Decisions, decisions, decisions

So, even though they're late, the pharmacy has flagged a medication conflict.  I have to reduce my dose of Valium to 1/3 of what it is now if I want to manage my pain with a narcotic.  Most pain medications are narcotics.  If I don't do it I can die.  I can just fall asleep and never wake up again.

I've tried so many medications to manage the pain that I think I've exhausted the non-narcotics.  We tried gabapentin and it threw me into a several days long panic attack.

I've tried anti-depressants, combinations of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds, and mood stabilizers to manage the mental health issues.  I finally find an anti-anxiety med that seems to help a bit and now I have to drop down to a less than therapeutic dose.  We started at 15mg per day and had to bump to 30 mg per day because it wasn't working.  WTF?

My moods are getting more unstable because I don't have as much of the stabilizer and will have less in a couple of days til I'm completely off.

I feel like I have to choose now between holding onto a little bit of sanity or coming off all pain medications and dealing with the full-pain.  I understand why I have to reduce the Valium but it still sucks ass.

It would have been helpful if the psych nurse and my pdoc would actually listen to me.  I'm not changing pain meds because the pain is out of control, it's financial!  And the pain is not why I'm panicked and anxious!!!  FUCK!  Why won't they listen to me?  I don't understand.

I feel so stuck.  My options suck.  How am I going to live beyond mere survival or existence??

Negative today for sure.  Panicked just because I could die.  I could just fall asleep and never wake up again.  I already fall asleep if I stop moving.  They say it's because my breathing is being depressed.  That's not the only thing that's depressed.

What is the Point?

I give up.  I really do.  I've been waiting for two years to get a damned hearing with SSI Disability now I find out that I should get a letter sometime in October but my hearing might not be until November and then it takes TWO MONTHS to get a decision after the hearing!

WHAT THE FUCK!?!

Some people have a pocketful of miracles, not me, I have a pocketful of crazy.

What was the point?  I can't remember now.  Alan can't support us for another four months on his reduced income and I can't be selfish and ask him to try.  A few weeks was barely acceptable for me.  But four months?  No.  Dear gods, who the hell is in charge of this bureaucracy and how do I fire them and get someone with some fucking common sense??

I haven't been sitting here off work because I love having nothing to do with myself and feeling like I'm wasting my life.  I am in PAIN!  The very last day I worked I came home and sobbed, wracking sobs because I was in agony from sitting at work.  I hid in the bathrooms crying because I couldn't handle the stress.  I used scalpels to cut myself to ease the emotional pain.  I wanted to DIE and two years ago October I tried to kill myself!  Does that indicate mental stability to you?  I'm losing the one medication that seems to have stemmed that extreme response.  I wonder what happens next.

Why the hell would my doctor list me as disabled if I were able to work??  Dear Social Security Disability people, please get your heads out of your asses and understand that I am a real person, in real pain with a real need for your pittance of an income so my husband doesn't have to stress out so much trying to support us. I'm so tired of worrying about paying for medication, bills, and food.

What was I thinking?  Believing I deserved an actual life, not just a survival or existence?  I have been such a fool.

I'm going to make one of the med switches now and get it over with.  No one can job hunt or work and go through withdrawal.  I can't.  I can't work, I sure as hell can't work going through all that too.

From Lost to More Lost

I was already in an identity crisis, who am I if I'm not a Mom but a Mother now?  I no longer have children who need a Mom.  They're grown and the last one is moving out in early December.

I have been a mental patient of my psych team for a few years now and somehow I became Alan's patient too.  He became my caregiver, taking care of me when I'm not able to do it for myself.  It feels like I am his wife only on paper.

If you had asked me just three weeks ago what the biggest issue in my life was I would have said it was my marriage. Not so today.

Last week Alan was dealt the worst blow a man like him can be dealt.  He was fired and I know a lot of people say it but it's true, he didn't do anything wrong other than trust the wrong people.  That is not something he can be blamed for.  Some of the worst people are so good at pretending to be trustworthy that they slip under the radar of the most cautious of us.  One of these people was just such a person.  He vented to her and for some unknown reason she got a bug up her cooter and hatched a plan with one of Alan's co-workers (who doesn't like Alan because Alan expected him to actually *gasp* work!) to accuse Alan of threatening this man.  There is a lot Alan won't tell me about it because apparently they're continuing to embellish as they go along.

I'm being selfish now and I feel guilty for it but I'm scared, worried, lost, confused, and unsteady.

What now?  Who will I be now?  No longer a Mom, no longer a wife, and now no longer a more stable mental patient.  Being fired means we lose health insurance, which means we lose our medications that we can't afford.

For me that means I lose the mood stabilizer that has kept me from raging, abusing, hallucinating, questioning which reality was real.  It means I lose my muscle relaxers for my chronic pain and will have to switch from one that works a little bit to one I have no idea about... it means I have to go through withdrawal from my main pain medication and taper off of my mood stabilizer.

I can already feel the rages coming back.  I can feel things knocking around in my head but I don't know what they are yet.  What will happen to me?  I'm fantasizing about cutting again.  The only thing that has stopped me so far are the large and painful scars on my left arm.  My scars keloid and the nerves don't grow back together right as the cut heals.  They burn, they itch, and they hurt.  They're embarrassing, and I have developed a habit of hiding them the best I can from view.  I don't want more like that but I know I can cut in places they can be hidden.  Unfortunately, I cut my arms because I'm stuck somewhere between passive and active suicidal.  How long before being trapped in my brain and stuck in the mental/emotional pain will it be until I cut again?  What if I cut too deep?  What if??

I can't check myself into the psych ward to protect myself.  I can only make myself a promise on a day to day basis.  "I won't cut."  "I won't cut today."

I'm scared.  I'm angry.  I don't want to lose my lucidity.  I don't want to lose the peace I've had.  I don't want to lose the trust I've rebuilt with Alan.  I don't want to hurt my loved ones or myself.  I don't want to go through withdrawal!  It's not fair!!  I feel like I'm a kid in the corner crying, sucking her thumb, snuggling a dirty teddy bear, and rocking back and forth wishing for a Mommy to hold and rock her.

I'm scared of all the 'what ifs'. 

Ghosting

Life.  I don't know if I'd call this endless, empty, existence a life.

I don't feel real, I don't feel like a person, not unless others are around me pulling me into existence.  Until they leave again or until it's time for me to leave.  Sometimes I wonder if I succeeded in committing suicide and this is my personal hell.  I feel like a ghost just drifting through the World with no meaning to whatever this existence is.

I don't feel real.

Am I defined by my illness?  Is it who I am?

It has lost me a husband and gained me a caretaker instead.   He is just existing too, between work, sleep, and taking care of me because I can be a danger to myself.  I have to hide the proof of my past transgressions.  Long sleeves in the summer are a misery but I think I deserve it.  The painful scars aren't enough punishment for putting my loved ones through the worry I've put them through.  Seeing the scars every time I glance at my arm, they won't fade, being reminded of that day, knowing that I was serious about ending the pain is not enough.

I would give anything for 5 minutes of total sanity and happiness.  No I wouldn't.  The pain would seem more pronounced, the depression stronger, all because of those 5 minutes of peace.  You never realize just how much pain you're in until you get a break from it.  When it comes back, when it comes back...

I'm in a bad place again.  I want to numb the pain, trying to stop it is too dangerous and makes me less trustworthy in the eyes of my friends and family.  They wonder how far I'll go.  What if?  It scares them.  I wish they knew how much it scares me.

I'm ghosting through life looking for meaning.  Like the Velveteen Rabbit I want to be real.  I want my life to have meaning.  I want it to be worth something.

Separation of Life and Life

Consider this the Christening of my mental blog.  I want to try something new, separating parts of my life, compartmentalizing.  Mental/life/whatever stuff from my kink life/relationship stuff.


That's why I started the other blog, to discuss my relationships and kink as I grew into the kink lifestyle.

Then mental illness happened, peaked, and got a name.  It began to take over my kink blog and I lost my focus.  I just bled my entire life all over one blog.  I need to separate the two so I can track my mental health ups, downs, and in-betweens.

So, hello, how do you do?  I'm Joy and I am delightfully difficult.  I know you'll come to agree with me as you continue to read.