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I ran out of my Invega yesterday, but I should have one more 15-day script and the certificate to get it filled free. Well, I can find the certificate but not the actual prescription, which does a lot of bloody good. Fuck.

And in further fuckery, the SDC program is not accepting new applicants at this time (probably due to lack of funding), so I can't get help paying for therapy so I can't go. FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Did I mention FUCK!!!


Dec. 11th, 2008 01:54 am
azdesertrose: (Default)
I talked to Nicholas after I posted the last entry. He was upset that I said I wasn't sure if he loved or hated me. He said he doesn't hate me and is just trying to help me.

Part of the problem is that I have to make a lot of changes at once and it's hard for me to work on me and keep up my relationships as well. I'm trying to re-learn to love myself while loving other people too, and it's just tough going.

Nicholas fussed at me recently about my lack of self-love, and I told him I'd been taught in elementary school that loving oneself was selfish, that you should put yourself last, after God and others. Now, I no longer believe in the Christian God (I went to a Bible-thumping Baptist private elementary school and was reared United Methodist), but certain things from my upbringing stay with me. The combination of that schooling and my father's behavior toward me really makes it hard to realize that it's okay to love me.

So I have to learn to love me, and to take care of me.

I'm trying to change the way I behave toward myself, the neglectful way I treat my body. I can't exercise right now because I'm still getting over the damn strep throat, but as soon as I'm over that I'm going to start exercising (walking or something) for half an hour a day, and now that I have my guitar, I'm going to spend at least an hour a day learning to play it.

As previously mentioned, I need to rediscover my sense of fun and silliness. When my daughter was little, I did any number of silly, fun things with her. Now that she's older, some of the things we used to do are no longer amusing to her, but I still need to learn to let myself be silly sometimes.

I guess I also have to learn to balance taking care of me with taking care of everybody else.

It's just a lot, and sometimes I feel really overwhelmed by it all.

I also need to get back into counseling. A couple of days ago I sent off an email to a program here in Florida that helps people disabled by mental illness afford treatments and things to improve their quality of life. Hopefully they'll send me an application so I can get into the program and it will help me pay for my counseling.

Another thing I need to work on is my fear of other people's anger or unhappiness. Any time someone is unhappy or upset or (heaven help) angry with me, I panic. I feel this need to appease their anger. I guess I'm afraid that angry people will hurt me in some way. I suppose I have to let myself understand that people can be angry and NOT want to hurt me even though they're angry at me.

Again, it's just a lot of mental and emotional work, and it's overwhelming and sometimes confusing and frustrating.
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Nicholas and Cliff are both mad at me about smoking. Cliff got mad because I went out and smoked in the car because it's raining outside. Nicholas says I act like a junkie where cigs are concerned.

I feel like I need something to calm my nerves. I backed myself off the Buspar and Klonopin and now I am not taking anything to settle my nerves. Smoking calms me down when I'm feeling anxious.

Part of me would like to end that addiction. It's not healthy, it's expensive, everybody imaginable wants me to quit, there are ninety bazillion reasons not to smoke. But I can't get away from the comfort I get from smoking a cigarette.

I withdrew from the [ profile] _survivors_ group because Nicholas wanted me to; he said that it was only a painful reminder of what I've been through and that I should give it up. So I did.

But I feel like no one will let me have my comforts. I feel like I'm being asked to make all these changes and nothing is familiar or comfortable any more.

Cliff just read over my shoulder and said, "Why did you stop taking your anxiety medicines? I'd rather you were taking the anxiety medicines than smoking." Good question.

I backed off the Buspar because I didn't have any refills for it, and I felt like nobody trusts me with the Klonopin after what I did two weeks ago with the suicide attempt (overdose of Klonopin). But I guess I can refill the Klonopin and/or talk to my psychiatrist about writing me a script for the Buspar. (I was originally prescribed the Buspar by a psychiatrist at the hospital. I don't think my psychiatrist has ever prescribed it to me.)

I probably should talk this over with Patricia (my new therapist) when I see her again next Monday. I need some new comforts in order to get rid of the cigarettes. I just don't know what else to do.
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Well, my family is sick, so we're on our own for Thanksgiving. I'm not sure what we're going to do; we're too broke for me to cook the whole turkey, etc. Oh well. I guess we'll do that next week after my monthly disability check comes in.

I saw my counselor yesterday and that went really well. I like her a lot.

I have to go now and see my psychiatrist. Hopefully she'll agree to put me back on Zoloft.
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I still feel fairly calm and peaceful.

Cliff is getting over being sick and poor Nicholas has been running a fever all day and sounds like a bullfrog because his throat is sore and his sinuses are all fubar. (He's got a fairly deep voice anyway.)

I've been nagging him to rest and drink lots of fluids because that's about the only thing that really helps a bad cold. I put a hot compress on his head to try to loosen up all the sinus crap but I'm not sure that helped. He's being male and stubborn and wants to sit up with me instead of resting in bed like his sick ass ought to. It's sweet that he wants to be with me, but he should be in bed.

Tomorrow is my therapy appointment, and then Wednesday I have to see my psychiatrist. I'm hoping I can get my psychiatrist to put me back on Zoloft instead of the Paxil. My gyno thinks the Paxil is making me gain weight which I do not by any means need to do. I'm hoping that Patricia (the therapist) is as cool as her bio makes her sound. She called me today to confirm my appointment and I spent a good five minutes trying to figure out her accent. She sounds a bit like a Scotswoman who's been living in the Southern US for a long time. I'll have to ask tomorrow.

I'm a little nervous still about the therapy appointment. I feel a lot better since the ritual but I know I still have work to do.

I'm also nervous about Thanksgiving. I don't really have the money to do the traditional meal here, so if we're going to have turkey, etc. we really have to go up to my parents' house and I still don't know how my parents are going to react to Nicholas. I shouldn't care, but I don't want to alienate what family I have left. Oh well. I guess we just have to wait and see on that one.

I think I'm going to go take a nice warm bath with some lavender oil in it and go to bed. I'm tired from staying up all night last night and not sleeping much today, and if I go to bed, Nicholas will too and rest like his sick behind needs to.
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So I got Nicholas to agree that if I work on my physical and mental health, he'll lay off me about the smoking for a while, until I can get to a more settled place mentally where I feel I can let go of the nicotine crutch.

So Nicholas and I are going to form the habit of sharing walks, or if the weather is too crappy for walking outside, I'll do my yoga thing on Yourself! Fitness. I'm going to work on cooking low fat, high fiber, heavy on the lean meat, whole grains, and fresh veggies kinds of suppers.

I'm also going back to counseling. I have three appointments next week to check out counselors to see if they will be able to help me.

That's going to be a lot of difficult emotional work. I'm going to have to drag up memories of what my dad and ex-husband did to me that I'd rather not think about, but I'm dreaming about them anyway, so I have to deal with them. I have to learn to love myself and nurture myself in a way that I have never done. Nobody's going to do it for me. Cliff and Nicholas and Jen can stand by me and hug me and help me hold myself up, but in the end, I have to do the hard work.

Nobody can do it but me.
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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 [ 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.
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I just saw the counselor at Jewish Community Services for the second time, and she gave me an assignment. (I also found out that she's a little more than a year younger than I am, older than I thought, but in the right ballpark.)

We were kind of cleaning up from last session, getting the rest of my history on paper for her, and she wanted to know what I wanted out of therapy.

All I really want is to be stable. I want to not have to go in the hospital every six months. I want to go back to school, but I won't go back to school until the disability comes through (won't be able to afford it without the additional income). I also want to be free of hospitalizations for at least a year before I try to go back to school. I'm using the hospital as a gauge of my stability; if I'm not suicidal for a whole year, then I'm ready to go back to school and be there every day and do my assignments and generally do it right. I want my lovely little handfasting with Cliff with our family and friends in attendance. I want the pretty Celtic knotwork engagement ring and wedding bands we've picked out. I want to see my daughter graduate high school and go off to college and graduate college, and maybe go to graduate school if that's what she wants to do. (She's been through a few dozen possible careers; no telling what she'll eventually decide to do with her life.) I want to finish my wolf-family cross-stitch project and do the blue dragon that my friend Mike asked me to stitch for him because he likes dragons. I want to finish my novel and try to get it published. I want to feel whole, not damaged. I know better than to think that I'll ever be fully healed from the abuse my father inflicted on me, but I want to be as whole as I can be.

I think that last statement sums it up; I want to be as whole as I can be.
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Still alive.

Finally got on with Jewish Community Services, although they're much more expensive than my current counselor and on the other side of town from where I live. I've seen the counselor there once; I'm going to give her three counseling sessions before I make up my mind about her. She's younger than my current counselor, which might be a good thing, closer to my age, more able to understand me. On the other hand, less experience with the world and as a counselor. (My current counselor has children my age. The new counselor is probably younger than I am, but probably not by more than a few years.) We'll see. One session is not enough to know whether it's going to work.

I have been feeling a bit better. My doctor changed my depression med and I think it's finally working, even if it does make my feet swell.

Cliff and I finally set a date and started with the wedding planning. He wants to go to Vegas and get married in a swimming pool with Mai Tais in our hands. I told him I'd do that if he'd arrange it, since I'm doing all the planning for the family-and-friends handfasting and reception.

Wedding planning is a pain in the ass, but it's kind of fun too. Doing the bridal registry was fun; I got to pick out all sorts of specialty cooking things we want that we haven't been able to afford to buy ourselves. We were 28 and 32 when we got together (now we're 32 and almost 36), so we both had a fairish accumulation of household goods. But we can replace some things that need replacing and maybe get some new toys for special cooking since we both like to cook. Finding a place to have the handfasting and reception is going to be a pain. Picking out the fabric for our garb (we're both in the SCA so we'll get married in dressy SCA garb and that way we can use it again) was fun; sewing it will be a pain so I've decided to hire that out so a friend who sews better than I do.

It gives me something to look forward to. I just want a pretty ceremony and a good party. I don't want anything too fancy or expensive. That's not too much to ask, is it?
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I just got back from my depression support group. I still don't know how helpful this is going to be, but I promised my therapist I'd give it a try.

I just don't have anything to say at group, it seems, and I feel shy and awkward there. The older I get the less I like to be in groups of people.

I'm hoping that the women's center group will pan out and be better for me.

I'm still having a lot of trouble with nausea due to the Geodon. I wish it would go away. I wish I'd never taken the weekend off the stuff; all the problems started after I spent that one weekend with no meds.

I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to bed early.
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I just came back from an appointment with my therapist. I see my psychiatrist tomorrow, and then on Thursday I have to meet my mother at the lawyer's office about the adoption.

My therapist (and my boyfriend) want me to start going to a support group (or more than one). I left a message about one support group with its coordinator; we'll see if she calls me back. This is a therapy group for women survivors of childhood trauma, which probably would do me some good.

I miss my old support group in Charleston; I miss my Monday night ladies. I don't know if another support group will ever measure up to them.

I feel scared and alone and I don't know what to do. I don't feel like anybody else in the world knows how I feel, and I don't know how to make anyone else understand.

According to my mother, the lawyer has found my ex-husband and will be able to serve papers on him about the adoption. I hope he doesn't come to court. I don't want to see him; I don't even want to think about him.
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I saw my therapist on Tuesday and she wants me to do some journaling so here goes.

She wanted me to come up with a dream father, a perfect dad, since I didn't exactly have one.

What would a perfect dad be?

Well, not abusive is a given. He'd be patient and loving, stern when he had to be (you have to have some discipline in there somewhere), he'd be funny and fun to be around, he wouldn't take himself or me too seriously but just seriously enough. He'd be tall and handsome in that older way, and give good hugs. He'd understand that sometimes girls just need to cry. He'd be willing to teach, patient when you had trouble learning something, and he'd teach you to ride a bicycle, and to drive and care for a car, and all sorts of other things. He'd be respectful of your needs and dreams and he'd help you pursue your dreams.

I can't think of anything else right now. I'll try to update again later.
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I went to see my counselor today for the first time since before I fell and hurt my feet. I cancelled a couple of appointments because I have to climb stairs to get to her office, and I wanted to wait until I could move a bit better before attempting those stairs.

The hallucination episode happened right after the last time I saw her.

She asked me a hell of a question. She wanted to know what the facial expression was on my dad's face in the mirror.

That kind of took me a minute. I've been trying not to think about that whole episode as much as I can avoid so doing.

He was glaring at me.

I don't like thinking about this. It bothers me.

I've been having a pleasant little IM conversation with my friend in England; he can usually cheer me up, unless he's in one of his rare bad moods. He's in his usual fairly chipper mood, so I've been distracting myself with witty transAtlantic repartee.

I keep feeling afraid that people are angry with me for various reasons, usually ridiculous reasons if I examine them with the eye of logic. Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me...
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Well, I saw my counselor today and informed her about the latest episode of doctor shit; I told her that I have no desire to see this doctor again, that in my current mental state I don't need that kind of "help."

So she gave me another referral to a doctor about whom she'd recently heard very good things. Sadly, he's not taking new patients, and his practice does not accept self-pay patients, so I can't even see a different doctor in the same practice.

Which means that now I have to try to find a doctor. I have 35 days of meds before I run out.

Damn. Shit.

I don't want to do this; I'm tired, and sometimes I feel like I used up my coping resources years ago and have run that well dry. But as I tell myself sometimes, (paraphrasing David Eddings), you don't have to like it, you just have to do it.

In slightly better news, my counselor and I discussed my treatment plan, and short-term goals for my therapy since I am having trouble making long-term goals. She wants me to be able to articulate my thoughts and feelings, since I am quite articulate, but I just can't always seem to open up and express my negative emotions. I shout it to the world when I'm amused or happy, because I figure most people WANT to hear happy and amusing thoughts; when I'm feeling bad in whatever fashion, I tend to just shut the doors and keep it to myself, because I tend to think that no one wants to know these things.

Cliff and I discussed the codeword suggestion that [ profile] sistahraven made when I posted about having trouble talking; he told me to select the codewords, define them, and inform him. I decided to keep it fairly simple; three codewords for three problem emotional states. "Jellyfish" means I feel kind of "wobbly", emotionally out of control; that started as kind of a joke, but I decided to keep the animal theme. "Rabbit" means I feel scared or I'm triggered or I'm having a lot of bad thoughts and I just want to go hide from the world. "Salmon" means I feel like hurting myself or I'm having suicidal thoughts. There's some overlap in these emotional states; "jellyfish" can lead to "rabbit" which can lead to "salmon", but at least I can tell him, in words that have no emotional weight, when something is wrong, even if I can't quite manage to say exactly WHAT is wrong.

I'd like to get to a point where I feel well enough that I think I could handle going back to work or going for my MA, where every day isn't a great big question mark; am I going to be okay today or am I going to fall apart?

I'm no longer as angry as I was about the doctor's office. I am still rather upset if I let myself think about it; I had to think about it today so I could tell my counselor about it and ask for another referral.

I should probably wake Cliff up so we can clean the spare bedroom. If we can get that sorted out, and get the kitchen clean, then I can bring my books and kitchen things down from my parents' house, and actually be able to use my stuff for the first time in a couple of years. My crock pot, my toaster oven, my pots and pans, and my lovely lovely collection of books.

I think I'm going to get some more water, have a cig, and then try to shake him loose.
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Well, I HAD made an appointment to see the doctor again. (Recap for anyone who doesn't remember, I've only seen him once, I only really need him for medication management, I have a counselor for actual talk therapy. The one time I saw him he asked me if I had resisted what my dad did to me, or if it was "just statutory rape." Doctor shit episode 1, episode 2, and episode 3.)

The appointment was for tomorrow morning, but last night I realized that if I didn't deposit the money I had set aside for the appointment into the checking account, the checking account would be overdrawn. Rent came out of the most recent paycheck, and we also had to buy parts for my car (which is mercifully running again, so I can give my parents back the car they've been letting me use and get them off my back), so money is a wee bit tight. I thought I would be able to call the doctor's office, explain that I can't afford to make the appointment and reschedule. Simple, right?

Not hardly.

I got a lovely (/sarcasm) letter from the doctor's office shortly before I made the appointment, in which they informed me that if I didn't make an appointment soon, they would close my chart. So I made the damn appointment, thinking that I would be able to afford to go.

When I called to reschedule, for one thing, one of the office people got incredibly snotty with me; "Why do you need to reschedule?" (It wasn't the question, which seems reasonable to me; it was the vocal tone.) But what would have seemed reasonable to me, once I explained that I simply do not have the money, would have been to let me reschedule the goddamned appointment, let me pick up another sample package of medication so that I don't stop taking my meds in the interim, and shut the fuck up. She rescheduled the appointment, and when I asked about med samples, she said she'd have to speak to the doctor and call me back. (Again, not really unreasonable; I can understand having to check with the MD before dispensing psychiatric meds.)

When they called me back, they told me that if I don't keep the appointment tomorrow, my chart will be closed. Closing my chart means that in order to see this doctor again, I would have to pay the initial visit fee ($150-some), and probably fill out some bloody annoying paperwork. They said that I can come in tomorrow and pick up another month's worth of medications, but if I don't come to the appointment (WHICH I CAN'T DO BECAUSE I DO NOT HAVE THE MONEY), I will have to pay the initial visit fee again at the rescheduled appointment.

I was so upset when I got off the phone that I immediately bummed a cig. I was trying to quit, or at least cut back severely. (Later on, I went and bought a pack, to avoid bumming too much from my friends.)

I'm still pissed off, and this happened a few hours ago.

I was supposed to meet my parents for supper tonight; my aunt and uncle and some of my cousins are in town, and I would like to see them. But I'm too angry and upset, and I don't want my family to see me like that.

I told my family I didn't want to drive tonight because in order to get where we were to meet for supper, I would have to drive over a major bridge, and we are currently under the last little bits of Tropical Storm Alberto, so I didn't want to drive over a bridge in 45 mph winds. This is true, but it was an excuse.

When I told my boyfriend, he said, "Fuck him. He's an asshat, and we don't need him. We'll find another doctor." He also said that when he goes to work tomorrow (he's a paramedic and works at a hospital), he's going to ask around and find out the proper channels to go through to file a formal complaint.

I have been having the worst time all evening trying to calm myself down; I can't lie down and take a nap because I'm too upset. Every time I try to quiet my mind, I start having thoughts of harming myself, or thoughts of suicide. The old, "This is hopeless, you can't be saved, you're not worth saving, you should just go away" recording is playing in my head again.

I think I'm going to have a friend ride with me tomorrow to pick up my meds, just for moral support. And I'm going to need her help anyway, to get my parents' car back to them. I just hope I've calmed down enough to drive safely by then.
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A while back I posted an entry about seeing a psychiatrist. I only really need to see a psychiatrist for medication management; I see a counselor for actual therapy. Before I had the appointment with the psychiatrist, his office sent me a questionnaire about my personal history. When I filled it out, I mentioned that my father had molested and raped me and that my ex-husband had raped me. When I went to the appointment, the doctor asked me about what my father had done, if I had resisted or if it was "just statutory rape". It took me about a day or so to get over being shocked and start getting offended and angry.

I talked to my counselor about the remark, because she is the one who referred me to him and I wanted to check with her (both as my counselor and as a mental health professional) whether she felt that remark was out of line or whether I was overreacting.

When I talked to my boyfriend (who is a paramedic and sometimes has to ask people odd questions) about the remark, he thought that the doctor had maybe just been a bit careless in his phrasing.

My counselor said she'd call the doctor and talk to him about it. I saw her yesterday and she said she'd spoken to him.

According to my counselor, the doctor was trying to figure out exactly what had happened to me. (My thought was, "Well, then, why in hell didn't he just say 'What exactly did he do to you? Can you give me a bit more detail?'" That would have been much easier for me to take than the "just statutory rape" remark. I had a psychiatrist about ten years ago ask me to write it out if I couldn't say it out loud, which was MUCH easier.) She also said that he said he didn't mean that what my dad did was anything other than gravely wrong, regardless of my reaction or lack thereof, and that he said that if I get upset, I can leave a session if need be.

In any case, I have six days' worth of my medication left, so I'm going to make at least one more appointment with this doctor so that I can at least not stop taking my med.

*crosses fingers* Here's hoping that it was just a not-so-great first session; I really don't want to have to find another doctor. It's such a pain in the arse.
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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.
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The kitten transpires to be female. I still am trying to come up with a good name for her. She's six weeks old now, and we'll probably wait until she's about 10 weeks old to bring her across the courtyard.

In other news, I feel like crap. My stomach is being stupid again; nothing settles well. And I spent most of Saturday in bed with the third migraine of my life. Yuck. Most of Sunday I felt like I wasn't really inside myself, if that makes any sense.

I still feel kind of out of it.

I'm supposed to see my counselor on Thursday, and there's a support group tonight for depression and bipolar patients. I'm still debating about going to the support group; I'll keep the counselor appointment, though.

And I'm supposed to see the psychiatrist on Monday; the paperwork came to Cliff's apartment late last week, and I filled it out, except for my license plate number, which I can never remember.

The last time I was hospitalized, in 1999, I went to two support groups after I got out of the hospital. One was for depression and bipolar and the other was for sexual assault survivors. I dropped the depression/bipolar one after a while because it just didn't seem to be very helpful. I didn't stop going to the sexual-assault one until I moved out of state.

I still feel like nothing is going to help. It still doesn't feel like the Wellbutrin is doing anything but making it hard for me to sleep. Oh, and over the weekend I started having a tremor in my right hand if I try to do anything with it. If I'm just sitting still it's okay, but, for example, if I lift a drinking glass, my hand shakes, horribly, noticeably.

I keep spacing out, too. Cliff notices it, and I think Jen noticed it some too. Sometimes I feel like I'm not in my body enough to drive. I've had the "disconnected" feeling come on a few times while I was already out and about, and it is not conducive to safe driving.

Sometimes I even have a hard time following conversations, because I just drift away, which is another reason I'm not too keen on going to the support group this evening.

Part of me says I should give the support group a chance, that I need a larger support system than I presently have. All I really have right now is Cliff and Jen and to a lesser extent Rip, Tiff, and Beau. (Those are all the people who live near me who know what's going on. My family does not know. I have two other friends who know, a married couple who live in England. At least I assume the lady of the pair knows; I haven't actually said anything to her; I'm friends with them both, but I'm closer friends with the husband than the wife. In fact, he has repeatedly offered to help me pay for medications and things if I need them. He's asthmatic and so takes meds for that, and she has a degenerative arthritic condition and practically rattles with all the tablets she takes for that; she also takes Prozac, stemming from a horrendous issue they had a few years ago with a terroristic neighbor. So clearly they do not have the issues I have with taking meds.)

Sometimes I think I should tell my family, but most of the time I think not. My parents will just roll their eyes and be disgusted that I've never gotten on track and this is just another tangent and I'll never get my shit together. And I just don't want to hear it. I don't want to put up with it.

And I don't want to burden the kiddo with it all; I'm fairly sure she suspects that all is not well with me, because she's been subjected to a couple of my mood-swingy times, but I'm not going to pile all this shit on her. It's not her problem.

But I just don't know about this whole support group thing; the last time I went to a support group for this specific purpose it was mostly people going on about meds and manic episodes. I don't have manic episodes; I might have hypomanic, but not true manic. It just wasn't much help to me.

And I don't feel like doing anything anyway. I'm not even dressed; I'm in my nightshirt. It was an effort to make something to eat, but I made myself eat and take the damn med.
azdesertrose: (Default)
I saw my counselor again yesterday afternoon. It seemed to go pretty well, but I think I'm about to have a problem. The counseling center is run by the Catholic Diocese of St. Augustine (in conjunction with St. Vincent's hospital, also a Catholic organization).

I'm not Catholic.

I'm not even Christian.

I'm divorced, 30 years old with a child who will be fourteen in a few months, and living in sin with my boyfriend, whom I have no particular intent to marry. (Nothing on him, I just have no real intent to remarry. I won't say never, but I doubt I ever will.)

My belief about Deity is that there is a divine power, the source of all energy, creative and destructive (because sometimes destruction is necessary, just as death is necessary), transcendent of human form and definition, and encompassing both masculine and feminine energy in perfect balance, which manifests itself most clearly in the cycles of the natural world. This does not fit well into Christian beliefs, and it certainly does not fit well into Catholicism.

I don't really believe in an afterlife; I'm sort of torn between thinking that when you're dead, that's it, and believing in the possibility of reincarnation. Again, does not fit well into Christianity, and particularly not into the Roman Catholic subcategory. I call myself an eclectic pagan, simply because my beliefs don't really fit into any other category.

As usual, I don't fit the paradigm.

Anyway, in yesterday's session, my counselor asked me if I'd grown up with any religious instruction, and I did.

Long-ass tangent on religion )

But somehow I think my non-conventional belief system ain't gonna fly with this Catholic counseling service. I didn't actually articulate all this to the counselor because we were out of time when the topic arose. But I expect I'm going to have to explain it eventually, and I'm a little worried about the consequences. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

In other news, I heard back from the doctor's office, and I have an appointment on Monday, May 1. The doctor is willing to see me at a reduced fee, so YAY for that. I sort of hope he'll want to change my meds or something. I am not sleeping well at all, and that never does anything good for my temperament or emotional state. I have a hard time falling asleep, and then I don't stay asleep. Bleah. I also have shaky hands sometimes, and I feel jumpy and anxious a lot of the time, and I still have my times, especially at night, when I really don't want to keep trying any of this.
azdesertrose: (Default)
Well, the counselor was really nice. I get the impression that they are a short-term service, but she might be able to direct me toward more long-term resources. She gave me the name of a doctor who might be willing to see me at reasonable costs; I'm waiting to hear back from their office. The doctor's receptionist sounded like she didn't have a clue what I was talking about, but the counselor seemed pretty sure that this doctor might be helpful, especially if I mentioned the counselor's name, so I left a message and hopefully they'll call back. I really only need the doctor for medication management anyway, and I think the counselor said something about another service that might help, if this doctor won't.

I was a little worried that the (Catholic-church-sponsored) counseling service might not help me because I'm not Christian. But apparently that doesn't matter too much.


azdesertrose: (Default)

October 2012

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