You were told to keep your opinions to yourself, in the psych ward, because you’re crazy as shithouse rat

Re: Word is getting out there at long last.
« Reply #19 on: March 29, 2017, 10:14:46 pm »

[Buddie]

[…] is so right about our NHS service here in the UK. I personally have really been let down.

Having to spend 4 months twice on a psych ward being poly drugged because they wouldn’t believe me that I was having withdrawal symptoms
due to the benzos that I was prescribed.

Thankfully it was on my 3rd attempt that I became drug free and it is almost 4 years but have suffered with PTSD with what they put me through.
Was told that this should not have happened and yet I bet there are women right now on the same psych ward going through what I did.

You will be shocked at how many women I met that were there for the same reason as myself who were having issues regarding the menopause.
When I tried to explain that the symptoms they were having were more than likely due to their drugs. I was warned by the nurses to keep
my opinions to myself.

[…]

FORTY DRUG NIGHTMARE

Doctors put me on 40 different meds for bipolar and depression
« on: June 02, 2016, 05:30:28 am »

[Buddie]

Source: https://medium.com/invisible-illness/doctors-put-me-on-40-different-meds-for-bipolar-and-depression-it-almost-killed-me-c5e4fbea2816#.7kfi3px5m

Tears were flooding down my face. Textbooks, highlighters, and my laptop were strewn across the bed, along with my crumpled body. I sobbed into my pillow, in hopes that it would all go away. Deep, low depressive swings had once again returned to my life. Despite my outward appearance as a highly motivated 21-year-old college student, my energy was sapped. It was getting harder to concentrate, harder to get out of bed, harder to get through the day without weeping.

My psychiatrist had been changing my medication in hopes of finding an anti-depressant combination that would help me to feel like my passionate self again. It wasn’t working. That night I called my friends and family crying. I needed to vent and release some of my pent-up sorrow. I needed to connect with people who would understand. I needed loved ones to help me hold a bit of the gut-wrenching, depressive pain that flowed through every inch of my body. After I hung up, I felt a bit better. I set my alarm for an early morning wake-up to get in some studying before finals the next day. I hazily drifted off to sleep, salty tears drying on my cheek.

A couple of hours later, my heart erupted with panic as two armed police officers burst into my tiny dorm room. I was half-naked, shaking my head in terror as one cop ripped open drawer after drawer, barking “Where are your pills?” Another police officer got in my face and demanded an answer to the question, “Are you going to kill yourself?”

One of the police officers shoved a phone in my ear. On the other end was a psychiatrist I’d never spoken with before. With terror in my voice, I told him I wasn’t going to kill myself, that I was just letting off some steam. I pleaded and begged with him to tell the officers to leave — not to handcuff me and take me to the psychiatric ward that night.

I was lucky. Something I said convinced the doctor I didn’t need to be placed on a mandatory involuntary hold in a mental hospital. But if the color of my skin wasn’t white, or if I wasn’t cisgender, or at an affluent college, I may not have been so lucky. People of color face disproportionate risk of violence in police encounters — and police are the first responders in mental health crises.

I didn’t make it to my finals the next day. I had stayed up most of the night, trembling with fear, so when the sun finally rose, I took a long, warm shower. Sitting on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the wall, fingers shaking, I dialed the number of my psychiatrist. I wasn’t sobbing this time. My tone was distant and my gaze was glassy and vacant. She convinced me to check myself into the psychiatric ward. In a haze, I slowly packed items into a bag and a man I’d never met before dropped me off for my first psychiatric ward visit.

Within an hour of checking into the hospital, I knew I needed to leave. The air was thick with pain. People wandered the fluorescent lit halls. Like mine, their eyes were vacuous. When someone erupted in an expression of intense emotion, doctors swiftly followed the outburst with sedatives. There was no wellness here. After several hours, I packed my bag, walked up to the front desk and told the secretary:

“I’d like to check out.”

“You can’t leave.”

“… I came here voluntarily.”

If you walk through those doors, we’ll place a mandatory involuntary hold on you and put you in there,” she motioned toward the ward next to mine, where I would’ve been taken last night.

My breath grew heavier and my eyes darted back and forth. I was trapped. Still reeling from the previous evening, my heart was beating out of my chest. I slowly curled in a fetal position on the hospital floor. I was having a panic attack. Two doctors in white coats and clipboards hovered over me. After a few minutes, they medicated me and I drifted into sleep.

I had never been suicidal before being locked in a mental hospital.

Much of my stay there was a blur of medications. I laid on my back in a cold bed for days, for the first time wanting to die. I shuffled off to group therapy in my gray hospital socks, listened to the screams of my neighbors, peered into the ward next door, and obliged when student doctors and clergy came into my room and asked if I wanted to pray or take long surveys about my mental health. I took the surveys but declined the prayers.

Sometime during my stay doctors etched the diagnosis “Bipolar Disorder” onto my chart. My brow furrowed with confusion. I had managed intense OCD and anxiety since I was in elementary school, and yes, over the last several years, I had waves of depression, but otherwise I was high-functioning: I took the maximum course load, got straight A’s, worked multiple jobs, led several campus organizations, and performed in numerous plays simultaneously. I thrived off the adrenaline of being busy. I crackled with ideas and buzzed with creativity. My energy and passion were my greatest assets, how could that be an illness?

The diagnosis was the first time I really tried to understand myself in the context of pathology. Someone who barely knew me combed through my traits and behaviors and labeled it as a disease. Bipolar Disorder. Grappling with this new way of understanding my identity, I felt my brain begin to slow with each fistful of pills I dutifully swallowed. I wasn’t on merely a drug or two — I was on four or five and counting. Antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, antidepressants, sleep drugs, anxiety pills, each addressing a side effect brought on by the last one. My energy, passion, and strong-will began to fade away as apathy and lethargy settled in. I said “yes” more. I didn’t really care what happened.

The psychiatric ward released me to a halfway house for people with mental health challenges. The doctors at the house sat my worried parents down and told them that I was ill. That my academic and personal accomplishments were not something to be proud of: They were a product of my bipolar mania. The doctors’ answer? An expensive combination of pills that would help me be happy, stable, and “normal.”

After awhile I somehow managed to get back into the swing of school. On the surface it appeared like I was thriving, but people close to me knew I was very unwell. My health declined rapidly. The medications made it almost impossible to wake up for class in the morning. My father, recently laid off from his job at a car dealership after being diagnosed with cancer, drove 45 minutes to my school everyday to wake me up and drive me across campus to class.

My once sharp memory dissipated. I used to be an actress, performing in multiple shows at a time, easily remembering every single line. Creativity was a core part of my identity and wellness. Now I would read one line over and over again, unable to retain a word. I did my last performance with a script in hand. Each time I left the stage, I vomited profusely before coming back on again — another side effect of the medications. Eventually, I stopped performing altogether.

Over time, I developed dependence on the anti-anxiety drug ativan, which I was prescribed to take every day, multiple times a day. On top of my other medications, my doctor prescribed me 20mg adderall to help get me up the morning, followed by 2mg ativan to reduce the teeth-chattering anxiety brought on by the morning’s strong upper. Then I would take another adderall mid-day to bring me up, followed by another dose of ativan. When panic attacks hit — which they frequently did — I would take multiple ativan at a time. Once, I collapsed on the floor of a campus building. A woman working at the front desk found me passed out cold on the floor and called my partner to pick me up.

“I’m just really tired,” I told her.

I gained 125 pounds and was diagnosed with sleep apnea. I started taking a daily hormone to treat a thyroid disorder, which I developed from my mood stabilizer lithium. (The damage from lithium was permanent, I still need to use the thyroid hormone to this day.) I started experiencing severe, incapacitating migraines where I would need to lay in complete darkness for days at a time, vomiting relentlessly, occasionally making a trip to the ER. Migraine preventatives and painkillers were just another addition to my daily fistful of medications.

I barely survived those two years, but still somehow managed to graduate with two degrees, honors, and a Fulbright Scholarship. I even received several academic awards that came with monetary prizes. But my money was gone in the next several months, every cent going to out-of-pocket medication expenses. Lithium alone was $300 a month.

My family didn’t have a lot of money, but we made ends meet. I was better off than most. When I didn’t have an income or home, I stayed with my supportive parents in a safe place. Unfortunately, many marginalized people with mental health challenges don’t have access to this kind of luxury; for many, comprehensive mental health treatment is prohibitively expensive. My family went into debt to pay for medications and treatment because my doctors told me I was sick and needed them. We complied without question.

I never went on my Fulbright scholarship. As my medication count climbed, I slowed to a halt. I stopped being able to drive. Despite my costly treatments, panic and depression still overwhelmed me. I was unable to function. I didn’t feel anything anymore.

Over a five-year period, I was on more than 40 medications. The side effects brought me to the edge of my physical and emotional limits. My body broke out in hives and red bumps. One medication made it difficult to take deep breaths for several weeks. I was either up all night wired in panic or sleeping for 12+ hours. I ate everything I could find or I didn’t eat for days, the thought of food making me feel sick. I was horny all the time and then I didn’t want to be touched.

I couldn’t leave my room. All of my memories became jumbled and I couldn’t tell if I had made a situation up or if it had actually happened. I didn’t recognize myself anymore, physically or mentally. I couldn’t see any way out of this deep pain and numbness. I would lie on my side and stare at the dozen pill bottles on my counter and the boxes of partially used medications that I had been prescribed then taken off of. I laid awake thinking about how easy it would be to swallow every pill in the bottles and drift off into a state where I wouldn’t feel unrelenting emptiness and agony.

Soon my psychiatrist had a new diagnosis for me: Treatment Resistant Depressive. Because I had taken every psychiatric drug on the market in different combinations and still felt depressed, there was no cure for me and we had to take a more drastic measure: Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, a cousin of electroshock therapy. My old self would have resisted. My over-medicated self was much more passive and docile. I didn’t put up a fight, I didn’t care. I felt dead already. And I would have gone through with the procedure if my insurance hadn’t denied me the service because it was too expensive.

A small voice inside of me thought: “I need to get off these medications.”

I devoted the next three years to the challenging, painstaking process of coming off my 10+ drug cocktail. I left my psychiatrist for a new one, a person I told, “I just want to get off of my meds to establish a baseline.” She reluctantly agreed. She didn’t have the vision or understanding of my mission, and I quickly found that my own research outpaced what she knew about the drugs.

Medication is a tool: Some people’s lives are saved by the right combination. Other people respond better to wellness options outside of the mainstream. Cannabis helped ease my depression, anxiety, pain, mood swings, and sleep challenges. Not only alleviating some of my mental and physical pain, cannabis centered me in gratitude and gave me some much-needed motivation and energy. I could now do short errands, drive around the block, even get to my own doctor appointments on public transportation — huge accomplishments for me. It was also the first time I was in control of my own dosing.

Tapering did not come without challenges, however. A whole new batch of withdrawal symptoms entered my life: My entire body itched, and I would scratch until I bled; I frequently woke up convulsing, my body drenched in a cold sweat; my moods were unpredictable; my anxiety, overwhelming. I menstruated everyday for months at a time. And yet, with each medication I eliminated, I became more myself again. I went to a sliding-scale community acupuncture clinic which relieved me of some of the physical and emotional pain of withdrawal. Weight started coming off. I no longer had sleep apnea. My migraines persisted but with less intensity.

As I began to read about alternative mental health frameworks, I realized that I am not sick with mental illness — I live in a sick society and have “dangerous gifts”: They need to be handled with care, but they are also my sources of passion, connectivity, creativity, and drive.

Now I identify as “neurodivergent”, a framework through which I transform what I have been taught are my weaknesses, diseases, and shameful secrets into my strengths.

Neurodivergence also recognizes that mental health challenges are deeply tied to societal oppression along lines including race, class, gender identity, and physical disability. Discriminatory barriers often make it even more difficult to access treatment. It’s hard to achieve wellness within a system that profits from our illness. But when our dangerous gifts receive the meaningful support they need, we can transform society. Our greatest challenges become our wellsprings of power.

I am not an anomaly. I am one of many people who barely survived the mental health system. Lots of folks with dangerous gifts are sitting in prison and psychiatric wards right now instead of receiving the support they need. It’s quite likely that you or someone you know has been deeply impacted by mental health challenges — even if that person hasn’t opened up about them. While each of our stories is unique, many of our experiences echo one another’s, reminding us that we are not alone.

Addict back on benzos after wild Mary Jane session ends in ER

Made a big mistake and paying for it- help!
« on: January 10, 2017, 08:45:36 am »

[Buddie]

So this weekend I was very stupid and tried medical marijuana (~15mg). Not completely sure why as I’ve never liked pot before and this was my first time having anything pot related in years. I chalk it up to being young and stupid and a little escapist. It gave me such a bad panic attack I went to the ER. Since I was hyperventilating, vomiting, etc and couldn’t control the panic on my own I was given a single Ativan dose, probably 2mg.

My question is- if there is a “hangover” from the weed, how long until it goes away and/or when will the w/d symptoms from the Ativan reach their max point?

I’ve been feeling horrible and it’s about two days out. Slept one of the two nights, I’m up again tonight with anxiety and nausea/heartburn. It’s not the worst w/d symptoms I’ve had but I work now and it’s getting debilitating. I took tomorrow off and now I’m wondering if I need to take the week as well… I know my chance of some of the more life threatening symptoms from w/d are low but my anxiety just won’t let me believe it :/

Edited for typos 🙂
« Last Edit: January 10, 2017, 09:24:19 am by [Buddie] »

Addict smashes pickup into health center after being denied Xanax

‘They won’t give me my medication’: Woman after truck crashed into Springfield clinic

http://www.news-leader.com/story/news/local/2016/12/12/truck-crashes-through-jordan-valley-clinic-entrance/95354974/

As Springfield doctors rein in Xanax, one woman took it pretty hard, police say

http://www.news-leader.com/story/news/local/ozarks/2016/12/14/springfield-doctors-rein-xanax-one-woman-took-pretty-hard-police-say/95057940/

Other addicts understand why upset woman smashed into Springfield clinic lobby

http://www.ky3.com/content/news/Woman-charged-for-smashing-into-Jordan-Valley-Clinic-other-addicts-say-they-understand-406371535.html

SPRINGFIELD.MUGSHOT.PRESS

http://springfield.mugshot.press/idnumber.php?id=149844&offset=0

Great article about being locked in a psych ward

Inpatient psychiatry: Not all needles, drugs and locks

I worry the images you have of inpatient psychiatry scare you and prevent you from seeing me as an ally.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/inpatient-psychiatry-not-all-needles-drugs-and-locks_us_57fd5a2ae4b0dccfa3908cc3?timestamp=1476371560599

PSYCH WARD

Now I had a nightmare from hell
« on: October 05, 2016, 05:49:52 am »

[Buddie]

I went to my social workers appointment today after this 3 week struggle of horrid side effects from Valium to the point I have been bedridden most of those days, and she suggested that I should be admitted in their small phych ward. I really did not want to but agreed. And they allowed me to go home and get my cats taken care of and get some personal belongings. And I came back with my clothes and personal hygene stuff. They first took me to the ER in the loony room. They said they were told I was suicidal, at my social worker made it clear I was not. Imagine that.  and did blood work and told me I had to put on this urine colored outfit while being taken up there. I absolutely refused. Told them that if they insist I put those on, then I will just refuse to be admitted. They agreed finally but had to put on this blue outfit. Then had to be put in a wheelchair and escorted by the VA police, of all things. God, talk about degrading.

Then when I got up there, they took away all my belongings from me and would not even let me have my cell phone to pay a bill and even would not give me a medical cylinder in order to take care of my colostomy. And everything was plastic or cardboard in the whole place. Plastic chairs and cardboard trash cans. Such a depressing place with patients that were like totally not like me. Like the movie, One flew over the cuckoos nest. After about a couple of hours I could not take it anymore and demanded that I want to go home. I volunteered to come up here and this is not helping me and I want to leave. They called the doctor. He finally came after about an hour and asked me if I wanted to hurt myself. I told him I never did to begin with, I thought, Idiot, once again.  

Then the nurse came to me with a paper stating that I could leave but the paper said that I was leaving against medical advice. I was pissed and wrote my input on that same note stating that I volunteered to come up here so It should not say this and I said I was more medically healthy to be at home and that being there was a very unhealthy place for me to be in. (I really wanted to say you all are a bunch of fricken jerks that can stick that paper where the sun does not shine, with sandpaper wraped around it). I think you get my point.

I’m home now. And its so late, almost 11:30pm but I just wanted to get this written out to all of youcause I think just writing it makes me feel better. I see my doctor tomorrow at 3:30pm and I am going to tell him just to reinstate me back to Klonopin until by body adjusts and I feel mentally and physically ready to start my taper. Period. I don’t want to deal with any other B.S. So that was how my day went today. Fun Fun but really  

Heather

“The only thing that helped was Klonopin”

Is this mania?
« on: September 19, 2016, 04:42:22 am »

[Buddie]

2 weeks ago I went to the er because I felt like I was loosing my mind, I felt like adrenaline was cranked through me all day, it was very scary my mind was racing 1 hundred miles an hour, obsessed thoughts, no sleep needed no meds could calm me down, went back on the seroquel for a few days felt a lot better, this all happened when I stopped the buspar and seroquel for a few weeks, I went up on my dose in buspar today same feeling are starting but my seroquel famed it down, is this bipolar mania? Still trying to diagnose me because my anxiety is so bad with mood changes and depression, only thing that helped was klonopin but weont prescribe it I have been off of it a month and a half after tapering, I’m just wondering if my anxiety is so bad from bipolar?

Kooks arrested in Boston


About 150 people from across Massachusetts marched outside The Boston Globe on Monday to protest a Spotlight series on the dismantling of the state’s mental health system and the sometimes tragic consequences.

Waving placards and chanting slogans, protesters said that the multipart series — titled “The Desperate and the Dead” — has contributed to the impression that mental illness is often linked to violence

“Most mentally ill people are not violent people,” said Sarah Ahern, a 44-year-old woman from Greenfield who said she has suffered from posttraumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and depression.

Twelve people were arrested on trespassing charges, police said. Globe security said the protesters sat down, blocked the front entrance, and refused to leave.

The Globe has published two installments of the ongoing series since June.

https://www.boflicktonglobe.com/metro/2016/08/01/rally-held-protest-spotlight-series/6o6k6DWBjtdXf5nsbSyjaP/story.html

HAPPY TAPERING!

Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« on: July 24, 2016, 06:55:10 am »

[Buddie]

Warning this is probably depressing or will be flagged so dont read if u cant handle a rant. Sorry. I was reading about someone on here in a similar situation but I didnt want to write all this as a reply becuz its probably not helpful to them. “Why are people so cruel” was the post.

That being said, my brother went off on me tonight. He never has before. It was scary he was cursing and to me it seemed like it came out of nowhere. My heart is broken. I could write him off as an asshole but my cousin launched a similar attack on me last week and I didn’t see it coming. I feel like people keep coming after me with their venom because they see I’m vulnerable. Is this naive? I’m so tired of taking the blame and not being supported in this family that even if I am doing something wrong I never want to talk to them again. My uncle and my dad (both alcoholics) have had a go at me for unrelated things. And I can never keep my cool, I get so pissed off. Tonight at dinner when my brother said that stuff he took off and i then threw my bowl of food on the table. I have so little self control with my anger anymore. In both cases with my brother and cousin it really seemed to me like they were over-reacting to my “attitude” – both took off as if I so horrible they couldnt stand me.I already feel like and idiot and awkward and have no confidence and now I get to be screamed at for existing. I dont know what is going on anymore half the time and I am livid how this is how I’m treated because I would never do that to them and have bent over backward for all of them. But if I make one mistake….I havent even talked to my brother lately and he went off after probably four minutes of my being there. I dont feel supportes at all. Even my mom who read a bunch of stuff from bb and ashton I think at least partly agrees with them. Both she and my cousin at the time of his outburst on our camping trip took off and went home early, stranding me their with no car.

I’ve been staying at my parents house instead of my apartment since my anxiety got so bad but now I want to get the hell out of here too. The problem is I left my apartment in the first place because my neighbor on the otherside of the wall was and is using the shared basement as his drug den, both doing and selling. (This was not my anxiety exaggerating, people have confirmed it.) Cops have been useless. So just yesterday Im thinking ok im strong enougb to go back to my apartment. My mom was picking up my mail and saw I had a neighbor living above me who had just moved in (it’s a four-plex house). I thougbt it might be good because at least I wouldnt be alone with the creepy druggy family. (Was feeling very unsafe). Anyway I ask her to look on the new person’s mailbox and find out the name – as I share a outside door and entry with this new person.
She comes home and I am not making this up…she’s written the name on some of my mail and it’s a f’ing exboyfriend from yrs ago! Not someone I want to see at all, smug, condescending and cocky in general. Now i dont even want to go back there because I will inevitably have to see him. Ugh! I got super anxious living their before from how the druggy was monitoring my comings and goings in timing with when he’d do his drug stuff. I think that would be anxiety provoking for someone not on benzos to know they’re being watched. everyone knows what you are doing since their is no sound insulation.

Ive looked for a place (moving isnt stessful, right?!) but nothing yet. At this point i wonder if i should just get dropped off and stay camping with my dog (our day alone together was the best) or do I have to look into some kind of safe housing an hr away for people in crisis. I havent even started a formal taper yet and there is all this extra bs going on. I just want to feel safe and be left alone (with my dog). There i vented. Now if anyone reada this they will agree with my brother that im negative. No, i just didnt want to talk about all this negative crap and they kept bringing it up even after i repeatedly asked them not to. Thats when he screamed at me that i was making everything about myself. Why because i dont want to have dinner conversations about icky stuff, one topic after another all of which are about my dog, my apartment, my ex… Seriously??? I am so alone in this world and I feel like a freak. What the hell am I supposed to do? Im carless in a rural area. I cant believe this is my life. I dont make things all about me – i feel horribly guilty for even venting on here because im worried someone will now think that. I cant even stand to think about these situations any more than i absolutely have to, let alone make people listen to it. Tired of being judged.

Re: Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« Reply #1 on: July 25, 2016, 06:03:42 am »

[Buddie]

No judgment here! That sounds like a legitimately difficult situation to deal with even without adding a benzo taper to the mix! It sounds like your family situation is less than healthy (same here, is anybody’s actually healthy? Lol). Is it possible you’d do better on your own at your apartment? You wouldn’t have to see this ex TOO often unless you decided to strike up a friendship, and maybe in the years that have passed, he has changed. He doesn’t have to know what you’re going through. Stick to small talk, “Oh wow, small world. How are you? Good? Me too. See you around!”

That sounds like an easier situation to deal with than the one at home, but you’re the one living through it so you’d know better than me! But try to remind yourself that no matter which you choose, it was YOUR decision (be empowered by that), and make the best of it. You deserve that. Don’t let others rain on your parade. Live your life and do what you have to do. 

Re: Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« Reply #2 on: July 25, 2016, 06:35:44 am »

[Buddie]

Hi […],

There is no judgement here. We are all in this together and we all have family junk to deal with. I really don’t know what to say about your living situation, but would have to agree with […]. You have to live your life for yourself and be happy with who you are. Never mind what others have to say about your choices, they are just that, YOUR choices and they need to respect that.

Make a life for you and your dog, if that’s what you want. It sounds really good to me. You would have freedom and wouldn’t have to be in a negative atmosphere. Plus you would be able to calm down enough to get on with your taper. This site will be all the support you will need, it may even become your new family!

Good luck to you and I hope to see more of your postings.

~[…] 
« Last Edit: July 25, 2016, 10:01:41 pm by [Buddie] »

Re: Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« Reply #3 on: July 25, 2016, 07:34:09 am »

[Buddie]

I am reading “Codependent No More” and it is helping with a ton of stuff… Seeing as you mentioned alcoholism and an ex that’s an ass and some poor treatment in general I thought I’d throw that out there. It’s empowering, the book. Whether chemical or compulsive addictions are factors in those around you or not- I think it’s an important book for all kinds of reasons.

I also recommend ” Boundaries ” by John Townsend and Henry Cloud.

They have all kinds of books like ” Safe People ” and others that could help you navigate this sort of treachery.

You don’t sound negative at all to me… Also, Al-anon helps me, personally- I’ve had NPD spectrum individuals in my life, I think we all do. Definetely get wise about Narcissism, Sociopathy and such… If you aren’t self-educated in that area yet, please do some research. My eyes were opened wide- I had no idea until I had survived an over seven year relationship with a psychopath… And I am not exaggerating. It took a while to find the pieces of that puzzle and put them together- now I know, for life, what some people actually can be, at their core.

That’s not negativity or paranoia, that’s survival.

I also agree with […] and […]… And on this note I happen to have one last book to recommend – ” The Gift of Fear “

Re: Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« Reply #4 on: July 25, 2016, 10:00:24 pm »

[Buddie]

Thank you all. I really mean it. I will take everything you’ve said to heart. Right now I’m in crisis mode I just had a legit physical confrontation with my dad. My mom took off. I’m hiding in my room because I’m frozen. I have so much stuff to get to my house, and no energy. My dad is known for taking stuff so it makes me even more worried to leave anything which I know is nuts I shouldn’t worry about material things I just feel so insecure.

I just called my psych dr’s office but was told “that the computers are down”, what ever that means so I dont know if they’ll call me today.

I worried I’m going to end up in the psych ward and have to leave my dog. She is super attached separation anxiety puppy.

I know im not acting totally normal, really having a lot of rage but then I’ll feel like it’s justified because I think they all could be a lot more decent to me and stop making it about them.

They keep saying Im making everything about me but I havent even talked to my brother or dad other than that dinner so how can that be possible?

My memory really sucks maybe ive complained more to other people than ive realized.

I cant believe my mom, i am most disappointed i her, but she wasnt handling life very well when my dad’s alcoholism was the only problem.

Maybe I need to go to inpatient, ive never been this out of control, throwing shit because I can handle being screamed at.

I really hate that they make me question my sanity, because I know its not all true but then I dont know what is.

Its like my mom thinks because Im mad she didnt stick up for me and told my trouble-making uncle all this crap, well she always blames the medicine.

Im so self conscious because I dont know what Im doing wrong that ive even stopped talking to my only friend because I cant handle possible judgement and embarrassment of being crazy.

I think I was already a little ptsd before any of this and im worried i’ll never get the image of my dad come at me out of my head.

Ive wanted to get out of here but Ive been sleeping so much and i havent had the energy to go get groceries, put in my ac, etc. i cant even get into the damn bathroom to take a shower because someone is always in there. So i feel really bad about myself.

Now the only vehicle is gone again. When did my family turn to white trash. I almost think I was due to “lose it” after all that ive dealt with the last few yrs.
so here i am “making it about myself ” again. Sorry, im freaking suffering. I put off doing this taper because I could never count on stability. Now I have no choice and Im screwed. It feels like a nightmare I cant get out of. I told my dad he was a terrible father and i feel really bad about that.

I cant handle confrontation, this is the second time in a few days ive reacted by throwing and nreaking stuff. Is this from the withdrawl or am I just nuts?

I do feel like Im not completely understanding everything going on around me, like how people could have been so pissed to act that way in the first place if i was being super “negative”. If they think im really crazy then they think thats how they should act toward someone mentally ill? I cant say anything to get through to my mom. I did call both her and my brother out for some minor legit crappy behavior towards me (which normally i would put up with in order to avoid all hell breaking loose).

I dont think my relationships will ever come back from this. I just want to move away to another state with more sun like Ive planned to for years. I cant even get across town.

This no car thing is bs, im on disability but only getting ssi which is barely enough to cover rent.

I’d call a cab but i really need to shower and and i have too much stuff. My dad is here without my mom so he’d probably do God knows what to my room. I dont even care i just want peace and to be left alone, thats all ive been saying to them. Do i sound whiny, nuts, self absorbed? For real Im asking. I cant even tell.

I guess i am just really awful to be around, i dont know i feel like a sometimes im in more of a joking funny mood than anyone around me. But they ignore that.
My life was never like this growing up. I cant believe any of this. Im so upset.

Re: Need advice on living situation, mental state, family jerks. Hot mess express.
« Reply #5 on: July 25, 2016, 10:11:17 pm »

[Buddie]

Im really strong normally but I dont think I can make it through withdrawl. Im also super nervous this could get much worse in the next week when i start pms’ing…depression is always worse. Really cant hang on if its worse. This mood stuff has been worse than anything thing ive ever had before