Jan. 16th, 2013

apocalypsesweet: From the Virgin Suicides, a pair of bandaged wrists covered in bracelets. (Default)
I have no delusions to what I am and to what I am not. I know I am a human female who is on the short side with a little too much weight on her person to be deemed societal acceptable. I have the most generic of looks with nothing extraordinary about myself. I work, I go to school and if people had dating advice about me, I already know what it would be.

She seems sweet, but she is a monster.

I know it, it comes with the battleground. Some people could write novels about how they fought and won their fights, or as they fought and slowly fell they learned something. I am losing my fight, and what I have learned is that deep down inside of me I am a terrible person. But that could be the truth, or how my emotions are dictating my self-perception of myself at the moment.

But, if you wanted to read a story about a sweet victory of self-discovery, I am sure you wouldn’t have picked up my story from the links and decided to give it a go, right? No, you wanted a story where someone decided to get the skeletons from their closet, dress them up in some parody of who they are based off of and make them dance.

There are many parts of my story that I can start off with, which always made me how first person narratives choose that perfect point to get the ball rolling. I could start off with the suicide attempt of an elderly relative which would actually lead more into my father’s story than my own. I could start with the cancer patient which would lead more into my mother’s.

I want to start off with mine though, because with my own story- you know those other two will slowly start to emerge like an alligator watching its prey before it strikes from the murky waters of a swamp.

Perhaps, I will just start my story off with today, because it is nothing more than me looking back and perhaps looking forward some too. Yesterday, I missed work for a doctor’s appointment and to visit a funeral home. The Doctor’s appointment is to get me on some medication where perhaps, time given I would hate myself slightly less and feel less like something is about to burst out of my skin like bloody blades and birth. I had decided to just write for myself would be great if it didn’t feel like I was shouting at a wall, so I decided to do it here. My self-indulgent writing of everything. I just know I am tired and full of feelings and I just want to get it out.

Today, I decided to post the story up, slowly as it comes to mind. I’ll try and keep a timeline of things. Today I am missing work because I feel sick and tired and stressed. Tomorrow I have off. Friday, I plan on going in recovered. These will be the two days I take care of myself.
So here it is on a lonely bit of the internet, and I am going to slowly get the skeletons out to dance.
apocalypsesweet: From the Virgin Suicides, a pair of bandaged wrists covered in bracelets. (Default)
30 hours ago, my Doctor placed a prescription for me to get some medication. One of the medications was Effexor XR, the other was Klonopin. (Don't worry, the links are not advertisements, just links to the wikipedia articles on the medications just in case you didn't know what they are.)

Those medications are for anxiety and depression. Which both seem to rule over my life with an iron fist. This is the first time in a long time I have actually went out to get medication to help with it. Perhaps because back in in '03-'04 I was seeking help, I had reached a point where all I could do was sit and stew, I would feel that intense self-hatred, the emptiness, sadness, sleeping away my teenager years because I did not want to be awake. I wanted to just get through with everything. I imagined what it would be like to just sleep forever.

Then it caught on with my self-injury. I was a little drama-queen about it. I would cut in class. It took a fellow classmate to notice and pull me out of the room before it caught on it was a problem.

Now, get this. I was cutting in class. Right there, no shame. And no one said anything. I was invisible. I wasn't living. I was existing.

It took that for people to finally see I needed therapy. My first psychologist got somewhere with me. She was able to get me to talk. My father used the first session talking to her while I sat out in the hallway. She eventually quit, and I got another. And another. And one prescription after another. No one was on the same page with me.

I eventually gave up dealing with them. I was feeling better, but not well enough to want to deal with everything changing and changing and nothing staying the same for me. I didn't want to deal with anyone anymore. I was well enough where I didn't want to destroy myself but I wasn't living yet.

I graduated. I started college and did great for a year before I found a hobby that consumed all my time and let me escape. This hobby was role-playing. My GPA went down, but damn it I found something that took over my thoughts for me. Plot-lines and stories and people to talk to who liked the same things I did.

But, this didn't last for long. When I turned 21, my depression came back full force. No one online wanted to deal with me, so people collectively turned their backs on me when I changed from the person they could play with and were friends with to someone with issues and how dare I tell people that I trust about whats happening to my mind. How I wanted to die, my suicide idealization that was going through my mind.

One even told me to go kill myself.

I went and saw a therapist. It took two sessions before they started to talk about money to me (aka HOW WAS I GOING TO PAY THEM. When I told them to bill my health insurance at the time (ChampVA, which is government for Veterans and their families) and they would pay and I would pay ChampVA back. They did it, but the man proved he was only in it for the money)

It took about two years for me to be willing to trust people online again (and four years later, they show they are honest to God good person. They put up with it. They deal with constantly changing views of myself and others.)

But, my mind had gone back to hell. I am working two jobs, going to school, volunteering- trying to make something of myself. Along with the elderly suicide that would go into my father's story more and more happening this past weekend.

The anxiety is starting to rule my mind more and more, about how everything is going wrong and terrible things will happen-shouting at me in a broken record like repeat. Reminding me of the consequences of everything I might have done wrong. The depression whispering thoughts about the anxiety was right. That I am a terrible worker, that I don't deserve what I got, how dare I feel bad for myself when others have it worse, Man up Lady. Don't be a waste and a drama queen.

My mother been giving me some of her Xanax so I can function. So I can sleep.

It is hard to function when those are the two main things going through your mind. I have been missing work because I haven't been able to function. The death at least gave me some bereavement to use for a few days, along with a planned doctor's visit- so God willing that won't look too bad on me.

I was told by a boss I should be ready for work again that I shouldn't let it affect me this much. I will. With my own medication or not.

Which brings me back to the medication. My mother had been slipping me her medication so I could function. So I could go into work and not let the anxiety rule me. So I could have that not on my back. Well, when I went to one Dr appointment the Doctor ignored my requests for help with stress, and when my mother's Doctor found out- well lets just say she got me in ASAP to see her.

This was yesterday. She got me everything needed to go visit a psychologist along with some medications to help with it. She filed it down for WalMart like I asked because it was on my way home.

Turns out the Pharmacy staff there was rude and didn't get one of my prescriptions and told me to call my Doctor's office about it and BTW the other one wasn't covered by my insurance. They said they couldn't call in to get me some help about that. So I called the Dr office myself to get everything moved to the Walgreens right next to the Walmart so I could get my script filled.

I figured I could get my medications yesterday, that I could go view the body, that I could go into work today and be fine with the medications helping me think. Well, turns out it didn't work that way. Walgreens is trying to get a med that covered by my insurance and never got the script for the anti-anxiety.

So I drove to work today shaking and decided I just...couldn't and left to go to my parent's house where my mom left some Xanax for me (four tabs). I took one that morning and am trying to ration them out (I still have three left because I am not shaking or anything and that was about 10 hours ago. My nerves have calmed down)

I was hoping to get the medication today, but my Doctor was out and the nurses were trying to get something done. The Pharmacy faxed information and have yet to get a response.

I am trying to get help. Its been 30 hours so I could try and function. So I can go to work. So I can earn money. So I can do what I need to so I could survive. I dropped a class so I could have less stress on my head. Taking 15 credit hours now and if I can't handle that, I'll drop another. I am trying to work with them. I am calling both to get something done with my medication and I am stuck in Limbo.

I can go see a Psychologist on 2-14.


I also think to myself in my state there is no waiting period to get a handgun or a rifle.

Now look. I have been fighting for the past 30 hours for my fucking medications. A month to get to talk to someone. And no waiting period for getting a gun.

Thank God I don't want one.


apocalypsesweet: From the Virgin Suicides, a pair of bandaged wrists covered in bracelets. (Default)
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