Well, dang. Slam bam back into my world of mental illness. I had a reprieve for about three years which … More
Well, dang. Slam bam back into my world of mental illness. I had a reprieve for about three years which was very nice. Magical, in fact. I was able to enjoy the beauty of living without the interference of psychotropic medications, depression, severe anxiety and my chronic suicidality.
I believe there should one day be a diagnosis in the DSM-6 (future DSM) for chronic suicidality instead of it being a symptom of something else. It is huge for me and has always been there for years– fighting the intrusive thoughts 24/7. Again, I woke up at 4:45ish a.m. and after a few minutes of realizing the hopelessness of my life and situation the thoughts popped back in. Boom bang. There they were again and then the lies or are they the truths that only the honest mind of depression speaks. Maybe my undepressed mind is the one being dishonest by telling me or making me believe that people really do care.
You see people really do not care because when you need people the very most–I mean the absolute very most that is when they leave you. Also, when I am well, I reach out to other people and when I am unwell I do not reach out to others and it is then that it becomes apparent that no one really cares.
I need to share that there has been another life event that occurred recently or at about the exact same time as when my mother died and the monster Frank short for Frankenstein (aka a creature who masqueraded as a father in the house I grew up in but failed miserably) was horrifically mean, cruel and wickedly scary to me when my mother was dying and triggered my PTSD badly.
You see, at this exact same time my mother died I also lost my SSDI that I have been receiving for 29 years. Yep. That’s right. It stopped. No money for the month of September. I guess I no longer need it. I am not disabled. I am well and during the last few years I have been making fortunes because now SSDI says I also need to pay them back $60,000. Yep. They even said for me to write a check with my payment of $60,000 and mail it to them immediately. You see I guess I have been just stealing money from the government. It is has been my great plan to become rich. Pretend you have mental illness and become rich. What?
How cruel and sucky is my life always and once again. I can’t. I just can’t anymore. It just seems I have to work so hard to get ahead and then just slapped and stabbed in the face that I suck. My life sucks and I deserve nothing good. I lost everything and know now it was because of Frank. I could have been so much more and had a good life. I did all the right things to have a good life but then mental illness struck and I have never been the same. Not really. Fought so hard to come back and make it but for what? For more misery and hell and nothingness.
Also, can’t get good help these days. Like the lyric from a Prince song–you’re on your own. Saw what I thought was a new psychiatrist yesterday but then learned it is only a nurse practitioner. He was stupid. Yep. An idiot. He at one time told me “I don’t believe you” when I said I have not been sleeping at all lately. He said I need to be careful of my words because that is why I was misdiagnosed with bipolar. WTF!!!!!!!! Yep. True story. A world full of idiots.
I also told the joker that part of my PTSD avoidance behavior symptom is that I am afraid of men. I have been having trouble with men–especially men who look like or act like Frank. So, I just try to avoid mostly all white men. Sorry, strange but true. The point of my story is that ah duh. You joker masquerading a psychiatrist are a white male. You idiot. Is not the alarm going off inside your head that possibly I might not like or trust you as you are a white male and a stupid one at that. Duh!
I also thing it is absolutely ridiculous that when a person speaks of having chronic suicidality, it is listed in her large file and she has had past suicide attempts that they give you more prescriptions. Help yourself. Oh, pills is your method of choice? Oh let me help you with that. How is that? Is that enough?
The night of my overdose three and half years ago. I told my GP I needed more Klonopin, and she wrote me a script for 90 more. Thank you for helping me end my life doc.
Also, stupid is that the guy joke I saw yesterday wrote me scripts for meds and I kept telling him I will not have any money to pay for them. He did not give me a solution to help get them–just more solutions to help my mental health that cost money I do not have.
Also, after telling me I am having PTSD symptoms and have chronic suicidality, he also said well you might not be disabled. It would be good to have a consistent schedule. AGAIN–WTF–W T F. No good help anywhere.
Well. Thanks for reading. Unfortunately, I am slam bam bang back in the throes of my mental illness life.
I have to fight just to keep afloat. Have to pretend I am well when I leave my house. That is so exhausting. I am tired even thinking about it. I have two short shifts of working at my home health care job today. Oh, the job of pretending is so hard. Ugh.
Photo by Anas Alhajj on Unsplash
