I Sit Here Waiting

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Listening to Lady Gaga on the office radio.

Nice.

I don’t even know the name of this song.

Love, love, love I want your love.

Oh. She just said it.

Bad Romance.

I’m surrounded by senior citizens in a doctors office listening to Lady Gaga belt out Bad Romance.

Does this strike anyone else as odd?

No?

Okay! How about this.

I cannot be trusted with scissors.

I had this seriously long errant thread on my dress that just had to go.

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Navy blue version of this dress

It drove me nuts the entire time I was Skyping with Mike. (Who made it safe for anyone wondering. After 48 hours of flying. More later.)

So after arriving at the doctor’s office for my first appointment with my new therapist, I asked at the check in desk if I could possibly use a pair of scissors really quick to cut it.
No worries, people. They had scissors.

However, she had to cut it.

Okay, then?

You do that.

Thankfully there was a lining to my dress and I could hike the lace overlay skirt over the counter for her to cut it. She didn’t even lean over or anything. Took her about seven tries to actually cut the string.

Yes, I am going to take those dull ass scissors and go ballistic up in this joint. The Lady Gaga was just too much and sent me right over that perilous edge.

Gah. There is a Disney resort mug I want to take a picture of but someone just sat in front of it.

Sass. I can never escape the place, can I?

I just listened to a mom explain to her child, that pollen is the stuff that makes people sneeze. As if it was just dust or something. On the same ranking as something that is made up dead hair and skin follicles

Her allergies must suck.

Onto more positive things, I guess.

Mike (gah, is it hard to not say Chairforce. It is even in my autocorrect dictionary!) landed safely like I said earlier. Took over forty eight hours of flying and that does not include layovers. I feel so bad for him.

Qatar is seven hours ahead and he Skyped me about twenty minutes before I was supposed to leave for my doctor’s appointment. But we did get to talk for about fifteen minutes before I left.

He has to walk a mile to do laundry.

Half a mile to use the bathroom.

And half a mile in a different direction to shower.

I feel bad for him but I know he is excited to get away and just kind of relax without school or Disney.

I’m home now. My head is screaming. I spent fifteen minutes just looking for Excederin.

Joan is the name of the therapist. She is tiny and up there in age. And I was correct. There was a reason they are referred by first name only. They are Licensed Social Workers, not a psychologist with a doctorate. Which in my ignorance didn’t realize were the therapists most people interact with. Did seem off. I asked about a psychologist, “we have those! Er. Not really.” Maybe she will be able to help?

Oh, my head hurts. Jeeze.

Anyways. I’m home. I have homework. I won’t be seeing Joan for another three weeks. The first available appointment. Like it is intense. Some of these social workers are booked past the first of the year!

Well, I have to go make dinner now. I hope everyone is well and doing great.

Posted from WordPress for Android. As much as I try to proof read, typos and grammatical errors will more than likely occur and I hope you can graciously forgive them and me.

Frustratedly Determined

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For the last two weeks or so, I have been taking Latuda. At first I had my reservations about it seeing as how it is generally used as a supplement with a mood stabilizer to treat Bipolar Depression but it seems to be working!

Lately, I have been braver; less anxious. I am not as prone to mood swings and my aspirations are high. However, so is my frustration.

My 23 birthday is in a 107 days and I am still living at home with no apparent move out date. Of course with this approaching, I can’t help but wonder if I will celebrate this year or not. When I try, it usually doesn’t go well. But who knows?

As of late I have been spending a lot of time outside of the house. A few times with a coworker and other times with the people I generally spend time with. Of course my camera went with me everywhere.

Next week is my last appointment with my current therapist and after she will be closing her practice for good. Then I must begin my search for a new therapist.

Also, I don’t feel talkative as of late. Blogging wise, that is. Socially I have been a lot better about not isolating myself as much.

I have my first shift in weeks on Sunday. Wish me luck

Posted from WordPress for Android. As much as I try to proof read, typos and grammatical errors will more than likely occur and I hope you can graciously forgive them and me.

In The Deep Dark Corners

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Recap: currently on Lamictal 100 mg nightly and 10 mg Buspar twice a day.

The Lamictal is supposed to help stabilize my moods and the Buspar is supposed to help with my anxiety.

Well… It seems neither is working. The Buspar was but now? Yesterday was a nightmare. I couldn’t stand up, and the chest pains and tears were on the attack.

Have you ever had a panic attack, without having an actual panic attack? All the symptoms, but none of the panic-y thoughts or rush?

That is what this felt like. Some people say when you feel nauseated, just go ahead and vomit. Get it out of your system, you will feel so much better. This is why I actually yearned for the panic attack. I just wanted the itching anxiety to be gone.

Yesterday was the worst day I have experienced in a long time. Started off with the issues of not being able to stand up, then the hard decision of asking my mom to drive me to my appointment with my therapist, thus having to call in to work. My therapist just had two surgeries and yet here I am calling in for panic attacks and dizziness. Cue feelings of guilt and failure.

My mother suddenly became angry and cursing and I knew I would not be able to sit in the truck for the drive there then her increased attitude after waiting an hour for the drive home.

So, I got in my car and drove away. On the way there, I was nearly rear ended, T-boned, nearly rear ended people myself after people would cut me off. I am not a reckless driver. My dad drove NASCAR and my brother street raced. I, on the other hand, am a defensive driver. I keep space between me and the car ahead of me. I don’t bumper hump, and I always use my turn signal. My mother already lost one child to a car accident.

I finally make it to the office of my therapist. I’m stressed out, feeling guilty, and irritable as it is. So it does not help when someone has taken the chair I always sit in (not like it has my name on it, but I was grouchy). And talking loudly on their phone.

Not even five minutes in to my appointment, I am crying and cannot even look at her. I could not properly explain to her how even though I know the majority of my thoughts and feelings were irrational, I could not stop them. Distract my mind and think of something else, anything else.

She suggested as with another patient that it helped was, “go the phuck to Hell.”

As with many suggestions from anyone, it has been tried and failed. But I still continue to try.

I hadn’t even been able to get into what was happening with my day, I just told her the symptoms I was experiencing.

At one point she asked me how I survived before medication if this is how I was on medication and experiencing these thoughts.

She, like before and my Disney Cigna Advocate, suggested I call the office of my psychiatrist and express these thoughts about the medication so the adjustments can be made. But I cannot express my reluctance to reaching out to them out of hours. After what happened with the Dok-Tore, I get very stressed out at the thought.

Speaking of the Dok-Tore, I did the math and seeing him for five, just five visits is costing over a thousand dollars, after my insurance does their magic.

After leaving my therapist, I stop by the Wawa on the corner for gas and after pumping, I sit in my car to shoot a text to my father. I look up and see a car awkwardly trying to pull in towards me at the pump in front. She then proceeds to honk and yell at me. There is a minivan that was waiting behind me. But the pumps on EITHER SIDE of the aisle I was in were open and free.

My therapist keeps telling me I need to get out of the country and get in the real world. Well if the ‘real word’ is filled with people this rude and impatient? No thank you. I want nothing to so with it. All it does is make me want to stay home even more.

When I went to pay the toll to get on the Turnpike, the older gentleman taking my five to five me change says, “Smile! It can’t be that bad of a day!”

“You have no idea. But thank you. You have a good one!”

I immediately burst into tears after I pulled away. On the way home same as the way in, I was constantly being cut off and nearly being. Two of the people that cut me off, I ended up spotting them pulled over on the side of the road. Sweet justice.

Once I got home I noticed trash bags sitting outside our front door along the pathway.

It only meant one thing.

“She didn’t do what I think she did.”

She did. She had gone into my room.

Growing up, we were never given a sense of privacy.

My room is the only place I have where I have some semblance of safety from my thoughts and paranoia.

“You knew what kind of a day I would have.”

“I am sorry being the shithead I was to help clean.”

“No, you were a shit head for invading my space. My one place and you know how I feel about that.”

I took a bunch of Trazodone I had left over from the Dok-Tore era and passed out.

I woke up around eight in the morning with thoughts about getting a reprimand for calling in yesterday. Worries about yesterday. Basically a repeat of yesterday, but ten fold.

Around ten in the morning my mother called apparently about to buy a water resistant housing for my camera at a garage sale. She asked for the kind of camera and the guy is going on “it will fit any Canon!”

Yes. Because I will risk my $600 dollar camera with a second hand “water resistant housing”.

I didn’t say anything and just let her think she was doing something nice.

And here I am. I had started to write this down but my typos and messy handwriting was beginning to anger me further.

I am having thoughts of again deleting my Facebook and leaving the social atmosphere once more.

My Psychologist Gave Me A Homework Assignment

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And I don’t think I can do this one.

“Lara, before I see you next week, I want you to involve yourself in some kind of group setting. Photography class, yoga, or Tai Chi. I don’t really care as long as it is something that gets you out of your house and with people.”

Well. All these things cost money. And frankly I am kinda terrified. I don’t do well in groups or social setting. I am not a social person.
What am I supposed to do?

On the money front, I am down to one bra that is two years old and cannot afford to get a new one. You can’t find 32C (or what I should be wearing a 30D) anywhere unless it is Victoria Secret and we all know how expensive they are.

So how am I to afford yoga classes? How can I justify paying for a membership any where for anything if I cannot even find room in my budget for something that is a necessity like a bra? I am paying to see all these doctors, all these medications plus the extreme price tag of gas and tolls to travel to these doctors.

I am at a crossroads and unsure of where to step next.

Work has been pretty iffy. Some days I am great, then other days where I crash and burn into raspberry jam on the freeway.

I am back to not sleeping again. The medications don’t even make me drowsy.

Just, I could really use some help and advice right now.

Same Old Song And Dance

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My laptop has once again gone on the fritz. And of course it does right after I get my brand new DSLR Canon Rebel T3i, or the 600D.

I have so many photos I have taken I want to share, but obviously can’t. There are photos of my dresses, our latest project at the house and Disney fireworks that I am really proud of!

The time when my psychologist will be closing her practice is getting closer and closer. She has a surgery next Friday. When she does close it I will be very sad as I gave developed some what of a connection with her and feel she really has my interests in mind.

But my new psychiatrist has been working out really well! I have only seen him twice but that is because he doesn’t expect a change every single week. I am currently on Lamictal, the Zyprexa is halved every night. Added in Buspirone for anxiety twice daily.

I am back at work, kinda. I go to work, suffer multiple panic attacks that have chest pain accompany them as well nowadays, and drive home, arriving around three in the morning.

On Saturday, I messed up. I told one of the newer managers everything during one of the more severe attacks. And before I even threw in the towel, I could see the change. Questions with a lilt of, “psychosis?”

Told you I messed up.

I work tomorrow and am debating leaving early to go to Animal Kingdom for some photos before work. I dunno.

Thanks to the frustration with my behavior behind the scenes and the mess that is my sewing room, a lot of things have come to a stand still. My emotions are still a crazy roller coaster and anxiety is still extremely high.

I went to Target and did a bad thing. Thursday is pay day and obviously I should be saving up for a new laptop. I spent close to a $100 getting new clothes. On one hand, I need new clothes. My lower half has exploded in weight gain from the Zyprexa and I am in desperate need of clothing. I haven’t made a pair of shorts or bottoms yet and the dresses I have made are getting almost too tight for wear. Even the ones I just made two weeks ago.

I got a pair of shorts, three t-shirts, and a purse that I have had my eye on for almost two months. It is big enough to hold my new camera, wrapped in a scarf, my notebook and planner with room to spare. A pair of athletic shorts also made it into my cart but I bought them without trying them on figuring if I didn’t like them I could simply return them.

Well, I don’t like them and they will be going back. So yay, $16.99 back onto my card.

Anyways. I took photos of the photos with this phone and I hope that can satisfy you for now!

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Old Singer sewing table legs

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Everything is shorter thanks to my butt getting bigger. We will just let that be my disclaimer.

This post was drafted from mobile device and is more than likely riddled with typos and grammatical errors. Please forgive and forget folks. If it is not too much of a bother, that is.

There is This Thing Called “Bipolar”

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Those that have been with me on this blogging journey for a while know that I have been self aware of almost all of my problems my entire life. I had even started to give my demons names. Names like:

  • OCD
  • ADD
  • Depression

Calling them “quirks”.

Lists upon lists of my symptoms and feelings.

I had eventually learned how to handle and work around this “quirks” of mine and live my life as what I felt would simply be how my life would go. Until it started getting in the way more than it ever had before.

I was not going out to see friends, I wasn’t even speaking to people. For over a month and a half my phone was on ‘airplane’ mode. Nothing in, nothing out. Then, I was having trouble working. Finishing a shift was a nightmare and I felt very weak by the end of even the first half of my shift. Soon enough, I couldn’t work a single shift at all. Just the thought terrified me.

So, I sought help.

Went to see a psychiatrist recommended by a friend and had taken along a few sheets of paper from a legal pad where I had written down to the best of my abilities all my symptoms and problems.

On that day of March 31st in the year 2014, I was diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder.

It kind of sent me for a loop and yet it didn’t at the same time. I was familiar with the illness. Many of my non blood related sibling that my mother had taken in were diagnosed as Bipolar.

I took the psychiatrist at their word and believed that yes, indeed, I was Bipolar.

The problem was convincing myself that I was Bipolar.

I didn’t figure out why this was such an issue until yesterday during my appointment with Peach (my online nickname for my psychologist).

As I had mentioned before, I was listing all my problems singularly as they came along. Lists after lists. Points after points. I simply could not understand how so many pages, so many entries could be wrapped up in this one little box that is Bipolar Disorder.

To help me come to terms, Georgia Peach went through a diagnostic exam asking me all the questions that would prove whether or not I was in fact Bipolar. Questions about kleptomania, obviously about moods, anger, depression, energy, insomnia and Obsessive Compulsive tendencies.

It definitely did help and it was in the middle of this evaluation that it hit me.

Poor Georgia Peach was slightly confused when all of a sudden I gasped and said, “I get it. I understand.”

Usually I try very, very hard not to interrupt people (one of my “rules”) and yet here I had. I excused myself and urged her to continue with what she was doing. After finishing reviewing the examination, I told her.

“And there you go. I knew you were a smart cookie.”

Bipolar Disorder, especially being diagnosed as Bipolar Severe, is something that will never, ever go away.

You can treat it. You can develop tools and ways on how to handle your episodes as they come.

You may be successful or you may not be successful.

But I have the power now to try. I have the power to do everything I can to actually try working with this illness.

Before, that power was unavailable to me.

But now I have it and now I am ready. Bipolar is not a disease a lot of people understand.

“Mood swings? You call what just happened with the excuse of a mood swing?”

Well, yeah, but it is more than that.

As mental health comes more and more into the light, there is some understanding and easing of the stigma that clouds mental illnesses like a miasma.

But Bipolar Disorder is one of the disorders that continues to remain misunderstood.

And because of this, it isn’t something you can easily share. Not with friends, not with coworkers or even family.

So far… in my personal circle I can count on one hand how many people know about my recent diagnosis and I intend to only share it if it is indeed very necessary.

Just remember though, I have the power to live my life without this demon on my back.

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What Is This Black Box Thing?

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So, I just returned from picking up my laptop** from the computer dude and of course the first thing I do is to uninstall that annoying start menu button. I am one of the very very few that actually enjoy the tile set up of Windows 8.

Now that I have my laptop back with a fully functioning keyboard, I can finally start tacking my ever growing list of blog posts to write up.
And first up is my thoughts on the series premiere of Black Box. Even before the blogsphere blew up in preparation of this show, I was intensely curious about this show that as far as I knew was simply about mental health. I had no idea that the entire thing was about Bipolar Disorder. That just upped the ante to overflowing, as I had within the last few weeks been diagnosed with Bipolar.

To the point, I loved it. There where so many times where I would connect with memories throughout my past that were actually symptoms of Bipolar Disorder.

My mother watched the premiere with me and during one scene she turned to me and asked me if what was happening seemed familiar. The worrisome part? It was the scene where Dr Black’s mother was screaming and threatening to kill herself. It wasn’t my actions that were supposed to be familiar, it’s my mother’s.

And yes, it was familliar. And yes, it is terrifying. I cannot count how many times from times as a young child to even within the last year where my mother has either threatened her own life, or to run away. Every time strikes fear because even if she has threatened it so many times and has yet to act on it, you can never promise that, that one time she doesn’t mean it. Dangerous slippery slope.
If you have a curiosity about Bipolar Disorder, watch it.

However so far, I have yet to have an impulse to not take my nightly medication even as I question it. I do realize that it could be very bad if I were to stop the 400 mg of Seroquel all of sudden.

However, on Twitter there was some discussion I noticed.

@LinzDefranco tweeted asking for opinions on what they thought about the show. And some of them… got to me a little. I had to stop myself multiple times for sending out a reply tweet of my own.

The replies that got to me were about how it didn’t portray Bipolar Disorder realistically. Okay, fine if that is your opinion. I have no problem with that. The problem I had was when it was said that Bipolar Disorder isn’t like that period, at all, ever.

My own diagnosis as Bipolar Severe isn’t anything like what they portrayed on the show.

Why?

Because it wasn’t me writing it.

Everyone is different. Everyone experiences and handles their disorders their own way. I have never had a manic episode like the ones Dr Black in the premiere did. At least, not that I am aware of. But someone else may have.

I hope people when they watch this show they can come to an understanding and learn something anything about mental health in general, not just Bipolar Disorder. The Stigma must be broken.

 

#IWillListen

 

**I obviously wrote this post prior to today and uploaded once I had access to wifi. …Like now.