Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!
I just sent the best fuck you email to my old company ever. Perfectly professional and composed...but definitely a "fuck you, go die in a fire" email.
I feel so much better now.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Fun Times
I had a great time with Kitty tonight. I'm so tired that I don't think I can say much more, but I'll elaborate tomorrow maybe. Kitty is a wonderful cat, and the cat ears I bought her today suited her perfectly. :)
Yay!
I'm excited. I'm getting out of the house today, LOL. And I'm going to hang out with the Kitty-cat! :D
We're going to eat at Red Lobster, then maybe go to Boo at the Zoo. The only thing that bothers me is that we're meeting in Trussville. That's going to get to me, I know. But I'll tamp it down for her sake and just try to have fun and not think about it. I'm sure it'll be fun. It'll just be those first few minutes where it bothers me.
Ok, I have to go pick up the surprise I'm bringing her.
Yayayayayayayay!
We're going to eat at Red Lobster, then maybe go to Boo at the Zoo. The only thing that bothers me is that we're meeting in Trussville. That's going to get to me, I know. But I'll tamp it down for her sake and just try to have fun and not think about it. I'm sure it'll be fun. It'll just be those first few minutes where it bothers me.
Ok, I have to go pick up the surprise I'm bringing her.
Yayayayayayayay!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Caffeine: The Answer To All Life's Problems
Last night, I took a mental health day. I really needed to work, but I felt so...shitty, for lack of a better word. I gathered together basically every snack food in my house, got a Powerade, and went to the couch to watch movies. I watched The Little Mermaid first, thus confirming my undying hatred of Ariel's stupid ass. Then, it was Beauty and the Beast, my favorite Princess movie. Shortly thereafter, I took a sleeping pill and went to bed, in hopes that it'd make me feel better.
I woke up feeling like hell again. It was all I could do to force myself to get up and go to the mailbox to see if my check was there. Luckily, I did because my check [i]was[/i] there. I took it to the bank and went to McDonald's for a mocha frappe. (I was on the wrong end of town for a cafe vanilla frappucino from Starbucks.)
I don't know if it's the caffeine or the fact that I dropped the Lamictal by a pill today, but I feel a little better. I went down to 150 mg. from 175 because I figured that'd be better than upping Wellbutrin from 150 to 300. (The Wellbutin are extended-release pills, so I can't cut the fuckers in half.)
So, yeah, I imagine it's a caffeine/Wellbutrin activation high from the Lamictal reduction layered on top of depression, but I'll take anything I can get right now.
And now I work.
ETA: This post from Hyperbole and a Half (which I love) pretty well sums it up. Adventures In Depression
I woke up feeling like hell again. It was all I could do to force myself to get up and go to the mailbox to see if my check was there. Luckily, I did because my check [i]was[/i] there. I took it to the bank and went to McDonald's for a mocha frappe. (I was on the wrong end of town for a cafe vanilla frappucino from Starbucks.)
I don't know if it's the caffeine or the fact that I dropped the Lamictal by a pill today, but I feel a little better. I went down to 150 mg. from 175 because I figured that'd be better than upping Wellbutrin from 150 to 300. (The Wellbutin are extended-release pills, so I can't cut the fuckers in half.)
So, yeah, I imagine it's a caffeine/Wellbutrin activation high from the Lamictal reduction layered on top of depression, but I'll take anything I can get right now.
And now I work.
ETA: This post from Hyperbole and a Half (which I love) pretty well sums it up. Adventures In Depression
Thursday, October 27, 2011
I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Do It
Well, seems it's official. I'm depressed. Goddammit. This hasn't happened since I started Wellbutrin last November. I'd hoped it wouldn't happen again.
But, as bad as it sounds, it's still better than being manic.
The work stuff has overwhelmed me. ChaosKitty is having a hard time keeping up her end of the work, and it's all falling to me. All my clients expect to have their hands held. I'm working for peanuts because I need to work, and, despite the fact that these stupid customers are getting premium work for bargain-basement prices, they feel the need to nitpick every goddamn thing.
It's making me sick. I cry a lot. I don't sleep well. I just toss and turn and fret. I need to get away for a little while, but when will I ever have the chance?
I hate everything right now.
**Edited to add**
You know what? I think I need an evening away from the computer and the misery it's inflicting on me. Despite the fact that I need to get some work done, I'm going to go and get some snack foods and a blanket and curl up on the couch and watch a cute movie of some sort.
Aaaaand if that doesn't work, I'm either going down with the Lamictal or up with the Wellbutrin tomorrow.
But, as bad as it sounds, it's still better than being manic.
The work stuff has overwhelmed me. ChaosKitty is having a hard time keeping up her end of the work, and it's all falling to me. All my clients expect to have their hands held. I'm working for peanuts because I need to work, and, despite the fact that these stupid customers are getting premium work for bargain-basement prices, they feel the need to nitpick every goddamn thing.
It's making me sick. I cry a lot. I don't sleep well. I just toss and turn and fret. I need to get away for a little while, but when will I ever have the chance?
I hate everything right now.
**Edited to add**
You know what? I think I need an evening away from the computer and the misery it's inflicting on me. Despite the fact that I need to get some work done, I'm going to go and get some snack foods and a blanket and curl up on the couch and watch a cute movie of some sort.
Aaaaand if that doesn't work, I'm either going down with the Lamictal or up with the Wellbutrin tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I Know It's Stupid, But...
So I slept way too late today. I've been doing that lately. I probably need to catch up from what I *didn't* get over the last week and a half.
Anyway, I digress.
I got on Facebook, as usual, because ChaosKitty and T. usually have something hilarious to say that pertains to our work, and today was no different. I was scrolling down through my feed, and then I saw something that was like being sucker-punched in the gut.
There was a picture that Kitty was tagged in, from last weekend, apparently. Kitty and J. were both in it. There was another that she's using for her profile picture, but it's not as bad.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't curl up in bed and cry.
Which is something I've been doing a lot of lately.
Kitty got online shortly thereafter. She asked me how I was, and I slipped and said, "Not worth a shit," before I realized what I'd typed. Then, she asked what was up, and I covered by saying it wasn't a big deal, but thanks for asking, etc. I almost said something to her about it, but I didn't want to a.) sound like an asshole, or b.) seem like I was blaming her it.
So I'm writing here instead.
It hurts for several reasons. First of all, it's just that she's there with her, and I'm not. Secondly, it's the fact that they do things with her that I flat begged them to do with me. They told me they just didn't do things like that, but I knew it was a lie. They do those things with their friends and now with Kitty, too.
So it's obviously just me.
There is, apparently, something inherently flawed within me that makes people ashamed of me. There's something that's just not good enough. I should be used to it by now because it's always been that way for me, but it still hurts when I'm reminded of it. It's not just them--it's everybody.
And you know? It's even worse that she didn't even think me worthy of an answer to my email. :(
Ok. Self-pity moment over.
Back to the salt mines for me.
Livin' risky
Never scared
Wander closer to the edge
Nothin' valued
Think no fear
Always wonderin' why you're here
All your purposes are gone
Nothin's right
And nothin's wrong
Nothin' ventured
Nothin' gained
Feel no sorrow
Feel no pain
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live
And let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Lookin' forward
Not behind
Everybody's gotta cross that line
Free me now
Give me a place
Keep me caged and free the beast
Fallin' faster
Time goes by
Fear is not seen
Through these eyes
What there was will never be
Now I'm blind and cannot see
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Anyway, I digress.
I got on Facebook, as usual, because ChaosKitty and T. usually have something hilarious to say that pertains to our work, and today was no different. I was scrolling down through my feed, and then I saw something that was like being sucker-punched in the gut.
There was a picture that Kitty was tagged in, from last weekend, apparently. Kitty and J. were both in it. There was another that she's using for her profile picture, but it's not as bad.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't curl up in bed and cry.
Which is something I've been doing a lot of lately.
Kitty got online shortly thereafter. She asked me how I was, and I slipped and said, "Not worth a shit," before I realized what I'd typed. Then, she asked what was up, and I covered by saying it wasn't a big deal, but thanks for asking, etc. I almost said something to her about it, but I didn't want to a.) sound like an asshole, or b.) seem like I was blaming her it.
So I'm writing here instead.
It hurts for several reasons. First of all, it's just that she's there with her, and I'm not. Secondly, it's the fact that they do things with her that I flat begged them to do with me. They told me they just didn't do things like that, but I knew it was a lie. They do those things with their friends and now with Kitty, too.
So it's obviously just me.
There is, apparently, something inherently flawed within me that makes people ashamed of me. There's something that's just not good enough. I should be used to it by now because it's always been that way for me, but it still hurts when I'm reminded of it. It's not just them--it's everybody.
And you know? It's even worse that she didn't even think me worthy of an answer to my email. :(
Ok. Self-pity moment over.
Back to the salt mines for me.
Livin' risky
Never scared
Wander closer to the edge
Nothin' valued
Think no fear
Always wonderin' why you're here
All your purposes are gone
Nothin's right
And nothin's wrong
Nothin' ventured
Nothin' gained
Feel no sorrow
Feel no pain
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live
And let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Lookin' forward
Not behind
Everybody's gotta cross that line
Free me now
Give me a place
Keep me caged and free the beast
Fallin' faster
Time goes by
Fear is not seen
Through these eyes
What there was will never be
Now I'm blind and cannot see
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn
Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....
Friday, October 21, 2011
What Have I Become?
It is 6:40 am. I haven't been to bed yet. I've been working since about 6:00 pm on this stupid project that's due Monday, among other things.
I rarely leave the house anymore, except to go pick up some fast food, just to get out. As I was driving to McDonald's today (because McRib is back, motherfuckers!), I was thinking about this and realized what I was doing.
I get up, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, take my meds, shower, get dressed (if I'm going out), eat, and then work. And work. And work. And work. I work until I'm exhausted, then I go to bed until it's time to get up and do it all over again the next day.
Of course, it's not a terrible life. I can sit on my bed and work naked, which I normally do. I can stop and eat whenever. I can play games of Facebook while I work without having to worry about getting caught by my boss. I can make my own hours. I can just NOT work one day if I don't want to.
But...I've realized that I concentrate on work to the exclusion of everything else for a reason. It's the same reason I work all day until I'm absolutely give out and crash into bed.
It's because, somewhere along the line, I became unable to handle my thoughts.
Yes, I know. ME, of all people. ME, the one who likes to be alone. The one who enjoys solitude and draws strength from it. The one who takes pleasure in thinking "deep thoughts" and often solves the problems of the whole Universe (in MY head, anyway).
When the hell did I become unable to be alone with my thoughts?
I'm not sure, actually. It's snuck up on me quietly. I know I prefer to have company nowadays, but, unfortunately, my friends are few and far between. So, mostly, I work to exhaustion (with music playing in the background for extra thought-control) and read until I fall asleep to keep everything squashed down. It's not at all unusual for me to stay up working until my whole body is trembling from exhaustion and starts shutting down on me involuntarily--like right now.
There's just so much I don't want to--can't bear to--think about anymore.
I was talking with ChaosKitty earlier. I said that even though it's a blessing that my thoughts don't race like they do when I'm not on meds, it's also sort of a curse. You see, when they race, at least they depart as fast as they arrive. When they're not racing, the depressing ones hang around a hell of a lot longer.
So I guess in that way, it's better that I don't allow myself to be alone with them, to listen to them. But I also know that some day, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to have to deal with them. And I don't look forward to that shit AT ALL.
I rarely leave the house anymore, except to go pick up some fast food, just to get out. As I was driving to McDonald's today (because McRib is back, motherfuckers!), I was thinking about this and realized what I was doing.
I get up, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, take my meds, shower, get dressed (if I'm going out), eat, and then work. And work. And work. And work. I work until I'm exhausted, then I go to bed until it's time to get up and do it all over again the next day.
Of course, it's not a terrible life. I can sit on my bed and work naked, which I normally do. I can stop and eat whenever. I can play games of Facebook while I work without having to worry about getting caught by my boss. I can make my own hours. I can just NOT work one day if I don't want to.
But...I've realized that I concentrate on work to the exclusion of everything else for a reason. It's the same reason I work all day until I'm absolutely give out and crash into bed.
It's because, somewhere along the line, I became unable to handle my thoughts.
Yes, I know. ME, of all people. ME, the one who likes to be alone. The one who enjoys solitude and draws strength from it. The one who takes pleasure in thinking "deep thoughts" and often solves the problems of the whole Universe (in MY head, anyway).
When the hell did I become unable to be alone with my thoughts?
I'm not sure, actually. It's snuck up on me quietly. I know I prefer to have company nowadays, but, unfortunately, my friends are few and far between. So, mostly, I work to exhaustion (with music playing in the background for extra thought-control) and read until I fall asleep to keep everything squashed down. It's not at all unusual for me to stay up working until my whole body is trembling from exhaustion and starts shutting down on me involuntarily--like right now.
There's just so much I don't want to--can't bear to--think about anymore.
I was talking with ChaosKitty earlier. I said that even though it's a blessing that my thoughts don't race like they do when I'm not on meds, it's also sort of a curse. You see, when they race, at least they depart as fast as they arrive. When they're not racing, the depressing ones hang around a hell of a lot longer.
So I guess in that way, it's better that I don't allow myself to be alone with them, to listen to them. But I also know that some day, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to have to deal with them. And I don't look forward to that shit AT ALL.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
On Hypersexuality
I've been meaning to write this one, but I haven't had the time. And, well, to be honest, I still don't have the time, but since today has been completely wasted, dealing with morons, I don't suppose it matters is I waste some more time.
So. Hypersexuality. Yes.
I've always had an enormous sex drive. ALWAYS. There are multiple reasons for this--excessive testosterone, an adventurous and sensuous nature, and, yes, being batshit crazy.
Even when I was on Depo, which is notorious for fucking with your sex drive, mine was still abnormally high. Not as high as it was when I *wasn't* on Depo, mind you, but still much higher than the normal person's.
A lot of times, it's like I'm being driven by a force more powerful than myself. I HAVE to fuck somebody, somewhere, or I have no peace. It's often more a compulsion than a normal human function. Of course, it almost always makes me feel awful about myself after I go out and fuck whoever; don't think there's not a reason I've made myself into a hermit. The less I go out and the fewer people I have contact with, the less likely I am to go fuck somebody when the compulsion starts driving me.
It's only been recently that I realized the connection to my illness. In all the literature, you read about how those crazy bipolars will fuck anything that walks during a manic phase. But I guess it never dawned on me that just because I don't go out trolling bars for hookups--which I never did, actually--doesn't mean I don't have the same damn problem.
I still have the compulsions, but they're more under control now than they were even 6 months ago.
I think what bothers me most about it, though, is the way it's been taken advantage of by men. I'm not talking about random dudes, really. They didn't know any better. I'm talking about the several who knew me and knew me well. They knew that between my way-too-high sex drive and my inability to tell people no, I'd fuck them whenever, wherever, however, and damn the consequences, even if I really didn't want to. It's the last part that really gets me.
I'm not saying I don't have a responsibility for it. I do, to some extent. But I just feel like yet another aspect of my personality and my crazy was exploited for other people's gain, and I really don't like it.
So. Hypersexuality. Yes.
I've always had an enormous sex drive. ALWAYS. There are multiple reasons for this--excessive testosterone, an adventurous and sensuous nature, and, yes, being batshit crazy.
Even when I was on Depo, which is notorious for fucking with your sex drive, mine was still abnormally high. Not as high as it was when I *wasn't* on Depo, mind you, but still much higher than the normal person's.
A lot of times, it's like I'm being driven by a force more powerful than myself. I HAVE to fuck somebody, somewhere, or I have no peace. It's often more a compulsion than a normal human function. Of course, it almost always makes me feel awful about myself after I go out and fuck whoever; don't think there's not a reason I've made myself into a hermit. The less I go out and the fewer people I have contact with, the less likely I am to go fuck somebody when the compulsion starts driving me.
It's only been recently that I realized the connection to my illness. In all the literature, you read about how those crazy bipolars will fuck anything that walks during a manic phase. But I guess it never dawned on me that just because I don't go out trolling bars for hookups--which I never did, actually--doesn't mean I don't have the same damn problem.
I still have the compulsions, but they're more under control now than they were even 6 months ago.
I think what bothers me most about it, though, is the way it's been taken advantage of by men. I'm not talking about random dudes, really. They didn't know any better. I'm talking about the several who knew me and knew me well. They knew that between my way-too-high sex drive and my inability to tell people no, I'd fuck them whenever, wherever, however, and damn the consequences, even if I really didn't want to. It's the last part that really gets me.
I'm not saying I don't have a responsibility for it. I do, to some extent. But I just feel like yet another aspect of my personality and my crazy was exploited for other people's gain, and I really don't like it.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Self-Pity, Part 746
Fangbunny and I are staying up late watching shitty music from our younger days on YouTube. It ended up spawning a conversation about regrets.
You know what? I can't even write this post. It all still weighs far too heavily on my mind. Can I just get a time machine back to, say, 2002 and start all over again?
Fuck. I guess the fall's finally getting to me. :(
But, you know, the older I get, the more I wish I'd never lived at all.
You know what? I can't even write this post. It all still weighs far too heavily on my mind. Can I just get a time machine back to, say, 2002 and start all over again?
Fuck. I guess the fall's finally getting to me. :(
But, you know, the older I get, the more I wish I'd never lived at all.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Signs From The Universe....
Well, from all indications, I need to get laid.
Last night, I not one but two extended sex dreams, LOL. The first was about regular sex with a guy I used to know, and the second was an extremely kinky, fucked up dream involving some random dude I don't know (but apparently knew in the dream). Also, ChaosKitty was inexplicably there in the second dream. Not doing anything. Just there.
Appears someone's trying to tell me something.
Last night, I not one but two extended sex dreams, LOL. The first was about regular sex with a guy I used to know, and the second was an extremely kinky, fucked up dream involving some random dude I don't know (but apparently knew in the dream). Also, ChaosKitty was inexplicably there in the second dream. Not doing anything. Just there.
Appears someone's trying to tell me something.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
More Letters I'll Never Send--Though I Should
Dear X,
Talk to me? Please? My motivations are not what you think they are. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you won't lose anything by talking to me except maybe a little of your time. You might even gain something you never imagined gaining.
~A Bunny Who Still Loves You, Regardless Of What You Believe
Dear Y,
You are beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and everything in the world anyone could ever want in a cat.
I sometimes don't know how to proceed with you. I want everything to work itself out between us, but I don't really know how to accomplish that end. Sometimes, I feel like an asshole for ignoring huge chunks of the past (and the present) when we talk or hang out, and other times, I think that not mentioning things that might disturb the peace is the best thing to do.
I'm not really sure what you want me to do, so I tend to err on the side of caution. That may or may not be the best approach. I'm doing all I know to do, which is to proceed slowly until further notice.
I never want to lose you. You are far too important to me, whether you believe it or not. I would sacrifice anything and everything for you without question. I've done it before, and I'd damn sure do it again. I would love for you to give me some indication on how to proceed, though. We can fix this, I do believe.
Sometimes, I think about talking to you about X. Then, I think I shouldn't because I'm afraid you'll think I'm using you to get to her or something. (There's already too much belief by everyone here that I "use" people to accomplish my own ends, but that's not true. I'm just often kind of sucky at making myself understood.) That's the last thing I want. I'll never speak of (or to) them again before I'll do something to let you believe that I'd do something like that for one second.
Thank you for not abandoning me completely. Let's continue working on this, ok?
~Bunny
Dear Z,
Normally, by this time, my anger at you over whatever you'd done would've passed. I might still be a little pissed, but I'd be more likely to be so desperate to talk to you that I'd come crawling back and apologize--for what, I don't know, because it's usually YOU who does stupid shit--just so you'd talk to me again.
Not this time.
You've lied to me before. I know you have. You've betrayed me before. None of this is anything new. But the fact that you intentionally fucked up a relationship that you knew I wanted more than anything in the world? (A relationship that you claimed you wanted as well, no less.) I don't know that I'll ever forgive you for that.
We both used to say that we were so very much alike, and I used to think that one reason you were so ambivalent about your attraction to me was because, due to our similarities, I reflected back to you everything you didn't like about yourself. But now? I'm pretty sure that you tell that "We're just alike" line to every bitch you stick your dick in. And you were never "ambivalent" about me at all. You used me for what you wanted me for and threw me away every time I became inconvenient.
I'd come and punch you in the fucking mouth if it weren't for the fact that you're not worth the drive or the ensuing broken hand that would be inevitable following my smashing your stupid, grinning face because Bunny don't play.
The thing that I hate most is that you pulled out the little girl inside. Why? Why the fuck did you do it? I would've never realized she was there if not for you, and it would've been much better that way. The big girl should've been enough to keep you satisfied. You could make her crawl for you anytime you wanted to. So why the fuck did you have to bring out the little one, too?
The big girl hates you for hurting the little one. You brought her out, bound her to your side, and then walked away. You might as well have hurt an actual child of mine as to hurt her because I'm the one who's supposed to take care of her. I was stupid enough to give her to you, and you did all you could to make her yours, then threw her away the first chance you got.
If the big girl is devastated, the little girl is catatonic. She's permanently broken now, thank you very much, you fat bastard. You may as well have told a *real* child that you loved her and then left her because it would've left the exact same effects on a real child as on the little girl inside me.
Yes, the big girl hates you, but the little girl still loves you and doesn't understand why you did what you did. The big girl spends her days imagining new and painful ways for you to meet your demise. The little one can't sleep at night without wrapping her covers around her and pretending it's you, X, and Y snuggled in close to her.
I hope you're satisfied.
~B
Talk to me? Please? My motivations are not what you think they are. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you won't lose anything by talking to me except maybe a little of your time. You might even gain something you never imagined gaining.
~A Bunny Who Still Loves You, Regardless Of What You Believe
Dear Y,
You are beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and everything in the world anyone could ever want in a cat.
I sometimes don't know how to proceed with you. I want everything to work itself out between us, but I don't really know how to accomplish that end. Sometimes, I feel like an asshole for ignoring huge chunks of the past (and the present) when we talk or hang out, and other times, I think that not mentioning things that might disturb the peace is the best thing to do.
I'm not really sure what you want me to do, so I tend to err on the side of caution. That may or may not be the best approach. I'm doing all I know to do, which is to proceed slowly until further notice.
I never want to lose you. You are far too important to me, whether you believe it or not. I would sacrifice anything and everything for you without question. I've done it before, and I'd damn sure do it again. I would love for you to give me some indication on how to proceed, though. We can fix this, I do believe.
Sometimes, I think about talking to you about X. Then, I think I shouldn't because I'm afraid you'll think I'm using you to get to her or something. (There's already too much belief by everyone here that I "use" people to accomplish my own ends, but that's not true. I'm just often kind of sucky at making myself understood.) That's the last thing I want. I'll never speak of (or to) them again before I'll do something to let you believe that I'd do something like that for one second.
Thank you for not abandoning me completely. Let's continue working on this, ok?
~Bunny
Dear Z,
Normally, by this time, my anger at you over whatever you'd done would've passed. I might still be a little pissed, but I'd be more likely to be so desperate to talk to you that I'd come crawling back and apologize--for what, I don't know, because it's usually YOU who does stupid shit--just so you'd talk to me again.
Not this time.
You've lied to me before. I know you have. You've betrayed me before. None of this is anything new. But the fact that you intentionally fucked up a relationship that you knew I wanted more than anything in the world? (A relationship that you claimed you wanted as well, no less.) I don't know that I'll ever forgive you for that.
We both used to say that we were so very much alike, and I used to think that one reason you were so ambivalent about your attraction to me was because, due to our similarities, I reflected back to you everything you didn't like about yourself. But now? I'm pretty sure that you tell that "We're just alike" line to every bitch you stick your dick in. And you were never "ambivalent" about me at all. You used me for what you wanted me for and threw me away every time I became inconvenient.
I'd come and punch you in the fucking mouth if it weren't for the fact that you're not worth the drive or the ensuing broken hand that would be inevitable following my smashing your stupid, grinning face because Bunny don't play.
The thing that I hate most is that you pulled out the little girl inside. Why? Why the fuck did you do it? I would've never realized she was there if not for you, and it would've been much better that way. The big girl should've been enough to keep you satisfied. You could make her crawl for you anytime you wanted to. So why the fuck did you have to bring out the little one, too?
The big girl hates you for hurting the little one. You brought her out, bound her to your side, and then walked away. You might as well have hurt an actual child of mine as to hurt her because I'm the one who's supposed to take care of her. I was stupid enough to give her to you, and you did all you could to make her yours, then threw her away the first chance you got.
If the big girl is devastated, the little girl is catatonic. She's permanently broken now, thank you very much, you fat bastard. You may as well have told a *real* child that you loved her and then left her because it would've left the exact same effects on a real child as on the little girl inside me.
Yes, the big girl hates you, but the little girl still loves you and doesn't understand why you did what you did. The big girl spends her days imagining new and painful ways for you to meet your demise. The little one can't sleep at night without wrapping her covers around her and pretending it's you, X, and Y snuggled in close to her.
I hope you're satisfied.
~B
Friday, October 14, 2011
I Am About To Shank A Customer
I will never work for this motherfucking dumbass ever again. She's already done enough stupid shit, but this one takes the cake.
Her sites are built in Joomla, which is only used by retards, apparently. I'd never even heard of it until I started my dealings with her. Now, I've worked extensively with Wordpress (the absolute best thing you can use on a fully-hosted website, even if it isn't a "blog," per se), Blogger (better for free blogs, like this one), and even plain old basic HTML. I can do all these things. I am NOT a designer. I can't make pretty graphics. But I can do my code and whatnot.
I sat up until 6 am trying to figure out how to post this bullshit on her stupid fucking Joomla site. (And, yes, Joomla is for retards, by the way, according to everything I've found on the Internet.) There was nowhere to edit the pages. The pages weren't even SHOWING UP in the list of pages.
I finally gave up when the sun started coming up. Then, I sent her an email saying I couldn't figure out how to do it and that she could either enlighten me on the finer points of editing pages that, according to her shitty Joomla software, didn't exist, or I could send her the shit, and she could deal with it. She chose the latter.
Ok, so I put the plain text files for each site into separate folders, clearly labeled with the name of which site they were for. Then, I zipped the folders with WinZip, not because they really needed to be compressed, but so I could keep all the documents in the correct folder, instead of uploading them all one by one. I then sent the two zip files to her and set off on my merry way to my mama's house.
I just got online, and I had THREE fucking emails from this bitch. THREE. The first one was she didn't know what to do with the files and that the reason I couldn't find the pages was that the "web guy" had them HIDDEN. The second one was, her "web guy" didn't know what to do with the files. "They're compressed, and he can't use them that way." The third one was that she still didn't know what to do with the files.
Ok, first of all, it would've been nice if you'd told me that the goddamn files were hidden before I had a fucking breakdown last night because I couldn't figure it out. I was literally curled up in my bed crying because I was trying so hard and couldn't fix it.
Secondly, the REASON I wanted to do it myself was because I knew that you were too stupid to figure it out, regardless of the fact that all you have to do is copy and paste.
Thirdly, if your "web guy" can't figure out how to unzip files, then what the FUCK is he doing passing himself off as a "web guy" (whatever the fuck that is), anyway?
So now I have to go back home on Sunday and deal with this bullshit because, apparently, unzipping files and copying and pasting is TOO GODDAMN COMPLICATED.
Never again. Just...no. Never again.
Her sites are built in Joomla, which is only used by retards, apparently. I'd never even heard of it until I started my dealings with her. Now, I've worked extensively with Wordpress (the absolute best thing you can use on a fully-hosted website, even if it isn't a "blog," per se), Blogger (better for free blogs, like this one), and even plain old basic HTML. I can do all these things. I am NOT a designer. I can't make pretty graphics. But I can do my code and whatnot.
I sat up until 6 am trying to figure out how to post this bullshit on her stupid fucking Joomla site. (And, yes, Joomla is for retards, by the way, according to everything I've found on the Internet.) There was nowhere to edit the pages. The pages weren't even SHOWING UP in the list of pages.
I finally gave up when the sun started coming up. Then, I sent her an email saying I couldn't figure out how to do it and that she could either enlighten me on the finer points of editing pages that, according to her shitty Joomla software, didn't exist, or I could send her the shit, and she could deal with it. She chose the latter.
Ok, so I put the plain text files for each site into separate folders, clearly labeled with the name of which site they were for. Then, I zipped the folders with WinZip, not because they really needed to be compressed, but so I could keep all the documents in the correct folder, instead of uploading them all one by one. I then sent the two zip files to her and set off on my merry way to my mama's house.
I just got online, and I had THREE fucking emails from this bitch. THREE. The first one was she didn't know what to do with the files and that the reason I couldn't find the pages was that the "web guy" had them HIDDEN. The second one was, her "web guy" didn't know what to do with the files. "They're compressed, and he can't use them that way." The third one was that she still didn't know what to do with the files.
Ok, first of all, it would've been nice if you'd told me that the goddamn files were hidden before I had a fucking breakdown last night because I couldn't figure it out. I was literally curled up in my bed crying because I was trying so hard and couldn't fix it.
Secondly, the REASON I wanted to do it myself was because I knew that you were too stupid to figure it out, regardless of the fact that all you have to do is copy and paste.
Thirdly, if your "web guy" can't figure out how to unzip files, then what the FUCK is he doing passing himself off as a "web guy" (whatever the fuck that is), anyway?
So now I have to go back home on Sunday and deal with this bullshit because, apparently, unzipping files and copying and pasting is TOO GODDAMN COMPLICATED.
Never again. Just...no. Never again.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Truth In Advertising
Longer post later (maybe, if I finish these two sites for this lady tonight), but ChaosKitty had this posted on her Facebook today, and I just have to share. I put it up on my Facebook feed, too, but after a couple of days, everything gets lost on there. So I decided to put it here for safekeeping.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
So Much For Something Substantial
I was going to actually post something of substance today, but it's 5:30 in the goddamn morning, and I just got finished with my work. So instead I'll say this.
Kitty is a pretty awesome cat. She's the only reason I didn't go on a killing spree Monday morning. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Kitty is a pretty awesome cat. She's the only reason I didn't go on a killing spree Monday morning. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Reflections On Self
Somehow, I managed to write 8 essays last night, thus I am finished with all mine. Now, I'm just waiting on ChaosKitty to finish hers. I'm afraid she may not get it done, though, because they're due tomorrow, and she's still got 14 of the damn things to do. I have proofread everything and check the HTML, but other than that, I'm good.
It's kinda nice not to have this shit hanging over my head. I'm working on some other stuff that's due Monday and Tuesday, but they're much smaller projects, which is good. I've scheduled it so that I'm only doing 2 essays per day (except for Thursdays, which will be 3) to get this shit done in the future. Fuck writing 3-4-5 essays a day to get the shit finished.
So I guess this is me becoming somewhat organized? I dunno.
I'm grateful for this work and this money, but, damn, I wish it weren't so rushed. My other fear is that after it's done, they won't need us to do as much, and then I'll be fucked. But I'm going to pull an ex-Baptist move and say that I hope the Lord will provide.
Yes, I just went there. Feel free to mock me. I'm mocking myself in my head.
I have to go to my parents' this weekend. I'm building a website for my great-aunt's flower shop, so I'm going to take my camera down there to get some pictures. Then, I'll finish it. The Christmas Open House thing is the first Sunday in November, so I want it to be up by then.
Once the bills are caught up (because almost all of them were/are behind this month), I'm going to start putting some back for taxes. And for classes. God knows this is going to suck some serious ass, but I have to do it. I'm making myself.
I'm also going to start working on my "company," too. I've been neglecting it lately. Time to get it to making money, so that if the writing work decreases, I can still stay afloat. I need to look toward incorporating as an LLC, so I don't have to pay taxes twice on the money, too. I may actually incorporate two different ones, for various reasons.
It sorta sucks that I'm going to be so busy with work, but on the other hand, it really does keep my mind off other shit. I work on shit all day, which only allows me a limited of mind-wandering. I work until the point of exhaustion, so that limits the amount of self-pity I can engage in when I go to bed.
Sometimes, I look at everything and think I still suck. But then I compare me now to how I was this time last year, and I realize that I'm a zillion percent better. Not well, by any stretch of the imagination, but better. The paranoia will be the last to go, apparently, but I don't think it's on the level of delusions anymore. Just...odd thinking.
I don't fly into blind rages anymore. I can still get mad as hell, but it doesn't last as long, and the reaction is a bit more proportionate to the situation at hand.
The racing thoughts pop back up sometimes, but they're a lot quieter than they were, and they often go away altogether. When they are there, they don't seem as frantic.
I don't run around in a flight of panic anymore, either. Yes, sure, I can get freaked out about things (see above, re: paranoia). But it's not as bad, and it's not always there.
I doubt the grandiosity will ever leave completely. I'm a fucking narcissist.
I go through the pressured speech thing sometimes, but that comes and goes, too. The more my thoughts race, the faster I talk. But all in all, that's something I can live with.
Most of the self-destructive impulses are gone. When I get really upset about something, the urges come back, but they're weak enough to deny now.
I'm still uncomfortable in certain social situations, particularly those where no escape is readily available. The good news is, I think I just come off as awkward now instead of insane. For other social situations, the anxiety has disappeared altogether. Generally, if I have somebody else with me, I'm fine, especially if the other people involved have the decency not to call attention to my natural shyness and awkwardness.
Hypersexuality is also reduced. I didn't put two and two together on this one until VERY recently. Yes, I still want to fuck. Especially given how long it's been since I've done it. But it's no longer a compulsion. It's no longer something I seek out because I can't control myself. I feel certain that even if I were around him and could overcome my persistent desire to drown him in a toilet, I could say no to sex now. I might not WANT to, but I could. So weird how that's changed with the September increase of Lamictal. (Currently at 175 mg.) Actually, the hypersexuality topic deserves its own post, so I'm going to leave it at that for now.
Desire to kill myself to shut my brain up? Gone.
So, yeah, I do still have issues, but they're reduced. I can live with all of it but the paranoia. I think a low-dose antipsychotic would knock it right out, honestly. I'm not actually psychotic now. I damn sure have been in the past, though. But if I could find one that wouldn't make me fatter and one that I could actually, you know, AFFORD, I feel like that would be enough to make the residual paranoia and odd thinking go away.
The rest? I can deal with it.
The only real thing that bothers me is the loss of memory. There are lots and lots of holes in my memory of the last 3 years. Well, that and the loss of IQ points. I'm still kind of in mourning for the parts of my brain I've fried out, but what do you do? It is what it is, I guess.
It's kinda nice not to have this shit hanging over my head. I'm working on some other stuff that's due Monday and Tuesday, but they're much smaller projects, which is good. I've scheduled it so that I'm only doing 2 essays per day (except for Thursdays, which will be 3) to get this shit done in the future. Fuck writing 3-4-5 essays a day to get the shit finished.
So I guess this is me becoming somewhat organized? I dunno.
I'm grateful for this work and this money, but, damn, I wish it weren't so rushed. My other fear is that after it's done, they won't need us to do as much, and then I'll be fucked. But I'm going to pull an ex-Baptist move and say that I hope the Lord will provide.
Yes, I just went there. Feel free to mock me. I'm mocking myself in my head.
I have to go to my parents' this weekend. I'm building a website for my great-aunt's flower shop, so I'm going to take my camera down there to get some pictures. Then, I'll finish it. The Christmas Open House thing is the first Sunday in November, so I want it to be up by then.
Once the bills are caught up (because almost all of them were/are behind this month), I'm going to start putting some back for taxes. And for classes. God knows this is going to suck some serious ass, but I have to do it. I'm making myself.
I'm also going to start working on my "company," too. I've been neglecting it lately. Time to get it to making money, so that if the writing work decreases, I can still stay afloat. I need to look toward incorporating as an LLC, so I don't have to pay taxes twice on the money, too. I may actually incorporate two different ones, for various reasons.
It sorta sucks that I'm going to be so busy with work, but on the other hand, it really does keep my mind off other shit. I work on shit all day, which only allows me a limited of mind-wandering. I work until the point of exhaustion, so that limits the amount of self-pity I can engage in when I go to bed.
Sometimes, I look at everything and think I still suck. But then I compare me now to how I was this time last year, and I realize that I'm a zillion percent better. Not well, by any stretch of the imagination, but better. The paranoia will be the last to go, apparently, but I don't think it's on the level of delusions anymore. Just...odd thinking.
I don't fly into blind rages anymore. I can still get mad as hell, but it doesn't last as long, and the reaction is a bit more proportionate to the situation at hand.
The racing thoughts pop back up sometimes, but they're a lot quieter than they were, and they often go away altogether. When they are there, they don't seem as frantic.
I don't run around in a flight of panic anymore, either. Yes, sure, I can get freaked out about things (see above, re: paranoia). But it's not as bad, and it's not always there.
I doubt the grandiosity will ever leave completely. I'm a fucking narcissist.
I go through the pressured speech thing sometimes, but that comes and goes, too. The more my thoughts race, the faster I talk. But all in all, that's something I can live with.
Most of the self-destructive impulses are gone. When I get really upset about something, the urges come back, but they're weak enough to deny now.
I'm still uncomfortable in certain social situations, particularly those where no escape is readily available. The good news is, I think I just come off as awkward now instead of insane. For other social situations, the anxiety has disappeared altogether. Generally, if I have somebody else with me, I'm fine, especially if the other people involved have the decency not to call attention to my natural shyness and awkwardness.
Hypersexuality is also reduced. I didn't put two and two together on this one until VERY recently. Yes, I still want to fuck. Especially given how long it's been since I've done it. But it's no longer a compulsion. It's no longer something I seek out because I can't control myself. I feel certain that even if I were around him and could overcome my persistent desire to drown him in a toilet, I could say no to sex now. I might not WANT to, but I could. So weird how that's changed with the September increase of Lamictal. (Currently at 175 mg.) Actually, the hypersexuality topic deserves its own post, so I'm going to leave it at that for now.
Desire to kill myself to shut my brain up? Gone.
So, yeah, I do still have issues, but they're reduced. I can live with all of it but the paranoia. I think a low-dose antipsychotic would knock it right out, honestly. I'm not actually psychotic now. I damn sure have been in the past, though. But if I could find one that wouldn't make me fatter and one that I could actually, you know, AFFORD, I feel like that would be enough to make the residual paranoia and odd thinking go away.
The rest? I can deal with it.
The only real thing that bothers me is the loss of memory. There are lots and lots of holes in my memory of the last 3 years. Well, that and the loss of IQ points. I'm still kind of in mourning for the parts of my brain I've fried out, but what do you do? It is what it is, I guess.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Oh, Jesus
I hurt so bad.
I hurt every time I start, but this is the worst it's been in awhile, I think. I swear before God, if I weren't afraid it'd make me either batshit or fatter, I'd go on birth control. Not that I need it for that purpose, given that it's been a year now since there has been anybody's cock in my vag, but whatever.
I actually ate pizza rolls and green peas for dinner. By choice. I crave grease and green veggies at this time of month. I also had oatmeal cream pies because there's never a bad time for anything with cream filling.
I'm rolling around in bed, contemplating death. This has GOT to ease off if I'm going to get anything done. I took some migraine meds earlier. (Dollar General didn't have any PMS meds, and, honestly, they're basically the same thing, anyway.) I hope they'll start working soon.
Until then, I'll lay here with my heating pad and wallow in misery.
I hurt every time I start, but this is the worst it's been in awhile, I think. I swear before God, if I weren't afraid it'd make me either batshit or fatter, I'd go on birth control. Not that I need it for that purpose, given that it's been a year now since there has been anybody's cock in my vag, but whatever.
I actually ate pizza rolls and green peas for dinner. By choice. I crave grease and green veggies at this time of month. I also had oatmeal cream pies because there's never a bad time for anything with cream filling.
I'm rolling around in bed, contemplating death. This has GOT to ease off if I'm going to get anything done. I took some migraine meds earlier. (Dollar General didn't have any PMS meds, and, honestly, they're basically the same thing, anyway.) I hope they'll start working soon.
Until then, I'll lay here with my heating pad and wallow in misery.
The Good, The Bad, And The Extremely Ugly
The good news is that I'm down to the single digits as far as number of these long-ass essays that I have to complete. The bad news is, there's still 8 of the damn things to go.
The good news is I have acquired a new client. The bad news is, I probably should've charged more for what I'm going to be doing for her.
The ugly news is that I started today, AND I'm getting sick. My neck is still as hell, and my throat hurts. My head's splitting open, and I don't have the first headache pill here. My kitchen desperately needs cleaning, and my laundry desperately needs doing. I HAVE to go grocery shopping tomorrow, come hell or high water.
It's gonna be a long weekend, isn't it?
The good news is I have acquired a new client. The bad news is, I probably should've charged more for what I'm going to be doing for her.
The ugly news is that I started today, AND I'm getting sick. My neck is still as hell, and my throat hurts. My head's splitting open, and I don't have the first headache pill here. My kitchen desperately needs cleaning, and my laundry desperately needs doing. I HAVE to go grocery shopping tomorrow, come hell or high water.
It's gonna be a long weekend, isn't it?
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I Feel Like I'm Drowning
I feel like I'm drowning.
I've had such a shitty week, and I'm so behind now that I'm finally working on shit again. I don't know that I'll ever get caught up. I still have 12 1/2 750+ word things to write and get turned in by Monday. I have 10 250-word things to send to a girl by Saturday and 10 more 250-word things plus 3 250-word blog posts to send to another girl on Sunday. I also have a 600-word thing to get done by Monday, AND now I've got a company wanting me to do some work for them. And once all these essays are sent in Monday, I get to start the whole cycle all over again.
God, I hope I can do this without having a breakdown. I feel like I'm already close enough to one as it is.
In addition to the work thing, I also feel like I'm drowning emotionally. I've been having issues with the paranoia, and it's made it hard for me to sleep. I feel like someone's going to break in my house and kill me, and every little sound I hear (and there are lots because this apartment building creaks like hell) makes my heart stop for a beat or two. I hadn't slept more than 5 or 6 hours a night until last night. (I need 9 or so to be fully functional.) It was starting to turn into a vicious cycle of the paranoia making it hard to sleep and the lack of sleep making the paranoia worse, so I drugged myself last night. I slept somewhere between 12 and 14 hours.
It's weird. I don't really feel manic, but I'm displaying some of my surefire signs of it. Paranoia, lack of sleep, jumping from one thing to another. Maybe I can't recognize my manias as such anymore because I'm so used to them being incredibly bad. Because the meds are knocking them down, they're not nearly as severe anymore, which makes it harder to recognize. Maybe this is what hypomania is? I don't know.
Either way, I bumped the Lamictal up to 175 mg a couple of days ago. I'm going to look for a psychiatrist, too.
There's so much more to say, but I have no idea how to say it. I feel like an asshole for even thinking a lot of the shit I think. I guess it's wrong for me to want the people whose lives I fucked up in my life. But the thing is, I don't know that any of them realize how much things have changed. And I mean in the last month, even.
I'm not sick, but I'm not well. But I'm a lot farther along the path than I have been. I wish I could talk to Kitty and talk to J. about everything. I know neither of them really trust me. Him? I'm not even really that concerned about. He knows he fucked up, and that's on him. But the two girls? I wish I could just be 100% honest with both of them. I wish they would listen without judging me, and I wish that, if nothing else, we could be friends.
Is it wrong to want them in my life badly enough that I'll settle for less than what my heart truly desires, just so I don't have to lose them altogether?
I really think I need to do something else. Something to show that I'm sincere, and this is not just some stupid-ass game I'm playing. I'm too old and tired for games now. Maybe I can figure something out.
I've had such a shitty week, and I'm so behind now that I'm finally working on shit again. I don't know that I'll ever get caught up. I still have 12 1/2 750+ word things to write and get turned in by Monday. I have 10 250-word things to send to a girl by Saturday and 10 more 250-word things plus 3 250-word blog posts to send to another girl on Sunday. I also have a 600-word thing to get done by Monday, AND now I've got a company wanting me to do some work for them. And once all these essays are sent in Monday, I get to start the whole cycle all over again.
God, I hope I can do this without having a breakdown. I feel like I'm already close enough to one as it is.
In addition to the work thing, I also feel like I'm drowning emotionally. I've been having issues with the paranoia, and it's made it hard for me to sleep. I feel like someone's going to break in my house and kill me, and every little sound I hear (and there are lots because this apartment building creaks like hell) makes my heart stop for a beat or two. I hadn't slept more than 5 or 6 hours a night until last night. (I need 9 or so to be fully functional.) It was starting to turn into a vicious cycle of the paranoia making it hard to sleep and the lack of sleep making the paranoia worse, so I drugged myself last night. I slept somewhere between 12 and 14 hours.
It's weird. I don't really feel manic, but I'm displaying some of my surefire signs of it. Paranoia, lack of sleep, jumping from one thing to another. Maybe I can't recognize my manias as such anymore because I'm so used to them being incredibly bad. Because the meds are knocking them down, they're not nearly as severe anymore, which makes it harder to recognize. Maybe this is what hypomania is? I don't know.
Either way, I bumped the Lamictal up to 175 mg a couple of days ago. I'm going to look for a psychiatrist, too.
There's so much more to say, but I have no idea how to say it. I feel like an asshole for even thinking a lot of the shit I think. I guess it's wrong for me to want the people whose lives I fucked up in my life. But the thing is, I don't know that any of them realize how much things have changed. And I mean in the last month, even.
I'm not sick, but I'm not well. But I'm a lot farther along the path than I have been. I wish I could talk to Kitty and talk to J. about everything. I know neither of them really trust me. Him? I'm not even really that concerned about. He knows he fucked up, and that's on him. But the two girls? I wish I could just be 100% honest with both of them. I wish they would listen without judging me, and I wish that, if nothing else, we could be friends.
Is it wrong to want them in my life badly enough that I'll settle for less than what my heart truly desires, just so I don't have to lose them altogether?
I really think I need to do something else. Something to show that I'm sincere, and this is not just some stupid-ass game I'm playing. I'm too old and tired for games now. Maybe I can figure something out.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
A Thought From Another Person I Admire
They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.
Benjamin Franklin
Monday, October 3, 2011
Frustration
If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains
Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love
But I have no lethal weapon--
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.
"Frustration," Dorothy Parker
At the moment, I feel Mrs. Parker's pain.
I have 19 750+ word essays due by next Monday, October 9th. Of course, I have no new ideas about what I'm going to write, and I'm terrified I'm not going to get it done.
I'm broke. And, despite all this fucking writing I'm doing, I will remain broke for the foreseeable future, as I'm trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug last month.
I'm having some paranoia issues, but I don't feel like I'm manic or mixed or depressed or anything. I'm a little stressed about getting all this shiznit done on time, but I don't think I'm having an "episode." So I called the doctor and asked would upping the Lamictal again (I'm on 150 mg and have a prescription for 200 mg) help, since I'm not manic?
Well...I got told she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist. Sooooo...I basically got the "You're too damn crazy for me to help you" blow-off. It's really frustrating because a.) I don't have the money for a psychiatrist, and b.) I am doing SO much better than I was doing. Why choose NOW to decide you don't wanna deal with me?
I cried when I got off the phone with the nurse. I feel like it's some sort of horrible moral failing of mine that the doctor doesn't want to deal with me anymore. *Sigh* Especially since I've tried so hard and done everything I was told.
Then, I met my mother for lunch today, so she could bring me my meds. I made the mistake of mentioning something to her about the psychiatrist referral. I should've known better. I REALLY should've.
"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with you," she said.
Yes, because we all know her opinion holds more weight than that of the entirety of the medical community.
"It's all in your head," she said.
No, it's in my brain. Big difference.
"Well, you may have a little social anxiety, but that's it," she said.
Uh-huh. She's conveniently forgetting that my "social anxiety" has all but disappeared now that I'm on a mood stabilizer. The "social anxiety" was paranoia combined with natural shyness. *Sigh*
Also, anxiety is the only mental illness she recognizes. Why, you ask? Oh, because SHE has anxiety. If SHE has it, then it must exist. But anything else? It's just a character flaw and something you should "get over."
"I've never 'seen it' in you," she said.
Seen what? The crazy? Hell, no, I have the ability to hide it for short periods of time, and I knew I had to hide it from you because you'd either tell me it was all in my head, tell me I needed to get over it, or tell me I needed to find the Lord. Or all three.
Then, the kicker:
"There's nothing wrong with you. You just want to BELIEVE there's something wrong with you."
Oh, REALLY?
Yes, Mother. Yes. You caught me. All this time, I've desperately been wanting to be diagnosed with a severe mental illness that's ruined my life and the lives of others around me, made me flunk out of school, made me lose my best friend and other people I loved, made me be ridiculed by my own mother, and otherwise just do horrible things.
Yes. Totally faking. I can't believe you figured it out.
Fuck you, you invalidating, self-centered asshole.
Oh...I still haven't gotten a response to my email. I guess I never will. But there was SO much I wanted to say from the bottom of my heart. :(
Excuse me while I go cry again now.
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains
Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love
But I have no lethal weapon--
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.
"Frustration," Dorothy Parker
At the moment, I feel Mrs. Parker's pain.
I have 19 750+ word essays due by next Monday, October 9th. Of course, I have no new ideas about what I'm going to write, and I'm terrified I'm not going to get it done.
I'm broke. And, despite all this fucking writing I'm doing, I will remain broke for the foreseeable future, as I'm trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug last month.
I'm having some paranoia issues, but I don't feel like I'm manic or mixed or depressed or anything. I'm a little stressed about getting all this shiznit done on time, but I don't think I'm having an "episode." So I called the doctor and asked would upping the Lamictal again (I'm on 150 mg and have a prescription for 200 mg) help, since I'm not manic?
Well...I got told she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist. Sooooo...I basically got the "You're too damn crazy for me to help you" blow-off. It's really frustrating because a.) I don't have the money for a psychiatrist, and b.) I am doing SO much better than I was doing. Why choose NOW to decide you don't wanna deal with me?
I cried when I got off the phone with the nurse. I feel like it's some sort of horrible moral failing of mine that the doctor doesn't want to deal with me anymore. *Sigh* Especially since I've tried so hard and done everything I was told.
Then, I met my mother for lunch today, so she could bring me my meds. I made the mistake of mentioning something to her about the psychiatrist referral. I should've known better. I REALLY should've.
"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with you," she said.
Yes, because we all know her opinion holds more weight than that of the entirety of the medical community.
"It's all in your head," she said.
No, it's in my brain. Big difference.
"Well, you may have a little social anxiety, but that's it," she said.
Uh-huh. She's conveniently forgetting that my "social anxiety" has all but disappeared now that I'm on a mood stabilizer. The "social anxiety" was paranoia combined with natural shyness. *Sigh*
Also, anxiety is the only mental illness she recognizes. Why, you ask? Oh, because SHE has anxiety. If SHE has it, then it must exist. But anything else? It's just a character flaw and something you should "get over."
"I've never 'seen it' in you," she said.
Seen what? The crazy? Hell, no, I have the ability to hide it for short periods of time, and I knew I had to hide it from you because you'd either tell me it was all in my head, tell me I needed to get over it, or tell me I needed to find the Lord. Or all three.
Then, the kicker:
"There's nothing wrong with you. You just want to BELIEVE there's something wrong with you."
Oh, REALLY?
Yes, Mother. Yes. You caught me. All this time, I've desperately been wanting to be diagnosed with a severe mental illness that's ruined my life and the lives of others around me, made me flunk out of school, made me lose my best friend and other people I loved, made me be ridiculed by my own mother, and otherwise just do horrible things.
Yes. Totally faking. I can't believe you figured it out.
Fuck you, you invalidating, self-centered asshole.
Oh...I still haven't gotten a response to my email. I guess I never will. But there was SO much I wanted to say from the bottom of my heart. :(
Excuse me while I go cry again now.
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