Why do we scream?

Seriously though, I watch movies and shows and people just start #screaming, what happened to fight for flight? No, let's just stand there and #scream as the killer/attacker/accident takes place. I understand being frozen in fear, but screaming too?

What causes us to scream instead of running away or fighting? Screaming accomplishes little to nothing...

And it appears to be males and females alike, although more females than males? Are we going back to our ancestral nature to call for help in a time where words didn't exist as we know them today? The mate calling for help?

Just weird thoughts in my head. I know about "screaming" #therapy, is it a similar thing? Some people just instinctively scream instead of protecting themselves?

Of course these questions come from watching too many TV shows and movies, I'm sure. And maybe it's all to pull the viewer into suspense? Or is it something that we truly do in real life based on some primal level of our own selves?

Day to day; week to week

This week has been rough, with a few exceptions. 

Today started out slow, but I decided to spend some time downstairs. 

That, of course, lead to watering all the plants. Unloading, loading, running and unloading again the dishwasher. 

The holiday music is playing and for the moment I feel pretty good. 

I have to latch onto these moments so that when the #depression comes barreling down on me I can try to remember all the #good.

Sailing - Christopher Cross

Emotional Release

I am participating in #NaNoWriMo again this year.

I'm going about it differently. I'm combining my reaction to my mother's death 4 and a half years ago and my recent diagnosis.

Combing over old journal entries. Retracing the steps of my past. Has difficult as this is I can only hope that it will help in my grieving process and my personal growth.

I have never "won" NaNoWriMo, I simply try each year to write that novel/story/memoir that I know is trapped in my mind.

I write in hopes to discovering myself. In hopes of truly telling my story. With the desire to share with the world that they are not alone.

This will not be an easy journey. This path I'm about to walk down will be full of grief, confusion, frustration and deep sorrow for things lost that can never be retrieved again.

You can follow my progress at: http://nanowrimo.org/participants/geminifaerie.

Here I go. Here I walk down a path I do not know where it will lead nor do I know who I will be when all is done.

Thoughts that linger

I am lost in a sea of emotions. 

Poem. Lost thoughts.

I sit here, reading and bored. Why do we keep going on as we do? I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want to run away from myself. I am sad. I have lost so much and gained so much and lost again.

I want to go home and not leave the house. Stay curled up in bed. Waiting. 

Waiting for time to pass. Waiting to be held. Waiting to understand myself. 

How long will that take? How much money have we lost? How much pain have I caused? 

Where am I going? What do I want? I want love and even a small understanding of my confusion. 

I spin. I drum. I sing. I cry. I sleep. Sometimes I eat. Sometimes I dance. I move back and forth between two places. Everything else scares me. 

I fear judgement. I fear being declared a fake. Am I? Have I taken advantage of my position? Have I lost track of my journey that I no longer know where I am going or who with? 

How easy is it to forget me? 

I am cold. I am always cold. I do not hunger. I ache. The answer is within me and I cannot find it. Any idea is a good idea. Is anyone listening? 

I cannot share these things with others. If I do then I have laid my burden before them and in a way asked them to carry it. For me? With me? I do not know. But no one should have to carry my burden. No matter how small or big. I am lost and cannot be found. 

How long before the new is no longer exciting and I grow old of it? How long before others grow old of me? How much longer must I deal with myself? The anxiety builds. I find so little pleasure in so few things. 

That which I once loved I care little for. That which I once dreamed I have forgotten. Where am I? Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why is it so hard for me to be happy? 

Robin Williams and Depression and Sucide

I have spent my waking hours today crying over #RobinWilliams. I have spent the last few days crying over his death and #suicide. I never realized just how much he played such a pivotal role in my life. I believe he lived his life for as long as he could making people laugh to hide his pain. Sadly his #depressiongot the better of him. The laughter he was hiding behind was no longer enough. It was not a selfish act. His suicide was his choice to make the pain he was hiding from go away. The laughter was no longer enough. He is/was loved the world over and although we mourn such an amazing man and feel so strongly of this tragedy, one can only hope that through this selfless act that #depressionAwareness will become more prevalent. 

That #mentalIlnesswill be finally acknowledged for the disease it is. And a better understanding of how there is so little known about this disease and more needs to be done to acknowledge it and help do something about. We run for Breast Cancer and the like. Why can't we form a foundation that support the research on better understanding the human mind and causes mental illness and how we can at least find better ways to address it head-on. All of those that suffer from #depression and have multiple thoughts of #suidice each day and have sought help, all that is done is pushing one pill after another hoping something will work. I think I'm on medications 10 and 11. And they aren't working. What is left? 

Robin held on for so long. He hid is much longer than I was able to. At 33 I broke. At 33 I was admitted into a mental ward that did little for me, but keep me on a 72 hour hold. I took my meds. Slept and from time to time participated in group sessions. There was no individual counseling. There was no guidance once I left the facility. It became obvious that this facility showed more emphases on children/young adults than they did about adults suffering from alcohol abuse, manic episodes, hearing voices (talking to god/Jesus) and those just dopes up on too many drugs. 

At 34 I'm still trying to fight the fight. It's one I feel I'm slowly losing. Will I ever see the age of 63? My mother didn't quite make it to 55. 

(Sister on left, Mom on right. Probably one the happiest days of her life when I got married for the 2nd time and she was there to "run" the whole event. I let her plan everything.)

The picture at the end of the video is the last known picture of my mom.

She showed so much happiness. Although her death is seen due to illness. Truly it was a slow form of suicide as she refused to seek medical help for something that was most likely very treatable. 

Can I manage this debilitating disease for another 20 years? 30? I just don't know anymore. 

Should I leave this world of my own choosing, it won't be because those around me didn't try hard enough to "make me better". It won't be because I know how much they love and care about me. It will be because I can no longer fight the monster within me that I just can't seem to control anymore.

Anxiety and dealing with things no one else can do but me.

Memory getting worse. I have to constantly remind myself what day it is. And not in the typical way either. I think I tell myself at least 10 times a day what day it is.

I had therapy yesterday. Got home and couldn't really remember it. I kept wanting to look at my partner and ask if we went. And the only thing that kept reminding me that we did was that it was Tuesday and it was on the calendar.

I've done well at keeping the litter boxes clean everyday for over 2 weeks now. And the kitchen isn't in a total disarray. So I at least have that going for me.

I've deactivated my personal FaceBook account. It's been that way for at least 2-3 weeks now. It's nice. My Bipolar II page is still active though: https://www.facebook.com/pages/I-Have-Bipolar-II/570142669759988, although I haven't posted on there since July 22 or so.

I'm currently reading Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, http://annerice.com/Bookshelf-AllBooksInOrder.html not the glittery stuff. I've read most of them before, but it was ages ago. It is escapism, but on the bright side it keeps me off the computer.

I'm in the process of trying to deal with my student loans in regards to my disability. All of this is very stressful for me, but I know that I'm the only one that can take care of it. There are a lot of things my partner can do for me, set up doctor appointments, buy groceries, cook meals, take me to my appointments, pick up my medication and the like. But he can't deal with my student loans.

I used to be in charge of our finances. I'm finding it harder and harder to deal with. All of our bills are now on auto-pay, as I can no longer remember what day things are due and for how much. We have a shared calendar with this information, but it's not enough anymore. Again, I don't know what day of the week it is, much less the date. Thank goodness for this new age era where I no longer have to physically balance my checkbook and I can see real-time bank transactions and fix things as problems arise (mind you it's under medication that makes me tired and sometimes still isn't enough).

I shake a lot now when I'm anxious/nervous. We had to replace the fishtank stand last week. I was a mess. I found out the water filter was leaking down the back (outside) of the tank and it had completely soaked the stand. The shelf was completely bowed where the tank sat. It was the perfect breeding environment for flies (which the area I leave has a problem with anyway). I sobbed when I saw the stand. I then panicked when I saw all the tiny flies everywhere. More sobbing. Sitting on the floor completely at a loss as to what to do. I text my partner and he had to tell me what to do for the time being. (I used to be great at dealing with situations like this.) My partner told me to I empty the tank about half way to lighten the load. He came home early from work and we went to the pet store to get a new (and proper) stand. I felt horrible that I hadn't noticed the problem sooner, so I was already upset. And I just stood in the pet store shaking and attempting to help my partner find a reasonably priced stand, as well as a new water filter. On the one bright side I knew we'd need cat food soon, so we picked that up too. The day was saved, no thanks to my panic. (I text quite a few pictures to attempt to show my partner how severe the problem was.) I asked him if I was being paranoid. And yes, I was to a point. The new stand is nice and everything is now in it's proper order once again.

Having deactivating my FaceBook account life has gotten really quiet. I sent texts to certain people to let them know what was going on and how they could still get ahold of me (phone #, text message and email). Still no word. I'm guessing if it isn't convenient then it's not important.

Trying to find the silver lining, I did get a text message last week out of the blue from a dear friend reminding me that I was loved and that I was being thought of. It was nice. I found it difficult on how to reply, but I didn't want her to think that I didn't care or that I hadn't gotten the text. The best I came up with was "Thank you." Lame.

I feel my mental problems getting worse rather than better, despite my medication and regular therapy.

I can't believe it's already August. All of this has been going on for almost a year now. I hope to have insurance sometime next month. Then we'll play the medication game once more of what might work and what doesn't. It's the one part I'm not looking forward to.

I miss my mom more than ever. At times I can't fathom that she's gone. I just want her to hold me. I just want to understand what's going on with me. I just want her to know that she's wasn't alone in her sorrow and confused depression. Yes it left a huge mark on me, but it's also genetic. She couldn't have known she would pass her depression on to her children. It's not her fault.

I find myself hating me. For allowing this to get ahold of me as it has. And it's so difficult to accept the fact that it's a mental illness. There is very little I could have done to stop it. I've held it back since I was 11 or 12. At 33-34 and living in the same place for 7 years now, it shouldn't be so surprising that my mental state finally caught up with me.

It's hard. I try everyday to do something positive and I feel so guilty and bad for the "pressure" I've put on my partner. It does make one think of death as a way to fix everything. I'm torn between rational about why death isn't an option and just all of this to stop and go away. All the things I used to enjoy, and now I can't leave the property. Sure, I go outside to care for the chickens, take out the dumpings from the litter boxes and to check the mail (thank goodness that box is right next to our property). But to find the strength to get into the car and go somewhere, that's a different story altogether. I had to go pick up my anti-anxiety meds last Thursday (my partner and his girls had just left that morning to go camping). I walked down the row looking for an aisle that was empty, as I feared having to interact with someone. I used to be loud when I talked. When I got to the pharmacy counter I was almost as quiet as a mouse and was shaking all over. It didn't help that there were people behind me. I somehow managed, but it reminded me, if I can't handle something that simple in an almost empty grocery store, there's no way I could handle a real job. Interaction with other people is damned near impossible.

Pills of the day

I take pills in the morning. I take pills at noon. I take pills at 3pm and I take pills at bedtime. 

I also take meds to help with my anxiety, which can manifest it's self at any time for any reason. Thank the Green Man I live in Colorado! 

I know I've talked about my meds before. It just seems the list grows longer. My alarm goes off all the time to remind me to take my meds. I've managed to follow that regimen regularly. 

I'll be seeing a new psychiatrist soon. Which means we'll most likely play with the meds I'm taking now. 

I'm scared what that will so to me. The with drawl, the possibility that things will get worse, not better. Or, for me, the utter most embarrassment that I'll have to be on some major psychotropic meds. As it is I'm on anti-psychotic meds. 

This is going to be an up hill battle and honestly it scares the living shit out of me. 

Mad World by Tears For Fears Original HQ 1983

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere
Going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Mad world
Mad world
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday
Happy birthday
And to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Mad World
Mad world
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Halargian world
Mad world

Music

Music is a large part of my life. It always has been, even when I was a little girl. I loved to sing at church and I loved singing along to the radio, the latest album my parents bought. Every Christmas my mom's mother would send me a soundtrack to some movie I'd fallen in love with that year.

Last night Skin by Madonna came on randomly and it felt like something I needed to hear.

Do I know you from somewhere
Why do you leave me wanting more
Why do all the things I say
Sound like the stupid things I've said before
Put your hand on my skin
Kiss me, I'm dying
Put your hand on my skin I
close my eyes
I need to make a connection I
'm walking on a thin line
I close my eyes
I close my eyes
Do I know you from somewhere
Why do you leave me wanting more
Why do all the things I say
Sound like the stupid things I've said before
(Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me)
Touch me, I'm trying
To see inside of your soul I've got this thing
I want to make a connection
I'm not like this all the time
You've got this thing
You've got this thing
Do I know you from somewhere
Why do you leave me wanting more
Why do all the things I say
Sound like the stupid things I've said before
Kiss me, I'm dying
Put your hand on my skin
I close my eyes
I need to have your protection
I close my eyes
I close your eyes
(Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me)
Do I know you from somewhere
Why do you leave me wanting more
Why do all the things I say
Sound like the stupid things I've said before
Do I know you from somewhere
Why do you leave me wanting more
Why do all the things I say
Sound like the stupid things I've said before
Kiss me, I'm dying
Touch me, I'm trying, ohhhh
I'm not like this all the time
I'm not like this all the time
Put your hand on my skin
Touch me, I'm trying, ohhhh
Put your hand on my skin
Put your hand on my skin
I'm not like this all the time
(kiss, kiss,...)
I'm not like this all the time
(kiss, kiss,...)
I'm not like this all the time
(kiss, kiss, kiss me...)
Put your hand on my skin
Put your hand on my skin

It has been difficult getting affection as my partner isn't certain what will/won't set me off and my mood swings are so irregular it makes intimacy difficult at times. Really, I want to be loved. I have to remind myself that I am loved and then I have to make myself believe it. And I have to work really hard at acknowledging my partner's efforts and not kill them where they stand.  

Social Media

I have closed my FaceCrack account. As nice as it is getting instant updates from people all over the world. It's really turned into sharing "inspirational" words with some pretty background. (Hell, I know I've posted at least one here.) But it makes me feel like I need to hurry up and get over myself.

I shall repeat again: I have Bipolar II and sever anxiety, including social. This is not something one simply gets over.

Rumor has it can be managed. Assuming you have insurance and money and  blah blah blah. (All the stuff I've already bitched about here.)

For now, my "social media updates" will be done here. My day to day struggles.

This week has been rough. I've been excessively tired for no reason. Very little got done around the house this week because of it.

I verbally lashed out at my SO this morning. I feel so alone and unwanted. I'm told I brought that upon myself. I'll buy that, to a certain point and no further. I will not suffer to be lied to. And I know that if I return to the group I belonged to that I will be lied to. It will be directly to my face. I know that I will be told that "It's so great to see you!" "It's so great to have you back!" Some will mean it. Some will not. And the one that I need to mean it the most will not. This one person will lie to my face about such things. So I stay away. And by doing so I alienate myself from everyone I know.

That's the easy picture. The harder part, the one that isn't so easy to get over is that I struggle every day to get out of bed. That stepping out my door and going somewhere will cause an anxiety attack. I am unable to defend myself. And thus I will break down in tears, words will fail me and I'll be lost in the attempt to understand what is going on around me.

My memory has gotten worse. It's short term memory loss. I've been told it's whole conversations I've forgotten. This scares me the most. I fear forgetting something.

I've put all my bills on auto pay to ensure that I don't forget to get them paid on time. It's only because of this that I am able to "manage" money. I can't. I just don't go out. If I don't spend money then all the bills get paid and I don't have to worry about it.

Today, after my SO left for a day trip to Denver with his girls, and after my lashing out at him. I had great remorse for my actions. It's difficult when you're told that your SO doesn't feel comfortable in our room. It's heart wrenching really. So I hid under the covers and cried as they left. After I'd accused my SO of not loving me and just not wanting to say it. After I told him that I'd just move to my sister's. And I cried because I hated every word that came out of my mouth. Because I was doing this to him, to us.

And, in my typical fashion, manic is what they would clinically call it, I cleaned the house. I cleaned the kitchen. I finally put away the clothes that had been sorted and waiting to be put away for weeks now. I vacuumed the master bedroom, the living room and dining room along with the den, upstairs hallway and even the stairs themselves. I put things away that should have been done so weeks ago, and in some cases several months ago. The laundry is still going and will be all day.

I went and picked up my medication yesterday, really I needed cat litter because I'd let the litter boxes go for WAY too long and the smell was overwhelming (how disgusting is that?). Safeway had litter on sale and that's where I pick up my meds. Easy peasy, right? I found the litter. Simple enough. I then waited to pick up my meds. I should have taken a Clonazepam before I left. There were issues with my meds. One of them wasn't filled. So I to wait for that. More anxiety creeping in. Thankfully there was no one behind me waiting to be helped. It was then noted that I didn't have anymore refills. My old Psychiatrist hadn't faxed my prescriptions to my PCP. Hopefully that will get taken care of before it's time for another refill.

In the mean time my SO and I are going to couples therapy once a week. I hate going, despite the fact that our therapist is a kind woman and I like her (nothing like my old one). We're still in the stage of getting to know each other.

So the house is kinda clean, a huge chunk of the clothes have been put away. The cats sleep happily where they please. I need to keep them happy.

Goal: if it's the only thing I do each day I will clean out all three litter boxes.

My cuts are almost gone. I watch movies to keep my mind from attacking me and I've started reading Lord of the Rings. 

I just found out that one of my favorite book series Shanara by Terry Brooks is being made into a 10 episode series through MTV. They aren't starting with the first 2 books (technically the 1st is a prequel).

 

Now if I could only figure out what to do with myself. How to be happy and have a healthy and happy relationship. I miss what we had. Some things change just due to time, that I can accept as normal. But the things that have changed recently are due to me and my illness and I hate that I've brought this burden upon my Life Partner.

Pain

Ah, the dramas queen. Let's write shit on ourselves. That'll get us some attention! ~End sarcasm

The truth of the matter is that's why I struggle with it everyday. I'm sick. It's rough getting medical help much less mental health care. 

I'm trying. No one sees it because I hide it. Because who wants to listen to yet another depressed situation someone is going through. 

Yes, I feel like a pitty party. I'm in physical and mental pain now. My right thigh won't stop cramping/aching. My right foot likes to go to it's tingly sleep for no reason. I'm exhausted and for no reason. Oh, wait! I'm depressed. 

I feel like being a real asshole right now. Me protecting myself from myself. 

So I hope and I pray that the pain will go away and I won't be forced to the ER. Followed by another stay at the Psych Ward. 

Very Lost and Very Afraid

I only leave my bedroom to get coffee, feed the fish and take care of the chickens. I am safest here. But even then I am still afraid of myself.

The coping skills are for show.

The hope has vanished.

The motivation is gone.

Death is constantly knocking on my door. For some reason I believe that if I stay in my room Death can't find me here.

I cut myself up yesterday. Both arms and both legs. Things I shouldn't tell my therapist as then she'd be obligated to admit me to a hospital due to self harm. Things I'm afraid to tell my partner, as it only causes him more worry.

I've had depression all my life, but nothing like this. Nothing so horrible that everyday I think of how I could end it all.

To try and keep my thoughts off things I watch movies and play WoW.

I know I should be writing, really writing, but I'm not. I should be out there taking pictures as the hail rains down on us and how the leaves look so green.

Even the beauty of nature has lost it's color for me. I see things in black and white. My partner tries his hardest to understand and do the best he can for me.

I don't eat much. I drink coffee all day. I listen to music all the time. It's on random, 20gig iPod (old) full of music, on shuffle, I never know what I'll hear next. It keeps me from choosing an artists/album to listen to. I don't have to make a choice when it is this way.

I don't want to make choices.

What if I'm just going through the motions because I feel like I have to?

To be this way, this tore up inside. What if I don't want to wake up from this nightmare? What if I feel as though nothing on this earth will fix this shit in my head?

What is love?

Highs and Lows

I've been wavering between highs and lows.

Mostly lows. They are ugly. Mostly mentally ugly. I never knew how cruel my mind could be to me. Suicide. Ideas on how to do it. Thoughts of my uselessness. It is difficult to do a lot of things that should be simple. 

I am luckily to shower once a week, except on that rare occasion when someone is visiting me or I am going out to see people. Which again is rare. 

I understand my own body smell. So I tend to avoid the truly ick that could surround me. 

Of course if it weren't for my partner I most likely wouldn't eat at all and lords know what my living space would look like. 

You should see how often I bother to change my clothes. I hide this from the few guests I get or if I must fo out. 

Last week I went through more "paper work" for Social Security. It was heart wrenching. The questions that were asked of me. The most buzzar was if I was a righty or lefty. Both I and my Rep were uncertain why. But other questions were invasive, simply reminding me just how fucked my head is. Needless to say, after that phone call everything was off. 

Sometime last week I was in such a horrible place that my partner came home from work to be there for me. I am grateful that he can work from home fr time to time. 

My manic also came out last week. It was evening. The laundry was piled high, the kitchen was a mess. While my partner was out that evening I went nuts. I put away 3 loads of laundry and started a 4th. I also cleaned the kitchen. Not just the dishes but the counters, stove top and the mess the coffee maker makes now. It was nuts. I think I might have cleaned the fish tank too. 

Today, right now, I'm at a 5 out of 10. 10 being extremely suicidal and 1/0 being just fine. Today has been more anxious than depressed. But again, that could change for no reason at all.

Last week I also ordered a book that was highly recommended by my old psychiatrist, The Anatomy of the Spirit: The Seven Stages of Power and Healing by Caroline Myss. 

The difference from one day to the next.

Yesterday was one of those days from hell, if you believe in such things. I admitted on my FB page that I was suicidal. It was rough. I knew it wasn't the right thing, but my mind...the thoughts...the ugly, ugly thoughts that ran through my head.
I have no purpose.
I don't know what to do with my life, so what's the point.

It's easy to do.
Just take that bottle of pills.
There are so many to choose from.
You'd fall asleep and just never wake up.
No mess, no fuss.
Sure, you'd be missed, but they'd all get over it soon enough and life for them would carry on and your existence would just be a flicker in time.

These were the thoughts that plagued my mind.
I soaked in the tub.
I tried to read.
I tried watching something, anything to get my mind off my shitty thoughts.
I tried coloring mandalas.
I tried finding the "right" music.
I took my med like I'm supposed to.
I tried finding a therapist for couples therapy through my partners insurance. (It just confused the fuck out of me.)
I tried playing World of Warcraft (it's so different now with the new expansion, it's like playing a whole new game).
Nothing worked.

Today I woke up to find that my plans for the evening have been canceled. :( Despite my anxiety, there are few people that I can handle seeing without it blowing up in my face. It's groups that can be dangerous, or old friends that I just don't know what to say to them and they seem frightened of saying the wrong thing to me.

This morning was better. (After I got over my disappointment of plans being canceled.)
My partner is working from home today. He suggested we get a start on the garden bed that has been ignored for quite some time and was overgrown with weeds and we had no idea what has survived over the winter. Plus we had 2 potted plants that needed to go into the garden.

So while he worked I got busy pulling weeds. Filled one of those industrial garbage cans with weeds. I worked faster than he thought. By the time I was done he was heading out to help me.

That's sage in the corner and rhubarb in the front and mint in the back. The mint we planted last year. It's taken over a large section of our garden bed. But hey, Mojitos in training as some might say. ;)

Rhubarb again in the middle on the right and mint on the top wrapping around and again in the top middle. We are uncertain what that plant is that's growing between the mint. It could be a weed, but we're letting it grow for now to see what it turns out to me.

Mint again in the upper right, English Thyme on the "bottom" right and chives in the top middle. I'm uncertain what that is growing next to it, unless it's that similar plant that might be a weed. Time will tell.

That green loopy thing is part of an onion plant. (see below) We also planted potatoes between the chives and thyme, two on either side.

Here are more onions, and again potatoes planted between the two rows of onions.

The onions amaze me. They've been left to the local elements in Norther Colorado for a winter, and they just flourished this Spring. Those are flower head on the tips. It'll be interesting to see the bloom.

So there you have it. I went from I want to die (quite literally) to, I can't wait to see what this garden will do next. Oh, and I showered and am out of my PJs. 

Social Security

Today the paperwork was filled out and submitted to SSI to see if I qualify. I can't help but cry. I'm 34 years old. This shouldn't be happening. And as much as I don't want it to, it is, and I'm finding it /very/ hard to make the tears stop. Along with the embarrassment of it all.
I can't believe how wore out I am after that phone call. It started at 9am and ended around 10:30am. I'm exhausted. I did it, that's a plus. But mentally it's draining. I'm fighting the desire to go back to bed.

I get to do it all over again next Friday, I think the call should be shorter. I'm grateful for an advocator group that actually fills out all the paperwork for me and files it. And should I be denied they will work on changing that denial.

This week has been rough and maybe now it will get a bit better. I managed every day to take care of the chickens, but I've neglected everything else in the house.

After the phone call it has become apparent that I cannot work in a clerical environment again. I used to be so good at it. And now all it brings is panic, uncertainty, and instability.

Between my medication and fear of stepping out my own front door, how on earth can I possibly go on a job interview, much less learn to multi-task again. With my memory problems I have found that multitasking is very difficult for me now. One of the few positive things I had going for me work wise.

Time will eventually tell where my path is truly headed. We are trying to find options. And I'm trying to find the strength to follow through with those options.

Here's to hope.

Insurance

Have we talked about insurance yet?

I hate insurance. Not dislike. Not on the fence about it. I HATE insurance.

Let's be honest, having one's income cut by 40% sucks. It makes it harder to make ends meet. But we've managed.

When I was on FMLA and Short-Term disability I still had insurance through my "employer". But then, as soon as I was approved for Long-Term disability I was laid off and instantly lost my insurance. Great...

This Health Care Act sucks. There shouldn't be any enrollment dates. The enrollment date should be as soon as I need it. Fine, charge me a fee for not enrolling during the "enrollment dates". But since I can't what am I supposed to do until November?!

I need therapy at least once a week. I need to see my PCP on a regular basis. I need to see a psychiatrist at least once a month. I need my meds adjusted or added or changed in some way.

The program I was going through I can only use once a year. It only covers 10 therapy visits at a very cheap price and 4 visits with a psychiatrist. It was nice having it while I did. But that's gone now. Their suggestion, apply for medicaid.

I did. As embarrassing as it is, I did. I receive $63 too much to qualify. I'm a single person with no children. I don't qualify for shit.

I need medical help. I can't afford it out of pocket. $100 once a week to see a therapist out of pocket, and that's the low end. $150 to see a psychiatrist once a month or so. Plus medication and $130 a pop to see my PCP. That's $5,200 a year for a therapist. That's $1,800 per year to see a psychiatrist once a month. And an estimated $780 for my meds per year (assuming nothing is added to it and nothing changes). That's $1,560 to see my PCP annually. That's a grand annual total of $9,340, or $788.33 per month. That's roughly 58% of my income.

I have to wait until the 1st or 2nd week of Sept. to get on my life partner's insurance. I need something to cover me from now until then, and options seem slim.

We're looking at couples therapy through his insurance. To be honest we need it. He's been my caretaker for far too long and the lover side of him has dwindled since all of this started and it's my fault. I try not to beat myself up about it, but it's the truth. Maybe, just maybe, with that and paying full price to see a psychiatrist once a month or every other month, we'll be ok until I have "real" insurance. (And maybe my long-term insurance company will be satisfied with just that for now. Thankfully my PCP's nurse calls and checks in on me from time to time, and that doesn't cost me. Sometimes even my PCP herself will call, and that's always nice to know that I'm not forgotten and it's understood that I don't have insurance at the moment.

But insurance sucks, whether you have it or not. I need more health care options than what's out there for the mentally ill and are broke. Broke to the bone.

I'll be told by my partner not to worry about it. We'll make it work. It's so hard to hold onto any hope when it feels as though everything is lost and hopeless. Maybe this is how Aragorn felt when he stood in front of the gates of Mount Doom facing an army he knew he couldn't beat.

Hoping and praying that Frodo was inside and would destroy the ring. I stand with bated breath waiting for good news. For all that's good and worthwhile I need good news, good lasting news.

Pain

It's so difficult not to cut.

This is an old image. But the thing is, I struggle everyday not to do it again. This was the early stage. I ended up cutting up both hands. Nothing deep enough to draw blood and leave a scare.

The pain I feel inside is so immense that it hurts even more that no one can see it. How do I explain this? This need to have an outward showing of the pain that I carry inside me.

I've ignored the kitchen all week. I wake up take my pills, feed the chickens and go back to bed. Sleep until noon and then contemplate if I want to get out of bed.

This has been one of my toughest weeks. The laundry hasn't been touched in a week or more. One load sits on my couch folded and ready to be put away. Another load sits in the basket on said couch and yet another load sits clean in the dryer. And the clothes keep mounting up and I just don't care.

This is manic in the opposite direction. I go from doing ok, sometimes even pretty good, to being so down that all I want to do is die.

Everywhere I turn there is something stopping me from helping me get better. I feel lost and alone.

I've made a new friend. That's a good thing. I should focus on that, but instead I focus on all the other little stupid shot surrounding it.

I want drive up to the reservoir and drive my car off the road into the water. If I'm lucky I'll die before I drown. I want to swallow a bottle of pills just to make the pain go away. I want to be comfortably numb.

I want to be taken seriously on how much my illness hurts, every fucking day. I'll stop and suddenly I'll cry over my other partner deciding it was time to move on. I thought I was past that, but I'm not.

I am so bless to have a life partner that puts up with my shit. That feeds me dinner, because left to my own devices I'd hardly eat at all.

I'm writing these things in hopes that they will go away in my head. I write these things in hopes that others will know they aren't alone in their internal pain that no one can see and people refuse to understand.

We need to talk...

Let's not talk about what's real! Let's not talk about the taboo. Let's pretend that it's all in my head so that no one else has to worry about it. Let's ignore it and maybe, just maybe it will go away. 

New flash! It's here. It's real. And I can't make it go away. I can't ignore it until it goes away. That's not how it works. 

I've held it in for years. Believing I'd got it all under control. What happened? 

It exploded out of left field, it hit me and knocked the wind out of me knocking me down, like I'd been punched for unknown reasons. 

I can barely stand. Punch after punch. It won't stop. Over and over and over again. One hit, two hits, three. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. And I can't make it stop. 

And no one wants to talk about it. Everyone wants to believe it's not there. It is not their problem so what does it matter to them? 

If I had a life threatening disease you'd care. The truth is, I do. I struggle with myself to stay alive each and every fucking day. 

Some days are with it more than others.

Mandalas

I started coloring mandalas again. I've ignored a lot of my coping skills lately. 

I think the blogging has helped a bit, thus my journaling has also slacked off. I'm almost certain that putting pen to paper would be more therapeutic than typing on a keyboard/phone. 

The colors from the mandalas are soothing. 

I get lost in my thoughts as I color. Finding the right color, regardless if it fits in or not. 

At times I'll pull out a set of colors I'll be using and I'll use no other. Other times I'll dig through my bag of pens to find the "right" color. 

The color scheme all depends on my mood. Where the pen lands sometimes arbitrary. It aslo is a look inside my mind. 

How would one translate one mandala to the next? 

I still write notes to myself as I fill in the spaces with color as they come to me. 

Back to the coffee to keep me awake during the day. Back to smoking a little marijuana to keep the anxiety a bay. Back to listening to soothing music. Back to filling in my mandalas with color in my world of grey.