Father's Day = typical Sunday

Beloved does not like it when people make a big fuss over him. He utterly loathes it. Thus, his day today was like pretty much any other Sunday. The exception was that the boys had art for him from school and he got stuff for his birding hobby. (So far, it seems that the acrylic baffle is working really well to keep the squirrels out of the big feeder.) My day today was like most other Sundays as well.

I didn't do laundry today. Beloved and I agreed that the laundromat was most likely going to be insanely hot and probably would trigger a migraine. Mood wise, I am in my 'normal' range. I am a bit grumpy but that is because between my hormones not deciding how they were going to effect my mood today and generally being overly warm, I am not feeling comfortable right now. It didn't help matters much that I somehow managed to skin my right elbow on something. I have no idea what.

I'm just that much of a klutz. Tomorrow is going to be a fairly busy day. The boys have school until Wednesday. In between now and then, I want to get the edits that I finally finished writing down in the text of book 2 (which I am beginning to suspect didn't upload the correct version of the document when I sent it to the printer a few weeks ago) done on the manuscript. I also have a long list of files that I really need to copy and back up for safe keeping.

Beloved has tomorrow off from work. We may go out and have lunch, I don't know. I know, however, that tomorrow morning after I put the kids on the bus to school, I will need to run over to the laundromat to wash a few things. I'm trying to decide if I can afford it and what color I am going to go with, but over the last two weeks, I have gone from 'nope, not going to dye my hair some funky color' to 'you know, I'm 37. I should live a little.' Beloved has been amused with this gradual transition in attitude on the matter.

Meh.

Feeling less anxious and depressed today. I spent my day pretty much doing household stuff. I have the kitchen mostly clean now. I will most likely finish up that bit of work tomorrow. I was going to go out to spinning guild tomorrow but plans changed. I don't remember how to get to where the guild is meeting (somewhere aside from the usual location in Victor) so I will be home. If the weather is nice, I will take the kids to the park. I have finished the first of many Yule gifts. I have now started work on a scarf. I'm actually knitting two at the same time. One is in varigated yarn, so it is just plain, basic knitting that I don't have to think about. The other is an illusion scarf with two colors. So, that one will require some attention and thought.

Tired.

End of a long day. Went to the dentist and had two fillings done. Had lunch with Beloved, which I honestly thought he was going to be too busy for. It was a really nice time. Then spent the rest of my day running around after the kids. I feel worn out. My eldest is still awake, staring at me as I sit on the couch and wait for him to go to sleep. My mood is tending towards just worn out and cranky right now. And I started my menses, sort of. Last month, I just spotted some and then there was nothing more. I don't know if this month is going to be the same. I would really appreciate it if my body made up its mind as to what the hell it was doing right now.

Long day is Long.

I suppose my big accomplishments today were folding laundry, watering plants, and keeping the kids from burninating the world. I'm tired and uncomfortable. My stomach hasn't been feeling too great today. I'm not entirely sure why.

A part of me says that this business of daily pics and a note of what the day was like is foolishness. But, the various blogs and sites out there say that if I keep a mood diary, it will make it easier to track my bipolar. Right now, I'm not a ball of anxiety. I am just... numb and cranky.

My thoughts on Orlando.

It is a very ... meaty post. I tried to give a little bit of a crash course in philosophy in my post. It is at best, the beginning of a discussion on what is happening and how to handle it. At worst, I will have managed to single handedly offend a laundry list of people through the use of my philosophy and religion minor's being applied in my writing.

Here's the link: Atrocity, Evil, and the Gods.

So tired, so worn out.

Today has been a typical, quiet Monday. I have been doing what I can to avoid the news about the atrocities that happened over the weekend. As a result, I have been pretty much off of the computer. I repotted my root bound miniature roses. I repotted my mint plants in the hopes of salvaging them after them being forgotten for about a week or so (as best I can tell). I also put the geranium cuttings in the ground. They have roots now and one is budding out blossoms. I put up the plastic fencing along the second flower bed out front.

I spent my afternoon editing. It was difficult because I am having a hard time focusing. I went to start work on dinner and discovered that I had veggies that had gone bad. So I threw them out. I think I am going to have to just clean out the whole fridge. I walked a bit today. I suppose it was about a quarter of a mile or so that I have gone.

Did stuff, now beer.

Just got home. Spent all day out helping out with some family stuff. I'm exhausted. My nerves are fried. Somewhere around 2:30, my last fuck flew away. I was polite and pleasant. I did this by being quiet and focusing on entertaining small children with my crochet. I have demonstrated that I am competent with a knife and good at making food look appealing on a plate. With a chef's knife and an ice cream scoop to work with, I managed to make an attractive centerpiece for the fruit plate and hollow out the honeydew melon to hold the melon pieces I had.

If I am in this position again, I will be bringing my melon baller. It would have been a lot easier than what I did this morning. Now, I have a lukewarm bottle of Not Your Father's Root Beer sitting nearby and I'm enjoying peace and quiet for the first time all day.

I am tired of adulting. Screw this shit. I'm drinking my beer and looking at stupid cat memes or something. My mood is low, my anxiety is high, and I want a distraction from feeling rotten and used. Scumbag brain can shut the fuck up anytime now.

Fuck Anxiety.

Me, right now. Super anxious, but medicated. (All hail the gods of pharmacology and praise their blessings. I have taken the sacrament of Ativan and it is good.)

Beloved says this is pretty clearly a mixed episode day. I've been somewhere between wanting to curl up in a ball somewhere and cry and wanting to punch a wall, throw things, and scream in rage. I hate my brain right now.

Coffee is love. Coffee is life!

It has been ludicrously hot of late in WNY. As a result, I've been drag-ass tired. (It is a technical term, I assure you.) So, I have been on a cold coffee kick. The various sites that give you instructions on how to cold brew coffee are pretty awesome. I am also happy to say that I can buy cold brewed coffee at the store now too. When I was grocery shopping on Saturday, I picked up this stuff called Stok at Walmart. (They're more economical than Wegmans for my budget and the veggies are fresher than Aldi's right now. Don't judge me.)

It is a cold brewed coffee that is actually pretty good. I had been making cold brewed Folger's Chocolate Silk coffee in quart sized glass jars. When I saw that there was a big jug of cold brewed coffee, I decided that I had to get it. If it was good, then it was a delightful addition to the choice of cold beverages in the fridge. If it was just meh, I had the large bottle to recycle for use holding iced tea. I think this was a good decision.

Honestly, it was a better decision than getting the Starbucks instant cold coffee. Stok is a lot better with out the bitterness. It is not quite as good as the homemade cold brewed coffee, but I think I like it.

It's HAPPENING!!!

So, I have had a real eventful couple of days on the being a 'real' author front. Yesterday, I made my first sale of the first volume of the fantasy series I'm writing. I was all kinds of excited and happy with that. The gal that I sold it to has been chatting with me about writing stuff and books for a few months now. She kept asking me every few times I saw her when she could buy my book. When I walked into the bbq place with that book in hand, I didn't exactly know what to expect. She lit up with excitement when I held up the book, which in turn had some of the customers looking to see what was up. I tried to give it to her at a discount but she insisted on paying me more.

Today, I went to spinning guild. I really thought that there wasn't going to be a whole lot of interest because it isn't a book about spinning. (Though spinning and fiber arts do get a solid mention in it, because reasons.) When the time came for people to stand up in front of the group and show the things that they had been working on, I held up my book and gave my elevator pitch. Next thing I know, I have sold all of my copies (at a profit), directed people to where they can order it online, and had a few inquiries if I was going to be bringing more copies to next month's guild meeting.

I am sitting here somewhat amazed and delighted. I suppose I really should learn to have a bit more faith in myself. I knew that I was going to make a couple sales but I didn't think that there was going to be so much interest after just giving a quick rundown over what it was all about. I honestly never thought that I was going to use the expression 'I have sold out of my available copies.' and I wound up using it several times this afternoon. I am directing people to Amazon and I find myself wondering if my blog is going to have an uptick in readership now. (It doesn't have the heavily laden sarcasm posts like I do here once in a while, but I might just throw that out there for fun in the future. I try to keep my snark about the world here and that one for my writing.)

But, holy gods, this is actually happening. I am amazed.

Dreading the dentist.

I have some dental issues. They're a result of poor dental hygiene that arose from depression brain fog. I tend to forget things when I am depressed. I wish it was something that had me forgetting inconsequential things. I think it would be easier that way. But, life is not easy. Thus, my self-care skills take a complete nosedive when I am depressed. This leads to my developing problems with my teeth.

I have several visits lined up with the Eastman Dental Clinic over the next few weeks. I am torn between irritation that I have to do this, again, and anger at myself over the fact that I am in this situation. On top of all that, I find myself getting anxious over the idea that the dentist or the staff are going to shame me for the state of my teeth. That last point is really bothering me because these people are absolute professionals and have excellent bedside manner. Seriously, they are the least judgmental people I have encountered and have been nothing but professional and helpful.

My therapist says that my anxiety is most likely due to my social phobia. It is funny to think that. Most people, when they dread the dentist, they dread the dental work. I don't like getting work done on my teeth. It is uncomfortable, awkward, and expensive. But I don't get in a tizzy over it. It's all this fear over what they might be thinking about me or how they're going to treat me. I wish that I didn't get all twisted up over this.

My therapist says that this anxiety will improve over time. I hope so, because this is really crappy.

Getting by.

I am slowly working away at all the things I need to be doing right now. I suppose I am making progress. Earlier this week, I went to the Committee on Special Education meetings to plan for next year's Individual Education Plan for each of the boys. I was anxious about going to the meetings but they went as I had hoped they would. The boys are about where I estimated they would be with respect to the progress they had made on their present IEP goals. I am pleased that Cuddle Bear has tested out of needing occupational therapy. It is a big gain and I'm proud of him.

The committee all were impressed with the vast amount of progress that Snuggle Bug has made with his writing. He still has some work to go before he is at grade level. At the same time, however, he has gone from writing only a single word (which was barely legible) to writing a full sentence. This is a first grade skill and I am really pleased that he's developed it. Both Cuddle Bear and Snuggle Bug need to build their writing skill set. The therapists have recommended giving them coloring pages to do and working on some writing at home. As the boys have expressed some passing interest in writing like I do, I am going to get them each a notebook and we're going to do weekly pages in it.

I know that they struggle with being motivated to write for school. I'm going to attempt to tailor writing stuff at home towards their interests. It appears that when work is geared towards their strong interests, they are motivated to do more and pay better attention. So, I'm going to try out writing stories with them about the things they enjoy. I envision we're going to be writing a great deal about garbage trucks and trains. At the same time, however, I am also going to work on getting them those special notebooks that leave a blank space at the head of the page for illustration. This way they can illustrate their stories.

Who knows, maybe by the end of the summer they'll have their own storybooks to read to each other and their father. The school has noticed that when the boys get a moment of free time, they have gravitated towards books. I laughed when Cuddle Bear's teacher mentioned that there has been more than a few times where she caught him attempting to read a book instead of doing his math work. (This was something that I did at his age, as did his father.) Because they love books, I think I may have some success here with this. Who knows, maybe it will become a habit for them. It would be kinda awesome if they took up the practice of journaling at this age.

I wanted to but life circumstances encouraged me not to do it until I was much older. Now, I am struggling to tell myself that it is ok to write in my journals again. I know that my anxiety is the culprit here. Perhaps working with the boys on this journal writing stuff, I will get back into the habit of writing daily in my journal and not be so critical of it all.

Scrambled Brainz.

Behold, I sit before the computer with all my faculties ready to do something. If I could muster enough fucks up to do it. I'm probably going to try to do some writing a bit later. But, it's a fairly accurate shot of the expression I've had most of the day.

I'm not depressed per se. I feel cranky. Minor irritations frustrate me to the point where I start to stammer. (And that is something that only happens when I am really upset.) I almost titled this post 'scream, break shit, and sleep.' That's because that is a partial list of what is going through my brain right now.

Beloved postulated that my problem is I am in a mixed episode right now. I kinda see his point and I am not pleased with this. I feel stressed out and anxious. I am struggling not to start being a shrieking harpy to the kids as they run around the apartment. It has been a difficult struggle. I am trying to look at it all and see 'positives' here. And that is just making me angrier. There is no reason for me to be so angry with everything. No one has shat in my proverbial corn flakes. But, I kinda want to scream and break shit right now.

I was feeling run down over the last week. I think a big part of the problem was my allergies, which have been particularly difficult between the pollen and the down stairs neighbor's smoking. I also have had a slow, but steady increase in my feelings of anxiety (and correlating internal hyper critical commentary). I took some Ativan earlier this evening. It makes me feel less like I'm going to explode and less like the solution to my frustration is doing something like throwing heavy objects out windows or something. I did not have a good time when I was grocery shopping. All the noise and all the people just made me really want to verbally shred the people who were moving too slowly for me and throw stuff at the heads of the people who annoyed me. Namely that one stock person who wouldn't LEAVE ME ALONE to do my shopping. They just kept turning up in every aisle I went in to get things and stopping in the middle of the aisle in my way. I was good, I didn't say anything sharp. I didn't say a word to them. But I was not a happy camper.

Just to take a brief aside, for a moment, I have to say that who ever it was at corporate that decided that having a stock person roaming the aisles with a cart full of random crap and signs taped all over it for 'free' goods that would come with signing up for a credit card, that person who came up with this idea needs to sit on a rusty rail road spike. They have advertisements about the promotion at every register (even the self-check out) and the cashiers are all told to pitch this thing. They've put some pressure on the people in customer service to promote the credit card. And we've got the greeters who promote it even as they are welcoming you to the store. Now, that was all irritating as fuck but I kinda understand that is how the business does things. I am sincerely hoping that no one's paycheck is tied in any fashion to how successful they are in getting people to sign up for the damn credit card. But, to have someone wander through out the store with a cart full of crap you could 'get for free' and harry customers is just crossing a line.

I would have objected to this if I wasn't the person that was getting followed through the store by this person. I especially object to it now because of the fact that I had someone follow me through 95% of my shopping time trying to convince me to get a damn Walmart credit card and looking pathetic when I said no. I am trying to cut the employee some slack and assume that they were following me around because I looked less intimidating than the 458 other people in the store. But this shit has me seriously questioning if I want to go back and deal with it again. Even if I didn't have social phobia and I was in a better headspace, I would not have been comfortable with this. It is harassment. And it has to fucking stop. You don't sell product harassing your clientele. You lose customers doing that shit.

Also, if you really wanted me to sign up for a credit card you'd make the 'free' products worth my time. Saving five dollars on average on a purchase that I'm generally not going to need (because I honestly don't need a goddamn frisbee and the stupid things cost less than $5, for example) is not going to persuade me. Make it something more useful like a case of motor oil, a large roast, a set of cleaning goods for the kitchen, or something, and you may have my attention. Because who the fuck is going to get a credit card to get a free frisbee on the spur of a moment? Are they going to stand there at the check out look at that 'free' 12 pack of generic soda and say 'oh, hot damn, I could really use that.' and subject themselves to a credit check to see if they could get it? Because that's kinda part of the whole 'sign up for a credit card' thing.

TL:DR - Argh. Mixed episodes suck. Shady business practices piss me off. I want to burn it all down right now. Fire cures everything.

Houston, we have a problem.

Star chart from an Apollo mission, courtesy of NASA!

Scene: Bridge of a space ship. Crew engaged in tasks. Captain looks on with concerned expression. His second in command reviewing report from instruments.

2nd in Command: I'm sorry, Sir, but I can not locate one in this sector.

Captain: Try again. We must find at least one. We need it!

2nd: Sir, we've run the scan multiple times. We've scanned all sectors with a null result. It is not out there.

Captain sweats and looks increasingly distraught. 

Captain: The equipment, it must be malfunctioning. (Said with increasingly hysterical tone.)

2nd: No, I personally inspected the equipment. It is all running at optimum efficiency. They are not there.

Captain slaps the console before him, narrowly missing buttons and levers. He turns to a Crewman.

Captain: Are you sure there is not at least one in reserve? Even in the emergency capsule?

Crewman looks from Captain to 2nd in Command, clearly uncomfortable. 

Crewman: No, Sir. The supply is exhausted. We have no reserves.

Captain exits his seat, grapples Crewman, and pulls the man so that they're face to face.

Captain: FIND ONE! (Screamed like a madman.)

2nd in Command: Sir! SIR! (Called out with an authoritative tone as he pulls Captain and Crewman apart.)

Captain turns on 2nd in Command, seems ready to fight. Two crewmen come to restrain the Captain.

2nd in Command: I am relieving you of duty, Captain. Report to your quarters.

Crewmen strong arm Captain off the bridge. Captain struggles.

Captain: You can't do this! It's mutiny! (Hysterical screaming)

2nd in Command assumes Captain's position on bridge. He looks grimly ahead.

2nd in Command: And that is it.

2nd in Command sighs and looks down in a brief expression of defeat, looking almost harrowed by it all.

2nd in Command: No more fucks. We're doomed. (Said in a whisper.)

~ END ~

Sigmund Freud's Doodle.

I don't know how to do a screen capture. I kinda fail at technology, to be honest. But, as I was going to say, Google has a doodle for Sigmund Freud's birthday. His face is represented as part of an iceberg in the image with a little steamer ship to the right heading towards another iceberg.

All day, when I saw that little image, all I could think was that the ship was the Titanic.

Take from this idea what you will.

Functioning Adult? Maaybe.

I have been struggling to get stuff I need to do done. I have piles of laundry waiting to be folded up and put away. I have piles of laundry that are waiting to be washed (but that is not as big of a deal because it is more or less par for the course). My kitchen has dishes waiting to be put away, dishes waiting to be washed, and a coffee maker that desperately need to be scrubbed. There are piles of papers everywhere. And I know that each one has several things that are important buried in them.

I am just overwhelmed by it all. It's made me a bit snappish. I have been trying not to be cranky and bitchy but it has been pretty hard. I am a bit better than I was earlier this evening. The kids picking up their toys and the books that were scattered around the house helped with that. (A chaotic and cluttered space contributes to sensory overload and anxiety for me.) I still am not at a very good place mentally right now.

I feel like I am an enormous fraud. I look at the writing stuff that I have been wanting to do and I feel badly that I'm not doing it. I look at the handcraft stuff that I was planning on doing. I feel guilty that I don't have pretty much any of it done yet. I feel like there are a thousand things that I should do and that I'm not getting done. I feel like I am not at *baseline* for competence, despite the fact that I have managed to keep the kids fed, prevented the household from collapsing into a black hole, and got the kids to do their homework.

My therapist tells me not to think so much about stuff. It is really hard to not do that. I look at everything and I find myself compulsively turning stuff over in my head trying to figure things out, assess if I am doing enough, and generally gauge my progress towards my goals. Fuck anxiety with a rusty chainsaw.

I have no idea what I am doing.

Seriously, what the fuck is going on? What do you mean I am a responsible adult? I'm not qualified for that shit!

*runs off into the night*

[Long day doing mom stuff. Adulting is hard. I have ice cream and booze. I'm done for the day.]

Flipping out.

There's been an accidental theme over the last two days. As I have been handling stuff, things have fallen over or flipped off of the table. It has been very vexing and resulted in much cursing, despite my efforts not to. I don't know if it is a case of my being extra clumsy or what. All I know is that last night, I had my dinner flip off the table twice as I was dishing myself more food. And today, I had a drink fall over when I wasn't even touching it.

I am glad that my cake this evening didn't go flying. I was concerned for a second that it was going to happen. In other news, I have started feeling motivation on the writing front. It hits me at the end of the day, but it is starting to happen again. I have begun the process of building up another writing playlist. Fortunately, Spotify has been turning up all kinds of really nifty cinematic like music. I think between that and my Youtube videos, I may have a good collection of tracks to motivate me. And by the time I get tired of that, I will be ready to cycle back to the playlist I have out of the music library we have at home.

Dread and damnation.

This has been a long week. I just want it to be the weekend. I am tired of the work of running around after a sick child and trying to keep on top of the household chores. I feel guilty that we're living out of laundry bags. It took me a while to get up the energy to get the kitchen mostly clean. Here it is, Thursday, and I am filled with a measure of dread over the coming weekend and next week.

Snuggle Bug has strep. He has been home from school for most of the week. We didn't realize it was strep until yesterday. As such, he had been extra cranky with out relief for several days, much to the vexation of Beloved and I. It started out where the school nurse and ourselves thought the problem was ear wax. Because his right ear was well and truly plugged up with wax. We did the ear drops and then got him in to see our family doctor. (If you're looking for a general practitioner and you're in my neck of the woods, look up Genesee Valley Family Medicine. They're good people and I, personally, have been working with them since I was a small child. They know what they're doing and have an excellent track record.) Snuggle Bug acted all excited and happy as soon as his ear wax problem was resolved, so he went back to school after his visit.

A few hours later, he was in full meltdown mode. So, I picked him up from school (and his brother because it was about an hour before the end of the school day and doing so just made things easier for everyone). Then we got in to see the doctor at the tail end of the day. Between his meltdown in the nurse's office and when we got into the doctor's office, Snuggle Bug had a dose of ibuprofen and it seemed to help a lot with his discomfort. After the strep test came back positive, we rushed to get dinner taken care of and pick up his antibiotic before the pharmacy closed. To say the least, Wednesday was a very rushed and stressful day for me. I tried to take it all in stride, but it was very hard.

Today, I have just felt exhausted all day. I don't know how much of this is due to the fact that I slept poorly last night and how much of it is a general sense of malaise that seems to be rising as the week has gone on. Snuggle Bug was home from school so that the antibiotic had time to start working before he went back to school. I spent my day attempting to keep him out of trouble and trying to build up the stamina to take care of household tasks, like cleaning up the kitchen. I found myself spending a good amount of time just standing in the kitchen staring at my cupboards trying to figure out what in Hel's name I was doing in there. It was pretty awful, to be honest.

Now, I'm looking forward to tomorrow and I feel a measure of dread. I worry that Snuggle Bug will not be well enough to go to school tomorrow. I worry that I am going to get a phone call while I am at my therapy session in the early afternoon. And I find myself worrying that if I have to reschedule the therapy session I am going to get into some kind of trouble. A part of me says that I shouldn't even go to therapy tomorrow.

I find myself feeling like my work to keep things running smoothly is ultimately a futile endeavor. I find myself feeling like I am a bad parent for not realizing that he was actually sick before Wednesday afternoon. I also find myself feeling like I am a bad person because I am not producing any sort of written work or getting anything done on any of my projects. A part of me says I should just give up on it all, go sleep, and wait until my brain magically decides it is well again. I am angry that I am feeling this way. I am angry with myself for being angry over it too. It's kinda ridiculous.

I don't know how to discuss this with my therapist or anyone at the clinic. I worry that if we try to tweak my medications again that I am going to wind up back in the hospital. I am afraid of there being horrible consequences if I try to do something about this and, at the same time, I recognize that doing nothing will result in my feeling worse and ultimately being sicker.

Beloved is confident that when the weather warms up and it feels more spring like I will see an improvement in my mental state. He also is telling me not to let my anxiety run the show here. It is, however, very hard. I find myself afraid of nebulous terrible consequences of all possible actions and all possible inaction. It is exhausting and depressing. I thought that I was starting to feel better. And now I'm like this. I don't know what the next phase of this is going to be.

Treading Water.

Today marks the fourth day that I've been home from the hospital. While I feel light years better than I did when I initially went to the emergency room two weeks ago, I am not completely well. I have been in the process of adjusting to the major changes that were made to my medications when I was in the hospital. I, think, however, I am getting ahead of myself a bit here.

I have been struggling with depression since November 2015. While the holiday season is typically not a very good time for me due to a confluence of stress, anniversary dates of past trauma, and a touch of seasonal affective disorder, it was especially bad this time around. I tried working with the people at the clinic where I receive services for my mental health stuff. The general reception to my statements of 'there is something wrong here' was for them to argue that I needed to better manage my stress and to say that I was being too anxious over it all. The argument that improved stress management was necessary came from the therapist I see and the one that I was being too anxious about everything came from the psychiatric nurse who oversees my medications.

We tried waiting to see if things were going to improve through December and January. This did not happen. Thus, my medications got a few minor changes that had a net zero effect on the situation. In March, I was taken off of Welbutrin and put on Effexor. At the time this change was made, I clearly stated I was concerned about this. This was when I learned that my diagnosis apparently was not for bipolar disorder but unipolar depression. My concerns about the changes with respect to the antidepressant were brushed off. So too were my concerns about the fact that my diagnosis had been changed with out my having been informed of this. The statement given was 'Diagnosis is a formality. We treat the symptoms.' I heard this from the nurse who is working with me and from my therapist. Keep this little bit in mind as I move to my next part.

The change in medication was not made by weaning me off of the Welbutrin and then gradually introducing Effexor. It was done via the method known as simultaneous switching. I stopped taking the Welbutrin and started taking the Effexor. In theory, this meant that as the Welbutrin processed out of my system, the Effexor would be building up in my system and the problems that had arisen due to my acclimating to the Welbutrin would be resolved. This, however, did not happen. After two and a half weeks on the Effexor, my depression got worse and two weeks go, I went into the hospital struggling with suicidal depression.

The hospital staff were very receptive to my needs. They carefully monitored the effects of medications as they adjusted them. They also looked at the sheer volume of medications I was on and openly said (politely) 'what the fuck is going on here?' As they reviewed the information in my file from the clinic, a few things came to light that I'm honestly not sure how to approach. In the span of the time it took from my meeting with my therapist (which was a few days before I went into the hospital) to when the hospital had a copy of my file, information in the papers got changed. My diagnosis was changed from unipolar depression to bipolar. The antidepressant that was my 'primary' antidepressant was changed from being listed as the Effexor to the Remeron. (When I went into the hospital, the medications I was taking were Remeron, Geodon, Effexor, Ativan, and Minipress. I was told the Remeron was to control my chronic nightmares. The Geodon was to control the psychotic features that come with severe depression. The Effexor was to resolve the depressive symptoms. And the Ativan and Minipress were to help me control my anxiety problems due to c-ptsd.)

I spent a good amount of my stay not feeling well physically. The exhaustion I felt due to the high dosage of Geodon I was on was only exacerbated by the fact that I had problems sleeping at the hospital because I didn't feel safe and my bed was a layer of rubber foam padding on a steel platform. (My bed here at home felt like a brand new feather bed when I got home after that. It was really nice to wake up in the morning and not have my hips feel slightly bruised because I slept all night on my side.) As the medications were tweaked and things were eliminated, I found myself progressively moving out of the suicidal mindset. I also found the psychotic symptoms were going away. It was hard, though, because much of the chaos going on in the ward was triggering flashbacks on a daily, if not hourly, basis.

When they took me off of the Geodon and put me on Seroquel, I found the psychotic symptoms lifted. It was like someone flipped a switch in my head and I no longer heard the voice of my mother saying horrible things to me. The moment that happened, I felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I still felt horribly depressed, but I no longer had the experience of a voice telling me that I was worthless and a coward for not killing myself (along with a lot of other hurtful garbage). When they took the Effexor out of the picture and increased the Remeron dosage, the depression lifted to a point where I could be functional. That was where things stood when last Friday rolled around. Thus, I came home.

Yesterday, I saw the psych nurse at the clinic. She talked about how she was pleased that the hospital took me off of so much. (Previously, I was taking 7 pills before bed, not counting my vitamins. Now it's 3.) I was told how she couldn't make such big changes to my medication and I found myself questioning why she was in charge of handling medications if she couldn't do so. And then there was the argument that my suicidal depression was triggered by the stress of my children being on break from school. I was told that I needed to plan for what I was going to do when the boys were on break from school over the summer because that was when she said it appeared I had the most problems.

For my part, I bit my tongue. I said something blandly to the effect of I was planning on us spending more time with the extended family over the summer to help me cope with the stress of managing the kids when they were on break. I realized as the nurse was talking to me that in many ways, I was going to just have to smile and nod as I went forward. There is a narrative that they have decided is the correct one. In that narrative, they have done no wrongs and when I have periods of time where I am severely depressed it is because I am 'reacting' to the situation around me.

Never mind that functionally every single hospitalization that has happened over the last five years was due to medication screw ups exacerbating problems that were already present. I acclimate to antidepressants after taking them for a while. Then I get very depressed. When I try to get the clinic to help me, they conveniently are unable to do so. Thus, I go to the hospital. I am at a point now where if the Remeron stops working, I honestly don't know what we're going to do.

I've tried discussing the problems that come from when I am hypomanic. The general response to this has been that I am being too anxious over something that really isn't a problem. I know that my mood cycles. I have a hard time remembering the differences that come with my mood cycling. When my mood is up, everything is clipping along so quickly in my head that my attention span is that of a butterfly, it seems. When I'm depressed, I struggle to remember the simplest of things. I try to track my mood but it is very difficult for me to do so because of these memory issues.

The people at the clinic basically tell me that I am worrying about things for no reason. It makes me angry. I have dental problems because when I get majorly depressed (which happens for about 3 months a year, if not a little longer), I forget the most basic of things to care for my health. I have problems with my anxiety and social phobia being worse when I am in a mixed episode, though the clinic doesn't believe these are really an issue.

I've been told that I'm working with the person who is the best for handling trauma. This does not give me warm fuzzies. My therapist is a very sweet woman. I know she is trying to provide care for me. At the same time, I question her methods. When I come in for a session and she is talking about how she is doing research for how to handle my case, I get uneasy. When she is giving me self-help books and talking about youtube videos I should watch, I get uneasy. I recognize that I am a particularly tough case.

I have trauma from multiple incidents in my past. It makes for a clusterfuck and disentangling it all is kinda ridiculous. At one point, I was told that my case with respect to the ptsd was such that it had a lot in common with what would be seen for people who have come out of combat zones. I've been told by a few different psychiatrists that they're surprised I'm as well adjusted as I am because of the variety and extensiveness of what I have gone through. So, I understand I am a difficult patient because of how complicated my case is.

At the same time, I look at how the clinic is handling all of this and I can't help but feel angry. Every time I have had a crisis, they've functionally thrown their hands up in the air and done nothing to help me. When I try to be an active participant in managing my care and advocating for my wellness, I am either told that I am blowing things out of proportion or patronized. I would go up to the city for care but my health insurance won't cover it. I'm suck with these people and I don't know what to do. Their bullshit handling of my case has resulted in severe problems for me and I anticipate more of this garbage happening in the future.

How much do I have to endure until I can reach a point where things are at least tolerable? I'm getting tired of this constant fight. It's hard enough to have to fight my illness to get through the day. Fighting the people who are supposed to be helping me just makes it harder.