Tired

Nothing is happening with Depakote. My moods are still level. But I do appreciate life more. I watched the sun slowly rise as the crescent moon and single star remained out. It was the most beautiful thing, I’ve seen in a long time besides my kids’ births. Maybe certain souls are more immune to negativity than others? I’m not trying to go “all religious” or anything. Maybe people like me can’t handle constant darkness and so much negativity?

“How can you not speak out about politics?” Honestly, I can’t handle politics. It drives me insane. It’s one of my triggers, so I avoid politics at all costs. You have stronger people who can handle it all. That person isn’t me. Trump has always been a douche nozzle or the captain of the douche squad. That has NEVER changed. Not since I’ve been alive. Did you know you can’t sit on the floor inside Trump tower? Did you know they don’t give tours for school children in that place? Nothing has changed since 1994. But, as much as a prick he is, he’s still our POTUS. I didn’t care for Bill Clinton either. I used to be a Democrat until he fucked Monica. The whole cigar incident did it for me. I left the Democrat party after that went down. Ah! How people forget or weren’t alive! That was the biggest scandal in the 90’s! I stayed Independent for a while. Then, I switched to the MAP… Moderate American Party. I don’t care for the Republicans nor Democrats. Both parties have pretty embarrassing past presidents. Trump isn’t our new low. All we do is elect puppets on a string who are controlled by our congress and house of representatives. Trump used to be a lifelong Democrat until Obama became president. Then he switched sides. But, Americans forgot about that, too.

“We don’t understand the electoral college! Hillary should have won!” I understand. But you can’t have big cities like Los Angeles, New York City, or Chicago speak for the rest of the country. You’re telling us that the rest of the United States doesn’t matter. The people in Montana, don’t matter. The people in Wyoming, don’t matter. The people in Idaho, don’t matter. The entire map of the United States turned from blue to red for Donald Trump. The only areas that were blue were the bigger cities. So, if you have over 2 million people living in Los Angeles, of course, Hillary will get the votes there. She lost all the smaller towns and cities. During her campaign, she focused on those big cities, and she couldn’t make time to visit the smaller cities. Don’t blame it on Bernie! Bernie had shit to do with it. Hillary couldn’t be bothered with the tiny cities. That is why she lost. If you don’t want it to happen again, I suggest 2 million plus voters need to move to these smaller states and make a change. Don’t live in an area that is over saturated with Democrats. And nobody remembers the Republicans crying when Obama won twice over the electoral college. It did the same thing for Obama. They only want it abolished when their favorite candidate fails to win. That system was put in place for a reason. We don’t need bigger cities dictating what the smaller cities can do with their lives. Meh… I don’t understand people these days. And I remember Hillary failing to answer a young black teenager’s question. She actually became snotty with her. You can find that video on YouTube if you’re interested. Hillary is a closet racist. And she treated the secret service like shit when she was first lady.

I still don’t care for either party. Bernie is now a sell-out in my eyes. I warned people. If Bernie didn’t become the nominee, watch people switch their votes to Trump. Sure enough, I was right. If the liberals continue to bash Trump, we’ll see a repeat in 2020. We do this every 8 years. We switch to Democrat for a while and back to Republican for awhile. I don’t believe the Democrats have anyone who can take on Trump at this point. They need to get this candidate out now to take on Trump. This person needs to be charismatic. Because frankly, you don’t need experience now. Avoid calling Trump names. It won’t work. Over 53% of Democrats voted for Trump. Nobody could stand Clinton. And nobody wanted Bill back in the white house either. The oval office incident from the 90’s anyone? We became the laughing-stock of the world when that shit went down. We didn’t forget. It’s the silent Americans, you need to worry about. They’re ready to re-elect Trump in 2020. These are your coal miners, your police, fire & rescue, people who work in the oil fields, factory workers, and farmers. Those who don’t pop off with stupid shit all the time. They are tired of being accused of shit they didn’t do. They are tired of being told how to live. Fuck it. You reap what you sow. None of them care about Hollywood or their obnoxious awards. They turned the television off because it became a Trump bash session. Hollywood seems to believe they have influence. No, you don’t. And while these people are getting richer by making a ONE movie, the rest of us are dying out here. Parents working two jobs to provide for their family. They don’t give a shit about what actor or actress in Hollywood thinks anymore. We know they can write it off on taxes. The hardworking middle class Americans can’t write it off on our taxes. While these people don’t pay for shit, neither do the lower class. We can understand the lower class but not the upper class. That’s why Americans are so pissed. A lot of Americans are boycotting movies, shows, and etc… You want us to pay $15.00 per movie ticket? Well, fuck you! We’ll wait until it’s on Netflix or Red Box. And these are the same people who bitch about the wall, but they live behind tight security and walls around their properties.

Why do Americans own guns? If you live in the middle of nowhere, it takes the cops about 20-45 mins to get to where some of us live. By the time they get out there, tragedy would have already struck. That is why we own guns. Not only is it in the Constitution, but it does take cops a long time to get to some of us. We have mountains, roads that are in poor shape, and flooding does happen. I prefer swords over guns and a dog over guns. I grew up around guns all my life. I know how to use one, but I choose not to own one. I live next to the police station. We’re good. And my dog is pretty good about letting me know something is up. I have swords nobody thinks is a sword. Some are out in plain sight. Even my kids don’t realize it’s a sword. I have tomahawks. Those were passed on to me since I’m part Native American. I find it more insulting to call me part indigenous. A part of my family has been here for a long time. The other part of me comes from Europe. My dad carries the Native American traits, he’s part Scottish, English, Irish, and French. My mom is half German and half Bohemian (Czech Republic). While doing research on the family, I stumbled upon mental illnesses from both sides. Anxiety and Bipolar from my mom’s side. Schizophrenia and Bipolar from my dad’s side. There was one story from my dad’s great uncle. His great great-grandfather fought for the Union side and his brother fought for the Confederate side. When the Confederate great-uncle returned, he went insane. So, the grandfather locked his brother up in a woodshed, leaving him there. That is where the term, “I’ll take you out to the woodshed” comes from. Or they locked family members in the attic or basement if they were deemed “mentally unstable.” The family wouldn’t talk about it. Part of me feels bad. I live in a time period that could use some improvement still, but I have medications to keep me from a lunatic asylum.

Do I believe the mentally ill should own a gun? No. I don’t. Not even while on medication. That temptation will always be there. What if you have a depressed moment? All it takes is for one bad day, and you do something terrible. I won’t own or buy a gun. Even though I have security clearance to own a gun. I won’t take that risk. But you own swords! Yes, but I have never done anything with them. No more dangerous than a kitchen knife. And even in my most depressed state, I never thought of using a sword. I used pills instead.

Maybe more souls are sensitive than others? I’m at my happiest moment when it’s summertime and I’m next to the ocean with sand so white that looks like pearls. I’m a summer baby. I can’t handle the gray skies or snow. I don’t like snow. I can stay out in the sun all day long and be perfectly content.

Advertisements

Andrew, You Suck

This is going to be a lot different from my Depakote posts. It’s going well, I’m just extra thirsty. Camel? I thought I’d start off this post a little different. Let’s go back in time to November, 2011, I believe. I maybe off a year. This post has been a long time coming. For over six years, I carried this huge weight on my shoulders. It’s time to go back prior in time so you get the full picture.

In April, 2008, I was hired full-time for a huge online company. I’m sure you heard of them by now. We parted ways before that in 2005, when I became pregnant with son #1. This time, I had our second son on April 22,2008. I was hired on July 23, 2008. I remember I wasn’t healed all the way from a c-section. Very foolish of me. But this company has warehouses all over the place and a huge learning curve. I already knew how to do the job from 2002-2005.

I remember coming home not soon after and accidentally getting pregnant with son #3. In that time, I trained other associates in my job, I quickly excelled to the top of the list. I won numerous gas cards for having the top rate from my group. Hell, I was even 7 months pregnant with son #3 when I hit top rate again. Here I am, freaking people out with this huge belly in front of me. I was really fit at that time. But I was lucky, damn lucky. I could have lost son #3 at any moment. I didn’t realize that until I had repeat c-section #3. There was a window on my uterus and the veins looked ominous if I remember correctly. It didn’t look good. The OBGYN said I we were both lucky. We could have died if I would have bent a certain way or fall. My uterus could have ruptured at any time. The OBGYN was thankful that none of that happened. I was thankful. She recommended me to tie my tubes or get a tubal ligation at that time. When you just give birth, you become highly emotional. I’m not a vain person. I just wanted to have a little girl. I always dreamed of having a little girl. I should be happy with the three sons I have. But, I wasn’t happy. They had more stuff for girls. And I was tired of this question. “When are you going to have a little girl?” You know your life isn’t complete without having a little girl! Fuck you to those people. Don’t put pressure on people to give birth to both sexes. Don’t pressure anyone to give birth to any child. It’s their business and place, not yours.

I found another OBGYN who did a full uterine repair surgery. It would give me up to two more pregnancies. My husband and I talked about it, we only wanted four because I hate odd numbers. I don’t do odd numbers. I don’t know why that’s just a “me” thing. No matter what, boy or girl, we would have finished at baby #4. I had the uterine repair surgery in 2010. All while remaining employed. The big company doesn’t have the greatest insurance in the world. And now that I think of it, the pay is too low for the line of work we did. We walked, 20 miles a day. No lie! If it was summertime, you were baking. If it was winter time, you were freezing. You had to walk from one end of the warehouse to the other. I still have damage to my toes. I can’t feel the big toes on either foot. I walked with blisters on my feet because if you didn’t, your productivity would go down, and they’d write you up. I picked books, coffee, game systems, iPods, vibrators, penis pumps, cd’s, dvd’s. You name it, I probably picked it.

I finally got the promotion after I had my son #3. It was a promotion of a lifetime for me. I always treated people with respect. I have the mentality that you lift people up, not tear them down. I got along with all the managers except for the new guy, they hired. His name was Andrew, and I’ll leave his last name off for the record. This guy has NO business being a manager. He got into frequent arguments with temporaries, chest bumping them and acted aggressive. I turned his ass in. He often bragged about being a vendor who took things from his ex-employers. That didn’t sit well with me. So, I turned him in. But here’s the funny thing about a job. It becomes a popularity contest. I’m the one without a degree, and he has the degrees. I loved my job until I had to deal with Andrew. He made it a hostile work environment. So hostile, I cried during my breaks and lunches. I cried when I went home from work. It was that awful.

Anyway, things came to pass when Andrew said a key phrase that brought back so many painful emotions. We all had walkie-talkies back then. That sucker was annoying. The problem with those walkie-talkies is that EVERYBODY had one. The Sr. Operation Manager, Operation Manager, Area Manager, ambassadors, trainers, and the seasonal workers also had walkie-talkies. So, Andrew decided to get on the radio and say this about me. “Can you do anything right? You can’t, can you? You can’t do anything right!” That phrase made me fall apart. A harmless simple phrase. Something snapped in my head. It took me back to my childhood with my father. “You can’t do anything right!” The same hateful tone. It made me want to find a hole and cower down. I became scared, petrified. It made me doubt everything. I felt like I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t try hard enough. It sent me over the edge of “no return.” I had to leave the company at that point. The stress was too much. I was working 60+ hours a week. I missed our sons. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I left, and I didn’t look back. I didn’t care who they got to replace me. I was so done at that point. The management team refused to listen to me about Andrew. I gave up. HR didn’t seem to care.

I didn’t realize how much it effected me for so many years. I bounced from job to job because I’d stress out. One dirty look, and I was gone. I was convinced that I was such a terrible worker. And to realize that I let one asshole rip me a new one. He should have never been a manager. If these are the people you want to employ, go for it. But remember this, I found my voice back. I will fight back when I have to. Most of the time, I’m pretty easy-going. Even with all my mental health issues. I allowed someone power over me when I shouldn’t have. This is what I should have said. “Then why don’t you do something about it, Andrew? Can’t you see that I’m busy helping YOUR associates which should be YOUR job? Go suck up about how you steal things from other companies. You’re a real piece of work.”

To all the great managers of every walks of life, thank you. My new boss, Jeff, practically made me cry last night. He made me feel like a person. It’s been so long since I felt that from an employer. I am by no means a lazy worker. When I work, I go hard 200% at any job I do. Jeff made me feel special last night. “I appreciate all the hard work you’re doing and thank you for coming in. Keep up the good work.” Just that alone made my confidence return. In return, it makes me want to work even harder.

One thing I want to ask bosses… Please treat people with kindness. Kindness gets you a lot further with people than tearing them down to pieces. Nobody wants to work. It would be nice to live off the land without money, politics, and other garbage that keeps us away from treating others like human beings. We’re not a fully robotic society yet. You still need people to run your stores, warehouses, and factories. At least be kind enough to realize that while you fly around in a fleet of planes, the families you employ… They can’t fill their fridge, and they worry about which bill to pay, and their disappearing medical coverage. Go after insurance companies and Big Pharma… Those people need to be capped. USA pays far more money and wind up filing for medical bankruptcy. The main CEO for the company I used to work for, he’s wealthy. He rattles cages, but he refuses to pay all those warehouse workers what he should be paying them. His promise that “this is a fun place to work,” is a lie. It became a military dictatorship and a class society problem. It isn’t fun anymore.

As for Andrew,

You suck. You suck  like a bag of 2 million dicks. There’s a thing called “karma.” It may not happen now or soon, but one day, “karma” will come for you. What you give out into the world is what you receive. This is why people like us despise people like you. You’ll get caught in your lies, sooner or later. If you have, I hope it was sweet. To all my other beloved co-workers, I miss you. I miss all of you. But I found another company who appreciates me more than the one you work for. Thank you to the immigrant workers for teaching me the differences in Spanish, the countries, and the world. I’m trying. I want to become a better person. Don’t be like Andrew. Andrew is just another stumbling block who has no life. Don’t let him tear you down. Keep strong and be brave.

Love,

Jen

Yes, we need people. But, we need the right people. I do love my new job. So much stress is gone. I feel welcomed, appreciated, and admired again. I may have fluttered around dog turds a few times, but I found a place that keeps their arms open to me. Thank you, Jeff for being an amazing boss.

 

 

Depakote: Day 18

Well, it was my thyroid medication! I didn’t take it. I should have known. Once I took it, everything settled down. I didn’t take too many Depakotes as I previously thought. I feel better. I’m stable. I need one of those cases that reminds you when to take medication. I normally take Levothyroxine when I wake up and Depakote right before bed. I have to keep  the two separated or at least 4 hours apart.

I’m back to normal. Anxiety went from a crisis level to a moderate level. And last night, anxiety became tolerable.

Tonight, I almost overslept for work. So, while normal people work during the day, I  work the graveyard shift as a manager. It has it’s normal stresses, and I still deal with people. Unusual people. It’s good to get back out into the workforce. I never thought I’d see this day again. Anxiety can really do a lot of damage, and people don’t treat it as a mental illness. It’s the one that likes to shut the doors and keep me inside the house for days. It’s the one that racks up a lot of emergency room visits because your mind believes you’re having a heart attack when you’re not. It is the secret liar in the pack. You panic almost over every little thing. Your kid has a sniffle, you turn it into cancer. It’s that scary to deal with. There must be something in the medication that will blow up my brain. I shouldn’t eat or take that because it will kill me. Yep… That’s how anxiety rolls or at least generalized anxiety disorder rolls. My panic and anxiety attacks isn’t the one you see in movie or shows. They give them a brown paper bag, “Here you go! Calm down!” No… Mine will make me cry, and if they are severe enough, I’ll be crouched on the kitchen/bathroom floor sobbing. I stress out over every little thing. I can’t control anything and it bugs me. My chest feels like it will explode, heart will race, brain will over analyze, cold sweats arrive, and numbness in my face or fingers. Anxiety can manipulate other severe illnesses if it wants to. At least it does with me. I excessively worry over everything.

One thing I can say, at least I arrive at appointments on time now. Usually, 30 minutes early. Thank you, Anxiety. And you don’t want people to come over and visit you with a dirty house. Thank you, Anxiety. Once you start cleaning, you can’t stop. I still don’t trust people. One eye closed and one eye is always open. I don’t know you, so why should I trust you? I don’t let my kids spend the night at people’s houses. I don’t know them. If it’s family, I know them so I’ll let them go. If it’s anyone else, no. What if my kid breaks an arm? What if my kid breaks something of theirs? The list goes on and on and on. Thanks to anxiety, I can do a careful research on a person before I let them in. Did they have a criminal record? Are they a child rapist? Where do they work at? What do they do? It’s like a lengthy application before my kid spends the night at any stranger’s house. The same with birthday parties. I won’t let them go unless I know their parents well. It’s my job to protect my kids at all costs. I do a headcount at night. What if someone tries to break in? I lock my doors. And it’s tough when you work the graveyard shift. I’m entrusting my most prize possessions with my mother-in-law and mother for 2 hours. They of course, are asleep during that time. My husband leaves his job about 2 am. Working 12-8 am are perfect hours for me. On the weekends, my husband is always home. I trust him with my life. Maybe I’m going a little overboard? It’s the best way for me psychologically to work and have peace of mind. I may not bring in the big paychecks like my husband does, but I can contribute with my sanity in check.

Mood swings are okay. I thought I did overslept for work. Depakote can pack a punch when it wants to. No problems with sexual dysfunction. No hair falling out on my end. I’m still thirsty. My ears ring or pop from time to time. My migraines are gone. My mood level has stabilized. I’m not as manic, but the dose does need to increase from 500 mg to 1,000 mg. The doc prescribed them to let my system become adapted to the medication first. Maybe things will change the next month. Overall, I’m losing weight. I don’t see myself in the mirror as a morbidly obese person. Maybe it’s helping with that aspect. For a while there, I thought I was morbidly obese. What I saw in the mirror doesn’t reflect how my body actually is. Maybe that’s the paranoia? Or part of Borderline. I look like a normally fit person now. It’s strange. I believe my mind played tricks on me. With Borderline, anorexia comes into play. I always struggled with food. I forgot about that criteria. It’s a love & hate relationship. Due to anxiety, I don’t like to eat in public. I feel that people are watching me, making snide remarks. But it’s just my brain lying to me again. I usually like to stay home and eat at home. I’m going to try this weekend to eat in public. As long as my anxiety allows it. I’m paranoid that I’ll wind up with food poisoning. Why? I had a nasty bout of it in 1990. Ever since then, I won’t eat at fast food places. Just no. And you don’t want to know how many people fail to wash their hands. Eww… I couldn’t do those mukbangs on YouTube. I just couldn’t. I don’t like my own family to see me eating, much less the public on YouTube. Why open yourself up to such negativity? Nobody likes watching those. To me, it shows gluttony and overindulgence. And not to mention, I can’t stand people talking with their mouths full of food. It just is a big no to me. Maybe an OCD trait? Or maybe it’s because my mom told me not to ever talk with a full mouth? She would often scold me. Don’t belch at the table, sip don’t slurp, sit up straight, and don’t reach across the table. That’s what my mom taught me. I feared her. I didn’t argue with my mother a lot. And you definitely didn’t go to my mom with advice about love, sex, or periods. She never explained why we had periods. Just threw a bag at me. Now you’re a woman, enjoy it. She closed those topics off to me. I found out from my best friend, Aaron. I try to do the opposite things she did with my kids. But the burping at the table and the talking with your mouth full does bug me. I explain to my kids it is called proper etiquette. That works. I don’t need to give my kids the stare of death over little things like that.

Overall, I’m happier. I need to work on my ticks a lot better.

Depakote: Days 15-17

Nothing’s changed except for me forgetting. I’m still thirsty.

Day 17 which would be yesterday was a bad day for me. I believe I accidentally took two pills instead of one. Now I’m dealing with the after effects from that decision. The kids wouldn’t let me sleep for work when there were three other adults in the house. Becoming frazzled from them and their issues, I accidentally took 2 pills instead of one yesterday. Now my mood swing is not that great. I’m in fact dealing with a nasty bout of anxiety and a panic attack rolled into one. I’m dealing with nasty cold sweats that make me look like I’m coming off drugs. Which I haven’t touched drugs since 2000.

I can’t work like this. I’m all over the place. It’s either that or I forgot to take my thyroid medication yesterday. One of the two happened. Either way, I’m shaking, not feeling well. I did take Depakote earlier. I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that I want to hide in my bedroom until the storm blows over. Or it’s just a very nasty anxiety and panic attack. It’s trying to creep to the surface. I wish I can control it, but anxiety is a nasty bitch on her own. I’m thinking that they’re going to put me on an anxiety medicine. That’s the part that’s out-of-control. I hate feeling this terrible.

Maybe I should admit myself to get my system under control for a few days.

Days 13 & 14: Depakote ;)

I chose to be a lazy person this week. No, I chose to work on my book. I managed to cut it down from 171,000 words to 104,361 words. I could drop adverbs and other useless words in the future. At least it makes more sense! That’s what happens when your brain is functioning the way it should be.

Any side effects? No. Not really. I’m still thirsty. My ears frequently pop, driving me nuts. I merged the two days together because nothing major happened. Oh, wait… That!

I am not afraid to talk about sex. Why? I enjoy writing erotica. So, we’ll go there. If you remember, I spoke about Citalopram aka Celexa. I went a month without an orgasm. My husband loved it because he turned it into a game. I hated it. It was like you were riding a roller coaster, you get to the top, but you don’t go down that first hill. You get there but nothing happens! Did that happen with Depakote?

Nope! In fact, I became (I know this is TMI) wetter. It was like my husband could poke me, and I achieved the hill to happiness. It felt better to be honest. Let me just tell you, I turned into a porn star. Not really, but pretty close. The grandmothers took our one child out shopping and it was game on. I tackled my husband and the poor thing didn’t realize what hit him. He’s a lot happier today, let me tell you. I’m happier. So no, Depakote didn’t hinder my orgasms. Porn star dancing went around and around. I’m honest here. 😉

As for my book, I have received numerous offers for editing. I’m not at that point! I had to pull out the erotic scenes with more to follow for the blasted word count. I love it now. I didn’t before.  I hated editing the thing. Now it all makes sense. The scenes are clicking into place. Now I need to delete all the adverbs. Adverbs are a pain in the ass at this point.

I don’t know if it was because I took the Citalopram a year before as the reason why Depakote didn’t affect me in the sexual aspect or I was really that horny. Either way, thank you Depakote. I feel like a sopping mess at times but thank you. As for my mood swings? They are tame. I love it! Manageable mood swings, nothing to high or low. Horny as fuck but no rage, anger, depression, or mania. I’m good.

Day 12: Depakote

“Hello, I’ve waited here for you. Everlong…” –Foo Fighters.

Probably pointless. I feel normal for a change. I think of all those times I was in mania. The grand delusions weren’t real. A part of me is sad and wonders how much of it was real and how much of it was fake. That is the part that gets me. Was I really suffering from mania? That person wasn’t me. Can we push the reset button now that I’m feeling better? That’s probably the worst part of it all. Knowing that you were in euphoria the whole time. The biggest scam artist played by my own brain. Now that shit is depressing.

But you know something’s off. When you see shit that isn’t here or real. I don’t miss the auditory hallucinations. Those have stopped. I don’t miss the visual hallucinations either. Those have stopped. I feel normal for a change. I can carry a conversation without fear. I had every right to lock myself up in my own personal hell until I was medicated.

I’m more or less, pissed at myself for waiting so long out of fear. It can take years to find the right combination of medications. Look at me… I’m living proof. The flight of ideas have stopped. Which I’m thankful for. The buzzing has stopped along with the brain zaps. Those are gone. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I’m happy, but I’m crying happy tears for a change. It’s like my brain stopped at a certain point and went haywire for many years after I turned 10. My memory is coming back. It’s like your brain has endless tangles of curves, spiraling together, not making a lick of sense. Now my brain is straight. Instead of driving down a road of endless s-curves, I’m driving down an interstate on a straight course. I don’t feel like clawing out of my skin for a change.

How many times have I said to myself, “This isn’t you. It isn’t real. Those are just delusions. That isn’t real.” For a while there, I really thought I had a direct pathway to God. Whoa… holy batshit crazy! Those were all just grandiose delusions caused by a sick brain. I didn’t realize how sick I really was. I’m not saying Depakote is the answer for everyone because medication reacts differently with each person, but it’s what works for me.

I’m enjoying the silence. Just enough to keep my creativity, but enough to silence the multiple freeways. I was really sick! I wasted so many years being sick. I thank my husband for taking the brunt of the load. He’s been the real star of the shit show.

You ostracize yourself from the pack because you know you’re sick. That was me. I remember swinging on a swing as a little girl. That was probably the last enjoyable memory I had besides my husband and kids. I’m not as tired as I once was. I do have nightmares still, but at least they don’t feel as real as they once did.

I have noticed my Borderline has calmed down. I’m not ready to run or fight anymore. For the first time, I’m noticing the clear blue skies without negativity or resentment. If this is what peace feels like, I don’t want it to go away.

Day 11: Depakote

I made it! Day 11! I still think the 500 mg is still too low. It needs to be upped to at least 1000 mg. This is just to prepare my system for the higher dosage. I’m not as scattered as I was, but I could still use a higher dosage.

My feet are sore today. I don’t have great feet. But I’m calmer than I was yesterday. I know this is supposed to cause weight gain, but I’m losing weight. I’m going in the opposite direction. I’ll find out in October for sure. I let my doctors weigh me. There’s no use in weighing myself these days.

I’ve noticed that my ears are popping a lot while on this medication. Anyone else have that issue? I am horny, but I’m waiting to pounce on the hubby when things settle down. It’s been a crazy week for us. Run a child to a club meeting here. Run two other children to other clubs. Like please? Settle down for a week! Welcome back to school! My kids have been in school for almost a month now. Our school system started on August 9th. Living in a red state, we need it. They’re getting ready for their fall vacation. The first of many vacations throughout the year.

Besides our kids, I have a lot of knives (not really) circling above my head. First, I’m a writer. Second, I’m a book reviewer. Third, I’m a content editor. Fourth, I’m a vlogger. And fifth, I have an outside job. Last night, I had to meet with my boss for an online magazine. He looked rather stressed. We use the Google Hangouts for editing conferences. I just learned to agree with the boss. My brain was buzzing last night with too much information. Breakdowns? Who has time for mental breakdowns?

So many people have offered to take a whack at my book, it isn’t funny. Let me change it, and I’ll look you up. Affordable? Do they mean that .001 cent per word or do they mean $45.00 per hour? Here I am, gutting my first novel so it aligns with the rest of the novels. I wanted it to give me more wiggle room for the future novels in my series. I love how it looks now. It’s not as insane. I keep thinking, “Delete that word! That costs money, we don’t have to splurge!” I started out at 179,000 words for epic fantasy. Now it’s down to 126,000 words. Almost there, right? WRONG! It still needs to lose 20,000 words. Editing and design costs money. Shelf space for a library costs money. Why put one huge novel there, when they can put three or four novels in its place? I’m not “technically” a debut author, but since I rewrote the story, guess what? I’m a debut author all over again. That shit from 2011 no longer counts. Dammit! It isn’t like I loved it anyway. This time, I love it. It makes more sense than it did in 2011. It only took me 6 years to figure it out. More like, I had several mental breakdowns. At one point, I almost torched the manuscript. I was that upset over it. Since I have Borderline, I can’t handle negative criticism well. I’m trying, but when half of your brain is saying to release it, and the other says don’t release it, you’ll get hurt again, you tend to listen to the safer option. And with Borderline, everything is shit. How the hell do I combat my own mind? And they say that if you have self-doubt, this isn’t the profession to be involved in. So, people with Borderline should bow out? Nah… I prefer to stand on a stage again while the audience take turns throwing rotten tomatoes at me. I still love Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne after all these years. All writers take their turn at being Hester Prynne. I just have to learn to avoid reading reviews. And that’s so hard for someone with Borderline. We ignore the positives and listen to the negatives. “You see! I knew it was a pile of shit!”

Here’s what they don’t tell you about being a writer/author. A lot of us are walking around with at least one mental health disorder. It doesn’t matter if it’s anxiety, depression, autism, bipolar, schizophrenia, borderline, NPD, DID… There are those who are snooty if you catch my drift. There is a long and never-ending list of authors who have mental illnesses. You know who they are. Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen (had a bout of depression), Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, and even J.K. Rowling. But the wildest imaginations come from the mentally ill. The shit we can create is amazing. So, do you go with proper structure with a lackluster imagination, or do you go with the book with lackluster structure with imaginative scenes? It’s a toss-up. No book is 100% perfect.

Acting schools, writing schools… Mark Twain would be rolling in his grave. It isn’t that deep. “Well, acting is really hard.” I did it one time and it bored me. I prefer being a writer. You get to play the bad person, the dramatic person, the reactionary, the visionary, the genius, the dumbass, and so on. I enjoy playing all those roles in one swipe. It’s amazing what you can do under the stage lights. It’s like “You’re rolling!” I rolled all right. I hated it. I wasn’t booed or anything. In fact, I received a standing ovation. I had to improv on the fly. When you’re a writer, you can come up with some last-minute stories. Also being a writer, you can get yourself out of some intense and really sticky situations. Nope! I enjoy being a writer. Let me see how many fucked up characters I can create with my absurd imagination. Sometimes, I don’t think of the importance of that character until they are in a scene.

I opted out of describing my characters 100%. They are missing skin and muscle tone. You won’t find anymore skin colors in my series. The reader has to paint the characters. That’s how you settle the debate. Exclude skin tones. It becomes more about vanity than the story itself. And I’m sick of seeing this… “Well, that actor doesn’t look like the character in the book!” This makes an actor accept the role. With generic frames, anyone black, white, or brown can fit the role. I’m looking out for my actor friends. Quite a few of them took it really hard when book-worms fired nasty verbal assualts at them. We need to stop that shit. I love them and prefer them in certain roles. These actors are good people. It’s time to drop the colors. People are people. But, I’ll give my characters my mental health disorders. I don’t mind sharing the love. From here on out with any book I write, the skin colors will be mute. None coming from me. Not a peep.

Day 10: Depakote

When shit hits the fan, it really hits. Not the actual shit. I’m starting to believe I’m the normal person. My night is my daytime. While the kids sleep, I’m at work. When they go to school, I’m asleep during the day. When it’s the weekend, hubby takes over.

I had to put multiple products on the shelf. That takes a long time to do. It isn’t as easy as it looks. And when there are broken seals within makeup, I growl. I let off an angry growl. We should have testers to combat that problem like the bigger places do. It’s severely micro managed. I love my outside job. It keeps my mind busy. Not to mention, I drop my “momma flab,” if you know what I mean. My feet have seen better days. Psoriatic Arthritis is a nasty autoimmune disease. Those people on the commercials, they don’t show you how really bad it can be. I have plaque lesions on my left hand and my right arm, left knee, and my legs. It looks like I have a bad sunburn, but it’s psoriasis. Most of the time, I wear long sleeves to keep it covered. If I could wear gloves that would be lovely. I’m extremely self-conscience about my autoimmune disease. Sometimes it itches, sometimes in burns. Sometimes my nails break off. I can’t grow nails at all. Plaque is the major one I have. Then I have inverse and scalp psoriasis. It looks like dandruff, but it’s dead skin peeling off my scalp. I have special scalp treatments that burn my scalp at times. I hate it because it makes my hair greasy. Today, it feels nice. I used Suave and it’s better than the expensive shampoo. I just have to make sure my scalp doesn’t build up on too much skin. The arthritis part of it is in my spine, feet, and hands. It hurts. It feels like you’re walking on glass non-stop. Then my feet swell out, creating more pain. Eventually my joints will deteriorate over time. So far, I’m good.

While on Depakote, I noticed my anxiety is trying to come out. She isn’t happy. It’s like my mind is confused. It wants to panic. It wants to cry, but I’m so level it isn’t funny. I can’t rage for anything if that makes sense. Anyway, I busted a thing of Murphy’s Oil tonight by accident at a store. Good one, Jen. So here I am, sitting in my car wanting to burst into tears. I swear my husband has a built-in radar. He left the kids with our mothers since they were asleep, and he visited me on my lunch. More like, he surprised me. How will I ever make it without him? He knew. I must have given off a beacon, “Jen in crisis mode.” He settled the anxiety down. I cried for the first time on the medicine. Yep, it needs to go higher. It’s too low. And they can throw in an anxiety med for extra. But I don’t know if that would throw me into a manic if I’m taking Depakote to ease it.

“You should see a psychologist.” Every time I do, they want to commit me to a hospital to electroshock me. I don’t want that. And when you fail to treat me as a human being first, I don’t care for you as a doctor. “Just say you’re suicidal!” Dude! I’m not suicidal! I just want to find a way I can stabilize my brain for fuck’s sake! I dealt with my family’s issues. Now it’s time to stabilize me. I know my medication is a little off. But I’m starting to feel human again. The last psychologist I saw, he didn’t bother to look me in the eye. He was rude, snappy, and short with me. Like I’m stupid or something. He couldn’t be bothered with me. But hey, let’s see what the side effects of electroshock therapy. 1. You lose some of your memory. 2. You shit yourself. 3. You piss yourself. 4. You can’t be near your family. 5. You’re tied down. Remember, I have anxiety. That bitch studies everything. She has a fear of certain medications that go into her system. That’s the whole paranoia thing and generalized anxiety disorder. She reads labels, convinced it’s poisoning her. Even the water has poison in it. Don’t look up what your tap water contains. That causes more paranoia than you need. Well because that psychologist was rude, he made Borderline come out to play. “No, you’re not doing shit to me. No, you’re not putting me in the hospital. No, you can go fuck yourself. No, I’m not suicidal! Yes, you’re an idiot with a degree!” Borderline is an instant shield. I see her that way. She can be demented at times, but she comes out to play when she feels attacked or cornered. I guess I couldn’t classify myself as a quiet Borderline. Don’t go near the people I love and hurt them. Don’t accuse me of shit, I didn’t do. And yes, I’ll check.

The point of stabilizing me is that one day, my rock won’t be here to help me. I have to do it on my own. And with someone with Borderline, it could be world-ending if not, world-shattering to lose someone they love more than anything. Borderlines love harder, hate harder, fight harder, curse harder, have explosive sex (a lot of us do, doesn’t mean all of us are divas in the sack), cry harder, and we get depressed fast if we feel the one that we dearly love hard, doesn’t love us in return. We hate rejection in any form. We don’t like to be made a fool, and we don’t take well to criticism. We are also self-loathing beasts. We hate ourselves, and we can be highly critical of ourselves. That’s just the nature of Borderline. When I lost two pregnancies, that nearly killed me. We can fall down quick and when we fall, that’s when Borderline can be dangerous. Just like Bipolar, Borderlines are at a high risk for suicide. I should know Borderline quite well by now. I was professionally diagnosed at age 20. I’m 37 now. I remember being the only one in group therapy with Borderline. I’m probably repeating myself, but even the ones with schizophrenia moved their chairs away from me. They mixed up BPD with DID. Two completely different mental illnesses. No, I just have borderline, bipolar I, anxiety, ptsd, trichotillomania, and ocd.

My parents did zilch for me, growing up. When you grow up in an abusive home, they don’t tend to care about your mental well-being. Had I grown up with normal parents, maybe some of these wouldn’t have existed. My husband grew up in an abusive alcoholic family. So, he knows what it’s like. Does he drink? Nope! Do I drink? Nope! We’ve seen what alcohol can do to families. We don’t want to be like them. Our kids are doing okay. They all earn straight A’s. My eldest listens to classical music. My middle son is obsessed with Batman and cats. My youngest son is an infectious ball of energy. Our baby is a diva. And even though they were born with anxiety because apparently mental illnesses can be inherited. Doesn’t mean it will always happen. In my sibling count. My eldest sister has NPD with psychotic features, and Bipolar I. My eldest brother has Bipolar II. Two of my brothers are “normal.” Or what people deem as “normal.” I would say that my third oldest brother does have OCD.

My kids love me, and I love them. I would walk through fire for them. And our middle son, he shocked me this year. He talks to people. So, maybe he’s coming out of his social anxiety. And, things I’ve learned in previous therapy sessions, I’ve applied those lessons to help my children. It’s working. My eldest son came out to me as asexual. I support him and love him unconditionally. My love comes with no conditions for any of my children. I just want them to be happy and enjoy life. Life is too short.

One more side story. Out of everything I could be criticized for, I was criticized for my glasses. Apparently, it’s a big conspiracy to get my money. I don’t really need glasses. I just need to read a book about eye-strengthening exercises and that will cure my astigmatism. Boy, he better be glad I didn’t mention Depakote for Bipolar. I’m sure he would believe that it’s a big scheme. “Everyone has Bipolar now!” Well, you wonder why don’t you? Maybe it’s because of shots, maybe it’s because of the water, maybe it’s the poisoning of our food supply. We don’t know. Could it be genetic? I don’t know. But with all the pesticides and chemicals in our food and water supply, one can only guess. I’m not a scientist. I’m just a human being who wants to be looked in the eye and told, “Everything will be okay. It’s just your brain functions differently than an average person’s does.” That’s what I want. To be treated like a human being, and not another statistic. Those are the psychologists, I have a problem with these days. The ones that are short, don’t care, and they pump out prescription after prescription without looking at you as a human being. Yes, I’m sick. No, I’m not homicidal or suicidal. Remember, I can’t kill an ant without feeling guilty about it. To lump all of us in a single category, you’re the fool. Bipolar, Borderline, and Anxiety effects each person differently. Yes, we have the same diagnosis, but no, we don’t all react the same. Stop shoving us in a one-size-fits-all box. I am not my mental illnesses. I just happen to have a brain that misfires from time to time. I survived child abuse, rape, domestic abuse, and neglect to come this far. Now it’s time to see how the rest of my story unfolds. Thank you, Depakote for being the start of what I should have been on years ago.

 

Day 9: Depakote

After working eight hours, I’m dead. My feet are swollen, and I’m a little cranky. But overall, I had a great day at work. I made sure not to eat anything during lunch because, I like using my own bathroom when it comes to poo. Just no. I can’t do it. It’s one thing to pee, but to poo in public, just no.

Anxiety is back. Yep, she’s a bitch on steroids. All because my husband fell asleep next to our daughter. I thought the kids tied him up and set the house on fire. Not that they would because they’re great kids, but I do worry about them constantly. It’s hard to be tugged in two different directions.

You know when you gotta go with Depakote. It gives you a warning. “Oh, hell! RUN!” Literally, run. And you pray nobody is in the bathroom. But there’s always someone in the bathroom. You’re sitting there with tears down your face. “Hurry! I’ve got to go! The chocolate sauce is percolating!” The bubbles fizzing just… It isn’t pretty. And you can feel the bubbles. There’s no place like home! None! I can turn on YouTube, watch videos while the Hershey squirts are brewing. Ick! I know. It’s gross, but it’s like a nuclear bomb went off in the bathroom. Yeah, I’m not doing that at work. No way!

I’m waiting for the medicine to kick in. That’s why I take the bugger right before bed. I did order a new lipstain from Too Faced… “Lady Balls.” That’s so me. It’s expensive as fuck, but I love the name for it.

At work, I got hit on by an 18-year-old pup. He’s only half my age. Anyway, I’d never be a cougar. That’s just creepy with a capital C. CREEPY! But I enjoyed the flattery. An old biddy like me, adores flattery. My husband picked on me. Now I went from kitten to cougar. Not even when I was in my teens ages ago, did I ever date anyone younger than me. For some weird reason, it creeps me out. It’s always creeped me out. Like hey, you were just born when I turned 18. Maybe when I’m old, I can pinch some asses at age 80, and blame it on my poor vision. But that would be sexual harassment. My luck, I’d get sued at 80 for pinching some dude’s ass. I told my kids that when I turn 70, I’m joining a nudist colony with their father. Yep, they know their mom is a freak. There words, not mine. I just believe that at 70, you aren’t really going to give a shit what you look like. You get to be the old “cute” couple everyone gushes about. Not the grand-mammy and grand-pappy having a secret room for their sex toys. My husband asked. “What are you going to do when I’m in a wheelchair for good?” Well, we’ll get the wheelchair that those infomercials love to tout at 3 am. Then I’ll hop on pop for fun. “You’re a perv.” Well, he made me that way. He’ll be 81, tied to a bed, and I’ll be 71, hopping it until we die. Boy, that would be a sight to see if we both had a heart attack from bondage. Grandpappy and Grandmammy were doing some freaky shit in there! We’ll be on Instagram. “Died of natural causes… While fucking.” That’s the only way, I’d become famous. Something that hilarious. But that would be a good way to go. It has happened before and I’m not surprised.

To all those wondering if you still have stamina. My husband is 47, almost 48. I’m 37. Even thought it’s harder with kids, we still hump like rabbits. I sure as hell hope Depakote is nice to me, not him. It’s going to suck if I don’t peak. I remember that well with Zoloft and Citalopram. Then it only encouraged him to work harder. He loves that shit. Lube, plenty of lube. But the good thing after waiting that month for the medication to work its way through my system, the orgasms were more intense. Here’s to you, Depakote. May you not fail me.

Day 8: Depakote

I made it week. I feel level. Not to manic and not too depressed. My anxiety on the other hand, she can be a stubborn little bitch. Even though it helps with moods, it doesn’t help with anxiety. That one is still a PITA. Which, I have a feeling they are going to put me on more meds in the future. Either that, or they’re going to up my dose. Which she did say that she will have to up it anyway. I’m cool with it. It isn’t perfect, but it gets me out of the house.

If I hear one more person tell me that I need Jesus instead of pills, I swear, I’m going to lose my shit. Okay, maybe that’s overly aggressive. Well, you can tell Jesus to stop my thoughts for me. It goes around and around in circles like a broken record. Or just give me a halfway decent-working brain. That’d be great.

Notes to self: 1. Stay near a bathroom. The Hershey squirts can be unrelenting while on this medication. 2. Don’t take before an important meeting. Or, you’ll be rocking around in circles to stay awake. 3. Drink plenty of water. 4. The newest one… Don’t take Depakote on an empty stomach. I forgot to mention that one. If you do, you’ll feel nauseated. Then after you eat, make sure you run to the nearest bathroom.

No loss of hair yet. But I lose hair anyway when summer turns into fall. No sex yet, so I can’t say if I’m able to achieve an orgasm or not. Aunt Flo is still going strong. I thought she would stop, but she’s still unleashing her wrath. Sorry, guys. I know that’s TMI. I know when I was on Citalopram and Zoloft, I had a hard time achieving an orgasm for the first month. Hubby loved it because he made a game out of it. I know while taking Citalopram, I was dry down there. If you know what I mean. I better make sure I have some lube on hand. I don’t use condoms because I’m married. I know that’s ignorant, but it’s true. And my shit is cut, tied, and burnt. No more popping out little ones from my oven. Thank goodness! Our daughter wants a baby sister. Tough luck! No more! I managed to cure that when I told her she would have to change the diapers, the poop-filled diapers. “No, thanks.” That changes a kid’s tune quickly.