Blackouts

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.

Broken

C stands for currently taking.

All daily.

Lexapro 40mg

Klonopin 4mg – C

Abilify 15mg (Devil drug)

Lamictal 300mg

Lithium 1200mg

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?

We are Worth “I love You”

I have given up saying “most of you don’t care” because that phrase entails that there are in fact a few that do. Why? I discovered that most only listen for the chance to give their opinion to make themselves feel better. So they can give themselves a pat on the back.

People wait for the chance to say, “Try harder,”You just need to do this,“I don’t know what to tell you, I’ve tried everything!
In the end, they care about getting on with their lives. Will they remember the pain in your eyes? No. They will remember how you’re such a burden and how much they do for you. In reality, they don’t remember you. They remember their effort with you.
They’ll  try to comfort you with thing you could find in a Hallmark Card— “You’re kind, beautiful, worthwhile, special, funny, strong, creative…” blah blah blah.
I have found that if those are the first words because use to comfort or describe me, I might has well have a bunch printed Pinterest motivational pictures at my funeral instead of a half-ass speech.
I want a stranger to bury me. I don’t want all that shit that is supposed to make others feel better—flowers and music. Just burn me and put my ashes in the sea.

The thing that means more than nights out or gifts are the words, “I love you.” Not as a goodbye but as a reminder. A hug when they cannot be there. Proof that you mean more to them than a project they’re working on. Than a TV show they can watch on their iphones. The news on AOL. Another piece of music.
We are worth those words. We are worth hearing them everyday. We shouldn’t have to be at breaking point or already broken to deserve them because maybe if we heard them more in the first place, we wouldn’t break so often.

NAC and Paranormal Group.

At the moment, my medicine isn’t working as well as it should be working all because of one of them decided to be an asshole. It has gotten to the point where I had to leave my Paranormal Investigating team. I fucking hate that I had to do that. I felt like I belonged there and then… issues.
     I was hallucinating and hearing things which turns out it was a combination of forgetting to take NAC (it repairs neurons) and staying up late for investigations. On top of that I am struggling with trying not to cut and not relapse into being anorexic. Also I am rapid cycling and by rapid I mean every five minutes it’s a new emotion.  It’s so much fun.
     I want to go back to the team but I don’t know. Part of me says that they are better off without me and the other says they seemed happy to have you there.

 

I feel like shit without my group and really stupid that I wouldn’t have left if I had known about my NAC.

Just Something Ordinary

Today, I chose to shut down my empathic or telepathic abilities, if I have any. All it took was simply proposing this idea to discover that everyone was lying about believing me that I had those abilities.
           It makes my heart ache to hear that my family and friends were placating me. That they would rather think that I have bipolar I disorder, schizophrenia and PTSD than something unusual, something special. Useful and something people weren’t afraid of, that made me some thing that should be numbed with medication then locked away.
           In reality, I think I should accept ordinary. Maybe it will be better this way–maybe I will be better this way.