Many Years of Poems

Still worried about my suicidal friend. Had a long conversation with him last night, and I'm not worried that he's going to do it any time really soon, but if things don't get better for him and quick, I'll be using my disability back payments to attend his funeral, or visit his grave if I can't make it to the funeral. I can't seem to make him see that his problems do not mean he has to die to make things better and that his death will be a great loss. I tried. Believe me, I tried.

And I'm not going to stop trying.

Also worried about my meds. I only have about a week's worth of Invega left, and I owe my psyhchiatrist money, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to get more. And being off the Invega is BAD FOR ME. I have panic attacks, and within a few days the psychotic symptoms return, the hallucinations and paranoia and stuff. It really sucks. I think I'm going to start taking it every other day to stretch the meds out, because missing it for one day doesn't seem to hurt anything, but about three days and I'm a mess.

And as always, money is a stressor. Hopefully we'll be able with Cliff's next paycheck to pay what I owe my psychiatrist and I can get my meds. I don't know what I'm going to do if we can't. Stretched the grocery budget to its limits. Bleah.

Worry worry worry.

1. Money. With Cliff losing the shift we're taking a hard hit, and I don't know if we can make it until my money comes through, provided SSA doesn't appeal the decision and delay things even more.

2. Mini-me. I'm scared to death that now that she's got her learner's permit she's going to have a seizure behind the wheel and die in a car crash. No parent wants to bury their child, and I love that kid more than anybody in the whole world.

3. A friend who shall remain nameless who has made statements to me that make me worry that he's suicidal. And there's nothing I can do. He's a long distance friend, so it's not like I can physically stop him.

4. Meds. I'm out of everything but my Klonopin now although when Cliff gets home with the car, I can go get 15 days worth of my Invega but that will be all I have. I don't know how I'm going to get more meds, and I get really bad when I'm off my Invega. The psychotic symptoms come back really badly and I can't get out of bed. Hopefully on Friday I can get my Paxil and BuSpar again.

I'm a nervous wreck and I'm trying to pretend that everything's okay. But I'm not okay.

A couple of days ago, there was a post in _survivors_ that had a very unpleasant last line. The way it was written (which may or may not have been the intended meaning), it said that "maybe [survivors] should have fought back or done something instead of crying."

I found that quite offensive, because of the sweeping generalization. It's one thing to say that you feel you should have tried to fight or should have done this or that or the other; I think pretty much all survivors (of whatever sort of trauma) second-guess their actions, later, in retrospect. But the way this was phrased, it was incredibly disrespectful, at least in my opinion. I posted a reply, as diplomatically as I could, sympathizing with the original poster's issues (of feeling physical pain for no reason that a doctor could explain), but suggesting that s/he label the cut more clearly because of the offensive statement, and explaining why I found the statement upsetting.

The post is no longer there; I don't know if the original poster deleted it on his/her own, the original poster deleted it at the request of sistahraven, or if sistahraven deleted it in her capacity as moderator. In any case, I have no intention of starting drama about it, which is why I'm grousing about this in my personal journal rather than taking it to the community.

I totally did not need that. I really didn't. I'm having enough trouble being in pain from my injured feet and my continuing female problems, having had to deal with that horrid doctor and the "just statutory rape" remark (which still pisses me off, nearly three months later), and being off my meds for another two weeks plus. Semi-good news on the med front: a friend of mine also takes Zoloft and may be able to spare me some. But that hasn't happened yet, and I'm still having the dizziness, headache, trouble falling asleep, and weird "zap" feelings if I move "wrong."

I'm also having weird, vivid dreams. My best friend is being handfasted next weekend; the rehearsal was yesterday. Last night I had a lot of bizarre dreams about the ceremony, including things that are extremely unlikely. I dreamt that my daughter was being an utter brat (which she generally is not), to the point of peeing her pants, once accidentally, and once on purpose, just to be defiant. In the dream, I was so angry at her that I slapped her across the face, so hard that she staggered back (something I would not do IRL). And all sorts of things were just going wrong; the torches fell to the ground and caused a huge fire, I fell and re-injured myself, Jen's dress tore, you name it. In the dream, if it could go wrong, it was going wrong.

I was cranky all day today. I think I didn't sleep well because of the weird dreams, and I spent more of today on my feet than I really should have.

I'm to be in the handfasting as one of Jen's attendants. We are to wear a white blouse (of which I have several) and a flowing black skirt. I didn't own a flowing black skirt; the only black skirt I owned when Jen told me this is a knee-length straight black skirt (very office-y). So I went shopping with my friend Tiff (who is another of Jen's attendants) and we found these cute little cotton crinkle-gauze skirts. The only problem was that they didn't have one in my size in black, but they had one in my size in dark brown. Okay, no trouble. I'll just buy the dark brown skirt and some black dye and dye the silly thing.

Except that dyeing the damn skirt was WAY more stress fuss and trouble than I'd anticipated.

I spent most of today in my bathroom dyeing the damn skirt. I didn't want to dye it in a washing machine, as laundromats don't like you to do that, and my mother would probably kill me if I dyed something BLACK in her machine. So I spent HOURS today bent over a big plastic bin full of hot water and black dye, agitating the skirt.

I just hope the dye took; if not, Jen's just going to have to take me in a dark brown skirt.

And I wound up having to fix supper AND Cliff's work lunch for tomorrow, because he was "busy" swearing at the computer and trying to play Warcrack. GRRRRR.

I really am ready to delete that goddamn game from this machine.

I shouldn't be standing up washing dishes and cooking with one broken foot and one sprained one. I've now been told by TWO doctors (the ER doc and the orthopedic guy) to stay the bloody hell off my right foot, but can I? Nooooooooo.

On his shift days, there's just no help for it. I'm home alone except for CC and Tessa (his dog and my new kitten), and so I have to get my own food and drink, but I stay on the couch or here at the computer as much as possible.

But on his days off, I shouldn't have to spend so damn much time in the kitchen.

Under normal circumstances (i.e. when I don't have two injured feet), I don't mind doing the cooking and cleaning and so forth. I'm not working, I have no income of my own, so it's not a big deal to me to take care of the house.

But damn it, right now, I am NOT SUPPOSED to be on my feet.

And that bloody fucking computer game is most of why I have to be on my feet on his days off. GRRRRR.

Oh, and I'm nervous about the handfasting. We ladies (Jen's attendants) are to call (and later, bid farewell to) the quarters, mainly because Rip's attendants are physically unable to do so, and for whatever reason, not as familiar with ritual. I'm to call and "dismiss" (I hate that term, but it's quick) Fire/South. This will be my first public ritual work. EEEEEEEEEK!!!!

Memorizing my lines isn't the hard part; I don't have that much to say, even with the ritual part. I'm just worried that I'll somehow screw up, having never performed even part of a ritual with an audience. (I've done private rituals, as in, JUST ME doing a ritual for my own purposes, usually to ask for help.)

I think I've rambled quite enough now. Tessa keeps trying to chase my rapidly-typing fingers.

Still feeling really weird.

Still bleeding, although it seems to be letting up.

Slept almost all day. When I first woke up, Cliff wanted me to go into the living room and watch movies with him, but the living room was too bright and noisy for me.

I just wanted to stay in bed; he told me that staying in bed meant I was hiding and hiding isn't good for me. He stayed with me, and we both fell asleep for a few hours. When we woke up, I could deal with being in the living room. The sun had gone down, and it was no longer as noisy.

I don't feel well; my stomach is upset, and my female parts hurt (as do my feet, but the foot pain is not news).

And I bloody forgot to call the damn doctor's office. I need to call to see if I can get one of the other doctors in the new doctor's practice to write me a provisional script for my meds so I don't quit taking them. I can't see the new doctor herself until August 16 because she's out of the country.

I just feel weird and disconnected and anxious. I don't know exactly why.

I had bad dreams last night but I can't recall them very clearly. I wish this would just stop; I'm tired. I'm tired of being afraid and not knowing why.

I keep seeing dark things in my peripheral vision, and when I woke up the first time I heard Yoda say "Rest, yes rest. Forever sleep." (from his death scene in ROTJ) I don't want to move at all.

I still feel like I've expended all my coping abilities and that I'm not ever going to come out of this. I'm lost.

I'm still hobbling around because of my spectacular lack of gracefulness last week. (Reader's Digest condensed version, I stepped in a large pothole that I thought I had cleared and broke my right foot and sprained my left.)

Cliff's checking account is overdrawn and we're not too sure how that happened. The REALLY bad part of this is that we haven't bought groceries yet. I'm not sure what to buy because I can't buy what I normally buy because I can't be on my feet cooking, which is why I hadn't gone grocery shopping yet.

I'm all stressed out over the money, and I'm angry at myself for having hurt myself and caused all the inconvenience to everyone around me.

I finally bit the bullet today and took the first step of consulting a lawyer to see if I have a case against Cliff's landlord, for failing to repair the giant pothole in which I fell. I should think I'm at least entitled to compensation for my medical bills, and I'd like to see a judge order the landlord to repair the damn thing for good. (The landlord has made several half-assed attempts to fill in the hole but they never last more than a few weeks. What would probably repair it for good would be to resurface the parking area entirely.) It would be nice if I were entitled to compensation for "pain and suffering" because heaven knows this hurts like crazy. I haven't worked in over a year, so I wouldn't be entitled to compensation for lost wages.

I've calmed myself from how I felt earlier, but a few hours ago (before I ate and took my pain meds) I felt like everything that is wrong right now is my fault and that I should just die. I wanted at least to cut myself to punish myself for not being able to make things right.

I still have to try to find a new psychiatrist, and I probably can't see my counselor on Thursday (as currently planned) because of the money situation. I don't want to find a new psychiatrist; I know I need one, but I hate the process of finding one.

I'm going to eat some mac and cheese; maybe kiddo comfort food will help a little.