As of late, things have been turned upside down. I thought by this point I’d be happy or excited but I’m not. I’m doing my best to not drown in my nebulous “mood disorder” and weight gain.
I recently switched medications and while it keeps me stable, it makes me feel sick and my body doesn’t seem to like it much, either. Nothing alarming but still unpleasant.
I got my second tattoo– that should make me happy, right?
I am finally heading off to a four-year college and all I feel is dread. I’m going to the gym.
My room is clean.
All these things and I still feel like I am falling apart. I feel like a pariah to people I thought were my friends. Sleeping is becoming so hard now because I go through this horrible cycle of panic, but the inner-walls never come down enough for me to cry. There is no relief. There is just me blacking out once the panic reaches its peak. I try lie in bed and meditate but that does nothing, and sometimes I will pace, but it always ends up with me waking up in bed. I usually have one memory before things go black.
I don’t know what to make of it. At least I end up in bed and not on the floor.
C stands for currently taking.
Klonopin 4mg – C
Abilify 15mg (Devil drug)
Synthroid – 50mcg
Cadista 4mg (six a day, descending from six)
Trazodone 200mg – C
Dilco/Misopr 50-0.2mg – C
Pantoprazole 40mg – C
Carafate 5g – C
Tremodol 100mg – C
A lot of drugs in just four years, no? I have been medicated since I was seventeen/eighteen. I can tell you right now that when I went off most my medications for three months a couple of months ago, I felt great. For a time. Then I started noticing old habits creeping back. The good thing was that the worse habits didn’t.
It was nice to test my strength but I wonder how much of that short-lived happiness was my first manic phase? Did I have a manic phase? Or was my “old self” starting to fight the demons?
I have been diagnosed with C-PTSD and a Mood Disorder. A Mood Disorder simply means that I have a bit of everything, so I can’t be classified as just one. It makes it hard to treat because doctors have to tackle multiple symptoms with one or a few drugs that are meant to treat only one type of disorder. Therapy seems like an endless road because the more I think about what’s wrong the larger the cave gets. It doesn’t help that each issue is the kind that most people spend their entire time with a therapist on, whereas I have to bring up more and more issues. What’s worse? Everything is connected, like a spiderweb, and that is a bad thing because connected like a web isn’t like having a root cause.
Can you understand why I dread therapy? Why I dread answering what’s wrong? People hate the honest answer of ‘where do I begin?‘ I want answers just like they do, probably more than they do. I want to know when I was broken. When and what happened that has made it so I need someone to tape me back together regularly?
- Tagged action, admission, anxiety, bipolar I, cptsd, depression, disorders, doctors, issues, medication, mood disorder, PTSD, therapy
I am now reading my blog for you. Excuse the Texas drawl, poor enunciation, and stumbling over words or sentences as I discover grammar errors. Here is, the very first post, No Drama.
- Tagged anorexia, anxiety, batshit, disorders, family, forward thinking, friends, grief, healing, health, ink skeleton, life, love, me, people, reason, schizophrenia, story, strong, surviving, writing
I’m unsure as to how to proceed with this post. Should I talk more about the aftermath of recovering? Should I talk about how my weight upsets me? Should I talk about how much I want to cut myself lately? Or my decision to not date or have any type of romantic contact?
Why don’t I just talk about all of them? Let’s do that.
First on my mind: Relationship thing. I made this decision yesterday because I have become sick to hurting myself (literally) of getting hurt, violated, looking over for someone “better” or someone who fits a preferred mold. I’m done with trying to guess whether a guy likes me or not– friends or not friends? Am I good enough for you? I am done with guess and getting hurt. I have better, more worthwhile, things to do than wait for someone for me who probably doesn’t exist. I will only accept a miracle man. I man who shows me that he is brave and won’t play games. A man who is honest and strong. That man will have to accept me for who I am and all of my craziness. My emotional roller-coaster-ness.I will change for that man.
On top of being shunted aside for more beige-like-personalities, I’m not thin enough. It frustrates me beyond belief that there isn’t one man who genuinely believes I am beautiful but I guess my personality is such an affliction that beauty can’t over power it. Which is impressive because many have admitted that they wanted me just to get laid.
I want so desperately to be that one woman you see and just say, “wow.” The unattainable beauty that people remember and not another person on the bus, in class, or at a party. I want to be spectacular. Then jaw-dropping when they find out that I am whip-lash smart but I’m not these. To others, I am just some rape victim who wasn’t intelligent to keep herself safe. That is what is making me want to cut. It’s hard to shut out the words because they are my own and proven through experience. I’m not sure how to handle any of this.
- Tagged admission, anorexia, anxiety, disorders, grief, ink skeleton, insane, life, love, me, people, rape, reason, surviving, truth
Last Valentine’s Day I was raped by a person I thought loved me. Most rape survivors are stronger than I am and what I mean by that is that they didn’t let it, the trauma or loss, practically consume them. I kind of have. I hear loving words from those around me but I feel as if they are wrong because everyday I paint a smile on my face. I haven’t spoken of the nightmares that are more reliving the memory and every night more and more resurfaces. Every night I have to deal with a new wave of horror, misery and self-hatred because I lost my memory. My brain shut off the second he rolled me over and the image that comes to mind everyday and night is the window that I was facing. The memory of that damn window taunts me in the fact that it is a twisted metaphor for escape.
I do not see myself as strong because I failed to escape. The thing I haven’t told people is that I let the abuse continue. The abuse started on Valentine’s Day but didn’t stop until April. I remember that. I remember being afraid to say no and I let him do what he wanted then after he left I would ask myself what was wrong with me. Where did my strength go? I have buried that because the guilt and pain has been too much
However. a year later, I start the harder process which is believing in myself and believing that I am as strong as other believe. This process I know will be one of the hardest things I will ever do for myself but it is something I need to do. I have let it interfere with potential relationships, with schoolwork and my family life. I am done being a victim. I am ready to be a survivor.
- Tagged admission, anxiety, disorders, friends, grief, hating someone else, ink skeleton, life, love, people, rape, strong, surviving
Something was pointed out to me, by one of my sisters no less, as to why people may be ignoring it [two posts back.] She didn’t say it like that but her question was, “What would posting that solve? Imagine him reading it. What would you want his response to be? What do you think it would be?“ I replied, “[It’s] Not really about him reading it, more of the people around him. Letting them know that someone they put on a pedestal is someone who would say something like this.”Her question was a valid and a good one. Another person said, “People would rather not deal with what they don’t understand or what they don’t want to understand.” These eased my anger and put me in a place of reflection and I came to a few conclusions.
I have very little feeling about how He responds it because I have learned that it is best not to carry the opinions of those who hurt you, but if I had to want him to have a reaction, I would want him to feel ashamed. Also, I am done being seen as the ‘evil one’ because people those around him only have half of the story. Anyone capable of saying things like that to a sexual abuse victim is not a white knight. Reasoning, why do I care about his friends? I wouldn’t want anyone to be friends with someone like that. I am also tired of awful people being praised. You wouldn’t praise someone who slapped and already wounded person, would you? I’m trying to change the way things work, I’m being the change I want to see.
It enrages and saddens me that people aren’t helping. Lack of understanding isn’t an excuse anymore; my mother doesn’t truly understand everything I’m going through but she is still trying to help, she isn’t be ignorant. The true issue is people not wanting to understand and to change because people are afraid of change. The more boastful they are, the least likely they are to actually help, but they continue to boast. I had already learned this but I only believed it when I asked for help yesterday and I’m not one of those Facebook users who posts, “Share this if…” I prefer action. Action like calling-out an asshole who criticizes someone going through PTSD from rape.
The action, the change, I want is for the true good people to win instead of those who are two-faced.
- Tagged action, anxiety, college, disorders, double standards, forward thinking, friends, grief, hating someone else, healing, ink skeleton, life, me, people, PTSD, rape, rape culture, reason, strong, surviving, time, truth, two-faced, understanding, women, writing
Tonight, while I waited for my sister to pick me up, I sat on a bench and held a purple buttercup flower. They are among my favorite wild flowers because they are adorable and smell like, well, a Reese’s. I held it because of how delicate it was. The goal was not to crush it.
Looking at how perfect it was, how unblemished and okay. The lesson was to be gentle with things that have what I do not, to not envy or feel rage towards or feel jealousy. The lesson was to show myself that is okay to trust. To some, it may seem odd to see it in a simple flower but hear me out: You can trust that those flowers will be soft, so very easily breakable, purple in color and smell like candy.
You can trust. It is okay to trust. Trusting will not inherently bring you pain. To trust is one of the bravest things you can do and it’s also one of the most forgiving. Being cruel and bitter isn’t bravery at all, no—bravery is being vulnerable. To be vulnerable is to begin healing and understanding that, yes, awful things can happen but not letting the awful things become your identity and eradicate you of kindness and hope.
I didn’t crush the flower. I will not lose hope or who I am.
- Tagged admission, anxiety, disorders, forgiving, forward thinking, grief, hating someone else, healing, ink skeleton, letting go, life, love, me, people, purple, reason, strong, surviving, time, trust, truth