Halloween Horrors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Passing Up, Or Passing On?

Backstory:

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

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

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

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

Life Is Good

I’m almost afraid to write this...

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Up Roses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHAT?!?!

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

Umm...

What’s college for, again?

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

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

Example:

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

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

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

I Present: My Life

Every. Single. Time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just give up.

Inconvenient

I hate my life.

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

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

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

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

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

Any advice would be helpful.

Thanks in advance!

Insignificant

Don’t mind me, I’m good on my own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Second Child

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


Second best.

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

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

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

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

——————-

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

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

Second child: “I got a B-.”

Parents: “You need to apply yourself more.”

——————-

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

Parents: “Well you look incredible!”

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

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

———————

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

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

Check out my other blog 

here

New Beginnings

I started a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

Up, Down, Inside Out

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

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

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

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

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

It’s been somewhere around a month of this.

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

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

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

Memorials

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click here for help

No More

0.5-1%

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

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

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


I won't even get in to that.

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

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

Not Built For This

Who can do this?!

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

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

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

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

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

Weak

Seriously... 

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

Flash forward to this morning...

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s hoping I make it home...

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

The Best Medicine

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

My Life, Ladies and Gents

One thing after another...

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

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

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

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

Some Thoughts

This could get random...

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

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

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

Maybe...?

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

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

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

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

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

Aspirations

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

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

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

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

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

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

Explosion Imminent

I’m done holding back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yay...

Fan-freaking-tastic.

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

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

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

WebMD defines Dystonia:

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

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

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

The Narcissist

I’m beyond done.

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

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

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

Things he believes:

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

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

- His opinion is the only one that matters.

- He’s always right. 

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

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

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

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

That’s all, folks.

Unwell

Great...

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

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

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

I got distracted...

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

Here's to a better tomorrow.

Ugh.

I’m so over 2018.

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

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

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

Cranky Pants

Go away.

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

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

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

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

The Struggle Is Real

I’m ready to have this stop now...

First off, Happy New Year! 

Now, to my story...

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

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

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

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

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

Death is Painful

Nobody warned me that my life would be hell.

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

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

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

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

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

You. Out. Now.

I’m so beyond over this...

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

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

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

Prayers, thoughts, and good vibes welcome!

Really?

Are you serious?!

Back story:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing

“I feel nothin.”- Capt. Barbosa

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

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

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

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

What’s In A Name?

Decisions, decisions...

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

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

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

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

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

Medication Conversation

This could get weird...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Hmm...

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.