yuuo: (I'm just a poor boy from a poor family)
Good idea: Psychostimulants when you have medical brain fog problems.

Bad idea: Psychostimulants when you have a psychotic disorder.

Help I am in hell.
yuuo: (Putting the 'fun' in dysfunctional)
I need to be a little better about updating here, but I can only handle so much at once, and the past few days have been 'sit on youtube, facebook, or twitter, or sometimes all three at once and ignore the outside world' days.

I got in on Wednesday with my pdoc and after some back and forth, I convinced him to try putting me back on the Seroquel instead of finding something new- he agreed the Zyprexa wasn't doing me any good. I told him that if I had to, my PCP would be willing to prescribe the Flexeril I needed to counter Seroquel's leg cramp problems. He was doubtful, but I just kinda looked at him and said "you don't know Dr. [PCP name]." He went "okay!" and put me back on Seroquel. Mood wise, I'm feeling so much better. Sleep wise.... eeeeeeh. I slept twelve hours today when I wanted to get eight. But, unlike with the Zyprexa, I was actually sleeping, instead of just laying in bed and wanting to die. I clearly needed it.

I'll have to figure out how to regulate my sleep on this stuff, but I can already feel the mood difference, and it's fantastic.

I'm still in a sleepy fog, but I'm working through it. Now I gotta convince the cats to stop fighting over my 'lap'. Seriously, Bucky, you had me all day, there was no reason to chase off Moon. And Loki, quit trying to knock over my photo of Josh.

Cats.

Now, to try to write.

.suuuuuck.

Sep. 11th, 2017 04:34 pm
yuuo: (Lay my head under the water)
It's a bad day. I woke up at about ten, but stayed in bed until 3:30, because I just... the thought of being upright and trying to function felt physically painful. I don't remember the last time I was this low. I only got up when I did because Wife came home from therapy and I needed to be up for her sake. She needs a functional partner, someone who doesn't spend all day in bed. So I'll be up when she's around for her sake.

This medicine shit is ridiculous.

I want to disappear. I want to curl in bed and just... disappear. Not exist. I'm not actively suicidal, but I wouldn't turn down not waking back up.

Depression and medicine roulette is so much fun.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
It's been... not quiet, but not busy, either. It's been mood problems. I should've posted on Thursday, when I had my first psychiatrist appointment after ending partial, but I was so upset by what happened in that appointment that I couldn't, and the last few days have been hell.

I got taken off my Seroquel. A drug that was working. A drug that had elevated my mood, had kept the noises at bay, and that wasn't causing a manic burst.

Why was I taken off Seroquel?

Because I reported that it caused leg cramps at night, and asked for a small-dose muscle relaxer to counter it until my body adjusted.

This is, apparently, too much to ask of my body, so the doctor decided to cut me off a drug that was working, and put me on a different one that supposedly did the same things. So far, I am not impressed. In fact, so far, I'm going into Seroquel withdrawal, which has my mood cycling so fast that I'm screaming in one minute, then literally on the verge of tears the next. I can't stay asleep. I feel like banging my head on the wall. I can't focus.

How much of that is the fact that I fucking cold-turkeyed Seroquel, and how much is natural me with no working meds, I have no idea at this point, because it's been so long since I haven't had at least one working med, that I don't remember if this was normal for me or not.

I just know this fucking sucks.

I give this two more days to get better. If I'm no better- or god forbid, worse -by Tuesday, I'm calling them and telling them I need in sooner so they can change my med back. I can't live like this. My wife shouldn't have to, since she's the one getting snapped at the most, simply by virtue of being around me the most. If they won't change my med, I'm switching docs. This is unacceptable. I told them very specifically that Seroquel is working, but apparently, having any side effects- especially a rather inconsequential one -is too much and I shouldn't take that anymore!

Like, fucking really? I told them I was on Flexeril, but my prescription was almost gone and had no refills left, but I knew it worked and I responded favorably to it. But since he can't prescribe non-head drugs (is that really a thing? he's an MD for gods' sakes), he decided to just take me off Seroquel. Instead of giving me a chance to ask my PCP to renew my prescription. I wasn't even given a fucking option. Just nope, cold turkey it.

Some symptoms of Seroquel withdrawal are (ones I have are bolded):

-Nausea and vomiting
-Agitation or anxiety
-Difficulty with concentration
Insomnia despite intense fatigue
-Depression
Dizziness
Racing or slowed heartbeat
-Headaches
-Mood swings
Psychosis
Suicidal thoughts or behaviors

My psychiatrist is really fucking lucky that last one isn't bolded. If it were, I'd be in in-patient right now, and I'd really love to not go back.


In unrelated news, I showered and shaved without going two weeks between showers today. Progress, I guess.
yuuo: (When you come back to me again)
I shuffle down the hall
Facing just one more day
Yesterday was such a nightmare
I can't stand without leaning on a wall

Help me, I'm drowning
Why can't anyone hear me scream?
But I need to go away now
They don't see this broken human being

I'm a fragile little flower
But I rage like the howling storm
Anger burns me up inside
And it's my demons that hold the power

I'm sinking into the abyss
I'm not ready to lave here, I'm not
But it's time they say
Just as I need them, they're giving a goodbye kiss

But it's just a passing thing, this shadow
It's just like Samwise said
I'll get there with my head held high
I won't always feel so low

Watch me spread my wings and fly
I'm going to reach for the sun
I know not to get too close
but I can still touch that sweet blue sky




Yesterday was my last day of partial. I am a free bird again.
yuuo: (The shape of love)
So Taylor Swift's new song, eh?

(Shut up, no making fun of her in my space. I've disliked a lot about her, but after the way she stood up in that trial over being sexually assaulted, she will forever be badass in my brain.)

Anyway, last day of the second week of partial.

Like I said before, we have two new people, both eighteen and way too young to be there. Why are children there? What kind of fucked up world puts children in the in-patient ward and then to partial?

Helmet Head and her bestie, 13 Funerals (long story I can't go into), were discharged today, and good riddance. Even if Helmet Head hadn't pissed me off by shaming me (which she didn't do again, though I notice she didn't apologize), she had... I don't know what all was going on with her, but damn, her energy levels. She was constantly bouncing in her seat, and it was starting to jack up my anxiety levels. I'll feel more comfortable with her gone.

Babies seem to think that it's okay to say "I'm on Abilify, what is that? An anti-psychotic?! But I ain't crazy!"

BITCH. FUCK YOU.

The guy that threw the cards at me last week has remarkably chilled down and he's actually pretty nice to talk to.

The Seroquel seems... to be working? In that I'm no longer completely suicidally depressed, just partly, and I haven't had a return of the voices or violence.

It is helpful, however, to have someone you can call and cry at when an anxiety attack is impending, especially if you have reason to fear you'll take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it.

Example time!

Last night (Thursday at the time of this writing), Wife wanted to go to Food Net- I've mentioned it before, where Angry Guy scared the shit out of me. Since we were dead last last time, we would automatically be first this week. I didn't want to go. At all. I didn't believe that even being first, we'd get anything good, and another huge reason: crowded rooms like that sound like my audio hallucinations.

I don't really hear distinct individual voices. Sometimes I do- I got one guy that likes to tell me proudly that he's got a bag of shit, and a little girl who just says 'hello' over and over, but I'm really sick if I'm hearing them. Usually, what I hear, is human white noise. It's like being at a party, with a lot of people talking all at once with each other, and you're in the next room. You know those are human voices you're hearing, you just can't really make out anything being said.

So crowded, small spaces like Food Net are basically my personal hell. And Wife wanted to go.

I wanted to scream at her and tear her down until she changed her mind, but I knew that if we could snag some good food, we really did need it, and if we were first, we'd be in and out much faster than last time. But mostly that we needed the food.

So instead of freaking out at her, I called her sister and cried at her. She had no words of wisdom, but just having her hear me out and not get mad and say "it's okay, I understand" was enough. That's all I needed. And it kept me from starting a fight with my wife that could've easily escalated to violence again.

This is why a support system is so important. Make sure you have one. If you don't know anyone in your life you can talk to, PM me. I can't promise anything, but I can say "I understand it hurts." Because I do. No matter how irrational our pain is, it is real, and I understand.

Like I've said before, we're in this together.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Why are babies in partial? We have two new patients and they aren't even legal age in Nebraska. (Legal age in Nebraska is 19, not 18.)

... and when did an 18 year old become a baby in my brain? D:

.is early.

Aug. 25th, 2017 07:51 am
yuuo: (I've been up all night drinking)
I got up at 7 to pretty myself up. I had plans on wearing one of my sun dresses, with my hair done up in Sailor Moon buns, since I found a tutorial on how to do it, and put on make up.

It's in the mid sixties outside, the room we meet in for partial is always cold, I tried to do the buns and just made a mess of my hair, and now I'm too tired to put on make up.

Avengers leggins and long tunic it is.

I'm debating taking my book with me to partial for breaks. On one hand, I wanna finish this book. On the other, that requires a lot of concentration. On a third, my normal alternative is writing, and that takes even more concentration.

I'm just tired, and that's making me rather nap between classes. :p

...

God, I'm sleepy.
yuuo: (It's woven in my soul)
Off the topic of partial, because I've had to meditate twice now tonight to settle down from the hurt, I went to my psychiatrist today. I am super relieved that he took me off the Latuda- it was making me super nauseous and was giving me brain shocks and also not doing shit for my depression -and put me on Seroquel. It's an anti-psychotic that is known and used for treating bipolar depression and bipolar mania. Which means it can treat my psychosis, as well as my depression, without a lot of risk of causing a manic relapse.

It'll make me super sleepy, but goddamnit, I'm willing to take that over wanting to drive myself into a ditch.

So no more Latuda, time to settle in for the first time with my Seroquel. I will keep you all posted on how that's working as time goes on.
yuuo: (Sunny came home with a vengeance)
I can't give names, I can't give details. Those are the rules of partial.

But since it's known as a general mental health recovery group, some subjects are going to inevitably come up, and I don't have to explain how to write my perspectives on these subjects.

Nor do I have to say how they came up to express my rage and humiliation and pain at being publicly shamed for the illness I have. In a fucking psychiatric partial hospitalization program.

Domestic violence came up. It's not an uncommon subject in groups like these, though I don't recall it coming up the last time I was in. But it did today. Everyone was giving their perspectives, and I apparently made the 'mistake' of piping up with my own experience- as the abuser.

Yes, I am abusive. I am controlling. I tear people down.

There are a variety of reasons, and they don't change the damage I do, but they at least give it a reason, a rhyme, a name of the madness.

My psychosis manifests a rage syndrome. I black out and become violent. Anti-psychotics control it. That's why I'm in partial, because I changed my meds and needed a close vigil on them becaue they were changed for this very reason.

I am an abuse victim. When I was seven, my mother spanked me with the buckle end of the belt out of anger because I wasn't a good enough babysitter for my two year old brother. She raised welts on him- a two year old -for leaving the yard when I wasn't looking. That was my whole life growing up, and even into adulthood.

There's a few things to remember here.

1) When my rage syndrome hits, I black out. I have very fuzzy awareness of what's going on and it takes forever to pull me back down enough to understand my surroundings.

2) Abuse victims often learn to express their pain through lashing out, in the way they were taught- with violence.

3) I am an abuse victim that was taught to react to things that angered me with violence. This teaching goes back before this wretched illness.

These things add up so that when the rage hits, my brain reacts the way it was conditioned from an early age- physically lash out.

And I explained all this, very carefully, while suggesting that sometimes, it's not a case of someone who should be dumped by the street corner (it often is, and I said as much), but that sometimes, as long as we are seeking treatment and cooperating with it, we just need someone to have enough compassion and love and patience for us to pull us out of this dark place that we do not like living in.

This was enough to make one woman snap very loudly that there's 'no excuse for beating the crap out of someone'.

Then she left the room in a huff with her cigarettes, fifteen minutes before break even started.

I don't know what baggage she's lugging around with her, but it is never okay to shame a mentally ill person for how their illness manifests, especially when they're getting help for it..

She publicly humiliated me, shamed me, and caused me to want to hide under the table and cry.

Fortunately, this woman only goes MWF now, which means I won't see her tomorrow.

But what she did, folks? Is not fucking okay. No, what I have done in my black outs isn't either, but I have no more control over those than a diabetic has over going into a diabetic coma because of no or inadequate treatment. (Yes, this is a perfect analogy.) It's no more right to condemn me and my behavior than it is to condone it.

Why?

BECAUSE IT IS NOT MY MOTHER FUCKING FAULT.

The social worker who was running the group at the time pulled me out immediately afterwards to head off the problem at the pass, reminded me that Helmet Head (my not nice name for this other woman) doesn't understand psychosis and schizophrenia illnesses, and that she would not let it happen again. Then she helped me talk through the worst of the storm so that I didn't go back in there loaded for bear and ready to pick a fight.

I will, however, being finishing that fight if it doesn't get dropped goddamn fast. I will not tolerate being shamed and attacked in a place that's supposed to be safe for me to heal in.

Folks, stand up for yourselves. And don't let people who don't 'get it' shame you for your illness. Work to get better, work towards treatment, but don't- and I mean this -don't let someone tell you you're a terrible person because you're ill, or that there's no 'excuse' for your behavior when they do not fucking understand.

It is not your fault.

Let me repeat that, louder for those of you in the back:

It is not your fault.

Now, to bed, as I plan to be pretty tomorrow.
yuuo: (Happy hurts sometimes)
I spent most of last night crying and trying to figure out what I did to deserve hurting like this.

In my now slightly more rational moment, I need to tell everyone- all of us -who suffers from a mental illness.


It's not our fault.


It's not. We didn't do anything to deserve this, this isn't divine punishment for some wrong we did as children. This isn't part of some great 'plan' that includes human suffering for no good reason. It simply is something that happened, just like some people get cancer, or have diabetes, or are born with a brain degenerative disorder.

But lord, does it hurt. And it's okay to hurt. And it's okay to cry. (Yes, I stole that line.)

Please, if you are suffering, find a doctor. If you are suffering and need help to stay safe, call a suicide hotline- I'll list some below -or go to your local mental health ER. They're not always the best, but you might get lucky and get one like mine.

It's not your fault.

And you shouldn't have to suffer. Certainly not alone.

We're in this together.




Suicide Hotlines

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1-800-273-8255
(Also has chat feature; hit up google to find it.)


http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html
(A list of hotlines by state)


Suicide.org
1-800-SUICIDE
(1-800-784-2433)


Military Veterans Suicide Hotline:
1-800-273-TALK
(Press 1)


Suicide Hotline in Spanish:
1-800-273-TALK
(Press 2)


LGBT Youth Suicide Hotline:
1-866-4-U-TREVOR


http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html
List of lines for outside the US


Or, call 911, or go to your nearest Mental Health ER


Please, get help. We don't have to feel like this.

.weight.

Aug. 22nd, 2017 04:25 pm
yuuo: (I've been up all night drinking)
I don't make a secret of the fact that I'm overweight. Anyone who's seen a picture of me can tell you I am. I won't tell you what I weigh, but it's not good. And anti-psychotics, especially the second generation ones, tend to make you gain weight.

I went to my regular doctor today to see about allergy medicine. She prescribed Allegra-D, and had a brief lecture about how I can lose weight with a life style change, because my meds would just make me gain back whatever I lost on gastric bypass..? So I guess life style is enough to counter that? But a surgery that's known for helping morbidly obese people like me drop weight wouldn't..?

Also, she knows I can't eat a 'variety of foods' because I'm on goddamn food stamps.

So I basically left partial early today to get lectured over something I can't help.

Between that and the worsening onset of depression, I want to curl up in a ball in my bed and cry.

I'd gone to the doctor, I suppose I should say, to get prescribed something for my persistent allergies. She prescribed Allegra-D. Since that's now available OTC, my insurance won't pay for it, and it was like. Seventy bucks. With a discount card, it was fifty. I can buy the straight decongestant for fiveish, after tax, but for whatever reason, my card declined, even though I supposedly had eighteen, the last I looked.

I almost crashed the car just to let it kill me. Or at least wanted to. Very badly.

Right now I have Full Of Grace by Sarah McLachlan stuck in my head and when I start getting her stuck in my head, you know it's damn bad.

I think I'll disappear for awhile now. Sleep, hide, something.

Depression is awesome, folks.
yuuo: (If I'm alone I cannot hate)
The self-destructive depression has settled in. My thought journal is a mess of pleadings for someone to kill me or lock me up where I can't hurt anyone anymore. I... am oddly disassociated from the pain, and at the same time, am not. I feel it, oh how I feel it. It hurts, it burns, it aches, it makes my stomach seize up and my brain misfire and I feel like I'm about to erupt into flames and burn away into ashes.

But at the same time, I'm watching from a distance, oddly...calm. Curious. Wondering what this creature that's writing these things in the thought journal is and what it's doing. Detached and cool. It doesn't meany anything, these words. They're just spewing from the pen of a madwoman and it's so fascinating to watch.

And I'm ripping down the people I love the most in the process.

This is depression, folks. This is psychosis. This is mania. This is a mixed state. This is mental illness.
yuuo: (In the eyes of a wounded child)
That joke is not nearly so funny to me these days.

Last night at Food Net, there was a 'gentleman' who was on the outside of our row- thereby haveing Wife and I trapped between what amounted to a wall and him -who was getting... shall we say... 'agitated' every time our row wasn't called. (For those who don't know, Food Net is a community-based food bank, basically. Good food, fresh donated from local grocery stores, no minimum income caps to meet.)

By 'agitated', I mean, standing up fast enough to kick his chair out from under him, and slamming the chair between him and I around, and generally acting like he was ready to attack someone.

I was trapped between him and what amounted to a wall.

Last night, I spent all night dreaming that I had gotten a call at Partial and was told I'd lost my mother to a heart problem without having had a chance to tell her I loved her, or say goodbye, or even find out if she got our birthday present to her.

Today at partial, I had playing cards thrown at me by someone who lost his temper at having to play a game he didn't want to and was pissed about his medicines.

This afternoon, I napped and dreamt the whole time of people being angry and yelling and me doing everything I could to keep them quiet and happy and appeased, because I was scared that if I didn't, it'd get taken out on me, even though some of what I was promising to do, I was physically incapable of doing.

This evening, my wife spent a few hours at a hotel because my sister worked there and was getting stalked by a guy who was a guest there that night, and my wife was buddy systeming her.

My hands keep shaking from whatever medicine problem I'm having, and I couldn't talk to the doctor post-lunch about it, because he had an emergency he had to go to and left by noon, and I hadn't noticed the shaking until after lunch. And it's now the weekend, so I can't even get to my regular doctor until Monday. So if something really goes south, it's off to the ER with me.

If the eclipse weren't Monday, and I didn't have people coming in from out of state to see us and it, I'd just give up now and go to in-patient so I could get some medication that didnt' leave me a shaky twitchy mess, and hopefully be in a less scary environment.

Of course, the other patients there would probably be scarier than I've already faced, so I wouldn't be any safer than if I hide in bed here and hope the kitchen cleans itself.
yuuo: (I won't let you fall apart)
I feel drugged. Tired. Slept all night, right up until the alarm just about, still feel sick as hell. Is this withdrawal? Because it sucks.

Is it bad that I hope they put me on Effexor just because it makes one of the people in partial bright and happy and I want that?

.christ.

Aug. 16th, 2017 08:56 pm
yuuo: (Born unto fire)
There are already Nazis here in Lincoln. They've been spotted, tiki torches and all, at the capitol building.

Glad I got my weapons back from my brother.

Remember, when calling 911 to report a dangerous situation (as is any with a Nazi), describe the other person, including what they're wearing. Then describe yourself, including what you're wearing, because presumably, you'd like the cops to not shoot at you if there's an altercation, tell them that you feel afraid for your life. Don't tell them anything else regarding why you may take any actions you take, if you get physically violent with the Nazi. Just say you feel afraid for your life. Say that if necessary, yes, you want to be taken to the hospital afterwards, but no, you will not be making a statement until you've sought legal counsel. If an officer asks why after the mess is over, tell them you're too emotionally unstable from fear and adrenaline crash to be able to be reliable, and you'd like to seek legal counsel.

Period, full stop, run program.

After that, it's up to you. Each person must decide how much they are capable of giving in this fight. We should all be violently opposed to Nazis, and quite frankly, if you can do it and not get swarmed, I'd say go for it. But be careful, be aware of your situation and your surroundings, and be mindful of your physical capabilities. If you have a bad hand, try not to punch with that one, for example. Fight back. #resist. But don't be stupid.

That's your PSA for the day.
yuuo: (I don't need to be the king of the world)
Ugh, that song's stuck in my head now.

Partial continues to go well. There was... not quite a spat, but something that angered me deeply that I can't get too far into, due to privacy reasons, but it came down to one person's opinions on suicide and 'choice' and I was ready to go off my nut at that person. I don't think this person is actually mentally ill, they're in for a near nervous breakdown due to extreme grief (lots of losses very rapidly in the last few years, one in the last month, I think), so I don't think this person fully understands what it's like to battle your own brain day in, day out, day in, day out, all your goddamn life, with little to no hope of recovering.

'Choice' my ass.

Speaking of, we watched an old video called Dark Glasses and Kaleidoscopes, which I saw last time I was in, about bipolar disorder. It's quite a bit dated, they were still calling it manic depressive, and it was hosted by the guy that played Mister Cleaver in Leave It To Beaver, although he was significantly older in this video than he had been in the show. But that dates it a bit, I think.

It's not a bad one, and it explains a lot why some people can't take anti-depressants, if they have manic tendencies, or even full blown mania. Anti-depressants can trigger a 'high' like that, which I think is what my doctor decided was going on with my Fetzima. Which makes me question my diagnosis of schizoaffective (yeah, that was officially changed from schizophrenia to that, but since it's so closely related, I maintain my advocacy for schizophrenia) as the depressive type. I can't help but wonder if it's not bipolar type.

Which would very much suck, as that makes anti-depressants a tricky game. I can't function without them, but I apparently can't function with them. "I hear there's a fine line between crazy and sad, but I can't tell the difference up close."

But this video talking about mania, and especially hypomania, and how it can seem like a 'natural personality' to someone, particularly the person with the disorder, and some people were asking that inevitable question that we all ask and get asked (frequently) - "When you take the sick away, who am I supposed to be?"

And it's not an easy question to answer. If you've spent so much time swinging between two extremes, who's that person in the middle? Does that person exist? How can you tell what's 'normal' and what's the illness? I think that might be harder for some disorders than others to answer, but we all ask it. And it's not one we can easily answer, and it's one that haunts us and chews on us.

But it is infuriating when an outsider asks it. When someone who's not there, who's not in our heads, who's not in these same places we are, asks "how do you know that's who you really are on the drugs?" or makes some stupid comment about how the drugs make you someone you're not.

NO.

Just like with suicide and choices, until you are down here, drowning in this mud and blood and these tears, you do not get to tell us that we have to stay off of medicines because of our 'natural personality'. You don't understand, we may not know who entirely we are when we're healthy, but that person is far better off than we are now! I don't care if it does 'change me' to go from a depressed and spazzy mess to a normal and happy person. I would rather be a stranger to myself and learn to know myself and who I am without the sick than to stay sick.

So don't you dare come into our spaces and make those remarks. Don't you dare.

Onto more personal news in this.

The Latuda made me sick after lunch again. Thankfully, the doctor listened to me when I said "I want something to make me stop being sick all the time," and prescribed me a short term prescription of Zofram. I'm to use it until the nausea goes away, or until I run out, whichever happens first, and if the nausea continues after a week of mild treatment, I'm to go back to my regular doctor and let him know that one of those drugs - pretty sure the Latuda, since the nausea coincides with me taking it, but the doctor reminded me that I'm also going through Fetzima withdrawal and that could be adding to the problem - and tell him that I either need this medicine long-term, or I need something else done to eliminate this problem. Because he agreed that I shouldn't have to go through this every day of my life.

Hopefully, I'll get sleep tonight so I'm properly rested tomorrow. That'd be faboo.
yuuo: (I won't let you fall apart)
I had decent energy all day. I suspect this will not last.

Kristie is as wonderful as I remember. I still get scared when I'm pulled out of the 'class' to meet with the social worker and nurses individually, because those're kinda random, and there's a lot the first day, and back in school, that usually meant you were in trouble. Still working on that anxiety thing.

But, I'm keeping my anti-anxiety meds with me, and I have my fidget spinner (yay! I forgot I had that in my purse!) and the group is much friendlier than the last time I was in. I'm a little concerned for a couple of them, and one's one of those "It's all in God's hands" types that makes me go "gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag," but this group actually insisted I sit with them. Last time I was in partial, nobody even noticed that I sat alone.

I think if I can keep from napping several hours after getting home, I'll do better, because then I'll get shit done at home and not feel like I'm not being productive.

I'm a little unhappy with how many people fuck around with their phones and take calls in class. that's a no-no in the rules, and there's a few who still do it. I may talk to Kristie about that, that's very disruptive to me.

.partial.

Aug. 15th, 2017 07:51 am
yuuo: (Theory about the bitter one)
Okay, so, I spent yesterday off of Facebook. I also spent a great deal of time asleep, because of depression. Fall out from the day before, plus I keep getting reviews to one of my stories on AO3 where people are like "omg not okay!" One was using tumblr speak for "this hurt ;_; good hurt but ouch. ;_;" I initially reacted to it badly, because I was afraid I had approached a subject inappropriately (it does feature alcoholism, so....) but was quickly reassured that it was a good review.

Then I got one yesterday where the person was... complimenting the style and prose, but was 'so shaken' by the ending that they had to get up to walk around twice just to compose their rather short review.

Like, I'm... I'm sorry? That's kind of the reaction I'm going for, in that I write angst, I write the sucker punch endings, at least the ones I write in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom, have since I started writing there in 2004.

It just made me feel like a terrible person and like I couldn't do anything right, so I ended up going to the hospital. Not for in-patient, but to get into the out-patient 'partial' hospitalization program, which is basically glorified group therapy. I was in it about this time last year, and it helped enormously. I realize that some of it was because I was on an anti-depressant for the first time that was helping, but thinking back, I really think a lot of it was this program. Because while the medicine remained working for several months after that just fine, one-on-one therapy didn't make me ... shine, quite as much as partial group had.

So I went in to triage at the ER (the only way to get in, apparently), and spent 3+ hours waiting through a long line of fellow mentally ill people going in for check-in. I actually got approval from the psychiatrist for admittance to the partial program before the ER doctor came in to evaluate my physical health before I could be released. Usually, it's the other way around, but they were just that busy. Good grief.

So here I am, awake at 8am, about to leave to go do my Day One check in stuff and sit through what basically amounts to a school day's-worth of group therapy. If the staff is roughly the same, I should do well, even without my anti-depressant, of which I took my last this morning. The only staff I recall hating was one man, the chaplain, and he was a temporary one because their normal one was out on vacation, I think? I don't remember, but I know I hated this guy.

I will have words if he is there. Or at least if he tries to make me participate in his Jesus Loves You shit. He may not remember me, but last time, he found out I was a pagan and started really singling me out to Talk To Him in class about this 'universal laws of forgiveness'. (Dude, I'm a daughter of Loki- the guy was so forgiving that he eventually snapped and started Ragnarok in revenge. There's something to be said for saying "no, I don't forgive you" and walking away.)

But the guy they normally have is supposed to be good, so we'll see.

I hope the Carrie Fisher look-alike is there. I recall adoring her, and it'll be nice to see her.
yuuo: (Lay my head under the water)
It's storming. It's five in the morning. I haven't been to bed yet. I've been screaming and yelling on Facebook against people who still insist on non-violence against actual literal Nazis who are actually literally killing us, and getting told to be nice all night. I am almost done with my anti-depressant. Today's the first day I'm not going to therapy on a Monday for good. I just took my night meds, including a bit more hydroxyzine than I'm prescribed (shh) i the vague hopes that it'll knock me out and let me sleep so I don't have to exist for just a few hours.

Just a few hours. Please. That's all I ask.

I'm done. Just a few hours.

You know that saying about how courage doesn't always roar, that sometimes it's the quite voice at the end of the day that says 'I will try again tomorrow'? Yeah, running out of that. I don't want to keep trying. I'm screaming into a void and nobody fucking cares.

Gonna try to sleep now. Maybe I'll work on writing in the ... well probably afternoon, at this point.
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