as it has been mentioned before on this blog, i only ever seem to write when iâm manic. as a person that has lived this life for at least the past 10 years, i am not surprised by that, its a fact. iâve lived through this revolving door of emotions for a decade.Â
anyways, i just wanted to say that i have reached a somewhat of a breaking point - i am fucking tired. i am tired of the way that people think they can treat me. i am tired of always being the shoulder that everyone else can cry on. i want to be met with compassion. i want to be met with empathy. i want to be held, i want to cry.Â
but i also realize that i need to get my fucking shit together. i cannot possibly live everyday for the next 10, 20, 30 years with crippling anxiety. i cannot keep telling myself that iâm crazy, because genuinely iâm not. i just feel everything all as once, thatâs how iâve always been. i push my own feelings off to the side and try to help everyone else.
bottom line is *i simply cannot help everyone else.* i am no ones knight in shining armor, i am no ones savior but my own.Â
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today i genuinely thought about killing myself. in the past its only been images that pass through my mind like old memories, ones that you forget until you smell that really specific thing and are transported back in time, almost like into another dimension.
but today i felt it in my gut, i still do. this feeling that maybe everyone would be happier if i just wasnt here. then iâd finally be at peace. iâd finally have a fucking moment to breathe.
its getting harder to breathe these days. i spent all day today in bed switching off between sleeping and crying. i donât know how to make things better. but i have a feeling its not going to happen in this house, not here, not right now.
i need help. iâve been avoiding it for months because i dont want to admit it. i thought i got better, i really thought i was better. and it sucks. i feel like im going backwards in time and everyone is just moving forward, lightyears ahead of me. iâm shaking as i write this.
i am so scared. i literally cannot afford hospitalization again and neither can my parents. i cannot work like this, how will i pay my bills? my student loans? my car???
but im afraid if i dont get help ill either have another mental breakdown at work or finally get the courage to slam my car head on to another car.
âThese are questions, your creative writing teacher says, that are good to address in your journals but rarely in your fiction.â
If I can be honest with myself for one second, I can acknowledge that Iâve always been a very good writer. Last year in my literature class I bullshit most of the way throughout the semester and passed with flying colors. It probably comes from the fact that I read âThe Awakeningâ by Kate Chopin every time I get bored or it rains.Â
I am a good writer but I am not an honest one. I need to write more. I need to write better, and I need to write when Iâm sad. Since this is honesty hour here, I will admit that I havenât been feeling well lately. Its a mix of regular depression, seasonal depression and COVID depression. I donât really like my job. I hate people and I feel like Iâm always doing stuff wrong there. Its not great for my mental health. Itâs better than what I was doing before but not by much. Iâm so fucking tired all the time. No matter how much I sleep. My mother worries that I sleep too much and every man I talk to about it laughs at me for taking naps like Iâm a child or something. Patrick worries that I am sleeping to avoid things, which is true. I donât want to face reality. Iâd rather keep myself busy with my work than address the fact that I want to die. Sue me.
Also can we talk about the fact that I donât want to kill myself. I have never - not once- had the urge to slice open my wrists or take the bottle full of quetiapine in my nightstand but I canât stop picturing myself just not breaking and slamming into the cars in front of me while I drive. Even if it just buys me some time away. I just need a break. I just need a breather. Even if I just break a leg, Iâll tell the doctors I did it on purpose. Iâll be honest.
Iâm also having a lot of sex. I have been for the past few months. I think its to fill some sort of void in my life. I have yet to have an orgasm but thatâs besides the point. I wish I was in a relationship. I miss it but Iâm not at the point yet where Iâm going to date someone like when I dated N - that was just a trainwreck. I cannot believe I wasted nearly 6 months of my life on that man. And for what? Some decent dick? He was a piece of shit. And a lowlife. Anyways.
I need to write. I have way more to say that Patrick can listen to in 45 minutes. I have to tell someone. I have to get it out or Iâll just fucking explode. I cannot explode again. I cannot afford it.Â
i know ive omly really talked about my mental health on this blog but my physical health is deteriorating. im really frustrated... ive been doing everything right. i just saw my chiropractor a few days ago, ive been stretching, taking my vitamins...
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so i found out earlier today at work that mac miller died from an overdose
idk all i have to say about this is that drug addiction is very much a fucking medical condition and it needs to be taken much more seriously than it is these days
he was so young fuck
like he was only 6 years older than me
i dont like this world we live in. everything feels like a fucking simulation, itâs a joke, nothing feels fucking real
whatever iâm blasting divine feminine and passing the fuck out
i remembered how to organize my posts on my blog LMAO so hopefully this will make it easier to read
anything tagged #docs was written in a google docs, within the past 3 years
anything tagged #update is self explanatory lol, not a piece of writing, just me updating you about the blog itself or little things that happen
#current is going to be for any writings i made AFTER the day i made this blog
#art is going to be art i made
#hospital is going to be writings that i made about my days in the hospital, which i promise is coming soon its just so much chicken scratch to try to transcribeÂ
so here i am, sitting in a starbucks with my psychology text book in front of me and im pretty sure i have bipolar disorder
so - technically i have never officially been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. iâve brought it up to my therapist but he always suggest that i ask my psychiatrist, because he believes he doesnât have the correct expertise to diagnose me. i mean he has a doctorate in psychology but thats none of my business...Â
anyways
i donât think i have a good enough relationship with my psychiatrist to be able to talk to him about it. i used to have a very good psychiatrist when i first got out of the hospital, but he moved to wisconsin and i had to find a new one. and i don;ât really like him (the new one). he doesnât seem to care about my well being as much as Dr. C did. he doesnât ask as many questions and i really only see him for a few minutes at a time. iâve told P about this but he says thatâs how many psychiatrists are - they just simply do not have time to sit down and talk to you for an hour, thats your therapistâs job. iâm quite frustrated with that. i think if i brought up bipolar disorder to my new psychiatrist, he would make me fill out a questionnaire...Â
i might bring it up to him the next time i see him, but weâll see. i will hopefully remember to bring this up to P when i see him tomorrow.
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sorry if these posts seem so out of order. they are. i am putting together writings from my computer, my phone, from multiple journals and also just scraps of paper i found in my charts from the hospital... so its going to be messy. i wish there was some way to organize everything into actual chronological order but tumblr doesnât do that i guess or at least i donât know how to do that.
research //Â âkids on drugs: how pharmaceutical companies are catering to kidsâ
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When I was 17, I was admitted to a partial hospitalization program at my local behavioral health hospital. I was depressed, anxious, stressed and on the brink of suicide, and I knew I needed help. If you know anything about me, you know that I talk a lot. I love talking about myself. But at this point in my life, I didnât have the energy to talk to anyone about anything, even talking to these doctors about what was wrong with me was mentally and physically exhausting.
When I came into the hospital, I told them my story. I knew I had depression and anxiety prior to being hospitalized, but I never sought treatment. I also had trouble sleeping at night. My anxiety constantly kept me awake until 2, 3, or even 4 in the morning when I had to be awake at 6 for school. At this point, I would have done anything not to feel so empty, to feel some emotion and to get more than 2 hours of sleep at night. So I caved, and I took the medication as prescribed by my psychiatrist. My first day in the hospital I was prescribed 10 milligrams of the antidepressant, Lexapro and 50 milligrams of the antipsychotic drug Seroquel.
To clarify for those who do not know, antipsychotics work by âblocking D2 receptors as well as a specific subtype of serotonin receptor, the 5HT2A receptor. It is believed that this combined action at D2 and 5HT2A receptors treats both the positive and the negative symptoms. The atypical antiÂpsychotics currently available on the market include clozapine, risperidone, olanzapine, quetiapine, paliperidone and ziprasidone.â (Tung & Procyshyn, 2007). More intense side effects of these drugs include tremors, inner restlessness, muscle spasms, sexual dysfunction and, in rare cases, tardive dyskinesia, while less severe side effects include weight gain, diabetes and lipid disorders.
I also want to preface my story by saying that I was never really into the idea of being medicated, nor did I know a lot about these types of medications, at the time at least. I was put on an antidepressant, which I just assumed would make me not depressed. I was also put on an antipsychotic, and I had no idea how that worked. My doctors initially told me they gave me the antipsychotic to help me sleep. It helped. But it helped too well. After just a week of taking this medication, I was finally sleeping for about 6 hours a night, but I still felt like it wasnât enough sleep. Iâm not sure if this was just my body reacting to finally getting sleep for the first time in years, but Iâm pretty certain it was the medication that made me feel like this. I felt like a zombie. I was still exhausted, even though I felt like I was doing everything I possibly could to get a good night's sleep. This medication also made me feel emotionless. I felt like I literally couldnât be happy and it made things worse. I felt that things would never get better, and I felt this way for about a year.
Almost a year after I got out of the hospital, I was at an appointment with my psychiatrist, who told me that he wanted to try to get me off of the antipsychotics. At the time, I was completely dependent to this medication. It was the only thing that would help me sleep, and I felt like if I didnât take it, or if I took anything else, that the darkness would come back and my anxiety would creep back up and I wouldnât be able to sleep. If I was off the medication, I felt like I would have gotten worse, and things could have gotten very ugly. But I accepted it. I knew I had to move on, and be able to figure out a way to sleep on my own, or at least without the intense medication. My doctor then prescribed me hydroxyzine, which is an allergy medication. He promised me that it would give me similar effects to the seroquel, but without all the side effects. I tried it a few times but I knew I definitely slept better with the seroquel. This medication only lasted a few hours, so I was back into this dangerous cycle of only getting a few hours of sleep. The days I took my new medication, I felt defeated, like no medication would ever work.
Eventually, we found medications that work for me, and what these are doesnât matter. Some days I want to just stop taking the medication altogether, but I am also so scared of what would happen and who I would become if I wasnât on the medication. I didnât learn until about 6 months ago, the negative effects that these antipsychotics have on your body. Things finally started to make sense, and I understood why my body did the things it did. When I was first given the antipsychotics, that first month, I gained almost 15 pounds, that never went away, no matter what I tried. I felt sluggish, and even lazy, despite being a competitive cheerleader and working out 6 days a week. My exhaustion was a side effect of this medication.
Today, I am still coping from these side effects. I have learned a lot though. I learned that my doctors put me on antipsychotics because they thought I could possibly be bipolar, and instead of treating me correctly, they just gave me the medication and that was it. When I talked to my therapist about this rather recently, he suggested the fact that I might be bipolar, but that they definitely shouldnât have treated me the way they did. To be misdiagnosed is very insulting, and to be mistreated is even worse. I feel like I could have progressed so much better while in the hospital and even afterwards if I have been treated correctly.
Unfortunately, I am not the only one that gets mistreated or misunderstood by doctors. For example, take the case of Andrew Rios. When he was 5 months old, he had his first seizure. He was then put on epilepsy medication. At 18 months old, his medication gave him more adverse side effects, such as him acting violently and erratically. He was then prescribed the antipsychotic, Risperdal.
In Andrewâs case, he saw some of the most intense side effects of antipsychotics, at such a young age. His parents became very concerned when he started to scream in his sleep, and would talk to people that were not there. Once the family researched Risperdal, they found out that there were no antipsychotics that were approved for children younger than five years old. (Schwarz, 2015). The main issue here is that âthe American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, and the American Academy of Neurology have no guidelines or position statements regarding the use of antidepressants or antipsychotics on children younger than 3.â (Schwarz, 2015) It should also be noted that many doctors would theoretically like for there to be more studies of these drugs on young children, but they do not want to subject these kids to the dangerous and adverse side effects of the medications.
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The overprescription and misuse of antipsychotic medications greatly impact children specifically. This is not because most kids are diagnosed with psychosis or schizophrenia, but because doctors, teachers, and parents alike donât always know how to deal with: autism or other learning disabilities, mental illnesses or other disorders, or just kids that are âbadâ and âact out.â it is important to look at other reasons why these medications are being prescribed, such as looking at the doctors: how qualified they are to be prescribing these medications or what things may influence them to prescribe a certain drug over another. These medications are also prescribed because they are relatively cheap, and for a low-income family, it is much easier to just take medication rather than involve a child in therapies of any kind, mostly cognitive behavioral therapy or group therapies for the specific population impacted.
A reasoning behind why so many people are on these medications is that some doctors, teachers, parents or the patients themselves donât really know how to deal with a patient's mental or physical illness. The most popular diagnosis among all ages of people prescribed antipsychotics was ADHD, which it is important to note that there is a whole other section of pharmacology dedicated to ADHD and ADD. (Penfold et al., 2013)
On âLast Week Tonight,â John Oliver talked about how pharmaceutical companies market to doctors in a very strange way, and that most psychiatrists are paid directly or indirectly by these pharmaceutical companies. Sometimes these doctors will even conduct research about certain drugs and have to say that it works because a pharmaceutical company is funding the research. The show mentioned a website where you could search your doctor and see if they got paid, how much they got paid, and what specific companies paid them. The psychiatrist that prescribed me Seroquel was getting paid over $850 a year, just from pharmaceutical companies. About $300 was from the company Astrazeneca, which created the drug Seroquel. (John Oliver, 2015)
My case isnât the first and definitely will not be the last. Dr. Charles B. Nemeroff, chair of Emory Universityâs department of psychiatry reported to the university that he made exactly $9,999 from talks and research he did with the pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKline, but failed to report another $500,000 and also violated many of the university's policies regarding research with third party companies, in 2004 alone. (Angell, 2009)
Another influencing factor in prescribing antipsychotics is because they are relatively cheap, and much cheaper than therapy or other interventions. My parents spent well over $8000 for my hospitalization, $230 for monthly psychiatrist visits, $150 for therapy every two to three weeks, but my medication was only about $25 every month, and this was all under my private insurance. Through my research I found that therapy can treat these children that are acting out or are actually mentally ill, but it takes on average about 12 therapy sessions to see a full affect. For me, thatâs 6 months of therapy, which would cost $1,800, and thatâs just for my specific therapist. Medication for 6 months would cost the same as one single therapy treatment for me. It is also important to note that the âcorrect wayâ of doing things is to have âcomprehensive psychiatric assessment prior to initiating psychotropic medication to determine the nature of the childâs illness and whether the antipsychotic medication is an appropriate course of action.â (Harrison et al, 2013)
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Many scholars, doctors and journalists alike have really questioned the ethics within studying antipsychotics on children. In 2013, the American Psychiatric Association issued a list of questionable uses of antipsychotics, basically setting guidelines for doctors prescribing these antipsychotics. Some of these limitations include: âDo not prescribe for insomnia in adults without a severe mental illness diagnosis and do not prescribe to children or adolescents for anything but psychosis.â (APA, 2013) While these guidelines are accurate and reasonable, it is obvious that they were not implemented for many doctors, or taken seriously. Itâs great that we had these guidelines, but if there is no regulation or laws that essentially forces doctors to follow the rules then there isnât much use in having the rules in the first place.
Just this year, Minnesota senator Al Franken proposed the Mental Health in Schools Act. This act promotes a school-based mental health program that is run with the Secretary of Education and the Attorney General. It increases government funding for mental health education and promotion in schools, and essentially insures that schools will have trained personnel that can deal with mental health. Although this bill is great, and it is good that weâre starting somewhere, there are not many specifics as to how this is all going to get done.
The most important thing to do to prevent these cases from ever happening is plain old good education. If we educated parents on their childrenâs illnesses, they may understand how it can be treated. If we educated parents about medication, they may decide they donât want to give their children medication. If we just educated the general popular about mental illness and how to properly treat it then maybe there wouldnât be this negative connotation attached to it.
If I have learned ANYTHING in the past 6 months, it is to stop fucking wishing to do things differently, or to wish you did better on the test, or wish you hadnât have said that. Stop fucking wishing. Start making shit happen. I learned that all of these things that I thought were mistakes have shaped me as a person. That boy that I talked to in January made me truly value friendship. My depression that I battled with in February, made me value how blessed I am to say that I havenât had a panic attack or depressive stage in months. That stupid fucking test that I took in March made me realize that I am intelligent, no matter what any fucking test says. April made me realize how bad things can get in a week, and made me want to cherish the good days. May taught me how to be independent, free, dancing queen, seventeen. That was cheesy as fuck. June made me realize whatâs truly important, which is not âfriendsâ that constantly put you down, but that being selfish is okay. You need to take time for yourself. You need to work hard, because it all will matter someday.
i got this tattoo a few weeks after i had a very important session with my therapist. i was going through a very rough time in my life and he had said to me, âwhen life gives you lemons youâŚ?â and i, probably crying at the time, responded âyou make lemonade,â to which he responded: âno, you sit there with your lemons and you cry and feel bad about yourself.â these words stuck with me for a long time.
it wasnât until recently that i truly understood the power of the universe and the way that she works. i always would think to myself, âmy time will come.â eventually i would be happy, eventually i'll get the job i really wanted, eventually i would meet my soulmate. but it wasn't until i met my boyfriend that everything changed.
i messaged him first, i made the plans, and i truly got to know him on a deeper level. it sounds clichĂŠ, but i truly believe that i am so in love with him today because 5 months ago, i took the power into my own hands. i did it all by myself.
i didn't want this to be all about my boyfriend but before i met him this tattoo meant âyeah life gives you lemons you make lemonade whateverâ and now it means âlife gives you lemons and you fall in love, you become a boss, you love your life, and you love yourself.â
basically what i mean by all this is that being sad and staying sad isn't going to make lemonade. what you do with what the universe gives you is all up to you and it truly affects every aspect of your life. stop waiting around for your happiness to come and make happiness for yourself.
This happens sometimes, where I get a random urge to write down everything Iâm feeling. Almost like a diary, except I could never make a journal entry every single day.
Today has been an especially odd, annoying day. Today I was supposed to get on a train this morning to head home, but my train was delayed until 5 pm. This left me in a tricky situation since I have work at 7 am tomorrow (or I had..) and I was supposed to get home by 5 pm at the latest, but obviously that was not going to happen.
Thankfully, my mother got off work early and decided to drive all the way up here to get me. Iâll still probably be home late, since she left at about 12. I already called my boss to tell him I wouldnât be at work, and he made me feel really shitty about it, but itâs honestly not my fault. I understood that it would have been my first day back at work, but I was expecting to have to take the train and be home at like 3 am.
Things will be fine. Iâll go to work on Saturday. I will still have a job. Things will be okay.
Iâm excited to go home. Iâm getting a tattoo. I will get to see my family. I will get to see my friends. I will get to see my therapist, whom Iâve honestly missed a lot.
Iâm glad that I will get to relax, and go to work, and go back to my doctors who I used to see like every week.
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I havenât written in months. But I made another realization tonight. I never wanted to admit this to myself, or especially to P, but I know why I do the certain things that I do. I got myself all figured out. The reason I stole all those things with M, had sex with S, and drank so much with B is because I still feel empty. My depression is always going to be there. Iâm just trying to fill the hole with other things. And nothing is good enough, nothing will fit. What will it take? Will I have to do some hard shit like coke just so I donât feel like shit anymore? What will make me feel complete? Everything I type is shit. Including myself. I ruin every relationship around me. I ruin everything.