't remember it word for word, but the painter was telling Churchill that nobody ever truly knows themselves- that you had to take a step back and look in from the outside. I've done this for years. I am an observer by nature- people are my favourite subject- and I have mastered observing myself. I notice my behaviours, my words, my tones... Before I was properly medicated, I became a master at knowing exactly when my mood would shift simply by noticing the way I spoke. With no instruction, I managed to figure out how to take a step back and observe myself. Because of this, I know everything about myself.

I can't tell you how to do it exactly, but when I do it, I picture myself separating. Like my body stays where it is, but my soul steps back. I've heard of others picturing themselves in front of a mirror. Whatever way works for you, do it. You may never be your own best friend, but knowing yourself can help you in ways you never imagined.

In other news...

I got my bangs cut today. I can see again! I'm getting the rest of my hair chopped in about a week and a half. I'm excited! OH! and we're finally celebrating my birthday at a comedy playhouse tomorrow! I still can't believe how old I am... I kind of feel like a giant failure. I'm thirty years old, I live with my parents who pay all my bills because I have no job, I'm working my butt off in school but seem to be failing anyway, and I'm still overweight. I eat like nothing, I'm fairly active, and I can't lose this infernal weight! Any tips would be appreciated.

I'll stop there... Self-deprecating comments aren't going to help me out of this depression.

A Shadow In The Wind

I am no one.

I often get annoyed when I post something on Facebook that goes ignored because, well, I took the time to share something with my friends and they don't even acknowledge it. Like my posts. I've got friends who say they read every post, yet never bother to hit that "like" button. I beg you, let me know you've read this and every other post. I need that validation and confirmation that I'm not doing this alone. I can't handle thinking that I'm all alone.

I can get twenty random strangers to like my pictures on Instagram, but the same picture gets maybe five (if I'm lucky) likes by my one-hundred and forty-two friends on Facebook. Things like this make me feel unimportant, unwanted, and like I have no place in this world. Tonight, I'm feeling very suicidal because I specifically tagged someone in one of my posts and she didn't even acknowledge it. Thanks, Amy. I know I'm not your favourite person in the world, but please, at least have the dignity to tell me you don't want to be friends instead of just ignoring me.

Right now, I'm hiding in my room, muffling my sobs with my pillow and wanting more than anything to simply disappear. This girl who ignored me today had a brother commit suicide, so she of all people should understand the way I'm feeling, but she doesn't seem to care. We used to be good friends- sorority sisters, even! It seems like when my friends get married, I'm no longer needed or wanted around. I try to keep in contact with so many of them, but it's always a one-sided relationship. I text, invite them to do things, and give them gifts, but I never get any of these in return.

My problem is that I'm too good a friend. I'm the loyal one who will be there for you no matter what, but I get treated like the bloody doormat. I care about others far more than I care about myself and nobody seems to care. I just feel like so few people care about me that it wouldn't matter if I disappeared. I've thought it over a hundred times, but there would be a maximum of twenty people at my funeral because I simply don't matter that much to anyone.

Who knows... maybe tonight is the night.

Midterms, Keychains, and Thanks

It's over!

So I had to do my midterm presentation today. I was supposed to do it last week, but things happen and I did it today. Thankfully, this teacher understands social phobia and let me do it with just him in his office. Now I just have to hope that I got a good grade on it. I'm not really an eloquent person unless I have time to type it out. Side note: my backspace button gets quite a workout whenever I write. But... I did my best and I think my teacher knows that.

Even though I did it with just my teacher, my anxiety spiked. My heart was pounding and my palms got all sweaty. Funny thing about that: I take Xanax every day before I leave the house. I guess I need a higher dose now. Oh well.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

My mom took today off work to hang out with my aunt. I get home and they're both in the front room, talking. My aunt says, "Guess what I brought you." You want to know what she brought me? Two keychains! One from The Netherlands and one from Switzerland! Not sure if I've ever mentioned this before, but I collect keychains from places I go and love, love, LOVE when people send me one from where they are or have been. I've got them from every state I've been in, as well as places my friends and family have been. If y'all ever feel like sending me one, I wouldn't complain... haha!

Bad segue number two...

I want to thank every single one of you for cracking two major milestones for me. First off, this blog hit one hundred thousand all-time views last month! And secondly, you blew up my month record. My last record was seventeen thousand. In October, y'all got me to thirty-six thousand!!! I know I'm obnoxious with all my retweets, but I guess there's just that many people who are looking for what I have to say.

I'm Cranky

Blah.

I don't know what it is lately, but every time the weather changes, my moods go all wonky. Today is dark. It's cloudy and raining on and off. I most definitely didn't want to come to school today, but I sucked it up, got ready, and now I'm here. I've got some down time between classes so I can share with my lovelies all my drama.

Something I failed to mention last post was that, since I've been taking the steroid, which is a downer, I've been taking a little extra boost of Prozac. It's been helping quite a bit, which is weird for me. Prozac hasn't done anything for me in the past, but maybe it's bouncing off my other antidepressant and actually doing something. Today, however, it's like it's not even there. I'm tired and cranky. It's a very good thing that the class loud-mouth wasn't there today, because I don't think I could have kept my mouth shut. As it was, I was arguing one key point of my religion that I don't exactly agree with. I'm sure I came off like a bad member of my church, but honestly, at this point, I frankly don't care. I follow it because I have to, not because I believe in it.

Anyhow... As you can tell, I'm not exactly in the mood to be talking to people at the moment. Typing is my way of getting it out without screaming. It's cathartic, to say the least. I've decided that, even though y'all have gotten me to record numbers this month (over 26,000 so far!), this blog is for me. Since starting this blog, I've come to understand myself in ways that I never had before. I understand why I do the things I do, and I have much better control over my illness. I'd seriously recommend blogging to all you writers out there. It helps. I promise.

Welp... one more class and then I get to go home. I'm going to take a nap induced purely by Nyquil because, yes, I'm still sick. Twelve days and counting. After that, I've got a test to do online. I'm actually pretty confident on this one because in class today, my teacher gave us all the answers. Woot! But then I've got to study for another written test in class on Wednesday. Not excited.

I should stop now because this has nothing to do with mental health anymore...

Manic Rise, Depressive Cries

"Bipolar"

Have I ever mentioned exactly how much I hate that word? That label? It's not natural, and it's sure not descriptive. Well, it is... when the weather changes or if you change your mind. Someone deemed this "politically correct" and suddenly it's not as scary or something? Do you know what the disorder used to be called? "Manic-Depressive." Now, I don't know about you, but I have exactly zero tolerance for political correctness. In fact, I make fun of those who insist on using politically correct terms in common language. So from now on, I have Manic-Depressive Disorder.

Sure it's not as neat and tidy, but exactly what part if the illness is? Best part: It can't be used as a verb by uneducated and just plain ignorant butt holes. "You changed your mind? You're bipolar." Not going to happen with Manic-Depressive. Sure, if mom or dad is angry one minute and happy the next, the ignorant butt holes of the world will still use it, but at least it's a known disorder instead of a legitimate word to describe the weather, the world, or a magnet.

I seriously wish I'd named this blog "Manic Rise, Depressive Cries." But alas, I'm stuck with it the way it is.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

On a different note, I'm still sick. I've been on the steroid for six days now (I think), and the worst it's done has made me depressed. I'm not biting at every little annoyance like I thought I would. Though the loudmouth in class got me to say "shut up" at least fifteen times.

Last night was the absolute worst. I was both physically and emotionally drained. I couldn't see even a flicker of light at the end of this tunnel, but today is much better. Why? Because I took my new best friend, Mr. Decongestant. Remember kids, steroids are downers, and decongestants are uppers. Taken together, you'll be pretty even. Unless I'm just weird and super sensitive to medications...

Being Sick

Well this is fun...

I've been sick for six days now. I thought it was just an allergy attack, but apparently it's a virus. Yay... Best part: it got to my asthma and now I'm coughing up a lung. It started with two days of sore throat, two days of my sinuses congested, then moved on to hacking up a lung every time I coughed.

Since I thought it was just allergies, I took decongestants to keep it from going into a sinus infection. A lot of decongestants. And for those who may not know (like me...), decongestants are very powerful uppers. I was sky high! My heart rate was between 95-100, and I couldn't sleep because I was so manic.

When I finally broke down and saw the doctor, he put me on prednisone. That's a steroid. Do you know what steroids do to normal people? It makes them moody. Can you imagine what it's going to do to me?! I have school! I can't be flying off the handle at every little annoyance! I took my first dose last night, so I guess I'll just wait and see how it affects me.

Before I knew it was a virus, I was around a lot of people. I saw two friends and went to the opera. Yes, the opera. Carmen. It was really good! So now I'm just waiting to see if either of those friends get sick and I pray they don't! I'm not entirely sure exactly how contagious I was with just the sore throat... But the people at the opera were much worse off with me coughing all through the thing.

Prayers and good vibes always welcome! Here's to a quick recovery.

I Failed

Math. Enough said...

So I'm pretty sure I royally failed my math test this week. I couldn't even finish some of the problems because I simply didn't know what I was doing. Best part: I had my notes sitting right next to me. I had gone over the review with a friend of mine who is basically a math teacher the night before and I still had exactly zero ideas of how to do it.

I almost started to cry in class because I was so frustrated. I finished pretty quickly since I couldn't do some of the problems, so I had an entire hour before my next class. That hour was quite possibly the longest hour in history. My failure was on my mind and I was slipping into a deep depression. Paying attention in my next class was just not an option. All I could think about was my epic failure.

Back story: When I was in fourth grade, there were three levels of math class. I was in the highest. I aced both my homework and tests. I missed one problem on one assignment and my crap-tastic teacher dropped me to the lowest class. Not the middle... the  lowest.

This was obviously a huge blow to me and I learned a lesson that day that has stuck with me. I learnt that, if I miss one problem, I have failed. I also learnt that doing homework got me nowhere. After that, I quit doing my work, and in high school, I stopped going to class. I mean, why should I? I was just going to fail anyhow, right?

The actions of this one teacher screwed me up for life. I obviously didn't graduate high school on time, and now I get such an anxiety attack when I have to do math that I hardly understand it. I'm beyond tempted to find her and tell her exactly what she did to me. I hated that teacher anyways, so it would feel good.

Anyhow, I've got an absolutely phenomenal teacher now. He takes extra time if someone doesn't understand something, he's offered to help me one-on-one if I need it, and he's freaking adorable! He's the perfect grandpa.

Here's hoping I pass this class...

Compromise

I can do this.

So I'm ridiculously early for class today. We're talking forty-five minutes. I walk into my classroom and my teacher is sitting at his desk. He asks how I'm doing and all the other niceties, then came the ever dreaded presentation...

I was terrified of what he'd say, so I braced myself, but what he said was actually doable. He said that I could just be up front doing the slides, but to make up for me not talking, I'm to write a one to two page summary of what our presentation was about. That, I can do. I mean, come on. I'm a writer. It's what I do.

So here I am, talking to you lovelies in an empty classroom. I've got math homework that I need to do, but I have exactly zero idea how to do it. Fractions are not my friend. Especially when I'm trying to find x. If anyone is fabulous with algebra and has Skype, I'd love to connect. I feel like I can't keep bugging my friends who have been helping me all semester.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

I've been looking at apartments near my parent's home for when I finally get disability, and I think I've found the perfect place. It won't take up all my income and it's a really nice apartment! I don't want to move too far from my family because I still need that support system, but I mean, come on... I'm almost thirty years old. It's time to move out of my childhood bedroom.

I've always been ridiculously independent. When I was super tiny, my mom tells me this story of when we were hiking. I fell and my mom asked if I wanted her to carry me. My response? "No! My do it!" So to be at this age and still relying on my parents for everything is not cool in my book. It's not fair to them, either. I'm just hoping disability comes through quickly. I've been waiting for over a year already.

I Feel Like Crap

Alrighty then...

So I had a dream last night that there were people staying in my house in some sort of emergency situation. One of these people was Brooke. I tried to punch, kick, grab, and claw her, but nothing I did would hurt her. I woke up feeling completely lost and defeated.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...

Weather sucks. Last night, after it got dark (which also bugs me), it decided to rain. When the barometric pressure drops like that, my depression spirals and it reacts in my body. It's like a total body ache that pain meds won't fix. Crying ensued, and I was up late.

We've all heard of Season Affective Disorder (SAD). I know I suffer from it as the short days and long nights make me depressed. So we can add that to my diagnoses.

I left school early today, halfway through my math class simply because I am so depressed that I can't pay attention. I have exactly zero idea what we were even doing in class. In business class, my team had to read a section and report on it. I read parts and listened to my teammates read parts, but don't ask me what we read because I simply could not pay attention.

OH! I saw my med manager last week and she added yet another diagnosis... Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. Basically, in most women with the disorder, their PMS gets bad and makes them depressed. I, however, don't always get depressed. I've been manic and mixed, as well. When my med manager heard this, she was at a loss. She threatened to write a paper about me since every journal ever written about PDD has mentioned only depression. She gave me a small upper for when I get depressed, and a small downer for when I get manic. She had no idea what to do for the mixed.

Anyway, I should probably get to my homework. I suppose that's the bonus for everything being online. I can get my homework even when I'm not in class.

Diagnosed

So I found out that my teacher read my blog... Awkward...

The result of him reading my blog was different than I would have imagined though. He wasn't upset or offended at the post about him, he was concerned about me because of my post telling y'all how alone I felt.

Bad segue in 3... 2... 1...


I've been pretty open about my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder lately and it's been quite a relief. I mean, yes, there are those who still get all freaked out, but there are also those who understand best they can and are interested in what I have to say. But no matter their reaction, it's a load off my chest and I feel like I can really be open. I mean, I'm not going around just telling people, but when they find out about my blog, they'll ask and I'll answer.

This has sparked a fire in me to be more attentive to my other diagnoses as well. I'm not sure if I've ever told you lovelies about every one of them, but here they are:

1. Bipolar Disorder 1 with rapid cycling
2. Social Phobia
3. Generalised Panic Disorder
4. PTSD

I used to have social anxiety on the list, but that was taken away once the finalised social phobia thing came around.

Anyhow, the more open I am about it, the less ashamed I am by it. I'd encourage everyone to be a little more open with it. We can't end stigmas until people see the real faces of mental illness.  

I'm In Math Class

I should probably  be paying attention to class...

I'm sitting here at school and I just had the inkling to write a post. Basically I wanted to thank everyone who stood up and told me that my blog affects them. I've got friends who aren't even affected by mental illness who read every post. They never "like" it or anything, but they've told me that they like reading my posts.

I even had one stranger on Twitter tell me that my blog is important.

I guess I just feel like nobody really cares because I don't get comments. It's hard, you know, to put your heart and soul into something and get little to no feedback. I guess I'm going to just have to accept that some people are too afraid to comment or simply have nothing to say. Yes, it annoys me that other blogs get hundreds of comments and mine has less than fifty on all my posts combined, but I'll just have to deal with my lovelies who read silently.

Well, not "deal" with you lovelies. I appreciate every single view. Lately I've been getting nearly a thousand views per day. Y'all are going to crack fourteen thousand this month. That's a new record.

I know I say this a lot, but thank you. I would have quit years ago if it weren't for you.

Unaccommodating

How bout no?

So I had my therapist write a letter listing reasonable accommodations at school. It basically says that I'm not to do oral presentations. I can either do a different assignment or do an oral presentation one-on-one with the professor. Reasonable, right? Not according to one of my professors.

I handed him the sheet from the disability coordinators stating these accommodations and he said, and I quote, "you'll be fine." Excuse me?! Do you know me? Do you know what anxiety is? Do you know anything? 

After class, I went straight back to the disability coordinators and told them that this teacher wasn't going to accommodate me. They were less than pleased. They said they'd talk to the professor and remind him that he legally has to accommodate me.

I instantly lost all respect for this man the second he told me I'd be fine. If there's one thing you don't do, it's tell someone with a mental illness that they'll be fine. Do not assume what you do not understand.

As a person with a disability, I am protected under the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA) and I have the right to accommodations at school and work which allow me to succeed. If this professor refuses to accommodate me, he's breaking a law. 

Know your rights in your country. It'll take you far.