The Polar Express & Dating

 Today I rented a car and drove four hours to look at a Scion xB I really thought I was going to buy. I had stared at the ad on AutoTrader constantly for three weeks and I knew that it was my car. I didn’t buy that car though; I bought this car. The car in an ad that I skipped over four times because it was white and because it was the max amount of the budget I allowed for myself to spend on one.  After the first Scion broke my heart, with the engine still running, I called the person selling the white one.  Three hours later I was driving away in my new.to.me Scion xB.  I have decided to name it The Polar Express because if I can’t fucking laugh at my bipolar then I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do with it.  Water it? Take it for walks? I don’t fucking know.  I’m really happy that things turned out the way they did and I ended up with The Polar Express.  Four hours alone with it, taking the back roads from Atlanta back home, it was absolutely amazing.

But as happy as I am about finally having a car of my own again that’s not what I wanted to write about tonight. The topic that I want to discuss is dating.  Not necessarily my dating life because I pretty much keep everybody up to date with that mess.  But I want to talk about dating in general.

Sunday Dad went on his first date since my stepmom passed away.  Dad and Chrissy (stepmom) really didn’t date much in the fourteen years they were together. We’re poor so they really couldn’t afford to do much, plus between the two of them they ran a small orphanage of sorts and didn’t really have time.  Dad went on a date with a lady he met on the internet, we’ll call her J. I thought it would be a chance for Dad to take J on a really nice date while we were out of town since our town doesn’t really offer much, so I convinced him (I agreed to pay for their date) to ask her to join us on our road trip and J agreed.

While sitting in the back seat Dad’s actions, or lack there of, had me steaming.  Fuck, I was so mad at him.  J is a beautiful woman.  I’m not just saying that because I’m nice, she really is gorgeous.  And she’s so smart and really passionate about holistic healing.  While we were driving she was talking about the different plants and trees that we were passing and the edible parts of them and what they could help if humans consumed it.  I thought it was fucking interesting, I loved listening to her.  Dad on the other hand let J carry the conversation herself.  He didn’t even nod along to slightly pretend he was listening.  Rude. A person is sitting there talking about something they are passionate about, ask questions about it! Since he obviously wasn’t going to engage her I decided to ask if she studied this stuff or if it was a hobby of hers.  The answer is, a hobby.

Then while J was in the middle of a sentence Dad’s phone rang AND HE FUCKING ANSWERED IT.  No, that’s not even the worst part of it.  He didn’t say “Excuse, I have to take this” or “I’m sorry this is about work” nothing.  He just cut her off by fucking answering his phone.  So while he was being a dickhead I pressed play on their one sided conversation, because I was actually listening, and we talked for a good twenty minutes before Dad even said anything.

And then he texted while driving.  I mean, fuck our lives right? 

Moral of the fucking story: I find being on your phone while you’re in the company of somebody you’re dating (I even put my phone on the other side of the room when I’m with K still) or even some friends is the rudest fucking thing ever and Dad was going to hear it the moment we were alone!

Dad is a smoker.  A heavy, chain smoker.  I hate it.  I hate the way it smells. I hate the way the smell lingers in the car and the slimy film glosses over the windows, I hate it.  Because we were in a rental car and they charge five hundred dollars if smoking goes down in the car and we were in a bit of a hurry to get to our destination, Dad chewed gum.  He. Never. Fucking. Offered. J. A. Piece.  Mouth noises, like smacking of food or gum, or the sound of people chewing, is the FASTEST way to send me into an angry, no, a fucking raging episode.  No idea why, I just can’t stand it.  My chest hurts just thinking about it.  He made the loudest mouth noises the whole fucking time. Never offered her a piece of gum. Even when she would offer us a piece of chocolate ANY TIME she took the bag out of her purse and had a piece herself. Rude. 

Not one of J’s doors were opened by Dad.  When we went to eat I opened the door for her, and in turn she raced me to the next door to hold it open for me.  When we left I made sure I beat her out the doors so I could hold them open for her. He never opened a car door for her or anything.   

We pulled over at a gas station because he finally couldn’t take it any more and needed to smoke and when he got out he didn’t ask J if she needed anything from the inside.  I had to.  Of course she said no but fuck man, ask the lady if she needs anything. Damn, it’s not that hard.  It’s not like he was going to pay for it. The whole trip came out of my bank account – which is not a problem because it was my trip and I invited them.

While Dad was inside I had to apologize for him.  He hasn’t been on a date in a very long time, I said to J.  J looked at me with shock and confusion and so I told her all the things that I noticed that bothered me about his behavior.  She had no idea what I was talking about.  J didn’t notice how his phone took priority over her and their conversation.  She didn’t notice that she was opening her own doors or that he didn’t ask if she needed anything from the store or that he chewed piece after piece of gum without offering her any.  J’s main concern about Dad was if he was the type of man to cheat.  And I can honestly say that no, he isn’t.  I’m not just saying that because I’m his daughter.  Read the above, I basically all but called him an asshole.  And yeah, he cheated on my mom with my stepmom and he most likely tried to cheat on my stepmom (she would have fucking killed him. Literally.) but losing Chrissy really messed him up and it’s taken him almost four years to even work up the nerve to go on a date with somebody. So I felt good with reassuring J that she didn’t need to worry about that with him.

J then told me a little bit about her past relationships while Dad stood outside the car and smoked.  Apparently every man she has ever been involved with has cheated on her.  And they were all rude, so much ruder than Dad, and abusive.  I swear if y’all could have been in the car with this woman for an hour listening to her go on and on about weird things you can eat in the wild if you ever get lost in the woods your heart would have dropped the same as mine when she was telling me that Dad is basically the perfect man so far.  I was happy because I like J.  I know she scares Dad a bit but I think he’s just scared of getting hurt too.

When I explained all of Dad’s ill-doings to K she told me what I already knew; I have such high standards for the behavior of other people that I notice small things that nobody else probably ever would.  That made me kind of sad.  Is that what dating is like?

When K and I go on a date, or to the grocery store, or whatever, I open her door.  I asked her multiple times a day if she’s good and if she needs anything even if I can’t afford it if she says that she needs blueberries, I will find a way to get my baby blueberries.  I don’t touch my phone while K is in the room unless I’m showing her something and if somebody calls, fuck it, let the voicemail get it, I’m spending time with my woman.  I never let K drive anywhere unless I don’t have a vehicle or we’re going to her family’s place. Part of that is because I feel like I should drive and the other part is because she scares the fuuuuuck out of me when she drives. So I guess I just assumed that everybody did those things.

The two people I dated before K did all those things for me and I loved it and that’s why I do it for K.

Is this how dating is done now?

Past Tense Me.

Like one and a half billion other people I am a member of Facebook.  If you are like me, a member that logs on pretty regularly, then you know that Facebook has a feature that allows you to see what you posted On This Day xx Years Ago.

I enjoy looking back at things I have written over the years.  One-liners that are soaked in emotion and poetic genius really stroke my ego. Fuck yes! I am fucking talented. Occasionally the memories are less than welcomed back.

There are weeks and even months where everything I wrote or shared was dark and foul.  I would admit my hatred for living and often expressed the confused emotions that tormented me.  Looking back now, knowing what I know,  my heart drops in my stomach and I want to hug Past Tense Me and tell her what was causing the hell she, we, lived in.  I was sick and dying and I had no idea.

It makes my heart ache for not only myself but for everybody else that feels and thinks the way I do and have.  Drowning in mania and then suffocating in the depression that faithfully follows.  Episode after episode and nobody knew what was going on with me.  Hell, I didn’t even know. The only thing that was certain was that I was going to die by suicide, I knew that for a fact.

I wonder why none of my friends or my family thought that maybe I was unwell.  That maybe my brain had an imbalance or a disorder that could have been stabilized if only I had the proper diagnoses and treatment. Looking back at the things I wrote I am so fucking proud of myself for never turning to substance to calm the storm and for never letting death whisper in my ear and convince me to leave my body.

Look at us.  Diagnosed, most of us in treatment, and although we know the source of our torment we still live in constant hell.  Remember when we didn’t know? Remember when we thought we were all alone and that nobody understood how we felt? Does that not break your fucking heart? That there are so many more people still out there living lives that don’t even resemble a life?

Yesterday I was sad and for the first time in my life I felt like it was a normal sadness.  When I cried it was a normal cry.  Not a wail from my soul wishing God would take me from this earth.  The hot tears stung my face and they fell for hours but there was a part of me that felt happy to be crying like that.  I closed my eyes and the tears kept falling but I didn’t feel as though I was being ripped apart from the inside.  I thought to myself that maybe this is how normal people cry.  And it made me happy that maybe, for once in my fucked up life, I felt normally.

The me that lives five years ago, twisted in agony and unknowing, doesn’t know yet that last night will come and that for once she’ll be happy to cry.  She’ll be happy to be sad because for once she thinks that maybe it’s a normal kind of sad.  I wish I could tell her. I wish I could wrap her in my scarred arms and hold her closer than either of us has ever been held and tell her that it won’t always be this hard, it won’t always feel like a curse to be alive, we won’t always drown in the loneliness.  I wish I could tell her to be strong, whatever the fuck that means, just hold the fuck on to whatever she can find because it’s not always going to be so fucking hard.

Sadly, I’ll never be able to tell Past Tense Me those things.  I’ll never be able to hold her and let her know that we’ll make it out alive, we have to. Past Tense Me will just forever live in the loop that plays in my memory.  But there are people that are living the way Past Tense Me lived.  Maybe if I tried hard enough I can reach them and I can tell them all the things I wish I could tell past tense me.

If you’re searching blogs because you’re not okay, because you think maybe your brain has an imbalance or a disorder and nobody around you seems to give a fuck, I do.  I give a fuck.  If you feel like you don’t have a friend left in the world because nobody understands the hell you’re living in, I’ll be your friend.  We can battle our hells together because that’s what friend’s do.  If you think you need help then seek it but be prepared for one of the toughest battles outside of your own self that you’ll ever face.  There are cracks that people like us fall in and we break nails trying to climb back out, but we can, we do. We will.

Calm.

As I’m sitting at my desk I can hear the chatter of birds.  I imagine they are excited spring is finally here; although winter wasn’t horrible this year.  There are so many different songs playing outside the window and I wished they’d stay and sing to me all morning.  It’s a rather gloomy day outside, there’s a chance for storms later. Those kind of days are bittersweet.

There’s an empty calm in my chest.  There’s no rustle of emotions or battle between racing thoughts; their theme of a million things always present but rather soft today.  Even in the calm happiness seems like a myth.  Sadness is growing on my lungs and seeping out of my eyes. I am sad today and I can’t find a reason for it.

Perhaps I am sad because I doubt myself.  I doubt that I’ll be able to find stability in the madness that has made a home in my mind. It branches down into my mouth and takes control of my hands.  Perhaps I doubt that I am anything more than ordinary. I’m just a pretty face that cannot be appreciated because nobody can see passed the scars. What a shame. Maybe I am sad because I don’t believe I am in love any more, only familiar.

There’s a calm sadness squeezing my heart and all I want to do is bury my face into a pillow and allow my eyes to cry while I drift off to sleep. Surrender myself to the nightmares that have come for me night after night.

Maybe when I wake up I’ll feel like the birds, singing to welcome spring and to wish winter farewell.

 

Rats eat eyes.

I am currently at work and I am experiencing something new: paranoia. Extreme and frightening paranoia.

I work alone in the office during my shifts and I enjoy it. Mostly I work nights with the exception of Sunday when I have my only day shift.  On Monday and Tuesday I come in during the afternoon and leave just before midnight and Wednesday and Thursday I come in just before midnight and leave in the morning.  It’s an odd schedule that sounds difficult but it’s pretty easy.

The noises of the property and the way things bang against the walls when it’s windy outside are things I’ve become accustomed to over the last year.  The truck drivers that come and go during all hours of the night and morning don’t bother me, most of them have weighed with us a handful of times and I usually recognize them. There’s one boat crew that has a habit of coming up to the office instead of calling on the phone or radio and even on the best of days they irritate me but I can always predict when they’re likely to show up.  Neither of them, the boat pilot or the deckhand, scare me in any way. They’re nice-enough guys.

But tonight the noises are catching me off guard and scaring me. Doors are opening and closing in the bay and in the back of the office and I can hear somebody walking around. I don’t think I hear somebody walking, I hear somebody waking.  I feel like somebody is outside watching me.  Movement is catching my attention in my peripheral, like somebody is walking by the windows and door and when I look up I see the figure of a person standing or walking by the gate.

When a truck pulls up to the gate I immediately feel very afraid and shut and lock the door that connects the entrance way to my desk area. This is something I have only ever done a handful of times before but mostly out of anxiety instead of fear.

The night didn’t start this way, it’s something that slowly built up and now is causing major anxiety to find a home in my chest.

Thankfully, around 0340 during my overnight shifts the AM asphalt worker comes in.  He doesn’t work in the office with me but his office is in the bay not far from where I sit and he’s just a press of a button away.  He has come since I started writing this and I told him about how things seem off tonight and he told me he’d check around in the bay and the tank farm to see if he can see anything… while typing that last part I looked up because a movement caught my eye but now it is in my office and moving behind the computer in the front portion.

My head is throbbing and my chest is way too tight right now.  I get off in three hours but I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle being alone in my apartment if this feeling doesn’t go away.  Maybe I’ll call Dad and ask that he come over and check on me every once in a while.  Especially if I sleep the way I did yesterday (my first dose of Seroquel kicked me in the face).

I can feel my body starting to overheat, I have to try to ground myself so I don’t fall into a full blown panic attack.

This cannot become a common occurrence.

K & Seroquel

There is really only one thing I want to talk about in this entry but to give the whole picture I also have to talk about something else, hence the title:  K and Seroquel.

K and I had been texting somewhat since Friday morning after I called her work (she had blocked my number from her phone and refused to even read my Facebook messages) and asked one of her coworkers to please let her know I needed to come get my cat. Lesbian for “we’ve broken up”. So K finally replied to my messages outraged that the only thing I cared to talk to her about was Tobias, our Highland Lynx kitten.  At that point I was done trying to apologize for being unwell and to beg for her not to give up on me yet, so yes, all I cared to talk about was getting my cat and I explained that to her.  She made it very clear she didn’t want to talk to me so why bother? So we began talking about our failed relationship and how we both wished I wasn’t like this but the fact is, I am and it’s not something that can be fixed over night.

Friday and Saturday I asked to see her so we could talk about things in person and she said no.  Still she wouldn’t talk to me on the phone and it was taking her hours and hours to reply to my texts so when she said she didn’t want to see me on Saturday I decided that I was done pushing to see her.  I asked for Tobias and she said she wanted to keep him a few more days because she was sad and he helped her not feel so bad.  Sunday morning she began the day by sending me pictures of us, from before my episodes got so bad, when we were happier together. I replied back in a semi-cold manner, telling her I hated that picture and that was a picture of when I was actually cute.  At the end of the day I drank some NyQuil and decided it was time for me to go to sleep.  I text K and said goodnight and she replied with a picture of her signing “I love you”.  I had been asking her to stop telling me she loves me because it was really messing with my head so in reply to her picture I simply said “Please stop.” and I rolled over and went to sleep.

At 0600 Monday morning I was startled out of my sleep by my phone vibrating.  I looked and had many missed calls and a handful of texts from K and now she was calling me using Facebook’s messenger app.  We had switched roles and it was her turn to be a lunatic. She thought I had blocked her number and went crazy.  Immediately I called her back (without thinking or reading the texts) because I thought something was wrong.  K never calls or texts me this much so something had to have been wrong.  Once she told me she waited for me to reply to her text last night after I asked her to stop telling me she loved me again and when I didn’t she became upset and began calling me.  Lately I’ve kept my phone on “do not disturb”; I don’t get notifications when I am texted or when somebody calls me. It’ll ring twice and go to voicemail.  I have no idea why this doesn’t block Facebook messenger calls but it doesn’t apparently.  I laughed at her and told her she was crazy and that I had been asleep, not out “getting over” her or anything sinister.  After I had eased her mind we hung up and I went back to sleep waking up later and texting her to let her know that the next time she said she didn’t want to be with me I was going to remind her of the events that took place overnight. Then I told her that we needed to get together soon and discuss things and she agreed.

While I was waiting in the waiting room for my appointment with Melissa K asked me what I wanted in reference to us. I answered honestly and told her I didn’t know.  She applauded me for being honest about it but admitted that it hurt that I didn’t want her.  So I explained that it wasn’t that I didn’t want her but it was more complicated than that.  When she asked why I told her that I wanted her but I didn’t want us. We’re not best friends, we’re not even friends, and that is what I want.  She, once again, took the role of lunatic and began texting me long paragraphs about how she wished she was the one for me and how hurt she feels over everything and how I was everything she ever looked for in a person and now she will forever be alone because she doesn’t want anybody else.  After my appointment was done I laughed at her and told her to simmer all the way down, that I never said that I was going to walk away from her despite the major flaw in our relationship.  She asked if I would come over to her house after I got off work and I agreed.

About two hours before I was scheduled to get off work K text me and asked me to open the gate; she had rode her bike almost eight miles to work because she wanted to see me.  K was soaked in sweat and I could only laugh at her.  Shyly she asked if I was going to make her ride her bike back home or if I could give her a ride and I played around with her telling her that I was going to make her ride it home. When I clocked out she loaded her bike in the back of the truck and we drove to her house where we stood in the kitchen and didn’t use words to tell each other we wanted to make things work. So that’s what we’re doing.  K told me today that since I told her we weren’t best friends she’s been thinking about that and “..I’ve looked at everything differently. It’s like I had my eyes closed all this time and now they’re wide open. I’m still working on how I feel about that but thank you for saying that.”.  I don’t know what that means and I’m still unsure about how I feel about things but when I close my eyes and picture a future, she’s in it.

And now that you are caught up with that situation I can tell you about my fears with Seroquel and the plan I have to combat the fear.

I am afraid of gaining weight while on Seroquel.  I feel like know that once I start noticing weight gain I am going to stop complying with treatment and take myself off of Seroquel which could sabotage my recovery.  

This is why you needed to be caught up with the situation with K: she’s a body builder.  She lives in the gym and is very strict with her diet and her whole life depends on how she looks. Yes, I fucking hate that about her but it’s part of her, she loves it. So after expressing my fears about the weight gain to K I asked that she help me develop a routine that has some muscle building but is mostly cardio and fat burning and to help me shape up my diet so that maybe I won’t gain so much weight and can still be compliant. At first she tried very hard to be positive and suggest that maybe I won’t gain any weight, I have a fairly decent diet currently and maybe I won’t be like everybody else.  I told her to look it up and this morning her tune was changed about it.

K has always wanted me to go to the gym with her but I never cared to.  I used to be really into working out and would be at the gym any moment I could but life happened and I started to avoid the gym. I started to avoid a female that was also always at the gym. So when I asked her to help me she seemed really excited.  Tomorrow we have our first run, my legs have finally stopped aching from the walk I took Friday and I know that running with her will definitely kick my ass but it’s worth it.

This is going to be another part of my journey that I plan on documenting the hell out of. I will make sure I add a category for it so that if somebody is just searching for my results with Seroquel it’ll be easily found because I know there has to be more people like me that are fucking terrified of the same things I am.

My current weight is 137 pounds and tomorrow morning will be my first dose of Seroquel. I’m not sure what mg I’ll be on but I’ll be sure to update that on the next discussion.

Meeting Melissa.

Today I met with Melissa, my psychiatric nurse practitioner at Charlene’s office.  It’s easy to say that I like her.  She greeted me in the waiting room on time and lead me to her office where she immediately began reading over my file, out loud at times.  “Ah, you don’t like it when people look at you, I can understand that.” “you lived at the park” “oh you were in the Army, that’s great” “you live with your partner” and I corrected her there, I don’t and never have lived with K, also, ex partner, “history of abuse, ah okay” and with that she looked at me from over her laptop and said the words I fucking loathe to hear “I’m so sorry” and I say what I always say “It’s okay”.  Melissa said what we were both thinking “no, it’s not okay” and continued reading. She would find a place in the notes and ask me about certain behaviors, like my cutting, “where’s your favorite place to do it at? When was the last time? Why not your arms?” Truthfully I used to love doing it on my arms but after a particularly bad episode I’ve lost most of the feeling in them so it’s just doesn’t do it for me any more.  She almost laughed as she asked what medicine I have taken before, I assume because she could see the list I’ve given them previously and could see that it was all shit medicine, and so I rattled off the names of what I could remember.  All antidepressants that never did a damn thing to help me, and Melissa knew that. While we were talking, Melissa almost matching my sped-up hyper chatter, she jotted down a list of medicines she wanted to try with me.  Writing one down and then talking to herself “no, no, not that” and then looking at me and asking “how much do you weigh? One thirty seven? Ah that’s okay” and writing the name of another down.  I liked the way she worked. To the fucking point.

At the end of the formality she looked at me and smiled and asked “anybody in your family bipolar?” I replied that my  mother is and she said that she concurred with Charlene, that I am indeed Bipolar and that I barely, if I did at all, meet the criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder any more but was still obviously suffering from some of those symptoms but with therapy I could overcome them, which I already knew.  Melissa explained that she enjoys working with people living with bipolar because we’re “fun”.  I looked at her and said that I could see that being the case while we’re on our ups, I mean I walked into the office knowing with full confidence I could turn any female in there gay if I wanted and damn it I could, Jesus himself couldn’t convince me otherwise, but she said that sometimes we do need to be brought down and that after many years of doing what she does we have become her favorite patients.  I honestly didn’t know how to take that because I was, am, feeling higher than high so I just nervously laughed and continued to listen to her. She explained the medication part of what treating bipolar is like, that she could put me on multiple medicines to do what this one over here could do or I could just take that one over there and later on we could add in an antidepressant if the mood stabilizers weren’t kicking that symptoms ass and some more options but I got distracted by the cracked paint around her wall plug and stopped listening.  In the end I came out with three prescriptions: Seroquel, Lithium, and Lamictal.

The Seroquel and Lithium are no surprise to me.  During my recent obsessive, task oriented episodes I looked up what is commonly prescribed to people like me and I knew that these two were wildly popular especially when first beginning to chemically treat bipolar.  I also know that Seroquel is infamous for making people gain weight and making it impossible to lose it.  THE FUCK?! I’m newly single, I don’t want to get all chubby and stuff right now. Damn it. Jesus come and be fat blocker. The Lamictal I have no idea about.  She was explaining that one after I got distracted and couldn’t hear her any more so I don’t even know what that adorable tiny white pill does. I’ve started the Lithium and the Lamictal today once I got to work.  My pharmacy had to order the Seroquel so I won’t pick it up until tomorrow and start it Wednesday after my appointment with Charlene.  Tomorrow night I’m working a double so I won’t get off until 0700 Wednesday morning and from work I’ll head home to drop my kids (dogs) off and then head straight to Charlene’s office.

Today I was greeted with both of my bosses in the office when I arrived thirty minutes late for my shift.  They seemed chipper and glad to see me and my kids which made me feel good as well. They asked me how I was feeling and I could honestly tell them I felt good, they didn’t need to know that this was just another symptom of my illness.  They asked what treatment looked like for me in the future and told me once again that any time I needed off to just let them know and they’d get my shifts covered.  I really love my job.  I love my bosses.  They really do make sure I am taken care of and with all this shit going on with me lately and the times I’ve called them in the middle of the night crying so hard I could hardly breathe they have never regarded me in a way that made me feel like they were tired of dealing with me.  Instead they reassure me that my job is here for me no matter what and that I do a really great job.  My love language is words of affirmation.  

I have marked upcoming events in my calendar with plans to attend the festivals, even if I have to go alone, and I’m planning on going to a ballet of Peter Pan next month.  I am still going back and forth about whether I should go back to school during the summer semester or wait until the fall when I have, hopefully, a more stable life.  The determination I feel right now to have a better life is unreal.  Despite knowing that it’s not going to be easy, I know I’m going to win this.

After work tonight I’m going over to K’s house to talk about things with her.  I don’t know how it’s going to go, I don’t know how I feel about things any more.  As much as I love her and want to be with her part of me knows that it’s not where I’m supposed to be.  She’s not my best friend, we’re not even friends at this point.  But that doesn’t take away the fact that I have pictured a future with her since the beginning.  Either way it goes I will be okay.  She will be okay.  And things will eventually get better.

Neighborhood Dogs.

High energy and insomnia.  My body doesn’t even feel tired.  Racing thoughts with the theme of a million things.  Obsessiveness.  I can’t tell where my Borderline Personality Disorder ends and the Bipolar begins, but perhaps I don’t need to know.  Maybe I should let this be a learning situation, maybe I can learn that I don’t need to be in control of everything all of the time.  The inability to control my emotions and, at times, my thoughts only causes me to feel frustrated but today I feel as though maybe I can learn to accept it with time.

The last couple of days have seemed like weeks to me.  The days drag on and my body never tires, my mind never slows down.  I’ve been off of work because I thought I was going inpatient only to find out that because I wasn’t currently a danger to myself or others I didn’t meet the criteria.  I accepted my fate with a confused static but decided that the universe and God knew which way my path was taking.  But since then I have been left alone in my room with nobody to talk to and nobody to see.  But I have conquered.

There has been no self-harming in an attempt to pacify the thoughts and pain.  Honestly I haven’t even thought to try it.  I have not laid in my bed doubled over begging for death to come and sweep me away.  Tears have been shed and I have felt uncomfortable sadness but I have refused to let it take over me.  Perhaps I am partially numb or maybe it’s building up for an even bigger storm.

With all the energy and obsessive racing thoughts I talked myself into doing a task I should have done weeks ago.  I went to the place that repossessed my car and retrieved my belongings.  The trick to being able to do this, I learned, is not to think.  Act as a robot.  I called when they opened and asked if my things were still there.  When the male on the other end of the phone told me they were I thanked him and hung up; immediately I brushed my teeth and put on clean sweatpants and a clean shirt, got in the truck and drove.  Blocking out all thoughts and refusing to acknowledge the anxiety welling up in my chest.  I am now in possession of all the things that were in my car when it was taken from me.  I am proud of myself but I won’t tell anybody outside of this blog about my accomplishment.  Applauding me for doing something that normal people do without effort is not necessary, I have been told more than a dozen times I am too hard on myself and should show myself the same compassion I would show another person in my position.  I am unwell, my mental health is comprised, functioning as a “normal” person would takes a great deal more effort for me but still, my pride won’t allow it.

It’s just now noon and I have the entire day to spend my energy.  With no friends to spend it with, and now no girlfriend, I am left to my own company.  I’m fully aware of why nobody wants to be around me, I am a lunatic. I decided a while ago that I would start working out again.  Exercise is good for us, right? And I did purchase a season pass to the waterpark in town so it wouldn’t hurt to lose a few pounds or ten. While I do have the energy for it today the thoughts find excuses.  My thigh is very painful and I’m afraid of it ripping open while I’m at the gym or out running.  My legs are bruised from fighting with K. I haven’t drank enough water lately, I’ll pass out.  But I have decided once I finish composing this entry I will put my running shoes on and go for a run. I even downloaded a new app for it. Maybe after I run I’ll go to the gym and tan. Probably not though. Today I will push myself and at the end of the day I will feel accomplished because I am working towards getting better.

Monday I have an appointment with a new name, Melissa.  She is a nurse practitioner at Charlene’s office.  I am slightly disappointed to be assigned to a NP because I requested (per Jimmy) to be seen by an actual psychiatrist.  Monday is only two days away so I won’t dwell on it.  Medicine prescribed is medicine prescribed and hopefully it’ll bring me some stability in this hell I live in and won’t cause me to gain weight, which I’m sure it will because that seems to be a very popular side effect with mood stabilizers.

As far as Charlene, I’m not sure when my next appointment with her is.  To be honestly I’m slightly ill with her.  Wednesday was completely unorganized and it seemed as though it was a half thought idea.  Sending me to an inpatient program was a great notion but it turned out that maybe she was uneducated on the process.  Jimmy explained that Charlene doesn’t even have admitting capabilities, only a psychiatrist can do that, and going to the emergency room to be admitted is only for people who are in immediate need for safety to prevent them from hurting themselves or others.  Wednesday I was in a high, an oddly timed high, but a high.  I wasn’t even sad.  I think perhaps I cried for fifteen seconds when we turned into the parking lot but it was quickly over.  K and I sat in the observation room flirting and laughing while be stared at from the nurses outside.  I knew they were wondering why I was trying to have myself admitted into a psych ward, but I was only trying to follow instructions.

Now I suspect I have rambled on enough and I should lace up and move out.  Maybe when I get done running I’ll take the kids to the park and walk them.  I’m not sure I have mentioned my children before but I have eight.  Five live here at home with me.  Bubba, Little Dog, Tony, Koda, and Jack.  Two dogs and three cats.  I also have two dogs at Dad’s house, Pat and Stray, and Tobias is K’s and my cat that lives with her. My new app says Day 1 takes thirty four minutes to complete.  I can do that.  Today I can do just about anything.

All for nothing.

Jimmy is a slightly shorter than average older man who is a fan of awkward silence and uncomfortable eye contact.  Jimmy sat across from me in the ER observation room and told me that I didn’t meet the criteria for inpatient hospitalization and they didn’t have any beds available anyways so I wasn’t admitted into the psych ward. I looked over at K as he was saying this and her face fell and was covered in disappointment.  She wanted me to go away for a couple of weeks, she wanted a break. And I felt so sorry that I couldn’t give that to her. After leaving the emergency room K and I had a really great night surprisingly.  Of course this morning was a completely different story.

When I woke up she was in the living room eating breakfast and texting on her phone.  I sat on the couch with her for a moment but she never looked up from her conversation so I went back into the bedroom and played with our cat.  She followed after me a few minutes later and seemed irritated that I opted to lay in bed rather than be ignored by her on the couch so in an attempt to keep the peace I went back into the living room and sat on the couch with her.  This is when she told me that she was going on a cruise with one of her single friends.  Que the psychotic episode.

To make a long painful story short, we’re over for good now.  My heart is broken into a million pieces and I’m drowning in remorse but we were both right when we screamed at each other that we deserved better.  We do.  Today would have been our nine month mark.  I’m really fucking sad. So far I’ve done well to hold myself together but I feel myself slipping. I admit that I was rather shitty to K lately.  She had been the target for all my rage and then I needed her to piece me back together again.  I put my hands on her and I called her names that should have never came from my mouth because I would have killed somebody if they ever spoke to her that way—and I still would.  In turn, however, she was rather shitty to me too.  But still, I had wanted to marry that woman and I ruined everything between us.  Perhaps one day I’ll be able to forgive myself but until then …

Staring out my bedroom window at the grey sky, listening to the children below playing in the warm air, I pray to God that I will be able to find some strength and come out on top in all of this.  I pray that I am capable of surviving until Monday when I have an appointment to be prescribed medicine so that I can begin to become a decent human again one day.  And then I pray that I can make it until I feel some kind of relief.    As defeated and alone as I am right now I still want to get better.  There are still plans that I will follow through with despite the lack of energy I have.  I can’t let this all be for nothing.

 

Turning myself in.

Charlene.  There’s somebody about her.  A happy free air around her that brings to mind the word hippie.  Maybe it’s her hair? There’s nothing unique about it, I just like the way it looks.  The way she wore it today seemed easy and happy.  I think maybe I like her, perhaps she is on my side of this fight. Her vibes flow nicely, if you understand what I mean by that.  Yeah, maybe I like Charlene.

In the morning I’m turning myself into the inpatient mental hospital in my town. “You’re not being punished, it’s not jail. Why do you say ‘turn yourself in’?” Charlene asked me in a voice that is uncomfortably soothing. For the last week the part of me that is always sane even in the most insane of times has told me that I needed to be there.  Yesterday I even looked up the website to see if I could bypass the emergency room and admit myself directly to them.  Charlene thinks I would benefit more from being inpatient than being treated as an outpatient at this time, especially while we try to find a medicine that helps control my moods.  I agree.  She said to think of it as a vacation of sorts. For the next week or two all I have to do is rest.  I will have a doctor and medical staff available to me at all times.  The outside world doesn’t have to exist for me while I’m there.  She said to take the time and turn inward and focus on me.  Easier said than done, I think, but I will comply to the best of my ability.

While Charlene stepped out of her office to print a letter I needed to turn into work explaining my recent behavior and absences and that I’ll need to be off of work for the next week or two I text K and asked her to come see me at work tonight so I could talk to her about something.  Initially I just wanted to tell her that I was going to admit myself and to ask if I could stay with her tonight and if she could take me in the morning so I didn’t have to do it by myself.  K’s response was typical K.  She didn’t want to be bothered with it today.  She said I just want a day without heartache and I wondered to myself how she thought I had been feeling during this.  Did she think I was having the fucking time of my life or what? The tears stung my eyes as I replied with what I wanted to say in person to her and I followed it with “but never mind, I’ll do it alone. Sorry I bothered you” and I began to drive home.  K said that she has put her life on hold for me but I refused to see it.  I honestly don’t see it.  K’s schedule is the same as it always has been, well, with less me in it.  She goes to the gym every day, she sees her friends every day, she has changed nothing besides excluding me.  Yesterday while I was laying in bed doubled over with pain and begging her to just be there for me she was at a hair appointment.  Every time I ask for her support she tells me she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.  So I don’t believe that she has put her life on hold for me.  I believe she is selfish and self-centered and destined to be alone for the rest of her life with how heartless she is.  And to think she works in a hospital where it’s her job to care about people, ironic. 

I told her that I feel she is selfish and that she needed to search her heart to see if she really did love me because her actions proved anything but.  I told her that I wasn’t sad over losing her any more, there was no point.  I’m losing somebody that doesn’t love me and is too selfish to be there for me when I really them.  But she’s losing somebody that loves her more than anything else in the world and would do absolutely anything for her.  She is the one that should be sad, not me.  And I left it at that.  After I arrived at work she sent a text and said “You’re right. I’m fucked up. I’m so sorry. We’ll have a good night tonight.” and no part of me believes that she’s sorry.  I feel that she sent that to smooth over the water so she could pretend to have done some good before I am committed to a psych ward. I really hope that while I am in the hospital I began to understand that I don’t need her and that I’m better off without her.  I deserve somebody that will be there for me just like I would be them.  Not some selfish vain person who doesn’t give one fuck if I live or die as long as I don’t mess up their fun.

Work is all squared away with what’s going on with me.  I filled out my paperwork for leave and I explained as best I could to my boss about what’s been going on with me.  Making sure to stress that I don’t want to lose my job he reassured me that it would be here when I was feeling better.

I know that this is what is best for me but I still don’t want to go.  I look at my dogs and think about what it’s going to be like not getting to see them every day or sleep with them every night.  I am going to miss them more than anything else.  They’re really my best friends.  So happy to see me every time I walk through the door and Little Dog is constantly by my side no matter what.  If I lay in bed for thirty six hours straight she is right beside me the whole time.  And Bubba, well, Bubba is just a happy guy.  Those two dogs and my cats are my whole world.

Well, I suppose this it until I am released back into the wild.  Hopefully with a more stable mind and better control over myself.

Keep fighting, warriors.  We’ll win this one day.

Self-Harm Trigger Warning.

Some people have children that give them enough reason to keep living despite the need to die, others have family or friends, maybe a career.  Even the people who wish to end their existence because they feel as though they make the lives of everybody around them noticeably worse often have somebody to live for.  What if a person doesn’t have children, family, friends, or somebody to live for? What if they’re like me? Alone.

Although I have felt and am convinced I have fought in this one-sided war alone for my entire life I do not have the desire to commit suicide.  Even on my worst days when it’s too much for my body to take death isn’t an option.  On nights like Wednesday night and days like today when waking up is instant disappointment; as much as I don’t want to can’t live like this any longer, I want to live.  God I want to fucking live.

Last night, after a failed attempted of making up with K, I indulged in self-harm and really scared myself.  I wasn’t careful like I usually am, well, as careful as one can be while purposely harming themselves. I allowed myself to go deeper than I usually do because fuck! I wanted to die, and once I seen the depth I needed more.  And more.  And more.  K let me come back over to her place when after I called when I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and she said I could stay the night.  After arriving I took a shower, well, I sat in the shower with my back to the stream and grounded myself, and I crawled into my side of her bed.  She had the pillows set up the way I need them to be and she found my favorite show on the television and had it playing when I was done.  When K is upset she cleans.  She is a very busy person, she hates just sitting around doing nothing (which I love to do).  So she hurried about in the kitchen doing dishes and wiping down counters and appliances and I laid in her bed and watched her through teary eyes.

I can’t explain how much I love that woman.  She frustrates me.  Irritates me more than anybody ever has.  She makes me feel alone and worthless. And some days I really hate her.  But fuck, sometimes she makes me feel so goddamned loved by doing the smallest fucking things for me like fixing my pillows and turning on COPS for me.  I just watched her and thought about how much I wanted to marry her.  But then the thoughts came and reminded me that I’m not good enough for her.  K isn’t happy with me.  She’s miserable.  I make her miserable. I watched her for a few more minutes while listening to the screaming in my head and decided I needed to leave.  Not just her house but her.  I’m no good for her.  So I climbed out of bed and hugged her as tight as I could telling myself to memorize the way it feels because it was the last time.  Reluctently I let her go and walked to the door stopping to look at her one more time before I left.  I love her so much. I mouthed the word “bye” because my voice refused to come with me and I walked out to the truck and drove home.

Disappointment and another episode came when I woke up, alive. That was it, I had enough.  I can’t do it anymore.  I can’t live like this anymore.  Today is the day that I’m going to die. And que the psycho texts to K. Followed by K calling Dad.  Today was fucking awful.  It was worse than Wednesday.  After a couple of hours of me screaming at Dad to leave my apartment and leave me alone I laid in bed and thought to myself that I really do need to turn myself in to the mental hospital.  I really do need help.  Or to just go ahead and fucking do the damn thing.  So I called Charlene (apparently I’ve been misspelling her name).  The voice that answered the phone informed me that she wasn’t in the office on Monday’s but she would email her and she would call me as soon as she could when she came in on Tuesday.  Fanfuckingtastic.  I curled myself into a ball and sobbed while Dad sat on my dresser and watched.

Dad hates emotions.  He was pissed off when he came into my apartment and started yelling questions at me. WHATS WRONG NOW? I’m fucking alive, that’s what motherfuckingcocksucker. STOP CRYING. WHY ARE YOU CRYING? JUST STOP. Pissed doesn’t even explain how I felt towards K for calling him.  Eventually I just started cussing him out over top of his insensitive sentences.  I had thoughts of physically hurting him.  I could take him, he weighs like eighty pounds.  I could kill him if I tried.  And I wanted to. He kept calling Charlene’s office trying to get in touch with somebody and tell them it was an emergency I talk to somebody but he kept getting no answer.

After a few hours more of that I looked up the number of the mental health hospital in my town and declared that I would try to talk to K once again and if she wouldn’t talk to me I was turning myself in.  So I called K one more time and her voice was soft when she answered unlike every other time when you can hear her hatred towards me.  I asked her to please come to my apartment and talk to me and she said she would.  So I laid down and waited for her to come.

While I was waiting Dad was finally able to get somebody at Charlene’s office to answer and he explained, the best he could, my situation and that I had recently self-harmed but he hasn’t seen it so he doesn’t know how bad it is, the lady on the other end put him on hold and came back a few minutes later saying that she could get me in with Charlene tomorrow, a day earlier than my original appointment, and she could give me the number to a crisis center and I could call and talk to them if I felt I needed to. Fuck no. But I was glad that they could move my appointment up, even if it is just twenty four hours.

K came and Dad left, I’m sure he was glad to get out of here and away from me.  I began begging K not to give up on me yet.  Just give me one more chance to show her I can be better.  For three hours she told me no and that she loved me and she was sorry but she couldn’t be with me any longer.  I finally was able to pull myself together and make her laugh and her coldness towards me began to thaw.  I continued to beg her not to leave me, not to give up on me.  At the end of the conversation she said she just needed some time to clear her head, that she wasn’t leaving me, she just needed time.  I don’t believe in time so I told her no, which made her laugh.  I began telling her that in a few days she would still be exhausted from me and I would still be insane but if she let me I could show her I can be better.  Eventually I talked her down from a few days to a few hours and I watched her leave and wondered if I would ever see her again.  When she left she said “I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll see you later. I love you.” But I knew she would go home and talk herself out of staying with me.

About three hours later I text her and asked if it was “later” yet and she didn’t reply.  I waited thirty minutes and then I called her, she answered and sounded tired but said she was trying to think of how to reply to my message.  I told her to think about it and text me and let me know one way or the other.  Fifteen minutes after we hung up I text her and told her if she needed help telling time I was a pro at reading clocks.  No reply.  Forty minutes later I was standing on her porch knocking on her door preparing myself to be scolded.

K answered the door and immediately said “Babe I’m sorry, I fell asleep” and she grabbed me and kissed me in a way that we haven’t kissed in a while.  We then had a good evening together.  We didn’t fight.  I made her laugh and we were more physical than we have been in the recent past.  Not too physical because I’m still unable to keep my thigh from bleeding but I needed tonight.  She was expecting me to spend the night and I was too but hypomania gives me superpowers that makes it unnecessary to sleep.  I let her fall asleep in my arms and watched her for a while.  Taking in how beautiful she is and how much I want to get better so I can love her the way she deserves. Then woke her up and told her I was going to go home.  She said she’d text me in the morning and that she loved me.

In twelve hours I will be seeing Charlene.  I will be honest with her with the fact that this is becoming too much for me to handle.  I’m going to request ECT as it works quicker than medicine.  I am going to get better.  Not all at once.  But I’m going to.