Tag Archives: pills

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

Fading (TW for suicidal thoughts)

Yesterday all I tried to do was fade.

Slice, swallow, sleep.

But apparently razors and half a bottle of pills isn’t enough.

And now everyone is determined to bug me constantly to make sure I’m “okay”.

Yeah. I’m “okay”.  Sure.

It feels fake to be at work, but where else would I go?

Ace bandages over my injuries so I don’t have to answer any questions beyond “an accident” when asked “What happened?”

I just want to fade.

I’m so very tired and done with faking it and pretending I’m okay.

Obviously the medical world has decided I’m not worth it.  I’m just joining in.

I lied about the number of pills (fifteen) I took yesterday.  Gotta avoid the hospital.  Doctors do nothing.  Though the pills did no more than put me to sleep for awhile yesterday, I’m hoping the toxicity will catch up to me and perhaps I can fade that way.

But I doubt it.

Why would I get what I want now?

After so long of just pushing through, wearing the mask, being the robot, faking the smile- why would it change now?  Why would I finally be able to relax?

Never.

Living’s Too Hard To Do

“I’d rather be dreaming than living
Living’s just too hard to do
It’s chances not choices
Noises not voices
A day’s just a thing to get through
Living’s just too hard to do

I’d rather be dreaming than talking
There’s nothing to hear or to say
With ears covered mouth closed
The world is opposed
Nothing gets in or away
There’s nothing to hear or to say

I’d rather be dreaming than thinking
Thoughts are small comfort to me
Dreams might be pretend
But at least dreams end
And I just can’t stop thinking you see
Thoughts are small comfort to me

I’d rather be dreaming than sleeping
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead
In dreams I can fly
In dreams I don’t die
That’s why I lie here in this bed
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead

I’d rather be dreaming”

“Dreaming” by Loudon Wainwright III

___________________________________________________________________________

I’m not well.  I’m a shell.  A hull.  Going through the motions like a sick twisted puppet.  Higher, faster, better, longer, they all say.  And I do it.  Mechanically my parts move but my mind is long gone.

Lack of meds is spiraling spiraling spiraling.  I don’t want to be there when I crash.  I’m so close.  Closecloseclose.  I can taste the tacky bitterness of it.  The sharp tang, like a slice of my own skin.

The world is splinters and ghosts and I just want to sleep and sleep and dream of days before.

Was there a before?

The Home on the Corner Lot

When is a house truly a home?
___________________________________________________

Once upon a time there was a house…

(No, not that house.)

This house was lovely, and beautiful to the young girl.  Many thought it was a bit run down.  Her father thought that it was too large for a mother and two small children.  He said it would be expensive to heat and keep cool.

It was on a corner lot and had the biggest yard on the block.  The play area/jungle gym in the backyard seemed tiny in such a big yard, but the girl loved it.  It was neat that a park was at the end of her block, but that didn’t compare to one in her own yard.  Plus, there was a park right next to her father’s house.  Old news.

She got to pick her room.  She picked the one that had two huge windows overlooking the front street.  She could keep an eye on the comings and goings of everyone.

There was an alley in the back, with a carport.  The alley was the part that gave her the most pause.  It reminded her of the bad parts of the previous house.  It reminded her that people could sneak in.  People could take her to a secret place behind the garage (but it was a garage- not a shed) and tell her not to make any noise or bad-bad-bad things would happen to her. To her mother. To her baby brother.

But no one ever came through the alley.  The girl shied away from it for weeks.  She met the neighbors.  There was a girl two doors down her own age.  That had never happened before.  The neighbor’s name was Brittany (“that’s Brittany with an a-n, not an n-e” she would say).
Brittany was fearless.  She roamed the streets of that neighborhood without a care.  And soon, the girl went with her.  They went to the park.  They went by the church that had a huge empty parking lot (good for skating in).  They went down the alley.

And the girl learned that the alley wasn’t a monster that bit; breath stinking, eyes sparking, teeth sharply glinting.  That monster had been left far behind.

This new house was wonderful.

She got to watch Grey grow from grinning baby into a timid, sensitive toddler.  She held her birthday there for two years in a row (father was miffed).  She told the walls her secrets, fed the carpet her tears.  But the roof also got the echo of her laughter and the stairs happily took her excited, pounding feet.

She grew up there.

Sure, there were other places.  There was Father’s two houses (the walls got whispers and the carpets were dry- no yelling or crying in his presence).  There were piles of schools.  There were friends and relatives houses.  But they hardly mattered.  They didn’t course through her veins like a sweet melody.  The trees there didn’t welcome her with bowing branches, waving leaves.

She watched her mother find someone new.  She watched her tentatively move into his house.  She noticed how her mother did not move many belongings.  Next to no furniture.  She noticed how her home on the corner lot was kept.  Guarded.  Hoarded.

As it should be.

Her home on the corner lot was there for her when the locks were changed at her father’s house.  Her father did not want her.  It was high school graduation day and the girl thought she would have no where to go.

The home sang it’s reprise and she remembered.  The walls expanded.  She no longer had a simple corner bedroom.  The rooms were her’s.  She reveled in it.

But not for long.

Then the shadow that was Katherine injected her poison into the very foundation.  The girl had to work.  Go to school.  She was not there a lot.  Katherine claimed to want to take care of the house.

It was a lie.

The house suffered.  And it broke the girl’s heart.  She frantically tried to keep her imprint on the big, old, beautiful structure.  She wasn’t strong enough.  And Katherine smelled it, repulsed.

The house still loved her unconditionally.  When she curled into it’s tattered recesses, broken-hearted, the house swept her in softly.  Carefully.  It tucked her into it’s soul.

She thought that might not be the worse way to go.  A home always there for her.  It was better than all the things and people that were not.

When she took the pills the first time, the walls seemed to sing and bend and whisper sweet nothings.

She merely slept after the concert put on for her though.  She was never good at understanding pills and dosage and 6 or 7 seemed like a lot.

The second time the walls and ceiling hummed mournfully.  They did not sing.  The windows gaped and shattered in her mind.  The doors spit fire.  She ran down to the deep, dark bottom of the house.  The dank basement.  It was silent there.  It was cool.  She painted lines of red onto her arms and chest with the sharp black paintbrush (knife) while her heart skittered, scattered, then debated on beating with slow, languid pulses.

It was the house that called to that sober part of her.  It was the house that sang softly that this was not the way to go.  The home on the corner lot was flattered by the love showed with this ultimate sacrifice, but it knew there would be other houses.  It knew there would be those that could heal her.  It knew there would be those that would miss her.  Those that could not shoulder the pain of her loss.

The home on the corner lot could.

She lived.

The house was lost to foreclosure (she did not blame her mother- she couldn’t have saved it either).

She still dreams of the corner bedroom.  The spacious kitchen.  The sparkling sunroom.  The enormous backyard.  Many of her dreams take place in that house, even though she hasn’t set foot in it in years.  She dreams of Zoe running up and down the stairs, though her canine lifeguard has never laid eyes upon the property.

Her first lifeguard.

Someday, perhaps, she might be able to give her heart and soul to another house.  Make another home.

For now she is content with her semi-gypsy life and constant moving.

Plus, she needs a place that sings.

A terrible Google version of the house.  Looks a wreck in this, of course.  I wish I had something that would do it true justice...

A terrible Google map version of the house. Looks a wreck in this, of course. I wish I had something that would do it true justice…

4

I took 4 Primatene tablets today. 

I know that was dumb.

I know that.

I’m a little on edge now because of it.  Ok.  More than a little.  That much ephedrine going through my system is not a good thing.  I know.  I know I know I know.

Army’s pissed at me.  I dunno why I told him.  I should have just lied.  I did lie slightly, saying I was “distracted” and “didn’t realize” I hadn’t already taken a dose. 

Total lie.

I intended to take 4 from the beginning.

I’m not exactly sure why.  Except that work is stressing me. 

We have two people out of town this week and files piling up on my desk and my supervisor breathing down my neck and the program demanding moremoremore and a customer service webinar that’s required I attend but I can’t fit it into my schedule without taking a productivity hit but my supervisor wants higher and higher productivity and-

I just can’t do it all.

I thought maybe 4 would make me more of a superhero.

But I just feel nervous, my heart racing, and the air around me seems to be vibrating.

Is that normal?

It’s fine.  I can get through these files. I don’t settle.  I’ve never settled.  I am perfection at my job.  I always manage what is requested of me.

 

I can be Wonder Woman.

Image

The Romantic Side

His hands are warm and dry, the grip firm as he tugs me over to his side of the couch.  I easily nestle against his chest.  The movie is terrible, but I feel like I could just drift off like this.

His hands ghost across my back, before slipping under my shirt and rubbing along my spine and shoulders.

“You seem tense along here.” He murmurs into my hair.
“Yeah.  New meds have this weird stiffness side effect.”  I reply.  He kisses the top of my head.
“Is the BP better at least?” His tone is hopeful
“A bit.  Starting to creep back up. But not anything dangerous yet.”

I smooth my cheek over his chest, seeking out the spot where I can hear his heartbeat.  My eyes drift close as I focus on the soothing rhythm.
“Are you even watching the movie?” A teasing tone this time.
“Not really.  It’s pretty bad.  I can’t even understand who we’re supposed to sympathize with- Jesse James or Robert Ford.”  He chuckles in agreement and the warm sound of it vibrates against my ear.

When I get up to turn off the TV so we can leave, his arms catch around my waist and he tugs me back into his lap.
“Nope.  Stay.” He insists, nuzzling the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.  A smile tugs at my face.  It’s been awhile since such simple actions push through the cobwebs of my heart and soul.  I feel something bubble slightly.  Some emotion I haven’t felt an awhile.

It’s later when we’re lying together, a good portion of my limbs draped over him that he gives me that sideways grin I love so much and reaches out to run his fingers along my side.
“I’m glad you’re here.  I like just being like this.”  He says softly.  My eyelids flutter.  He starts to say something else, but stops himself, deciding instead to press his lips against my forehead and eyelids multiple times.  Lightly, as if painting what he won’t say against my skin.  I resist the urge to chew my lip nervously.

When he walks me to my car, he promises (as much as he can) that he will get off work for my birthday.  With his dog’s face firmly pressed against my hip, one of my hands gently rubbing her ears in that way she adores, he kisses me one last time.

I tuck the whole night away in my mind to flip through and review for the next time it takes weeks to arrange for us to spend time together.

His girl Sofya (Zoe's foster sister)

His girl Sofya (Zoe’s foster sister)

Tried

I tried to get support last night.

I tried to find a friend or family member to at least go out for coffee or something small just for a little bit.

Just so I wasn’t stuck in my own head trying to dodge the yells, curses, and accusations.

But no one wanted to.  Everyone had better things to do.

I tried really hard.

But I can’t tell anyone why I really need to not be alone.

I don’t want to go back to the hospital.  I don’t want to be in trouble.  I don’t want to be a bad girl.
I don’t want to be alone.

But I was alone.  All alone.

So I took some Tylenol PM and tried to sleep.

It didn’t go well.  I just feel crazier this morning.

I’m not sure how long I can do this.

_____________________________________________________________

Edit:  I’ve had some very lovely and sweet blog friends/supporters suggest the idea of emailing me to distract and cheer me up.  I think it’s such a lovely idea.  You guys do such a great job in the comments, but I feel like it always stops so abruptly after the reply.
If you feel so inclined (absolutely no pressure) to drop me a caring, funny, insightful thought or pictures, my email is kneargarder@gmail.com .  Any distraction helps.

Foresight

**Trigger warning for pill abuse

__________________________________

Some part of me had the foresight to purchase a whole box of Primatene a week or so ago.  I’m very glad.

Image

I do not technically have asthma. But that’s not really important.

Things are pretty much falling apart right now.  But I can at least pop 3 or 4 Primatene pills and have the magic of ephedrine carry me through my days.

Better than the alternative at the moment.

I am a little sad that I’m slipping back into my problem with pills.  But I really don’t want to do anything worse to myself.  It’s either these pills or darker things.   Things that leave more evidence.  I have to appear normal.

I have to put on my happy face and nothing helps more these yellow bitter pills.

It also does an excellent job of curbing my appetite while keeping my energy high.  Two-fold benefits.  Yay.

I know I can’t do this for too long.  I know.  But I can’t think about that right now.  I just want to coast for a little bit.

Maybe I can coast to somewhere a little better than here.

Flooding

This weekend was hard.

It pushed me further than I’ve had to go in a long time.

I knew it was going to be rough. Some part of me had the foresight to pack only a couple pills (for medical, not mental emergencies) and make sure the blades were left at home.

It’s hard for me to talk about the trip in great detail. I think I’m still in a sensitive, semi-triggered state. I’ve been letting friends and family talk to me without talking much back. Unusual.
I did some necessary shopping today because my dramatic weight loss over the past couple weeks has left me with next to no essentials that fit.

I feel like I’m just ghosting through life right now.

I was flooded on the vacation…

_________

They just want to go on the waterslides that are enclosed tunnels. I try to make excuses. They won’t hear it. The lifeguard only briefly checks to see we’re seated properly and holding the safety straps before shoving us into the hole.
I am shaking and shivering when they half pull me out of the pool at the bottom. My eyes blink, expression dead, as they ask if I’m cold. I plead a migraine (not a complete lie) and return to the suite to take an emergency pill and nap.

_________

The next day it is easier to sneak away. One of the girls, we’ll call her Kritter (a nickname of her’s), finds me curled up in a giant chair away from the gaggles of children, reading a book. She sits next to me.
She decides the best topic of conversation is a mix of exes, sex, and childhood abuse. I stare as she talks about it so easily.
“So what’s Katherine up to these days?” Kritter asks.
I fracture into pieces of longing, of hate, of rage, of determined disinterest. It is the most separate we’ve been since managing to become the alliance that is Pen.
How does She always manage to split us into nastiness?

_________

It is much later that Kritter brings up Army.  I talk about him distantly at first.  Then a realization slips into my mind in the middle of my thought.  I stop mid-sentence and she tilts her head, asking if I’m okay.
“I think…I just realized I care about him way more than I thought I did. I think…I may…” I stop before letting the flood overcome me.  Kritter smiles.
“It’s nice to realize when you’ve fallen for someone.”
No. No. No. It may be for you. It sends me into a horrified fear-induced state of panic as we struggle to force back the flood of affection and put the wall of apathy back in place.  We are hollow.  We care for no one.

_________

There were some other incidents that I can’t really get into right now.

Things are evening out a bit, but I’m still struggling.

I know I’m slipping into that self-sabotage (Charlotte pushing to help) as Army messages me about seeing “The Hobbit” this weekend and I balk.  My reply is wary and distant.
And either it’s worked or Army’s just ignoring it because he hasn’t replied yet at all.

That’s fine.  A weekend alone sounds better anyway.

(liar liar liar liar liar liar liar)

I despise being broken and crazy.

Hell of a drug – Elavil

Since I am mainly in the mental-health blog circle here on WordPress, with the occasional floating follower from somewhere else (that I also love!) I wanted to share my brief experience with the drug Elavil.


I was actually not prescribed it for merely mental-health reasons.  It was mostly prescribed because it has been showed to be effective for migraines and chronic pain treatment (both issues I have).  It is also used as an anti-depressant, depression being something I also struggle with (surprise, surprise).

My doctor was interested in trying it because it’s main side effect is acute drowsiness, and she knows I struggled badly with insomnia.
She gave me a prescription for a 75mg dose last week (30 pills with refills) and told me to wait until the holiday weekend to test it out. She knew my previous experience with pills that cause “drowsiness”. They knock me out like a freight train within 20 minutes.

I waited until Thursday night, after I had picked at both my father’s and mother’s Thanksgiving meals.  I took it at about 9pm, stayed surprisingly coherent until around midnight.

It didn’t exactly cause drowsiness after midnight…

I was practically narcoleptic for the next 24+ hours.

Poor Shadow Dragon and Puppy had to deal with me staggering to the kitchen for water a couple times, only to almost fall asleep standing up.  I then meandered back to my room, popped in a movie to “try and keep me awake” and promptly fell asleep.

Army is texting me regularly to try and let me know what he plans for us for our two-day weekend extravaganza.  I reply every four hours or so, causing him concern.  It probably didn’t help that my texted replies were vague, riddled with typos/autocorrects, and practically incomprehensible.  He finally asks if I’m drunk or something.  I manage to tell him about the new drug I’m trying (that I am never taking it again) but that I’m worried it will not wear off by Saturday morning when I’m supposed to drive to his place.

Army calmly reassures me that he’ll pick me up if I don’t feel comfortable driving.  I don’t reply that it isn’t that I’m worried about a bit of foggy mental abilities- but the ability to remain in an upright position.

Fortunately, the sleepiness wears off by 9:30am on Saturday morning.

Unfortunately, my muscles are even more sore, tight, and throbbing than usual.  Probably because when I’m this drug-induced semi-coma, I do not move except for the awful nightmares this Elavil-demon causes, which cause me to twitch spasmodically.

Here’s a chart to help you break down how awesome (not) this drug is.  It’s a pie chart because I’m hungry.  For pie.

Notice the supposed “drowsiness” and “anti-depressant” effects have been replaced with the real effects of “narcoleptic semi-coma” and “nightmare inducing”, respectively.

Now to daydream about pie.