yuuo: (Here comes the pain)
Wife decided to change plans on Wednesday night, after being told about the benefits of hospice care. She canceled further treatment, and today we signed the paperwork for hospice care, and they've already come in with supplies. I have the privacy screens ordered, they'll be here within the next few days, and we have members of our local coven canceling an event to come in and help pack up and sort things and move furniture around and such tomorrow evening. Her hospital bed will be here within a few days.

Today is our fourth wedding anniversary, and we've spent most of the day asleep, and I'll be using this evening to get some more work done, since she's going to be asleep from pain killers.

I'm going to be contacting out-of-state family and friends and telling them to start putting plans into motion to be able to get out here for the inevitable wake at the drop of a hat.
yuuo: (Find my place in the diary of Jane)
I'm sorry for the radio silence. I've been trapped on the dark side of the moon.

"There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact, it's all dark."
-Pink Floyd

It might have been stated at some point around here, I'm not sure, and I'm not up for looking through however many entries there are on this journal. I'm afraid it'd distract me and I wouldn't get anything done, and would end up staying up too late and be barely functional tomorrow when I have to go out to the landlord's office.

My wife is dying.

There's no way to sugarcoat that, no way to pretty it up. My wife was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer, de novo mets in early December of 2013, and while she's put up a good fight, she's starting to lose. Quickly. She'd been almost NED last year in May, when we elected to try for a Hail Mary pass and give her a full double mastectomy to remove the last of the primary and remove the other side from getting tempted to make up for its missing sister. November, we did a follow-up PET to see where things were, and not only had it come back to her liver, it'd spread to her bones.

We tried a pill-form chemo for a couple months, but it was causing some unacceptable and unsafe side effects, so we switched her to a once-monthly infusion chemo for a couple months. In April, we did another PET, and not only had it continued to grow on her liver and bones, the lungs had joined in.

We switched to another chemo, one she'd been on before that had performed beautifully. A CT showed nothing was slowing or stopping. We tried chemo number four. The liver and bones responded, but the lungs were ignoring it, and the tumors there were starting to grow at an alarmingly fast pace. Her oncologist ordered a biopsy of the largest lung tumor to see what was going on; either it was a new primary (meaning she had lung cancer on top of breast cancer), or it was still the same breast cancer, but had switched pathologies. That's not common, but it happens.

That's what happened.

Wife's cancer cachexia- a cancer-induced form of anorexia -has stripped her down to nearly bones in just the last month. The lung tumor on her upper left side has doubled in size since the biopsy was ordered, and it's overtaking her collar bone. She qualifies for hospice. She's wanting to try radiation on the large lung tumor to try to shrink it and hold it off until she can get into a clinical trial up at UNMC mid-October. If those two things don't work, she's throwing in the towel.

Her body's failing, and her mind is starting to go with it. There are times where I'm not sure where she even is in there, if she herself is already gone. I'm scared that the cancer has hit her brain since the last head CT she had; it wouldn't be out of metastatic breast cancer's normal modus operandi. The four most common places for breast cancer to metastasize to are the liver, the bones, the lungs, and the brain. She's got three out of four, and it's been two and a half months since her last CT scan of her head. And the lung tumors have grown out of control at an exponential rate in that time. So it's possible.

We're working on putting plans into motion for her care. Even if the radiation and the clinical trials do the trick, it'll be a long time before her body recovers enough for her to be mobile on her own. Right now, I have to practically lift her up in my arms to help her sit or stand up. I am not a natural caretaker, and I have no training to do that properly. I'm hoping our state's Medicaid program will send in a Personal Assistant Service provider, once we figure out what we're supposed to be filling out on the application they sent us for it.

Since she can no longer climb the stairs to where the bedrooms are, I'm starting to pack up her stuff in her bedroom, narrowing it down to what is minimally necessary, and clearing it out so I can put my own bedroom stuff in there (the separate bedrooms were not because of martial problems, they were due to our bad backs needing two very different types of mattresses), so I can put the majority of the furniture in the living room up in my current room so we can set up a new bed for her down here, along with a small dresser and some privacy screens.

We're struggling to afford the extra Things And Stuff that are now needed for her care. My own health is failing. My reproductive issues have decided that now is a great time for them to start laughing at my current therapy. My stress and anxiety levels have gotten so high that it was bleeding into my dreams and I was waking up off and on all night, every night, due to nightmares and anxiety dreams. My psychiatrist was forced to put me on Prazosin to make them stop as much as possible, and make the ones that linger unable to wake me up and deprive me of much-needed sleep. My therapist declared my cats to be my Emotional Support Animals, partly at my request, but mostly because she was listening to me in sessions and decided that if I lose those animals, I will die. My disease will turn a gun on my head. They will be the only thing keeping a rope from around my neck when my wife eventually dies and leaves me alone.

Most of my local friends all work during normal business hours, so finding someone who can stay with her while I go to my own appointments is difficult at best, panic attack-inducing at worst. I've already had to reschedule one because of it.

In the back of my mind is the constant fear of how my roommate and I are going to afford this place without Wife's paycheck until our lease is up and we can look for a cheaper place that'll be big enough for us. How we'll pay for the move is beyond me.

There's another financial disaster that hit my desk earlier today that's added another stressor on my shoulders. I'm starting to have to divvy up my daily allowed doses of my Klonopin just to keep from overdosing on it. My heart broke when I looked up the minimum lethal dose of it and discovered that the deaths caused by benzodiazepine overdoses are rare; what you hear about in the news is actually because of the other substances mixed with the benzos.

I am at the point where my heart breaks that my anti-anxiety medicine can't kill me. My heart breaks for my furchildren when I remember that my Ritalin can. My monthly prescription could kill me a dozen times over.

In case there was any question about the necessity of my cats being declared ESAs.

And in all of this, I'm trying to write. Not for my own sake, although it'd certainly go a long way into helping me cope. There's a very special story I've been working on for a long time that I want her to get to read before she's gone- either just mentally, or completely.

Our twelfth anniversary is January 25th, 2019.

We won't make it to it.
yuuo: (She can't stop the screaming)
Been awhile since I've done one of these.

I got diagnosed some time ago with ADHD, on top of my SZA and anxiety. I... sometimes feel uncomfortable with it, sometimes relieved, because it makes a lot of things in retrospect make sense.

It also confuses the fuck outta me, because one of the things about ADHD is that there's a problem with too little dopamine.

Think about that one for a second, real long and hard.

If you noticed that psychosis is caused by too much dopamine, and having both at the same time makes no sense, then ding ding ding ding! You win... nothing, except the satisfaction of knowing you're right.

But here's the thing: I can look back as far back as my pre-SZA childhood and see classic symptoms of inattentive-type ADHD. And I can well and truly assure you that I do suffer from psychosis without my anti-psychotic. I was believing I was an elder god trapped in a human body and seeing agents of The Dark God who wanted to kill me to keep me from reintroducing magic to the world for awhile. That ... is pretty classic psychosis there, yo.

So how the fuck do I have both?

Who the fuck knows at this point. My brain is a real piece of shit.

But it's been causing some real hell for me lately, and nothing I'm finding is helping. There's a quirk that the ADHD brain has in that its ability to focus is entirely interest based. Yes, everyone would prefer to be doing something they enjoy or are interested in, but neurotypical people are able to focus on something else. The ADHD brain can't. Medicine can help, and some forms of therapy can help- almost always only in conjunction with the medicines -but when it comes down to it, it can be physically painful to try to pay attention to things that don't interest me.

Wife convinced me to play in a post-game BotW Zelda RP with her over on IJ. She and I are the only players. And she started this game after she'd already been regularly having days where her pain was high enough that she couldn't function the entire day. So I'd only been half-heartedly into it at first.

But now I'm really into it, and while she's been mostly up for things lately, Tuesday she got hit hard with a case of food poisoning (fortunately a type that doesn't have more than a couple symptoms, and rarely runs longer than 24ish hours), and spent all day yesterday recovering.

Which means I haven't had my RP partner the past couple days.

Which, if I was still only half-hearted about the whole thing, wouldn't have been a terribly big deal. But, I'm super invested now, and since my brain is an ADHD one, it's interest-based, and it is nigh-hyperfocused on this game and this game only. Literally everything else I normally enjoy doing sounds so tedious and boring that I alternate between wanting to break something and scream and yell profanities, or break down and sob hysterically. (I have done much of the latter.)

Add in on top of that that finances are way tighter this month than normal, due to the youngest needing his yearly and his rabies, and I've been the one doing most of the Out And About the last couple weeks, and I just... Saturday I broke down into hysterics trying to balance the budget enough for us to have food.

(For the record, finances will not be nearly this problematic for us in the future- MiL is taking over our rent in exchange for us and Roommate taking over utilities, which average up to about $79 per person. This means Wife and I will be going from paying $600/mo in rent between the two of us down to $158/mo in utilities. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME.)

Wife also had to have a CT scan on Monday, because when we took her in on the 2nd to her radiology oncologist to see about her radiation burns forming blisters (apparently a very rare reaction to starting chemo so quickly on the heels of radiation therapy), and she reported numbness around her lips and jaw to him, he decided that he needed to do a scan to 'make sure nothing else has shown up,' because 'they sometimes see this in women with breast cancer.' Note that she reported this as a known side effect of one of the treatments her primary oncologist has her on, so this wasn't just a random thing she was reporting.

But think about how terrifying 'make sure nothing else has shown up' sounds. Think about it. Really think about it.

They were scanning to make sure that she wasn't developing tumors in her brain.

Her scans turned up negative, thank the gods, but the appointment where they decided on the CT scan had been Friday, then I broke down on Saturday, then she got sick on Tuesday, and spent all day recovering yesterday, and we're too broke for me to indulge in any retail therapy, and the only thing my brain wants to focus on is this specific game. Not even just this general character- if that were the case, I could write fanfic or something while I'm waiting for her to get better. No, it's this specific character within this specific setting. And I have run out of dumb shit I can do on my own without her tagging with me.

I went to my therapist today, asking for help, but she's never worked with ADHD, the concept of the interest-based attention wasn't one she knew how to deal with, and while she hunted down a couple of resources for me to look at on the web, they... were not actually helpful, because they're all aimed at people who have things they have to do. Like, they talk about how to turn hyperfocus into productivity, and every example had to do with how to get stuff at work done, or at school. There was literally nothing for those of us who have nothing like that to deal with. I guess it's just assumed that we can just do whatever?????

There was one article that talked about dealing with 'negative hyperfocus,' in the context of getting absorbed into something stressful that can and needs to be put aside to be attacked later with fresh eyes. Not what I'm needing help with here- what I'm wanting is advice on how to direct my interest to something else when I need to. And to make that worse, that article ended with a final step when it came to targeting negative hyperfocus- 'force yourself to walk away.'

OKAY BUT HOW. HOW. HOW?!?!?!?!?!?

I searched the subreddit for ADHD, and haven't found anything particularly helpful, and one psychologist who specialized in ADHD who approached ADHD as a lack of proficiency in skills, like wtf??? I hope all of your clients sue you for malpractice because that's the opposite of what the actual peer reviewed experts say??????????

And basically, I'm not finding anything that'll help me, I'm growing more and more resentful whenever Wife has bad days, because I spend them unable to do anything because everything feels so tedious and boring that it is literally painful, and I've started just taking my meds early and going to bed early and hoping for the best the next day, and I hate myself for it. I hate it. It's not her fault that she's not feeling well, it's not like she wants to be sick, it's just. I need something that gives my brain a happy rush right now. The Seroquel may be working a miracle on my depression metric (had another EEG recently, and my depression metric is down from a 3/6 (6 = most depressed) to a 1/6, so yeah, Seroquel is a fucking miracle worker for me), but the stress and anxiety have me reduced to tears on a regular basis. I need something that will make me happy and distract me from unnecessarily chewing on things that I can't do anything about at that exact minute.

And my dumb stupid fucking piece of shit brain won't take any joy from anything I can do on my own on days she can't function.

The cherry on top, of course, is that even on the r/adhd forums, the topics that were nominally related to what I was looking for all stressed great diets, lots of exercise, and no caffeine.

Okay.

Stop.

This month, at least, I am still on food stamps. I have not had a choice about the quality of my food intake pretty much ever. And the rare times I can indulge in 'good food,' I get stupid dumb veggies and I gather up recipes that I can understand enough to pull off, and I hate what I eat. It's not because I did the recipe wrong, it's that I just don't like veggies. I don't like 'good foods.' It's not because I'm 'picky' or what the fuck ever, I am trying to like them. But I get to the point, the rare time I can afford to have 'good food' around the house, that I would rather not eat at all, than put effort into cooking (an activity that I hate) and eating something I derive no pleasure from, and end up feeling hungry afterwards anyway. (Don't give me that shit- veggies aren't that fucking filling. I always feel hungry after 'healthy' meals.)

But what about exercise?

I hate exercise.

Yes, yes, I know, at this point, "you just hate everything good." It's not for lack of trying, fuckers, I can't magically like something I don't. All through middle school, I did dance team, I did volleyball, I did basketball, I did softball, I did the regular gym routine everyone else did, I got up to where I was doing 100 sit ups every morning, and an hour of yoga, all on top of those other things. None of my metrics ever improved, and I never enjoyed any of it. I have done sports. I have done exercising with friends. I have tried exercising alone. I have done water yoga. I have done cardio. I have done weight lifting. I have never experienced runner's high, no matter how hard I try to. I don't get any better at any of it, it never stops hurting, it never stops making me feel gross and overheated and sweaty and out of breath. And I get so motherfucking bored the entire fucking time. The only thing that goes through my head is 'when is this going to be over?'

Exercise has never done anything to improve anything related to my mental health, and not really much of anything for the rest of me. That last part may change now that my levothyroxin dose has been upped to where I need it to be and the few changes I've been able to implement are finally showing results, but don't give me no fucking shit about how exercise is great for mental health and improving focus. Because that may be the law of averages, it is not the case for me.

And don't fucking get me started on the caffeine thing. I will not give up my soda. I won't. I have tried almost two dozen times over the last twenty fucking years to do it, and even if I make it a few months, I spend those few months crying off and on for no apparent reason, which stops as soon as I pick up my Mountain Dew again. I refuse to make myself miserable when I don't have to. And I have never seen caffeine free Mountain Dew that wasn't also diet, and I can't drink diet, because I'm allergic to aspartame. And they don't sell caffeine free anything here in town anyway.

But I don't know how to approach asking for help for my specific situation and not be met with a lot of "well, you know what you have to do, you just need to do them, you're making excuses for not exercising/eating right/giving up caffeine." I'm sorry. I have tried. I can't make myself like something I don't. I can't. I'm sorry. I have tried. That's not how things work.



I don't know anymore. Nothing helps. I try and try and try and nothing helps, and nobody I can get into contact with seems to know what I can try that I haven't. Everything that should work, doesn't. And it feels like when I ask for a little feedback on the few things I do manage to make myself do, I end up having to beg and scream until someone gives it to me. I leave links to things that I did for people (particularly Wife) to see the next day, and I get no response. Nothing. Not even an acknowledging "I saw it, I'll get to a response when I feel up for it." Nothing. I have to beg for feedback. And I'm so tired of the silence.

I don't understand.

I don't know what's wrong with me.
yuuo: (There is a legend)
There's a lot of controversy going on with the Zelda timelines in general, but the latest game has really made people show their true colors of assholery. Nintendo had never wanted to do an official timeline to begin with, but the fandom harassed them enough that they spit out the Historia just to shut us all up.

For some background, for those who don't know these things.

Clickie! )
yuuo: (Going down in flames)
There's a thread over on the NaNoWriMo boards about chronic illnesses, and many of us have responded, saying our illnesses are mental illnesses. Someone mentioned mental health medicine, and this happened:

[User Ruby Winter Said:] I agree. I have various mental health problems and have never taken medication, nor would I. My bestfriend is currently on meds for depression and has been for a long time. I think that sometimes they can help in the short term but only if you're also doing something to try and fix the underlying problem. It's sort of like going to the doctor with a broken leg and the doctor prescribing painkillers and telling you to carry on with your life walking around on the leg. You can't feel the pain anymore but the leg is still broken.[/quote]

I have this response typed, ready to go, but I'm going to sleep on it. I've already gotten into it in PMs with the mod on how to approach such wantonly evil lies, but I want to see what I get before I click reply.


Read more... )
yuuo: (I found your picture today)
Saw my pdoc yesterday. I got put back on Ritalin! OH PRAISE LOKI AND THE SISTERHOOD OF ARTEMIS.

For whatever reason, the PA who saw me sent in my old prescription for lorazepam (Ativan) and neglected to send in my hydroxyzine. I should call them about that, but I'm tired and about to go to bed.

But before I do that, I want to rant a second.

To my mentally ill peers who have 'made it' and are functioning just fine in society, regardless of how hard you have worked to get there... shut the fuck up. Please. Just shut up.

Why? Because most of you will say "it took [x] resource and this work and maybe a little meds and lots of therapy and I have a job I love, I have a spouse who hasn't left me over this shit, I don't have to worry about homelessness and I can fucking travel," and you'll mean it to be inspiring, that we can do it too, it just takes perseverance and hard work.

Can we please stop with this bootstrap mentality? Pretty please?

Because all you're doing is proving that if nothing else, you are extremely classist. If not also slightly ableist.

Not all of us have the resources you have. Not all of us are lucky enough that the treatments we get make us able to 100% function in the world, even if it is a lot of work. A lot of us are treatment resistant. And a lot of us are too poor or just otherwise don't have access to all the same treatments and support that you have. Or didn't have access to them until it was too late.

Yes, I'm glad to hear that it's not a death sentence automatically for everyone. But very few things actually are, so you're not proving anything new and exciting. But what you are doing is shaming those of us who can't get better, who can't work, who do live in poverty, and who do face homelessness on a regular basis.

Goody fucking gumdrops that it worked out for you. You probably had money and other resources at your disposal. I didn't. The only time I've actually had medical insurance for my treatment was after I was put on disability. I didn't have the ability to work without treatment, I couldn't get treatment without money, and I couldn't get insurance without a job. I had to get a pro bono lawyer and my dad to pay for a proper psychological screening test to send to my lawyer to get on disability. A lot of people don't even have that much.

So while I am glad to hear that my fellow siblings in this fight are doing okay, I don't appreciate them writing articles about how they did all this work and it just takes this training and that training and a lot of therapy and blah blah blah. Those are things a terrifyingly large number of us do not have access to. You are doing nothing but shaming us for not having your resources. That is desperately classist.

So at least acknowledge your privilege when you talk about these things, mmkay?
yuuo: (I've been up all night drinking)
I've discovered some of why I sleep all day, long past what I need, and why being up, no matter how much sleep I get, makes me feel miserable until the first two or so hours have passed.

The sun sets in that time.

The sun depresses me.

This isn't really a surprise to me- I've always functioned the best overnight, and my wife and I used to be on the best schedule of up at about 6 in the evening or so, and asleep at about 9 or 10 in the morning.

But somewhere along the way, we got stuck on a stupid ass fucking day schedule, and she's stuck to it and been emotionally fine, but I have suffered. We always make our appointments for the middle of when I should be asleep. It's hot. It's sunny. It's noisy and the world is moving and I don't feel like I have enough time to get things done, no matter how much time I have that day, because day times were when I had to be up and at school, and doing homework, and chores, then going to work, then coming home and having no time to unwind and take care of myself. So I can't do it. I can't make myself care for myself during the day. I feel rushed, I feel anxious, and I ultimately feel depressed from it, because I feel like I have no time to take care of myself. So I wither.

But I can't seem to get Wife back on a night schedule, so either I can just not see her because she's asleep at night, and I'm asleep during the day, or I can be miserable all the time.

Some fucking choice.
yuuo: (Default)
I feel like I'm bleeding out inside. It's easy to smile and laugh at the goofy things, but the second the laughter's done, it's an instant drop into the darkness. I laugh so you can't see me crying inside.

I spent another day in bed all day. I've been up about an hour and a half and I'm ready to go back to bed until tomorrow, if ever. My arms feel weak from the fatigue of trying to exist when my brain doesn't want me to. My stomach hurts, and it's not from the sugar of the cake my wife baked me. It's a good cake. It's not enough to chase away the pain.

I barely have the strength to write this. I don't want to write this. This is taking every bit of strength I have. But I'm writing it in case someone else feels this way and doesn't know how to word it, or feels they're the only one in the world that feel like this.

You're not. I'm down here, too.

I'm scared to go back to my pdoc and explain these symptoms, because these symptoms are part of what I had him put me back on Seroquel to treat. I don't want to hear a 'told you so'. I don't want to feel like he's thinking it.

I don't want to stay here, but I"m scared to ask for the help I need to get out.

need to have a little trust in me
just close your eyes and let me lead
to where the lonely ones roam
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.

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