Tag: chronic physical pain

3rd Year Anniversary

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders

Third Year Anniversary

Today marks the third anniversary of when I started my blog. So Happy I started this blog. I never thought it would be successful as it is. I get around 1,000 views a month. I am approaching 44,000 views right now. I should reach that milestone next week, or in the next few days. It is always hard to tell because sometimes my readership goes through the roof and other days it is at a stand still.

I have been writing a letter to my therapist most of the day. I have just been telling her about how my day has gone. It has gone fairly well. I slept till 0930, which is shocking. I went to bed around 0200 so I got about seven and a half hours sleep, which is good. I can’t remember the last time I slept, continuously, for that length of time. And I also took a two hour nap. The game is at nine tonight so I should have no problems listening to it. I like listening to the game, even though the announcers sometimes annoy me when they don’t talk about the game. One of the announcers has become fixated on the fact that none of the starters this year last more than 4-5 innings. It is rare to see a starter pitch to the 7th or 8th inning. He says this every single game and it is followed by a “taxed bullpen”. Tell us something we don’t know, Joe (that is his name).

I finally edited my book and trimmed it down to 29 pages. I hated doing it but the last few blogs that I attached were not consistent with what I was writing. I mean, writing about how my brother in law put in my AC is fine for a blog post, not so much for book material. I thought about cutting and pasting but I really couldn’t find anything worthy of it. I will have to start fresh, which is harder than it seems. I will try and start writing Monday, unless I get inspired before then. My writing has always been a hit or miss. And now that I have pressure from my two treaters on my writing, it is going to get a lot harder.

I signed up for a writer’s group last night. It was something my pdoc suggested. I am glad I found out where it was because it definitely wasn’t where I thought it would be. So next week is starting to fill in some time. Monday I take my mother food shopping, Wednesday is the workshop, and Thursday is, as usual, dealing with my father. I also will be going out to eat with my friends that night. It is going to be a long day. I haven’t decided if I am going to bring my laptop or not. I definitely will be bringing my notepad with me. I most likely will be at the train station long enough to do some writing. Only trouble with writing on a notepad is then typing up what I wrote and deciphering my handwriting afterwards. It is this reason that I am typing my letter to my therapist.

I have been in a relatively stable mood today, neither happy nor sad. Guess you can say I have been neutral. The pain of living is still there. I can’t stand being in pain, mentally or physically. My tolerance has been exceeded, not because of the severity of the pain, but by the consistency of it. Every single day I am in pain with my foot and it brings me down. I really haven’t done anything except go up and down stairs. It is hurting me as if I walked for miles. I don’t know where the pain comes from. The doctors can only make guesses as to what is the trouble. The consensus is tendonitis but with rest and ice, it should have been gone by now and it shows no sign of leaving. Then you have the mental pain that I struggle with on a daily basis. Late at night, my heart just breaks in two for no reason. It just hurts. I get the heaviness in my chest and my soul aches. Nothing brings this on. And again, it’s night after night. Thrown together with my physical pain and I am at my wits end. I haven’t showered since Wednesday night. I feel gross. But I am babysitting so I can’t shower just yet. I probably will before turning in to bed and listening to the game. I hope it relieves this headache that I have.

Tough Day

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Tough Day

I am feeling like a complete loser and failure at the moment. I reluctantly saw my anxious psychiatrist today. She knows I usually get there early but because her front office staff changed, they didn’t page her when I checked in. She got really worried but was happy to see me when I came to her office. We talked, about what I don’t really remember. Just was feeling sorry for myself. I know I told her about how my PCP always gives me a hard time about my weight. She asked if it was critical or not. It’s hard to tell with him because he is so dry. We then started talking about my writing. She told me about a writer’s group in my area. I looked it up and it’s actually in Downtown. I will have to check it out. They have a free writers hour next Wednesday. I hope I remember to go. I was on my phone looking them up so a couple of the links weren’t really working.

I took the train home like I always do. When I got to a stop, a lady with a walker literally forced someone out of the spot for disability. I couldn’t believe how rude she was. Course the guy saw her and didn’t move to offer her the seat, but that was beside the point. I would have hollered back saying you don’t have to be so rude. I have seen people do that before but never in that manner. The bus was late when I got to my stop. It’s always fricken late. Sometimes it doesn’t even show up. And it was a crazy bus driver that had lead on the gas. I hate when buses drive fast. It gives me anxiety.

I mailed my therapist her first packet of letters. I am kind of finding it easy to type so she doesn’t have to struggle to read my handwriting. I have bad handwriting. Sometimes, I can’t even make out what I wrote. So the next packet will be a mix of written and typed letters. Writing to her helps. But it’s detracting me from my own writing.

I have been thinking about opening a new checking account to a bank that is across the street from me. This is so I don’t have to go to the Square for when I have to deposit a check. But I need a bank that will accept foreign currency as direct deposits. I still am having trouble with my royalties being paid to me because my bank rejects it. This is because it is not USD. Citizen’s has a one deposit checking account that supposedly has no fees as long as you deposit at least once a month. But I got to call them to find out about the currency policy. I don’t want to open the new account and then run into the same problem.

I woke up this morning with my ankle killing me. It hasn’t improved as the day went on. I haven’t walked more than I normally have so I don’t know why it’s bothering me. I really want to be more active but my damn ankle makes it impossible. I think the new medicine is working as the tightness around my ankle is less, which hopefully means the swelling of the tendons has gone down some. It’s not completely gone, but it is less. Only thing that sucks with this medicine is that I have to eat with it, which sometimes isn’t ideal. I try to take it with food or after a meal. Otherwise, I just don’t take it. This is an NSAID known to cause stomach bleeding so I don’t want to mess with it.

Left to my Own Devices

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

I am having a late coffee that I hope will keep me up the next few hours. I have been so tired all day that I have been sleeping it away, without medication of any sort! My pain has been minimal but it’s so hot in the house that I rarely leave my room except to eat and use the facilities. Even though I have had coffee, I feel like I can go back to sleep. I haven’t had dinner yet. The coffee is killing whatever hunger pains I may have. So it might be a late dinner tonight. I now have my undivided attention to this blog because I am not expecting my mother to call me. Unless Twitter distracts me…

I decided to type a letter to my therapist today rather than write it. I told her of my day, similar to the first paragraph and also about other things. I had a page written before I knew it. I wish I could write something for my book as fast. I have been going back and forth with editing for my book. I have to enter the edits into the word doc. It’s always a pain because I usually have to use the search button to find the place I am looking for. I have decided the last three blogs are not going into the book. It doesn’t fit with what I am writing, not unless I copy and paste things. I might do that. Then I can go back to writing, least that is what I am hoping. But it doesn’t happen on demand. I think I am better off writing at night because my mood is darker then than during the day. I have three nights before baseball returns. Sox will be on the west coast so the games won’t be until after 2200 east coast time. I hate the west coast games because it just further disrupts my sleeping. I usually can’t sleep right away after the game ends around 0100. And I am up till at least 0300. This is the first time that I am having coffee at like four in the afternoon so I might be up till three anyways.

I miss my therapist, even though it’s only been a week since we last talked. Another week and a half before I talk with her again. I don’t know if she will be in Hawaii the whole time or not. I do hope she has fun, even though she is dreading the trip. I am dreading seeing my pdoc on Friday. I don’t know what kind of mood I will be in. I know I won’t be catching the 10 o’clock bus again. That was too early. I was supposed to catch the 1053 bus but my brain was foggy when I woke up and thought it was the 953 bus I needed to get. There is no 953 bus! I really don’t want to see her. But I am afraid that if I don’t, she will be worried. Hardest thing about being suicidal is trusting a psychiatrist with your thoughts. You always have the fear of being hospitalized against your will once it has been done to you. I have had it happen more than once in my lifetime. I have had more hospitalizations than I can count. In fact, I have lost track of how many I have had. More than 30 by now, at least. It doesn’t make talking about suicide any easier. But my psychiatrist is and has been open to talking about it. She knows me better than anyone. We have worked together for more than twenty years. We have built up a trust that is hard to shake. Most people go through psychiatrists like they were going out of style. I just have had one my whole therapeutic life. Therapists are a different story. I have had more than I care to share. I never thought I would find someone stable in the therapy business. I was seeing on every year for the first 11 years. Now here it is 14 years later and I have the same one. Both of my treaters trust me more than anyone that deals with suicide. I don’t know if it is because they know I won’t go through with my plans or they seem to intervene before it gets too late. I still feel dejected and depressed that I didn’t go through with my plans. If you can’t keep a promise to yourself, what good is making promises? Yet I have also promised these people that if I were in dire straits, I would reach out to them. They also know that I bring myself in when I need to. That has changed because the hospital, for various reasons, is no longer my safe haven it once was. Don’t get me wrong, people need these places for safety. But I used to go there for care that I needed and I no longer get it. It’s just talk for a few minutes and then a few days later, you are out whether you like it or not. I had to fight to stay in last time and it was a real struggle. I also knew that if I was out when I heard about Robin Williams, I would not be talking to you right now. His loss was so devastating to me, as it was to millions of people. But I was in a dark place, darker than I had ever been and if I wasn’t in the hospital, I dread to think what might have happened. Both of my treaters were on vacation at the time so I would be left to my own devices.

I haven’t heard from my writing partner and I have a feeling that those emails are going to be far and in between. She has been posting on various social media so I know she is writing. She has a new book that she just finished before her wedding and is promoting it. I need ways to promote my book because I don’t think it is going to sell very well unless I come up with some good marketing strategies. Problem is, I am not a marketing person! I don’t have the first clue how to sell something. I just hope that Facebook and Twitter works their magic and my book sells. I do belong to some author groups on FB but they mostly advertise romance/erotic novels, which is not my genre. I actually have no idea what my genre is, other than fiction, maybe. But it’s based on my delusions, which is in real life so not sure what category to put my book in.

Fall Apart

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

Fall Apart

I printed off some stuff for my therapist. It’s only been a few days that she has been gone, but I already miss her. I am really bored and can’t sleep. I keep thinking about how she will be devastated if I were to harm myself while she is gone. It’s holding me back but I don’t know for how long. Things are really tough for me right now.

I feel like I am falling apart. It’s killing me knowing that I can’t end my life this week, or possibly, ever. I am too much of a coward. I spent the night following the All Star Game on Twitter. It didn’t ease my ache. It’s after midnight now and I can’t help thinking about taking my life. I know that I should just go to bed but the thoughts keep swirling like a hurricane. I had a bad headache earlier this evening, but it seems to have dissipated. I took some Advil and it went away. I wish it took the heartache away, too. AL won so they will have home field advantage.

I had posted something about “stopping the use of committed suicide” on my blog yesterday. It was a successful reblog. My cousin read the article and she was grateful as her brother died by suicide in 1998. I didn’t know this. I feel bad for her. I see her soon, I hope. She invited me to a party in August.

I am emerged in suicide tonight. I can’t help thinking about it. But it’s getting late and I should be sleeping instead of falling apart. I hate my life and what it has become. I am tired of being in pain all the time. I am tired of fighting my deepest, darkest wishes. I just wish to be gone. There is no hope for me here. I am a useless SOB.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like I am going nuts. All I can think about is death and dying. I really want to die. I wouldn’t mind it if a bus ran me over right now. Though it will be strange for a bus to run me over while I am in my room. Maybe tomorrow it can happen. Or should I say, later today. I just know I don’t want to be here anymore. I am too tired to go on living this way. It’s horrible to be in pain like this and not have a remedy to ease the heartache. I don’t even know what is causing me this pain. It just came on so suddenly and took my breath away. I hate when this happens and there is nothing I can do but listen to music and take an Ativan and hope for sleep. I am so exhausted and I didn’t do anything today to make me exhausted like I am. It’s like I pulled hard labor but I didn’t. Most I did was walk a few blocks to pick up my niece. It was like walking one big block from home to school and back. I usually don’t walk that far because it hurts my ankle. But the weather was really warm and it wore me out walking. I am not even 40 yet and I get so tired so easily. It’s pathetic. I wish my plan were on for Friday. I would end my life then and it would finally be over with. I wouldn’t wake up anymore. I just pass out and die. I won’t say how I will die. I just hope that I do die soon. I pray for death just like those slaves on the plantations that were treated cruelly. But I doubt it. I have a long genes in my family. Hell, my father is 83 and his sister is 91. I don’t want to live that long. I think 39 is a ripe old age.