mental health

November 7, 2024

Death and Destruction Await

My life has never been wonderful. On that same note it hasn’t been terrible either. I would call it balance. Any trials I have endured have only made me stronger. However… I am waiting for the moment that my only trials are “am I going to have enough time off for my vacation” as opposed to “are they going to round me up into a camp because I’m a degenerate?”

There was a brief moment at the beginning of 2019 where everything was looking up. I had finally passed my exam to get my license (after a 6 year journey) and I graduated with my AA from the community college Summa Cum Laude. Everything seemed so achievable. Then in July the world took a nasty fucking turn and all of it slipped through my fingers.

It began with the chaotic path my mother led us down. Her “kookiness” became more severe and we took her back to the neurologist who had previously claimed she was just “stressed.” The second effort produced her alzheimer’s diagnosis. The friday after my father fell, hit his head on the bathroom counter, and died. I had to figure out what to do with my mother who could very clearly not live on her own, and who INSISTED she would not live with me and my husband because we weren’t “christians” as she put it.

That august when my husband returned to teaching he was starting to show signs of his ALS. It would take an entire year, during a fucking pandemic, that would reveal his terminal diagnosis. So I was left to care for my dying husband and my mentally incapacitated mother, all during a fucking pandemic that could have been avoided if Trump hadn’t been such a giant piece of shit.

And here we are… in the face of all of this people voted for the convicted felon over the prosecutor. Voted for the man who has said repeatedly he would weaponize our government to suit his needs. For his own benefit. Yet… “when he was president things were affordable!” Jesus, people are fucking stupid.

Because of his win I have entered, what I lovingly refer to as, my villain era. I have gone through emotional hell, all on my own, only to watch my friends and family betray me for their own self interest. I genuinely hope he does everything, EVERYTHING he said he would. I want him to burn this fucking country to the ground. Make everyone suffer. Don’t hold back trumpy. Do it. Fuck them. I no longer care about my own self preservation. I eagerly await the christian nationalist hellscape he WILL create. Because at the end, I’m fucked regardless. Might as well enjoy some popcorn before the entire theater burns to the ground.

I will have zero, ZERO empathy for anyone. And the moment one fucking person says “I didn’t know” I’m going to shove them to the fucking ground and say, “yes, you goddamn did. Because I fucking tried to tell you. Everyone did. But you were just too fucking selfish to think of the bigger picture.”

In the face of all of this turmoil and sadness throughout the last 5 years of my life, I have found the peace to accept and welcome death. My expiration may or may not be dictated in the stars, but I like to think that it is. Through all my soul searching to comprehend all of this chaos has brought me to the belief of reincarnation and that everything is genuinely happening all at once. There is no such thing as time, just the prism in our mind that refracts and reflects it into a single finite moment. So, as I am typing this I believe I have been born and have passed. And ultimately, the world will go on without me. I was such an insignificant part of the overall tapestry of existence, but knowing that means I can be and do whatever I want. Whatever brings me joy.

My final thought on life is that, we are here to find understanding to the human condition. To comprehend life and it’s static fragility.

Everything I have loved has been taken from me (apart from the BF) and I’m still here. Life goes on…

June 11, 2024

Adventures in Medication

I started taking some new meds to help combat my ADHD. This is a first for me. I have never been medicated for it before, but that is because I refused to believe/accept my diagnosis. (I was diagnosed in my early 20’s.) However, it is has reached a point that it is impossible to deny that it is a problem. Especially these past few weeks.

My doctor prescribed me the anti-depressant Bupropion. Supposedly it is meant to be a mild form of ADHD medication in addition to stop me from the “sads.” What I am bothered by is that these were given in addition to the Lexapro I am currently taking. I feel as though this is overkill, however I am dealing with a lot, so maybe that’s the logic in it’s prescription? Or maybe it’s easier to get than a controlled substance.

My lone complaint thus far is the sense of “apathy” I feel. Which is a familiar sensation with these medications.

I have run through the gamut when it comes to anti-depressants. I have done all of them and the only one that seems to work for me is Lexapro. It stabilizes my moods without sacrificing my personality, or make me feel like I’m not “me.” Others tend to make me “not care.” Specifically when it comes to my writing. I worry that this will be much like the others that have come before it. (With the exception of Prozac which made me crazy-er.)

I love to write. I really do. It’s the one way I can put my thoughts into literal black and white. And while they’re in front of me I can figure them out or form them into a more cohesive message. The problem I face when I start anti-depressants is I stop doing this. It’s almost as if in the lack of these feelings I lose all purpose for doing the thing that I love. This post in particular… This is actually my second attempt. I started to write another blog about “finding the new normal” in my life and I got two paragraphs in before I thought… “Who cares?”

I want to give the Bupropion a chance before I decide to give up all together. My ADHD had gotten so bad I felt like a car stereo trying to play a song from a scratched CD over a bumpy road. (That metaphor only works for gen x and millennials.) I could/can not focus. My work life had gotten so chaotic in this that I found myself doing EVERYTHING ELSE but the task I was given to do. The fact that none of this had an immediate due date also did not help.

I’m worried this will turn out much like it has before. Yet I am trying my hardest to keep an open mind and not fall into old habits. I need to do something because I am suffering… and just trying to make it through isn’t going to cut it this time around. Because as it is, my life is in the aftermath of having been in utter chaos. I’m left to rebuild after a category 6 hurricane. I’m going to need all the help I can get.

April 19, 2024

One Week…

It’s been a week since my husband passed and it still doesn’t feel real. I act as if he is just in the other room or on some trip. Any moment he’ll be back or I’ll get a text from him and everything will be just as it has been these past 3 years.

Something I have discovered about myself is my “reaction to grief.” In writing I can be as vulnerable as I want to be because it’s a blank page or an audience that may or may not be there. I don’t have to worry about whether I sound too calm or too sad and I never risk making someone uncomfortable. Which is something I can’t do in person. When I’m around other people I put my feelings into a steel vault buried deep, deep within my chest. Only under the influence am I able to spin the dial and let them out for others to see in real time. Otherwise, without these explicit parameters can I share how I truly feel.

This past week I have been constantly around someone. Hardly do I get a moment to myself. Which is by design and is not a complaint, by the way. At the surface I’ve done it because I know that Charlie would have wanted me to be there for Tony, his mom, sister, and niece. Especially his mom. So I honor him by doing that, at my own “detriment.” I hide everything I’m feeling to be strong for those around me. Below this truth, lies the pernicious reality that I don’t want to face my emotions. I would rather pretend I’m strong. The unfortunate part is once they’re buried I neglect to ever pull them out again, and they grow into a thorny, viny weed to choke my joy. The one who would do everything to pull them out of me is the one I grieve for in his absence.

This grief is so complicated even without me hiding it.

The other day my mother-in-law asked me if I was “relieved.” This is a part of the entire process that I have tried so hard not to recognize because the very notion fills me with insurmountable guilt… I am.

I’m relieved that he isn’t suffering, that wherever he is he gets to begin again; and I am for myself. The 24 hour requirement for caring is done. No longer will I get requests to move his hands, give him a drink, help him use the bathroom, bathe him, give him his pills, or move him from one room to the next with all the accessories that follow suit. I can finally sit down and just exist without worrying that I will be asked to do something else. And that is where I feel like the biggest piece of shit. How can/could I feel that way when the person I love is gone?

Now I am left attempting to process everything with all of my bizarre idiosyncrasies, the character flaws I’ve developed to cope with the stresses of my life. I’m in therapy but again when I’m talking to someone I am “indifferent.” I reveal nothing because that would be showing weakness. If they knew how I truly felt they would think of me as a burden, or worse they would use my secrets to betray me. (Wow I sound psychotic.)

The other night I fell deep into familiar destructive habits. It was the same shit I did before I ever met my husband, when (then too) I was not facing my trauma. I made some very bad, deadly choices that in the clarity of sobriety I knew my husband would be utterly upset with me. I could hear him in my head, as loud as if he was standing in front of me, that I need to stop doing these things before they get out of control.

For once in our nearly 21 years together I listened with absolute determination.

June 16, 2023

A Snowball Straight to Hell

Dude… the world is going to shit. I am astounded at the depths the Republican Party will sink in their quest to… what? I have no idea what the end goal is. I don’t understand. Are they sowing hate and division because they’re actively trying to start a civil war? Have they been corrupted by and actively working for a foreign power? Or is it that their platform has nothing to offer the everyday person that they get them riled up about shit that doesn’t concern them? Whatever the reason it’s finally reached me in my personal life.

It started as an innocent question. One of my co-workers, who knows I boycott hate-chicken, asked me if I was going to stop going to Starbucks because of their new policy that the stores must remove pride decorations effective immediately. I just groaned and said, “I don’t know.” As I took a sip from my iced mocha from the bucks.

From there it quickly devolved into a tirade by him that I would respond with (or attempt to) a different perspective. He was hitting all the same Fox News misinformation talking points. One that stuck out to me was he reiterated this bs point my niece had said to me about a little kids “tucking bathing suits.” Like it did the first time I had heard it, I immediately thought “that is bullshit.” But I won’t speak on something unless I know for a doubt. And I can’t even remember the last time I went into a Target store. So I answered with “if that’s true then just don’t buy it.” Then he gave me some ridiculous thing “about the kids.” Which is funny to me because this the same guy who made a point to showcase his NRA hat in the office parking lot so I would see it, (this was after I had made some comment, to my husband on the phone, by the way) and has no problem with “the little guys” getting murdered at school. So. Spare me the bullshit about “the kids.” Literally, the number one killer of kids in this country is guns.

This conversation escalated to a point where he made a “veiled threat” that I “didn’t want to make him mad.” That’s when I freaked out. Okay. That’s the end of it. And I shut down. However he clearly had an ax to grind and wanted to use it, so he kept going.

The second half of the conversation was him telling me what I have experienced in life. Like, how I didn’t know I was gay when I was a kid. One, I did. But two, the other kids who teased and bullied me, they called me faggot and gay way before I even knew. I VIVIDLY remember the moment I asked my mom what gay was. She explained it to me. I sat quiet for a moment and then said “maybe I am.” This was at 7 fucking years old. Her negative overreaction made me backpedal so fast, I should have gotten whiplash.

This argument crescendoed into him angrily asking me if I had ever been bullied. This was after I tried to answer all of his “questions,” yet he didn’t want to hear them. He just wanted to rant.

Finally he let me answer and I told him, “honestly, dude, I feel bullied right now.”

This dude exploded. He stormed through the office, slamming drawers and the front door, shouting. For the life of me I don’t remember what he said because I just wanted this to be over with. I am NOT a confrontational person. I like to think I am but I am ultimately a coward.

He left and I was dumbfounded. Never in my 20 years of employment had I ever experienced anything like that. Ever. Yeah I knew that there were people who didn’t like me. Sure. But never had I been subjected to this. It was unhinged.

I wasn’t going to say anything to my “boss.” If he asked where he was I would just say “give him a call.” I wanted him to explain it.

Up until yesterday I genuinely thought we were buds. He had until then been super sweet and this behavior was super uncharacteristic of what I had seen. So I can only draw two conclusions, he was riled up about some bullshit these people are peddling to rile up “the base” or he is bipolar. And I want to immediately state there is nothing wrong with that. At all. I am not shaming him. It’s just now I know.

He returned, calmer headed, and I immediately apologized. I should have stopped it after the first half by saying “hey we’re both heated, let’s not talk about this anymore.” But I didn’t. I instead chose to make this a “learning moment” because I stupidly thought I could offer my friend a different perspective. He just didn’t want one.

At the end of the day he had apologized to me twice. Once after I had and the other before he left, slapping me on the back.

I am just at a loss. I’m super depressed. The office used to be my one safe place. My one “haven” where I had some control. That’s all gone. I’m shutting up and shutting down. Work will just be me clickety-clacketing away while I listen to music or podcasts.

After I had apologized he had the nerve to say “well I don’t want this to stop you from talking about your life.” Oh, you mean my life that is “political?” Sure, jan.

My favorite part was, “I have gay friends.” No you fucking don’t, bitch. You have stand-ins, props. Either that or you have the faggots that try so hard to please their heterosexual counterparts to “fit in.” They thrive on your approval. I on the other hand do not give a shit. I learned at a very young age that my peers approval was temporary and situational.

My boss spoke with me and him. He said to keep “politics” and religion out of the office. You got it, boss! You can count on me.