Growing into Me with Bipolar

Posts tagged ‘abuse’

IM DONE!


I HAVE HAD IT WITH MY DOCTOR, WITH MY CASE MANAGER, WITH THE WHOLE DAMN CLINIC!  I REFUSE TO GO THERE ANYMORE, EVEN THOUGH IT IS THE ONLY CLINIC I AM ALLOWED TO GO TO.  NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE

HERE IN AZ, IF YOU ARE ON MEDICAID, AND YOU ARE DETERMINED TO BE ‘SMI’ (SERIOUSLY MENTALLY ILL)  YOU ARE ONLY ALLOWED TO GO TO ONE OF FIVE CLINICS FOR ‘SMI’S.  YOU ARE ASSIGNED TO THE ONE CLOSEST TO YOU, AND CANNOT JUST SWITCH.  ALSO, THEY ARE ALL RUN BY THE SAME AGENCY THAT CONTRACTS FOR MENTAL HEALTHCARE FOR MEDICAID FOR THE STATE.  SO THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.

SO I HAVE NO OTHER OPTIONS FOR WHERE TO RECEIVE MENTAL HEALTH CARE.  I CANNOT GO TO A ‘GENERAL POPULATION’ MENTAL HEALTH CLINIC, BECAUSE I AM ‘SMI’.  I CANNOT GO TO A DOCTOR WHO IS IN MY MEDICARE PROVIDER LIST, BECAUSE THEY DON’T ACCEPT MEDICAID PAYMENTS.  SO I WOULD HAVE TO PAY THE MONTHLY PREMIUM MYSELF FOR MEDICARE PART B, AND I WOULD HAVE TO MEET THE DEDUCTIBLE FOR PART B AS WELL BEFORE MEDICARE WOULD PAY ITS 50% FOR MENTAL HEALTH CARE.  IF I USE A PROVIDER FROM AN SMI CLINIC, THEN MY MEDICAID IS ACCEPTED, AND THE TOTAL BILL IS PAID.  ALSO, IF I GO TO AN SMI CLINIC, MEDICAID WILL PAY MY PART B DEDUCTIBLES AND PREMIUMS AND COPAYS.

SO I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE THAN TO STOP SEEING A PSYCHIATRIST, SINCE I REFUSE TO KEEP BEING TREATED LIKE CRAP AND NOT HAVING MY NEEDS MET AT THE SMI CLINIC THAT IS THE ONLY ONE I AM ALLOWED TO USE.

SINCE I AM NO LONGER GOING TO GO THERE, I CAN NOT GET MEDS ANYMORE.  SINCE I AM NOT GOING THERE, I CANNOT GET TEGRETOL LABS DONE SO MY NEPHROLIGIST DOES NOT KNOW HOW MUCH TO ADJUST MY MEDS FOR THE ACIDOSIS AND EDEMA I HAVE THAT WAS CAUSED BY THE LITHIUM AND WORSENED BY THE SWITCH OFF OF IT TO FIRST DEPOKATE AND NOW TEGRETOL.  SO HE CANNOT HELP ME IF I CANT GET PSYCHIATRIC LABS DONE.

OF COURSE, THIS ALSO MEANS THAT I CANNOT FINISH MY PHP PROGRAM (PARTIAL HOSPITALIZATION), BECAUSE IN ORDER TO BE IN IT, YOU MUST HAVE AN OUTPATIENT PRESCRIBING PROVIDER.  AND SINCE I NO LONGER DO, WELL, THAT AVENUE IS NOW CLOSED TOO.

SO I AM NO LONGER SEEING ANY DOCS OR GETTING ANY MEDS OR PARTICIPATING IN THE PHP PROGRAM.  I AM GOING IT ALONE, SINCE I AM THE ONLY PERSON I CAN COUNT ON TO BE ON MY SIDE. IT IS TRUE WHAT THEY SAY–ALWAYS LOOK OUT FOR NUMBER ONE, CAUSE NO ONE ELSE WILL.

I WILL DO ALL THE THINGS I KNOW TO DO TO TRY TO STAY STABLE, AND IF I CANT, WELL, I CAN ACCEPT THAT I WILL HAVE MANIC AND DEPRESSED AND MIXED EPISODES AND THAT I WILL JUST HAVE TO TOUGH MY WAY THROUGH THEM OR GIVE IN.  AT LEAST I WILL NOT HAVE ANY EXPECTATIONS OF THE DOCTORS OR BE DEPENDENT ON THEM FOR THINGS THAT THEY FAIL TO DO, FOR FAILING TO LISTEN TO ME AND MY SYMPTOMS.  I WILL TAKE CARE OF ME FROM NOW ON, WITH EPISODES OR NOT, AND DO THE BEST I CAN.

OF COURSE, I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE SMI CLINICS HAVE THE RIGHT TO PETITION AND COURT ORDER ANY PATIENT WHO REFUSES TREATMENT AND REFUSES TO TAKE MEDS OR KEEP APPOINTMENTS.  IN OTHER WORDS, BECAUSE YOU ARE SMI, THEY HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY THAT YOU DONT HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE TREATMENT AND THEY CAN COMMIT YOU.  I SAY, BRING IT ON, BITCHES!  

NO WE AINT GONNA TAKE IT

Bad Time of Year?


Just seem to be noticing that lots of us in blog land are feeling more scrambled and out of control than normal.  maybe its the coming of the fall, maybe the days starting to get shorter.  i don’t really know.  but i hope all of us start to get back to our normal level of discomfort really soon.  this is tiring and wearing and i am about done.

all because i felt some real or imagined pressure from some rather real doc to change my mood stabilizer.  anyway altho i resisted i gave in eventually feeling that i was acting like a child with a tantrum by not even considering other options that who knows might work just as well.  well, i was wrong.  i should have stuck to my guns.  i feel like crap, im not thinking worth a shit and im swinging on that old pendulum rapid, slow, erattically and not even in a straight line back and forth!  i’m swing forward and backward and sideways too.  and i just don’t know what to do until they get my power in my brain turned back on so its functioning right and those damn zig zag lightning bolts and yells and screams and tears and pictures of everything flashing in my eyes goes away and ‘normal’ returns once again.

normal, which isn’t even normal.  which is still somehow outside the pale of where most people live, normal for me for bipolar everywhere, where normal is no more electric bolts in your brain, no more images flashes thoughts screaming and racing around.  but no more feeling either, every inside passion, every fire, tamped down.  don’t want this, this crazy in my head, but don’t feel alive when i’m well.

they talk, they all talk about recovery but there is really no such thing.  for normal is never normal,  it’s just less insane.  its never ok, it’s never gone.  it’s just not as bad as what might be.  it’s flat, it’s plain, it’s black and white, maybe a few shades of gray.  but it is not normal.  it just looks like normal and it’s the best we got, so we better take it, baby, while it’s hot.

 

“Mercedes Benz” by janis joplin

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a color TV ?
Dialing For Dollars is trying to find me.
I wait for delivery each day until three,
So oh Lord, won’t you buy me a color TV ?

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town ?
I’m counting on you, Lord, please don’t let me down.
Prove that you love me and buy the next round,
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town ?
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Everybody!
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends,
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?

That’s it!

“Me & Bobby McGee” by janis joplin

Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train
And I’s feeling nearly as faded as my jeans.
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained,
It rode us all the way to New Orleans.I pulled my harp from and my dirty red bandanna,
I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues.
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby’s hand in mine,
We sang every song that driver knew.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.
And feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.
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From the Kentucky coal mines to the California sun,
Hey, Bobby shared the secrets of my soul.
Through all kinds of weather, through everything that we done,
Hey Bobby baby kept me from the cold.

One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away,
He’s looking for that home and I hope he finds it,
But I’d trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday
To be holding Bobby’s body next to mine.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing, that’s all that Bobby left me, yeah,
But feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
Hey, feeling good was good enough for me, hmm hmm,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.

La la la, la la la la, la la la, la la la la
La la la la la Bobby McGee.
La la la la la, la la la la la
La la la la la, Bobby McGee, la.

La La la, la la la la la la,
La La la la la la la la la, hey now Bobby now Bobby McGee yeah.
Na na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na na na na na
Hey now Bobby now, Bobby McGee, yeah.

Lord, I’m calling my lover, calling my man,
I said I’m calling my lover just the best I can,
C’mon, where is Bobby now, where is Bobby McGee, yeah,
Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Hey, hey, hey, Bobby McGee, Lord!

Yeah! Whew!

Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lordy Lord
Hey, hey, hey, Bobby McGee.

“What Good Can Drinkin’ Do”by janis joplin

What good can drinkin’ do, what good can drinkin’ do?
Lord, I drink all night but the next day I still feel blue

There’s a glass on the table, they say it’s gonna ease all my pain,
And there’s a glass on the table, they say it’s gonna ease all my pain
But I drink it down, an’ the next day I feel the same

Gimme whiskey, gimme bourbon, give me gin
Oh, gimme whiskey, give me bourbon, gimme gin
‘Cause it don’t matter what I’m drinkin’, Lord, as long as it drown this sorrow I’m in
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I start drinking Friday, I start drinking Friday night
Lord, I start drinking Friday, start drinking Friday night
But then I wake up on Sunday, child, there ain’t nothin’ that’s right

My man he left me, child, he left me here
Yeah, my good man left me, went away and left me here
Lord, I’m feelin’ lowdown, just give me another glass of beer

What good can drinkin’ do, what good can drinkin’ do?
Well, I drink all night but the next day I still feel blue!

you can substitute any other part of your life, other than a man, and her songs still ring just as true, still hit those same notes of struggle and pain and the desperate hope for something better, for some bit of happiness.

 

Don’t Know What to Do, Pt. 2


Ok, so where was I?  Oh, yes…so, after I returned home, across the country, I just couldn’t bear the thought of my family living in that environment.  I knew they needed help, to get rid of the hoard, to get and keep the house clean, to help them bathe and take them to appointments and errands.  And to make sure they put their feet up and actually go to bed and take their pills.

So, I searched out on the internet where to begin, and found the Area Agency on Aging (AAA) and was directed to the local AAA for their region, aka ‘Milestones’.  So, I talked to them, and had a very interested and helpful counselor.  She told me they do what is called ‘Options Counseling’ for the elderly who are either at risk for or are self-neglecting.  That fits my family exactly.  They don’t have the authority to remove anyone unless a judge or doctor has ruled them incompetent.  So, my making this call had nothing to do with using POA, nor did it have anything to do with removal.  It simply was a way for my family to be told what would need to be done to make the house habitable so they could stay there after the leave the nursing home where they are for rehab.  I also found that while the Police will be more than happy to do a wellness check, if the home is habitable, and the family has not been found incompetent, then even the police can do nothing.  So all I have done is ask for an outside party to explain that they really need to make their house habitable so they can stay there, since they don’t want to listen to me.

Well, I tried to call them at the nursing home, but when they found out it was me calling, they told the nurses they didn’t want to talk to me.  So, I tried again last night, and just got told they were busy.  So I tried again today, and one was sleeping and the other being showered.  (If she really accepted a real shower, I am impressed by the staff there!!).  So, they are avoiding me, and are not being very subtle about it.  So, I guess I am persona non grata since I care about their well-being.  And it’s not only them, it’s my step-mother too.  She is my late father’s wife, who was like my family’s own son.  He would never have allowed them to live as they are now.  He would have cleaned the house out himself or moved them to a facility.  Not because he would be upset, because he would just never let them live in such an intolerable state.  His wife, R, has been pushing to get them out of their home for the last 3 years since my dad died, and now that I am in agreement with her, and am actively pushing AAA and Milestones and the doctor to help get them into a home or to fix up their own home, she is suddenly on their side, suddenly against them having a habitable home or moving to a nursing home.  She is suddenly not on my side of my family’s best interest.  She is not returning my phone calls, not replying to my emails, and told the lady at AAA that I was no longer POA (even tho talking to AAA/Milestones does not require POA, nor does asking them to provide Options Counseling)….but she and the sisters have failed to put in writing that I am not POA any longer and have failed to execute a new POA without my name, and have not told the healthcare providers that are caring for them that I am no longer their POA….so I question the validity of the statement by my step-mom to the AAA that I am no longer POA for the sisters.  But that aside, I have done nothing that requires the use of POA in the first place!!

So, I get why my cousins, the sisters, are upset with me, because they don’t want to have to change, don’t want to get rid of the hoard or have someone clean the house and them and take them places.  But they need it.  And if they don’t accept it, they are self-neglecting, and maybe I can get a doctor or judge to agree.  But what I don’t get is why my step-mom has made such an about face after being so gung-ho on getting them moved.  Why does she suddenly want them to stay in such an environment, without help, when she’s been pushing for just that for 3 years?  Why is she shunning me just as the cousins are?  These two sisters are my only family outside of my kids, and she is helping turn them away from me when all I am trying to do is make sure they take care of themselves and live in decent quarters and have the help they need.  I would do this for anyone I saw or knew who needed help.  This is just what people do.  Right?  blue confused emoticon

Don’t Know What to Do, Pt. 1


Ok, so I went to see my only family (other than my kids) for the month of June.  They are truly my second cousins, but they raised my dad from a young child, so they are really more like parents or grandparents.  They are pretty elderly now, and  I was worried that my kids and I might not get another chance for all of us to see them again.  I was also hoping we could help them out with things that might need done around the house and such.

Well, when we got there, we discovered that in the last 3 years, they have become full-fledged hoarders.  The front rooms, (dinette, kitchen, defunct dining room and living room) were stacked waist high along all the edges, leaving open spots for the stove and sink, and a path to each of the 2 bathrooms.  The hall, which runs the full length of the house, was filled with stuff and was impassable.  The back rooms (the 4 bedrooms) were so filled with stuff that all but one was impossible to even open the door more than a few inches.  That one, the one that opened enough to enter it, was filled all along the edges but did have a path carved out to the bed, but the bed itself was covered in bags and bags and bags of stuff as well.  And it wasn’t just the piles of bags and loose items and junk and trash all mixed in everywhere, it was the filth.  The dirt, the nastiness, the dust that was so deep you could use it as quilt batting.

We were told we would have to either sleep in the recliner chairs or use the mobile home (trailer) in the back yard, which used to be one of the sisters’ homes when her husband was still alive.  We opted to use the trailer, as it had a proper bed and 2 full recliners.  Unfortunately, it didn’t have heat, gas (no stove), or water.  Of course, we kept being told we would get water the next day, and the next, and the next….so, that led to us using the toilet more than we would have, and let’s just say, it was not pleasant.  It did give us a brief respite from the sisters, tho, which was needed by the end of each day.  Even had we stayed in the house, we would not have been allowed to use the shower (it too was full of boxes and bags and dust more than half an inch thick).  So, we ended up using the spigot outside the back of the house and a bucket to have our showers.  This meant soaking whatever we were wearing, and soaping up and rinsing and same with hair and shaving…then, to bring everything back to the trailer and change into dry things again.  Let’s just say, it was quite a production.

About a week after we arrived, one of the sisters was told she needed to be admitted to the hospital for urgent diuresing;  that is, her legs were so swollen they were raw and dripping fluid, and fluid was backing up into her abdomen causing her blood pressure to be quite high (especially considering she has had a pacemaker put in a few years ago) and leading to concerns that she may develop fluid in her lungs.  These are all potentially deadly or at least serious conditions.  She finally agreed to go, and was getting better (since she was actually taking her meds and spending time with her legs up and sleeping in a bed at night, which she refuses to do when at home).

Her sister, staying home alone, was very upset.  We decided to sleep on the floor and recliner in the house after all to keep her company and visit with her.  Plus take her to visit at the hospital, and do errands.  As the days went on to about a week, sister B started becoming more and more confused, but I was unable to reorient her.  By the end of the month, we had to leave as I had bills to pay, my son had work scheduled, etc.  But we knew sister A would be getting out of the hospital in 2-3 days, so we thought with their 2 main helper/friends, that sister B would be ok til then.

So, we went on home.  Once home, I couldn’t stand the thought of them living like that, in those conditions.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to force them to move, I just want their home clean and sanitary and safe, in short, habitable.  And that’s when it really hit the fan.

I knew I Shoulda Kept My Mouth Shut


sad ponyi should never have said i was feeling the teensiest tinsiest bit better, a tad bit happy even.  because after i spent a great session i went home and found out that the agency that will be providing behavioural health services to the state Medicaid beneficiaries has been changed effective April 1.  OK, no so bad by itself.  but the then the letter says since MI is going to now be providing all Medicaid people with mental healthcare, they decided it would also be more efficient (and allow them to more closely monitor their conditions) that they will force any people who are ‘SMI”, or Seriously Mentally Ill (basically if you are unable to really work a real job full time due to mental illness—and that is me—)  all Medicaid mental health beneficiaries who are SMI will be forced to change their Medicaid insurance plan to the MI plan as well (the one that will be providing general mental health and SMI—if you are SMI, you will also be forced to use MI plan for all you PHYSICAL healthcare as well.  If i am forced to change to their Medicaid physical health plan, then i will automatically be dumped from my Medicare plan since, it is a dual plan, meaning my current plan gives me all my Medicare and Mediciad physical health coverage.  If i am forced to drop my physical Medicaid plan because I am SMI, then I will also be forced to drop my Medicare plan, and the only plan I will be able to get for my Medicare services would just happen to be, yes, you guessed it, the new MI plan.  So, because my mental health care is categorized as SMI, and MI is now going to provide all SMI and regular mental health Medicaid services, I will be forced to change my Medicaid physical health plan as well.  And, if I am forced to do that, then I will also be forced to drop my Medicare plan and again go to the MI plan.

I have seldom felt more raped, abused, beaten and whipped than I do right now.  I no longer have choice of Medicaid physical health plans, I no longer have choice of Medicare physical plans, and it is all because I am listed as SMI instead of ‘regular mental health’.  So, this insurance plan gets to force anyone listed as SMI to take all of their insurances, but those listed as general mental health get to choose their Medicaid plans and if they are on Medicare, they also get to choose that plan.  But not us SMI–apparently since we are such a ‘sick’ population, we dont’ get the right of choice in healthcare, on insurance, rx, or on doctors.  I will have to stop seeing all my doctors.  All.  And get all new ones covered by MI instead.  Why should I be persecuted just because I have a more Serious Mental Illness than some?  Why should my choice of insurance and doctors be taken from me?  What will I do without my therapist?  I have been working with her almost 3 yrs and I am just going to be forced to change within the next 6 mo.  And i will lose my psychiatrist, my case manager, my nurse, not too mention all of my non mental health related providers.

Well, I shouldnt have talked about starting to feel better.  I should have known something like this would come along.  It always does.  And now it has.  And now i wish i never started to heal, to feel better, i wont win anyway.  i wont accept what they say. and since i cant keep seeing my therapist, or any other providers, there is nothing for me to gain–only lose, i wont let them win by forcing me to take something i dont want instead, i wont roll over and play dead, i wont let them control me.  so maybe i die,but they lose to. anger_plus_sadness_flower_by_hikari_dragonslayer-d38bu5jthey wont make me say ‘thank you may i have some more’ either.  they’ll see what happens when they try to take away control from the people they are supposedly trying to help.  even one person refusing to be abused by them and dying will be enough to make the state take a look at what they are allowing MI to do underneath their very noses to the ‘vulnerable’ population they claim to be serving.

Of Course I’m Fat! And of Course It’s Because I’m Crazy!


stapuff marshmallow manSo, long story short.  Because I take lithium, my body holds it and stupidly gets rid of the real salt.  That makes my potassium go super high.  So to keep the potassium down, i have to eat a low potassium diet and keep my lithium stable and see nephrologist to make sure it all stays in balance.

So, two weeks ago, my feet swelled up quite a lot, at least 3+ non pitting.  Even going up above my ankles.  So I finally got to see the nephro today and show him my ankles.  I asked what it could be from, if I needed tests to find out.  He said to me well, according to your chart, a year ago you were 22lbs lighter.  So, the reason you’re ankles and feet are swollen so much is because you are overweight and your body can’t keep up with it.  What you really need to do is go home, cut down on the carbs, the salt, the calories and the potassium–then start exercising.

I got a little tetchy at this point and queitly said through clenched teeth, are you telling me you are not going to run any tests or try any drugs to attempt to treat my huge feet?  Because I am fat, and so, that means there’s nothing wrong with me having hugely swollen feet?  to which he very nicely and roundaboutly basically said, yes.

At which point my amount of tetchyness dissolved immediately into a full waterworks with tears dripping down my face, and me trying to hold in my sobs and not make any (unseemly) noise.  To which he responded by saying, well, you are certainly labile today.  I can’t understand why that would be.  I don’t see why you are so upset, you gained the weight.  I think this appointment will be the last we’ll have.

To which I said, I’m upset because my feet are grossly swollen and have been for over 2 weeks, and regardless of how much I weigh, they still need to treated because this is not normal.  And I am scared, and frustrated, and don’t want to get sicker or have more problems, and I want you to help figure out what’s wrong and fix it, and I’m not getting that are going to do that.  Granted, it didn’t really come out like that though.  I was still trying to hold in my bawling, sniffling and leaking eyes.

He left the room and then came back and said you can go now, we’re done.  So I went to my car and cried for 10 minutes before I could see to drive. I tried holding back the rest of the tears until I got home, when I realized I wasn’t 100% sure he was going to still follow me after what he said in the exam room.  I finally got connected to the office, and I asked if he was still intending to follow me.  She asked why would I think that he wouldn’t–so I said because he said so.  She left and returned, telling me I must be mistaken, because she just asked him and he said Oh, she must have misunderstood me!  Of course I am following her, AND, I am sending her to have her legs examined for valve prolapse/vericose veins AND I am cautiously starting her on diuretics AND I want to see her in 6 weeks.

So, my 41 y/o feet are a large amount swollen, and the reason is “I’m fat”..and there is nothing else to be done about it.  And when I cry because all my fears, frustrations and have just been summarily dismissed as ‘nothing/nothing important’ and then my emotions are dismissed as occurring only due to my being diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  If any other person without a known mental illness had been there, he would never have assumed their raw emotions were just a symptom of their mental illness.  He would assume they were valid emotions.  He would assume they were worried, scared, afraid of having a serious problem.  He would have offered them the available possible causes and treatments.  He would not threaten them with not seeing them again.  He would definitely not have discounted their experience of the situation or their fears and concerns.

So my advice to you is DONT GET FAT.  DONT GET SWOLLEN FEET.  DONT SHOW/HAVE EMOTIONS or the doctor won’t take you seriously. They will dismiss your complaints, your symptoms, and any information or emotion you share, as being only due to your mental illness.  They do not think you are credible and will discount everything.

I am going to find a way to have someone accompany me to all my appointments from now on, to act on my behalf as both a witness, someone who can keep track of what has been said and done by me and by the doctor.  Someone who won’t let me be discounted  and unvalidated but will call the doctor on it.  Someone that if I start to cry or get tetchy will smooth things over so things don’t get carried away.  I’ve thought about doing this for a long time, but I was managing to get through each appointment as it came, so I never went any further than thinking.  Now I’m really gonna do it.

I have to go now.  my leg is numb up to my hip, and foot is tingling so strong I can’t stand it.  But it’s ok, I’m just fat.  I’ll just go lose some weight right now.sad pony

Ok, This Makes Sense?


Ok, so I have been taking vicodin for periodic flare ups of my back pain, since 1999 when I developed 2 ruptured discs in my low back.  So, here I have been with my current doc that prescribes it for me for about 3 years.  Since I usually only request it every other month or 3, she usually does not make me give a urine sample, (cause I obviously use it infrequently, since I could refill it every month).  So, she knows I’m not abusing it, so she doesn’t make me drop pee.  Also, since I am obviously not abusing it, she has begun allowing me to just phone in that I need her to refill it at the pharmacy.  This had been going fine.

Today, tho, when I called to ask her to call in the vicodin to the pharmacy, suddenly I’m required to make an appointment (gotta wait 2 weeks just to get in—thank god I’m not in excruciating pain and stuck in bed, unable to turn over or even breathe without massive waves of pain).  So, after having to wait that long, now, I have to give a pee sample as well!

So, the only sense I can make out of this, is, if I requested the vicodin every 30 days, then, there would be none of this waiting for an appointment or dropping pee every time.  I would just get it called to the pharmacy.  The people who are calling for it every 30 days are the people who are more likely to be the ones who are abusing it, and stockpiling it.  Then there are people like me, who obviously are not abusing it, because we are getting only 60 pills in a 90 day period.  You can’t abuse a drug by not having enough of it in a time period!!  How can I possibly be more suspect of abuse by NOT refilling my pain pills for 90 days, than those who are refilling it as soon as possible, every time at 30 days?

So, because I don’t use it often enough, I am the one who is suspect and must now provide urine every single time i need a refill, even if it’s been more than 90 days since I last refilled.  Now, I have to wait weeks for an appointment just for this honor!!  While the ones calling in on the earliest possible day every single month are not even questioned or looked at twice.  Gee, I hope I don’t wake up and find that even moving my head sends waves of pain and nausea thru my entire body, because not only would I have to make an appointment at least 2 weeks out, I couldn’t even get myself to it since I can’t even turn my friggen head!!

WTF!?!

It just seems that the ones who are the least abusive of the system are the ones being penalized, while those actually abusing the system don’t even get looked at twice.  But that’s how so many things are now adays.  Stopping disabled people with and without service dogs and making them give up their animal, remove their belt, get out of their wheelchair instead of letting this people thru with dignity and respect and allowing all kinds of other people to go thru without even a second look.  This is obviously not the way for TSA at airport security to catch the real terrorists—it is doubtful the person with amputated legs or in a wheel chair, or with a service dog are packing bombs strapped to their chests or on the chair or on the dog.  But by all means, stop the most needy, least suspicious people.  And by all means, don’t let those of us in need of pain pills who obviously are not abusing them, get them.  Please, yes, thank you, we so love all the barriers you have put up to get them, while you let others thru without care.

Ok, sorry about the rant.  I’m just so disgusted by this behaviour in all parts of our lives, I just had to get it out!

What I Never Thought


I never thought I would have my entire life leveled by a mental illness.  I never thought I would lose the ability to hold a job, especially a job caring for the elderly.  I never thought I would become disabled.  Or be told I’m no longer a candidate to care for foster kids.  Or be labeled a ‘child abuser’ of my own kids.  I never thought that when contemplating my life at 40, that I would be thinking about part time jobs in food service or retail.  Wondering whether or not I can afford a 1bdrm or only an efficiency.  Wondering where my friends have gone, family too.  I never thought I’d be alone, without a career, in the cheapest place I can find, when my kids are getting ready to go to college, disabled and chronically broke.

When I left home, or rather, was booted out the nest, I saw only blue skies and the ways to make my goals happen.  Sure I knew sometimes things would be hard, sometimes things would take work and time.  But I knew there was a way to have the things I wanted, to have the life I wanted.  I knew I could make it happen if I just tried hard enough.  But I have tried so hard, for so long.  And nothing has gone right.  And now here I am, my kids soon leaving home, and I have nothing.  Not even what I started out with at 17.  Now, my hope is gone, now I no longer see a path to the life I want.  I barely see a path to just keep hanging on to what I have now.

When I was 17, I saw the whole world in front of me.  A world where I would no longer be abused every day at the whim of my borderline mother.  A world where I would do a job that mattered, that made me feel useful, that helped people.  I saw a modest home, not even a house.  Just a comfortable apartment.  I saw a husband who loved me, and didn’t abuse me.  I saw children, filling my house with joy.  I saw stability and security in my life.  No worries if I spent an extra $5.  I saw happiness, fullness with love, pride in helping others and giving back.  I saw myself grow old with my spouse, still in love.  Working until it was time to retire.  A comfortable life, before and after retirement, with no worries about the rent getting paid.

But that is not what I got.  The life I have is one I never envisioned.  I lost my dream job, I lost my marriage, I lost my security, and I almost lost my kids.  I am disabled, I can’t work, not even at Target.  I lost my friends, I lost my family.  And I am just barely hanging on.  I’m not allowed to work with helping people now.  I’m tired out by going to 1 place in a day, whether it is grocery shopping, a doctor appointment or what else.  I sleep most of the day away, and am still tired when I finally make myself rise.  My meds have made me fat (I only eat once a day, and still I gain).  My hair has gone gray.  And I have I lost who I am.  Clearly, I am not who I was before mental illness claimed my life.  Clearly, I am not productive, useful, helpful in my life.  I don’t even recognize the physical part of who I am anymore, and I don’t know what might happen in my life from here on out.  I don’t have any goals, I don’t see any paths to the life I used to want, used to have.

That is the effect that mental illness has on the patient’s life.  That is the effect it has on the patient’s friends and family, and is why they have to get away, why they leave.  This is why not only do those of us debilitated by mental illness lose our lives, we lose everyone else in our life as well.  We lose our hope, our dreams, and can’t find our path.  We fall down, down, down, and don’t know if we can ever get back up.

Who are We?


Many of you may ask yoursel(ves) the very same question.  Or maybe not.  I don’t really know, I’m really pretty new to this entire reality.  I know who I am, Anti-Kitty knows who she is, Trina knows and Little Trina knows who they are.  And we all know who each other is, and are aware of each other.  Pretty much, I’m the one that drives this person, and none of us even know who this “K” person is.  But while we work more or less cooperatively to keep this machine going, none of us knows who this person is even supposed to be.  We don’t think we have ever even met her.  How can a ‘person’ exist without the person being there at all?  This body, if it is not “K”, then is it us?  Do we get to claim ownership, whole or in part, of this body/brain we all share?  Do we even have to find “K”?  I mean, we operate pretty well nowadays as we are, in cooperation, with me mostly fronting.

Silly as it sounds, me, Kat, only just know realized I’m not actually ‘K’, that whoever that is (the original person), is not me after all.  It’s someone else, who maybe is gone.  So, I know who I am, and the others know who they are, but who are WE?  If we find ‘K’, will WE change/cease/stay the same?  It is a puzzle, which WE cannot know the answer to unless it happens, unless we find ‘K’.  Problem is, WE don’t know if WE want to find her.  Maybe its better to not know, to stay as WE are?

It makes one wonder, what is this concept of identity anyway, and if there is a single definition, should there be more interpretations?  So, who are WE?

 

No, I was right the first time


I recently posted about reaching an apparently new parenting stage, where I feel like I am losing the loving, caring, sharing beautiful, kind, thoughtful kids I have so enjoyed up to now.  I didn’t see this change coming, although I should have, since they are now both in high school.  I know this is when things really change, but I guess things were so fantastic that I just never considered I would lose them, the ‘them’ they have been.

Today, I took my daughter to the doctor cuz she is having a hard time getting over this cold she has.  She’s had it for over 3 weeks now, and was complaining of pressure in her ears, and has been coughing a lot.  While there, we asked for prescriptions of the samples she had gotten on her last visit, for her year-long allergy-like symptoms.  We couldn’t remember the name, and the doctor had neglected to write it in her chart (Duh!  what kind of doc doesn’t write what meds are given to a patient??!!) , so my daughter was trying to look it up in her history on her computer.  I came over to see if I could help her, and she pushes me away saying ‘i don’t want you to look, i don’t want you over here.  i hate it when you look like that’.  I was soooo soo so hurt, I started crying and could barely finish the appointment.  I was also very angry.  Like triggered angry.  Like I can’t trust her anymore with the real me.  Because now she is just like everyone else.  Now, she is just another person, just like everyone else.  Just like everyone else who only wants to use you, to get from you what they can, and they trick you and make you think you can trust them, that they won’t hurt you.  But they are always lying.  The only thing they want is what you can give them.  They only keep you around for that, and in the meantime, treat you like dirt, disrespect you, and otherwise show you how worthless you are, except for what they want from you.  As soon as they want something, and you give it, then they shower you with adoration and happy giddiness.   Until that wears off.  Then you are worthless dirt once again.

My son is proceeding on his conversion to Mormon.  My ex says to let him act out (we are non religious), because what more clear way of having teenage rebellion than to join a conservative religion when from a family that is non religious.  I saw some sense in that, and so did not try to convince him to rethink his decisions, choices.  But now, he is moving ahead with being baptized this coming Saturday–all of which is a prelude to the final step of total conversion afterward.  I am not against any belief system or philosophy, but I am concerned that he is making life-altering decisions when he is not yet an adult, and that he does not really and fully understand this religion (or any other), and thus is unprepared to make a knowledgeable decision about this.  But again, I am not supposed to say anything.  But I am supposed to give my permission, and I am supposed to show him support, even when I don’t want to give it, and allow this to play out —for what?  for a month?  for a year?  or for several years? or forever?  How am I a good parent by allowing this to happen?  And how am I good parent not to?  Whatever I do, I am wrong.  Whatever I do, will push him further away from me, from how I raised him.  Whatever I do, I am a bad parent.  I am not even necessary to  him anymore, and he isn’t even grown up yet.  All he needs me for now is food, clothes and shelter.  And for me to tell him I’m happy for him making these decisions.  He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, to get input, advice, to play devil’s advocate.  But he still expects me to listen.  And expects me not to talk.

So you see, I was right for all those years.  I was right that I am worthless.  That I’m just dirt people let hang around for whenever they think they can get something from it.  All my life, every person in it, has been this way.  I have never had a true friend, or a true partner.  I thought my kids would be the ones that I could trust with my heart.  The ones who would never shove me aside, crush me, and hurt me so.  I thought that if they were the ones, the ones I could really trust, that maybe that meant that I wasn’t trash/dirt/nothing.  I thought maybe that meant all those other people who have been part of my life were the ones who were wrong.  That they were the ones who nothing, who can only cause hurt and suffering to others, and that I was not the one in the wrong, the one who deserved to be treated like that.  But I was wrong.  I now see that even your own kids, who you have sacrificed your entire life to give them every benefit, every resource, who love you purely because you are you, will toss you to the curb, discard you as soon as they get the chance.  So, I was right to begin with.  I am worthless.  I am dirt.  I am nothing.  I no longer exist.  I wish I’d never thought that I could.

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