Tag: chronic physical pain

can’t sleep

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, suicide

I am writing this after being up for almost an hour now. I woke up from my “nap” at six in the evening and now I find that I can’t go back to sleep. I am tired so I know that I can but something is keeping me up so I thought I would write for a bit.

I got my new suicidology book, Treating Suicidal Behavior today. One of the reviews on Amazon said that it was wordy. Now I know that to be true but I wanted to read more about the commitment to living piece that I read in another article by the same writers. This little tidbit is not going in my book. It’s not that I don’t understand it, it is just that it goes against my grain to list it. And my book mostly deals with David Jobes. I like his work better. He doesn’t follow a specific discipline such as cognitive behavior therapy.

my therapist wants me to write up a CTS (commitment to treatment statement) but I am not up to it. Already I feel like I am pushing her in ways she doesn’t want to be pushed, that I again have to take charge of my treatment when this woman should already be doing that. It is exhausting. Taking charge of your own treatment is exhausting. Friday when I see my pdoc, I am going to tell her I want to be on Remeron again. if only for a few weeks. I need to sleep through the night and I am not. I just feel that maybe if I take a little antidepressant, it might work enough so I don’t kill myself this month. Though I really don’t want to live to see 2014. I really don’t. I am not prepared. I wasn’t expecting to live this long and I am. Can’t that be a statement? That if I don’t want to live anymore I have the right to end my life? I think it will be easier than trying to come up with a statement that is for living that I know is just going to sit on my therapist’s desk and not go anywhere. Yes we will sign it and all will be good for that session. Then the next session will go back to talking about stupid things and we will forget about our agreement that we made the session before. I could get crafty. But that will involve thinking more than I should. I just don’t want to be here anymore and if I don’t know why I don’t want to be here anymore, there is no point in going on. yes we can say that my childhood is the reason why I don’t want to be here. I was abused in more ways than one and thought about death all the time because I wanted to escape that living situation. I still want to escape. I want to escape from the pain and darkness that has invaded my soul.

I didn’t write this in a word document like I usually do. I am kind of anal about my blogs and how they are organized. but sometimes you just have to free write. 19 days.13 to end this. maybe my story about ending my life will become true.

I am lazy

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, cauda equina syndrome, chronic physical pain, depression

Bitch rant

I have to complain about my game that I play consistently, on a daily basis, a few times a day. I love that this game gives you missions to complete but now they are getting ridiculous! For even the missions have missions. And you need the help of your neighbors to complete them or you might as well kiss the mission goodbye. I have opened other Facebook accounts just to play this game and then I realized the other day that I am just playing against myself! But unless you have a “neighbor” to give you all that you need every day, there is no other way to win the game/mission. Unless you spend money on the game for horseshoes. I used to do that when I was working. Now I pick and choose when to get horseshoes. I know none of this is making sense because I don’t think anyone plays Pioneer Trail on Facebook but if you do, don’t start. I have a lower level account and finished ONE stinking mission and got NINE, 9!!! In its place!!!

Talked with my therapist today. Though I don’t know if you want to call it really talking. She was quiet today. So I was too. Weird how that worked out because usually she is excessively talking about something. We talked about the transgender issues again and she pulled a name out of a hat, another doctor for me to see. I told her she doesn’t get that I don’t want to see any more doctors. I am DONE seeing doctors. The only one that I want to see if my primary care doctor and that is it. I don’t want to see any of his colleagues either. Unless I develop another fricken problem, I am not seeing another doctor. I know this doctor is different and will help with the transgender stuff. But there is a chance she could be another bitch that refuses to listen to me and then where will I be? What if she deems me too suicidal and decides that treatment for transgender is just too much for me. I can’t go through that type of rejection. It will kill me.

We also talked about the consultant. I wanted her to have him as a support and she only wanted to hear that I will see him again. Well I can’t because I can’t afford him, not with my insurance. I hate my insurance but I have to make do with it. But I can’t see an out of network doctor and this consultant is that.

I don’t remember what else we talked about. I really wasn’t in the mood for talking. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I have the same time appointment tomorrow to talk with her. Yay…not.

I didn’t work on my book today. I felt like crap too much to do much of anything. I didn’t even make myself coffee. I should start psyching myself up now to maybe leave the house tomorrow and get coffee. I knew that having Keurig cups was going to be the death of me. Why should I leave the house when I have coffee at home. And I have two different flavors of Starbucks coffee. I have the house blend and my Pike’s coffee. Both are sooooo good. But I need to get out of the house. I have been in since Saturday, maybe? I don’t even know the last time I left the house, oh dear. That should tell you something…And tomorrow is Wednesday. So almost three days in the house. I don’t think I have showered since Sunday.

And to make the day worse, my favorite catcher for the Red Sox is now going to a National team, the Marlins. Great. Now I got to deal with the likes of a guy’s name I can’t even begin to spell. You say it Perninski, but there is a z and J in there somewhere. I have to look it up and I am too lazy.

Am I a writer?

by Midnight Demon, posted in cauda equina syndrome, depression

I haven’t done much more than drink coffee and take a shower, which both seem to be an accomplishment given how I have been feeling lately. The weird mood has ceased and I am back to my depressed self. I am not thinking about harming myself but it is in the back of my mind. I am listening to the same country music songs over and over. It’s a compilation of artists that suit my fancy, from The Band Perry, Taylor Swift, Luke Bryan and Blake Shelton to Daughtry, Goyte, and Rob Thomas.

I should be working on my introduction but have decided today is my Sabbath and I am not going to work, other than write my daily blog. I thought about doing some editing but I am just not up for it. I should make a table of contents. I might do that later.

I just can’t seem to get motivated today. I woke up in pain. I don’t know if I was sleeping wrong or my foot just decided it was time to get up, but it has been throbbing since eight this morning. I guess the pain meds that I took before bed wore off. But the pain didn’t deter me from taking a shower. And I rested after I took a shower because I am not going out today.

Thanks to a fellow blog reader, she found me the blog that I was looking for yesterday. I added it to the grief section of my book. I still have to come up with another three thousand words or more now. Just 3,000. Oh boy. I don’t know if I can do it. I know the ending is partly done as I am going to stick in the future blog in it with what I got already. Now I just have to work on the introduction and call it a book. I started the intro yesterday but didn’t get too far. Words were coming out like I was pulling teeth. I only wrote a page and a half and that took quite a bit of effort. I don’t know why words come easily to me at times and other times it so painful. I know when I am feeling content, I don’t write at all. It’s only when I am darkly depressed or slightly depressed that I can express myself. Reading Touched With Fire again is confirming this. Though I don’t really consider myself a writer, if only because I have not published anything formally. I know my therapist will bring up the paper and poem I had published when I was a teen but I don’t really count that as writing. Well, maybe. If I could find the book I am sure I could tell.

Thing is, I never wanted to become a writer. Sure when I was reading Star Trek: TNG books, I thought I could write one but it always seemed out of reach for me. I wanted to study medicine, to help other people. But when that went up in smoke, I just quit. I suffered and I managed a job that at times I hated for fourteen years. I wasn’t making big bucks working at the hospital. Decent money sure with benefits and all, but it didn’t make me happy. I did the work of three people and still managed to do it accurately. It makes me sad that I can no longer work at that job, least not when my foot is still the way it is. And because of my mental illness, I am not sure I can really hold a job again. I probably could hold a part-time job, but even that will take some doing. I know that I can’t work as a barista at Starbucks because there is too much standing and lifting. But I might be able to get away with it for a couple of days a week. But I don’t know if I want to go back to retail. I swore after my days of Somerville Lumber, I would NEVER go back. I couldn’t stand the bitchy customers who would argue over a nickel or penny difference. I so wanted to reach in my pocket and give them a dime, just so they would leave!

But when the time comes for me to look for work again, I hope that I am well enough.

dark clouds circling upon me

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, psychache, suicide

I just got finished reading some more of Touched with Fire. I keep reading this book and wondering, is this me? Because the descriptions of the melancholy and the mixed states could be more like me than I have been letting on. I am not saying I need to be on more medication or anything but wow, I never thought I was truly bipolar until I read this book again.

I came across my favorite quote from Tolstoy, “I myself did not know what I wanted. I was afraid of life, I struggled to get rid of it, and yet I hoped for something from it”. I think that is going to be the first line of my book, if I can get it approved. I don’t know how to do that but I will figure it out.

Funny how I wrote a hopeful blog about seeing my future and now all I see are dark clouds circling me. I am tired. I am in pain. My foot is hurting me as if there is no tomorrow. I have taken my meds but they have not kicked in quite yet. I want to end my life because I just cannot go on this way. This heaviness in my chest must cease if I am to survive. I am sure that if I see my doctor he will tell me that I must lose weight. But it is not a visible weight that you can see that is on me. It is to the left of my sternum, under my ribs that I feel this pressure just above my heart. It stifles my lungs. I have to force air in and out to keep myself breathing otherwise I fear I will stop and suffocation is no way to die. It is a painful way to die. I don’t know when the heaviness began. It seems to have reared its ugly head when I was reading about my melancholy and my mixed states. Now I am flooded with emotion that no one else can feel. It is a powerful feeling to write when you feel you are dying. Maybe I have another diagnosis called hypochondria. But this weight is too much to bear. It bored down on you like a heaviness you just cannot explain. Its tightness wraps around your heart and tries to squish it. My whole left side feels weak. I am too tired to fight it. If it is going to kill me, let it be quickly. But maybe the heaviness is trying to stifle the thousand wounds that have been inflicted upon my heart. Either way it is very unbearable and despairing and frightening. I know it is not a sign of a heart attack because I would not be so lucky to die of that. I am not sweaty. I am not short of breath. I just have a 100 pound weight on my chest that no one can see. And I am afraid should it be long continued it will kill me.