Emotional Crap & then Instagram!

Everyone wears different hats (some of which are cowboy hats made of straw that get destroyed at folk punk shows) and it’s not a bad idea to count them when we’re feeling down. I’m a writer, a student, a sister, daughter, friend, photographer, and a spoon.

The big spoon to be exact, and that’s my favorite spoon to be.¬† Historically, when Chris and I are in bed, he picks a side to lay and I get behind him and put my arm around him, scootch up so my chest is touching his back, and my knees duck behind his in the same direction. I’ve spent years as the big spoon, looking over his shoulder as he quietly snores, while I’m unable to fall asleep as quickly. I’ve used the time to take in the scenery.

A living photograph, I don’t want to forget the moment, the sights, or the smells. I delve into memories that weren’t significant. Like his old dog that I held in a blanket once in his room while she drooled all over herself, freaked out by the thunderstorm. Or just a few years ago when he decided he wanted to rearrange his room, we cleaned it out and found his old talkboy with a recording on it and giggled. It’s never boring to be the big spoon.

But aside from traveling the harmonious side of the universe, I also spend a lot of time overthinking. Pretty memories tainted by the grim feeling that the best years of my life are over, and I’m a very unhappy, stuck, and sick adult. It’s a grotesque feeling to have.

I’m not as comfortable being the social butterfly I used to be because my anxiety has steadily risen as I’ve aged. I don’t have the energy I used to when I wasn’t hypothyroid. I lost my slim figure and ALL my confidence. I’m a class short of a college degree and unemployed as I spend nights at home peering through the digital windows of people from my past via Facebook.

Some have joined the army, gotten married, had kids… Those are the hardest things to see when you feel like you’re behind in life. Last Thursday while I had my nanny hat on, I was holding the 1.5 year old who had his feet on my thigh and head and hands on my chest and my other arm around the 3.5 year old who was cuddled up holding my arm with both hands so I wouldn’t let go. We were watching Disney’s Hercules. I was thinking about how much I love those kids, how good of a mom I’d be to my own kids.

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(These are the boys, this picture is on my instagram!)

I guess the only thing to do is fake it till you make it. Go through the motions, the job searches, pretend you’re not violently depressed while you’re out, and make yourself GO out to battle how easy it is to isolate. Try not to waste the years you’re given even if they’re not the best of your life. It’s more work than it sounds, though the non depressed highly motivated career people reading this will likely disagree.

Oh well, no one can download an app to understand what another person is feeling anyways. If they could they’d pick up on the slew of feelings I discovered a few nights ago when I found out the girl who Chris had a “thing” with over the winter in WA had read my blog when she found out I was on tumblr.

I had been copy/pasting my blog posts from here to tumblr so Chris would read them both before I found out about the thing and the months after when I was in day hospital and we were on non speaking terms. (Just to make note of it, it’s been months since I stopped posting there, he came home, things changed.)

But this is finding out the girl whose guts I hate read my blog, and most importantly LIKED my writing. She even commented to Chris that she really liked the poem I wrote. After some time when the blog was discontinued she even asked him again where she could find it. I was thankful to find out he didn’t tell her.

I was shocked and scared at first, then angry, then complimented. Then undecided, which is where I’ve parked that emotional Volkswagen because there’s no use in obsessing over it.

To end on a jolly note, here are some screenshot sneak peeks at my instagram in case you feel like adding me! I’m more than happy to add you back. ūüôā “lelindelle” is the user name, drop a comment, and as always, thanks for reading.

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Stuck in my head

Once the lights go out I have a thing about monsters under the bed. Someone should lay me down on a couch one day and figure that one out for me.

Good news for those of you who’ve stuck with me the past few weeks. I just got approved for medicare! Time to figure out how to deactivate the GoFundMe. For those of you that reblogged my post out of the kindness of your hearts you are deeply appreciated and are absolutely wonderful people. Just in case you didn’t know!

I can’t wait to get back on Seroquel and Ritalin. My quality of life is going to improve so much once I do.

Looks like my dogsitting days are over. My cop client moved in with her boyfriend and Taz seems to have a new sitter. Those were my last two clients. It’s been a lot harder to pay the bills since that halted. The job search is all the more vital now, and after 34 job applications I feel like I’m running out of places I’d LIKE to work. Can’t we trade goods and services and forgive all credit card debt? I’d totally start breeding goats and knitting sweaters to get by.

I’ve been avoiding him for a year, but my good ol pal ANXIETY has got to be taken care of. There should be hit men for that. I’ve been overweight the past two years and had a gym membership the past year I haven’t touched. Anxiety is why. I honestly think after I get myself in the door that first time I’ll be just fine.

Aside from that…I’ve started an instagram “lelindelle” if you’d like to look me up (shoot me a comment so I know to add you back). I put up the past several years of my amateur photography that I’m really proud of, some snaps from the adventure so far, and hopefully a lot more NEW photography since I’ve got the bug again. Of course, I need to kick the anxiety to actually go places to take those pictures.

Damn you anxiety. You’re truly my arch enemy.

We are the X-Men

After the fiasco at the pharmacy¬†I broke down at home. I was angry, I was depressed, and feeling hopeless. My health insurance dropped me because I couldn’t pay the premium, apparently there wasn’t enough money in the account it was supposed to debit from, and when I went to pick up my prescriptions the insurance had been removed from the system. I had no idea, never got a letter. So instead of a 200 dollar bill for 3 prescriptions, it was 700 out of pocket. I went home with my heart pumping wildly. The pharmacist gave me 2 nights worth of Luvox to hold me over until I figure something out. I’ve already missed two doses trying to figure out how I was going to be able to pay for it period.

My dad who was equally as frustrated at the situation as I was asked me why I was crying. I told him (not for the first time in my life) that everyone’s life would be a lot easier without me in it but I didn’t want to die, and I was just really sorry I’m nothing but problems. He indicated that this was bullshit (by saying, “that’s bullshit.”) and told me not to talk like that. We’d work through the problems, and they’d get better. No one in the house is currently employed, and it’s been hard financially particularly because of my monthly¬†medical expenses. Even with the insurance I’d have to pop over a hundred dollars for a twenty minute visit with any doctor, which has had me begging in voice mails for prescription refills because I just can’t afford to come in, and thankfully my psychiatrist has been good to me. But now, without insurance, the prescription prices have skyrocketed. I can live without Seroquel, even though my quality of life is so much better ON it, but even after two days without my Luvox dose my mind and body were beginning to deteriorate. For starters, when I’m in Luvox withdrawal I can not breathe. It literally screws with my respiratory system particularly in periods of rest like when I’m trying to sleep. I’ll be up night after night gasping for air and crying. Without Lamictal I have¬†zero¬†stabilization. They are the two drugs I need in order to survive, and I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic.

I made a “GoFundMe” in hopes to get a little financial relief in the meantime:¬†http://www.gofundme.com/mentalillnessiscostly If you know any mental health¬†advocates who would be willing to share some of their hard earned cash with me so I can make sure I can get my medicine please share the link. There’s a large part of me that feels like it’s a cop out to ask for donations, but I’m scared right now. I’m riding 7k in debt from the Adult Day Hospital AFTER the hospital charity program. I’ve been applying for every kind of aid I can find, but it’s been a slow ride, and this is a race.

After dad calmed me down a little and I stopped crying, he came back into the room to tell me,

“Another thing to remember is, some people have no hair.” Dad’s semi-bald, and I just gave him a confused look.

“Some people have no hair, I don’t have any hair, grandpa had no hair and my grandpa had no hair. But somewhere down the evolutionary order, and I don’t know how, having no hair was an advantage. Just like that guy from the X-Men who could laser beam anything from his eyes, but learned how to manage it. I don’t know why you have your problems, but you’re smart and artistic and I know that if you can learn to manage them, you’ll have an advantage in some way too.”

So I offer seats at my table for my brethren X-Men who want to find our advantage in the world despite the trials bipolar and all other mental illnesses can and will put us through. If nothing else can come from sitting at the table with me, support is always available, as I know more than anyone that a support system, even from WordPress community strangers can make a change.

The Chronicles of Barbie-a

There are few times my chemically unstable behaviors cause me to feel embarrassed because I seem crazy, but when I have a manic laughing fit, that’s damn well one of them. It’s like touching a cursed object. Maybe rubbing your hand against a crooked chicken foot or being subject to a centuries old witches toenail having dissolved in your Diet Coke. It was a couple weeks ago it last happened, and I wasn’t in a full blown manic episode either, I was just having a spike of imbalance I guess you could say. I was laughing so hysterically and I couldn’t put an end to it. I ended up feeling so out of control that I left the room I was¬†lounging with Chris in and stuffed a pillow over my face. I wasn’t gasping for breath because I was suffocating myself with that pillow, I was gasping for breath because I couldn’t stop¬†laughing.¬†I spent time trying to put my mind in static mode, not think of anything and calm my body down, but the hint of any thought triggered more laughter. When it wore out its course I was¬†relieved, but frustrated.

It’s another night where I held down the power button for my brain and the mind-computer didn’t shut off. My sleep schedule continues to suffer from irregularity without the added Seroquel to my chemical diet. I may use the Ritalin I use sparingly to keep myself up tomorrow so I can tire out in the evening and sleep at a regular time. Hopefully this month I should be able to get back on the dose I was on, and perhaps bump it up for the next month if need be. It may help aid me in mending my social life as well. It took a major toll when I dropped the drug. In fact, I isolated so hard without meaning to, that one of my best friends blew up at me a few days ago when I apologized for being absent. I’ve clammed up this past two months more so than ever in my distress about where life has landed me. Even when I feel I should speak up for myself I just swallow it down to the pit of my stomach and after a few hours or a nights rest it disappears. Metabolizes or something. Who knows, but I’m getting good at it, and that’s not a positive thing. We nearly ended our friendship right then and there, and if I hadn’t have said “I’m sorry” later that night out of guilt for going into a defensive stance and raging back at her, we’d probably have cut ties entirely. It’s easy to cut ties. Even children’s scissors could slice those ribbons.

The OCD is kicking up a little too lately, it’s the stress. Whenever I’m overwhelmed with things my obsessive thoughts take the stage. The reoccurring one I’ve had for years has resurfaced, which is that I’m terrified there will be a spark from an outlet like in a Final Destination movie and my house will go down in flames. Even repeating it for you now makes me uneasy. I also imagine myself losing all of my teeth one by one in a single sitting. I’ve also been obsessively cleaning and utterly disgusted when I come home and find something out of place, a shopping bag plopped down by the door, the shoes out of their neat line…

On the job front, I’m frustrated, but working hard at it. I’m sick of feeling like a bum. I have an opportunity to work as a Behavioral Therapist for an autistic child(ren) 10 hours a week, the woman I spoke with over the phone was interested in me, in fact she said the only thing that’ll be rough to do to get me going in this position is to find a family that would be a good match. I don’t have a ton of experience with low functioning children on the spectrum, so looking for high functioning kids may be a bit of a search, and hopefully for my own sake they find someone soon, because I really want this job. Always room to move up and take on other cases with more experience as well. What more could you ask for working in your field, and with children? That’s what I love to do.

It feels good to blog. It really does. If I wasn’t such a clam I’d be doing it more often.