in a hopeless state of mind

In a hopeless state of mind

I can’t sleep because of pain and too much on my mind. I keep reading people’s messages about the two people that died by suicide this week and the CDC supposed data that suicide is increasing. I don’t trust the CDC anymore because it fudged data just to push an agenda that hurt people like me with chronic pain.

Some of the messages I read concerned helplines. Do people think that talking with someone for five minutes can help a lifetime of anguish? Probably not. Can it bring enough hope so that person can see to tomorrow? Maybe.

The past few months I have wrestled and anguished with my own thoughts of death. Hell, the beginning of the week, I was tormented with psychache, spoke about it on social media, and then was reported. In the email from Twitter, it said that I could speak to a hotline and there are resources. I deleted the email. What it comes down to, is whether I seek help or not. My choice, really. No one else’s to make. Just like you, reading this. You don’t have to read my blog. No one is holding a gun to head saying to read Midnight Demon. We all have battles that we face, some bigger than others but that doesn’t make them any less of a battle. It could be drugs, alcohol, depression, suicide, mania, voices, paranoia, etc. Some times someone feels too good to get help. Some times someone feels too bad to get help. Others may not think they are worthy or are too afraid what others might think of them if they seek help.

If you have a problem, whatever it is, someone else might have it too. You are not alone. There are people who have alcohol issues, mania issues, depression, trauma, sexual abuse, physical abuse, etc. and live to face another day though they may not want to. Some people, like me, think of suicide often. And that is really scary to some people, so much so they think by reporting them or calling the cops on them is the answer. But let me tell you what happens when you don’t face that person and ask, how can I help or if you need to talk I am here. It shuts them down. That was their one chance of opening up these vulnerable feelings and you just slammed the door, possibly forever, of them ever talking about their dark side ever again. Reporting does not help. I got an email with a hotline and a link to a resource. Did I use it? No, I deleted it. Someone once reported my online activities to the police. The local cops came and scared the crap out of my aunt and pissed me the fuck off. You think I am going to write in my blog the same way again? Fuck no. And why? Because of people like you who are too stupid to understand someone else’s pain and despair. To sit with it and deal with it rather than throwing it at someone else because you can’t be the better person.

I may end my life one day and sadly, even though I talk about it on my blog, you will never know about it because of this one person that sent cops to my door one morning a few years ago. It shuts people down. So I understand why Kate Spade didn’t seek help. She was afraid. I can’t say anything about the other guy. I never heard of him until he died a couple days after Kate. Would either of them have called a hotline? Would either of them have opened the link to the resources that were provided to them? Probably not. Their battle was theirs alone. Their decision was theirs to make. I understand it because I have lived it time and time again. In one of the legal pads I was trying to find to write this down on, I came across a story I wrote that I later published. It is also on my blog (I think). It was about a night where I was in so much pain, I wanted to end my life. And though I had promised my therapist and psychiatrist that I would call them should I feel like ending my life, I didn’t. I had hotlines to call. I had coping skills to use. Instead I wanted to end my life right there and then because of the agony of my foot and ankle but because I couldn’t walk three friggen feet to my bureau, 36 inches away from me to get more pills to take to end my life, it saved me. I woke up and wondered what I did. I will never forget that fear and the shame I felt. I was scared to tell my therapist and psychiatrist what I went through. Terrified that I would be once again be on the psych unit of some hospital never to breathe fresh air again.

Lately, I have been saying, Always be kind. You never know who might need it and is depending on it to survive another day. If you are still reading this and not dialing 911, reach out in other ways. Call that friend you haven’t spoke to in a while that seemed to have stopped posting on social media. Or that friend that was supposed to go to a cookout but didn’t show up. They just might need to know that someone other than the demons in their head care for them. And be kind and non-judgmental. Ask them if they need help with something that is important to them. They might not tell you everything or they might not even want to talk, just listen. Sit with their darkness. It will mean the world to them.

Shepard’s Pie and my downfall

Shepard’s Pie and my downfall

I woke up early, around 0630. I was in pain so took my meds. It was too early to get to the butcher shop. I wanted to go before it started snowing. I played on my phone for a bit. Then decided to leave around 0720. I figure I would go to Starbucks and maybe write if I felt inclined. I brought my notebook with me. I had breakfast. I mobile ordered it because I didn’t bring my own mug. It was the first time I forgot. After I ate breakfast, I didn’t feel like writing as nothing was coming to me. It was after 8 so I went to the butcher’s shop. I had to laugh when I found a 2 pound ground beef package for $18. It was not labeled as ground beef though. The label said marinated steak tips. I found a package within my price range and then left to go to the grocery store across the street. My mother wanted eggs so I grabbed three dozen.

I came home and was hurting. I was also tired. I took a nap and had some wild dream. It was snowing when I woke up around 1. I wasn’t hungry. I wanted to make the cheddar biscuits but I was in too much pain. I decided I would just make the Shepard’s Pie. I was kind of disappointed but I didn’t want to push myself. I tried to nap again around 1400 and my foot went berserk. It was raining by this point. I closed the window. I really just wanted to make the pie and have this comfort food. It came out pretty good, though I forgot to put the beef gravy in before topping it with mashed potatoes. Oh well. It still came out good. My mother said it tasted blah and I should have put in onions. I don’t like onions. A friend saw the pic I posted of how it looked and said next time I should try it with creamed corn. I think I am going to. I haven’t had creamed corn in a very long time.

I came up to my room after cleaning up a little. My foot was hurting and I was sleepy again. I laid down and my ankle, foot, and shin muscles went berserk. I cried out in pain. I took the strong pain pill and was feeling really crappy. It was not a hard meal to prepare and make but CRPS doesn’t care. I was hurting too much to go downstairs to get a heat pack for my shin muscles. I have found that helpful to calm them down. I am still hurting but the pain meds are helping. In a little bit I will take my regular pain pills. I am just so done with this day. I took my night meds early because I just didn’t care. Voices have been bothering me most of the day and my psychiatrist doesn’t want to do anything about it. She asked if I wanted to come to the ER but that will just freak me out as there are always too many people and with my paranoia, it just isn’t good. I wouldn’t feel safe being surrounded by strangers. I see her next week and I will ask her to either increase the Invega or take the trilafon as a PRN. I am playing Mary Chapin Carpenter as her voice calms down my agitation. There is just something about her voice that I find so soothing. She is coming out with a new album the end of next month. I bought her single, Heroes and Heroines. It is a good song. She changed record labels again. I think she has had at least 4 different labels over the years that I have noticed. I don’t care as long as she has new music. She is a great writer. I know she hasn’t been nominated for awards or anything lately but I love her just the same.

the hubbub

The hubbub


Not sure if anyone of you remember the TV show (US) ER. The actor that played Dr. Green, Anthony Edwards is one of my favorite actors. When he left the show, I kind of stopped watching it because the story lines stunk. Anyways, today he wrote an article on about his sexual abuse by a pedophile. He wasn’t the only boy affected by this. His best friend was raped by the guy. He wrote about how pedophiles prey on their victims and often use the word “love” as a way of controlling the victims and their emotions.
It hit a deep nerve, something I have never talked about on here before. I was molested by a family member. Other family members knew this one did this. They warned me about them but they seemed like a nice person so I didn’t heed the warning. Even after they were jailed, I was blamed for the abuse because I was warned and that I should have known better. I was 12 when it started and didn’t end till I was 14, when the advances were more advanced (for lack of a better word). They were 12 years older than me. One day we were on their couch, and somehow we ended up on the floor. They pinned me down and I couldn’t break free. Their genitals were over mine. The only way for me to be free was by saying I loved this person and had to kiss them multiple times and to say it over again. I was really scared because they were at least 250 or more pounds and I was a mere 125. When I was free, we just sat on the couch but they sat close to me and they put their arm around me so it would touch my breast. I kept moving their hand but it didn’t matter.

Another time, we were in their pool and the pool’s ladder had injured their genitals but being a pre-pubescent kid, I didn’t know that. I just knew their groin hurt. After the pool, it was the same deal. They would lock their front door as we “watched” TV, careful to put the chain lock on so there wouldn’t be any interruptions. This time, I was messaging the area. I don’t know how they got me to do it but I did. Turns out after a little while I was messaging their privates while they were in their underwear. My hand was not on the underwear part. I refused to see what I was doing as it felt wrong. When I stopped the message, they continued and when I looked over at them, their privates were out in plain view. This asshole then asked me if I wanted that kind of message on me. I said no but had a few breast strokes and kisses, not intimate. I felt sick once I realized what I had done.

Years later when I accused this person of abuse, they denied it and even their partner denied it because they would have seen the “signs”. Yea, right. It all boiled down that the perpetrator loved me and that was why they did what they did, out of love. I was so sick by this. My mother blamed me because I went to the pedophile’s house a lot of the time. I couldn’t help it. It was better than my home life where I had an abusive father, though I would much rather have my father’s abuse over the pedophile’s. I am glad my father was never told what this pedophile did or they might not be alive today or worse, my father might have said that I deserved it in his narcissistic mind because the pedophile wronged him by “destroying his family”. My father would always blame someone else for his wrongdoings. But that is another issue for another day.

With all the sexual abuse accusations coming at high standing men, whether in politics or Hollywood, it has me triggered into remembering my abuse by the various people that abused me. It wasn’t only the pedophile. I don’t feel free to say who the other family member was, I probably will in therapy but not on this media. I was also raped and abused by an ex-girlfriend. Since then, I have not had a relationship, mostly because of my nerve injury but also because I am afraid of flashbacks.

Lots to talk to my therapist on Monday. I know a lot of women and men are coming out with their story of abuse, which they should. It’s important because it gives others the chance to come forward as well. I am not saying it is easy because when I told one of my therapists about an abuser, that abuser slapped me when I was near them as it was a “false” accusation. I have kept quiet about this for a long time and it’s being stirred up. Abusers don’t like confrontation or being exposed. They will deny it to their dying breath. There is no remorse with them. My ex was kind of remorseful when I talked to her about it but she also played it off. We never became friends as it was impossible. I was hurt too much, though she did reach out a few times. She had more problems than I ever had. But Karma will get these bastards, one way or another. I firmly believe that.

ugh another psych admit

Ugh another psych admit

Met with my psych this morning. I should have known it wasn’t going to be a good day when the 747 bus never showed up but my cousin did to give me a ride to the Square. I gave her some sauce and a piece of my cranberry cake. Then she said she wanted me to go in the hospital. From her tone, there was no arguing with her. She didn’t like that I picked a date, again, or the dire emails I sent when my pain caused me to be suicidal, more than usual. I’m just grateful she let me go to my therapist’s office later this afternoon. I told her I wanted his input.

I came home waited for my new laptop screen to be delivered. I was expecting it around 1230. It didn’t come till after 1300, which left little time for a nap. I wasn’t in that much pain but knew I would need some when it got closer to my therapist’s time. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my bag of all things, which contained a water bottle so I didn’t take my pain meds. I still felt good so thought I would be okay.

I talked with my therapist about what my psych had said. He didn’t see the point in going in except maybe learning a few things, if I went to the unit my psych wants me at. I thought about this as I left his office. I got to the corner of where his block was and the top of my foot felt like it was being smashed with a brick. Fuck! I had no water to take my one pain pill I had. I carefully walked to the station. Went down the stairs and the train was coming, a full one. Nope not standing three stops. I sat down and waited for the next one, which wasn’t too long. It was less crowded and I got a seat. By the time I got to the Square for the bus home, I wanted to cry. The pain intensified. I could have killed myself right then and there. I missed the bus by mere fractions and sat for the next one. I thought I was going to bawl as the bus was in traffic on the ride home. I was hurting so bad and I needed to get my meds at Walgreens. I honestly have no clue how I got home.

I wanted to tell my youngest sister I would be going in the hosp tomorrow but she was surrounded by her family and my middle sister and I didn’t want to bring it up. My brother in law is anti-mental health issues of any kind. I’ll text her later with it.

I did tell my mother, which is a huge step for me as I usually just leave her notes the morning of. We were talking when my psych called me. HAHA she is worried about. She asked how I was and I said not so great as it has been a long day. I then explained that I wanted to go to the unit she recommended and if I end up at the hospital I was in a few months ago, I will sign a 3 day (basically it’s a form forcing the hospital a 72 hour notice to decide if I need to stay (court will be involved), can go home, or will leave against medical advice). If I do go to the hospital and get assigned a different treatment team other than Bonnie and Clyde, I will stay as they may be helpful. There is one doc there I really like working with and he is sincere in trying to help anyway he can, unlike the Bonnie and Clyde couple. Bonnie and Clyde are assholes who after learning I wanted to leave the hospital to kill myself, then asked when I wanted to be discharged. Fuck you too! It was a complete waste of time and I won’t go back to their “treatment”. Plus those assholes put in my medical record that I have gender dysphoria so now all my medical records in this healthcare system know, whereas only my psych knew before. I am still steamed about this but once something is in the records, it cannot be removed without serious documentation and possibly a lawyer. Not worth it. I did bring it up to my psych, who was not happy to learn my PCP read her notes. He is okay with me being trans so I just hope it doesn’t make me a target of any discrimination, now or in the future. I told my therapist today that he will not be getting any releases from my long term disability folks. They do not need to know anything about what I talk to him about. Course they could just read my blog, which would be all they needed to either have me continue with their shit or not. I feel like their stuff is heavier than social security!! Once I get my newer laptop running again (crosses fingers and eyes), I plan on going to the website to see what exactly I am disabled. I am kind of in the dark as to whether or not it’s physical or psych or both. With my long term disability, it’s physical and depression, though how they determined that without my therapist’s notes, I have no clue. Must have gotten them from my psych, but even she didn’t get anything, so who knows. As long as they continue to pay me (the small amount) I am happy.

So tomorrow morning, I will be catching the first bus to the Square to go to the ER, where I hope I’ll be placed in the unit my psych wants me to go to. I am not feeling hopeful about it as we have tried to get on this unit many times and failed. I am very tired. I will be taking my night meds shortly and hopefully go to bed within an hour, if not sooner. I just hope my stupid foot pain doesn’t keep me up all night. I also hope I have access to my phone on this unit or I will not like it. I won’t be able to use the app for my PT. I can’t say that it’s been helping because my scores have been terrible when I am in high pain. Maybe that is a good thing. It will be nice to see if the scores change over time. I told my psych that PT is going to be a long process that won’t happen overnight. Unfortunately, I just don’t have the patience or the hopefulness to stick with it as my depression is so severe. Even my therapist said today I don’t look too hopeful that the hospitalization or anything will help. He is right. I have been let down so many times but usually just the change of environment has helped a little, even if the staff hasn’t been. Sometimes a hospitalization will help me see things differently but that was when I was dealing with mental demons, not pain demons. It is so unpredictable and that is what wears me out. As I was telling my mother tonight, there is no reason for my ankle to hurt doing “normal” movements that it should do. Physically there is nothing wrong with the bones, that I know of. I am still waiting to hear back about the bone scan. The tendons might be inflamed but after all the rest that I have given it the last 5 years, it should have been calmed down by now. If this is truly a nerve injury, I am screwed as there is no treatment and if anything, it should have shown some improvement by now if there was going to be any. The fact that the pain has gotten worse doesn’t help me feel too hopeful about the future. Hence why I get so suicidal in a flare up.