from the liquid dream world
to the sound of my name
who is me calling me?
Husband asleep on my shoulder
my children don't call me by my name
just my title
Yet from deep deep in the dream time
someone calls me
P___
I jerk free of the heavy slumber tethers
lean up
shake my head
ear cocked
Who calls me
in my sleep
what part of me is calling me?
Had I wandered too close to the edge
of the abyss in my slumber?
was I playing in the cross roads?
Had death come in and taken my hand?
Or is it the rightful owner of the name
calling it back?
They have failed again,
I wake
and it is still mine.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Monday, February 16, 2015
still off line (trigger)
Boy, wasn't I funner to know when I was a mystery? Pre-blog when you just thought I was a mysterious moody eccentric woman? Back when you didn't know my head was a swirling vortex of inanity?
I am fighting a vicious upswing of suicidal thoughts tonight. The kind that gnaw relentless at me with ideas like, just stop all you medication....eventually the rising thyroid labs will kill you in a very, very unpleasant way...and no one will know you offed yourself.
Not one drop of blood spilled.
Big tears tonight. not the endless weepies, but just profoundly sad ones that roll slowly down my face and I realize, I will never be at peace. I can't be saved. I can't be healed.
I'm a fucked up mess.
My childhood has damaged me. No amount of therapy can undo the very real mental changes that happened. There are no happy pills to erase the damage done to me.
No amount of burning or cutting will excise the wounds from my soul.
I feel like I am free falling....just waiting for the rope to go taunt and snap my neck.
Wind rushing past me.
my life spiraling out of control.
The more pain I am in the worse it gets.
I can only fight one at a time.
My head or my body.
When they both gang up on me, I crumble. I fight internally and bits and pieces of me get snuffed and assassinated.
my husband is not home tonight. Clear on the other side of the state. I need my keeper to come home and hold me. I need to fall asleep in his arms and pretend everything is alright. That life is worth living despite all the madness in it.
Ativan and to bed I go.
Another night wasted and washed away with tears.
I am fighting a vicious upswing of suicidal thoughts tonight. The kind that gnaw relentless at me with ideas like, just stop all you medication....eventually the rising thyroid labs will kill you in a very, very unpleasant way...and no one will know you offed yourself.
Not one drop of blood spilled.
Big tears tonight. not the endless weepies, but just profoundly sad ones that roll slowly down my face and I realize, I will never be at peace. I can't be saved. I can't be healed.
I'm a fucked up mess.
My childhood has damaged me. No amount of therapy can undo the very real mental changes that happened. There are no happy pills to erase the damage done to me.
No amount of burning or cutting will excise the wounds from my soul.
I feel like I am free falling....just waiting for the rope to go taunt and snap my neck.
Wind rushing past me.
my life spiraling out of control.
The more pain I am in the worse it gets.
I can only fight one at a time.
My head or my body.
When they both gang up on me, I crumble. I fight internally and bits and pieces of me get snuffed and assassinated.
my husband is not home tonight. Clear on the other side of the state. I need my keeper to come home and hold me. I need to fall asleep in his arms and pretend everything is alright. That life is worth living despite all the madness in it.
Ativan and to bed I go.
Another night wasted and washed away with tears.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Rage (trigger - I'm writing to the pain I am in)
Hurting something fierce tonight.
But do I take the last Vicodin I have?
No.
Do I call the doctor?
No.
Do I go to the ER?
No.
why?
If you're not bleeding, stop crying.
Ghostly words from the past.
I grew up watching my mother ignore everyone's pain.
To have her abuse me and ignore the injuries I came to her with.
Fell as a teenager on the oval round step stones in the front yard. Inch and 1/2 DEEP gash across my knee. In-need-of-stitches-deep.
She looks under the bloody wash cloth. Grimaces and says, "Yup, needs stitches. But it isn't going to show, so just tape it."
you wicked bitch...are you saying I am invisible? that no one can see me?
I see that scar every day. EVERY DAMN DAY YOU BITCH. I DOES TOO SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Older sister twist ankle. Beautiful shades of angry purple-blue. Ace wrap and crutches.
not long after that I slip in the kitchen and wrench my foot in the arch area....I felt something tear. I craw to her on hands and knees.
hands and knees
She looks at my foot.
"Its not bruising, so there is nothing wrong with it."
FUCK YOU DR. MAMA.....and your X-ray vision....I crawl away.
.....the torn ligaments never heal. My foot permanently jacked up.
I run 4 seasons of cross-country on that foot before a coach even stops to ask why I limp after practice. He looks at my foot and says. "Go straight home and show your parents."
yeah....yeah, right coach. She already said there was nothing wrong, and I just saw her make my father go to work in hideous pain.
I have had it pounded into my soul that the only pain one can be in is the kind you can see.
blood = pain.
Even then....shit....that is not enough.....a limb must be dangling by tendons.
I am afraid to go for help....
I am afraid of having the ER staff tell me they can't find a reason for my pain.
I AM AFRAID
I am afraid that I will let the pain get to the point I will take a crow bar and attempt to amputate my foot. I would rather face that then face a doctor echoing mama's words.
So I crimp around the house tonight in sheer agony. Tortured by the numb toes and plantar fasciitis in my right foot. Unable to seek help because of a ghost in my head. I am bleeping 49 years old and I can't even over come this. Why hasn't some evil organization drafted my mother into its ranks? Surely her brainwashing skills are the envy of all.
But do I take the last Vicodin I have?
No.
Do I call the doctor?
No.
Do I go to the ER?
No.
why?
If you're not bleeding, stop crying.
Ghostly words from the past.
I grew up watching my mother ignore everyone's pain.
To have her abuse me and ignore the injuries I came to her with.
Fell as a teenager on the oval round step stones in the front yard. Inch and 1/2 DEEP gash across my knee. In-need-of-stitches-deep.
She looks under the bloody wash cloth. Grimaces and says, "Yup, needs stitches. But it isn't going to show, so just tape it."
you wicked bitch...are you saying I am invisible? that no one can see me?
I see that scar every day. EVERY DAMN DAY YOU BITCH. I DOES TOO SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Older sister twist ankle. Beautiful shades of angry purple-blue. Ace wrap and crutches.
not long after that I slip in the kitchen and wrench my foot in the arch area....I felt something tear. I craw to her on hands and knees.
hands and knees
She looks at my foot.
"Its not bruising, so there is nothing wrong with it."
FUCK YOU DR. MAMA.....and your X-ray vision....I crawl away.
.....the torn ligaments never heal. My foot permanently jacked up.
I run 4 seasons of cross-country on that foot before a coach even stops to ask why I limp after practice. He looks at my foot and says. "Go straight home and show your parents."
yeah....yeah, right coach. She already said there was nothing wrong, and I just saw her make my father go to work in hideous pain.
I have had it pounded into my soul that the only pain one can be in is the kind you can see.
blood = pain.
Even then....shit....that is not enough.....a limb must be dangling by tendons.
I am afraid to go for help....
I am afraid of having the ER staff tell me they can't find a reason for my pain.
I AM AFRAID
I am afraid that I will let the pain get to the point I will take a crow bar and attempt to amputate my foot. I would rather face that then face a doctor echoing mama's words.
So I crimp around the house tonight in sheer agony. Tortured by the numb toes and plantar fasciitis in my right foot. Unable to seek help because of a ghost in my head. I am bleeping 49 years old and I can't even over come this. Why hasn't some evil organization drafted my mother into its ranks? Surely her brainwashing skills are the envy of all.
Sticks and stones will break my bones,
but words will never harm me.
Wanna bet on that?
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Soup
My brain is soup today.
I made it two days on the increased buspar dose. By the evening of day three, about an hour before I was suppose to take the dose the extrapyramidal side effects started up in my face again. Then I was hit with a sudden wave of hostility. Just out of control anger and aggressive urges to lash out.
Which sadly I ended up doing later that night. I was trying to nap before work and next thing I know I am bashing my face with the dumbbell I use to hold the curtain down.
Sigh.
Why do I have to be so sensitive to medications? why??
I had two days of peace and quiet in my head and then back to the chaos. The increased dose is where I should be. It was working. it was working damn it...
On the physical front, the nerve pain in my hand and feet is maxing out my ability to handle being in that much pain. It is nearing the "the hell with it I'm going to the ER range."
I have one Vicodin left that I am saving incase I can't function at work and need it to make it through my shift. I have requested a refill, but not heard back.
Today my toes felt like they were not getting any blood and were hurting like a bastard. My right hand was numb and having this weird sensation of electrical currents zapping though it. I couldn't take it and I took a Lyrica.
....and that made my brain turn to mush and the muscle pain in my jaw (extrapyramidal side effect, from the buspar dose last week) suddenly re-appear. Which frightens me as those side effects can be permanent.
sigh....so ready for winter to be over. My old rickety joints can't handle this cold dampness.
Been cleaning all day to keep my hands busy and my mind focused. It ain't spring but I am going to pretend it is and do some deep cleaning. Feels good to have a clean house.
I will finish the story when my mind isn't soupy.
I made it two days on the increased buspar dose. By the evening of day three, about an hour before I was suppose to take the dose the extrapyramidal side effects started up in my face again. Then I was hit with a sudden wave of hostility. Just out of control anger and aggressive urges to lash out.
Which sadly I ended up doing later that night. I was trying to nap before work and next thing I know I am bashing my face with the dumbbell I use to hold the curtain down.
Sigh.
Why do I have to be so sensitive to medications? why??
I had two days of peace and quiet in my head and then back to the chaos. The increased dose is where I should be. It was working. it was working damn it...
On the physical front, the nerve pain in my hand and feet is maxing out my ability to handle being in that much pain. It is nearing the "the hell with it I'm going to the ER range."
I have one Vicodin left that I am saving incase I can't function at work and need it to make it through my shift. I have requested a refill, but not heard back.
Today my toes felt like they were not getting any blood and were hurting like a bastard. My right hand was numb and having this weird sensation of electrical currents zapping though it. I couldn't take it and I took a Lyrica.
....and that made my brain turn to mush and the muscle pain in my jaw (extrapyramidal side effect, from the buspar dose last week) suddenly re-appear. Which frightens me as those side effects can be permanent.
sigh....so ready for winter to be over. My old rickety joints can't handle this cold dampness.
Been cleaning all day to keep my hands busy and my mind focused. It ain't spring but I am going to pretend it is and do some deep cleaning. Feels good to have a clean house.
I will finish the story when my mind isn't soupy.
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