Just a little bit crazy

June 27, 2025

Somewhere Between the Lines

Well… the bitch (aka me) is off her meds. As of yesterday I took my last Lexapro and already I feel myself spiraling out of control. I had attempted to write multiple, MULTIPLE posts to decompress and express my emotions but every one turned out more nonsensical and incoherent than the last. Not to mention: insane. I sounded truly unhinged. (Which seems to be a reoccurring theme with me.)

Why did I stop my meds, one may ask. Well, it’s a two prong explanation. One, I tried to refill it and, for whatever reason, Kaiser would not let me; claiming that it needed my doctor’s approval. Which is odd because I just had my appointment with her wherein she upped my dosage. As a result, I ran out faster because the original order only had me on one pill.

Two, I feel like the medication is not working as well as it could be. Yet, even that comes with two other branches. Have I just built up a tolerance or I have ruined its efficacy due to substance use?

If it stopped working because I’ve become immune to Lexapro I genuinely do not want to walk my well worn path of finding a new one. In every previous attempt I get irritable. I end up hating me and my life (which… honestly, is true with or without medication.)

Should it be the latter, I am not in a position or mental state where I want to stop. The world around me is burning, and all of that which had held me together is gone (ie my parents and my husband.)

In a prior appointment, after I was forced into consultation because I had made an off-hand comment about not wanting to live, the nurse practitioner told me I had to choose between substance use or the medication. Doing both was clearly not an option.

Logically, taking medication to level out my moods should be a no brainer… yet I suggest, dear reader, that you refer to the paragraph before last and you will understand my conundrum.

I genuinely want to run away from everything. My life, this country, this plane of existence… everything is constant mental and emotional anguish. Some of which is so overpowering and unnerving that I find myself delving deep into the darkness of cruelty.

One of my prior attempts at writing centered on how I feel my thoughts turning me into a “villain.” Well, not an antagonist of some idiots story but a “bad person.” Seeing the cruelty of those around me elicits a response of equal or greater emotional value. That is something I do not want for me or my life. (Sorry to be so fucking vague.)

I’m hoping this response is just because I have submerged my mind in the constant stream of horrors via social media. A break from which could very well do me a world of good. (I am definitely leaning that way.)

Or… I may just be turning ever more into my father. Which is truly insulting to my father and his memory, because he at least understood that the medication that kept his schizophrenia at bay was imperative.

March 27, 2025

Universes Collide

One of the things my husband (Charlie) was right about is that I never really think things through. I have a hard time placing myself into hypothetical scenarios unless I have been there before. That is, unless they’re the “camp” kind, if you get my drift. Even then I’m always way off base in one direction or the other.

The last year it has been unspoken knowledge that “after a year of Charlie being gone” the BF (Josh) would move into the house. All during this time I was completely unphased. My primary focus has been “once this is done I can relax” or “I can stop living ‘split’ lives.” So far, it has remained the same, however with today being THE DAY I am beginning to panic.

The only other person I have ever lived with, besides my husband, was my brother (Tony.) (And parents of course, but I ‘moved in with them’ so they had to make the adjustments.) I keep trying to think about why Tony moving in with Charlie and I never stuck out to me. It could be that when he “moved in” was shortly after my husband was diagnosed. At the time I was more distracted by the fact that he was dying to put focus on other little things that bothered me. On top of that, we were moving from one house to another because the one we had previously occupied would have in NO WAY accommodated his impending wheel chair. So as Tony moved in we were also moving in to an entirely new place.

All-in-all Tony came in with no issues. Well… that’s not completely true. I was bothered by his furniture pieces decorating our new house. I didn’t like them, at the time, because I’m a snob. I blame my husband. He was too. (We really were made for each other.)

The BF moving in is an entirely new experience for me. In the past it was me moving in with my husband from my parents’ house. I never had someone entering my space before. There was no “established” living conditions to throw into disarray with a new entity.

In my “panic” I have discovered some really odd quirks I previously had not invested my focus. For instance, my really overbearing “smell” issues.

I have a thing about odd smells. I will hunt them down like a blood hound (which my husband accused me of multiple times because how I would literally sniff them out) until they are found and eradicated. So having an entirely new human moving in with their own natural scents is really fueling my panic. Not only does he have his own natural aroma, his clothes have one, and then his cats. I love his babies as if they were mine (I mean… they are) but I will not abide my house smelling like a cat. I will do whatever it takes to make sure it does not stink. For whatever reason, I have deemed the stereotypical “cat smell” to be “low class” and “repulsive.”

On top of that… yesterday when I was helping box his stuff up, I used his clothes to act as cushions for the breakable possessions. That’s when I got a whiff of them. That night I asked him, insulting him in the process, if he would mind if we wash all of his clothes when he gets here. I also said I would help with the effort because I understood it was a bizarre and an overwhelming task. (Like I said… I have a thing about scents.)

Underneath all that, since I’m sure this is “masking” my insecurity of the whole episode, I am upset about the shift in dynamics. It was exacerbated by my brother when I got home and he was crying. He had spent the whole day moving his stuff out of the master into his room. Like me, he doesn’t like change and I feel guilty by causing him this discomfort. (Jesus, I am easily manipulated. I hate it.) It is a lot.

I keep thinking of things to do for my brother to make it easier for him or lessen the stress of all of this. Completely ignoring the fact that this is also a huge change for my BF too. He is literally condensing his entire life into mine. That takes an enormous amount of trust in me and our relationship to do. And I am scared that I will fuck it up with my eccentricities.

This morning, before I went to work, I warned Josh that I am going to be weird about the “smells” thing and to not take it personally. I am just weird. There is no other way to explain it. It’s me. I’m the drama. I know that for me to find a balance I have to be the captain of this “crazy ship.” The responsibility to seek solutions and put no further stress on everyone else rests entirely on me.

March 4, 2025

Why Hope?

Yesterday was a mental health lesson where I learned to lie when I’m asked “have you thought about killing yourself, yes or no?” It’s such a broad question. Of course, who hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts? To not narrow it by putting a time frame or allowing for context… I guess I’m just the guy who thinks about dying a lot. Which is probably not a good thing.

The nurse I was “rushed” to ended up calling me four separate times. Evidently I was a “red alert” for the folks at Kaiser. I was immediately given an appointment with the psychiatrist and my therapist, who has been off on “medical leave” since September. The same medical leave that just so happened to coincide with the strike. Funny how that worked for him…

Genuinely I feel that their overreaction was unnecessary. While I have suicidal thoughts I am someone who is more bound by “duty” than anything. Yes, I may feel that I’d be better off dead, however the fact that so many rely on me is what keeps me pushing forward. Plus, I have yet to put my will together. I don’t want my possessions to go to my half-niece who knows nothing of me and would just end up throwing everything away without doing the research of what she could sell for some level of profit.

The one thing I don’t quite understand is, why are we pretending that Kaiser even cares if I live or die?

This past weekend the BF and I went to visit a mutual friend of ours up at his home in Carmel. It was a fun little trip that was relatively relaxing despite it being such a short visit. The trip did open up my mind to the realization that I am thoroughly depressed. Not in the active “I’m sad” but deep in my soul. This was unapparent until the point our friend point blank asked me “What do you want to do for your milestone birthday?”

I had zero answer. My initial response was “nothing.” There was nowhere I wanted to go or anything I felt inclined to do. I rather it just pass by without any recognition. Which this is a complete 180 from what I used to do, which was make it a birthday month. My husband even joked, calling it exactly that.

Now I would rather just not have it exist at all. Maybe it’s age but also, I don’t see the point in celebrating.

It occurred to me that I have no hopeful wishes to travel anywhere because I feel that the world is fucked. So why break my heart further by holding onto the fantasy that I could travel to Disneyland Paris? Not saying that is anything I want to do, it was just the most likely of hopes for me to have. Instead of hope, I have survival on my mind. Planning and preparing for the inevitable outlaw of gay people…

Sorry… this is getting entirely too depressing. This is where I will leave you.

February 11, 2025

Ramblings of a Mad Man

Today is one of those days where I really, really, REALLY miss my husband. More than anything. If I could, I would give everything up just to be able to talk to him for one second; to hear his deep voice tell me: “…everything is going to be alright, dear.”

Last night I apparently watched enough TikTok that I went into a downward mental spiral. The thoughts racing through my head were very much “conspiracy theories,” and I was saying all the typical “phrases” one says when having a mental breakdown. “It’s like I’m awake for the first time…” Or “I know this sounds crazy…”

If Charlie was here he would fix me. I know it. He would ask his probing questions until I would work myself away from whatever metaphorical ledge I happened to be standing.

All I want is my husband’s voice telling me I’ll be okay. I crave it in my soul. I am so unbelievably lost without him. He was everything to/for me for, nearly, 21 years of my life. To just “not have him anymore” truly feels alien. He was always there. Always. Whether I wanted him or not.

Grief is such a wild experience. Compound that with self-preservation and a fear of the unknown has brought me to this “psychotic” reality. And I would very much like to leave it. My biggest fear is that something in my brain broke last night, and I can never go back to that “normal.”