dancinbutterfly: (Default)
So, I saw Marlee yesterday which always a big fat reality check. God I love that woman I really do. She says shit that is REALLY hard for me to hear, about how I tend to cast myself in victim role and blow things out of proportion while at the same time validating my pain and bad situation trying to get to the bottom of things and figure out how to best solve the situation all in the same situation. Like I said, the woman is very good at what she does. I respect her immensely and I adore her because she knows she isn't smarter than me yet cuts through my bullshit anyway. A rare thing to be treasured. It was what I needed.

So what I did first should shock no one at all. I called my psychiatrist Dr. D about the medication. She was not there. When I say not there I mean Not In The Office That Day At All And Wouldn't Be Back Until Tomorrow...Hopefully. My immediate reaction:

Rachael was not a fucking happy Rachael. But the staff at Dr D's office were lovely and helpful and were like "I'm so sorry you're not feeling well. I'll text her and see what I can do but as soon as she gets back we'll make sure she calls you first thing." Never got that at Dr. Ahmad's office. That's Dr. Mohammed Ahmad. *sings* Tell your kids tell your wife & tell your husbands cuz he's givin' crappy health care to everybody out there.

Unfortunately this edict came on the directions that I need to stay awake until 8pm. Sounds easy right? Wrong. Anxiety isnt just a nervous feeling. Its a physical condition. It is your heart beating so fast you can feel it in your ribcage and the veins and arteries, it's your muscles spasming, your hands shaking, your mouth constantly dry, your bones hurting from what your muscles are doing. You cant fight what your body is doing without the meds because I am not a yogi and I dont have those skills. I was a hot goddamn mess.

Needless to say I drifted through rest of the day like this:



However, I managed to communicate these things to my mother in a calm sane rational way laying out the plan and the time frame and my small scale plans and what I COULD do and that I was going to get back to real work as soon as I could but first I had to sort this out but was trying to do. I went out of my way to take care of some household chore stuff whole I was medicated properly though so she could see that I was trying and I think that helped.

Turns out, though, my mom was calling me from a burger place. Would you like one? OMG yes. I cant eat one now because for the first time EVER my depression is killing my appetite but yes I do. Thank you that is actually sweet. Another call twenty minutes later. It's my stepdad. They're getting ice cream. Would you like some? OMG yes. Gah. I dont know what to do with that kind of niceness sometimes after extended periods of crazy. Seriously she needs to not be away from the Step for extended periods. It does bad shit to her brain. This is fact. She's always nicer when he's around because he makes her so happy and that makes her more likely to be open to listening.

Aside from his positive influence, I laid out the list I gave you guys yesterday and she was FLOORED. "I've been trying to get you to do something like that for five years to see how well you're actually doing when you're in the bad places! I'm so proud of you."

And today I got a call from Dr. D personally:
She and I talked symptoms and what I currently have and how much I'm taking. I'll give you a hint: It's too fucking much to be safe. So we laid down what is the maximum amounts and she called in a, thank you Adonai, Lord who reigns in heaven and on earth, sleeping medication so I can sleep for more than 2 hrs at a stretch. So without further ado, the first of todays lists!

Safe dosages Rachael Can Take for Her Anxiety:
400mgs on the vistirl
4mgs on the klonopin
3mgs on the ativan
1 to 2 pills on Trazedone

I'm going to grab food then go outside and have a smoke because I need to be outside. Outside is good. I will take the dog and we will walk and I will smoke and there will be light exercise and it will be a better and I'll be able to put it all on my next list.

And because this is the only appropriate way to end a post like this:
dancinbutterfly: (Farscape - Save Me -John)
And I can't get out. I try but its like every rope ladder I grab turns into a noose. Melodramatic right? Pathetic. I alienated the few people who give a shit about me so *hands* bitching here. This is all rhetorical - me using this journal like a 8th grader with their first myspace. Feel free to ignore. I would love to if I could.

Its kind of amazing you know? The way my brain will FIGHT to prove that ALL positive things said about me or pertaining to me are WRONG. I get on a tear - usually about my future/appearance/value as a human being/lovability and any combination there of - and go on until I'm ready to scream. The self-loathing sits in my chest and makes me want to punch myself until it goes away. Instead I will claw down friendships fighting to prove why I'm a terrible fucking person.

It's almost like a game. What Can Rachael Say To Prove She's a Horrible Person. Fairly simple concept, right? I then set out to say anything I can bad about myself to get the point across to whoever I'm talking to - that I am a horrible fucking person that they should hate - with no future, no hope, and no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I push, provoke, tear myself to bits until they cant take it - thus proving my point! Look! I'm such a horrible bitch that you LEFT. Point made, I was right, you were wrong now believe me when I tell you all this horrible shit about me and then dislike me - please. I'd get a kind of sick glee out of it if I didnt believe every word.

That's a doom spiral, the round and round vortex of convincing myself more and more that I'm a worthless, pathetic, miserable, ugly creature deserving of nothing but loathing, disdain and cruelty. What is that? Why do I feel literally compelled to DO that? Why does my brain get off on arguing with people who care about me on the finer points of why I suck? More importantly, why the fuck cant I stop?
dancinbutterfly: (Farscape - Save Me -John)
And I can't get out. I try but its like every rope ladder I grab turns into a noose. Melodramatic right? Pathetic. I alienated the few people who give a shit about me so *hands* bitching here. This is all rhetorical - me using this journal like a 8th grader with their first myspace. Feel free to ignore. I would love to if I could.

Its kind of amazing you know? The way my brain will FIGHT to prove that ALL positive things said about me or pertaining to me are WRONG. I get on a tear - usually about my future/appearance/value as a human being/lovability and any combination there of - and go on until I'm ready to scream. The self-loathing sits in my chest and makes me want to punch myself until it goes away. Instead I will claw down friendships fighting to prove why I'm a terrible fucking person.

It's almost like a game. What Can Rachael Say To Prove She's a Horrible Person. Fairly simple concept, right? I then set out to say anything I can bad about myself to get the point across to whoever I'm talking to - that I am a horrible fucking person that they should hate - with no future, no hope, and no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I push, provoke, tear myself to bits until they cant take it - thus proving my point! Look! I'm such a horrible bitch that you LEFT. Point made, I was right, you were wrong now believe me when I tell you all this horrible shit about me and then dislike me - please. I'd get a kind of sick glee out of it if I didnt believe every word.

That's a doom spiral, the round and round vortex of convincing myself more and more that I'm a worthless, pathetic, miserable, ugly creature deserving of nothing but loathing, disdain and cruelty. What is that? Why do I feel literally compelled to DO that? Why does my brain get off on arguing with people who care about me on the finer points of why I suck? More importantly, why the fuck cant I stop?
dancinbutterfly: (WRITING!)
Blargh. I took the night off last night. I needed it, oh so fucking badly you have no idea. None. Well, you read how my Saturday went. You have some idea. But yeah, I took the night off - jump started my car, worked in the kitchen, cleaned my room (mostly), and did FIVE loads of laundry. Oh yeah, that had started to pile up in a big old way.

And then I went to bed early. For me. At 6:30 am. And woke up at 9:22am. Awesome! Cause I am not fucking fucking exhausted or anything. *rolls eyes.* I cannot wait for the next two weeks to be over. I really can't. I'm starting to go mental.

I'm doing shit to counter act it though.
1)I've gotten in touch with my new tattoo guy, Rick, about my guns. I'm going to go over today and see if he's gotten anything figured out. He's got a degree in Graphic Design and everyone in the shop I've shown my base to has been like "Yeah, talk to Rick." So I did and I like him a lot. Big guy, late-30s, early-40s with the requisite tatts and gauged piercings. But he seemed fairly excited to figure out how to make them work. When I know what its going to be, so will you.

2)Bought a plane ticket to San Diego for ComicCon. The last 5 months have been rather spectacularly shitty and I deserve it goddamnit. I do big impuslive moves very well, actually and I have a 4 day pass I bought last year. The problem is I absolutely nowhere to stay. If anyone knows someone going who could use a spare roommate, could you let them know I'm looking? Otherwise, I'm going to, IDK, camp out in line outside of Hall H and try to beg showers off people maybe. *sighs* Fuck it right? If Gerard Way can go 7 days without a shower, I can go 6. Right?

3)I get to spend five days in Atlanta with my mom (she's flying me up so I dont have to make the five hour drive, bless her). This is awesome, btw. I miss my mommy. I know people say this a lot, but my mom actually is my best friend on top of being my parent and being around her every few months is like a spiritual recharge. I NEED it.

And you know, writing. There's always something on the writing front. Two things. One.

[livejournal.com profile] b_dsaint made some seriously fucking amazing cover art for You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison and I've had to sit on it for WEEKS but now I can show you guys.



*FLAILS* EXCUSE ME WHILE I FUCKING DIE OKAY? Look at the bars. Look at the bunks. Look at the man, seated with his head hanging in something maybe like defeat. And holy shit you guys? LOOK AT RYAN ROSS. He is exactly like I wrote him - shielding himself with make-up right down to his too-red lips which she made brighter and redder than in the original picture to give the appearance of lipstick. Ugh, my heart, you guys, okay? My. Fucking. HEART. Seriously. I adore this and you should all talk about how fucking awesome she is.

And okay, two. WRITING BONDAGE PETE IS LIKE PULLING MOTHERFUCKING TEETH. NO! HARDER! BECAUSE MY DAD IS A DENTIST AND GETTING TEETH PULLED IS CAKE FOR ME! Argh, seriously, each word is like...ripped out of me by fucking force. I cleaned my room to help me unstick. It did a TINY bit of good. Not as much as I wish it had but I think, maybe, I have a plan. Which is good cause I only have ten days to finish this fucker. Excuse me. I'll be over here, having a FUCKING PANIC ATTACK. Don't mind me. Also, if this comes in under 60K, it'll be a MIRACLE. I seriously didnt know my porn bunnies were that...fertile.

I Know This Hurts (It Was Meant To)


50792 / 50000 words. 102% done!
dancinbutterfly: (WRITING!)
Blargh. I took the night off last night. I needed it, oh so fucking badly you have no idea. None. Well, you read how my Saturday went. You have some idea. But yeah, I took the night off - jump started my car, worked in the kitchen, cleaned my room (mostly), and did FIVE loads of laundry. Oh yeah, that had started to pile up in a big old way.

And then I went to bed early. For me. At 6:30 am. And woke up at 9:22am. Awesome! Cause I am not fucking fucking exhausted or anything. *rolls eyes.* I cannot wait for the next two weeks to be over. I really can't. I'm starting to go mental.

I'm doing shit to counter act it though.
1)I've gotten in touch with my new tattoo guy, Rick, about my guns. I'm going to go over today and see if he's gotten anything figured out. He's got a degree in Graphic Design and everyone in the shop I've shown my base to has been like "Yeah, talk to Rick." So I did and I like him a lot. Big guy, late-30s, early-40s with the requisite tatts and gauged piercings. But he seemed fairly excited to figure out how to make them work. When I know what its going to be, so will you.

2)Bought a plane ticket to San Diego for ComicCon. The last 5 months have been rather spectacularly shitty and I deserve it goddamnit. I do big impuslive moves very well, actually and I have a 4 day pass I bought last year. The problem is I absolutely nowhere to stay. If anyone knows someone going who could use a spare roommate, could you let them know I'm looking? Otherwise, I'm going to, IDK, camp out in line outside of Hall H and try to beg showers off people maybe. *sighs* Fuck it right? If Gerard Way can go 7 days without a shower, I can go 6. Right?

3)I get to spend five days in Atlanta with my mom (she's flying me up so I dont have to make the five hour drive, bless her). This is awesome, btw. I miss my mommy. I know people say this a lot, but my mom actually is my best friend on top of being my parent and being around her every few months is like a spiritual recharge. I NEED it.

And you know, writing. There's always something on the writing front. Two things. One.

[livejournal.com profile] b_dsaint made some seriously fucking amazing cover art for You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison and I've had to sit on it for WEEKS but now I can show you guys.



*FLAILS* EXCUSE ME WHILE I FUCKING DIE OKAY? Look at the bars. Look at the bunks. Look at the man, seated with his head hanging in something maybe like defeat. And holy shit you guys? LOOK AT RYAN ROSS. He is exactly like I wrote him - shielding himself with make-up right down to his too-red lips which she made brighter and redder than in the original picture to give the appearance of lipstick. Ugh, my heart, you guys, okay? My. Fucking. HEART. Seriously. I adore this and you should all talk about how fucking awesome she is.

And okay, two. WRITING BONDAGE PETE IS LIKE PULLING MOTHERFUCKING TEETH. NO! HARDER! BECAUSE MY DAD IS A DENTIST AND GETTING TEETH PULLED IS CAKE FOR ME! Argh, seriously, each word is like...ripped out of me by fucking force. I cleaned my room to help me unstick. It did a TINY bit of good. Not as much as I wish it had but I think, maybe, I have a plan. Which is good cause I only have ten days to finish this fucker. Excuse me. I'll be over here, having a FUCKING PANIC ATTACK. Don't mind me. Also, if this comes in under 60K, it'll be a MIRACLE. I seriously didnt know my porn bunnies were that...fertile.

I Know This Hurts (It Was Meant To)


50792 / 50000 words. 102% done!
dancinbutterfly: (MCR - Hero!Mikey - The Beholder)

I am now officially an MCR sheep. I don't care though because I got my Mikey Fuckin Way shirt today, because [livejournal.com profile] hexapuma is fucking amazing and gives the best presents. Anyone have a suggestion on what kind of tape will cover the "uck" and do the least amount of damage?

But yeah, I love it. A lot. It inspired me to start a Mikey pov Mikey/Ray fic wherein Mikey gets lost in Canada on his way to visit Gerard who is doing special FX make up and set design in Vancouver and Ray's a lumberjack. Yes really. I'm clearly high. It's all [livejournal.com profile] rivlee's fault. She made this comment about Ray having lumberjack thighs and it steamrolled from there.

Other evidence towards my brain meltdown? I was inspired to clean and reorganize my dorm room at 4am. Why do I do this to myself? Also, why is 2-5am so fucking magic for me? I wish I knew so I could move it to daylight hours and join the real world. Ah well.
dancinbutterfly: (MCR - Hero!Mikey - The Beholder)

I am now officially an MCR sheep. I don't care though because I got my Mikey Fuckin Way shirt today, because [livejournal.com profile] hexapuma is fucking amazing and gives the best presents. Anyone have a suggestion on what kind of tape will cover the "uck" and do the least amount of damage?

But yeah, I love it. A lot. It inspired me to start a Mikey pov Mikey/Ray fic wherein Mikey gets lost in Canada on his way to visit Gerard who is doing special FX make up and set design in Vancouver and Ray's a lumberjack. Yes really. I'm clearly high. It's all [livejournal.com profile] rivlee's fault. She made this comment about Ray having lumberjack thighs and it steamrolled from there.

Other evidence towards my brain meltdown? I was inspired to clean and reorganize my dorm room at 4am. Why do I do this to myself? Also, why is 2-5am so fucking magic for me? I wish I knew so I could move it to daylight hours and join the real world. Ah well.

*yawns*

Jul. 30th, 2009 06:08 am
dancinbutterfly: (Default)
Bedtime. Finally. I hate my brain deeply sometimes.

On the upside, I have the first 500 words of the sequel to Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy down. :D I love this universe. Writing that Vince is just so insanely satisfying.

OH - and I watched Being Human today. All of it minus the pilot. There's a lot of squee. Like, a whole fucking lot. JEWISH WEREWOLF I LOVE YOU TOBY WHITHOUSE! Jesus, could George and Mitchell BE more in love with each other? But beyond the fact that a Star of David wards off vampires, the squeeing will have to wait.

loves!

*yawns*

Jul. 30th, 2009 06:08 am
dancinbutterfly: (Default)
Bedtime. Finally. I hate my brain deeply sometimes.

On the upside, I have the first 500 words of the sequel to Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy down. :D I love this universe. Writing that Vince is just so insanely satisfying.

OH - and I watched Being Human today. All of it minus the pilot. There's a lot of squee. Like, a whole fucking lot. JEWISH WEREWOLF I LOVE YOU TOBY WHITHOUSE! Jesus, could George and Mitchell BE more in love with each other? But beyond the fact that a Star of David wards off vampires, the squeeing will have to wait.

loves!
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - Problem)
Good first - housing drama is sorted. Only took 6 hours, more than a dozen phone calls, four failed faxes, a trip through torrential rain and more than 20 dollars in Kinos fees to straighten out but I have a place to live next semester.

Now the bad - because I apparently cant have a day this week without a shitstorm.

My pills are gone. I accidentally left them here at my dad's when I left Friday. Its a 60 pill prescription of Ultram - 1 pill a day so that I can sleep without pain, stomach aches(the advil...is bad for me) or a severe hangover. I got it filled on June 10th and I've missed a couple days. I can haz maths, can you? However you slice it, that's more than 20 pills.

Guys this pain medication allows me to function. It is the thing that allows me to sleep comfortably - even if it is on a cracky schedule.

My dad is out of town for the next two days but I want to believe he just moved them. I need to believe that dad just moved them. He has no use for them - if he wants to roll back down the slippery slope of drug abuse, this drug is not the one he would take. I have muscle relaxants and opiod painkillers in the bag where the now empty bottle was put(note: not where I left it). If he was going to take something, he's a fucking doctor. He knows what will fuck with your head and my Ultram is not going to.

So I am trying REAL hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. Because if one of those thirteen people he's decided is his new family STOLE from me and went so far as to take the only fucking drug in my VAST ARRAY OF PILLS that is a non-narcotic pain reliever that DOESNT EVEN GET YOU HIGH which I genuinely cannot do without I will be very. Very. Angry.

I had to take tylenol and a flexeril instead. That's a muscle relaxer, and it works brilliantly on pain, it really does. But fuck me, the hangover is bad. So, there goes my day tomorrow. :(
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - Problem)
Good first - housing drama is sorted. Only took 6 hours, more than a dozen phone calls, four failed faxes, a trip through torrential rain and more than 20 dollars in Kinos fees to straighten out but I have a place to live next semester.

Now the bad - because I apparently cant have a day this week without a shitstorm.

My pills are gone. I accidentally left them here at my dad's when I left Friday. Its a 60 pill prescription of Ultram - 1 pill a day so that I can sleep without pain, stomach aches(the advil...is bad for me) or a severe hangover. I got it filled on June 10th and I've missed a couple days. I can haz maths, can you? However you slice it, that's more than 20 pills.

Guys this pain medication allows me to function. It is the thing that allows me to sleep comfortably - even if it is on a cracky schedule.

My dad is out of town for the next two days but I want to believe he just moved them. I need to believe that dad just moved them. He has no use for them - if he wants to roll back down the slippery slope of drug abuse, this drug is not the one he would take. I have muscle relaxants and opiod painkillers in the bag where the now empty bottle was put(note: not where I left it). If he was going to take something, he's a fucking doctor. He knows what will fuck with your head and my Ultram is not going to.

So I am trying REAL hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. Because if one of those thirteen people he's decided is his new family STOLE from me and went so far as to take the only fucking drug in my VAST ARRAY OF PILLS that is a non-narcotic pain reliever that DOESNT EVEN GET YOU HIGH which I genuinely cannot do without I will be very. Very. Angry.

I had to take tylenol and a flexeril instead. That's a muscle relaxer, and it works brilliantly on pain, it really does. But fuck me, the hangover is bad. So, there goes my day tomorrow. :(
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - Problem)
I should sleep. I have to get up in 4 hours, call and yell at Housing and Financial Aid and register for a class to replace the one that got frelling cancelled. So that i can go back to sleep afterward so that i can rest before PT.

But instead, I'm sitting up, in my ex-boyfriends room(Wilson my first ever boyfriend, not Greg Teh Liar), in his bed where I have been sleeping for the last three days. Oh didn't I mention that? On top of everything, I've been staying with my ex's mom and living in his room because my dad has 13 people staying at his house, sleeping in my room.

I can't make myself lie down, no surprise there. Don't you wish you had my life?

But hey, I've got the first 150 words of the SEQUEL to Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy written. Cause that story isnt long enough... *sigh* That is so not what I should be doing right now.

I need tomorrow to be better. So much.
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - Problem)
I should sleep. I have to get up in 4 hours, call and yell at Housing and Financial Aid and register for a class to replace the one that got frelling cancelled. So that i can go back to sleep afterward so that i can rest before PT.

But instead, I'm sitting up, in my ex-boyfriends room(Wilson my first ever boyfriend, not Greg Teh Liar), in his bed where I have been sleeping for the last three days. Oh didn't I mention that? On top of everything, I've been staying with my ex's mom and living in his room because my dad has 13 people staying at his house, sleeping in my room.

I can't make myself lie down, no surprise there. Don't you wish you had my life?

But hey, I've got the first 150 words of the SEQUEL to Illicit Exploits of an LA Rentboy written. Cause that story isnt long enough... *sigh* That is so not what I should be doing right now.

I need tomorrow to be better. So much.
dancinbutterfly: (Farscape - Save Me -John)
I think I might be depressed. Like, actually, clinically "you should be on medication you fucking freak" depressed.

*sighs* The first step is admitting you're powerless, that your life has become unmanagable, right? Don't answer that. I know the fucking steps, thanks.

I'm not not happy. I have a lot of times when I'm happy. But jesus, I looked at the calender I've been keeping of my doom spirals. I mark it down when I feel bad enough to want to physically hurt myself or give up on life in general. I shouldn't feel that way a minimum of twice a month, every month for six months should I?

And thats just when its bad enough that I want to do actual harm, not just the general feeling of "god I am so fucked up, what is wrong with me that I can't just be normal?" all the time. Which leads to "What is the point of bothering to try ANYTHING anyway? You'll never get to write. You'll be stuck in some job you hate making money you don't really need because you will never have a family or anyone to love you and share your effort with. You will come home, watch TV, go to sleep every day after work alone until you die and then you will either be eaten by your cats or left alone to rot until the neighbors notice the smell." Although[livejournal.com profile] guest_age promised she wouldnt let me get eaten. But still, the point remains. I go round and around, hating myself, having no fucking hope, feeling lost and in goddamn despair - and that's on a normal, not doom-spirally thought-line.

But I'm afraid. I watched my sister and foster sister get put in in-patient treatment within a month of each other for anxiety and depression when I was a senior in high school. It was fucking horrific. My sister on anti-depressants? That was a fucking nightmare too. The side effects... jesus christ. It was bad. The night sweats alone...she had change her sheets EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I know, everyone's chemistry is different blah blah fucking blah.

My luck is shit with health. Shit, okay? If it's going around? I get it. If you can have a side effect, I do. With my luck not only will medication rob me of the ability to orgasm, it will take my ability to write too. And THEN where the fuck will I be? A sexless, uninspired, mood-moderated, heavily medicated drone-member of Generation Rx who is still fucking alone.

It's one of those situations where I'm not convinced that the cure isnt worse than the fucking disease. But I have to do something right? I just don't trust SHIT. And I move around too much to have anything even remotely stable. Back and forth - Tallahassee, Pensacola, and now adding in Atlanta. Last few times I tried to get help in Tally...it ended badly. I'm not in P'cola long enough start a new relationship with a psychiatrist(my therapist is a psychologist) and I havent been to ATL yet.

Besides, people hear "depression" and hiss and pull away because shit, who wants to deal with that fucking garbage? I'm disliked enough by people I encounter in the real world. Like I need something else to stigmatize me?

I don't know. I'm calling my doc tomorrow but who fucking knows. *sigh* I don't. But I guess I can't stop being lonely and miserable maybe I can stop feeling it. I don't know.
dancinbutterfly: (Farscape - Save Me -John)
I think I might be depressed. Like, actually, clinically "you should be on medication you fucking freak" depressed.

*sighs* The first step is admitting you're powerless, that your life has become unmanagable, right? Don't answer that. I know the fucking steps, thanks.

I'm not not happy. I have a lot of times when I'm happy. But jesus, I looked at the calender I've been keeping of my doom spirals. I mark it down when I feel bad enough to want to physically hurt myself or give up on life in general. I shouldn't feel that way a minimum of twice a month, every month for six months should I?

And thats just when its bad enough that I want to do actual harm, not just the general feeling of "god I am so fucked up, what is wrong with me that I can't just be normal?" all the time. Which leads to "What is the point of bothering to try ANYTHING anyway? You'll never get to write. You'll be stuck in some job you hate making money you don't really need because you will never have a family or anyone to love you and share your effort with. You will come home, watch TV, go to sleep every day after work alone until you die and then you will either be eaten by your cats or left alone to rot until the neighbors notice the smell." Although[livejournal.com profile] guest_age promised she wouldnt let me get eaten. But still, the point remains. I go round and around, hating myself, having no fucking hope, feeling lost and in goddamn despair - and that's on a normal, not doom-spirally thought-line.

But I'm afraid. I watched my sister and foster sister get put in in-patient treatment within a month of each other for anxiety and depression when I was a senior in high school. It was fucking horrific. My sister on anti-depressants? That was a fucking nightmare too. The side effects... jesus christ. It was bad. The night sweats alone...she had change her sheets EVERY SINGLE DAY. And I know, everyone's chemistry is different blah blah fucking blah.

My luck is shit with health. Shit, okay? If it's going around? I get it. If you can have a side effect, I do. With my luck not only will medication rob me of the ability to orgasm, it will take my ability to write too. And THEN where the fuck will I be? A sexless, uninspired, mood-moderated, heavily medicated drone-member of Generation Rx who is still fucking alone.

It's one of those situations where I'm not convinced that the cure isnt worse than the fucking disease. But I have to do something right? I just don't trust SHIT. And I move around too much to have anything even remotely stable. Back and forth - Tallahassee, Pensacola, and now adding in Atlanta. Last few times I tried to get help in Tally...it ended badly. I'm not in P'cola long enough start a new relationship with a psychiatrist(my therapist is a psychologist) and I havent been to ATL yet.

Besides, people hear "depression" and hiss and pull away because shit, who wants to deal with that fucking garbage? I'm disliked enough by people I encounter in the real world. Like I need something else to stigmatize me?

I don't know. I'm calling my doc tomorrow but who fucking knows. *sigh* I don't. But I guess I can't stop being lonely and miserable maybe I can stop feeling it. I don't know.
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - On Fire)
*points* thats my "I really fucking need to sleep" icon. Granted, not as much as Doc Venture but still. And finally finally FINALLY I get to! *does a victory dance* I'll see all yall on the other side when I'm feeling less spammy :D
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - On Fire)
*points* thats my "I really fucking need to sleep" icon. Granted, not as much as Doc Venture but still. And finally finally FINALLY I get to! *does a victory dance* I'll see all yall on the other side when I'm feeling less spammy :D
dancinbutterfly: (Venture Bros. - On Fire)
I am so tired I seriously cant believe i can type. My mom is moving. Have I mentioned that? And its my problem that she is moving. Today(Sunday but I havent slept yet because the universe hates me) i stayed up all night so that i could get my mom up at 5. So she could set up for a yard sale and so i could bring a bed and a chest of drawers down 3 flights of stairs. Fun. I'm so tired and disgusting there really arent words. I'm sitting under the house, "watching" the stuff so it doesnt get "stolen" while she goes to put signs(she should've just let me do it last night when it was dark and cooler) but seriously, who wants our shit? It's hot like an oven, in hell and I'm outside, stealing internet from two houses down because our net went down and just ugh. All the popsicles in the world do not cancel this out. *sighs and puddles* Spent two hours heavily lifting "last night" and two hours "this morning" and I am just tired. Mom's slept between this. I havent. Shower, I wants it!

I'm delirious enough to post the crack i have on my HD....Probably. If it were beta'd, I'd post it now.

I'm definitely gonna post something...What shall it be? I'm feeling spammy.

Profile

dancinbutterfly: (Default)
dancinbutterfly

June 2017

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
2526 27282930 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

  • Style: Delicate for Ciel by nornoriel

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 23rd, 2017 04:15 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios