Saturday, 1 April 2017

Keep calm and take your medications (or not)

I went to see my new doc last week; I've been transferred from the general psychiatric department to the psychosis unit.

I was terrified.

Still am.

We talked about therapy and I am so afraid that she will push me into seeing someone. It hasn't worked before, and I've tried it all.

  • Support group at the local women's shelter with others who were sexually abused as children
  • Psychotherapy (five different therapists, started when I was 16)
  • Massage therapy
  • Group therapy
  • Mindfulness
  • Art therapy
  • Hypnosis
  • CBT
  • and yes, even crystal/chakra therapy (that's how desperate I was)

I've said no to ECT (shock therapy) and EMDR (mostly because I think it's baloney (and I did do chakra cleansing, so that says a lot) but also because the only one performing EMDR at my hospital is a man and I am sure as hell not going to relive how I was molested in front of that).

She asked me what I do all day and I told her about my daily schedule. I had to assure her that I actually have a rather active life on the Internet, that I do have friends even if they live in Japan or Brazil or wherever, and that those relationships work better than the ones I used to have IRL. I am active on several different kinds of forums, I work on my website, I read and I write. I do not want to have to start going to a daily activity centre (daglig verksamhet) again, because that was fucking awful. I coldly told all and everyone that I have an IQ of 147 and that I did not appreciate being bundled up together with a load of (and GODS do I apologize for this) retards. I didn't have to come back after that, though.

There will be an overhaul of my medications (six different kinds, twelve pills a day). She wants me to stop taking Venlafaxin/Effexor, which made me gain TWENTY fucking kilos. I hate that drug, not only because of the weight gain, but also because it makes my brain feel like mush. I feel as if I have Alzheimer's; I forget things, words, I can barely keep up a conversation. She was talking about Voxra/Wellbutrin, as it usually shows great results with Asperger patients, but we'll see; she had to consult her boss first. I have staretd to cut down on all my medications (Edronax/Reboxetine, Venlafaxin/Effexor, Abilify/Aripiprazole and Zyprexa/Olanzapine) except for the two kinds of sleeping pills, because whether or not I get Voxra/Wellbutrin I still want to quit the others, or at least reach a dosage where I don't fall asleep on my feet.

She said that besides the Asperger's, my medical journal mentioned "a traumatic childhood," but nothing about it. I burst into tears before I could even say a word.

She told me that there is no shame in feeling relieved that my father is dead. I cried even more.

I told her how he broke my rib beating me when I was four.

"Why didn't social services do anything," she asked and I just stared at her.

"How would they even find out," I said.

"Well, your parents took you to hospital, right?"

I told her that my mother handled it by leaving me crying in bed while she went to my grandma's and that I still have a knot where it didn't heal properly.

"That's so sick," she said and I could have hugged her for that.

She is very young.

(she also said she'd call me within a few days to let me know about the meds. it's been ten days now, and i'm still waiting)

Monday, 27 February 2017

Well, erm, hello again

I haven't been around lately because there isn't much going on here. Every weekday is spent the same as the one before and the one after. I wake up at eleven, turn on my computer, eat my dreary yoghurt so I can take my medications, watch Emmerdale at 12pm, Medium at 1.05pm, Doctors behind closed doors at 2pm, have dinner at 3pm, watch TV again from 4pm until bedtime at 9pm, all the while sitting in front of my computer. I take my first evening meds at 9pm, second at 10pm and sleeping pills at 11pm, falling asleep at around 12am. Then it starts all over. Sometimes there are deviations to this daily schedule, but they are rare and usually upset me. Weekends are slightly different, depending on what's on TV, but the computer is always turned on from 11am to 9pm.

We had a great time on the cruise, got drunker than skunks, lay awake almost the whole first night just talking (still drunk). I didn't feel fat or horrible, like I did on the disastrous Riga cruise, but truly enjoyed the three days onboard.

(the photo on the previous post is actually of the ship, on the main deck where most of the shops and restaurants are)

My mother attended a seminar with my sister and her husband due to the fact that my youngest nephew has ADHD. The seminar touched on all the major diagnoses, from ADHD to Asperger. Mum called me up as soon as she got home.

"Now I understand why you are the way you are," she said excitedly and I had to dig my nails into the palm of my hand so I wouldn't scream.

A seminar isn't going to change the way I was brought up, with the shaming and the abuse. She could have made certain I got help, because she knew something was wrong when I was just a kid. But I guess she just didn't care enough.

re: gastric bypass/sleeve/etc:

Of course I have thought about it, a lot, and I was sooo mad at my doc when he refused to refer me for surgery, but he was probably right, just like you Tempest: I binge and I have read horrible stories about what happens when you binge after such surgery. The binging won't go away just because I am told not to, because then it obviously wouldn't be an issue.

I lost a lot of weight in January, gained it all back in February. March, I will lose it again or else... Below is part of the reason February sucked. It is called a semla and is the Devil's food. It's served until Fat Tuesday - oh, so apt - so I will have my last one in a couple of days. Because I will have at least one more.

Friday, 27 January 2017, but seriously

I gained 15, almost 20, kilos when I was put on Venlafaxin/Effexor; the last three to five kilos when the dose increased. My anxiety, social phobia and depression have not gotten any better, however; on the contrary: I am worse off now than I was a year ago. I barely go out at all on my own and when I do I feel so self-concious that I almost run on my way back home, close to tears. I am so afraid of the dark that I had to buy a children's night light for my bedroom.

(but I am too scared to quit the Venlafaxin, or any other medication I take, because it can always get worse)

So to lose all this weight I've gone back to what works: heavy restricting. The boyfriend isn't chuffed, but he knows how much I want to lose this weight, especially for next Christmas (when the whole family plus my brother-in-law's family meet and everyone looks at me and thinks, "she just keeps getting fatter").

We're off to Helsinki, Finland next week, on a three-day cruise. It'll be nice to get out of the apartment; both that ship and Helsinki are two of my safe zones. The ship is like a micro-cosmos where I know where everything is and what to expect.

*borrowed* from the internet

Never forget this:

This is the man who has his grubby little hand on the button. The man who wants to overturn Roe vs. Wade and defund Planned Parenthood. The man who thinks that climate change is a Chinese fabrication. It's going to be four long years.

Tuesday, 17 January 2017

Cause I'm kind of like Han Solo

The tonsillitis is gone, after 10 excruciating days. It ended with a 3.5-day migraine, but now it's finally over (or so I hope).


I woke up at 4am with a migraine coming on, so I took my nasal spray and managed to go back to sleep. Then the nightmare began. I knew it was a nightmare, I recognized the set-up, and tried to wake myself up. It didn't work. Then, oh gods, came the other nightmare, a nightmare within the nightmare, so vivid, as if I were really being chased by those flesh-coloured beasts. Several times I thought I had woken up, but no. The black creature was still there, in my old bedroom back home, smothering me, then I went back to the other nightmare, and back again. It was terrifying. It felt like an eternity. 
Then I really did wake up - thanks to the boyfriend. The worried look on his face, before I realized that I was safe... I must have looked like a madwoman. I didn't dare to ask what I had screamed. 
The man has been dead for seven years and he still haunts my dreams.


And then are days like these, with snow and sun, so you need to cover up against the cold but still have to wear sunglasses when you go out. I took a walk - or rather, shuffled along the ice-covered pavement like a pensioner with my shopping bag on wheels; très chic.

We watched Rogue One: A Star Wars Story yesterday; I heartily recommend it. It had a good blend of action and drama, much more so than The Force Awakens (which I also liked, but not quite as much). I'd see it again. 5 out of 5 ewoks no, not ewoks, I hate those irritating little shits, lets make it wookiees instead. Everyone likes wookiees.

I've been reading Wintergirls lately, thinking about them olden days, about cerulean butterflies and all the others. Are they dead? Did they recover? The tiny Japanese girl, James from Canada? Ephedrine and raspberry ketones and carcinia cambogia and good old starving. I am obviously not too old for that shit any more. Whatever works.

Thursday, 5 January 2017

I am sick, woe is me

I didn't disappear again, just slightly. New Year's Eve I felt a bit under the weather. New Year's Day I got tonsillitis, with the fever, loss of voice and all. I sleep almost all day now, plus the usual 12 hours per night. My cats love it; I keep the bed warm for them, and have one on top of me and the other one nestled between my feet. Moving is not an option. Neither is solid food, except for ice cream. I'm basically lying in bed reading and eating ice cream (when I'm awake). Could be worse, I guess (except for the pain, I could really do without the pain).

Sunday, 1 January 2017


Remember me?

2016, what a drag. So many of my idols, so many innocents in Syria, on the Mediterranean, well, all over the world, really, dying.

And don't get me started on the US election.

So, three cheers for 2017, may it be better than the last one!

I weighed myself today, January 1st, the first time since before Christmas. I allowed myself to eat during the holidays, but now it's a new year and I'll be damned if I'm going to end it weighing this much. I've got fifty weeks until next Christmas.

My latest psychiatrist (I don't think I met the same doc more than once in 2016) told me that she and the other psychiatrists and therapists and nurses have discussed my case and want to move me from the general psychiatric ward to a smaller, specialized unit that deals exclusively with psychoses. I hope that it will mean better medications, because right now it feels like they're just throwing pills at me. I was upgraded to 112.5 mg of Effexor/Venlafaxin just before x-mas and it makes me so damn tired. I go to bed at 8pm, 9pm at the latest, and don't wake up until around 11am. My OCD and anxiety have also gotten progressively worse during the autumn, so the meds aren't really working in any way.

So, yeah, even if the thought of being branded a psychosis patient scares the bejeebus out of me, maybe it's for the best. I want to be normal again, as normal as one can be with Aspergers. I want this permeating sense of impending doom to go away.

On the boyfriend front things are exceedingly better. Him going back to uni and not working turned out to save our relationship. I do hope he will continue to study in the spring, because he is so much less stressed out now. I have missed this, I have missed him.

Here's a photo of one of my cats, to change the subject.