Carry On Wayward Cat

You (my therapist) want me to do a “gratitude” journal....how in the HELL am I to do one when shit keeps piling in my damned lap? It is difficult to see the “rainbows” when they are clouded over with shit. It is days like this that make me question why in the hell do I even bother this bullshit fight? It would be so much easier if I just let go and stopped fighting. Fighting to stay alive, fighting to stay semi-sane....what is the ultimate point when all it ever truly leads to is bullshit?

I feel like everything is falling apart in my lap and I can’t stop it. I’m drowning in crap that I can’t control and I hate it. My mind is being tortured with the insanity of uncertainty and instability. Digging a hole, crawling in it and covering myself up sounds like a really good option right now.

You are lucky that I don’t say the first thing that pops into my mind when you ask me if I am talking about someone (or something) when I am calling one of my cats out by name. Such as....Ronan. No, I did not misspell that. No, I am not talking about whatever it is you are thinking. I mean seriously....WTF is “Roman Reigns”???? AKA “What the fuck is that???” (Which was the first thing that popped in my head.)

I desperately need this day to be done over....with a different outcome/ending than the one I had. I am still having anxiety over it. It’s like mini freak outs that are perpetual. I thought I was going to get rear ended, but ended up getting side swiped instead......the sound of a bomb going off, glass shattering and metal scraping keeps going through my head. The feel of the car being jolted and shoved is still felt in my muscles. The ensuing major freak out (anxiety attack from hell) is still reverberating through my bones and head. I just want it to stop, but it won’t...no matter what I try to do. I desperately need this day done over...and that accident deleted from existence. At least I know the hardware in my neck appears to be intact.

While I am at it....what’s up with all these damned excuses of why you can’t get in to see a therapist or even a psychiatrist? I mean shit. I got in to see mine in the blink of an eye when my FNP became privy to my situation. If you’re truly that fucked up and really wanted help, you would get it instead of trying to shove your crap onto someone who you know is already broken and messed up and dealing with her own shit. You say you have PTSD, but yet.....you haven’t been in to see a therapist???? Ummmmm....something doesn’t add up (did you self diagnose, which I know you are prone to do (Ummm....EDS springs to mind, but you haven’t been officially tested by a doctor). You say you are afraid they will toss you in a loony bin....hun, I have endured more shit, seen the ugliest side of humanity my whole damned life (the first 33 years to be truthful)....my ass has come close, but I haven’t been in one yet. So, why would they put you in one unless you plan on harming yourself or others? (To which, you haven’t given me any signs of it....it would show in your vernacular, because you can’t hide crap very well.)

PTSD (anxiety/depression)

I am stressed beyond the max now. I needed to go have physical therapy...but I can’t do that with a broken foot that needs tending to. I have an appointment looming next month and I am frightened and worried and that makes my anxiety just flip on its head. Right now, if I didn’t feel like shit and didn’t have a bum foot...I might attempt just running away from everything. I don’t deal with uncertainties very well....actually, I don’t deal with them at all. I am losing more of my mind as each day passes. Finding things to be “grateful” for without sounding like a broken record is very difficult at this moment in my life. I can’t say I am grateful for waking up when I am not.

The mind of a person with PTSD is not a healthy one to begin with. It’s bad enough when flashbacks of crap that should be burned and buried crop up at the worst times. It also effects how a person perceives situations throughout his/her life. Anxiety sets in when little things set off alarms telling you something is wrong (even though there may truly be nothing wrong). Then your mind goes into other things that, well...let’s face it--is just pure paranoia. Yes, I said it...”PA-RA-NOI-A”. Today is one of those days for me. Between the PTSD, neurological crap and spine/joint BS.....I feel like my mind has flown the coop. I just want to be numb for a while....just not give a shit so much--is that so bad?

So.....why is it that one person can follow his doctor’s instructions to the letter and another cannot (for all she knows, she could be walking around on a slightly broken foot along with her displaced broken toe, because of the way she fell (like I said, she can’t feel much in that area).

I haven’t been here in a very long time. Life has had many ups and downs. Many things happened that I never thought would, some really good...some not so good. Some I am finally seeking therapy for. Between the boat load of medical diagnoses and mental crap, I can no longer tell if I am coming or going. My temper is short and I am easily irritated; I no longer have the mental fortitude to deal with bullshit. Perhaps one day I will share more. Right now, I feel like shit.

https://www.booster.com/judyschiarifund

Update 9/29/14: Judy's husband recently had to have emergency surgery for an infection. His infection is not getting better and he may end up back in the hospital this weekend. Judy and Robert desperately need help paying their medical bills as Robert, the sole provider since Judy became medically unemployed is now unable to work. Any amount would help them with doctor visits, prescriptions, travel expenses and other bills that arise while Robert is out of work. Their situation is turning dire.

I set this up for my daughter, Judy Mohorn, she is the one on the left. She needs help with medical bills in order to have surgery. Her husband is out of work at this time due to illness and we don't know how long this is gonna take. But she is in need of seeing the doctors in order to get the he...

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