Not Just Your Garden-Variety Neurotic Smartass.

And Here I Sit, Broken-hearted.

On the day I got home from the hospital, my daughter began to scream at me and cry, because she didn’t think I was concerned about her feelings. That was and is of course not the case.

This was followed by a lot of frostiness on her part, and during the multiple times I asked her to sit down and talk to me, she snapped that she wasn’t ready. Finally, on Wednesday night, she let me have it.

Apparently I have been a horrifically shitty parent, and my mental illnesses have ruined her life. She screamed at me for what felt like hours, and I was just sobbing, feeling so much guilt and anger and shame; but I told her the truth – my mental illnesses are sometimes (often) completely beyond my control. I take several different medications and I take them religiously, every day, but sometimes they’re just not enough. I’m kind of a hard case.

I feel completely ineffective and heartbroken, and I feel (rightfully so) that she completely resents me and hates me, and that she has so much pent-up rage against me that I am frightened.

So, I left. I am staying with my dad for a few days to relax, decompress, and avoid her venom. In a way it was probably stupid to leave my own home, but I felt utterly defeated and just needed to get out of there. I’m sure she’s thrilled to have me gone again.

For many years I kept my mental illnesses to myself because when she was a child, I didn’t feel like she would understand, and as she got older, I didn’t want to burden her. Little did I know that I WAS burdening her, and that she would grow up resenting me. Hating me. Not wanting to be near me.

I can’t make the past right. All I can do is what I’m supposed to be doing and if she doesn’t feel that’s good enough, I don’t know what else to do.

I am going home Monday or Tuesday, and I’m sure the shit will hit the fan again, but I will be ready, and I’m not going to just sit there and listen while she verbally destroys me. I have illnesses that are medical. It’s as if she’s blaming me for having cancer. I can’t tolerate that.

I am notoriously bad at standing up for myself, but I have always done what I thought was best for her, even if I was mistaken. I have supported her the best way I know how; and even though we have had very limited resources, I always made sure she had everything she needed and most of what she wanted. She is almost 22 and has quit nearly every job she’s ever had, she’s been out of work for a year, and she spends all day playing video games. She has never once considered that we might need extra income, and she feels that most jobs are beneath her even though she has no formal education.

I am exhausted and weak to begin with as I get used to this strong new medication, and this has flattened me. I was in such a good mood when I got home and was so happy to be there, and she broke my heart. I feel like I have failed as a parent and as a human being. I also feel like she will never love or trust me again, all because I went to get the help I needed so badly.

I am not really ok, but I am still holding my head up, talking to friends, and trying to remain as positive as I can be. That’s all I can do.

Be well.

Reaching Out For Help Can Be the Hardest Thing To Do.

I was released from the local psych ward (sorry, Behavioral Health Unit) on Saturday. My regime of meds wasn’t working and I had become so depressed I was feeling suicidal. I wasn’t thrilled about going inpatient, but I knew that I really needed to.

It was as scary as you might imagine. I was in for six days and during that time I was not allowed to have visitors, or any of the clothes that I brought. I was given a set of scrubs and a pair of mesh underwear. I could only leave my room during certain times, like for meals or group therapy. The staff all wore masks and strictly enforced social distancing, which I thought was a good thing.

My fellow inmates were interesting. There was a woman who never for a moment stopped bothering the staff for things that she could have done herself. This same woman’s room was across from mine, and she would sit on her bed and just stare at me. They eventually put her on the “other side”, which was apparently reserved for crazier people than myself.

The day I left, the nurses were screaming at a man to shower because he was covered in poop, and he was loudly refusing.

Not going to lie, these things made me feel a bit more sane.

I also met some really nice people – I had three different roommates during my incarceration and they were all pretty nice, particularly the last one, with whom I became fast friends. There was also a really sweet guy I talked to a lot who prayed on the day I left that I would get released. He claimed that his prayers for people always worked, and this time he was correct!

A lot of other people were in sort of a zombie-like state from getting new meds. My doctor there – the same shrink I see on an outpatient basis – started me on a brand new med for bipolar that just came out of trials. I was the first person out of his many, many patients whom he prescribed it to.

Usually these meds take a good few weeks to start working, but so far so good. I am very tired and having some muscle weakness, but I think that will start to go away soon.

While inpatient I had group therapy twice a day, and I met with a social worker daily. It was more helpful than I can say. I learned coping skills, new ways of dealing with stress, and just having listening ears was a big help.

All in all, I think my trip to the nut hut was absolutely necessary and wound up being a very good thing.

So, there’s that. I’ve been working on my novel since I got home, but unfortunately I am having to do it in the notes on my phone because the edition of Microsoft Office on my laptop is being a big bitch. It’s fine for the time being – the text on my phone is huge – but I’m going to have to come up with something long-term.

I’m in a really good mood. It feels amazing. Take care.

Lethargy.

I’m not going to lie – I’ve been going through a really bad depressive period.

I haven’t been on any social media for a while, and I’m not talking to any friends, which is evident by my thousand unread texts. I just can’t do it. I feel like I have nothing to say.

I’ve been waking up early and napping for roughly seven hours a day before going to bed early. I feel drained and exhausted all the time. My house is a disaster area and I just can’t find the motivation or energy to clean it.

The state of the world affects me deeply, and my own life is not without many challenges, both medical and psychiatric. It feels as overwhelming as a burning summer sun.

I just wish things were different, as do probably millions of people, but I feel like I’ve lost any hope for the future. I look back on the twenty years I’ve been on disability, and I haven’t accomplished anything except getting fat. I don’t know what to do.

My current meds aren’t working anymore, and I have such a high tolerance that I wonder if anything would work. It feels hopeless.

I just wish things were different. I don’t know. I’m going back to bed.