yuuo: (Default)


I love this group so much, but this song continues to bug me. I get what they're going for, but... it bothers me on a deep level. Especially this part-

"We throw tantrums like parties
We're not happy 'til everyone knows we're sick
And that's just how we like it
We've hurt bad enough, right, we've earned it

Don't tell the others but it's all getting old
I mean how many more times must our stories be told?"

I'll tell you how many more times our stories must be told. Again and again and again and always just one more time, even when/if we finally get the world to understand that WHAT WE HAVE FOR TREATMENT RIGHT NOW IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. That the social stigma is NOT OKAY. Keep doing it, lest they forget and things get bad again.

Always just one more time. Always.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Said to an in-law on Facebook. Cousin-in-law said he hated dealing with crazy people- crazy people turned out to be unmedicated mentally ill person. Cousin-in-law's mother replied with 'there's a world of them out there.'

Excuse you.

"About 18% of the American population is affected by anxiety- that's over 40 million, many of them my generation- the millennials -and the ones after us. Depression affects 6.7% of the population- that's over 15 million of us. 2.6% for bipolar- over 5.7 million. 1% affected by schizophrenia - 3.2 million. Worldwide, 1.5 million more will be diagnosed with that this year. My disorder is schizoaffective- we're about the same as schizophrenia, a little less, actually.

Yes, there is a whole world of us out there. And we're suffering. We're suffering and too many of us aren't getting any help, or the help we're getting is insufficient. I just had a medicine change because I was suffering from violent psychosis again. We had to up my anti-psychotic and take me off my anti-depressant because it's the only thing that had changed to possibly have caused the manic-like psychosis. I will soon have nothing treating my depression.

Over 41 thousand people will kill themselves this year. Most of them are people with mental illnesses.

There's a whole world of us and we're _dying_.

Please be careful how cavalierly you say 'there's a whole world of them out there'. We're not a 'them'. We're people, and we're suffering, and we're DYING."
yuuo: (Bits of a star gone wrong)
I know what I want
And then I don't
Tick tock goes the clock
Back and forth
Back and forth

I don't know what I'm thinking
If there's even anything there at all
But I know what I'm not
Stable, stable
Okay, never okay

I'm lost inside this dizzy noise
I wanna scream and scream
I want to die
And sleep
And dream no more

Please stop your crying
I'll never do it again
I'll just be passive and quiet
I didn't realize I was scaring you
Give me a place to rest

Empty me out
Make me weightless
Maybe ol' Sarah was right
And I'll find some peace tonight
I just don't see that happening

Wring me out
Leave me to dry these tears
How many times am I going to have to do this?
How much time?
How many years?

I'm so sick of the tension
Sick of the hunger
Sick of me acting like you owe me this
I need-
I need that place to rest

If I give in
It'll eat me
Chew me up
And spit me out
But hey, happy hurts sometimes

Like the song says
I gotta ask
What's wrong with me when happy hurts?
What's worse,
Why I gotta scream

Until the air is fire
And I'm burning
Burning

I can't stop the screaming
Going on in my head
So make it stop
Let this end
But who am I supposed to be
When you take the sick away?
yuuo: (Happy hurts sometimes)
Ended up not going to the hospital! Yay!

Ended up with medicine changes that wasn't what I was wanting, but at least we're attempting something to keep me out of the hospital, so yay!

Money.... not so yay.

Copay on prescriptions suddenly non-existent...? Uh.

I mean, not that my copays were high to begin with, $3.60 on my name brands, but this time, it was zero. Including on the name brand. I mean, if something's changed in my favor, cool, but I'd better call tomorrow to find out what, just so I don't get hit with back owed later down the line and not be able to pay then.

My wife's gift for me came in- I have a beautiful Captain America shrug with sleeves for my tank tops. ♥ And I now have a Slytherin notebook.

(Note: These things were ordered back when we had the money to spare, they're just now coming in the mail.)
yuuo: (Theory about the bitter one)
No clean clothes. Need a shower. Have a feeling I won't get meds changed, I'll get told to go to the hospital. Can't go without clean clothes and a shower. Never going back to therapy, that trust has been broken.

And she won't be back until 2:30, because she's at fucking yoga, and that apparently means time to take two hour long showers. Great. And she's the one that made me make this fucking appointment.

This day is already shaping into another one that I get the cops called on me for. Fantastic.
yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
Nobody cares
Nobody hears
I speak into a void
My voice cracks and tears

When will this fragile little me
Figure out what's wrong
And how to be better?
I've wanted to be for so long

I need to shut my mouth
I always say things I don't mean
I should sometimes remember
Nobody knows how to read in-between

I thought they knew me better than that
I thought they knew at all
I guess I should've known better
It's my fault there's no hands to grab when I fall

But nobody hears
And nobody's home
So goodnight, sweet ladies
Go on and leave me here alone
yuuo: (I've been up all night drinking)
Anxiety levels are coming down. I think. But irritability and mood swinging is at an all time high. I am a lazy, fat piece of shit and I have to keep trying to remind myself that I'm not, I'm sick, and of course exercise is difficult for me mentally, for a variety of reasons, but among them because I'm so depressed that the idea of getting up just to go downstairs for a drink sounds so exhausting and painful, what am I to do with an hour of exercise? And even if I didn't have that, with my concentration problems, I need something to mentally do while exercising, and you can't read a book while doing the elliptical.

I don't think.

If you can, someone please tell me, because I will be skipping my way down to the gym in about five minutes.

It looks like, instead of getting the paint I want next month, I'll be investing in a cheap mp3 player for the gym. Gods forbid I get to get something I want.

(I used to have one, but I used it so rarely that it kinda died and wouldn't resurrect on me. I guess if I go to the gym again...)

It would've been nice to get proper sleep last night. That would've helped.
yuuo: (Sweet Maria)
I wrote a song. Be nice to me, this is my first time. ::flutters eyelashes::


Oh Heaven
Yuuo

Oh heaven
Let me go
Oh heaven
Just leave me alone
Oh heaven
I'm walking away
Because all along
You were never going my way

Walk me down that aisle in white
Hear me pledge my undying devotion
But the congregation was all wearing black
The day-
Oh that day-
When the rest of my life was drowned in the ocean

Oh heaven
Let me go
Oh heaven
Just leave me alone
Oh heaven
I'm walking away
Because all along
You were never going my way

I gave you my oath, 'til the day that I died
I gave it all so you could take away
But you marked 'return to sender' a few bricks heavier
Then came the day-
Oh that day-
The shoulder you promised wasn't there when I cried

Oh heaven
Let me go
Oh heaven
Just leave me alone
Oh heaven
I'm walking away
Because all along
You were never going my way

Send me down that road of good intentions
Give me a map so I know where to go
And when I get to the end
Of that road of good intentions
I will at last have found my home

Walk me down that aisle shrouded in white
Hear me pledge my devotion to death and beyond
And now I pray-
Oh how I pray-
To break the bondage of that day

Oh heaven
Let me go
Oh heaven
Just leave me alone
Oh heaven
I'm walking away
Because all along-
Because all along-
Because all along-

Oh heaven
You were my hell
yuuo: (It's amazing to me)
Okay, so I hear both sides of the 'trans women do/don't have male privilege' debate and I want to settle down my side.

This statement is both true and false entirely dependent upon how you define the word privilege.

If a trans woman is not lucky enough to be raised as a transgender girl, she has a lack of privilege in that she grows up misgendered, and- for some -with a nasty case of body dysphoria. That's not privilege. But that kind of privilege that cismen and ciswomen have is cis privilege. That's a different, but intersectional, kettle of fish.

If a trans woman is riased male on into her adulthood, she is raised to understand that her word matters more than that of female-bodied people, that her dick is more important than the reproductive bits of female-bodied people. This is male privilege, and yes, a trans woman most certainly has this kind of male privilege. Society has given that to her, until the age she comes out, and possibly starts transitioning, though not all trans women transition.

Third gender people with the male plumbing have the same problem, most times.

Now, I want to make it clear: any feminism that doesn't include my trans sisters is not a feminism I want.

That said, the table of feminism is large, and has many areas of concern that affect different women (and men) in different ways. This no less makes them women's issues.

But that society-granted male privilege that many trans women had before coming out makes them think that their place there is more important. That's why so many will scream about how we shouldn't call reproductive rights 'women's rights', because 'not all women have vaginas'. Yeah, well, no shit, but it's still part of the feminism table, and not one you belong at, so sit down and shut the fuck up, this isn't your place. This is why I get messages from trans women who bitch at me that I don't know what I'm talking about when I say uterus-related issues don't affect trans women the way they do cis women or trans men or female-bodied third genders, because "omg I want a child the natural way!" as if that had anything to do with what I said.

I'm sorry, my trans sisters, but that is a women's issue you have no place in and need to shut the fuck up. Your word doesn't matter there.

This society-granted male privilege is also why you get trans women screaming "TRANSPHOBIA!" when a straight man or a lesbian woman won't get sexually involved with them, because they have a penis. Guess what, ladies? Not everyone wants your junk. It's really that fucking simple. I won't get sexually involved with a trans woman because penis + me = smash it with a hammer, clip it off, and stick it on a Rotato (TM). It's not because they have 'issues' they 'need to work out'. It's that they don't like dick. End of story.

(On that tangent, I'd like to say that while there is nothing wrong with being a 'gold star lesbian' or whatever the equivalent would be for a straight man, it's how you say you are one that makes the difference between "sorry, not into you and your parts" and "I am a transphobic butthole that needs a two-by-four to the face.")

NOW!

On to the part where they have pretty much the opposite of privilege.

Spending their lives being misgendered. Something cis men and cis women will pretty much never have to worry about. That is cisprivilege that they lack. Many of them grow up with body dysphoria, another thing that those with cisprivilege will never have to go through.

Trans women have a hard time finding places at the feminism table because too many cis women won't count them as 'real women'. This is disgusting transphobia and it needs to end, right the fuck now. Again, any feminism that doesn't include my trans sisters can take a flying leap, just as quickly as white feminism and straight feminism. My trans sisters deserve a place at this table, and there are issues they deal with that a female-bodied person who is not a trans man will never have to deal with, and we need to shut the fuck up and listen, and listen well. We need to stop saying that they're not 'real women'. They are. They're real women, just as much as my wife is, who is a cis woman. They're even more woman than I am, because while I was raised as a cis woman, I am not a cis woman. I'm not a woman. I'm a Third Gender. Just because I don't have body dysphoria (most of the time) about my female body, and don't get worked up over pronouns and generally go by female ones because I'm lazy, that doesn't mean that I am a woman, and my trans sisters are more women than I am, in that sense.

And there are issues they speak of that I will gladly sit down and shut the fuck up and listen to them.

TL;DR, I think the problem is the definition between male privilege and cis privilege. They have (or at least had) one, but never the other. Let's be careful how we define these words, and I think the feminism table will be a happier one.

.psa.

Jul. 22nd, 2017 02:28 pm
yuuo: (So I'm breaking the habit tonight)
My anti-depressant is supposed to be working, but the last two days, I've been so depressed that I'm forming suicidal ideation again.

For anyone going through this but doesn't like to talk on phones, text 741741. It's a Crisis Line, same as the phone ones, but you'll get talked through with text messages, instead of talking out loud. Good for a lot of reasons. Some of us have phone anxiety, and not everyone's in a position to be able to use an out loud voice at the moment they need the help.
yuuo: (It's amazing to me)
I don't talk too terribly much about my gender identity- I'm not exactly secretive about it, but I prefer to not talk too much, because I don't need it getting back to my mother and having another argument about GLBT issues that she knows dickall about because she's one of those Christians that make anyone sane hate them all forever without discrimination burn that mother fucking institution down to prevent more like her.

Just to give you an idea of what her stance on those issues is.

But, as it is mentioned in my profile, I'm pretty laid back about my gender identity. I consider myself Third Gender, in that I am both female and male, depending basically upon where my head is. My hormones don't play a role in that, either- I have an IUD that completely flattens everything and keeps them stable.

But, despite being third gender, I am so apathetic about my pronouns that I'll answer to whatever, including 'hey you' if you're nice about it. I tend towards female pronouns because I'm female-bodied and was assigned female at birth. I am super lazy about my pronouns, because- and I stress that this is for me personally, and not my opinion of those for whom it is the opposite -I don't find it a reason to get bitchy. For me, my pronouns aren't a reason to get up into a snit over, because they're not important to me.

Again, I stress that this is for me only. Of course pronouns can be super important, if they're important to the person wanting certain ones used! And I respect that, and will never tell them they're getting up in a tizz about 'nothing' when to them, it isn't nothing.

But for me, in my life, it is nothing.

So you know, keep calling me whatever you wish, I'm cool with it.

Now, that all out of the way, because I'm just sure that if I hadn't, someone would have thrown a cock and bull shitfit at me, and I'm sure there's someone who still would, but I really don't give a fuck about them at that point.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh, right.

Because I've always been comfortable with my female body, or mostly, anyway- my complaints with the icky bleeding thing aside (shut up, I find it icky, that is not ingrained misogyny, that's me hating blood) -I so rarely get body dysphoria. So very rarely. I get a little weird during sex, because that's when my male brain really kicks into gear, but usually, I'm okay with handling my clit or using a fake dick and my fingers to satisfy the need to, you know, thrust.

Right now? No. Oh no.

My libido is rockin' with its tits out, but it wants a penis. Specifically for me to have one. (I am vagina-sexual- cocks don't come near me unless it's fake.) I'm like. "Body. You don't know what it feels like to grab penis and feel it because it's attached to you. You don't. Stop trying to figure out why you can't."

And this makes masturbation very uncomfortable. When your body desperately wants you to be able to grab a piece of external plumbing and go to town, and all you can do is rub at a tiny little nub between a pair of labia lips, it is extremely disorienting, and it makes my reactions to the stimulation weak.

But my libido is driving me crazy and I keep squirming because hot damn, does my body want to orgasm.

Come on, body. Stop this. STOP THIS. STOP THIS THIS INSTANT.

Sigh.

To my fellow vagina-bearing, penis-wanting people, I am feeling that pain something awful right now. Fist bump for surviving without going completely nuts yet.

...

Er.

Maybe not the best wording there.
yuuo: (Here's to us here's to love)
Wife's double-mastectomy went well. Surgeon said he got everything that looked abnormal out of her breast and lymph nodes. (I'd hope he got it all out of her breasts, he took those completely off.) What he took out looked like scar tissue to him, so it's possible she's 100% NED. (Note: NED, not cured. There is no cure for Stage IV breast cancer.) NED meants she's got a decent chance at being one of those tiny outliers who live decades beyond diagnosis. She's already made it past the average three years, and is running strong.

The surgery to remove her ovaries was also successful- they did those at the same time.

She is home, and kinda fading in and out regularly from pain and painkillers. (Hydrocodone/Ibuprofen is a magical thing, and also, if you have issues with Acetaminophen for whatever reason, like my wife, whose cancer had metastasized to her liver, demand this stuff. It's one of the only opiates that's stronger than Tramadol that doesn't come only with Tylenol in it.) But at this exact second, she's up and coherent and on her laptop.

Photographer friend, is who is the first father I became friends with and therefore is very important to us, is leaving today, and it saddens me. Wife's parents leave in a few more days, and Wife's best friend/heart sister is showing up right after that, so I have help with Wife's drains and general care at least until she's at a point where I can do it by myself without having a meltdown. I love my wife, will do anything for her, but uh. I'm not a natural caretaker. I'm not a white mage. I'm the defender. I will fight to the death for her, but medical care is a bit beyond me, at least for long term. So family and friends are all in town to help and I'm so grateful for it.

I'm getting excited to be roleplaying on IJ again. I've been getting some with Wife, but that's on hold until she's fully coherent on a regular basis and can tag without feeling wonky. But, my own heart-sister is joining in, and I'll be playing with her in the meantime. ^_^ Happy me is happy.

I've been kinda plugging away at Hephaestus in the meantime, and Prometheus will be picked back up once I know what's going on in the parts those two overlap at the end. I have a chapter in there to finish now, but it's smushy fluff, and while I love smushy fluff, I have trouble writing it. I'm that writer who likes to rip up your heart and use it for lawn mulch with little reprieve. Suffer my pen. Mwaha.

Cats are doing fine, all told. Loki got his annual and his three year rabies on Wednesday, and Wife went in for surgery on Thursday, so he is more riled than the others. Lots of new people, constantly invading their space (we had some other friends over last night for weekly gaming session), one of them ended up taking a dump on the floor out of stress protest, and we think it might've been Loki, but we're not sure. Thankfully, it was Carolyn who was here to clean it up, and I was at the hospital, so I didn't have to deal with that. :p I'm such a nice person (I would've done it if it'd been me to discover it. I'm not terrible to my cats.)

Although, speaking of taking care of the cats, I need to clean their box. Will do that when I'm done here.

On the mental health front, my doctor put me on clonazapam for my anxiety, since the Ativan had just stopped working and the hydroxyzine was only good for low grade treatment. It puts me to sleep, but it calms my mind in the process. The Ativan put me to sleep, but I was still wound up tighter than a spring when I'd wake up.

I also got my Fetzima upped, because not only is it an anti-depressant, being an SNRI instead of an SSRI, it helps with anxiety... and energy levels. So in about a week, I should start seeing an end to my hypersomnia, at least the level it's been at. It's caffeine pills in the meantime so I can be up when Wife needs me.

And now, I run to do that cat box. Have a good day, friends.
yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
So I had been in what I thought was a bought of hypomania. Not a natural one, it turned out, as when I started coming down from caffeine exposure, I am back to sleeping all the time, and being unable to focus and get shit done.

I am so sick of this fatigue.
yuuo: (Blood blood blood)
It is hailing. The weather has me down. I am wide awake after a good sleep on a good couch that was good for my back, but Wife is asleep and so drugged that I couldn't even let her know that I might need help with the cats if the weather goes really shitty before she fell right back to sleep on me. And I just called her friends out on something that they do that bothers me, and now I'm scared for the repercussions. I don't have the goddamn energy to deal with their whining.

(Long story short: They flirt aggressively with her, and I don't think they even realize they do. One was so bad that even Wife felt uncomfortable from it, and this woman would come onto my Facebook wall to talk about taking Wife to bed. Platonically, but hello, her wife is right here? That's her bed you're talking about? Not okay?????? But her other friends like to throw kissing emojis at her, and while I trust Wife, I don't feel comfortable with people I don't even know getting that cozy with my wife. I appreciate their love and support for her, I really do, and I don't mind hugs and love and hearts and such. But the kissing, even in pretend, makes me really unhappy. Like, do they not understand boundaries?????????? That's someone's wife you're doing that with???? I wouldn't even mind if they caveated it with a "tell your wife to give you a kiss, because I think you deserve one!" or something to that effect. That firmly acknowledges healthy boundaries, while still wishing the love on Wife that she deserves. Why is this apparently a novelty to them???????)

I just foresee this shit coming from a mile away, and Wife is asleep, so now I have to lie in this bed I just made by myself, but if I didn't establish this boundary, there was going to be problems down the line that might alienate Wife's friends, and they really do give her so much love and support, I don't want her to lose that, or resent me for being the cause of it.

But, no energy for their bitching about how Dark Schneider-y I'm being. Fuck them.

And in all of it, not only do I get to face this alone, I also have nothing to focus on that doesn't give me anxiety through the roof, if it can distract me any from this source of anxiety.

/sinks into a black hole of depression
yuuo: (Can somebody help me?)
So I got a call from United Health Care, who are partnered with Nebraska state Medicaid, to follow up on their services, make sure I'm getting what I'm needing from them, and help them figure out where the gaps are and how to fix them, which, I think, is fucking fantastic.

What's odd is that she was confirming my diagnoses, and mentioned that she had bipolar on her record. Which... was news to me. I asked her what my psychiatrist had on record, and she confirmed schizoaffective and anxiety, which... is also odd. My formal evaluation testing came up with those diagnoses, but the doctor went in and did some futzing with the diagnoses so that while the anxiety/panic disorder was correct, I had schizophrenia and possible depression.

I have no idea where the bipolar came in.

And, of course, I can't get into my patient portal for that provider without calling the office for a new link to register with (weird set up, but at least it's with the same portal system as my PCP, so I can switch between the two providers with one login) to see what the fresh hell is up with that.

It is also just now occurring to me that my therapist might've submitted the bipolar diagnosis, since she is licensed to make such calls. Which means I'm super happy that she's volunteering to come with me to my next appointment with my doctor.

My wife wanted to go with me originally to help me remember all the complaints I've had, because not only do I have such a shitty memory that I lose track, I get a bit anxious just seeing the doctor and get afraid that I'm not 'perfect enough' if I'm not responding to his treatments well.

But. Well. We got a letter in the mail on Saturday.

My wife's bilateral mastectomy is the sixth.

Which.

Is when my appointment is.

And I can't reschedule, because I'll run out of my meds before I can get in again, and they won't refill without an office visit anymore. Thankfully, when this came to light at therapy on Monday, my therapist was wonderful and volunteered to come with me, since she has been taking notes on my various concerns and I haven't been, and again, the anxiety and shitty memory. I used to have a decent one, then my disorder got out of control, and the meds I was put on for it fried what was left of my memory neurons.
yuuo: (I won't let you fall apart)
So I may or may not have snuck away with a Ritalin, and boy, am I awake and working and productive and focused enough to actually do those things.

I fucking miss having my own Ritalin. I really do.

Now, back to writing. I just sold a kid to a human trafficker. Must keep up the good work.
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Today is one of those days.

Lately, I've been happily existing on about six hours or so of sleep a day, all in the afternoon, which is the nastiest part of the day weather-wise anyway, so why the fuck would I want to be awake and active then anyway, right?

Then I made the mistake of sleeping in my own bed, and yesterday, my sleep was such shit that I slept almost 20 hours. This isn't a crash from the slight hypomania I was riding, because after I napped a few hours on the couch, I felt so much better than I had after longer-than-healthy 'rest' in my bed.

I'm going to be trapped on the couch forever.

But, as usual, my wife got tired overnight, because she is a normal person with normal circadian rhythms. So I'm alone right now.

We were folding laundry a little bit ago, and she was boggling that she's now a size eight.

I am a size twenty-four.

I was fine with it coming up, because I'm super happy for her and proud of her that she lost all that weight- she was a sixteen this time last year. But, she made the mistake of acting guilty and trying to assure me that she loved me despite my size, and how she wishes I could be that little, too.

I wish she'd just left that alone. Because now all I can hear is my doctor's disapproving voice, telling me to stop drinking soda, stop eating dairy (to be fair, I suppose, I'm mildly lactose intolerant), start eating healthy, I need to start exercising, this weight isn't good for me.

Well no fucking shit.

The last time I lost weight, it was because I'd simply stopped taking in any calories that weren't a few sodas a day. That's all I existed on. My depression had manifested over those two months as a lack of desire for food, and a lack of energy to cook on the rare occasion that I was hungry.

Then I saw that I'd lost about thirty pounds in a month and was super happy, so I decided to continue that the healthy way. I started eating health, as much as I could on our budget, which made me miserable because I hate healthy food and I always feel hungry after a 'normal' meal of it. I exercised for a minimum of an hour every day, first thing in the morning. I thought that'd make me more alert, lose more weight, make me happier. After all, that's all the things that good diet and exercise are supposed to do, right?

Whoever tells you that exercise wakes you up, that it's fun, that it helps you lose weight, that good food is like medicine? They're fucking liars.

I gained every pound I'd lost back and then some. I felt more miserable because exercise actually brings my mood down. I was tired more often.

So now I'm worked up because my choices are apparently A) be doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, but miserable because I'm gaining weight and hate what I'm eating, or B) stop eating entirely and lose weight and still feel hungry, but at least it's not because food is making me miserable.

Fantastic options.

Then my wife informs me that she's tired and wants to go to bed.

I slept twenty hours. I am not tired. I will not be going to bed any time soon.

So now I'm alone, with nothing to do that doesn't just make me more depressed. I can't work up the energy to write, I don't like the book I'm reading, I don't have access to my art program on this laptop, and I cant go to the desktop to work on something there, because my desktop's power source is dying. The fan is whining in pain. I risk setting my computer on fire if I go on it. And this laptop is so ancient and slow and dying, that I am writing about three lines ahead of what shows on my screen, because it's lagging, and that's in all browsers, so don't anyone fucking tell me to switch to Chrome. My Firefox works no worse than Chrome on this piece of shit, and Firefox has all my logins and my extensions that I need to switch between roleplay accounts easily.

And that's another thing.

The only thing my brain is willing to hide behind is roleplay, because it's both creative and interactive, but lately, I have had to beg, fight, and cry for every minute of it I've gotten, and I'm starting to think that nobody fucking cares about me anymore. People don't talk to me, nobody's missed me on Facebook, where I haven't been in a few days. I don't think anyone's even noticed I'm not interacting there.

I'm alone, bored, and miserable. And fat.

I should just go take my medicine and an Ambien and sleep for the next twenty-four hours again.

But I can't do that, because I have therapy at two today, and there's stuff to do around the house, since we found out at the last damn minute that my wife's surgeons scheduled her surgery for next fucking Thursday. When we were expecting not until four to six weeks. I have my next psychiatric appointment... next fucking Thursday. And I can't get out of that, because I will run out of my medicines if I do, and my psychiatrist's office won't do refills without an appointment.

Which means I have to get up early to take my wife to the hospital, wait around for a few hours until they get off their asses and actually take her into the OR, sit around for several more hours, hoping and praying that she doesn't die on the table while they remove half her chest, then wait with her in recovery, then make sure she's sleeping well enough that I can skip off to my pdoc's appointment, all while dealing with my mother-in-law (who has been a right pain in the ass and doing nothing but hurting my wife), my heart-father, and a few days later, my heart-sister-in-law crashing on my couches.

Which is the only place I can go with my laptop, and again, desktop is dying, so now I won't have anywhere to go at all.

I can't help but think I would be better off just committing myself and asking to stay a month until all this goes away. It's either that, or I may be tempted to drive my car off a goddamn bridge.

This is the way my brain works. This is what depression looks like. This is what anxiety looks like. This is what mental illness looks like.

My advice? Avoid it if you can.
yuuo: (Finally it's the barrel of a gun)
America is not beautiful.

We may have the spacious skies, and the amber waves of grain. We have the purple mountains and the fruited plains. And we stretch the width of our continent, from sea to shining sea, something many countries don't.

But we are not beautiful.

I used to believe we were. I don't anymore. America is ugly. If there was ever a thing such as sin, the word encompasses America. She is evil, with the blood of millions of innocents on her hands, and all she does is wave around her smoking gun in arrogance as she lines up her sights on the next innocent life she wants to take.

Tonight, I heard about a seventeen year old girl in Virginia who was murdered. A Muslim girl kidnapped from in front of a mosque.

Castile's murderer walked.

Cosby avoided conviction due to a mistrial.

Kendra Marie Adams was murdered and left in a building still under construction.

Pulse was only a year ago.

Islamophobia.

Racism.

Sexism.

Transphobia.

Homophobia.

Over and over, the creed of intolerance and hate flow, flow from the right, flow over those of us who just want to survive, over the small handful of the communities with the social standing to fight back for us. Gun laws are loosened. Pastors preach hellfire and brimstone against those lesser than themselves. Parents torture their children with conversion 'therapy'.

This is America.

America is white.

America is male.

America is cisgendered.

America is straight.

And America is Christian.

Justice and Liberty have no place at America's table. Equality and human dignity are slaughtered and served with a glass of merlot. Decency and tolerance are scoffed and tossed out to die of exposure to the elements. America ignores their cries, ignores the lives that are extinguished like candles with them.

America is ugly.

And no god sheds its grace on it.
yuuo: (This is my family)
We are not alone. We are more common than AIDS/HIV. We are more common than multiple sclerosis.


Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd
Peter Green of Fleetwood Mac
Mary Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln's wife


These are but three people in the long and rich history of humankind who have suffered from schizophrenia. Best known might be John Nash, famous mathematician whose story was told in A Beautiful Mind.

But not all of our experiences are like what is shown with John. Some of us are a bit more sedate. Some of us are violent, though very few. Some of us hear voices, but see no source for them. Still others see, but not hear. Both are terrifying.

We are not alone. We can be obscure, but we can also be very famous. Don't push us into the shadows.

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