Monthly Archives: September 2016

PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SUICIDE (*may contain triggers and adult topics)


There are a million and one ways to die. To do so by your own hand is often seen as cowardly and selfish. Unless you have been in that frame of mind. The one where you sometimes have a painful static in your brain, an aching hole in the place your heart should be, a swarm of bees fighting one another in your stomach, every hour of every day. Then you understand why someone would think about it or do it.

What I described is just the psychological component. If you have a chronic illness that comes with it then you have physical ones too. Joint pain, back pain (like you’re being kicked in the back by a horse all day), muscle weakness, headaches, blurred vision, pelvic pain, bladder weakness, UTIs, nausea, dizziness, vertigo, high blood pressure, low blood pressure, a compromised immune system, etc. You will never be who you once were and the people you once knew will slowly start to disappear.

You will feel alone, unwanted, forgotten, and slowly go outside less and less.

This was my mother’s case.

My father has done the opposite.

Like I said, there are a million and one ways to die.

I have always wanted to leave this Earth in the hope that I would go somewhere better. I wanted to go somewhere where the sun would shine everyday, where wolves would walk up to me, a magical place, a place where later on I would see my mom and we would play Scrabble.

I never could get it right. I only attempted while drunk, slit my wrists 2 times the wrong way, 4 times I was sent to the hospital to either have the lovely charcoal or my stomach pumped and 1 time for a concussion, I thought I had further to fall but miscalculated.

When I figured out that I was lousy at trying to do it myself I started hanging out with worse people. I know, how much worse could they have really gotten? So I was put in some dangerous situations. Sitting alone in a van outside of a crackhouse in an all African American neighborhood at 2:00 a.m. surrounded by a group of men I didn’t know and completely drunk.  Another time I let 2 of the guys, (Paul with the tear drop tattoos and R. who had also done about 6 years at the ACI) take me to a bar in downtown Arctic. This place is like going to the white slums. A guy offered to buy me off of Paul for $10 which he was considering. R. was pissed and threw a dart in the guys foot because R. was a gentleman. lol Then a guy showed up with a gun and so did the police.

I would pick fights with Paul on purpose to see if he cared and to get rid of the pain. I punched him in the jaw once and his tooth fell out. To be honest they don’t have great dental in prison. I don’t think it was completely my fault. He never hit me. He threw me in a dumpster and made elephant noises at me, but never hit me. So I drank more, had more sex with different people, and tried to provoke more violent men.

What my point is, was that I was in pain and I was trying to find ways out of it that didn’t involve my doing it to myself. Sex, alcohol, violent men.

My mom chose food. She had a lung removed and had fluid around her heart. Her mother had passed from Congestive Heart Failure and she was at risk. My mom was on oxygen and couldn’t do anything she used to. She had always had depression but this was way more than that. She was spending all of her time in her room only coming out to get food. She would make 4 or 5 Bologna sandwiches with Mayo and bring them to her room. Liverwurst was also a favorite of hers. She was Diabetic and had to take shots of insulin but had stashes of candy everywhere. I watched as she became bigger and bigger. Her breathing  got worse and worse. She had given up.

I don’t know who brought the food in for her. I never bought that crap for her. I know she was good at playing my dad. All she had to do was make those big blue eyes tear up and he would do what she asked. That was a big part of the problem. What Anna wanted, Anna got. Whether it was good for her or not. Towards the end of her life she had somehow broken a bone in her back. The Doctors wanted to operate. I told her not to do the surgery, it was way too risky in her condition. She could barely breathe and she was having trouble with her heart rate. She had the surgery anyway. A week later she was dead.

I should also explain that my sister was pregnant with her first child at this time. I do not blame my sister. She is who she is. My mother is someone who was always involved in her children’s lives. Bridal showers (my sister and ex-sister in law), baby showers (my ex-sister in law, cousins, friends), she loved feeling useful and part of something.

This time around she couldn’t be involved. She was too ill. My sister went to her mother in law for everything and rarely called my mom. This hurt my mom. You’ll see a picture of her in the Hospital when my sister has her first child. My mother was already there they let her come down a floor for the birth of her grandchild. My sister’s mother in law is in the picture also.


My father was ready to die right after my mom did. He had lost his best friend. He didn’t die because he loves his pigeons and his kids. He also sees it as cowardly. When they told him his kidneys were shot and he would have to go on dialysis for the rest of his life he thought about it a lot. He wanted to give up. He didn’t because he loves his pigeons and his kids. He’s reached a point now where subconsciously he’s slowly killing himself. He will lift twenty 75 pound bags of grain and carry them down 10 steps into his bird area. When you have mesh graft on an aortic aneurysm and a fistula these are things you shouldn’t be doing.

I watched him scrubbing our brick walkway on his hands and knees for hours yesterday. It had just rained!! He’s making changes to his Prednisone dosage on his own. Lucky me. Living with a roid raged 73 year old who admitted to me last night that he punches himself in the head when he is too frustrated and angry. He doesn’t want to take it out on a person. I said ” Remember the stories we would see in the news about Wrestling Stars killing themselves and/or their families? That is because of the steroids. You are on a steroid. I do not want to be on the news. Get your shit together. Tell the Doctor tomorrow.” Did he mention anything to the Doctor today? Nope.

He wants to suffer. He thinks he deserves to suffer. This is the same man who doesn’t see his Grandchildren because his deceased wife can’t see them. He thinks it isn’t fair to her.

Lately my thoughts have taken a turn for the worse. I wouldn’t do anything but it’s almost comforting to think about staying under anesthesia tomorrow. What would I miss? My sister only wants to text me on her terms, my best friend doesn’t want to talk to me, my father is outside with the birds or doing something with his clocks, I have no other friends or family to talk to, retail store employees are starting to run when they see me, I may not be able to do stents and have to have tubes come out of my back, all I do is reminisce about sad things over and over. I try to color or do something else and my brain will flash to my mom holding my face in her hands, or her in her hospital bed with bloody foam that won’t stop coming out of her mouth. I flash to my sister and her husband removing me from my Uncle’s wake because they thought I was “acting weird” and everyone noticed. It was the first time I had been out of the house in a long time. There were very bright lights and for some reason a motorcycle gang showed up. Excuse me for being curious and looking around. I was fidgety. My dad didn’t notice a thing and neither did the rest of his family. I’m still angry about that. I found out later that they were supposed to meet friends at a certain time and that’s why they threw me under the bus so they could leave. It was my dad who pointed this out not me. I keep thinking I want to go home. The problem is I’m already here.



I have a constant need to explain to the people around me why I am the way I am. Some of them think they know all there is to know and have stopped listening. There are others who feel guilty and don’t want to talk about it.

I have said for a few years now that nothing is working. But recently I have also admitted some things about myself and the people I have blamed. Let me start with some useful information.


  1. Seroquel
  2. Brintellix
  3. Viibryd
  4. Latuda
  5. Saphris
  6. Cymbalta
  7. Abilify
  8. Lexapro
  9. Paxil
  10. Prozac
  11. Effexor
  12. Adderall
  13. Topamax
  14. Klonopin
  15. Ativan
  16. Celexa
  17. Trazodone
  18. Tramadol
  19. Buspar
  20. Rexulti

At this point I’m on a combo of Viibryd, Adderall, and Topamax. Is it working? Not really. I’m not exactly running to tell my Doctor so I can go through another process of horrendous side effects only to have the medication not work or make things worse.

  • 50 % of Bipolar Individuals who get to a place of some “normalcy” will relapse within 2 years.
  • Clinicians and Diagnosticians can’t agree on a standard definition of Treatment Resistant Bipolar Disorder even though it is often seen in practices.
  • The standard practice for medication with Bipolar Patients is to combine several medications.
  • There is no set standard on which medication to use first or the dosage.
  • Recent studies show that Treatment Resistant Bipolar Patients are at a much higher risk of suicide and 25% of them have an alcohol problem. (This was specific to just alcohol)

Confirming a diagnosis for these patients can take years. These patients do not volunteer information, are poor historians, and need constant direction. If manic they will have a lack of awareness, an inability to know the consequences of their behavior and sometimes show arrogance.

Only 2 medications have officially been approved by the FDA to specifically treat Bipolar Disorder. Seroquel and Symbyax ( Prozac with Zyprexa). Traditional antidepressants have little benefit for Bipolar Depression and may actually cause a switch to mania. Effexor, Cymbalta, and Pristiq have been known to cause this to happen.

Lithium with Lamictal are still considered to be the most effective.

Personally I can’t take Lithium because I only have one kidney. I also realized when reading this that I might have been viewing things the wrong way.

In earlier years when I was forced to go to Therapy or a Psychiatrist I was still drinking and in my late teens, early twenties. It’s possible I didn’t volunteer information or give an accurate history. Most likely I didn’t realize the consequences of my behavior either. I’ve blamed my late diagnosis on the Doctors but I may be responsible too.

If they had looked at my file and seen the drinking, erratic behavior, and read one or two of the forms I filled out it may have helped. There were questions about promiscuity, spending habits, sleep habits, if family and friends sometimes thought you were “too hyper”, and questions about depression that should have set off some red flags.

I’m willing to take some responsibility now. I’m also willing to try again. I don’t want to be estranged from my family. I’m sick of thinking that every time I interact with someone I later overthink it. I immediately think I bothered them, I talked too much, I was annoying, they couldn’t wait to get away from me. I then sit in my car and cry. This isn’t living it’s just existing. cc368620fd2cc6600e7206dcda6a7240




It’s everywhere you go isn’t it? Alcohol. Everyone on the planet seems to be able to handle a drink or two except you. How many times have you bargained with yourself while out with friends? I used to tell my best friend W that I was “only” going to have 2 beers and 2 shots and then she needed to cut me off. She would always say “OK”. She was taller but I outweighed her by a 100 pounds at the time and could get mean when I drank. She knew this, I knew this. We both knew she wasn’t going to stop me. She would try to make sure I didn’t hurt myself but that’s all she could do.

I can’t tell how many people tried to blame her for my problems over the years. Why didn’t she stop me? Why didn’t she tell my family? It wasn’t her job. And she was the ONLY ONE WHO SAW THE PAIN INSIDE OF ME. No one else did. She knew pretty much all of the things I had been through the last 20 years. She loves me and cares about me but it’s difficult to know someone is destroying themselves but to also know the agony they carry inside.

The first 10 years of my alcoholism were brutal. It isn’t easy hanging around mostly men that are ex-cons and either alcoholics, drug addicts or both. The first guy I was ever with was 6’3″, tan complexion (he was French and Italian), and had 2 teardrop tattoos under his eye. I was 17 and an idiot. He had spent 6 years inside a Florida prison. Yes he was very attractive, no he had no job or money. The first time we were together he played a Metallica song and lit Black candles. I should’ve run immediately. He taught me a lot though. How to get out of a dumpster on my own, how to punch a guy in the jaw and knock out his tooth (him), how to give a false alibi, and how to deal with extreme humiliation. Not to mention he had an ex-wife and a toddler who I paid child support for once or twice.

He wasn’t even the worst of them. But most of you know that story. They were hard years. I drank everyday. I would be driving home at 3 a.m. puking into my sweatshirt. Then wake up at 6 a.m. to be at work for 7 a.m. During this time period my behavior grew worse while I was drinking and I would cut myself or swallow a bottle of pills. Off to the hospital you go! They don’t fix you or help you, they babysit you. After several more years of this my brain decided “You’re not very good at this killing yourself thing so instead your going to date (f*ck) every asshole you meet in the hope he’ll do it for you”. That almost worked on several occasions. Some I don’t remember. Some I thought I could handle and fight back a little bit. I didn’t know how vulnerable I had become. I didn’t realize how empty I was.

I have to say that I had good parents and I love both of them very much. I was born with something wrong inside of me. I felt it at an early age. The loneliness in a room filled with people, an aching feeling in my chest I couldn’t name, a feeling like I didn’t belong here. When I say “here” I mean on this Planet. I’m a twin and I often felt that I was a mistake. My mother didn’t know she was having twins. I still feel I wasn’t meant to be here.

My mother’s death and getting a DUI helped me to seek the resources I needed. I knew there was something more going on than drinking. With the family history of Mental Illness and Alcoholism how could there not be? It took a year to get a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. Then I was sent to other specialists because my cognitive skills were questionable. I had just spent the last 20 years pickling my brain I’m not sure what they expected. My liver was also enlarged and towards the end of my drinking I was vomiting blood. One idiot who did the cognitive testing said to me “Congratulations. You have the brain of an 82 alcoholic man.” Why a man? I had no idea. Which he just proved.

The DUI was something I was pissed at. I hadn’t been driving the car. It was stalled in the middle of the road from earlier, the keys weren’t in the ignition, and me being me was trying to push it while it was still in Park. I know driving while under the influence is wrong. That’s why the car was stuck there. I had gotten to the end of W’s street, decided I was too drunk to drive, went to do a U-Turn when the car stalled. The Officer on the scene was not helpful. I’m not saying he should’ve been nice. It was right after my mom had passed away, I was crying outside the vehicle when he pulled up. He patted me down. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t carrying anything in my bra or vagina in one of the richest areas in my state. Took my shoes, coat, and blazer from me so all I had on was a sheer tank top and black jeans. Took the tiny pillow and the toilet paper out of their one cell and sat down to watch me all night. No female officers, no other male officers, just him to watch me pee and shiver in my see through tank top.

When the judge read the report and my lawyer pointed out that I hadn’t been driving, the keys were not in the ignition, and the officer had given me an PARKING TICKET ON TOP OF EVERYTHING he immediately dismissed it. The state had me sign a waiver saying I wouldn’t sue. How can you give someone a Parking Ticket and DUI at the same time? You can’t Park and Drive. The judge didn’t like some of the other things he had heard either.

The one thing the Judge was concerned about was my Breathalyzer Test. I blew a .30 a few hours after the arrest. The judge knew that these were not the numbers of someone who has an occasional drink. He told my lawyer to get me help or therapy because if he saw me again it wouldn’t be the same outcome. I didn’t go to a program. I cut ties with the people I drank with. I only spoke to W on the phone or we went for lunch or the mall. Mostly I stayed home or spent time with my dad and sister.

The Bipolar Diagnosis is harder. There is no cure. You can’t just ignore one thing to make it better. I never know how I will be until I wake up. I still have that aching hole in my soul that never gets better. I am always in a constant state of grief and sorrow. Losing my mom made it worse. When I would get like this she would hold my face in her hands and tell me she loved me. No one does that now. No one touches me at all now.

This is why the Doctors worry anesthesia. When I’m under all that pain is gone and maybe I even see my mom. Who knows? All I know is that my brain doesn’t want to leave where it is. And yet I have to continue to go under anesthesia every 4 to 5 months for the rest of my life. Sometimes I look forward to it. I don’t know where I belong and I don’t where I’ll go if something happens to my dad. I’ve talked myself into depression. lol It’s what I’m good at.100_0463 (4)

This is a drinking picture. I post it so you know. I was 270 pounds at the time I am 135 now. I also no longer have the blond hair. After that beer I’ll probably have 6 shots of Jager or Patron and a few more beers.


I have always had anxiety for as long as I can remember. There isn’t a time I can remember where I didn’t have that butterflies in my stomach feeling. A lump in my throat or the feeling you get before taking an important test or getting on a giant roller coaster. It’s no way for anyone to live let alone an adolescent. I remember dry heaving before school everyday. When this started I don’t remember. I know I was doing it by the 6th grade.

Elementary school wasn’t too bad. I was still thin and cute. I could do gymnastics and my hair was straight and light blond. Then it all changed. My hair became curly and frizzy. I grew large breasts overnight and gained weight. I was also taller than the other girls going into Junior High. I wore thick glasses by this time and the beginnings of puberty wreaked havoc on my skin. I’m not painting a pretty picture am I ? That’s because it wasn’t. I know this because I was always the last one picked in gym class, I was called names, I had stuff thrown at me, animal noises made at me, and even other student’s parents thought it was appropriate to discuss me while I was standing right there.

What did I do? I took it. My twin sister wasn’t having the same experience as I was. When we were in school they1wendy-2 separated twins. Twins were not allowed to have any classes together. Did she know what was going on? To some extent. She didn’t completely escape it. She was also taller with bigger breasts but she was pretty and much thinner than I was. She also had the capability to make friends. I know she defended me on occasion. It wasn’t often. Mostly it was in High School and only if the person really crossed a line. Even though I was bigger our classmates were more frightened of her. I don’t know what she did for that to happen.

There’s a picture my sister likes to pull out for a good laugh. It’s a school picture of me in the 9th grade. I have curly blond hair, very thick glasses, a hot pink and white striped shirt on, hot pink beads around my neck, and a lovely fever blister on my lip. She thinks it’s hysterical. My twin is like my dad, photogenic. Neither one of them can take a bad picture.

I thought I had won the friend lottery when I met W. We found the same things funny, we hated the same things and the same people. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t popular. She was tall, thin with strawberry blond hair and green eyes. She was one of the prettiest girls in the school. I never could understand it. I could never understand why she chose to be friends with me. Sometimes I still wonder. We’ve had a few bumps in the road, mostly because of me but she’s still here.

W and I also loved the same music and guys with long hair. It was the late 80’s early 90’s. We were both also terrified to talk to boys/men. I remember one time W left me sitting at a bowling alley alone while she ran home to swig the pink stuff for your stomach. She was so nervous because a guy she had a crush on walked in she thought she would be sick. lol It was weird, for her I could muster up some courage. My brother had played baseball with the guy and told me how much he loved the band Boston. When W came back I went to the Jukebox and played every Boston song in there. Now this wasn’t the smartest man on the planet but he was attractive. He just kept saying “Holy shit! Why are all the Boston songs playing?”. I was laughing. He recognized me from going in there with my brother and came over. I admitted to playing the Boston songs. For some reason I could talk to him because it wasn’t for me. And I was sober at this time. Weird.

Sobriety didn’t last long after that. When you always feel no one wants you where they are, a birthday party, wedding, your own shared birthday party, it’s difficult. I was always looking for the escape hatch. Then one day W called to tell me she was picking me up with 2 of the most popular guys in not only our town but the surrounding 3 towns. I vomited and jumped in the shower. I sat in the backseat with my favorite one. He was a legend to me. He looked almost exactly like Slash from Guns n Roses but sexier. His name was even great. I won’t put it here because he has since passed away and he was well known. I’ll just say his name was the same as a fat happy religious statue.

He offered me a swig from a bottle that smelled like mint and looked like water. My only experience so far with alcohol was sips of my dad’s beer. I figured it smelled minty and looked like water how bad could it be? Mind you I was 16 at the time. I took a healthy drink from the bottle and by the look on my face he knew I hadn’t had it before. He said “You puke that up I’ll make you eat it”. I forced myself to swallow it down and keep it down. Rumplemintz I’ll never touch it again. That I can definitely say never to.

I proceeded to get drunk and bought the guy $50 in CDs, then we went to a party somewhere in a bad neighborhood I think in Providence or Pawtucket I don’t remember. I know I fooled around with the guy and somehow he got another $20, things took a turn for the worse at the end of the night when he put my earrings in a cup of beer. Yup I knew how to pick them right from the beginning.

That was the beginning. Even though the guy was an ass I found that I could stand up for myself, I felt confident, I didn’t care if people wanted me around or not. Liquid courage.

Someone once said “You know you’re an alcoholic when you stop getting hangovers”. Not true. I always had horrendous hangovers. I had a reason. I had Celiac Disease and didn’t know it. I was poisoning myself every time I drank and on some occasions I was also suffering from alcohol poisoning. You can’t have a breathalyzer result of .30 three hours after being taken in and not have done some damage. I shocked quite a few people with that one and they wanted to throw the book at me. I’m lucky someone thought I was worth saving.

Picture is W and her boyfriend. She exists.


I have been a Denis Leary fan since first seeing him on MTV’s Remote Control. In case you’re wondering I’m 43 and female. My comedic taste is that of an 8 year old boy or 21 year old guy. I try to keep it concealed. My best friend of over 25 years is probably the only one who laughs at the same things I do. It’s even stranger watching a younger version of Christie Brinkley do it. Specifically if I make her snort laugh.

Back to Mr. Leary. I recently binge watched all the episodes of Rescue Me. I think there might have been 93 of them. That’s a lot of Leary. I’m an alcoholic in what I like to call Remission. I am not drinking now, I do not plan on drinking now, I do not plan on drinking in the future. I am not stupid enough to say I will never ever drink again. I’ve seen people that have been in a program for over 20 years start drinking again. I’ve seen them start and end their lives that way. I’ll discuss this topic further at another time.

I think Rescue Me was one of the most underrated shows in the history of television. The writing was filled with wit and warped humor one minute, grief and redemption the next. The show tackled many subjects that other shows were not. They did it in a way your average Joe could relate to. Family, Alcoholism, Work, Sexuality, Grief, Divorce, I’m pretty sure I’m forgetting some topics but that’s my fault. I would often find myself with tears on my face not realizing I had been crying.

I could relate to the alcoholism, family, AA situations, grief and pain. I couldn’t relate to his character being loved by a significant other or having children. But I could still imagine what it would feel like. 20 years of drinking causes people to give up on you and to not trust you.

Binge watching television shows like this has almost taken the place of drinking. I’ve always watched movies and tv. I also used to read at least one book a day. Since I went into kidney failure I haven’t been able to read. I can’t focus on the story, it doesn’t move fast enough or my brain doesn’t. My vision has slowly become worse. Someday I’ll try again.

I do have to be careful when I’m binge watching certain shows. I’m easily influenced by certain characters without even knowing it. Case in point, The Sopranos.

A couple of years ago I had been binge watching The Sopranos. I guess my attitude had changed to the point where my sister (of course) had asked my dad if he noticed. He had noticed that my language was more colorful which was rare for me and the way I carried myself was different.

My sister thought about it and remembered me saying I had been watching The Sopranos. She invited me to her house for lunch, sat me down and said “Cut the shit Tony.”. I started laughing. She was serious. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I had been acting like Tony Soprano without the killing people part. We had just been at the mall where a woman fell into a rack of clothes with a baby strapped to her back. I kept walking and my sister stopped to help. A few days before I had given a dog CPR. My sister pointed out how Tony had more emotion for little ducks than humans and that’s how I was. She wasn’t wrong but this wasn’t anything new. It was just more obvious. She jokingly called me Tony for awhile.

Yesterday I had to go for pre-admissions testing for the surgery to change the stents that keep my one kidney working. I guess there was an issue with the anesthesia last time. The nurse was asking ridiculous questions so I was giving her ridiculous answers. She was laughing so hard at one point she had tears. Unfortunately this made her late for her next person. When the woman up front came in to tell her she was running late the nurse said “This one is a firecracker! Sarcastic, but I love it!”. She then told me I might not want to answer the questions like that the day of surgery because Anesthesiologists have no sense of humor.

While walking to my car which was parked in Boston even though the Hospital is in Fall River I realized who I was acting like. Denis Leary. I was sarcastic and somewhat cocky. All I needed was a cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth and I would’ve been all set. PLEASE I am in no way saying that I am as funny as Mr. Leary. I’m saying how easily influenced I am by other people’s persona’s and moods. A movie or television show done correctly stays with me and changes me in some small way. Whether this is good or bad doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are still entertainers and writers capable of doing this.

So keep doing what you do Mr. Leary even if I am banned from every operating room in New England. It’s the Bipolar or the Conversion Disorder or whatever they want to come up with next because without people like you to entertain me and keep my mind busy I probably wouldn’t be here.


RESCUE ME: Denis Leary as Tommy Gavin on RESCUE ME airing Tuesday, July 13 on FX. CR: Jeff Neira / FX


I’m tired of reading the same clichés, the same self-help mantras over and over. I’m beginning to feel like an angry zombie. I’d like to know why I can’t be left alone. I never hurt anyone and I don’t drink. The one thing people can’t handle is seeing another person’s pain and tears.

They really do not want to witness this if they feel they have had a part in any of it. Guilt. I don’t blame anyone for my illnesses. It boils down to simple genetics and the brain. During this short time I’ve of writing I’ve tried to call my sister twice. No response. I was going to start the conversation by asking how she was for a change. I was going to cater to her needs. Why do I always feel the need to do this? Why am I begging someone to love me? Someone who is putting conditions on our relationship as twin sisters? You know what I really think about it? F*ck her. Sorry, but I’m getting worn out here, my patience is very thin.

There is a place I was thinking of going to. I would be interested in the testing and assessment. I would even be interested in one on one talk therapy. I’m worried about my insurance. My psychiatrist bills me for 70 minutes of Psychotherapy he doesn’t do. So I wonder what my insurance will do.


I have never liked the feeling of being backed into a corner. I’ve always disliked it when someone thinks they know what is best for me. To me, it’s more annoying when it’s a family member or friend and not even a doctor.

I’ve had many ultimatums given to me in my life. Some of them I understand. I was slowly killing myself with alcohol. My liver was enlarged, my face was bloated, I couldn’t remember much from the nights I drank, I was emotional and out of control. I had over 20 years of ultimatums that no one followed through on and I never took seriously until my mom passed away.

When it comes to my diagnosed Mental Illnesses I become touchy when a person thinks they know what’s best for me. My sister telling me I need to hospitalize myself yet again plus my best friend snapping at me recently hasn’t helped. If you’ve read any of my other posts you might know that when my sister is done with someone she’s done. She was sick of our brother’s behavior so cut him out of her life. He’s seen her oldest son once at my mom’s funeral when he was first born and he’s never seen her youngest son.

I tried to mend things with her yesterday. It didn’t go well. I was told how selfish I am, how everything is always about me, how she has had to go to therapy for people with Bipolar family members because I’ve been so difficult, if I don’t hospitalize myself or prove I’m going to therapy I can’t be in her life anymore. I started to get extremely upset. This meant I started to stutter and cry. It was one of the worse episodes I’ve had. My mind was static, my hands felt tingly, my dad said I was repeating ” I don’t want to be here”. He had to take the phone from me. I was rocking back and forth with my hands on my head, my fingers were fluttering. I don’t remember all of this. My dad told me. He was crying.

My dad finally realized that I become a little (or a lot) worse after talking to my sister. She is never going to be able to give me what I need. You can’t ask something of someone who isn’t capable of giving it. I’ve been banging my head against a brick wall.

I have tried to explain to my family that I am medication resistant and therapy doesn’t even really work. I can go and rant to someone but as far as CBT and Behavioral Skills it goes in one ear and out the other. I will sit there and listen but I won’t absorb what’s being said.

These are FACTS: If you have a history of trauma, abuse, neglect, PTSD, a personality disorder, a history of alcohol or drug abuse, are female, went undiagnosed until later in life, have anxiety disorders or other medical conditions there’s a very high percentage that your Mood Disorder will be treatment resistant.

I do my research. There have been a million and one papers written on the subject. I wonder how people would feel if they were constantly being told that they are not liked the way they are. If someone told them that they have to change who they are and how they behave on a regular basis. It isn’t just my sister. If it was maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. It’s also my ex/sister in law, my oldest niece, and recently for the first time ever my best friend. I have been going through a difficult time lately. Doesn’t anyone realize that? I’m dealing with serious physical illnesses, taking care of my dad, worrying about a roof over my head if something happens to him, worrying about money, I just found out that the last time I had my stents changed there was a problem with the anesthesia. My brain wouldn’t allow me to come out of it. I have to go for testing tomorrow to see if I’ll be ok for my surgery on the 29th. It’s a little stressful knowing that your brain doesn’t want you to wake up.

I have looked at a few places for therapy, social workers, and testing. I know my Psychiatrist is going through the motions and I’m getting a little pissed off. He just cuts and pastes every time I go. Then he charges Medicare for 70 minutes of Psychotherapy when I’m only in his office for a maximum of 12 minutes. I know this because there is a timer. Definitely time for a change. Now I actually have to do it.bb2140d009e4a770acad4d3998742693

The Time I Thought I Loved

There came a time when I slowed down my partying ways and applied for a full time job at a Video Rental Store. It was one of the big chains. The stores I worked at were owned by a husband and wife. The wife and the “District Manager” handled the day to day problems of all 10 stores. He golfed.

I loved my job because I loved movies. I would work whenever they would let me. I moved pretty fast up the ladder. I was there a month when I met the Manager of one of their other stores. He was handsome, witty, and had greenish blue eyes. When he talked to you he made you feel like you were the only one in the room. I was sort of sober at the time, always sober at work, and not used to men being nice to me.

At first I stayed away from him. “Nice” was outside my comfort zone. But the next thing I know the bosses had made me Asst. Manager and him Manager of our own store. This meant I couldn’t avoid him. I would get butterflies in my stomach on the way to work. It was horrible. At first I  tried to be a bitch but I just got in trouble for it. So after that I was just my self.

I hadn’t been myself with anyone in so long it felt great. We laughed constantly. He would come to see me when it wasn’t his shift. Customers thought we were married and owned the store. The flirting was out of control. I kept thinking “why doesn’t he ask me out?” or “why isn’t he taking anything further?”. A few years went by where we went on like this. I would hear a rumor of him dating some girl. I would ask him about it and he would say “don’t believe everything you hear”. He would get upset when I was upset about gossip I had heard. He came to my friend’s apartment one night at midnight because I told him I would be there. It was an hour away for him. I kissed him and don’t remember what I said exactly. He left around 3 in the morning and had to open the store for me because I was hung over. Why would you drive all that way to see me at midnight if you didn’t want to be with me? I couldn’t figure him out and it was slowly driving me insane.

He would say and do little things that led me to believe he felt more than he did. Don’t call someone beautiful, don’t touch their breast, don’t pull them on your lap, don’t spend extra time with them, IF YOU ARE NO INTERESTED! If you want to just be friends SAY IT! Don’t pussy foot around it for 10 years! My father even loaned him a large sum of money in an emergency. This was huge for my dad because he is very protective of his money. My dad was paid back. My mom loved the guy. When he would call the house he would spend extra time on the phone talking to her. He didn’t come to her wake or funeral even though most of the other company employees did. When I returned to work after my mom died the owner had put him in my store to cover for me. She wanted him there for a few more days while I adjusted to being back. For some reason he was rude and itching to pick a fight with me. I lost it.

I called the owner to tell her to get him the hell out of my store while at the same time he was outside on his cell calling her too. I think we reached our breaking point at a manager’s meeting 2 years before when I was asked to contribute money for his wedding gift. I had no idea he was seeing anyone, engaged, let alone getting married. You can imagine how I felt. The day before he was at my store flirting in my office, and said he had to show me something on his laptop. It was a girl from our State in a porn movie. I laughed it off because that’s how he was. When I thought about it later I wondered how his fiance would’ve felt about him watching porn with a woman that he was close to alone in an empty store at night.

It was around this time that I ruptured a disc in my back. I also had 2 bulging discs above it and 2 bulging discs below it. They also found 2 pages of other problems. No one would operate because it would set off a domino effect. I had 4 epidurals with no relief. Finally the company couldn’t hold my job any longer. Video stores were closing everywhere so it was only a matter of time before they started closing ours. I got out at the right time.

I didn’t talk to the guy from the video store for a few years. It wasn’t until I joined Facebook and he friend requested me that I thought about him. By this time he had children. I was hesitant but accepted anyway. In a way I’m glad I did. I got the closure I needed. He had matured quite a bit and had heard about what I was going through. He apologized for hurting me and not being honest with me.

That being said he was messaging me too much and I was responding. I thought again if I was this guys wife how would I feel? So I told him the truth. I told him he probably meant well but I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to talk. He understood. I was sad. He knew me so well that just by reading a simple post he could tell something was off. He would immediately message me to ask what was going on. No one else did. No one else does.

I’ve closed my Facebook account because it’s too much for me. I know half of what people put on there is a fantasy. They aren’t going to talk about their shitty days all the time. It’s only happy, happy, joy, joy, all the time. I can’t take it. It makes me feel more alone.

I haven’t met anyone like him since. Someone I feel comfortable around sober and I’m attracted to. I don’t exactly put myself out there either. I’m too tired and worn out. It’s easier to be alone.



I’m not referring to medically assisted suicide. That is an entire different issue. What I am talking about is if someone commits suicide using medication that was prescribed to you. If you willingly gave it to them or they took it from you. If they left behind a suicide note explaining their reasons for taking their life and you are one of them.

This is my opinion. The decision to take your own life is one only you make. Some people call suicide selfish. There are those in Society that ask why didn’t that person think about the loved ones they would be leaving behind? The truth is most of them are thinking about their own pain or how much of a burden they are to their loved ones. They are ill. When you are caught up in your illness you are not thinking clearly.

The media published someone’s suicide note not long ago. This made me furious. This was a private communication that wasn’t supposed to be seen by the public. It was heavy subject matter and heartbreaking. I read it before realizing what it was I was reading. I now wish I hadn’t. The person who committed suicide has a family that is now looking to blame someone and has brought a lawsuit against the woman’s ex-boyfriend. His name was on the prescription bottles and mentioned in the note.

The real problem is that she had these issues before. This wasn’t new behavior. There is no living person to blame. She chose to take her life because she was in unbearable pain. The kind of pain most of Society knows nothing about. The kind of pain that gnaws at you 24 hours a day and never stops. The kind of pain where you feel like there’s a hole in the middle of your chest, a giant aching hole. The kind of pain where you scream and cry into a towel or a pillow so no one can hear you until you fall asleep. The kind of pain that makes your hands feel numb or tingle and there’s a static in your brain, you find yourself rocking back and forth for long periods of time with tears streaming down your face. The kind of pain no one understands or wants to really talk about.

This could be me.

The above story is true. Jim Carrey is going through it right now. I wish him the best of luck. Two troubled people fell in love. One is dead by her own actions and decisions. It is incredibly sad but there is no blame here.


This post won’t be popular. I would like to say that this bothers me but right now I’m too hurt about so many other things. First topic is easy ALCOHOLISM.

I hated AA. I tried it on many occasions either by choice or court ordered. So we are clear here there are female alcoholics that drink just as much as men. I’ve had people say to me “You’re not an alcoholic. What? Did you have a few too many glasses of wine?”. That is still the perception of a female alcoholic. Wine does count just as much it just wasn’t my choice. I even had the same mistaken thoughts about it.

I drank beer and hard liquor. When I recently visited relatives in Florida and mentioned to my Aunt what and how much I used to drink she was shocked. I thought she knew. They sell alcohol in almost every store in Florida. My Aunt had worked at a Market and knew the brands of liquor. When I told her I was up to about a case of beer and a pint of Ginger flavored brandy, Firewater, Jager, or many shots of Patron, it put it in perspective for her. She asked “Not wine then?”. No never wine. In my mind wine was for those people who were “weak”. I know I’m an idiot. Wine is still alcohol and can get you drunk just the same.

AA wasn’t for me because other people’s stories didn’t have an effect on me. The strong religious factor that they insisted wasn’t there but was, really bothered me. Sponsors telling me to get on my knees before bed and pray to God for my sobriety bothered me. When I left for the last time and my sponsor told me I would fail and have to beg God for forgiveness I had enough. It was a bad day at work, my mother was ill again and I was barely hanging on. I told her “It’s a good thing I’m an Atheist then huh?” and never looked back.

I was diagnosed as Bipolar and it shined a light on why I was drinking and doing the things I did. A lot of stuff made sense to me. So much so that the smell of alcohol turned my stomach. Will I never drink again? I’m not stupid enough to make that promise. I can say that right here, right now, today, I will not be drinking. That has worked for 8 years.

FAMILY AND MENTAL ILLNESS is an entire different story. Most of my family thinks I should be “better” or “cured” by now. It doesn’t work that way. There are a million and one factors that go into a diagnosis and most of them are wrong. There’s Genetics, your environmental surroundings when younger, trauma, when you first presented with symptoms, when you were diagnosed, what meds were you on before being correctly diagnosed, how long did it take for a correct diagnosis, did you have other disorders or illnesses coinciding with the mental illness like a drug or alcohol problem, or anxiety, or PTSD.

All of these things make a difference. A few years ago my twin sister was diagnosed with Conversion Disorder. She said she couldn’t remember little things. Two of her fingers would tremor, her eyelids would flutter or she would stare into space. She would come out of it and be tired not remembering it. She had a machine attached to her at home for 48 hours to detect any abnormal brain waves or seizure like activity. It came back negative. She had a sleep study done at the hospital hooked up to monitors that came back negative. Many tests were run until finally the Doctors told her she had Conversion Disorder due to stress which was causing these incidents that no one could find evidence of.

I was with her for 2 of them. She is my twin. I know her like the back of my hand. I know that when we were little and even as we grew older she was referred to as the “Drama Queen”. I watched the 2 fingers and her eyelids. I watched her breathing and how she acted when she came out of it. I admit that I tested her one time in the middle of an episode and she snapped right out of it because she thought her son was in trouble. There was no confusion, no “I have to take a nap, I feel so weak”, she was her usual self.

She received Disability faster than I did. She had no Hospitalizations, suicide attempts, lost jobs, etc. I had it all plus Shock Therapy. My judge made fun of me while she sailed right through. I bring it up because recently as she told me to “Put my big girl pants on and deal with things” she also said she had Conversion Disorder also but she was fine and was able to “overcome” her illness. Then why isn’t she working I wonder? I was given another ultimatum to either put myself in the Hospital or go to Therapy (I have to show proof) or she won’t be in my life. What gives her or anyone the right to threaten or give me ultimatums? The reason I cry so much is when I talk to her I can hear the disdain in her voice. I can hear how annoyed she is. There is no sympathy. There is no affection. There is no love. That is why I cry.

I have been to more Therapists that I can count. I have been to more Doctors than I can count. I have been told by at least 2 that some people are just resistant to Therapy and Medications depending on when they were diagnosed, how long they had symptoms of being Bipolar before getting a correct diagnosis, if they had other illnesses like Alcoholism or Conversion Disorder alongside the Bipolar Disorder, and there is also the fact that having Celiac Disease doesn’t help and neither does Stage 3 Chronic Kidney Disease.

So I want a new drug. One that won’t make me think. One that won’t me feel or remember. One that doesn’t cost too much. One that takes the pain away. And one that preferably won’t make me drool on myself. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of apologizing for existing. I’m tire of seeing the look of pain and blame in my dad’s eyes. Most of all I’m just tired.

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