and just like that…

And just like that

I woke up when my med alarm went off. I know I fell asleep between 0230 and 0300 so I had a good amount of sleep. I didn’t take my meds right away and dozed until a little after 11. I had to use the bathroom and sort of wake up to talk to my psych around 12. I wasn’t in any kind of mood but pain was already a 7 and I hadn’t done much moving around yet.

I was still sort of dozing and kind of wondering what to do today when 12 came and I called my psych. She didn’t answer so I left a message. She called me back a few minutes later and we talked. I didn’t say anything about the plans for next week other than my appointments. She wants the therapist to be in touch with her and she is reaching out again to the new psychopharm that I will be seeing end of the month. She said she should know what her plans are by then and that I will be the first to know what they are. Back of my head was saying that was good but I won’t be here.

I had to use the bathroom again an hour later. My mother was in the bathroom so I had to wait. I am on my phone when she barges in so use the mouthwash. WTF. I was so fucking triggered because she closed the door and that always makes me nervous. I yelled at her and she is like it’s not like haven’t seen you before. WTF. I am a fucking adult who should be able to have some privacy when using the goddamn bathroom. Bad enough I have been dealing with the intrusive memories of what she did to me as a kid that now is just why the fuck am I still living with her. I just want to fucking die and that is the end of it.

Came back to my room and soon as I sat back down on my bed, pain shot up to a 10 and I was back to my suicidal mood again. I sent an email to my psych. I am supposed to be in touch with her Tues after my uro appointment. I am so apprehensive about it. I know I most likely will have to have an invasive test to see what is going on. I don’t know if I will go through with it as it is just creeping up the anxiety I have and making the PTSD stuff worse. Tentatively am planning on going to my location that day and rolling the dice.

I am not sure if the email that is in my drafts will be sent to my psych next week before rolling the dice. I can’t send it now and I really did not want to say what I had to say in an email. I wanted to mail it to her but I don’t have a physical address for her so that is out. I am sure I can probably get an address via Google but don’t think sending something to her home address would be a good idea. Fucking hate the institution she worked at for forcing her. I am just so angry.

I decided to make something to eat and that proved to be the death of me. I had just finished eating and was finishing up the rest of my coffee when pain just went berserk. It went up to a 12 and I literally could not do anything but force breaths out of my lungs. When the wave of pain slowly went down again, I put what I used in the sink and limped my way to my room. I couldn’t bear full weight on my damn foot. Going up the stairs was fun. I decided to at least put some clothes in my bureau and then I emptied my waste bucket by my bed. Within minutes of sitting back on my bed again the pain hit so damn hard I was breathless. I couldn’t see straight for the life of me. Pain is now a 12 maybe 13, from my ankle bone down the side of my foot. I can barely move as each movement hurts, even if it isn’t my foot. Trying to keep still is torture. I took my breakthrough meds even though I know a sugar pill would probably work better. But maybe it will bring the pain down to an 8 or 6 (doubtful, but could happen). My plans for a shower and doing something in my room are now gone. I got to take my recycling down to the bin and the trash, too. Guess that won’t happen today. I also wanted to package up some gifts for a few friends of mine that have a young child. Hope they will be happy with it. Also hoping my family mails it out should I go.

I am back to living by the hour and what that means is I don’t have a future. Everything seems to far away right now that even though Monday I see the therapist, it feels like years. I don’t know what will be happening tonight much less tomorrow. Monday is just too far away even though it is just a couple of days. An hour or minute is all I can handle right now. I am too overwhelmed with the pain and the suicidality that I can’t deal with anything else right now. It will topple the scales and I really don’t want to end my life in my room. The therapist said I was a pessimist and when I told her it was my middle name, she said she would update my medical record. Hard to be optimistic when you feel so hopeless.

Used to…

Used to…

I used to write in my journals all the anxiety and fear and depression that swept through my heart. The pain of living night after night in despair so great I thought I would never see the light of day again. It was cathartic and once the words were on paper (or in a word doc like they are now), I didn’t have to deal with them. The feelings were out, I felt better. I didn’t have to remember anymore.

I used to write blogs that had some purpose, whether in my clinical papers I wrote or my daily struggles with suicide and depression and chronic pain. It opened a portal so I could share myself with others who were going through the same things. It was the last remaining joy in my life before pain took over. I have been struggling since. Where I would used to write sometimes twice a day and the odd three, I barely write twice a week, if that many. I’ve lost hope in things.

I used to go to therapy with the hope that things would get better. Despite going through 10 in a short period of time (8 years), I still held on that the “right” one was out there. Therapist number 12 I thought was that “right” person until 16 years later we ended, on our anniversary date. She no longer wanted to work with me anymore. I had been in a lot grief since that day. Took me two months to try and figure out if I needed therapy and why I needed therapy. So therapist number 14 came along (13 was the interim therapist I saw while 12 was on maternity leave). He was different from all my previous therapists. He frustrated me more than any of them put together. I skipped sessions because of the anger. Then there were sessions where I felt we were making progress but like the other therapists before him, didn’t go anywhere the following week. In Jan of this year (2019) I realized I couldn’t stay with him after he told me to Google some relaxation stuff for my PTSD. That was the last straw. I had sprained my ankle during this time and decided going to therapy and working on my ankle were going to tax me like it did before. I got physically better, telling him I would go back to him when I was done. I never did.

By March of this year, I was having serious mood shifts of suicidality. In Jan because pain had been really bad, I planned a date to end it. It was the end of March. I had some of my ducks in a row to end it. But the month came and I didn’t have so many ducks as I thought I did. I fell into despair. Pain was keeping me up. The insomnia that I had infrequently, started to become more chronic. I was spending more and more time awake than I was sleeping. Add in not having a therapeutic relationship and I was barely above water. I kept writing my psych of 26 years how bad I felt nearly every day. We were in frequent contact as she was the only person in my team. The day I was to end it, it was raining. I had wanted to end it outside in a desolate place. The rain spoiled it and I had an appointment with my psych that day. I saw my psych as I have never skipped an appointment with her and wasn’t going to start.

April was torturous. By the middle, my psych wanted me to go in the hospital and I said no. I asked her why she wanted me still alive because at that point, I felt so worthless, I had no idea why she wanted me alive other than she “had to.” She told me some good reasons that I still remember. I tried to hold on to those. I starting thinking about writing another book that would be so outside my realm of mental health but would take a lot of research to do it. It would be a challenge and I hoped I was up for it. That lasted a few days. Then I was back in the despair and this time, it wasn’t letting me go.

I used to think that the hospital was a safe haven, a place to recover and get well, learn new coping skills and then be able to face the challenges outside better. With insurances no longer covering long stays, this is nearly impossible. Some people are lucky to stay past three days. Others stay just 24 hours like that has any benefit. I was hesitant to go back in. I was just about as suicidal you could be without actually attempting and I was getting close. There were a few nights where I didn’t think I would make it through the night. I honestly have no clue what kept me here or how I did it. I stayed for three weeks and then my whole world went to smithereens.

I was supposed to see my psych the following week but she changed it to the following Monday. She said she had some news to tell me and I listened. The institution she had been apart of for 30 years was letting her go. She didn’t go into the reasons and I asked her if writing a letter would help and she said no. I have been seeing her for 26 years. My heart broke in a million pieces but I didn’t know it yet. I still had one week left of seeing her and it would be the last until she was some place else, though she didn’t know where yet. She wanted to stay in academia and Boston is the academia capital. All the while I was to see a new therapist, number 15. The first visit didn’t go well. She hammered me with questions, took my history (I tried to stay away from suicide as that freaks mental health professionals out), and who I was seeing for psych. She asked me about my hospital stay and I thought oh shit here we go. She asked what I was to do with crisis. I said call my psych. But according to her, my psych had “terminated” me. I couldn’t comprehend that. I knew my psych didn’t, she said so and she doesn’t lie. She still wanted to be in my care, to take care of me. I didn’t know if I would see this therapist again. She was nonchalant about setting up another appointment with me. I said I give new therapists at least three sessions before deciding if they would work. She agreed on that point.

I don’t know what will happen the next few weeks. I am back to being highly suicidal without a voice. My one or two places where I catharized my feelings are blank, and have been since the day my psych said she was temporarily leaving me. Wed I got a call to see a new psych and I nearly had a meltdown in the lobby of the building where I first started seeing my psych. But I had to see my pcp so had to keep things together. I have had some medical problems this past week that are still unresolved. I never thought my body would be broken down so much at 43, but then, I never thought I would live to see this age.

I used to believe I would always write in some way, shape, or form. I never thought my words would be hard to reach for. Between the physical and emotional pain, the medications I take, and the pressure of trying to stay some what alive for whatever reason when I just want to fucking die, I am at a loss of words. Some times they breakthrough the constriction I am in, the blinders that say that I should die and nothing else matters. My psych asked me if I would be alright for next week, and she said Monday. I told her I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I want to find that desolate place and end it so fucking much. The thought of dealing with CRPS (complex regional pain syndrome) without pain meds is freaking me out, especially as they don’t work as they once did. It is no fault of the medication, just the disease process. Eventually, there will be nothing that will work for it and I cannot cope with that. I cannot imagine spending my life in so much pain when I already spent 28+ years of it managing the mental illness part of me. I used to believe there was hope out there. Now I am not so sure anymore.

random psych shit and things

Random psych shit and things

I had three hours sleep last night. I didn’t go to bed till 0730, woke up at 0930 and then again at 1030. I had to really get up at that hour because I had to be out of the house by the latest 1105 to catch the bus. Course I go downstairs, hoping to shave and my mother is in the bathroom wanting to wash up. Figures. I tell her I need to wash up and she says she will do so fast. She is never “fast.” I waited for her to get out. By that time it was around 1045 and I just brushed my teeth and got the eye crud out of my eyes by washing them. I couldn’t be bothered with the rest of my face. It would have to wait.

I had time to fiddle after using the bathroom, but not much. I got my clothes on before sitting on my bed. I tried to find a belt I could use for the pair of shorts I found in my drawer. They are a size 38, which after all the weight loss, I fit into again. I didn’t need to buy another pair of shorts as the size 42 is way too big on me. Not eating is not how I wanted to lose the weight but it happened so there isn’t much I can do except to keep it off, which I have and knew I would. I might have gained and lost the same three pounds the past few weeks but then I will drop 8 lbs the following week so I guess it evens out eventually.

I went to Starbucks and had my espresso. I had a new barista. I asked him for soy and all the baristas that I ever had have given me the container or a quart of it. This one pours a tall cup and hands it to me. WTF. I don’t care, I just want my fucking espresso. He was cheap with the ice so I just said fuck it. He looked to be a smartass anyway and I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I totally got my time messed up because around noon, I left for the station. It wasn’t until I was halfway to where I needed to be, I realized my appointment was at 1345. I was more than an hour early. Goddamn it. I went to the lobby of the building and just wrote in my journal. Then I washed out my reuseable cup and went upstairs. The therapist took me early. I was beyond tired by that point and wasn’t too chatty though I did try to have a conversation. The therapist kept on looking at her computer screen and then looked at me so fast I thought she was going to get whiplash. No idea what she was looking at. Somehow she asked me if I was in crisis or something and I said I don’t know, not right now. Could change in 24 hours, which it could. She said that wasn’t reassuring. Then she said “we need to monitor how you are and such.” I am thinking ok. Next thing I know she is telling me she is off next week and she will see me in two weeks. WTF seriously?? She didn’t offer a safety plan or who I was to call if I needed to talk to someone while she was away, nothing! I got pissed off. Because she took me early meant I would be home on time for my psych to call me.

I had just missed the bus when I got back to the Square. I had to wait a half hour for the next one. I just listened to my music. I tried to read Twitter but my eyes couldn’t focus and it was really difficult as the sunglasses I was wearing weren’t prescription. I have either thrown them out or they are somewhere hidden in my room. I won’t know until I try to find something else. Like today I was trying to find the key to my cash box and found my class ring instead. I thought I had lost it for good while I was working in the lab. I could have sworn it was in my lab coat that got thrown away. I am glad I was wrong. That made my day until my psych called me. We talked and then she said she had a question for me, would I be okay to see a psychiatrist they had assigned me. That psychiatrist contacted her and wanted her input before they contacted me. I then asked her ok until she sets up shop somewhere and when that would be. She said sometime in the fall. She then asked if I was okay with meds. I said I have one refill left on all of them so would be set for the next month, month and a half. And if I couldn’t see the guy, I would call her. I told her about the dissociation part of Monday/Tuesday night where I somehow scratched my wrist. There were a few marks. I have no idea what time it was, what it was with, or why I did it. I don’t even remember doing it. She said if it happened again to call her right away. My immediate thought was that could be a while as it took me all day to realize this when I emailed her around 2200 Tuesday night while waiting for the last survey for the study I am in to come through. I was going to sleep afterwards and I did until like 9 or 10 am. My psych said she would call me either tomorrow or Monday to let me know what the new guy said and what his availability is.

After the phone call, my heart dropped. I was completely hurting and heartbroken and angry. I almost had a meltdown but somehow prevented me from uncontrollable sobbing. Fall seems like forever right now even though, technically, it is only a few months away. She didn’t tell me where she would be. I didn’t ask. I was too stunned to know I was actually going to see a new psychiatrist after twenty-six years, least for a little while. She still wants me to keep her posted and stuff. I don’t think that will ever change. I’ve always have, even when she was away on vacation or out of the office or on medical leave. This week has been a blur and today just sucked totally. Once I knew I wasn’t going to fall apart, I made myself a cheeseburger, which my stomach is still not happy about, even though I liked it. It was really good. After I ate, I shaved my head and face. I got rid of the mustache as it was all uneven and hairs were longer in places than others. I looked in the mirror afterwards and I looked like I was 12. I sent the pic to my psych saying I was indeed 12, LOL. My face has slimmed up and with the facial hair gone, you can really see it. Losing around 25 pounds helps. I still can’t believe I lost that much weight in such a short period. My waist shows it though. I am not 100% sure it is the T giving me the loss of weight or the loss of appetite/not eating due to pain, or the combo. We may never know. All I hear is that people gain weight with T. I might be the exception.

Now I just wait for a stranger to call me or his secretary to schedule an appointment. Not sure if my psych is still wanting to keep tabs on me now or if she just wants me to keep her posted on things. I guess I will find out when she calls me.

Writing difficulties and dealing with shit

Writing difficulties and dealing with shit

***warning long read***

I have been having trouble writing my blogs. I have been going through some turmoil about my psych leaving. I have been in contact her with email but it isn’t the same. I feel like I lost a parent. Because of this, I have lost my words. Past few days, I have not been able to write because even though there is stuff to write about, I just can’t get it. It is really difficult. Before I left seeing my psych we talked about my writing and writing in general. I half want to send her a message telling her I have been having difficulty writing since she left but not sure that is appropriate as I don’t want to make it seem like her leaving is the reason I cannot write. I am so mad at the place she and I worked at because they forced out for obviously different reasons. I think this anger is what is getting in the way of my writing. She wants me to continue my care there. And frankly, I really don’t want to leave as I finally found a doctor that can work with me and has a good team that cares. That is rare to find these days.

Day before yesterday (the 2nd), I had my appointment with my TG doc (transgender). We discussed how things were going and I am pleased with the results. I sort of have a hair explosion which I knew was going to happen but damn, my legs are really hairy now. She told me that T can cause increase in sweating and OMG that hit me like a ton of bricks. I sweat really bad anyway because of my nerve injury and now it is worse. The weather has been really muggy and hot and because of the sweating, I had to go through like 3 shirts in one day over a couple of days. I couldn’t understand why I was so damn hot and now I realize it is because of hormones adding to my already messed up temperature settings. I asked her if she was going to increase the T dose and she said no because my testosterone blood level is in the “male” range. I had my blood drawn yesterday and I guess I made the cut off for running hormones as my T result came back. It was nearly double what it was in Jan. Holy crap. I looked up the normal range for males and I am close to being in the middle of it. So I will stay on the dose. My hematocrit has increased though my energy levels haven’t. Hematocrit levels shows if you are anemic or not. I was always in the 30s range. Now I am in the 40s. Thing is my numbers have steadily increased and she told me that she doesn’t want my blood to become viscous due to increase in blood production in the bone marrow. I am fine with the dose as it is. She also said that it is a time process so the longer I am taking the T, the more it will build up in my system. I felt good about that but also am a little impatient!

Before I started my blog, I had a chat with my nephew. I am so glad I can talk to him about men stuff. I had asked him about the facial hair and he said that shaving it will make it grow faster. I had wanted to hold off shaving the rest of the month to see what will grow as the fuzz around my face is becoming more noticeable but is not really dark enough yet. It is there but kind of faded. So when I take a shower today, I will shave. I might trim my sideburns a little bit. They are now past my earlobes so it will be only a matter of time before the rest fills in. One day I really want to go downstairs with facial hair just to freak my mother out. She has not been accepting of transgendered people. My brother in law’s nephew is trans and there was a period of time where we didn’t see him. When we did, he had almost a full beard and my mother exclaimed, “what the hell is on your face?!” I nearly died from embarrassment and also felt the sting of it because I knew then she would not accept me when I did grow a beard or when I came out to her. I was right about it and it still hurts. I have tried talking to her about it but she is adamant that is “accepting.” When I was in the hospital, I had asked her during my last weekend there when is she going to accept me. Her response was in a strained voice as she said “she has accepted since I was born.” The other stuff we talked about I knew was making it uncomfortable for her. I can pick up things, I always have as I have been empathic and sensitive. We haven’t talked about it since, though she is trying to use my pronouns and name more, unlike my sister that moved in. She has yet to call me a him/he and will call me my birthname. I am glad my youngest sister is more accepting but if she messes up, she will correct herself. I am not sure if my brother in law knows I am or not. I haven’t told him and I am not sure my sister (youngest) has either. The kids (nieces and nephew) have been more accepting and I think knew before I came out to them. It has been a process for everyone. My online friends have been the most accepting and supportive. They really like the transition photos as they can see the changes. I had recently done a ten week transition post and even then you can see a change. I really don’t like my day 1 pic anymore. But I think that has more to do with me hating myself and being uncomfortable with myself for basically two reasons: I am not congruent to what I am and that my father called me ugly and fat my whole life. I do think I am ugly and obviously I am fat. The TG had the “weight talk” with me. Even though I had lost 12 pounds since I last saw her and I told her it was because of me not eating, she still wants me to lose more. I have no idea why doctors feel they have to say the obvious. I cannot stand it because it makes me feel more ashamed of myself.

I had appointments all week. Today and the rest of the week I am not doing anything. My legs are so sore from everything. Monday when I went to PT things looked good. I have two sessions left and then I will “graduate.” I have been going for nearly six months trying to get my right (good) ankle/foot stronger. I don’t think I can get the calf to loosen. It has been the most aggravating part over the course of treatment. Every time I try to stretch, I hurt the next day in a big way. I pretty much have given up on it. I have also given up on trying to get my balance better only because I need to be standing and my CRPS foot/ankle doesn’t like it. It can trigger a flare. Tues after I saw my TG doc, I had a flare and for the first time, a few hours later, I dissociated. I felt like I didn’t have a foot/ankle anymore and the pain was not there. It was very fucking weird. This lasted until this morning when I woke up at 2 am because of back and hip pain. I have gotten into this habit while sleeping to twist my upper body is one way and my pelvis/hip is the opposite. I had some pain that was about an 8 so I took my breakthrough meds and some Neurontin. When I was having difficulty going back to sleep, I took some melatonin. I now have a hangover from it but that is what coffee is for. I still don’t have mega pain and this worries me. I had emailed my psych about this but never got a response about it.

Yesterday I saw my eye doctor, which I am not going back to again. She didn’t really help me and I feel like she didn’t get what I was telling her as I really couldn’t see the letters out of my right eye clearly. No matter how I told her that, she just kept adjusting the lenses on the thing and nothing worked. Then she went to the other eye. After that she just said my prescription changed a little. I was like WTF. How the hell could it have changed a little when I cannot see out of my right eye from far away??? I had gone to see her not only for a regular eye exam but also due to my having double vision. I had told my psych as I thought it might be the Lamictal and she said it is. I needed to be under supervision to taper down the dose so she is trying to speed up seeing another psychiatrist. But after the exam, it turns out that my right eye is “lazy” meaning the muscles are weak and get worse when I am tired, hence the double vision. The problem is not problematic enough for me to have a prism in my eyeglasses, but if it gets worse, I will need it. I feel like I might need it now as I could not see just one frame the whole time she was trying to get me to see one. I kept on seeing two or the corner or half of the other frame. Again, she did not listen to me and just went on with her business. I will be seeing my mother’s eye doctor. He is an ophthalmologist which is what I sort of need. My mother confused me because she said a “nurse” did the eye exam and then he went over what they did to okay it. I tried to get more information out of her but she doesn’t know who the person is that is testing her vision. She never asks the questions just goes along with it. I am sure if the doctor said that if she jumped off a bridge would help her, she would. So now I got to get another eye exam, which needs to be on Medicare, not my eye insurance. I am not sure Medicare covers eye exams. I know the insurance that I have does but they will not cover it because I have Medicare. I am so annoyed at this. I won’t be getting new glasses until I get another eye exam. I want to make sure the prescription is right and won’t cause my eyes to strain or get tired while reading on my phone or while I am on the computer or even looking at something far away like a street sign or something. I have always known my right eye has been weak but hell, least listen to me when I say I cannot see the letters!

After the appointment, I sent an email to my psych telling her the double vision was likely not due to the Lamictal but having the lazy eye problem. I never got a response back. I then emailed her about still being in a dissociated state. I wish she would have responded but she didn’t. I miss her and it has only been a week since I last saw her.

I guess that is all. I might do a weekly blog if I don’t write every day or every other day, like I am doing now. I know it is long and I apologize. I just wanted to write how things are going for me. It has been a real struggle and my pain has not helped my suicidality. I still have my plan and I know one day I will go through with it. Just not now.