Psychiatry, Therapy and Fears

Saw both the psychiatrist and the psychologist today. Both went well, largely because the psychiatrist went well.

I told him ran out of money and abilify. Straight off the bat. I usually don't work that way. I'd hem and haw and try to make him feel good about me. And try to delay bringing it up at all.

But I just brought it up straight off the bat. Just blurted it out.

Before going in, I realized he deals with these things--he's delt with me going off medication before--even with me acting inappropriately because of it. And we got through it. And it's not like I am totally off drugs. I'm trying. I took seroquel while off the abilify. And it it's just a reality that I am out of drug coverage and money.

It's just a problem. And we can work on it together. And me gave me some coupons for a month's supply.

And it went well.

And it went well with the therapist also. Largely because I talked with brother this weekend. We talked about my expenses and he agreed to support me while I'm unemployed.

But with provisos. Brother wants me to plan a career path and he'll support me while I do what it takes to make it a reality--taking classes or whatnot while I go.

Which freaked me out over the phone. We had a halting conversation about it. I was freaked and do the kind of thing I do where I'm saying what I think he wants to hear. Actually I couldn't even do that. It's like I melt away at moments. Just disappear in this shape-shifting thing grasping at a cover story. Trying desperately to say something pleasing.

But that doesn't work. I can't say something pleasing to him because he wants me to articulate a vision for myself, what I want to do. But I don't feel worth it then. I don't feel worth the kind of being who has dreams and asperations. Desperations, sure.

But there's something more to it. Something I'm missing here. When I'm bouncing ideas off the psychiatrist, I can do it. Largely because he's shown me I can try out ideas and he won't penalize me if I change my mind. Being "genuine" in his words. Leaving school was being genuine because I didn't want to be an acadenic. That was genuine. But there's a fear of being genuine with my brother.

I can't quite articulate why. I know there's some fear of being squashed--being run-over... I don't know yet a more concrete was to put it. A fear that I will articulate something I want and it will be somehow denied. And I will feal invalid because of it.

Or maybe it's something else, like my dreams and asperations won't be validated. I can see my brother saying "Why do you want to do that?" and hearing something in his voice that would be different than in my psychiatrist's voice.

I feel like I can say anything to the psychiatrist. I can change my mind later and say something else.

But with my brother, it's like it will go down on my permanent record. Changing my mind means I haven't thought about it enough. So I have to practice before hand. Have a script.

I mean, it's probably good to think it through, the why question. But that's not all that's going on, psychically. What's going on is this script writing. Prepairing to perform.

Part of me wants what it was like with the with the psychiatrist, thinking outloud with him, for that to happen with my brother. To be that comfortable with him.

But I feel like he's judging me. Like my responses... somehow indicate something about me, how thoughtful I am.

I'm not like him. He thinks everything through before he makes a move. Then he moves. Then he tells everyone later.

I come up with an idea and immediately solicit feedback. Get people's ideas.

My way isn't always a good way. Maybe I don't have enough courage in my own evaluations. Maybe I look to others for validation because my own value isn't good enough.

Already I feel queasy about my career idea I had this morning. PR writing. Am I good enough? Can I handle a fast-paced writing environment?

And what I really fear is someone like my brother saying these things. Validating not my dreams but my doubts. My feeling that the real me is a dreamer, dreaming ideas about myself that just don't live up to the reality. That I'm a pile of faults that I can't see but everyone around me can.

And having and sharing a dream will open me up to the painful experience of being exposed to that--that experience of revealing I'm just not good enough. And it's all my fault.

That, ultimately, I've fucked up so much that I'm damaged goods. I've damaged myself to the point that I'm ethically to blame.

It's more than just the feeling that I've wasted my life. It's that I need to be punnished. I need that experience of having the extent of my unseen fucked-upness, the fucked-upness that I've wrought, revealed to me. And worse still, I've let everyone down because of it. I've disappointed them. I've wasted all their hard work on and for me.

Wow I feel bad right now. Depressing thoughts, no doubt. But I fear they're true. I fear it's the reality under this stack of cards I've built called my life--a carefully orchestrated performance of competance. And I am afraid for everyone that movement beyond what I have been able to do will cause the house of cards to collapse and they'll see me as I really am.

And it's not that I'm afraid so much to be seen as a failure. If that's the reality, I don't care so much about that. It's that it will break everyone's heart to see me. That my failure will infect their soul. That it will make them suffer. And they'll suffer treating me like the invalid that I am.

I'm really scared right now. I wish to God I didn't think these things, believe them.

I wish I were as happy as when I walked out of the psychiatrist's office.

I wish I had thought these things and talked with the therapist about them. I wish he'd make them go away, tell me I'm wrong, tell me I am competent, able. That I can try things and find tallents and strengths and overcome adversity and that misfits that don't work out are not my fault, but just that, misfits.

That taking a chance and having a dream isn't going to unfold the dreaded scenario I've just told you.

I feel on edge now. Vulnerable. But also real. Genuine, if you will. Perhaps I'm close to the fundamental fantasy. The one that structures, sutures me to reality. Touching the real.

It's amaizing how deep everything goes. Something as simple as picking a new career path opens up my whole identity. But perhaps not the way it does with most people.

Just fourty some hours until therapy again. Fourty hours or so of feeling fragile.

But no one said facing demons was empowering. Or fun.

Still, I feel some growth here. Like I've articulated something. And the depth of it. Seeing it in black and white makes it not so bad.

I still feel vulnerable, raw, scared. But at least I know what I'm afraid of.

And my conscious mind can see how unlikely the scenario is. I'm not damaged goods. And it's not my fault. I have problems, skills and tallents like everyone else. I can learn new tricks. I can work.

But to say that I can have dreams and can achieve them... That's harder to say. Maybe not impossible.

And looking into the heart of the fear it inspires makes it easier... I can see how unlikely that fear is. How unreal.

So far my employers and teachers have liked my writing. So has my family. If nothing else, I have faith in that, that I am a writer.

That even when I don't feel like I have anything to say, if I did I could say it well.

I just need to find a place for me where I can say it. And maybe a place where I have things assigned to me to say. And hard deadlines.

But I do freeze up sometimes.

Maybe that needs to be analyzed.

Drugs

I'm running out of drugs.

I have about three days of Abilify left, and a handful of Lamictal.

I should get by on the Lamictal until the end of the month, when the new insurance kicks in and I have some left over Seroquel, that I'm going to try taking. It's a less than ideal solution, but it's the one that makes financial sense. I just don't have the six hundred bucks to buy some Abilify.

So the great drug experiment begins.

I just hope the brother can help cover rent and insurance next month, and I get that retail job.

Just Bought Health Insurance

Wow, that was expensive.

Well, we have to do these things. Can't afford to go without coverage--they can deny treatment if you ever go off coverage for more than two months, and I can't ever be denied coverage--I could never pay for it otherwise.

And to go without coverage for the rest of my life is totally frightening. Totally scary.

It was expensive--six hundred dollars for the first month, but it goes down to four hundred after that for three months then back up to five hundred, which, all things considered, is not that much money for what I get. I'm sure my benefits will exceed my costs at this stage of the game.

But drugs are still going to be a problem.

I'm going to not tell the therapist that I'm going without Abilify for a moment. Then I'll have about three months of coverage and then I'll have to make another plan. But that comes later.

This health insurance game sure is a racket, but I'll be saving money when you think about therapy and the like.

Abilify

So, I finally started on abilify.

But the dose is low: 5 mg. I was hoping I'd feel different right away, but it's hard to tell. Maybe once I have my blood levels up. Maybe when we up the dose.

Still, the promise of no more seroquel by some point in November is exciting. I'm done with seroquel. The stuff knocks you out. And it's not quite the right drug for my condition, though not so unusual.

But, to be off it, that's the dream.

most of all, i remember the quiet

washington heights, about two years ago.

drugged out of my mind on geodone. eighty mg, twice a day.

new psychiatrist did a double-take when i told him that one.

and up there, above the street--something like 130th and broadway.

it was dark but the lights from the street, bright.

and the reggaton--didn't get to me.

just smoking, out on the fire escape, not thinking a god damn thing.

i could almost see the river.

and the days. see, i had the bed bugs.

so most my stuff--trashed.

pure white addedas, blue jeans, white shirt.

looked like a b-boy. and the folks treated me that way--always asking if i was holding, or if i wanted some smoke. course, i thought i looked like a mental patient. and i suppose someone kicking that style in 2007, well, they'd have to be a mental patient. at least in that hood.

but me, i was just cold, distant, and quiet

anxiety of procrastination

so last night it hits me.

being off the lamictal doesn't help.

probably should have bought it yesterday, when i still seemed to be covered by empire.

now that i haven't been paid, i'm pretty sure that empire is over.

so back to paying for drugs and holding my breath while i wait for them to reimburse me.

which, of course, sucks.

so, tommorrow about $450 bucks will clear the bank, but it's already spent. $200 to at&t (need phone) $150 to utilities (need power). And now I'm going to have to lay out something like $200 to get the lamictal.

if only i had that $5 a few days ago.

of course i had it, but two things--one, took too many by mistake, so short, so insurance wouldn't pick it up for a few days. two, had it again, but wanted to see lara, so blew what little money i had ($10) on food to make her dinner.

should have picked up the meds and gotten something cheaper, smaller.

why do things have to suck so much.

Ugh

gotta review today. it's been so long, it's like starting over.

but i know it pays off; already helped with the lawyer.

never used to do this sort of thing, hold onto documents and such.

turning over a new leaf.

i know it's bothering me because i feel overwhelmed, even though i know i don't have much.

and...

still the grogginess. thanks seroquel

drinking on a sunday afternoon

alcohol is my drug of choice, but if the next door neighbor could get me some halucinagins, i would not complain.

like them.

well, feeling fine. buzzed. could nap, could watch tv, could sit and listen to nirvana, which i am doing right now.

life is good. it's been good to me.

it ssucks.

if te union thing doesn't work out.

another semester. probably another year without funding. without healtcare.

paying fordrugs out of my pocket.


hand to mouth.

begging for money.

not that i'm not used to it.

but to get hopes of freedom so high.

dashed.

and even if it works, it's a matter of time before they find a way of deleting me perminantly.

but it's my best shot.

so i have to take it.

It's getting better

Must be the drugs.

Thanks lamictal.

Days off

Took a couple of days off from blogging.

Needed to unplug, get away (of sorts).

Mostly successful. Saw some movies, read, just relaxed. Alone, which was nice.

Aside from locking myself out again yesterday.

But all is well. Brother had the spare set. Good seeing him, even if only for a few minutes.

Saw psychiatrist--no big changes, just tweaking the meds. wanted to start on abilify, but no dice. not stable enough yet. Maybe in 5 weeks.

Saw psychologist, Jeffery. Good man, that one.

Talked about the job loss and strategies. Going to the union first. I'm in good standings, and what I hope is they can file a greavence and that will keep it going for a couple of days.

I just want to make things difficult for him.

God, how upsetting.

altered states

there's really not too much more to take away.

close to the bone, these days. lets see:

drugs
alcohol
therapy
brother
sister
friends
school
free time
freedom
reading
eyesight

i guess there's more than i thought

the real purpose of shelving

it makes you think of every book you own.

why?

why isn't this a book i sell/throw away.

maybe you're not like me, but when i go to an apartment (or house, should i be so lucky). the first thing i look at is the books.

used to look behind the mirror in the bathroom, rooting for medications. thought that was the pigeon hole. then found too many behind my own and thought about what they say. rather shallow, really.)

and bookcases say so much more.

so, i was once in the waiting room of a rather expensive complex in chicago land, rather near the lake, and rather near the mag mile. and in the loby books everywhere. but not like you'd expect. covering everything. from the trash pot boilers that may have never been catalogued to things that you've never seen or read about. and the porter cxomes up to you and says, "you know, your're the first person to look at these books. they're decoration."

and you're no, like, it's an archive.

and you know you've been studying too long.

yeah, a lot of posts (redux)

sorry.

gotta shut up.

but this one, this one rocks me.

last time i was major manic---and it was...interesting. some things totally awesome. some insights i will carry forward. but, being type two, the lows. dangerous. yet i held them together.

which makes me want to get off the drugs entirely.

not that i think i'll ever be free of the symptoms.

i'll have those episodes. i just believe that the drugs will help me learn lessons necessary for the management of them.

i know from my experience of ativan when to speak and when to be silent. and i used to have a problem with that. not that i disagree with sorrentino's critique of the strong and silent type "silence is the lid of a garbage can".

nough said

going to do a number

of course, without dope.

or the illegal kind, anyway.

doing some seroquel, ativan and lamictal. all wrapped around lovely tobac.

my friend.

so it should do a number on me.

ce la vie.

nonesuch

love conquers all

trite truism.

and that's all she wrote.

these things suck. time to smoke some ativan.

Untitled

I'm.. well, under the influence.

And frustrated that i can't do something as simple as post.

on the new site.

maybe when i'm not drunk.

dunno, feel like things have been boring lately.

well, guess that means less drama.

more organization!

Sorry

I suppose (interweb down; can't check) last few posts incomprehensible.

Sorry. Smoked a little bit of ativan last night.

Actually smoked a LOT of ativan.

And on booze, which i'm not supposed to do.

Well, i'm alive.

Maybe Next Time

Hey.

Guess I don't need the salutation, but I'm still new to this whole thing.

Well, didn't make it out of town today. Ipod died on me, right after lunch (which was rather kickass--went to the peruvian chicken place. Awesomebinladen)

Anyway, chillin. Some death metal (death) just popped up on shuffle and i'm thinking i'm going to leave it on.

use to listen to this every morning before going to caddy. made good money, but... well, let's say that golf doesn't always bring out the best in people. but i had my life threatened only once, so all in all a good experience.

one to grow on.

Well, not much more than that. watched a bad movie. napped, which was totally sweet, and now just sittin, trying like a mofo not to tweak, and trying not to pop an ativan because the therapist says shouldn't drink on it, and i'm sitting here chilling with a glass of pino.

such is life.

is clonopin different in this respect? because pdoc (not sure i'm using this correctly) says that we may start on that because, hey, who doesn't need another psychoactive pharmasutical (can't believe I spelled that right) these days.

so enjoy the weekend. unfortunately today is overcase--yesterday was the best day of the summer and it was nice to be out on the island to see it.

well, signing off. for now. best.

I'm a little scared to post this

Hey,

It's been an incredible two months. So much has changed. So much has happened. Hard to imagine what hasn't, save moving house. Which I may soon do.

First, I clarified my relationship with my therapist. Then began to get my act together by cleaning. Then changed psychiatrist. Then began GTD in ernest (no easy act, as you well know).

Then changed drugs. Geodone, Seroquel, Lamictal, Ativan. And may move to Abilify, and one other Clonopin (sp)?

Then things began to roll, in large part due to dumb luck.

I was unemployed, depressed, going nowhere fast (save the hospital or, shudder, the grave). Got my job on. Loving it. Great boss. Great colleagues, great... well, you name it.

Then began the hardships.

First, the crazy girl I was dating freaked when I broke it off. One month we were together. No commitment. Low key. Once, maybe twice a week. She freaked. Called me hundreds of times over 2.5 days. Unbelievable, or so I thought.

Fastforward two weeks. 33 birthday. Small, cute bar. Good food. Sister, Brother-in-law, new girl just started dating.

Well, now ex-friend shows up. Good at first. Then he unloads. Just a freaking long tirade. I don't even know what he's saying. I don't even notice when every one but me and him leave. I just put my head down, like I've passed out, hoping he'll just go away. He does, after about 5 minutes and two passes. Keep the head down for 5 more--lest we show up on the same train or something.

Well, that's over. 10 years I've known him. Inexplicable. Or, so I thought.

Fastforward to this week. What was it--Tuesday? Well, Momster calls. And if you want to know more--just look down. It's all there, posted as it was happening.

Well, one of the nicest parts of it all is writing this blog.

And looking back on this post, I'm no longer afraid.

Not bad for an anonymous coward.