So, Thanksgiving has come and gone. Normally, I would have put my Christmas tree up the day after, however, my moods had other plans. The tree is still not up, and neither am I. The Seroquel is helping tremendously, but that doesn't fix everything. So many stresses. Kids, bills, doctors, hubby, holidays in general; it all just sucks at the moment, and I'm in a funk. I am doing my best to write every day, but that doesn't always happen the way I plan it. Depression sucks.
My therapist came by today. That was nice, she was nice. She always is. Sometimes I think she has some kind of opinion of me, but she's not supposed to. It's only natural though, right? To form an opinion of someone you meet. She seems to be a wonderful person, I would love to have a friend like her. Can't be "friends" with her though because she is my therapist. Where I'm at I don't have any friends, not one. I have several friends across the country in various places, and I love them all, but none here where I'm at. That is sad now that I think of it. Maybe in time, we'll see.
Kids are home and hubs is on the way, I suppose I should stop writing and focus on, oh I don't know, dinner... such is life.
Until next time.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Sunday, November 24, 2013
A Fly on the Wall : The Happy Woman
You have all said, I'm sure at one point in time, "If only I could be a fly on the wall, the things I would know". Well, a question posed to me this week was, "If you were a fly on the wall, what would a happy woman look like to you"? This is my answer.
As a fly, I see a lot. Some are things that are no big deal, and others are things that a fly, or anyone else for that matter, should never see. Today I flew into a house just like I would any other house on any other random day. This particular house at the time was unkempt, a sign of kids for sure, but it was not filthy in any sense of the word. The kids were nowhere in sight, probably at school or out playing. There was one woman in the house though. She was not dressed for the day, still in her night clothes. This made me curious, so I followed her from room to room. Careful not to get too close, because as we all know, when a fly gets too close to a human, they are likely to die by swat. I digress.
As she puttered around the house, picking up after her family, she stopped for a moment. Arms loaded, she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, looked around, and smiled. I wondered why she was smiling. She was picking up the house after everyone else, and she was disheveled, not something any normal woman would be smiling about, I thought. So I continued to follow her, from room to room, for what seemed like forever. After all, I will only be live for three days, and today is day two.
I looked at the clock. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and she started to cook, still with that same smile on her face. Curious indeed. The front door flew open, with two squirmy children running through it. Shoes flying and backpacks askew by the now closed door. The woman stops what she is doing and greets them with a smile, never minding that they are quickly undoing all that she had done while they were away. Now is the time for her to multitask. Dinner and homework, and preparations for the next day. Her husband will be home soon too. Not a glamorous life, but it's hers, and she loves every minute of it.
At the end of the day, I follow her into the bedroom. Her husband is in the bed reading the newspaper for the day, and she is getting ready to get into the bed herself. They start talking about their days and what transpired. "I don't know why you always look so happy, with the kids always fighting, and the house never being completely clean, and the stress you deal with day in and day out, how do you keep that beautiful smile always plastered on your face?" the husband asks. She simply said, "I know I am loved."
With a quizzical look on his face, he said, "Of course you are! That still doesn't explain your constant smile because even when your'e sad, you know you are loved." She sits and thinks for a moment. Then she turns to him and says, " I am happy because I know you and our kids are happy and appreciate the things I do. I am happy because our bills are paid. I am happy because I know we are raising our kids the right way, even when we do stumble. I am happy because I am content within myself, and I know that I wouldn't trade our life for any other."
As a fly, I know only two things of humans. One, they really don't like us, and two, they leave us yummy morsels of food, even when they don't mean to. This human woman taught me something though. Happiness is not about what you have or don't have. This woman was happy because she felt loved, and she knew that no matter what her past was, or what she did or didn't do, she would be loved. There really is no certain look to happiness, smiles can and are faked every day. She felt protected, safe, stable, and loved, and no matter what kind of chaos entered her life, she knew she had the support she needed.
As a fly, I see a lot. Some are things that are no big deal, and others are things that a fly, or anyone else for that matter, should never see. Today I flew into a house just like I would any other house on any other random day. This particular house at the time was unkempt, a sign of kids for sure, but it was not filthy in any sense of the word. The kids were nowhere in sight, probably at school or out playing. There was one woman in the house though. She was not dressed for the day, still in her night clothes. This made me curious, so I followed her from room to room. Careful not to get too close, because as we all know, when a fly gets too close to a human, they are likely to die by swat. I digress.
As she puttered around the house, picking up after her family, she stopped for a moment. Arms loaded, she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, looked around, and smiled. I wondered why she was smiling. She was picking up the house after everyone else, and she was disheveled, not something any normal woman would be smiling about, I thought. So I continued to follow her, from room to room, for what seemed like forever. After all, I will only be live for three days, and today is day two.
I looked at the clock. It was three thirty in the afternoon, and she started to cook, still with that same smile on her face. Curious indeed. The front door flew open, with two squirmy children running through it. Shoes flying and backpacks askew by the now closed door. The woman stops what she is doing and greets them with a smile, never minding that they are quickly undoing all that she had done while they were away. Now is the time for her to multitask. Dinner and homework, and preparations for the next day. Her husband will be home soon too. Not a glamorous life, but it's hers, and she loves every minute of it.
At the end of the day, I follow her into the bedroom. Her husband is in the bed reading the newspaper for the day, and she is getting ready to get into the bed herself. They start talking about their days and what transpired. "I don't know why you always look so happy, with the kids always fighting, and the house never being completely clean, and the stress you deal with day in and day out, how do you keep that beautiful smile always plastered on your face?" the husband asks. She simply said, "I know I am loved."
With a quizzical look on his face, he said, "Of course you are! That still doesn't explain your constant smile because even when your'e sad, you know you are loved." She sits and thinks for a moment. Then she turns to him and says, " I am happy because I know you and our kids are happy and appreciate the things I do. I am happy because our bills are paid. I am happy because I know we are raising our kids the right way, even when we do stumble. I am happy because I am content within myself, and I know that I wouldn't trade our life for any other."
As a fly, I know only two things of humans. One, they really don't like us, and two, they leave us yummy morsels of food, even when they don't mean to. This human woman taught me something though. Happiness is not about what you have or don't have. This woman was happy because she felt loved, and she knew that no matter what her past was, or what she did or didn't do, she would be loved. There really is no certain look to happiness, smiles can and are faked every day. She felt protected, safe, stable, and loved, and no matter what kind of chaos entered her life, she knew she had the support she needed.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Bipolar Money
Being bipolar is hard enough, and trying to make money while struggling with it makes it that much harder. Some are lucky enough to have spouses or parents that help them out financially, still not an easy road, but easier. Most of us can not hold down a job for more than a few months at a time, and this fact alone (not to mention the tons of other factors) makes our resumes look less than desirable to potential employers. This is a problem within the mental health community not only with bipolar, but with countless other mental illnesses as well. Sure, there is SSI, SSID, welfare, etc., but lets face it, using those resources cause more dysfunction than they help. It is true that for a lot of people these services and aids are an absolute godsend, but if you are physically able and your mental health holds you back, it can be very frustrating and confusing to say the least. People of not only strong body, but also of strong mind, really don't know how easy they have it.
We have to be creative about how we can earn our living without feeling like a sponge on society and those around us. Some can write, some can paint, some can come up with some amazing inventions to make life easier, and the list of creativity goes on and on. The point is that although our brains aren't the "norm", and we think so differently than most, we can still make money by making our illness work for us, not against us.
Figure out what you love. Make money with it. I'm not saying that you will make millions, pasta knows that is probably not going to happen for most, but every penny counts. There are ways to do it. For example, I love to write. I have been writing since childhood. Short stories, poems, this blog, several attempts at novels, the list goes on. Have I made any money at it? Um, no. But that does not mean that I won't some day. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my writing. I am hyper-critical of what I write, and sometimes I will hit a brick wall, and being as I don't have anyone to report to I tend to get hopeless and under-motivated. So it's back to the drawing board .. a lot.
As I said, being bipolar and making money is not easy, but it is doable. Working from home is always sketchy, there are a lot of scams out there that will make you believe that you can make millions sitting on your butt. THIS IS NEVER TRUE!!! Earned money takes work, and work requires movement, and movement requires motivation, and motivation requires determination, see where I'm going with this? Use hypomania to your advantage. Will you fall flat on your face with some of it? Of course! We all do, even the norms fall from time to time. Some of the best things in this world came from bipolar people! While they were in the throws of their cycles! Go figure! If that is not motivation, I don't know what is.
So go forth, try, fall, then pull yourself up and try again, one of the attempts are bound to stick. My suggestion for the bouts of "inspiration" would be to share it with someone that knows you and knows your ailment. If the norms aren't good for anything, they are good for keeping us grounded when we get ahead of ourselves.
We have to be creative about how we can earn our living without feeling like a sponge on society and those around us. Some can write, some can paint, some can come up with some amazing inventions to make life easier, and the list of creativity goes on and on. The point is that although our brains aren't the "norm", and we think so differently than most, we can still make money by making our illness work for us, not against us.
Figure out what you love. Make money with it. I'm not saying that you will make millions, pasta knows that is probably not going to happen for most, but every penny counts. There are ways to do it. For example, I love to write. I have been writing since childhood. Short stories, poems, this blog, several attempts at novels, the list goes on. Have I made any money at it? Um, no. But that does not mean that I won't some day. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my writing. I am hyper-critical of what I write, and sometimes I will hit a brick wall, and being as I don't have anyone to report to I tend to get hopeless and under-motivated. So it's back to the drawing board .. a lot.
As I said, being bipolar and making money is not easy, but it is doable. Working from home is always sketchy, there are a lot of scams out there that will make you believe that you can make millions sitting on your butt. THIS IS NEVER TRUE!!! Earned money takes work, and work requires movement, and movement requires motivation, and motivation requires determination, see where I'm going with this? Use hypomania to your advantage. Will you fall flat on your face with some of it? Of course! We all do, even the norms fall from time to time. Some of the best things in this world came from bipolar people! While they were in the throws of their cycles! Go figure! If that is not motivation, I don't know what is.
So go forth, try, fall, then pull yourself up and try again, one of the attempts are bound to stick. My suggestion for the bouts of "inspiration" would be to share it with someone that knows you and knows your ailment. If the norms aren't good for anything, they are good for keeping us grounded when we get ahead of ourselves.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Kicking Myself for Good Reason
Hello blogger world! I have been feeling better since I started the new medications, we shall see if it lasts this time though. Mostly level now, haven't been having the rapid cycles within a day, now the cycling is spread out more to daily where it's one or two moods in a day instead of 500.
Now down to the reason I am kicking myself. Stretch is 14, he has had several diagnoses in the mental health world. ADHD, ODD, Bipolar, just a "bad" kid. Now he is being looked at for High Functioning Autism / Asperger's Syndrome. Finally, an explanation for the past 14 years, the ups, the downs, and everything in between. This could be a turning point. I should have listened when he was 4. His pediatrician that gave him his first med for ADHD tried telling me that he is autistic. He tried telling me, and because I was young and ignorant, I refused it and continued on without giving it another thought. I didn't want to believe it. Autistic? My baby? No, not him. He hit all of his major milestones on time and sometimes early, hey was hyper, he was smart, he could talk, no way in hell was he autistic! Oh boy, how was I wrong, and it only took me 10 years to see it. Better late than never I suppose. Now I have his teachers and his current pediatrician telling me that they see what I have been so willfully blind to all these years. My poor son has an idiot for a mother. So, taking a crash course in high functioning autism. We are all just waiting for the official diagnosis to be made, then the roller coaster of re learning everything begins. Thankfully his special education teacher was sent from heaven, she is truly a godsend and I don't know what I would be doing without her.
Well, that is the update as of now. I will keep you guys posted!
Now down to the reason I am kicking myself. Stretch is 14, he has had several diagnoses in the mental health world. ADHD, ODD, Bipolar, just a "bad" kid. Now he is being looked at for High Functioning Autism / Asperger's Syndrome. Finally, an explanation for the past 14 years, the ups, the downs, and everything in between. This could be a turning point. I should have listened when he was 4. His pediatrician that gave him his first med for ADHD tried telling me that he is autistic. He tried telling me, and because I was young and ignorant, I refused it and continued on without giving it another thought. I didn't want to believe it. Autistic? My baby? No, not him. He hit all of his major milestones on time and sometimes early, hey was hyper, he was smart, he could talk, no way in hell was he autistic! Oh boy, how was I wrong, and it only took me 10 years to see it. Better late than never I suppose. Now I have his teachers and his current pediatrician telling me that they see what I have been so willfully blind to all these years. My poor son has an idiot for a mother. So, taking a crash course in high functioning autism. We are all just waiting for the official diagnosis to be made, then the roller coaster of re learning everything begins. Thankfully his special education teacher was sent from heaven, she is truly a godsend and I don't know what I would be doing without her.
Well, that is the update as of now. I will keep you guys posted!
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Tra-la-la *OBSCENITIES* la-la-la
Ok, so I have started, deleted, and re-started this blog 3 different times trying to get all the buzz out of my head. Sometimes I think it's never going to go away. Boy has this been a crazy few weeks. It is so hard for me to remember things because of the bipolar and the constant racing thoughts, so if I repeat something that I have posted already I apologize, I know it is bound to happen, so I'm just putting that out there now. I never know where to start or when to stop, I have so many thoughts at once that it's torture, and the thoughts never stay for very long, they must not like me too much. I have been having a really.. and I mean REALLY.. hard time concentrating on anything for more than a couple of seconds, it's horrid and very detrimental to my writing sadly.
So went to meet the new head shrinker. He seemed nice, but it was super weird and kind of rushed. They put me in an almost bare room with a couple of chairs, a desk, and a big computer monitor. The doc was in a city about an hour and a half away, and we did the whole session (all of maybe 10 minutes) on Skype. Really? Is this some new-fangled thing that is common practice now? I did not like it at all, it made me very uncomfortable. He ended up telling me to take 200mg of Seroquel, but that the prescription would be Fed-Ex'd next day, so that was super weird too. Why couldn't he just call it in? Surely if he can Skype, he has a phone to call a pharmacy with. Not too sure this place is going to work out. Still haven't met the therapist yet, I'll meet her Friday. This should be fun. I'm agoraphobic and bipolar. I was told at my intake that they would work with me and they would not push me out of my comfort zone right away and they would work with me to get me to that point, and this is so totally what they are not doing. Here goes the distrust with yet another mental health facility that claims to help on your terms but what they really mean is we will feed you a line of shit that we think you want to hear at the moment and just do what we want anyway. I am just so over the bullshit of being sick already! Everything is torturous and painful anymore.
So with Stretch, that is escalating quickly too. He has a full evaluation set up for November, he is bipolar as well but he has major I-want-to-burn-the-world-to-ash rage too, and he's a tree, so it's scary. Took him to his primary to get a refill on the meds that aren't working because we are in transition between shrinks and found out that he is developing high blood pressure. FML.. He is only 14 years old! This is crazy, and as a mom, frankly, it is scaring the shit out of me. I can barely hold myself together, and dealing with him is no picnic. Pasta knows I love my son with everything in me, and I will do anything it takes, but it is so very hard. I am just drained at this point. If we don't get some relief soon I see pretty padded rooms and the oh-so-lovely hug yourself coats in the future, no bueno.
BIT-O-RANDOM
I have wanted to be an author since I can remember. Unfortunately I have the attention span of a goldfish on crack, so it hasn't worked out as well as I envisioned it would when I was little. I have so many book ideas floating around I can't keep up. So, what do you think? Is my writing style book worthy? Should I just hang that dream out to dry? Let me know. Thanks for reading!
So went to meet the new head shrinker. He seemed nice, but it was super weird and kind of rushed. They put me in an almost bare room with a couple of chairs, a desk, and a big computer monitor. The doc was in a city about an hour and a half away, and we did the whole session (all of maybe 10 minutes) on Skype. Really? Is this some new-fangled thing that is common practice now? I did not like it at all, it made me very uncomfortable. He ended up telling me to take 200mg of Seroquel, but that the prescription would be Fed-Ex'd next day, so that was super weird too. Why couldn't he just call it in? Surely if he can Skype, he has a phone to call a pharmacy with. Not too sure this place is going to work out. Still haven't met the therapist yet, I'll meet her Friday. This should be fun. I'm agoraphobic and bipolar. I was told at my intake that they would work with me and they would not push me out of my comfort zone right away and they would work with me to get me to that point, and this is so totally what they are not doing. Here goes the distrust with yet another mental health facility that claims to help on your terms but what they really mean is we will feed you a line of shit that we think you want to hear at the moment and just do what we want anyway. I am just so over the bullshit of being sick already! Everything is torturous and painful anymore.
So with Stretch, that is escalating quickly too. He has a full evaluation set up for November, he is bipolar as well but he has major I-want-to-burn-the-world-to-ash rage too, and he's a tree, so it's scary. Took him to his primary to get a refill on the meds that aren't working because we are in transition between shrinks and found out that he is developing high blood pressure. FML.. He is only 14 years old! This is crazy, and as a mom, frankly, it is scaring the shit out of me. I can barely hold myself together, and dealing with him is no picnic. Pasta knows I love my son with everything in me, and I will do anything it takes, but it is so very hard. I am just drained at this point. If we don't get some relief soon I see pretty padded rooms and the oh-so-lovely hug yourself coats in the future, no bueno.
BIT-O-RANDOM
I have wanted to be an author since I can remember. Unfortunately I have the attention span of a goldfish on crack, so it hasn't worked out as well as I envisioned it would when I was little. I have so many book ideas floating around I can't keep up. So, what do you think? Is my writing style book worthy? Should I just hang that dream out to dry? Let me know. Thanks for reading!
Saturday, September 7, 2013
I Quit!! I don't want to play this game anymore!!!
Ok, so the past 2 days have been complete FML days for sure. It started on Thursday with another war with my cable company, All. F-ing. Day. Long. Ridiculous. Resort Cable TV is a joke. They are over priced, their customer service is rude and unaccommodating, they charge you for THEIR screw ups, and they are super quick to hit that disconnect button when you disagree with them on anything. They are the only cable company in the area, so they have the market cornered and they know it, so they take advantage of their customers because they know the customers have no other choice. THIS COMPANY IS A JOKE!!!
Then yesterday, my son and I had an appointment with our therapist (again the only one in town). Now keep in mind I am BP and agoraphobic, so it's hard for me to go anywhere for anything. We get there and it's a madhouse. Trigger #1, can't do crowds at all. We get into the counselor's office and start talking. I ask her to check my son for IED (intermittent explosive disorder), and tell her that I am ready to try a new med for my BP finally after the last one tried to kill me. First off we are focusing on my son, we are discussing his symptoms and outbursts. Then the counselor mentions DHS, instant hardcore panic attack ensues, paper bag and all. Once I was through the panic attack, she explains what she meant. She didn't mean that she wanted to call them, she meant that if it gets dangerous for my daughter then she will have to. Understandable, but not necessary. I will not leave the two of them alone, so the risk of her getting hurt is slim to none. By the end of the appointment, Doc said that she wants to review our files and carefully figure out what kind of treatment she wants to go with. She also told my son that she is giving him 2 weeks to start the treatment and try to get himself under control, and if he can't or won't she is going to admit him to the psych ward. FML not this again. He was in the hospital twice when he was little, about 5 or 6, and it was really hard for both of us. So, she wants me to come back in Tuesday without the kids to go over the treatments that she has decided on. Ugh, have to leave the house yet again.. I feel like I'm reaching my breaking point.
Last night I was telling hubby about the new diagnosis for Stretch, and everything that happened at the Dr office. *NOTE* Hubby is mentally healthy, he is one of the "normals". So I'm telling him how we need to start educating ourselves on IED since it is new to us, and we get into a fight. He starts spouting the "you can control it if you choose to" bullsnit. Saying that you choose weather you want to control it or not. OMG I flipped out. All I was saying was that we need to educate ourselves and learn how to better deal with his outbursts. I wasn't trying to make excuses, I wasn't saying that he gets a pass on every negative behavior, all I was trying to say was that we need to learn how to deal with the outbursts he has due to his illness differently because obviously what we have been doing IS NOT WORKING!!! Then, I get frustrated because I'm apparently not explaining myself right to where he understands, and I put my hands to my face and growl, hubby then says "see, that's where he gets it from".. Flip out number 2... I started screaming at him. "You don't understand!!! You will never understand because you got lucky and you don't struggle with your brain EVERY F-ING DAY!!" I wanted to choke him last night! I excuse some of his attitude towards it because he really doesn't know what we go through, so there is no way he can fully understand and sympathize. On the other hand, his mind is not open enough to consider other possibilities and opinions other than his own, and trying to educate him on mental illness is like trying to pull teeth with no tools, very difficult but possible. We eventually understood each other to a point and the fight calms down, but it still bothers me. I don't know how to make him understand that the symptoms are treatable and controlable to a point, but it is never cured, and those that have mental illnesses don't have a choice. They have a choice to get treatment and try to control it, but they don't have a choice on having the mental illness.
So, that is my rant. Feels good to get it out, just wish getting it out would take away the frustration of it all.
Then yesterday, my son and I had an appointment with our therapist (again the only one in town). Now keep in mind I am BP and agoraphobic, so it's hard for me to go anywhere for anything. We get there and it's a madhouse. Trigger #1, can't do crowds at all. We get into the counselor's office and start talking. I ask her to check my son for IED (intermittent explosive disorder), and tell her that I am ready to try a new med for my BP finally after the last one tried to kill me. First off we are focusing on my son, we are discussing his symptoms and outbursts. Then the counselor mentions DHS, instant hardcore panic attack ensues, paper bag and all. Once I was through the panic attack, she explains what she meant. She didn't mean that she wanted to call them, she meant that if it gets dangerous for my daughter then she will have to. Understandable, but not necessary. I will not leave the two of them alone, so the risk of her getting hurt is slim to none. By the end of the appointment, Doc said that she wants to review our files and carefully figure out what kind of treatment she wants to go with. She also told my son that she is giving him 2 weeks to start the treatment and try to get himself under control, and if he can't or won't she is going to admit him to the psych ward. FML not this again. He was in the hospital twice when he was little, about 5 or 6, and it was really hard for both of us. So, she wants me to come back in Tuesday without the kids to go over the treatments that she has decided on. Ugh, have to leave the house yet again.. I feel like I'm reaching my breaking point.
Last night I was telling hubby about the new diagnosis for Stretch, and everything that happened at the Dr office. *NOTE* Hubby is mentally healthy, he is one of the "normals". So I'm telling him how we need to start educating ourselves on IED since it is new to us, and we get into a fight. He starts spouting the "you can control it if you choose to" bullsnit. Saying that you choose weather you want to control it or not. OMG I flipped out. All I was saying was that we need to educate ourselves and learn how to better deal with his outbursts. I wasn't trying to make excuses, I wasn't saying that he gets a pass on every negative behavior, all I was trying to say was that we need to learn how to deal with the outbursts he has due to his illness differently because obviously what we have been doing IS NOT WORKING!!! Then, I get frustrated because I'm apparently not explaining myself right to where he understands, and I put my hands to my face and growl, hubby then says "see, that's where he gets it from".. Flip out number 2... I started screaming at him. "You don't understand!!! You will never understand because you got lucky and you don't struggle with your brain EVERY F-ING DAY!!" I wanted to choke him last night! I excuse some of his attitude towards it because he really doesn't know what we go through, so there is no way he can fully understand and sympathize. On the other hand, his mind is not open enough to consider other possibilities and opinions other than his own, and trying to educate him on mental illness is like trying to pull teeth with no tools, very difficult but possible. We eventually understood each other to a point and the fight calms down, but it still bothers me. I don't know how to make him understand that the symptoms are treatable and controlable to a point, but it is never cured, and those that have mental illnesses don't have a choice. They have a choice to get treatment and try to control it, but they don't have a choice on having the mental illness.
So, that is my rant. Feels good to get it out, just wish getting it out would take away the frustration of it all.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
A Busy Fog
This past week has been hectic. I am now an admin on 3 Facebook pages, and I am working on promoting my brother's business. I am so scatter brained, having trouble finding quality content to post for the pages, and spacing out. Maybe I am finding ok content and just second guessing myself, I don't know. The kids are good and hubby is content, so that hasn't went haywire yet. I have met a few quality people online last week, I hope I can keep and grow these new friendships. I get so tired all the time, maybe it's a down swing, maybe it's something else. Only pasta knows.
Speaking of pasta, I am by no means religious. I think organized religion is a joke. Do I believe there is a God or "higher power"? Sure, why not? That is more comforting to think than the alternative. However, I do not believe that what organized religion teaches and preaches is 100% accurate all of the time. I am just rambling at this point, so I will shelf that discussion for another time when my head is clear and I can form a sentence that makes sense.
Not being on medication is interesting, and torture all at the same time. It's interesting because when you wake up in the morning, you never know which you you're going to get, or how many in one day. At the same time though, it is torture not knowing that. You feel out of control. Up, down, up, down.. when does it end? It's exhausting! I have a psych appointment on Friday, I'm going to take the dive and try a new medication. The last one I tried, Lamictal, that one tried to kill me. It landed me in the hospital. Scary stuff, so hopefully I find one that works this time, wish me luck.
Speaking of pasta, I am by no means religious. I think organized religion is a joke. Do I believe there is a God or "higher power"? Sure, why not? That is more comforting to think than the alternative. However, I do not believe that what organized religion teaches and preaches is 100% accurate all of the time. I am just rambling at this point, so I will shelf that discussion for another time when my head is clear and I can form a sentence that makes sense.
Not being on medication is interesting, and torture all at the same time. It's interesting because when you wake up in the morning, you never know which you you're going to get, or how many in one day. At the same time though, it is torture not knowing that. You feel out of control. Up, down, up, down.. when does it end? It's exhausting! I have a psych appointment on Friday, I'm going to take the dive and try a new medication. The last one I tried, Lamictal, that one tried to kill me. It landed me in the hospital. Scary stuff, so hopefully I find one that works this time, wish me luck.
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