The waste of time and money
Are people are waste of time and money or are they salvageable?
It's a question you ask yourself everyday as people all around you are spinning out of control and others pretending to help though their whole premise is to make money.
My brother has been drinking for more than two years straight, it can't go on much longer, or it could, but his bi-polar disorder won't let it.
His chemistry will eventually degrade to a point where he can't think and will likely do something to himself or some phantom thoughts he has about the world.
The bi polar chemistry so easily rattled, needing so much vigilance, and when the breakdown occurs and the person finally has the strength to say, "I need help," there is no help.
I'm talking to you Alcoholics anonymous and all the crapola put together by government agencies who could be doing such a great job if they knew how to spend money and use it wisely. But as we know it doesn't happen that way.
Having my own struggle with these prescribed pharmaceuticals which the doctor puts their stamp of approval on, and your out the door, with your pills. You hope you're not in the small percentage who will have side effects or even deadly side effects, or permanent ones, but you take the chance because illness is worse than trying nothing.
Then there's the addicts, alcoholics, and one being my brother whom I love and can't even begin to help. And phone call after phone call i can't find anyone to reach out and find us some help.
It isn't there, he has the wrong insurance, he will have to travel, he has to have a felony, he has to qualify to get help.
I've tried not to get super mad about this, because it's so freaking ridiculous I can't believe it.
What I can't believe is the stupidity which created the safety nets. Big holes in those nets and people are falling through.
Not the people who want to fall through and have even planned out the trip, knowing they have nothing left, feel as though they will not be contributors to the big plan, or can't be counted on to think about anyone but themselves.
These people have a choice to some degree. There are those looking for a choice or an option and that is where we let them down.
My brother is an alcoholic. His drug of choice can be obtained anywhere, the store, the bar, at a party, restaurant, and even your kitchen cabinet.
He said he doesn't understand why he can't stop drinking. My sister and I reassured him he is an alcoholic, and that might have something to do with it.
Where do we go?
I don't know what to do next, I've dialed the phone asked questions, and came up with little or nothing hopeful. Even if my brother could ask for help, where would he go?
I can't find it?
Is it time to think this thru and find a way to actually help and not squander time and money?
He's worth the time, he needs to know he's okay and can live without all the chemicals, which for a bipolar, is never easy.
I'll update as we work on this. Bakersfield AA, I'm about to call you back...
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
they asked why I didn't use the patch or the new pharma nicotine kicking pills
...and I told them it would be rather ridiculous to want to quit something by having to either use the very same chemicals in an expensive rectangular patch, or the gum, or now a pill which alters the chemicals in the brain, thus producing a reduction in the "cravings."
Yeah, whatever. I threw the damn things away and didn't think about them again.
I happen to think that on other levels I am healing myself which are making things come together physically for me right now.
Sometimes there is good news.
I've made it to a level of success I didn't think could happen after three years, I've weighed in at at 106 pounds. I was amazed and elated to say the least when I found out the other day.
After dropping to an all time low of 72 pounds this year after surgery, I couldn't help but think nothing was going to stop this wasting away. Then for a few months I managed to get to 90 pounds where I stayed for half of last year.
But now, I'm at a level I may push on some more: How about 110 pounds, I'm 5'6" I could handle it.
I'm sure I will continue doing the irritating thing I have been doing which is asking everyone who sees me if I "look" like I gained weight. Finally, I feel it.
And as I have been studying, researching, and creating day after day, my brother, from the post above, has managed almost three weeks of sobriety.
I like the good news.
Nobody was feeling bad for him and all we could do was encourage him to use some strength and a little common sense.
He apparently has realized that there's nothing out there that's going to save him from his torment and fear that drives him to drink: so he's going to face it.
I can hear his voice is uncertain, but that will change as he continues to get up each day and serve the world, and not expect the world to serve us.
He has a strong heart and a strong will, and we are all praying that he uses them, because we are not going to be spectators watching someone intentionally hurt themselves.
That's another blog, don't hurt yourself, and you younger bi polar's need to understand this. We are all going to face a world where I hate to give you the bad news, but not everyone is going to like us. Oh, no, it's sad.
In fact if they did, it would be bad and the desire to be liked is a failed endeavour from the start.
It needs to be made clear in the young minds, that nobody is better than you and you in turn are no better than anyone else. By avoiding the struggle of wondering if you're good enough, or even real bad and tough, you keep yourself out of the lie.
You can never be better. And nobody can ever be better than you.
Yes, some can cook better. Children play guitar better than I do, but I enjoy plucking the strings once in a while.
One more thing, this post could be said it's about addiction, as smoking and alcohol are seen to be the adversaries of our story, but it's not them.
It's us. We hide in many ways, just hide your eyes and count to ten, then go find your hiding places.
Update: As this blog has become a personal arena and not well defined, I am taking down some blogs and putting together a whole new set of blogs, which will, if successful turn into one website. But for now these will be for testing.
Currently, the Tales of the Kern River Valley will have a new round of pictures and stories, but there is more to come there.
Since there is this personal element, I will change the dynamic here on bi-polar, and seperate into another blog shortly.
That blog will be more personal to me. And I'll rearrange this blog along with some other bipolar contributors.
But other sites that are coming are just ideas poking out of the clouds as I keep my eyes on the sky, the cloudy and sunny days. Some will be unbelievable, others will make people angry and finally I hope to make people uncomfortable.
My ideas are to meld artistic principles together, the written word, color, texture, sound, silence, music, pictures, art, violence and conflict, disorder. All fun stuff. You will see it soon, it's baking at 450 right now....
Yeah, whatever. I threw the damn things away and didn't think about them again.
I happen to think that on other levels I am healing myself which are making things come together physically for me right now.
Sometimes there is good news.
I've made it to a level of success I didn't think could happen after three years, I've weighed in at at 106 pounds. I was amazed and elated to say the least when I found out the other day.
After dropping to an all time low of 72 pounds this year after surgery, I couldn't help but think nothing was going to stop this wasting away. Then for a few months I managed to get to 90 pounds where I stayed for half of last year.
But now, I'm at a level I may push on some more: How about 110 pounds, I'm 5'6" I could handle it.
I'm sure I will continue doing the irritating thing I have been doing which is asking everyone who sees me if I "look" like I gained weight. Finally, I feel it.
And as I have been studying, researching, and creating day after day, my brother, from the post above, has managed almost three weeks of sobriety.
I like the good news.
Nobody was feeling bad for him and all we could do was encourage him to use some strength and a little common sense.
He apparently has realized that there's nothing out there that's going to save him from his torment and fear that drives him to drink: so he's going to face it.
I can hear his voice is uncertain, but that will change as he continues to get up each day and serve the world, and not expect the world to serve us.
He has a strong heart and a strong will, and we are all praying that he uses them, because we are not going to be spectators watching someone intentionally hurt themselves.
That's another blog, don't hurt yourself, and you younger bi polar's need to understand this. We are all going to face a world where I hate to give you the bad news, but not everyone is going to like us. Oh, no, it's sad.
In fact if they did, it would be bad and the desire to be liked is a failed endeavour from the start.
It needs to be made clear in the young minds, that nobody is better than you and you in turn are no better than anyone else. By avoiding the struggle of wondering if you're good enough, or even real bad and tough, you keep yourself out of the lie.
You can never be better. And nobody can ever be better than you.
Yes, some can cook better. Children play guitar better than I do, but I enjoy plucking the strings once in a while.
One more thing, this post could be said it's about addiction, as smoking and alcohol are seen to be the adversaries of our story, but it's not them.
It's us. We hide in many ways, just hide your eyes and count to ten, then go find your hiding places.
Update: As this blog has become a personal arena and not well defined, I am taking down some blogs and putting together a whole new set of blogs, which will, if successful turn into one website. But for now these will be for testing.
Currently, the Tales of the Kern River Valley will have a new round of pictures and stories, but there is more to come there.
Since there is this personal element, I will change the dynamic here on bi-polar, and seperate into another blog shortly.
That blog will be more personal to me. And I'll rearrange this blog along with some other bipolar contributors.
But other sites that are coming are just ideas poking out of the clouds as I keep my eyes on the sky, the cloudy and sunny days. Some will be unbelievable, others will make people angry and finally I hope to make people uncomfortable.
My ideas are to meld artistic principles together, the written word, color, texture, sound, silence, music, pictures, art, violence and conflict, disorder. All fun stuff. You will see it soon, it's baking at 450 right now....
I don't know what I will do and I don't know what I'm capable of doing...it's serious
Oh what a day in the life of a bi-polar reporter, or just a flawed human being, same thing.
I've felt deep emotions all my life, it's probably part of the chemistry set that came with my brain.
As I've looked over many bi-polar blogs and websites, contacting some, laughing feverishly at others, I realized everyone wants help. They want somebody to tell them what to do. I do what I do and take responsibility for the consequences.
But tonight I reached a point where I may not want to do what I really want to do. Not because of the consequences, but because I have children watching what I'm doing. What I want to do is no example for anyone.
The fight
A good friend of mine is pretty tore up right now, she's giving up, I can feel it.
I started to write a story about what happened with her teenage boys on the Tales of the Kern River Valley, with some fiction, I didn't need much it was over the top.
I didn't finish the story, and I wrote it so that my friend would have a different perspective on what was happening. Guns, teenagers, pregnancy, gangs, all in square block in Lake Isabella, California.
A couple months ago I ended up having to change medication, and a few weeks ago it began to upset my bipolar apple cart. It ended up being thyroid, which is another story. It will take a month or more to correct the imbalance and in the meantime, I have to make decisions.
After trying to do some work yesterday, I went to my friends house where all the teenage drama was taking place. Unlike my teenage drama which could have been fat lips and bloody noses, these were guns and threats from people out of their minds on crack or meth or both, who knows.
A confrontation took place where this neighbor came over and threatened the mother and her son, my friends.
When I got there they told me what happened. So, I sent them all in the house and sat out on my car with a camera and a notebook. I figured we would try to trust the system again, and involve the police, CPS, and the courts for a restraining order.
It seemed like the best example to set for the kids.
I went out late this afternoon and didn't get back until late. When I checked my messages I heard that my friends dog was missing. Dude, the big golden retriever who is pictured on the KRV Pet Corner site.
Then I was told that the mother had overheard the same man who threatened them yesterday, say that the pit bull on the leash he had, killed their dog.
I fucking feel crazy mad right now. No police anymore mutherfuckers. If anything happened to that dog, I'm going to make sure that something very bad happens to them.
I can feel it. Somebody who would hurt a dog is so beyond me that I am willing to do what is necessary to remove this scum from the earth. And sadly it's not a threat, it's a reality.
Tomorrow somebody's life is going to change...or both our lives are going to change. I don't have a gun, nor do I need one. They are going to need all their guns, their pit bull, and anything else they can think of, because if they touched that dog it's going going gone...
You'lll know what happens, if i stop writing...I'm sorry, but this is not acceptable behavior. And the law is a wimp when it comes to animals.
I'm not sure but I've never felt this angry in my life. It's a craziness that has overcome me. So, that dog better be all right, that's all I can say.
Whatever i end up doing, I will be responsible for. But if it's what I think it is, I won't care one fucking bit.
It's going to be another manic Monday...see ya mutherfuckers.
I've felt deep emotions all my life, it's probably part of the chemistry set that came with my brain.
As I've looked over many bi-polar blogs and websites, contacting some, laughing feverishly at others, I realized everyone wants help. They want somebody to tell them what to do. I do what I do and take responsibility for the consequences.
But tonight I reached a point where I may not want to do what I really want to do. Not because of the consequences, but because I have children watching what I'm doing. What I want to do is no example for anyone.
The fight
A good friend of mine is pretty tore up right now, she's giving up, I can feel it.
I started to write a story about what happened with her teenage boys on the Tales of the Kern River Valley, with some fiction, I didn't need much it was over the top.
I didn't finish the story, and I wrote it so that my friend would have a different perspective on what was happening. Guns, teenagers, pregnancy, gangs, all in square block in Lake Isabella, California.
A couple months ago I ended up having to change medication, and a few weeks ago it began to upset my bipolar apple cart. It ended up being thyroid, which is another story. It will take a month or more to correct the imbalance and in the meantime, I have to make decisions.
After trying to do some work yesterday, I went to my friends house where all the teenage drama was taking place. Unlike my teenage drama which could have been fat lips and bloody noses, these were guns and threats from people out of their minds on crack or meth or both, who knows.
A confrontation took place where this neighbor came over and threatened the mother and her son, my friends.
When I got there they told me what happened. So, I sent them all in the house and sat out on my car with a camera and a notebook. I figured we would try to trust the system again, and involve the police, CPS, and the courts for a restraining order.
It seemed like the best example to set for the kids.
I went out late this afternoon and didn't get back until late. When I checked my messages I heard that my friends dog was missing. Dude, the big golden retriever who is pictured on the KRV Pet Corner site.
Then I was told that the mother had overheard the same man who threatened them yesterday, say that the pit bull on the leash he had, killed their dog.
I fucking feel crazy mad right now. No police anymore mutherfuckers. If anything happened to that dog, I'm going to make sure that something very bad happens to them.
I can feel it. Somebody who would hurt a dog is so beyond me that I am willing to do what is necessary to remove this scum from the earth. And sadly it's not a threat, it's a reality.
Tomorrow somebody's life is going to change...or both our lives are going to change. I don't have a gun, nor do I need one. They are going to need all their guns, their pit bull, and anything else they can think of, because if they touched that dog it's going going gone...
You'lll know what happens, if i stop writing...I'm sorry, but this is not acceptable behavior. And the law is a wimp when it comes to animals.
I'm not sure but I've never felt this angry in my life. It's a craziness that has overcome me. So, that dog better be all right, that's all I can say.
Whatever i end up doing, I will be responsible for. But if it's what I think it is, I won't care one fucking bit.
It's going to be another manic Monday...see ya mutherfuckers.
What are we capable of? Many things...
My friend, found her dog, who was taken by someone else and tracked down through several people. It was a good thing too, because both of us had reached a point where we would be dangerous to those who think they have some pseudo power.
Threatening kids and a dog and a single mother. Not on my watch.
And gladly we had the help of a friendly "gang" I have no other way to describe it.
I'm happy to report all the fantasies I had about setting the owner and his dog on fire and watching them run through the house are over. Clearly my friend and I are friends for a reason, because she shared a similar fantasy she had while laying awake worrying about her dog and her life.
If people threaten your life, it is okay to defend yourself. Jesus had that good idea about poking out each other's eyes or something gruesome like that. I'm kidding, but even as a child I didn't care for threats, I was, even then, about warnings.
I give one warning and then it's the choice of the warnee what they do next. They either believe I will do what I said or they don't and get a surprise.
I'm always glad though when I don't have to fight, it's been that way all my life, almost a habit. I didn't tell adults to get drunk and argue with me; that calls for a fight right?
I've lived off adrenaline but will always opt for a peaceful solution given that I feel the circumstances were misunderstood or have changed.
Not only am I a fighter but I'm also a fight breaker, meaning I can pinpoint the problem from the outside, but put me on the inside, and I might get slightly confused and start swinging without thinking.
It seems that my life is either going to get better or to hell with it. I've lived for the last three plus months on medications which have screwed up my chemistry.
And I woke up everyday ready to die in bed, except I always have to feed the parrot, the bird, my keeper. Quoth the macaw, nevermore. That crazy raptor from the other room who keeps me alive. Cusses like a true sailor now and that makes me both proud and uncomfortable.
As I've explained my stupid fucking thyroid is out of whack. I honestly wondered if my rage against the machine would target my former doctor who thought I should have the thyroid killed with radiation. I think of him often as my mind has hit depression and anxiety, two uncomfortable emotions which won't go away.
The company producing the thyroid which gave me one good year, is now out to lunch, and I'm screwed. The second try for help left me in serious shape, sweating and freezing within a nanosecond, pain everywhere, eyesight diminished, and the feeling that things weren't going so well.
What's next? I really can't take much more.
Threatening kids and a dog and a single mother. Not on my watch.
And gladly we had the help of a friendly "gang" I have no other way to describe it.
I'm happy to report all the fantasies I had about setting the owner and his dog on fire and watching them run through the house are over. Clearly my friend and I are friends for a reason, because she shared a similar fantasy she had while laying awake worrying about her dog and her life.
If people threaten your life, it is okay to defend yourself. Jesus had that good idea about poking out each other's eyes or something gruesome like that. I'm kidding, but even as a child I didn't care for threats, I was, even then, about warnings.
I give one warning and then it's the choice of the warnee what they do next. They either believe I will do what I said or they don't and get a surprise.
I'm always glad though when I don't have to fight, it's been that way all my life, almost a habit. I didn't tell adults to get drunk and argue with me; that calls for a fight right?
I've lived off adrenaline but will always opt for a peaceful solution given that I feel the circumstances were misunderstood or have changed.
Not only am I a fighter but I'm also a fight breaker, meaning I can pinpoint the problem from the outside, but put me on the inside, and I might get slightly confused and start swinging without thinking.
It seems that my life is either going to get better or to hell with it. I've lived for the last three plus months on medications which have screwed up my chemistry.
And I woke up everyday ready to die in bed, except I always have to feed the parrot, the bird, my keeper. Quoth the macaw, nevermore. That crazy raptor from the other room who keeps me alive. Cusses like a true sailor now and that makes me both proud and uncomfortable.
As I've explained my stupid fucking thyroid is out of whack. I honestly wondered if my rage against the machine would target my former doctor who thought I should have the thyroid killed with radiation. I think of him often as my mind has hit depression and anxiety, two uncomfortable emotions which won't go away.
The company producing the thyroid which gave me one good year, is now out to lunch, and I'm screwed. The second try for help left me in serious shape, sweating and freezing within a nanosecond, pain everywhere, eyesight diminished, and the feeling that things weren't going so well.
What's next? I really can't take much more.
Where were we? Or where are we...where is me? The big challenge is on...
It's a new week and a set of new challenges. Not because I'm bi-polar but because I'm a freak of nature with health problems misunderstood by assholes like my former, abusive doctor Nadler, I wrote about recently and very openly, on the KVHD under fire blog.
But even in the new situation, my new doctor, things have gone wrong and now I face a challenge which I have to win or lose it all.
I've explained what thyroid levels do to us bi-polar sorts, it really messes with the emotions and the up and downs, depending on which way your thyroid is off, hypo or hyper.
I think I experienced them both, and now we are trying something new which isn't working, but they say it's working because I'm within normal limits.
Mutherfuckers I've never been within normal limits on anything, and if I say it's not right, it's not right. It's subjective, the numbers, and it's that simple.
But if you're me and every medication you take causes a reaction, there are issues doctors have with you. First, that you are taking up too much time for a pittance of money and second, that people tire of looking for their car keys, much less your hidden health problems.
I can't take medication. One medication I mentioned I can't take because of whatever reason is Vicodin. It makes me sick, sweaty, unable to sleep, and irritable.
After a year of pain, migraine headaches, neck and back pain, from the contest I had with a bathtub and my face, I needed to come down from the chronic pain.
I had taken some medication which was effective but wore off shortly after use, you get about two hours and then you're needing to stop the pain again, then again, and it takes up a whole day to pill pop.
So, it was an honest mistake, we changed three medications at once, and did not know which one was causing the problems, the change.
I asked recently if the new pain killer, Methadone, is related somehow to vicodin and was told yes. Well fucking great, I need to get off this shit and fast, which is what I'm doing.
Oh, and let me tell you this hurts so fucking much, I've never felt anything like it. My back, my head, my eyelash, it's horrifying. I'm like a junkie, well, I am a junkie, I'm kicking doctor dope. It's pure, it's fucked and I need to get off now.
The problem is that the medication itself is making me ill, combined with the thyroid, I have to say I've been very suicidal. I look at knives and think of driving a few into my chest or tracking my arteries with a paring knife.
So, I can't live on this stuff anymore, one of these days I'll crack and it will be over.
In an effort to take some sort of action to help myself without more medication, I'm kicking it, is the phrase.
Several weeks ago, I went from thirty milligrams a day to fifteen. It was unpleasant, but I survived.
Today, I took nothing until the pain had me in tears and I couldn't take it anymore and that was nine pm. I only took five milligrams at first. Then the pain diminished, but I cut a pill in four, which would be 2.5 milligrams, thus cutting my dosage in half again.
My sister is worried I will have a heart attack going down this fast, and I reassured her I would kill myself first if I don't get off of this fast.
I can hardly function sometimes, and I write my way thru the pain. Maybe that is my fate is to have to face the daily pain and just write it away. It's not like I have only a little to do, I've got lists to finish, goals to get to, and now a junkie habit to lose so I can do anything at all.
Let's see how much pain I can handle tomorrow. I feel less depressed just because I'm taking some action. In my world, less drugs, the better.
Bi-polars who see psychiatrists are often lab rats who are given all sorts of medications to test on people. Some people want to be medicated and if that is the case then you should. If you would rather be an "unmedicated bi-polar" is what I'm called it takes some time and experience. But when you won't medicate it is not looked at as a successful cognitive functioning bi-polar who has seen the dark side of it, trust me, and walked away on fire to the pool of water. For some reason it's always negative if you don't agree to be medicated.
"Doctor, she's giving us trouble she won't get sedated."
Fuck you.
But even in the new situation, my new doctor, things have gone wrong and now I face a challenge which I have to win or lose it all.
I've explained what thyroid levels do to us bi-polar sorts, it really messes with the emotions and the up and downs, depending on which way your thyroid is off, hypo or hyper.
I think I experienced them both, and now we are trying something new which isn't working, but they say it's working because I'm within normal limits.
Mutherfuckers I've never been within normal limits on anything, and if I say it's not right, it's not right. It's subjective, the numbers, and it's that simple.
But if you're me and every medication you take causes a reaction, there are issues doctors have with you. First, that you are taking up too much time for a pittance of money and second, that people tire of looking for their car keys, much less your hidden health problems.
I can't take medication. One medication I mentioned I can't take because of whatever reason is Vicodin. It makes me sick, sweaty, unable to sleep, and irritable.
After a year of pain, migraine headaches, neck and back pain, from the contest I had with a bathtub and my face, I needed to come down from the chronic pain.
I had taken some medication which was effective but wore off shortly after use, you get about two hours and then you're needing to stop the pain again, then again, and it takes up a whole day to pill pop.
So, it was an honest mistake, we changed three medications at once, and did not know which one was causing the problems, the change.
I asked recently if the new pain killer, Methadone, is related somehow to vicodin and was told yes. Well fucking great, I need to get off this shit and fast, which is what I'm doing.
Oh, and let me tell you this hurts so fucking much, I've never felt anything like it. My back, my head, my eyelash, it's horrifying. I'm like a junkie, well, I am a junkie, I'm kicking doctor dope. It's pure, it's fucked and I need to get off now.
The problem is that the medication itself is making me ill, combined with the thyroid, I have to say I've been very suicidal. I look at knives and think of driving a few into my chest or tracking my arteries with a paring knife.
So, I can't live on this stuff anymore, one of these days I'll crack and it will be over.
In an effort to take some sort of action to help myself without more medication, I'm kicking it, is the phrase.
Several weeks ago, I went from thirty milligrams a day to fifteen. It was unpleasant, but I survived.
Today, I took nothing until the pain had me in tears and I couldn't take it anymore and that was nine pm. I only took five milligrams at first. Then the pain diminished, but I cut a pill in four, which would be 2.5 milligrams, thus cutting my dosage in half again.
My sister is worried I will have a heart attack going down this fast, and I reassured her I would kill myself first if I don't get off of this fast.
I can hardly function sometimes, and I write my way thru the pain. Maybe that is my fate is to have to face the daily pain and just write it away. It's not like I have only a little to do, I've got lists to finish, goals to get to, and now a junkie habit to lose so I can do anything at all.
Let's see how much pain I can handle tomorrow. I feel less depressed just because I'm taking some action. In my world, less drugs, the better.
Bi-polars who see psychiatrists are often lab rats who are given all sorts of medications to test on people. Some people want to be medicated and if that is the case then you should. If you would rather be an "unmedicated bi-polar" is what I'm called it takes some time and experience. But when you won't medicate it is not looked at as a successful cognitive functioning bi-polar who has seen the dark side of it, trust me, and walked away on fire to the pool of water. For some reason it's always negative if you don't agree to be medicated.
"Doctor, she's giving us trouble she won't get sedated."
Fuck you.
bi-polar days we wonder if we can survive...
As I said in my last post, I'm now attempting to kick Doctor dope, methadone which I began four months ago. The said part is that my ability to tolerate any medications is getting worse and worse. If there's a side effect to be had, I'll have it.
The worst part is my thyroid and what it can do to me, mentally and emotionally. These days I am having a difficult time talking to anyone. I don't desire conversation.
But it's the combination I know of having a low thyroid levels, my pain levels are way up, and my ability to carry out many tasks is limited. I know I have to give up a couple weeks to get off the methadone, but on the other hand, I'm a polar and we don't like to wait. So, I've kept it down to the lowest dose and until the pain and discomfort brings on tears.
Then I have no choice but to feed my body a medication it needs. They say quitting smoking is like kicking opiates, I just quit smoking around x-mas, and it wasn't this bad. So, I don't know if you have any real comparison to make.
Smoking is will power. So, is this I guess too.
The game I'm playing with myself is that it doesn't matter anymore whether or not I like it, I'm in the middle of someplace I don't want to be. I don't want to open my eyes in the morning and dread the day. Dread the feeling of being completely and hopelessly lost and miserable.
Friends who are missing and calling me, don't. I don't want to hear from anyone until I can put this negative situation behind me or die from it. I've had to endure too much in the last few years and this is just not what I wanted to happen.
When the news came in that my thyroid medication was being discontinued I could feel the cold chill, trust me. I knew that the stupidest fucking thing they did to me was to take my thyroid. "We can control it easier from the other side."
I hear that over and over as the morbid depression has it's icy fucking claws around me. My doctor was so wrong, I was not knowledgable enough to counter that claim. Now I know.
I'm the person who can't take the synthetic thyroid without getting low t3 and t4 numbers, which are the levels that count. And the depression is beyond me, I haven't felt this since...never. I've never had to actually keep myself alive mentally as my mind wanders to only the final sleep, which I know will be boring.
I actually have to remind myself that death is boring.
This is why the bipolars have to stay away from doctors to survive. Your first steroid episode may be your last when you kill somebody as your chemistry gets out of cognitive control.
I've known something is wrong with me for months, but it took that long to convince my doctor there is something off. It was the thyroid, but it's also this methadone and then there was the lupus medication.
Yes, most people can keep their lupus under control with steroids and Plaquenil, and some pain management.
That's not going to be me. I'm going to have to accept my fate, that I'm screwed. Or blessed who the hell knows.
But for now, it's a day to day, minute to minute thing, and I keep writing. Focusing away from the distress is the desired effect, and we will see what happens. I do seem to get alot done though. Funny enough. Hilarious.
So, it's going to be a couple more weeks before I can drop off the dose and see what happens. And then it will be about the thyroid. I've got an idea, it's not going to be doctor accepted I'm sure, but I've got a plan. If I can make it through this then I can make it thru anything I'm sure.
If this is not the end of me, then I'm meant to go on and do "grandiose" things, or more so than before. We will see...
The worst part is my thyroid and what it can do to me, mentally and emotionally. These days I am having a difficult time talking to anyone. I don't desire conversation.
But it's the combination I know of having a low thyroid levels, my pain levels are way up, and my ability to carry out many tasks is limited. I know I have to give up a couple weeks to get off the methadone, but on the other hand, I'm a polar and we don't like to wait. So, I've kept it down to the lowest dose and until the pain and discomfort brings on tears.
Then I have no choice but to feed my body a medication it needs. They say quitting smoking is like kicking opiates, I just quit smoking around x-mas, and it wasn't this bad. So, I don't know if you have any real comparison to make.
Smoking is will power. So, is this I guess too.
The game I'm playing with myself is that it doesn't matter anymore whether or not I like it, I'm in the middle of someplace I don't want to be. I don't want to open my eyes in the morning and dread the day. Dread the feeling of being completely and hopelessly lost and miserable.
Friends who are missing and calling me, don't. I don't want to hear from anyone until I can put this negative situation behind me or die from it. I've had to endure too much in the last few years and this is just not what I wanted to happen.
When the news came in that my thyroid medication was being discontinued I could feel the cold chill, trust me. I knew that the stupidest fucking thing they did to me was to take my thyroid. "We can control it easier from the other side."
I hear that over and over as the morbid depression has it's icy fucking claws around me. My doctor was so wrong, I was not knowledgable enough to counter that claim. Now I know.
I'm the person who can't take the synthetic thyroid without getting low t3 and t4 numbers, which are the levels that count. And the depression is beyond me, I haven't felt this since...never. I've never had to actually keep myself alive mentally as my mind wanders to only the final sleep, which I know will be boring.
I actually have to remind myself that death is boring.
This is why the bipolars have to stay away from doctors to survive. Your first steroid episode may be your last when you kill somebody as your chemistry gets out of cognitive control.
I've known something is wrong with me for months, but it took that long to convince my doctor there is something off. It was the thyroid, but it's also this methadone and then there was the lupus medication.
Yes, most people can keep their lupus under control with steroids and Plaquenil, and some pain management.
That's not going to be me. I'm going to have to accept my fate, that I'm screwed. Or blessed who the hell knows.
But for now, it's a day to day, minute to minute thing, and I keep writing. Focusing away from the distress is the desired effect, and we will see what happens. I do seem to get alot done though. Funny enough. Hilarious.
So, it's going to be a couple more weeks before I can drop off the dose and see what happens. And then it will be about the thyroid. I've got an idea, it's not going to be doctor accepted I'm sure, but I've got a plan. If I can make it through this then I can make it thru anything I'm sure.
If this is not the end of me, then I'm meant to go on and do "grandiose" things, or more so than before. We will see...
Doctor drugs, kicking the doctor dope, you don't have to take all prescriptions...
I have had some sign of improvement of my symptoms regarding the pain killer I was prescribed and am now scrambling off of as fast as I can, Methadone.
I knew nothing about this medication and never should have taken it. It's one of the opiates, but the artificial kind, where scientists play with the molecular structure trying to improve or change the drug for a specific purpose.
The withdrawl is odd and strange, but just using it causes some symptoms for me.
I feel like I'm being tested by the universe right now. Can I handle another round of this shit? Not really.
But I'm more prepared now to do it, as I don't intend to watch my health slip again, they are going to help me whether they like it or not.
KVHD is going to do what I need done. We have a meeting coming up and I told them they are going to help me get my health back, they health they took.
I'm doing my fucking part, I'm holding ground with the heaviest drugs I've ever been given. How long these symptoms last will tell the tale. I can only go so far with this morbid depression.
It would be cruel to make someone live with this type of chemical let down, hormones all scrambled, just trying to keep my head above water everyday for months.
I finally could talk in the last day, and told my friends that I've been lying to them, trying to play it off, but I can hear the cracking of the plaster walls. It's caused by the thyroid and the pain killer, so it's a double whammy, and I'm surprised I made it this far.
But instead of suffering, I'm going to insist that I'm getting what I need, which is less medicine and more "new" "fresh" ideas to work with. I don't want the old prescription pad treatment. I want things that may have "off label" uses.
Speaking of off label uses, I have to find the article which says that Abbot Laboratories was suggesting to doctors and nursing homes to use Depakote, off label, on geriatric patients. It will be an interesting blog for KVHD under fire as it could clear a doctor and a director of nursing.
I get so angry that I can't work longer and hope to hell with a huge push, I will get what I need to carry on the work.
I want to leave a legacy to the KRV they won't forget, and a small business some friends and young and aspiring people can use. Then there's books being pushed out like kittens.
It's the research that takes the time, though I do love it. And I have to decide how and who will be the next to deal with this bipolar reporter.
But first, I have to get help, I'm too fucked up to get done what I want and what I am committed to at this point. The frustration is incredible, but yet, I Just keep going.
Tomorrow another day. I pray that it is better than today...
I knew nothing about this medication and never should have taken it. It's one of the opiates, but the artificial kind, where scientists play with the molecular structure trying to improve or change the drug for a specific purpose.
The withdrawl is odd and strange, but just using it causes some symptoms for me.
I feel like I'm being tested by the universe right now. Can I handle another round of this shit? Not really.
But I'm more prepared now to do it, as I don't intend to watch my health slip again, they are going to help me whether they like it or not.
KVHD is going to do what I need done. We have a meeting coming up and I told them they are going to help me get my health back, they health they took.
I'm doing my fucking part, I'm holding ground with the heaviest drugs I've ever been given. How long these symptoms last will tell the tale. I can only go so far with this morbid depression.
It would be cruel to make someone live with this type of chemical let down, hormones all scrambled, just trying to keep my head above water everyday for months.
I finally could talk in the last day, and told my friends that I've been lying to them, trying to play it off, but I can hear the cracking of the plaster walls. It's caused by the thyroid and the pain killer, so it's a double whammy, and I'm surprised I made it this far.
But instead of suffering, I'm going to insist that I'm getting what I need, which is less medicine and more "new" "fresh" ideas to work with. I don't want the old prescription pad treatment. I want things that may have "off label" uses.
Speaking of off label uses, I have to find the article which says that Abbot Laboratories was suggesting to doctors and nursing homes to use Depakote, off label, on geriatric patients. It will be an interesting blog for KVHD under fire as it could clear a doctor and a director of nursing.
I get so angry that I can't work longer and hope to hell with a huge push, I will get what I need to carry on the work.
I want to leave a legacy to the KRV they won't forget, and a small business some friends and young and aspiring people can use. Then there's books being pushed out like kittens.
It's the research that takes the time, though I do love it. And I have to decide how and who will be the next to deal with this bipolar reporter.
But first, I have to get help, I'm too fucked up to get done what I want and what I am committed to at this point. The frustration is incredible, but yet, I Just keep going.
Tomorrow another day. I pray that it is better than today...
is it an upswing, I sure hope so...
A week ago I could hardly speak, my mind had drifted off into the land of the lost. My condition had deteriorated to that point and it was quite unpleasant to say the least.
My chemistry again my nemesis and finally today, I felt a fog lift, only to see to my horror, that there is trouble everywhere. I'm surrounded. But I saw something else too.
The day was a strange one as I came out of my stupor. I feel a little like I've been gone for a time. I also sense that I had some issues to deal with that manifested into my health. (that's another blog. How my thinking, and I suppose it would be safe to say everyone's thinking, and our self perception creates illness and or health)
After speaking with my doctor who told me the endocrine system is responsible for all my hormones basically, and that it could take months to straighten out the thyroid while stopping the methadone painkillers.
But you know he didn't say it ominously, he said that rather matter of factly, which disturbs me a bit.
Only in the sense that my life has become a series of rounds of trying to catch myself before I fall, as my chemistry launches itself all over the place.
However, what he said was so non-judgmental and just the new facts of my life, I could hardly be saddened or angry for that matter.
So many others have used this against me, which is a theme I am exploring in the third book of the Chronicles of the bi-polar Reporter. I have to get this book done and I hope this upswing takes hold so I can begin to speed up my work. And clean it up too.
But today the other thing I saw is my destiny, it's not far away the mark I wanted to make, the goal to conquer. What I mean by that are the defining moments in our lives, the ones that make it real and special.
If we continue to define ourselves or describe ourselves by all the slights we have suffered in our lives, we will continue to be the little toe on the end of the foot all twisted and it keeps getting caught on the furniture. Ouch.
This is a special day and it defines me. Click. Save.
Even the struggle of the chemistry, the bipolar, the dark depression, are important aspects as much I realize the night is as important as the day. Different, but equally important.
A couple months ago I said something harsh to a friend of mine which made her cry. I didn't know at the time that it had effected her like that. I was just made aware of this today.
I offered no excuses for my behavior, as I'm the responsible one. But out of this sharp remark, the pain, the apology, has come the most amazing thing, everyone will soon hear about. Just not yet. And an amazing person doing amazing things which stokes my fire that I can get back up and follow my path, bi-polar or whatever.
And the last several months of being twisted from the medication changes were so strong that I was not sure I would live and could not even project myself into the future. Death and I guess serious lethargy got in the way of my visions.
I saw it today, the day I woke up. I've been sleep walking for a while, not realizing it. I'm awake now and I guess I follow the path to see where it goes...
My chemistry again my nemesis and finally today, I felt a fog lift, only to see to my horror, that there is trouble everywhere. I'm surrounded. But I saw something else too.
The day was a strange one as I came out of my stupor. I feel a little like I've been gone for a time. I also sense that I had some issues to deal with that manifested into my health. (that's another blog. How my thinking, and I suppose it would be safe to say everyone's thinking, and our self perception creates illness and or health)
After speaking with my doctor who told me the endocrine system is responsible for all my hormones basically, and that it could take months to straighten out the thyroid while stopping the methadone painkillers.
But you know he didn't say it ominously, he said that rather matter of factly, which disturbs me a bit.
Only in the sense that my life has become a series of rounds of trying to catch myself before I fall, as my chemistry launches itself all over the place.
However, what he said was so non-judgmental and just the new facts of my life, I could hardly be saddened or angry for that matter.
So many others have used this against me, which is a theme I am exploring in the third book of the Chronicles of the bi-polar Reporter. I have to get this book done and I hope this upswing takes hold so I can begin to speed up my work. And clean it up too.
But today the other thing I saw is my destiny, it's not far away the mark I wanted to make, the goal to conquer. What I mean by that are the defining moments in our lives, the ones that make it real and special.
If we continue to define ourselves or describe ourselves by all the slights we have suffered in our lives, we will continue to be the little toe on the end of the foot all twisted and it keeps getting caught on the furniture. Ouch.
This is a special day and it defines me. Click. Save.
Even the struggle of the chemistry, the bipolar, the dark depression, are important aspects as much I realize the night is as important as the day. Different, but equally important.
A couple months ago I said something harsh to a friend of mine which made her cry. I didn't know at the time that it had effected her like that. I was just made aware of this today.
I offered no excuses for my behavior, as I'm the responsible one. But out of this sharp remark, the pain, the apology, has come the most amazing thing, everyone will soon hear about. Just not yet. And an amazing person doing amazing things which stokes my fire that I can get back up and follow my path, bi-polar or whatever.
And the last several months of being twisted from the medication changes were so strong that I was not sure I would live and could not even project myself into the future. Death and I guess serious lethargy got in the way of my visions.
I saw it today, the day I woke up. I've been sleep walking for a while, not realizing it. I'm awake now and I guess I follow the path to see where it goes...
If only it would go away completely...there's much to do
I have an appointment next week with a doctor and a CEO, who I'm sure will love to have to collect all my records from 2003 to 2009 so we can discuss the health situation I am in.
Sometimes I find myself mumbling, "give me my thyroid back" and I catch myself knowing there's nothing I can do about it now.
Except, there is something I can do and that is make them figure this out for me. I can't take the synthetic or compounded thyroid supplement,and it has caused some of the worst depression I've had to deal with.
Admittedly, there's still the withdrawl from the pain killers for my neck and the overall pain break outs, but I know there is something wrong.
It's not going to be pretty next week, and I'm sure they know. But there is plenty they don't know which will make this even more interesting.
There has been a change in my life and I wish my health would catch up with it, but it's not exactly that simple. I pray to the creator daily asking for help and direction. I watch for the signals and they are always there. It's just that there is more to do than I feel I can get done. But i don't stop, and nobody should.
If you are on a path, the one with heart, according to Castaneda, it's always a good path. I know that now, though my progress has been slowed, and my lessons are pretty tough and very painful, there is little outside influence which can stop me.
But the inner workings, the body chemistry being so susceptible to being thrown off, I worry sometimes. And then there's a thing called depression.
Depression is like gangrene, it eats at good flesh killing it with it's negativity. I've had to watch my mind throw all sorts of things in the road at me. Why I kept asking would I want to harm myself?
I realize I'm not perfect, nor would I want to try to be. I know I'm just a beginner in life, learning to follow my heart and certainty. So far, I like the results.
What?
Yeah, I've taken it step by step all thru my life, being hit each step of the way. I am assuming that in some way I picked up the negative feelings of my family and others which I internalized into my own thinking: I'm not worthy.
We all have to feel worthy. As I've worked with different people different ages on creative projects, I've seen people who cannot even show you their work or anyone else. They hate everything about their work and themselves.
With my short fuse I'm not the greatest teacher, a much better doer, but I have seen how my attitude effects them.
Some have no problems with some criticism, while others have moved from the valley based on what I've said about their work.
They can't write as fast as me, they can't think of topics, they have one excuse after another to get things written. And when i see their disappointment in themselves, I do understand.
I have those same feelings, but I keep pushing past them as I know where I want to go.
But when I get the weight of my insecurity, my depression, my dislike for what I could of should of done in my life, I struggle. People around me get nervous that I may harm myself. But they also see that I am driven, and won't stop. I can't let anything or anyone get in my way at this juncture, so I don't.
It has caused some pain, but my friends are not out of touch with who I am. I'm their friend and they can count on me, whether or not they agree with me, or agree with my attitude. What i do is for us all though, not simply for me. It's the work I enjoy, it's outrunning fear to finish a goal, and it's about learning to enjoy the journey.
If it doesn't come to you at once, don't worry, keep your eyes set on what you want and it will happen. Creativity is an exercise, keep writing, painting, drawing, imagining, and you will draw the poison that stopped you from stretching out your life, and fill your heart with clean, pure, thoughts to transfer into magic.
Depression is not a struggle or you lose. I've been watching it ooze out my pours as each day has brought me a new lesson. I don't believe in negativity, it's not necessary for any of us.
Writers and artists are wonderfully sensitive, funny, people, and I thank everyone for their input, their pats on the back, and mostly for hanging with me. Now, let's get going here, it's getting fun....
Sometimes I find myself mumbling, "give me my thyroid back" and I catch myself knowing there's nothing I can do about it now.
Except, there is something I can do and that is make them figure this out for me. I can't take the synthetic or compounded thyroid supplement,and it has caused some of the worst depression I've had to deal with.
Admittedly, there's still the withdrawl from the pain killers for my neck and the overall pain break outs, but I know there is something wrong.
It's not going to be pretty next week, and I'm sure they know. But there is plenty they don't know which will make this even more interesting.
There has been a change in my life and I wish my health would catch up with it, but it's not exactly that simple. I pray to the creator daily asking for help and direction. I watch for the signals and they are always there. It's just that there is more to do than I feel I can get done. But i don't stop, and nobody should.
If you are on a path, the one with heart, according to Castaneda, it's always a good path. I know that now, though my progress has been slowed, and my lessons are pretty tough and very painful, there is little outside influence which can stop me.
But the inner workings, the body chemistry being so susceptible to being thrown off, I worry sometimes. And then there's a thing called depression.
Depression is like gangrene, it eats at good flesh killing it with it's negativity. I've had to watch my mind throw all sorts of things in the road at me. Why I kept asking would I want to harm myself?
I realize I'm not perfect, nor would I want to try to be. I know I'm just a beginner in life, learning to follow my heart and certainty. So far, I like the results.
What?
Yeah, I've taken it step by step all thru my life, being hit each step of the way. I am assuming that in some way I picked up the negative feelings of my family and others which I internalized into my own thinking: I'm not worthy.
We all have to feel worthy. As I've worked with different people different ages on creative projects, I've seen people who cannot even show you their work or anyone else. They hate everything about their work and themselves.
With my short fuse I'm not the greatest teacher, a much better doer, but I have seen how my attitude effects them.
Some have no problems with some criticism, while others have moved from the valley based on what I've said about their work.
They can't write as fast as me, they can't think of topics, they have one excuse after another to get things written. And when i see their disappointment in themselves, I do understand.
I have those same feelings, but I keep pushing past them as I know where I want to go.
But when I get the weight of my insecurity, my depression, my dislike for what I could of should of done in my life, I struggle. People around me get nervous that I may harm myself. But they also see that I am driven, and won't stop. I can't let anything or anyone get in my way at this juncture, so I don't.
It has caused some pain, but my friends are not out of touch with who I am. I'm their friend and they can count on me, whether or not they agree with me, or agree with my attitude. What i do is for us all though, not simply for me. It's the work I enjoy, it's outrunning fear to finish a goal, and it's about learning to enjoy the journey.
If it doesn't come to you at once, don't worry, keep your eyes set on what you want and it will happen. Creativity is an exercise, keep writing, painting, drawing, imagining, and you will draw the poison that stopped you from stretching out your life, and fill your heart with clean, pure, thoughts to transfer into magic.
Depression is not a struggle or you lose. I've been watching it ooze out my pours as each day has brought me a new lesson. I don't believe in negativity, it's not necessary for any of us.
Writers and artists are wonderfully sensitive, funny, people, and I thank everyone for their input, their pats on the back, and mostly for hanging with me. Now, let's get going here, it's getting fun....
The unbearableness of it all, I feel a sudden compassion
I'm not sure how I feel about my current doctor at this point. It's such precision work, you don't do or say anything lightly in the healing business. He told me I could just drop down off my methadone prescribed pain killer, I've been on for several months.
How wrong he was.
Part of me would really like to say try out these prescriptions before you write them, and then follow your own advice. If it works out good, then you would almost have to assume that your directions are bound by experience or at least real in some way, rather than just trying to find something or anything to say.
Friday morning less than 36 hours of my last dose of, be it small, I woke up in the most incredible situation. I was curled in a ball, pain in my back, nerve endings felt like they were exposed to wind and sand, I was out there too, didn't know I would be facing something like this.
I simply needed to know for two fucking days, getting this doctor dope out of my system, so I could find out if it was the methadone causing the morbid depression.
Indeed, after shifting down pretty low with only a few early side effects, constant headache with light sensitivity, strange pains popping up everywhere inexplicably. But I could handle it, not being very nice, arguing with people. And the dog is still mad. Though I think he finally figured something out, listen to me, look at me, and we won't have these communication issues.
I don't and never have liked to have to walk my dog on a leash. I would prefer a dog that understood, like my dog Doller Bill. She was incredible even if she didn't start off that way. Then I realized she was reading me, listening and watching, and she did the training, I did nothing but look at her and make some suggestions.
She was one of the smartest dogs who ever lived. Her only problem was getting car sick, or she would have been exposed to many more things in her dog life.
My animals keep teaching me things. Walter the boxer pissed me off last week, he thinks he owns the yard, like there's a yard that is his and it's my house. I don't know if should put my urine all over the yard. That might be funny to see how he would react.
But anyway, I got really, really mad, the kind that makes dark clouds suddenly appear above. Walter wouldn't listen no matter what I said and I kept getting more angry. Finally, I picked up a rock threw it and it missed. I was pretty certain this dog would bend to my will or pay. I picked up the second rock, and the former sure shot I was pegged him in the side of the head.
After two hours I kept him outside blocked even from the deck. I sat in the house worried if I had hurt him.
At first I said, well he should have listened. Then I realized I couldn't even watch TV without wondering.
He finally came to the door, unsure whether to come in, and I wasn't sure I was able to control myself yet. He came in and I looked at his head, he had a knot. I took out the ice pack and made him lay down and treated his head.
I thought all that just to make my dog bend to my orders.
Somehow it didn't seem right.
Or it was irrelevant in some way.
He's been really attentive since the incident, watching my every move. I've been watching him understand things that most dogs don't get. He's like Doller Bill, she studied not just me, but the cat behavior and the other dogs.
Then there was the dog I lost that I have not completely recovered from, JR. Rotten was another smart dog, sensitive and funny.
The night I threw the rock and hit Walter I was feeling bad about myself, but tried to get some work done on the computer. There was a picture of Rotten looking oh too cute and I enlarged it to look at him, his tiny brown eyes.
I had not been able to look at his picture, I felt like I let him down, and wasn't grieving the loss properly. So for an hour I cried and talked to him. I told him I was bummed not to have seen him grow up and mature. I kept hearing myself blame myself for his death. I should have done this and you would still be alive.
Acceptance is one of those things you have to what, just fucking accept. Let it be what it is. Maybe I did make mistakes. I wish to hell I hadn't, but whatever the situation I have to accept I fuck up all the time, and focusing on that isn't going to do anything good for me.
I would rather be able to think about JR then to suppress my thoughts about him because I feel bad.
I'm also not helping myself by wishing I had more time with him, Scooter decides that one. I'm not that powerful. So, why would I continue to feel so bad?
Walter is also not all that wild about other dogs these days. I mean he has lots of dog friends he visits and plays with, but I notice it's not the same for him, when he had his own dog.
I feel bad that I screwed up Walter's situation too.
Then after an hour of feeling like a terrible person, the JR tells me to leave it alone and quit hurting myself over it. Quit feeling like I have that kind of control over anything.
What do I have control of only how I feel. It wasn't a loss at all, it was win win. Walter and I had a great time and we are both the kind of piss ants who wanted good stuff to continue. There's nothing wrong with that.
I felt better after having talked my own issues out with my dead dog. Now I know he is always there and so am I.
There was sure a lot of activity out of the corner of my eyes that night, things were moving around a lot. Maybe set free.
My time is being spent trying to break free of the things that do not serve me in a positive way. This I learned from being horribly depressed from prescribed medications. I don't ever remember a more challenging time, maybe one, in my life, where the only thoughts were horrible, ugly thoughts.
I could hide them sometimes, but they were beginning to permeate all my actions.
But I learned, the hard way. I thought it was me, then somehow I knew it was the medications, then I knew I had to save my sanity, once again.
The drugs they have handed me not knowing what they would do to me. I'm just a problem in that I don't want their fucking drugs, but it is seemingly all they have.
Methadone I was told was a superior pain reliever, with a 12 hour therapeutic time frame, and it wasn't as addictive as the other opiates. It was synthetic but what isn't?
I began taking it not knowing anything about it.
Tonight, sitting here, waiting for the scary pains to start again, the legs to want to walk, walk the hell out of the pain is my assumption.
I want off this because I reached a point where I was believing what my depression was saying to me. Die you fuck up, die.
My reactions were anger,, I obviously had some issue with my dog. My bird is the telltale sign. She yelled at me one night, when I was yelling. She is notably louder and won. The word she was yelling was, "relax."
When I gave up and listened, I realized she was right.
Now, tonight, I'll try again to take the tiniest amount to ward off the full withdrawl.
It's unreal, my life. That's why that depression is tricky, because I've been through so much, it's hard not to believe it's dark, unforgiving message.
I have to manually turn the station to something more upbeat.
My sister freaked out that I was going to come off this medication myself, and we haven't talked for a month.
She wanted me to go into the hospital, she said I didn't know what I was getting myself into...and she's right.
My doctor didn't know or did, I will deal with that later, as I'm hoping to hold off just long enough, before the pain is unbearable.
I suddenly thought of those junkies out there, with their needles or their oxycontin, what stupidity.
Personally, I haven't seen what they are looking for as far as pleasure. My chemistry doesn't do opiates. I get more "high" of coffee or marijuana.
Quitting smoking is not like heroin, fuck them. I quit and suddenly am now having cravings again. So, I took a few inhalations, and it was so gross I couldn't stand it. That seems to be over.
But these junkies who get caught on these drugs, there lives are ruined trying to avoid what I'm currently trying to find the other side of.
I feel bad and people need to be warned, it's a job, not a drug. Keeping yourself on enough to avoid physical reaction, withdrawl.
Afghanistan is pumping out opium and we are probably buying it, and the rest is "chemical restraining" the mid east and our enemies.
When I woke up this morning, I cried for a long time. I didn't want to have to take more of the methadone. I cut a fragment and chewed the little thing waiting to see if it would stop.
Then another hour passed, and nothing changed. Pain was there, I tried Ibuprofen and ativan with it. Nothing.
It's the devil.
I'm strong willed but this has taken possession of my body.
I'll know more soon. I'm hoping to take the dose before the pain gets to strong, but then sometimes its sudden.
Was at 10 milligrams, now under 2 milligrams in three days.
My chest hurts sometimes, and I think that my sister isn't talking to me because she has it her mind I will have a heart attack coming down too fast.
30 to 2 in I guess six weeks.
I don't know what the rate is as I did with my Ativan which I'm sure I'll never be rid of. I may get down to a low dose, but I think the shit has bonded with my DNA.
In between all of this drama, is work that needs to get done. I don't have time to deal with this, but I don't have the ability not to either.
So, much has happened, and now I'm a junkie, trying to get off my doctor dope, and my doctor was a dope when he prescribed it.
But funny enough I still believe or make believe, that everything happens for a reason. I pray everyday for not only me and my mistake ridden life, but for those good people who don't even realize it.
I'm hoping to progress, to make it out of this darkness, to learn all that I can, so I don't have to repeat this particular life experience.
It's hard being held back so many grades in life.
How wrong he was.
Part of me would really like to say try out these prescriptions before you write them, and then follow your own advice. If it works out good, then you would almost have to assume that your directions are bound by experience or at least real in some way, rather than just trying to find something or anything to say.
Friday morning less than 36 hours of my last dose of, be it small, I woke up in the most incredible situation. I was curled in a ball, pain in my back, nerve endings felt like they were exposed to wind and sand, I was out there too, didn't know I would be facing something like this.
I simply needed to know for two fucking days, getting this doctor dope out of my system, so I could find out if it was the methadone causing the morbid depression.
Indeed, after shifting down pretty low with only a few early side effects, constant headache with light sensitivity, strange pains popping up everywhere inexplicably. But I could handle it, not being very nice, arguing with people. And the dog is still mad. Though I think he finally figured something out, listen to me, look at me, and we won't have these communication issues.
I don't and never have liked to have to walk my dog on a leash. I would prefer a dog that understood, like my dog Doller Bill. She was incredible even if she didn't start off that way. Then I realized she was reading me, listening and watching, and she did the training, I did nothing but look at her and make some suggestions.
She was one of the smartest dogs who ever lived. Her only problem was getting car sick, or she would have been exposed to many more things in her dog life.
My animals keep teaching me things. Walter the boxer pissed me off last week, he thinks he owns the yard, like there's a yard that is his and it's my house. I don't know if should put my urine all over the yard. That might be funny to see how he would react.
But anyway, I got really, really mad, the kind that makes dark clouds suddenly appear above. Walter wouldn't listen no matter what I said and I kept getting more angry. Finally, I picked up a rock threw it and it missed. I was pretty certain this dog would bend to my will or pay. I picked up the second rock, and the former sure shot I was pegged him in the side of the head.
After two hours I kept him outside blocked even from the deck. I sat in the house worried if I had hurt him.
At first I said, well he should have listened. Then I realized I couldn't even watch TV without wondering.
He finally came to the door, unsure whether to come in, and I wasn't sure I was able to control myself yet. He came in and I looked at his head, he had a knot. I took out the ice pack and made him lay down and treated his head.
I thought all that just to make my dog bend to my orders.
Somehow it didn't seem right.
Or it was irrelevant in some way.
He's been really attentive since the incident, watching my every move. I've been watching him understand things that most dogs don't get. He's like Doller Bill, she studied not just me, but the cat behavior and the other dogs.
Then there was the dog I lost that I have not completely recovered from, JR. Rotten was another smart dog, sensitive and funny.
The night I threw the rock and hit Walter I was feeling bad about myself, but tried to get some work done on the computer. There was a picture of Rotten looking oh too cute and I enlarged it to look at him, his tiny brown eyes.
I had not been able to look at his picture, I felt like I let him down, and wasn't grieving the loss properly. So for an hour I cried and talked to him. I told him I was bummed not to have seen him grow up and mature. I kept hearing myself blame myself for his death. I should have done this and you would still be alive.
Acceptance is one of those things you have to what, just fucking accept. Let it be what it is. Maybe I did make mistakes. I wish to hell I hadn't, but whatever the situation I have to accept I fuck up all the time, and focusing on that isn't going to do anything good for me.
I would rather be able to think about JR then to suppress my thoughts about him because I feel bad.
I'm also not helping myself by wishing I had more time with him, Scooter decides that one. I'm not that powerful. So, why would I continue to feel so bad?
Walter is also not all that wild about other dogs these days. I mean he has lots of dog friends he visits and plays with, but I notice it's not the same for him, when he had his own dog.
I feel bad that I screwed up Walter's situation too.
Then after an hour of feeling like a terrible person, the JR tells me to leave it alone and quit hurting myself over it. Quit feeling like I have that kind of control over anything.
What do I have control of only how I feel. It wasn't a loss at all, it was win win. Walter and I had a great time and we are both the kind of piss ants who wanted good stuff to continue. There's nothing wrong with that.
I felt better after having talked my own issues out with my dead dog. Now I know he is always there and so am I.
There was sure a lot of activity out of the corner of my eyes that night, things were moving around a lot. Maybe set free.
My time is being spent trying to break free of the things that do not serve me in a positive way. This I learned from being horribly depressed from prescribed medications. I don't ever remember a more challenging time, maybe one, in my life, where the only thoughts were horrible, ugly thoughts.
I could hide them sometimes, but they were beginning to permeate all my actions.
But I learned, the hard way. I thought it was me, then somehow I knew it was the medications, then I knew I had to save my sanity, once again.
The drugs they have handed me not knowing what they would do to me. I'm just a problem in that I don't want their fucking drugs, but it is seemingly all they have.
Methadone I was told was a superior pain reliever, with a 12 hour therapeutic time frame, and it wasn't as addictive as the other opiates. It was synthetic but what isn't?
I began taking it not knowing anything about it.
Tonight, sitting here, waiting for the scary pains to start again, the legs to want to walk, walk the hell out of the pain is my assumption.
I want off this because I reached a point where I was believing what my depression was saying to me. Die you fuck up, die.
My reactions were anger,, I obviously had some issue with my dog. My bird is the telltale sign. She yelled at me one night, when I was yelling. She is notably louder and won. The word she was yelling was, "relax."
When I gave up and listened, I realized she was right.
Now, tonight, I'll try again to take the tiniest amount to ward off the full withdrawl.
It's unreal, my life. That's why that depression is tricky, because I've been through so much, it's hard not to believe it's dark, unforgiving message.
I have to manually turn the station to something more upbeat.
My sister freaked out that I was going to come off this medication myself, and we haven't talked for a month.
She wanted me to go into the hospital, she said I didn't know what I was getting myself into...and she's right.
My doctor didn't know or did, I will deal with that later, as I'm hoping to hold off just long enough, before the pain is unbearable.
I suddenly thought of those junkies out there, with their needles or their oxycontin, what stupidity.
Personally, I haven't seen what they are looking for as far as pleasure. My chemistry doesn't do opiates. I get more "high" of coffee or marijuana.
Quitting smoking is not like heroin, fuck them. I quit and suddenly am now having cravings again. So, I took a few inhalations, and it was so gross I couldn't stand it. That seems to be over.
But these junkies who get caught on these drugs, there lives are ruined trying to avoid what I'm currently trying to find the other side of.
I feel bad and people need to be warned, it's a job, not a drug. Keeping yourself on enough to avoid physical reaction, withdrawl.
Afghanistan is pumping out opium and we are probably buying it, and the rest is "chemical restraining" the mid east and our enemies.
When I woke up this morning, I cried for a long time. I didn't want to have to take more of the methadone. I cut a fragment and chewed the little thing waiting to see if it would stop.
Then another hour passed, and nothing changed. Pain was there, I tried Ibuprofen and ativan with it. Nothing.
It's the devil.
I'm strong willed but this has taken possession of my body.
I'll know more soon. I'm hoping to take the dose before the pain gets to strong, but then sometimes its sudden.
Was at 10 milligrams, now under 2 milligrams in three days.
My chest hurts sometimes, and I think that my sister isn't talking to me because she has it her mind I will have a heart attack coming down too fast.
30 to 2 in I guess six weeks.
I don't know what the rate is as I did with my Ativan which I'm sure I'll never be rid of. I may get down to a low dose, but I think the shit has bonded with my DNA.
In between all of this drama, is work that needs to get done. I don't have time to deal with this, but I don't have the ability not to either.
So, much has happened, and now I'm a junkie, trying to get off my doctor dope, and my doctor was a dope when he prescribed it.
But funny enough I still believe or make believe, that everything happens for a reason. I pray everyday for not only me and my mistake ridden life, but for those good people who don't even realize it.
I'm hoping to progress, to make it out of this darkness, to learn all that I can, so I don't have to repeat this particular life experience.
It's hard being held back so many grades in life.
when will it start again...it's getting scary
Up until this week I thought I was a relatively strong person, that is until I began withdrawing from Methadone.
I don't know what the hell this stuff is I only know it's evil. It's gotten a hold of me in a way I've yet to be able to describe.
My cousin is going to do the research tomorrow and find out what my options are here as I'm really at a low dose, but I'm having wicked symptoms.
I'm such an idiot, I don't know how I even get my shoes on the correct feet.
After this is over if it ever is, I'm going to have to make it clear that there are other options, namely marijuana.
The marijuana I've used to help treat a myriad of things, including pancreatitis, insomnia, boredome, depression, and pain, never caused any sort of bizarre physical effects such as these opiates and synthetic pain killers such as Methadone.
Tonight I could feel it coming, the legs were restless, the temperature of the room seemed too hot, I was getting nauseous, and then before it hit my lower back, I took the particles left from this morning's horrible adventure.
It took five hours to get out of the pain. You can't fight it either. It is a foe I know nothing about.
Had I been a drug abuser I'd probably know what to do right about now. Tomorrow, my cousin has to come through with information, make those phone calls, and find out how long this is going to go on.
When I finally get stabilized it seems I only have a few hours to get anything done before the devil comes back in to torture me.
My mind is doing it's best to hang on during this crisis, but I may have to get help. I am feeling chest pains when I'm in full withdrawl pain. My sister's fear is that I'm going to have a heart attack coming down quickly. I wouldn't even tell her about the chest pains, but then we're not talking right now. I have to do what I have to do and that about covers it.
Will my doctor want to hear this, I doubt it. We will have to just try to survive this on our own. I'll have learned something big this time, but i sure would like to be smarter this is getting ridiculous.
I'll have to create a new character for my books and just call her "stupid ass."
I don't know what the hell this stuff is I only know it's evil. It's gotten a hold of me in a way I've yet to be able to describe.
My cousin is going to do the research tomorrow and find out what my options are here as I'm really at a low dose, but I'm having wicked symptoms.
I'm such an idiot, I don't know how I even get my shoes on the correct feet.
After this is over if it ever is, I'm going to have to make it clear that there are other options, namely marijuana.
The marijuana I've used to help treat a myriad of things, including pancreatitis, insomnia, boredome, depression, and pain, never caused any sort of bizarre physical effects such as these opiates and synthetic pain killers such as Methadone.
Tonight I could feel it coming, the legs were restless, the temperature of the room seemed too hot, I was getting nauseous, and then before it hit my lower back, I took the particles left from this morning's horrible adventure.
It took five hours to get out of the pain. You can't fight it either. It is a foe I know nothing about.
Had I been a drug abuser I'd probably know what to do right about now. Tomorrow, my cousin has to come through with information, make those phone calls, and find out how long this is going to go on.
When I finally get stabilized it seems I only have a few hours to get anything done before the devil comes back in to torture me.
My mind is doing it's best to hang on during this crisis, but I may have to get help. I am feeling chest pains when I'm in full withdrawl pain. My sister's fear is that I'm going to have a heart attack coming down quickly. I wouldn't even tell her about the chest pains, but then we're not talking right now. I have to do what I have to do and that about covers it.
Will my doctor want to hear this, I doubt it. We will have to just try to survive this on our own. I'll have learned something big this time, but i sure would like to be smarter this is getting ridiculous.
I'll have to create a new character for my books and just call her "stupid ass."
Living the unbelievable life: then being called a liar
I've decided that everything that happens is for a reason. And in all of that contains both inherently good and bad things and ideas.
So, after four years of hearing all sorts of gossip about myself, from "drug addict" to "insane" to "gay" to "alcoholic" I had an episode the other night which lead me to begin this series of posts.
Since the people who are saying these things neither can defend or define, I thought I would help out by at least allowing them the weapon I use against those who don't stand up for what is clearly right in this world: the TRUTH.
TRUTH IS FIRE, but it burns away what we don't need, which is to suffocate on our own constricted thinking.
From now on if anyone wants to smear me, this site will contain the stuff to use.
I will take off my armour and they can have the pile of rocks collected from my life and can throw them as hard as they want at me. I want to handle the truth.
What I found the other night was years of lies and dirty secrets I kept from my early days. Things happened to me that were unbelievable, so therefore, I had to trust in myself. It is even difficult for me to understand what has gone on all these years, so I would be happy to tell you.
Not that you will believe it, but because I will.
I remember after I got my eye glasses when I was 12, my friends had made fun of me calling me, what else, "four eyes." I guess I didn't care if I had four eyes I was grateful just to see correctly which allowed me a lot more than a reaction to an obviously stupid put down.
This series, IS my life, and I couldn't write it fictionally if I wanted to.
So, we begin, what it's like to lead an unbelievable life....
So, after four years of hearing all sorts of gossip about myself, from "drug addict" to "insane" to "gay" to "alcoholic" I had an episode the other night which lead me to begin this series of posts.
Since the people who are saying these things neither can defend or define, I thought I would help out by at least allowing them the weapon I use against those who don't stand up for what is clearly right in this world: the TRUTH.
TRUTH IS FIRE, but it burns away what we don't need, which is to suffocate on our own constricted thinking.
From now on if anyone wants to smear me, this site will contain the stuff to use.
I will take off my armour and they can have the pile of rocks collected from my life and can throw them as hard as they want at me. I want to handle the truth.
What I found the other night was years of lies and dirty secrets I kept from my early days. Things happened to me that were unbelievable, so therefore, I had to trust in myself. It is even difficult for me to understand what has gone on all these years, so I would be happy to tell you.
Not that you will believe it, but because I will.
I remember after I got my eye glasses when I was 12, my friends had made fun of me calling me, what else, "four eyes." I guess I didn't care if I had four eyes I was grateful just to see correctly which allowed me a lot more than a reaction to an obviously stupid put down.
This series, IS my life, and I couldn't write it fictionally if I wanted to.
So, we begin, what it's like to lead an unbelievable life....
Write or Flight Syndrome: Bi-polar aftermath
I got a message from my friend yesterday, he had heard there was a bi-polar protesting a hospital, and he had to be restrained 15 times. My friend said, I heard that and thought of you.
It's a good thing to have a sense of humor and friends who know you well enough to say something like that.
There were a few weeks that passed and I hadn't called, so they make sure to call and leave messages that will gain my attention: that one did.
But what was interesting was that my friend defended a fellow bi-polar saying all he wants is to have people treated right, respectfully. My friends learned from years of knowing me, what a bi-polar can be about.
As I was updating them on my current condition and the activities surrounding the events which have left me in rough shape, I was told, that they appreciated my kind heart and have always thought of me as a good person.
I needed to hear it, it's been a rough time, and sometimes it's a matter of what you say to another. They are not familiar with any other bi-polar than me, but they learned to take care of me.
When I told them I discovered that the condition I was in was not emergent when the nightmare started three months ago, and none of this had to happen, they started telling me to breath. I have so much emotion on the surface right now, it's not unusual for me to go from crying to braying to laughing.
I'm on my way to learn about PTSD which is a serious disorder, and none of us, escpecially the sensitive bi-polar types, should ignore the damage this can do.
Right now I have to learn to concentrate and not drift back into the past where the pain and breach of duty took place on the part of supposed healthcare providers. They provided me with a new challenge, like I need one.
When I drift back in time, feeling those same feelings, I sometimes experience anger that I know if I let loose I would not be able to take back. That is why I'm trying to listen to the wisdom of my friends, and their observations of me, so I know where I'm at in time. I don't remember what day it is, I'm sure some of you can relate.
I'll bring back whatever wisdom I can as I have to gain control of this situation before some serious things happen.
I'm not scared so much as I'm not happy that my mind selects to occupy itself with these sorts of thoughts. I hope to find out what I can do and what I should do.
One thing is getting out of the area which is triggering these emotions, but I say that would be running, you don't start and fight and leave off. You finish it if it is worthy and just. I think it is, but then others think I should leave it behind and move on to getting my health back.
I'm considering both sides, but I'm also scrambled eggs these days.
A friend of mine has a child who was taken to jail because the police were tired of dealing with them, so, out loud, they say, we're going to teach him a lesson and take him away. Which they did. The lesson turned out to scar this child and did nothing to make anything better.
I want to teach some lessons too. I thank God everyday that I have had control up to this point and have not done anything wrong. I've had the task of getting complaints out, alerting agencies and businesses and asking them to do the job in between pain and extreme emotion.
But I still have fight in me, and it's not ready to go away anytime soon. There are people who need to really think about who they are and what they have done. They are the one's I want and I will likely get them. I just want to do it in a way that doesn't disgrace those of us who have mental challenges.
So, I pray and keep in mind that I have my own set of principles not able to be reached by the shallow and the cruel, but ones that will use to do all I can to set matters straight. Stay with the truth and there is safety, not always success, but there is success in standing your ground.
I have been fighting for other people, now I have the fight of my life...for me.
How to create a vigilante: love loss for the law?
How strong is a camel's back?
Last night I knew something changed me, to be precise it was the morning, afternoon and then evening. I'm suffering from Post traumatic stress disorder, I've been holding on by my principles for six months now. I've remained in control up to a point.
I have realized that I was manic for almost five years. I do believe I had a form of mania derived from the loss of my own thyroid and now having to rely on medication to supplement the biggest and baddest hormone in your body didn't quite work out.
Mania is like drugs except it's internal. Depression and mania are siblings who bicker sometimes about the choices leading up to action.
Having now come falling from this tower which is high off the ground where others fear to look, I know that I was manic.
Confused yet? Try living it and figuring it all out.
I've been in this state of mind that isn't normal, but it's much milder than the sharp, cutting mania of the previous years.
After six months of this mild depression, with acute panic, I had a change of Hart.
I'm not going to tell you what I've done, but it's something I have to do. It's always hard to control, but I reached a point at a Chinese restaurant (no not the fortune cookie wisdom) where I know I have to do something about my current condition.
Last night I knew something changed me, to be precise it was the morning, afternoon and then evening. I'm suffering from Post traumatic stress disorder, I've been holding on by my principles for six months now. I've remained in control up to a point.
I have realized that I was manic for almost five years. I do believe I had a form of mania derived from the loss of my own thyroid and now having to rely on medication to supplement the biggest and baddest hormone in your body didn't quite work out.
Mania is like drugs except it's internal. Depression and mania are siblings who bicker sometimes about the choices leading up to action.
Having now come falling from this tower which is high off the ground where others fear to look, I know that I was manic.
Confused yet? Try living it and figuring it all out.
I've been in this state of mind that isn't normal, but it's much milder than the sharp, cutting mania of the previous years.
After six months of this mild depression, with acute panic, I had a change of Hart.
I'm not going to tell you what I've done, but it's something I have to do. It's always hard to control, but I reached a point at a Chinese restaurant (no not the fortune cookie wisdom) where I know I have to do something about my current condition.
Who let the Dog out?
My bark is worse than my bite....Just kidding. I have canines, and an appetite for the type of fight only a scapper mongrel would enjoy.
UpDate:
I've repopulated this blog with all my stories, from the beginning of this truth bound effort called the Bi-polar American, to present, this is me, myself, and Irene, errrr, I mean, this is my truth.
The Bi-polar condition is life.
North pole, south pole, and Equator. Each one of us endure this uneven playing field, slipping and sliding, and hiding from the truth.
As a veteran of the "Order of the Bi-polar Disorder" I believe in walking the walk, and leaving my own footprints in the sands of time.
See you soon, you "Enemies of Fun and Chocolate."
UpDate:
I've repopulated this blog with all my stories, from the beginning of this truth bound effort called the Bi-polar American, to present, this is me, myself, and Irene, errrr, I mean, this is my truth.
The Bi-polar condition is life.
North pole, south pole, and Equator. Each one of us endure this uneven playing field, slipping and sliding, and hiding from the truth.
As a veteran of the "Order of the Bi-polar Disorder" I believe in walking the walk, and leaving my own footprints in the sands of time.
See you soon, you "Enemies of Fun and Chocolate."
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