Oh man, where to start. I’ve been sitting here on my sports ball doing basically everything except writing. I’m being avoidant and playing the denial card I guess.

[please note my body is NOT back to normal, my mouth is crazy dry and tastes gross and I’m still wobbly and that will likely make my grammar and missing words etc. worse than usual, Adam will fix it when he gets home]

It is ironic, [even though Alanis Morissette still has me confused on what ironic really means] that I’ve been planning a big post, a really SERIOUS post on self medicating and when it goes too far, as much as I’ve earned my Shrink’s trust and have gotten to a point where the only full dose of my tits [meds] I take a day is 150mgs of Effexor - my basic anti-depressant. The other two - although when originally prescribed I took the full dosage - I don’t anymore.

Clonazepam 1 mg. [I’m supposed to take three a day, I take two]

Here is something you may not know about me, I had NEVER suffered from any form of anxiety until May 19, 2002 when I was sexually assaulted in my own home. I was in denial over what had happened and sitting at work two days later it hit, I didn’t even know what it was. I was not in any kind of therapy at this time but thankfully because my family Drs. was fully aware of what had gone down she filled an over the phone Clonazepam prescription for me and I’ve been taking it ever since.

Seroquel 25mgs, take one half three times a day. I take one a day at night before bed. I honestly can not remember why the Seroquel was added, I do not like it, but it works. Because I can’t remember why it was added I have tried to come off it a few times and it has not gone well to say the least.

Now here is where for me things get interesting in relation to my tits. Not all, but almost everyone I have met feel that they need to have a certain amount of control over their tits; this is completely normal but unfortunately dangerous. I am extremely honest with my Shrink about my self medicating, he gets it. If I take the FULL dosage I am a zombie, I can’t stay awake and it is just silly, but when I’m freaking out I need the full prescription.

I guess it was last year I took sixteen Clonazepam tablets and lost all the years of earning trust with the Shrink. This meant that the drug was given to me with enough for a week and no more. I had to have it refilled every Friday for months. I know damn well this will be implemented again this coming Friday and yes I deserve to be treated like a five year old if I am going to act like one. I think it’ll take a little longer than last time to earn his trust back.

Wow, almost a full page already and I am JUST getting to the actual post.

I can’t and won’t get into the details that aren’t about me, because even though I stand by my feelings written yesterday, not all but some was just pure pent up rage, and the feelings aren’t set in stone, they had been building for ages and yes, YES I handled it wrong. Not since all the shit with my parents and in-laws happened I have NEVER publicly gone off on people I know on my blog. I don’t really know what is going to happen there, I can not at this time open two emails from two people, I know I have to, and I will, and I will apologize and take responsibility for my actions, but I’m scared an can’t open them right now. Like, I know I should have just confronted, emailed, called, gone for coffee, something, and just said LOOK blah blah blah. But I didn’t, I let it build which I have a HORRID habit of doing.

When PH died I think I mentioned that one of the phases that I went through that none of the other people I went through it with understood [that I know of] and probably still don’t was centered around how furious I was because I felt like he had STOLEN suicide from me. I KNOW crazy! I felt like I was stuck here forever because the pain of that loss was so intense I still remember feeling like I weighed about three hundred pounds and was barely capable of putting one foot in front of the other. He died on a Tuesday his close friends were told Wednesday and I had not even known about his death for ten hours before I went into work on the Thursday, only to be sent home because I did not know I was crying. I was numb. I promised myself when I (we) lost him that I would never ever take my own life because, OH MAN, did it do a number on so many people and I for the first time since my week long botched attempt in grade 11 did I realize what I had almost done to people.

Yesterday, I was not trying to kill myself. I know that probably sounds like a flat out lie because I was feeling suicidal but as mentioned those thoughts come standard with my ‘overall’ depression and I fight the thoughts the very best that I can.

I just didn’t want to feel anymore I just wanted to sleep. I knew consequences from my post were going to hit but I was planning on waiting until I wasn’t freaking out to deal with it. It is extremely interesting to me analyzing the two different sides of myself that I guess we all possess.

Side A. Is one of the strongest women you will ever meet, I can dish it as well as I can take it. I will tell you how it is; I will call you an asshole behind your back and to your face. [ONLY if you are being one, unless I’m drunk and in that case I prolly don’t mean it anyway] Side A loves life, she is clam collected and well liked, no one believes she is actually really shy and that she loves you faults and all. [shit just look at my faults!] She will support you at ALL hours of the day or night. There are a couple people out there since this blog has started whose in person friends have been scared for their loved ones, contacted me and ‘they’ still don’t know I was part of getting them back on track, I don’t need a thank you in life and death situations just knowing it worked out for them makes my heart sing.

Side B. I hate this side of myself. I leave therapy constantly having explained all the stupid things I did that week, passive aggressive twitters, stuff I wrote or said that I can’t take back, delete just isn’t a fool proof saviour online. He always reminds me of how far I’ve come that Side B is being dealt with, she is getting better. She still lashes out in very inappropriate ways and Oh yes, she fucks up a lot more than she’d like to. But someone once told me it isn’t what you do it is what you do to fix it.

I can’t stress enough how much I just didn’t want to feel ANYTHING, positive or negative. We’ve quit smoking pot [that is for another post] so I couldn’t just smoke a shit load and call it a night. I started by just taking a normal Shrink approved, let’s just calm me dose. But when Adam got home I had already read him the post over the phone and I said something to the effect of I’m sorry I just pretty much ended a few friendships in today’s post and he was upset with me. Rightly so. He went to take a nap and I took a palm full of Clonazepam and palm full of Seroquel and then I went and got a bottle of wine IN PAJAMA PANTS before the two palm fills kicked in.

Here is where my memory becomes a little shaky.

I remember staggering into the bedroom and falling on the bed. I could NOT get coherent sentences out and I had been trying to text message with Aughra but I couldn’t concentrate on the screen or the letters. I have no idea what Adam asked me, but I heard him call 911 and if you can believe it my first though was great I’ve just cost us $150.00 plus for the ambulance. The only stuff I have memory of is the noise it sounded like there were fifty people in here; I think it was actually around six. They kept talking to me, who knows what they were saying but they got the little oxygen thing in my nostrils and put the IV in, I was put in the sit up stretcher, taken down stairs and lifted to the gurney and put in the ambulance. I still have no idea what the inside of one looks like. They gave me something in the ambulance to work against what I’d taken but I have no idea what.

Once in the hospital my nose dried up I couldn’t breathe and I was not comfortable, I had the sticky things on my chest for the heart rate monitor, plus the nose oxygen and the IV, and then I was given an EKG and was covered, I looked like a sticky note.

I was told I was ‘stuck there’ [yes self inflicted but still] for at least 72 hours on suicide watch. There was no way I was staying in there for 72 hours. I got out of bed and staggered to the front desk and slurred I can’t stay here I can’t sleep and I can’t remember what my other reason was for wanting to leave but I was told if I tried to leave I would be restrained. So to be perfectly honest I have NO IDEA why I was released at around 12:30am. I *think* my Shrink gave the go a head to let me out because when the hospital’s Shrink came into see me he asked what I would do when I got home if they let me leave.

Walking home was pretty hard due to my balance normally I just need someone to walk on my right and I’m fine, even with Adam’s arm around me I was all over the place and fell up the stairs three times when we got to the apartment.

I’d like to end this monster post by saying sorry to Adam; sorry to all my friends and people who love me “just the way I am” and that you can all be guaranteed my Shrink will big time make me earn my right to have some sort of control over my medications back.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 4th, 2008 at 5:58 pm and is filed under CONFESSIONS & STUFF, Depression & Therapy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site. All content (c) 2005 - 2008 Gus Greeper, unless otherwise credited. All rights reserved.