azdesertrose: (Default)
After I wrote the last entry, I took an overdose of Klonopin and had to be rushed to the hospital. I just got home this morning.

I'm doing better now. I just felt like everybody was angry at me over things I don't know how to fix.

I'm going to go back into counseling. I have to learn to cope better than I'm doing, or one of these days, I will kill myself. I had every intention of doing it the other day, and I was already feeling the effects of the overdose when I told Nicholas what I'd done.

Oh, and [livejournal.com profile] karmic_serenity, thanks so much for the hug. It's going to stay on my profile page as long as LJ will let it.

Anyway, I have to learn some better ways to cope with anxiety and frustration and I have to learn how to get past my communication blocks. Sometimes I just can't talk even when I desperately need to. So off to counseling I go. I'm going to check out a couple of different counselors and see which one I think fits me best and then start going on a regular basis.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I'm gonna have Cliff take me to the hospital. I don't trust myself home without him while he's at work tomorrow.

The Klonopin is just calling me too strongly.

Bleauch

Jul. 9th, 2008 01:54 pm
azdesertrose: (Default)
Not bleach. Bleauch.

I feel horrible. I'm having diarrhea and I don't want to move. I just want to curl up with my teddy bear and stare into space.

I don't want to think any more. Thinking just makes me feel worse. I just want to blank out my mind and stop existing.

The nice new bottle of Klonopin that's still in the pharmacy bag looks pretty good right now.

I'm so afraid I won't get the disability and we'll be stuck struggling like this forever. I'm tired of struggling. I don't want to do it any more.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I probably should be in the hospital. I cried off and on all day and night yesterday; I finally went to sleep around two am after crying for hours. All I can think about is ways to kill myself. My bottle of Klonopin is nice and full and it promises peace and the end to all my pain. My razor blade is nice and sharp but I don't have the balls to cut deep enough to open an artery.

I'm just so tired of fighting. This illness is bigger than I am; it's more than I can take.

My counselor wants me to find another counselor because she feels like the center that she works through doesn't have enough services for me. I tried the Women's Center but they think I'm too crazy, basically. They say their services are limited and they can't handle someone as disturbed as I am, what with the schizoaffective disorder and the suicidal thoughts. So I've been playing telephone tag with Jewish Community Services trying to get on with them, but they're on the other side of town and I worry about having the gas to get over there.

We're just barely making it financially. We're a month behind on all the bills, and we've been living on cheap food for a month and a half. And yet our income is too high to qualify me for help with my medications. I can't get my meds except through my doctor and she can't give me samples forever.

I feel like I'm stretching out, reaching, begging for help and all the doors are being slammed in my face. No one seems to want to help me, no matter how hard I try.

It all just makes me want to take all my Klonopin at once and end it all. Just make it all stop, the nightmares, the hallucinations, the constant thoughts of suicide. Just make it all stop.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I just spent three days in the hospital again; suicidal thoughts got the better of me. The psychiatrist there raised my dosage of Celexa up to 60 mg (from 40 mg) and that seems to be helping. I don't feel quite so depressed any more and I can control the suicidal thoughts.

I hate being in the hospital. It's just not home. I took my teddy bear with me, but it wasn't the same as hugging my teddy bear in my bed with my boyfriend snuggled up to me.

I think I'm going to call the teddy bear Butter because of his color; he's a pale blond about the color of butter.

My online friends missed me, which was nice to find out. I don't think many of my RL friends even knew I was in the hospital.

I can't wait for bedtime tonight when I can sleep in my bed with Butter and my honey. :D
azdesertrose: (Default)
So, I never used to have hallucinations but they've started in the last year or so. Now I'm having delusions, feeling that things are coming to bite me, attack me, or otherwise get me.

I just saw my psychiatrist (I'm seeing the psychiatrist now instead of the nurse-prac because the disability lawyers said that the disability people will take more notice of something that an MD says rather than an ARNP). She raised my dosage on my Abilify and my Klonopin.

But I just keep feeling like I'll never get better, like I'm just going to keep getting worse.

And my shiny new bottle of Klonopin is calling my name, telling me that if I take them all, it will make it all stop.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I really just want to curl up and cry. I can't make myself cry right now though, so that's out. But I feel like crying. I WANT to cry. I'm not even sure why I want to cry, except that I want to cut and I know I can't do that.

I need some kind of emotional outlet, and crying seems to be the safest one. It's better than cutting or making another suicide attempt (which thoughts have been floating through my mind lately too). But I can't cry even though I want to, need to.

I wish I could just get it all out, but it won't come out.

Sorry for my incoherence.

STRESS!!!!

Jan. 5th, 2007 06:03 pm
azdesertrose: (Default)
Ye gods I hate stressing about money.

Cliff missed a shift this pay period because I was suicidal and he didn't trust me home with his mom and sis, so this paycheck was quite short. I've gotten all the bills paid but I have no idea how I'm going to pay for groceries and it totally fucking sucks.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Okay, I feel a little better now. I just needed to vent.
azdesertrose: (Default)
Yesterday afternoon, I took an overdose of sleeping pills.

I was just so upset over everything; the car, the holidays, the month of December, family drama. I just wanted it all to stop.

I did, however, call my boyfriend at work and tell him what I'd done. He called 911 (because I wouldn't, and I wouldn't go make myself throw up the pills), and I took a ride in an ambulance. My arms are still bruised from the paramedic trying to start an IV line in me. I'm usually not so hard to do, but for some reason yesterday I was not easy to stick.

I probably should still be in the hospital; I was Baker Acted, which technically means I should have been kept for 72 hours to determine how much of a danger I am to myself, but Cliff and I managed to talk the staff psychiatrist into letting me come home today. I really hate being in the hospital.

Now I have to tell my counselor and my nurse practitioner what I did. Joy.

I feel like an idiot.

BTW, diphenhydramine (aka Simply Sleep and/or Benadryl) makes you sleepy in small doses. When you take forty-some-odd of the things, it winds you up. I was tachycardic, hypertensive, and raving most of the night in the ER; they took me to a room once I'd stabilized a bit. Apparently it doesn't screw much up, though. I still feel a little dizzy and disoriented, and my speech is still a little stammery, but I'm otherwise okay.

I know I said a lot of things that didn't make any sense to anyone, even to me.

But then, I sometimes do things that don't make sense, even to me.

The family drama (which was probably the main catalyst to the overdose) is that my parents want to talk to me about something, but not in my daughter's presence, and they both want to talk to me. From past experience, this does not bode good news. I'm paranoid about them wanting to take my daughter away from me entirely, because I know what a mess I am. I had a dreadful panic attack yesterday at my mom's house, and then went home and took the overdose. My family does not know what I did, and I don't intend them finding out, either.

I really do think sometimes that I will never get better; that's what makes me do things like that, the belief that I will never be well.

Fuck.

Dec. 2nd, 2006 05:26 pm
azdesertrose: (Default)
As it transpires, the blown head gasket took a lot with it. The engine in my car is so damaged that it is not worth the money to repair it.

Fuck.

My parents are willing to let me have my grandmother's old car, which has been their spare car for the last several years, but this leaves them without a spare car, and I'm not at all keen on being the cause of them not having a third car.

It all makes me feel so useless and worthless and generally full of despair.

I'm closer to a suicide attempt than I have been in many months, but there's no place of safety for me. If I go to the hospital and tell them how I feel, I'll just wind up back in 20th street, which was scary and made me feel worse, not better.

I tried to call my nurse practitioner, but I haven't heard back from her yet. I don't know what to do, except to make it all stop with sleeping pills.

I think I have enough.

If only Cliff weren't so stubborn and would just let me go...
azdesertrose: (WTF?)
I am so tired.

I had a good day today. I went to an SCA event with Cliff and my daughter, and I had a good time. I spent most of the day with the other scribal-type people doing calligraphy, and we left when I got tired.

And boy am I tired.

I was resting in bed trying to go to sleep (yes, this early, because I'm that tired), and I started thinking (again) about killing myself.

Why will these thoughts not leave me alone? It seems like every time I get quiet enough, the thoughts come into my head, talking to me, telling me I should sleep forever.

Sometimes I think that if I do end up killing myself, it will be to get away from the thoughts of killing myself. Ironic, wot?

I'm just writing whatever comes to mind now, trying to empty my brain so that maybe I can sleep. I am way beyond tired; my body is sore from walking and driving. I kept stiffening up while I was driving, and I'm not sure why. I wish to hell Cliff would drive sometimes, but I'm always the one who drives.

Cliff and my daughter napped during the drive there and back; I wish I could have.

Maybe the thoughts are coming because I'm overtired. I don't know. I just wish they would stop.

It just sucks that I had such a nice day and it has to end with these stupid suicidal thoughts. They just won't go the hell away.

I'm going to try to sleep again; I think I'll put on some quiet music to help me sleep. Maybe music will keep the thoughts away.
azdesertrose: (Eccentric or bonkers?)
Days like today I feel like there is no way I'll ever be okay.

There is no time in my life when I was okay, really. Everything was messed up from the beginning, as near as I can tell.

My medications don't seem to be working. I still see shadows and bugs and I feel things crawling on me, and I hear things sometimes, just noises or whatever that no one else hears, and I feel terribly afraid of everything all the time.

Today was bad.

Nancy took the dog out and the damn dog slipped the leash, so Cliff was mad at her for not keeping the leash tight enough and letting him escape, and then she was stupid enough to get into a car with a random guy who claimed to be looking for a lost animal as well. My gods, the girl is nineteen years old and doesn't know better than to get into a car with a stranger?!?!

I felt like cutting today, and/or killing myself, just to make it all stop. I'm so tired of the fears and the memories and just all of it.

I won't do it though; I promised Cliff that I wouldn't, and he promised in return not to let me go back into a bad place like 20th St.

But it doesn't mean I don't feel like it.
azdesertrose: (Default)
Well, I saw my counselor on Wednesday; she complimented Cliff and me on our ability to communicate and resolve difficulties (re: his beer breath during his birthday celebration).

She also seemed rather surprised at the doctor's phrasing of the rape question. She asked me if it was okay if she asked him why he said that; I told her to go for it. (I already cleared her to discuss my treatment and counseling with the doctor and her supervisor.) She seemed to agree with me that perhaps he might not be the best doctor for me. If he thinks there was anything I could have done to keep my dad from hurting me, then I don't need his kind of "help".

His office has called me a couple of times, but we keep missing each other. I'm not sure what they want; maybe they want to know why I haven't made an appointment.

I'm going to have to do something, because I only have so much of my medication, and I probably really do not need to stop taking it.

It all depresses me though; the thought of having to see the doctor again bothers me, because of the "was is JUST statutory rape" thing and because of his general demeanor, which made me a bit uncomfortable. But the thought of trying to find another doctor who is willing to see me without charging more than I can pay is not exactly thrilling either.

My counselor also wants me to think about my goals for treatment. I don't know. I'm having such a hard time making myself get out of bed most of the time that I have no real hope for being able to work or go to school again. (I've thought of returning to school to pursue my MA in English.)

I feel less suicidal than I did; at least I'm not spending a lot of time thinking about ways to kill myself. But I still feel fairly hopeless most of the time; I still can't see a future for myself in which I will be able to take care of myself, or be able to make my life into a life I want. I still can't see any way I'll ever be more than I am now, depressed and anxious and too afraid and despondent to really do anything.

I still worry about money, about getting the bills paid, about paying for my medical care, about the huge mass of debt I have (mostly medical). I still have nightmares; I had a horrendous one a few nights ago, in which my parents told me I was no longer welcome in their home, and they didn't want me around my daughter.

My parents have given me no real reason to think that they'd kick me out of their lives; I don't really know why I dreamt that.

I suppose I should call my counselor and ask if she has talked to the doctor, and if so, what he said and what she thinks I should do next. I'll call her in the morning, I guess.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I'm spending a lot of time sleeping these days. It's just easier.

I feel like I can't be what people want me to be; I can't do what everyone wants me to do.

So I just don't do anything. I just sleep. It's easier.

It would be a lot easier to just sleep and not wake back up.
azdesertrose: (Default)
After spending all of last Saturday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in bed with migraine, able to move only if I took Percoset (prescribed for my stepdad last July but sitting in the medicine chest unused), I looked up the side effects of Wellbutrin and found that severe headaches are a BAD side effect (as are tremors, which I'd been having issues with, too), and you're supposed to call your doctor if they happen. Well, I don't exactly have a doctor, until Monday, because the prescribing doctor pretty much told me I was on my own to find care once I was discharged from the hospital. So, I quit taking the Wellbutrin; Tuesday was the last time I took any. I couldn't see straight for the pain, and I could hardly function for the shaking in my hands.

I saw my counselor again on Thursday and told her about the med thing; she didn't really say anything about it but I got the impression that she thought it was probably a good idea to stop taking the meds since they were causing such problems, and since I'm going to see a psychiatrist on Monday anyway, it's not like I'll be completely unmedicated for very long anyway.

One thing that sort of annoyed me though, about the counselor appointment, is that I mentioned that the headaches felt like a combination of a migraine and tension headaches; her solution to that was to give me a sheet of instructions for deep-breathing exercises. Okay. Yeah.

All of this goes to my conviction that nothing is going to help. I'm withholding judgment on the psychiatrist until I see him, but it just doesn't feel like anything really helps. I can distract myself if I stay busy, but once I'm alone with my thoughts, it's the same old same old, hopeless worthless and broken beyond repair.

Not to mention being tired of trying all this shit anyway. It only helps for a little while, and only if I can afford the help.

I can't be fixed; I am too badly broken, and it happened too long ago. It's just too late for me. There is no way that I will ever be okay. I'm not going to make it. I know this.

I'm doing all this to humor Cliff, but he's going to get tired of spending money trying to fix me when I can't be fixed.

It's only a matter of time; I'm not going to make it.
azdesertrose: (Default)
Well, I finally managed to make myself call the sliding scale clinic. I have an appointment on Thursday at 9am. We'll see if it helps: not holding my breath on that count though.

For the last several days I've been having horrendous nausea, and I'm not sure why. I would have thought that if the med was going to do this, it would have happened sooner, not when I've been on it for almost two weeks. Bleah, though.

I also finally managed to talk to the one close friend who didn't know what's been going on with me. (He lives in England, and I live in Florida, so it's entirely possible for him not to know.) I was kind of afraid he'd be mad at me or something; I don't really know why I felt that way. He said he was glad I'm on meds again, and he apparently has more to say but wasn't feeling well (recovering from a food-allergy reaction) and will say more later. He did also say to me in IM today that he would help me pay for my meds if I need him to; he's made that offer before, but until now I had no way to get a prescription. We shall see, I suppose.

I'm saying "we'll see" about a lot of things right now. I don't suppose my current emotional state is a very good place from which to make decisions anyway.

I still feel suicidal sometimes; I still feel hopeless most of the time, like there is nothing I or anyone else can do to make myself well. But Cliff keeps reminding me that I promised to let him try to help, and keeps reminding me that I promised not to commit suicide. I don't know if I can keep that promise forever though.

I can keep it through the end of this week, I think. This time I promised until Monday.

I'm planning to take my daughter to a Good Friday performance of the St. Matthew Passion. (No, I'm not Christian, I'm not very religious at all, but I LOVE Bach.) Cliff is going to go with us, and maybe another friend or two.

That's all.

Trapped

Apr. 9th, 2006 12:57 am
azdesertrose: (Default)
The Wellbutrin is working well enough that I can't sleep. My heart keeps racing every time I try. I can't sleep.

And it's not working well enough to make the thoughts go away. I still feel worthless, useless, and any other negative adjective you care to apply. I still believe that there's no way out. I will never be okay. I'm just too broken to ever be okay. Nothing I've ever done has gotten me out for long; I always fall back to this place, and I'm tired.

If I had enough money for a motel room, I'd have already left the house and gone to take my pills. But I can't let my family find me.

I can't ever let them know how bad it is; they don't believe me, or they think I'm being melodramatic and they're tired of trying to help me anyway, because I can't be helped. There's no way out.

I can't ever let my daughter see me like this; she can never EVER know what I am, how damaged and disturbed I am. There's no way out.

I was broken too long ago to be fixed; it's just too late for me.

If I can make it until Friday, I should be able to have enough money to mail away the things I don't want my family to find. I can't fight any more. I just can't.

I'm back

Mar. 30th, 2006 01:48 pm
azdesertrose: (Default)
I went to the hospital on Tuesday like I said I would, and as I expected, I was Baker-Acted and sent to the county mental health facility.

I've been hospitalized before for mental reasons, though in private hospitals up until now, and I had forgotten how much it shakes me up and scares me to be in a mental hospital.

I was so stressed and shaky that I got wildly upset at any provocation.

Oh, and BTW, public mental institutions suck even worse than private ones.

At least in a private mental ward, they let you have your own clothes and toiletries without a fight. Expecting to be Baker-Acted, I packed three changes of clothes, my comb and brush, my toothbrush, baking soda (which is what I use to brush my teeth), my shampoo and conditioner, my soap, my deodorant, and pads and tampons since I was expecting my period to start (which it did this morning).

As soon as they took me to the mental health center, they took away my clothes and toiletries, giving me back only two pairs of trousers and my housecoat (no clean underpants or undershirts or shirts) and my toiletries. I finally got some of that back this morning, when I told them my period had started and I NEEDED to shower and put on clean clothes.

There is no dignity or humanity in being poor and mentally ill.

I saw the doctor there twice. He put me on Wellbutrin (which used to work for me fairly well, when I could get it) and sprung me this morning with a prescription for Wellbutrin and a voucher to get it filled once, and a list of sliding scale mental health clinics.

Hoo fucking ray.

That was really fucking helpful.

I'm hanging on because my boyfriend made me promise to "give him time to try to help me." I keep trying to tell him that there is no help for me, that there is nothing that will make me okay. I'm not okay, I've never been okay, and I never will be okay. His determination to help me is only going to bleed him financially and emotionally, just as it has my parents.

There is no help for me. There is only one way out.
azdesertrose: (Default)
Okay, so, my car screwed up on Friday, scared me half to death, and then the trouble transpired to be something quite simple, a hose split open. My friend Tiff replaced the hose for me last night, and after I take her to work here in a few, I'm going to go take a shower, collect some clothes and toiletries, go to the hospital and tell the doctors what is going on with me.

This is my last attempt at getting help. If this doesn't work, I've already bought the pills.

I pretty much expect to be Baker-Acted, so I will not be around for a few days at least. If they don't help me, I will come back and make one last entry before I leave for good.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I finally managed to get the words out to my boyfriend about my plans to commit suicide. After an extremely long and wildly emotional discussion (in which we slaughtered half a box of Kleenex), he made me promise to check myself into a hospital.

This was the original plan:

My family is expected back from Miami some time today (probably evening, as it's about an 8-hour drive). I was going to spend today looking through my things for the belongings I don't want them to find and figure out whom I DO trust with such things and buy boxes to mail said belongings to said trustworthy people. I was going to see my family tonight and some tomorrow, and then on Monday I was going to drive far enough away (maybe St. Augustine), mail the packages and apology letters, check into a motel, and overdose.

My boyfriend made me promise that I'd change the Monday plan, to check myself into a hospital and tell the doctors everything. I promised I would, with the caveat that if they just Baker-Act me for 72 hours and then cut me loose with "go see a psychiatrist" rather than giving me any real help, I was going to go ahead with the original plan.

If I could afford to see a psychiatrist, I'd have done it long since. I have tried everything I could think of to try to get psychiatric help for myself, and I have been rebuffed in every attempt, even called "stupid" once, although at least one of the people I tried to get help (different agency from the "stupid" place) from sounded sorry that she couldn't help me.

I have fought this battle for too long. I have been hospitalized before, and aside from getting me a decent psychiatrist (when I had medical insurance and some way to pay for said services), the experience of hospitalization is not particularly helpful to my way of thinking. I am tired of always coming back to this place, and this place always comes back. It never goes away; I don't believe it ever will go away, but I made a promise to my boyfriend to try one last time to get help.

If they don't give me some real help, like some way to be able to get therapy/medications on a regular basis, it's over with me. I have tried as hard as I can, and I just can't fight any more.

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