Tag: psychache

King of Pain

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

King of Pain

I was listening to my MP3 player and this song came on. I thought it was perfect for today. I have had it on repeat because I like the melody and lyrics. It describes how I feel today. The song is by the Police. It is one of my favorite songs on their album Synchronicity.

I woke up early and was fidgety. I went to the Square to get my coffee and do a couple of errands. Now my bowels seem to have woken up since I came home. This sucks but I am glad that I am home and not out and about. The cramps are what is killing me. I don’t know if it’s air or crap. With CES, you never know so it’s always best to be on a toilet when you let loose. Otherwise, you might be sorry.

I might go out again after my therapy appointment. I won’t get another coffee, but I might get an iced tea. I really would like to read the psych book that I bought and have been neglecting to take with me. The only reason I don’t usually take it with me is because I don’t have my journal in the bag. But the thing is, I will either write or read. I usually won’t do both. We’ll see how therapy goes. If it’s favorable, I will go out. My psych got back to me. She wants me to page her this evening. I am glad I got a response from her.

I didn’t take my abilify last night and the voices are rampant. I don’t care. I trust them more than real people right now. I should have trusted them all along but the “real” people persuaded me otherwise. I can’t believe how stupid I have been. I texted Bozo telling her I am no longer taking the abilify and I am canceling next week’s sessions. I really don’t want to talk to her anymore. There is no point. She hurt me and I don’t think there is any reconciliation. Besides, I have the voices to talk to, who needs therapy. They understand me better than anyone. They can read my thoughts where as no one else can. Sometimes I don’t even have to talk to answer their questions.

I wanted to get my haircut today but I forgot the money to get it. Maybe I will get it before going to Starbucks to read, if I go back out. My foot is acting up so I am not sure if I will go out. I kind of had to put pressure on it today while on the bus so I didn’t go flying off my seat. I was on the new bus and it’s not made for short people. My feet dangle off the seat so I have to stretch to stay on the seat.

I hope three is the charm. My rear is killing me from going to the bathroom so many times. It’s not just irritation, but also nerve pain that I feel. It really sucks to have a bowel movement when you have cauda equina syndrome.

If I don’t make it back out today, I will read some Dostoevsky. I charged up my tablet last night. I found that the battery does last longer if you don’t have notifications going off. I disabled most of them. There really is no need as I have my phone and laptop and I hardly will use my tablet for messaging or sending email. I primarily use it only for the Kindle app. As long as the tablet doesn’t die on me or run out of memory for the books I buy, I will keep it. No point in getting another one. If it ain’t broke why fix it?

Purpose

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

Purpose

Everyone needs a purpose in life. It is what drives us. But sometimes when we are very depressed and feeling worthless, our purpose might not be so clear cut. We often think while depressed, that people will be better off without us, that we don’t matter. This may lead us to become suicidal. And then our true purpose is lost to us. All we think about is death because we have no purpose to go on living. It’s especially precarious after we lost the ones we love due to illness, divorce or if we lost our job. What does it mean to go on after so much loss?

In therapy, therapists often try to give us a life worth living. But what does that mean if we have no purpose for being? It often hurts too much to go on living. Sometimes there are protective factors that keep us here, like family, friends, or children we love and wouldn’t want to hurt with our death. It’s difficult to balance this when you feel so damn low and want to end the pain so badly. It tears at you night and day to go on living in this pain.

My sense of purpose is construed. Others can see that I have one but most times, I don’t see it in myself. It’s hard going on without something to keep me going. I often wonder why I am here. I should be dead three times over, yet I still exist. I am tired of just existing. There is so much I want to do yet I am hindered due to my disabilities. I am often frustrated and suicidal, not a good combo. My depressions are severe and debilitating. My chronic physical pain is as well. I can’t work anymore. I don’t have any friends that are close by that I talk to on a regular basis. I have my online friends, without whom, I think I would feel totally alone, trapped in my room. My therapist and psychiatrist think I am a writer. But since my father’s illness and subsequent death, I have not written much. I had this blog to keep me going, as a challenge to myself to write something every day. Sometimes, I would write two to three times a day. But it’s hard work. Some days it is easier to write than others.

My blog gives me a purpose you can say. I write and get feedback. Most times I don’t but I know the readership is there because I am a stats freak. I watch my numbers go up every day. Sometimes it’s the same blog that gets read several times, and that is ok. My purpose has been fulfilled if it helps someone to understand what it is like living with chronic depression, suicidality, and physical pain.

TG Issues 7: Name Change

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders, suicide, transgender

TG Issues 7: Name Change

I have been struggling with my identity for the past two months because I had to play “daughter” while my father was sick and dying. Now that he is gone, I am still struggling because I keep receiving mail addressed to my birth name as well as on Facebook. Despite me kindly telling my close friends that I no longer want to be called my birth name, people forget and so call me what they always call me. They don’t know that it is hurtful. Even today while I was at my psychiatrist’s office it was apparent she didn’t know what to call me. She thought I was still changing my name to Alex when I made the decision to be called GC or G two years ago. I have never signed an email to her with that name so I am not sure where she got it from. I did go by Alex for a while when I was playing around with names. In my memoir, I think I said my name is Mike. I thought about Mike for a long time because it’s something that I always liked to be called. But I am so used to people calling me G that I think Mike would be a bigger transition. I do go by Mike on this blog. I might use it as my middle name as I don’t have one.

A fellow blogger wrote about her identity issues and that got me thinking of my own. For some reason, today my breasts feel so heavy and disproportionate to my body it’s not funny. They just seem bigger than they normally are and it’s driving me crazy because I just want them removed. And that is where the self-loathing comes in. I hate who I am. I hate having to play a female and now that my father is gone, I know I don’t have to but yet I still do because I haven’t made steps to be a male. I am kind of scared of going that step. I know that if I don’t, I will just kill myself, eventually. It’s bad enough that I am dying every day pretending to be someone I am not. I am not an uncle to my kids or a brother to my sisters. I am not even a son to my mother. Course she doesn’t know and I don’t think I am going to tell her. I have thought about it a thousand times but she thinks one way and I know she will think that someone is “influencing” me to be male. Just like they were influencing me to be homosexual. I love women. I have no idea how I am to have a relationship with one once I transition but hopefully it will work out. And if it doesn’t, I am fine being single.

I just feel really out of sorts right now. While I was in the hospital, there was confusion over my sex because one institution had me as a female and the psych hospital had me as a male since my last admission. It was so stupid and then the admitting psychiatrist asked me if I could be a female just for one night. Why not, I have been acting it all my life. Just shrink my heart a little more than it already is shrunk. Eventually I will have nothing left and hopefully I will die a heartless human being that is a female. It kills me to play a female part because I am not “out”. Like tomorrow when I am out with friends and with my friend’s kids. I will be called “aunty” because that is what I have always been called. I will be called my birth name because that is what is what they know by. It’s like I have to hide myself every time I am with someone that doesn’t know I am a male.

I am really confused by my identity issues. I know I am a male. I feel male in every aspect of my life. I wear male clothing year round except for that time of year when I have break through bleeding due to my biological cycle. I no longer have control over that but it doesn’t make me pure suicidal when it happens like it used to. I know that I have to have menses at least once a year or there will be problems. I just wish the problem, the uterus, can be taken out as it’s useless to me. I hear there are now transplants of uteruses. They can take mine for free if they want it that bad. It’s hasn’t been used at all for female things so I am sure it is viable! And if it’s not, just toss it in the pathological fireplace. I do not need it. I never wanted kids and still do not want kids. Men do not have kids.

Then I think this is all in my head and that I need conversion therapy or something but my therapist always reassures me that what I feel is what I feel. She gets me and calls me a guy, her buddy. We don’t hang out or anything (that would be too weird and awkward), but she accepts me. I just have a hard time accepting me sometimes. I hate myself because I am not who my mind thinks I am. And it hurts something awful. It hurts so much that I want to kill myself at times. I never put two and two together until I realized my menses were a huge part of the suicidal urges. Yea, PMDD had nothing on my suicidality. I had come so close to killing myself just before I would start bleeding it’s really a miracle I am still alive. The intensity of being suicidal was immense. And it was because I felt and feel like a man yet I was bleeding like a woman. How fucking confusing is that? Even when I got my menses so many years ago, I felt hatred because everyone was calling me a woman and I was like I am still a boy. It hurt so much and I am not talking about the physical aspects of the menstrual cycle. I wanted to die since I was eight years old. By the time I got my menses, that intensity increase triple fold. I so wanted a penis like my friend Tony. He is the male friend that I grew up with. I had hid myself and played the part of female for so long. Now it’s time to be a male and I am not sure how to come out. I am disgusted with myself. I hate my breasts. I hate myself period. I hate that I have to take meds to stop my menses but if I don’t it just kills me or will kill me.

The first thing that I am going to do is change my name. after that, I think I will be more comfortable going to the LGBT center to get testosterone treatments to become a male. I need to or I might as well join my father in hell or where ever you go when you die.

After the Party

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

After the Party

I left the party soon after the cake was served. I had two slices and a lot of pizza. My sister had made this flatbread type pizza with I think pita bread and it was so damn good. I couldn’t stop myself from eating it. I overate and my stomach is killing me. My ankle was bothering me and I couldn’t stand being near my aunts and uncles so I left. I went to my room and watched a few episodes of Friends.

After the shows, I started feeling palpitations. Now I feel psychache and I want to die. I just don’t want to live anymore and am contemplating drinking gin. I just took my night time dose of pain meds. Alcohol would not be a great idea. I just want to feel numb. Drinking will do that. I have thought of going in the hospital. But I know my family needs me and it’s killing me. The next few days are going to be tough. I just don’t know if I can be there mentally. I am already stressed to the max.

My biggest fear about my father being home is that if he ends up being in pain, we can’t alleviate it because he can no longer swallow. His mouth is just too dry from the dehydration. He can barely spit his phlegm out. Then I worry about falls, either with my father or my sister transferring him. We don’t have a wheelchair so I don’t see how we are going to get him to the bathroom should he need to go. I know he isn’t eating or drinking and his kidneys are shot but he still needs to poop. And wheelchairs are expensive. My sister thinks that we can just get an ambulance to transport him home. I don’t think she realizes that is not how ambulances work and even if we did, we would have to pay for it and it could be at least $1000 or more. I just have a bad feeling about this and unfortunately, there are no other alternatives. We can’t afford to keep him in the nursing home.

I just don’t know what we are going to do. We know he doesn’t have that much longer but we can’t make it go any faster. I just feel awful. I am tired and I need to sleep but my worries are keeping me up. I never showered. I might do that tomorrow. I hope I sleep through the night. Last night I went to bed early and woke up around 0200. It just stinks having broken sleep on top of being depressed and grief stricken.

I am tired of fighting my suicidality. I want to give into it so badly. I want to get a life insurance policy so my family doesn’t have to worry about my funeral expenses. But suicide is usually excluded from policies or you might have to wait until the policy matures or something. I am actually kicking myself for living through my birthday because then I wouldn’t have to worry about my father dying and shit. I would be fucking dead. I’m going to drink and take some Ativan after I take my night meds. Fuck it, I don’t care anymore.