Mental Health Struggles- Fighting Myself

 If you're reading this, you probably already know that I am mentally ill. Schizoaffective Disorder and OCD. But if you're reading this and you don't know, click here to read about it.

A quick summary would be, I've been hallucinating for just about as long as I remember. Delusions raged and the hallucinations became real for a long time. Slight mania wove itself through these years, before sinking, deep deep deep into suicidal depression. On April 20th, 2004, I took a kitchen knife and tried to kill myself. 

And that started the meds. Meds to bring me up, bring me down, meds to stop the hallucinations. Some of them were good drugs. Some were shitty. I did finally broke out of that depression! Then I faced years of out-of-control mania. But I still fought with hallucinations. They weren't all-consuming like they were when I was younger. Just troublesome. Whispers and visions and hearing TVs on when they were off, and feeling phantom hands touching me. They no longer spoke to me, telling me what to do. They just played with me.

So I started this med called Zyprexa, which has pretty thoroughly wiped out my hallucinations. Unfortunately my psychiatrist calls it "The Fat Pill." Pill side effects are nothing  new to me. Lithium caused cystic acne that scarred and pitted my face. It also damaged my thyroid. But Zyprexa caused weight gain and makes me sleep like the dead, fighting sleep HOURS after I finally wake up. It just brings me down in every sense. And I'd be lying if I didn't tell you... I miss alcohol!! It's a big no-no on Zyprexa.

My family has thought for a long time that I'm overmedicated; that these meds, ESPECIALLY Zyprexa has turned me into a walking corpse. And I hate that. I feel trapped by it, a huge weight settled on my chest. Just so stifled.

So on December 7th, I have a phone meeting with my psychiatrist and I'm gonna tell her.. I want OFF Zyprexa. I understand it will probably happen slowly, over months, but I'm done.

I also understand some--or more-- of the hallucinations will come back. But I have to be brave. My hallucinations can't hurt me, and these are usually pretty harmless anyway. So what if I see things in my peripheral vision or hear music that's not really playing. I think it will be worth it to live freer, not held down. 

It may sound silly but this is a big move for me. 

I'm a little scared. But I know it's right for me. And I have SO MUCH support. 

I can do this.

Sarah

A Quick Thought

 When I was younger, sometimes I felt much older than most kids my age. Mostly because I had already dealt with some pretty heavy shit... like hallucinations and depression and a suicide attempt all by age 12. My classmates seemed cheerful and carefree and I couldn't always relate.

Now, I often feel much younger than people my age. Especially because I have to live with my dad because my mental health makes it impossible to live healthily on my own. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't have anything to do with romantic relationships. So many people I went to school with and grew up with are married and/or have children or at least committed relationships. And here I am... just a big kid.

I'm not pretty. I'm just not. People will rush to correct me because they're nice and they care. But I'm not blind.. I know what I look like. I DO like my crazy hair and tattoos. But my nose is big and my skin is pitted. I'm overweight and... awkward. 

There are definitely guys I like! I'm so immature just talking to guys is kind of exciting. But looking at myself through their eyes, I'm just... odd. 

But all things considered, I'm doing pretty well! I'm healthy and I'm happy... just weird.

;)

Sarah

At... THE DENTIST

So about 6 months ago, I had a dental appointment.. a cleaning! And then... COVID-19 happened, and everything went to hell. I didn't mind. For no real reason, I hate the dentist. Then, last week, they called me up! Out of the blue.

"May I speak to Sarah please?"
"Speaking," I said, hesitantly.

"Hi!" a cheerful voice chirped. "Would you like to reschedule a cleaning appointment?"

I gritted my teeth. I wanted no such thing. But. "Yes, please."

So, just under a week later, I found myself outside the dental office. As I always do, I had scrubbed my teeth beforehand, SERIOUSLY scrubbed. Then I used a disposable dental pick. Then I swished Listerine. Then, right before I went in, like the weasel I am, I took out my tongue ring. I have been severely chastised over it before so now I just take it out beforehand. 

Compared to before, the waiting room was sparse and barely furnished, no chair within 6 feet of another. There was a heavy, clear plastic curtain hanging over reception. I perched on the edge of a plastic chair, wringing my hands. 

"You can come back now," said a short woman I didn't recognize. Her eyes followed my through the doorway, examining me. I'm used to this scrutiny. Not everyone likes my appearance. But she was looking at me for a different reason.

"I think you went to school with one of my kids," she said. She rattled off a few names and one was familiar. I said so. "Oh, she's on drugs now," she said, like she was telling me the afternoon's weather forecast.

I followed her down a short hallway and into a patient room. She directed me to a sink in the corner and handed me a paper cup filled with mouthwash. "Swish for a minute, then spit," she instructed. "Yeah, my daughter's on a lotta drugs now." So casual. "She has a couple kids, too. I have them now." I nodded, swishing obediently. What am I supposed to say?

"Mmmhmm," I said nasally, mouthwash threatening to bubble up my nose, so I said nothing further. 

"Spit." I did. 

"Are you on any medications?"

Son of a bitch!

"Yeahhhhhhh," I exhaled. I am on a shit-ton of medication. Under duress, I can name the medicines, but as for dosages? Pshhh. No way, man. 

She noticed my hesitance. "Maybe write them all down and bring them in to us?"

I jumped on the suggestion like a life raft. "Yes! Yes, I will." 

I haven't just yet.

I got some x-rays taken. I was relieved that I didn't have to remove my ear jewelry because that would be a lot of effort. 

A hygienist came in, scraped my teeth a little, then polished them. I recognized him as one of the tongue-stud-haters and was glad he said nothing about the hole in my tongue. 

Finally, The Dentist came in. I always find it interesting because he doesn't do much. He takes a single tooth scraper and kind of taps my individual teeth with it. 

"Your toothies look good," he murmured. "Tongue is pink and squishy." And pierced.

"All together, very boring," he concluded. "See you in 6 months!"

The candid nurse came swishing in and gave me my free toothbrush and appointment card for next time. On it, she had scrawled, "Bring list of medications."

I gathered up my belongings and turned to face her. "Um..." I didn't know what to say. "I hope your daughter gets better."

"Thank you," and she ushered me out the door. Out in the car I replaced my bright green tongue ring. 

FREE FOR SIX MONTHS!!!

Sarah

 

I'm Back! Going Way Back!

 Hey, guys! If I could have anything on earth, it would be a career as a successful writer. That, or a hair dye that is both unnatural in color and ACTUALLY permanent. Or a Firebolt, from Harry Potter. But I digress. I have several book ideas that I frequent between, but I just need more practice. Exercise, if you will. Years and years ago, I had a little following on my Myspace blog and then, a few people here on Blogger. I hope to pick these followers back up, and maybe get a few more. But first I've gotta win you all over. I like being funny and I really like telling my honest story. So a balance between those two is key. I HOPE you keep reading, because it's worth it. I know it is.

Some of my first and most powerful memories are memories of hurting myself. Not like falling off a bike and skinning my knees, but intentional self-punishment, Self harm. And I'm not talking older me, although I would, years later, go on to attempt suicide with a kitchen knife. No, I was a biter. That sounds sort of silly, doesn't it? But I would get so mad and upset with myself or a situation and the only relief was savagely biting my arm to the point of bruising. My little teeth would leave indents in my forearm. My parents noticed, concerned, and my mom actually bought me a few dog toys to bite INSTEAD OF my own skin. I had a beautiful green rubber bone, and a squeaky plastic chicken leg! They weren't flavored, just rubber. Those worked okay, except our Labrador, Holly, found them and claimed them. 

When no one was around, I also had a tendency to curl my hand into a fist and slam it into the side of my skull repeatedly. It just felt...good. Relief.  

When I was younger-- oh, please, who am I kidding?? ---NOW I am a rather shy person. Around people I know and trust, I can be quite silly and playful but people who don't know me think I'm a mute or something. But anyway, growing up, I struggled with this overwhelming fright of talking to people, and sometimes I would fight tooth and nail to avoid these situations. 

Another of my earliest memories is fighting with my mom over my socks. She would be trying to help me put on my shoes, but as she slid the light up sneakers onto my feet I would throw an absolute FIT. 
"My SOCKS are wrinkled!" I would wail. So my mom would pull the shoe off and smooth the sock as completely as humanly possible, then would put the shoe back on. 
My heartrate would spike, and I could feel the snake-like sensations of sock wrinkles bunching up and I would start to panic.
"WRINKLES!" I would cry.
"Sarah, there aren't any--"
"Wrinkles, there are wrinkles!" I would sob, and I would hate it. 

I will tell you know, I, at 28 years old, have for many years now been diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder and OCD, and I see little bits of that in the little Sarah I'm talking about. 

I think I was about four when I first hallucinated. It was the middle of the night and I awoke from a dream about a huge man with huge yellow eyes chasing me. When I woke, I looked at the door way... and he was standing there. His eyes glowed neon and he stared at me unblinkingly. I squeezed my eyes shut, shuddering, then looked back. He was gone.

I was able to hide SOME of these occurrences, and, apart from generalized anxiety over just about EVERYHING, my family wasn't aware of my mental health issues. I mean, I was always a little odd! And kids in school were wary of me sometimes because I was asthmatic and had allergies and had to use inhalers frequently. This is totally just me bragging, but I was on Claritin and Zyrtek, when they were prescription... WAY before they were OTC.

I'll tell you one thing, though. I got one kick-ass family! Very very supportive and loving... EXCEPT!

Let me tell you the tale of the day  I ran away from home.

I was about 5 or 6 at the time, a million years ago, and we had just gotten a wonderful rain shower, which, looking back, is a big deal in itself. But after the rain quit, the air smelled fresh and wet and made you take those deep breaths that make you feel like your lungs are growing. My mom, and my sister Emmy (would have been 8 or 9 at the time) and myself, well we took a walk. I got to wear.. my galoshes!

Let me just take a minute and give the boots their due credit. They were big and red and shiny and squeaky and just plain delightful. When I walked in them, they made these amazing squeaks and whines and the soles made suctiony noises on tile. 

During our walk out in the misty air, there were these terrific puddles EVERYWHERE, just waiting to be disrupted. I would run and run and then HOP up and into the muddy water, The mud squished around my feet and sucked at the shoes when I tried to pull the boot out. 

"Help me, Mama!" I would whine. She rescued me and yanked me and the Red Rubber Wonders out of the puddle I was inhabiting. The guck made a final slurp as my boots pulled free.

Delighted, I did it again. "Mama, I'm STUCK!!" I wheedled. With a sigh, she once again freed me. The muddy squelchiness gave an unhappy gulp as, once again, I was saved. 

After the 5th time, she told me, "Do that again, you're on your own...."

PSHH!! My head kind of twitched with disbelief. The nerve! So next monstrous puddle I found I landed in it, water gushing up over the top of the boots. I cackled! Then... I couldn't get out.

"Mama!" I screeched. "I'm stuck!!"  Mom looked at my sister (who had also been rescuing me frequently) and they smiled at each other. 
"You're on your own, sorry!" And they took off WITHOUT ME! Headed home.

I seethed, seeing red. My mouth fell agape.  How... how... how dare they act like that! I could see I had done NOTHING wrong! I stuck out my bottom lip in an absurd pout. I couldn't believe how unfairly I was being treated! Just awful. I felt very, VERY sorry for my poor self. But then!

I had a thought. I didn't want to go home! Not where my mom and sister were being unreasonably cruel!

I was about a three minute walk to my Grama's house! I knew I was always welcome at Grama's.

I had to pull my feet out of the galoshes in order to get a good enough grip to pull them out of the mud. My bare feet sunk in the water and slime squished between my toes. With a great lurch I freed the boots. With as much dignity as I could muster, I turned my little nose up in the air and marched to Grama's. 

Gram, I knew, would care about me. She would treat me right. Gram, I knew, would love me. 

The problem? Gram, I saw, was not home. So I had no choice but to turn around and begrudgingly squelch on home. About halfway there, I ran into... Mom and Emmy! Well, well, well. Guess who deigned to find me. Peasants. 

But Mom let me sit on the kitchen counter while we washed my muddy feet in the sink, and gave me a huge glass of milk to drink-- I  needed a double!--  and suddenly  everything wasn't so bad. 

The moral of this story? Oh, there isn't one. Except.. I think we are all brats sometimes. 

If you read this whole thing, THANK YOU!! Please keep coming back! Every Thursday. 

Thanks, Sarah

Sounds of Nature

Years ago, I tried to label my jobs at Records' ACE Hardware here in Raton. I came up with "Mowing Queen" (I 'got' to mow the back lot in the summer) and "Inventory Specialist" (I counted items and corrected the inventory in the computer). Yes, it was every bit as exciting as it sounds.

Years later, I now can claim "cashier" and "Green House employee" and, well, "Inventory Specialist." But one of my biggest jobs now is doing books in the back office. I really like working back there! It's warm in the winter and cool in the summer. It's hushed and crowded with shelving units and computers and printers and files, files, files! The overhead fluorescent lighting provides a constant, soothing hum.

My computer and station is at the back end of the room, in a corner. I won't bore you with what I do, but suffice it to say it's a lot of counting. My high school age, math-hating self  kind of does a ugly laugh/cry when I realize I'm making my living by doing... math.

But I have to say, the most interesting aspect of my job back there is the fact that I share a wall with the ladies' restroom and the wall is thin... very thin. Comically, weirdly thin. One day I went to work sick, ran to the bathroom to puke my guts up, and returned to the office where I was told flatly, "You're sick. You've been hurling in the bathroom. We heard you. Go home."

I have compiled a short list of things heard-- OVER HEARD- in the ACE ladies' restroom.

• Grunts, groans, plops, and tinkling. This one is obvious and to be expected! Still, it's kind of an intimate thing, and when they're really trying hard you have to fight the urge to knock on the wall and yell, "FIBER!!"
  
• Woofing and howling. We allow dogs of all sizes in the store, as long as they're well behaved. And I guess if you bring your dog in with you, they go in the restroom with you, should that situation arise. It was just weird because there was this dog in the bathroom just CRYING and YIPPING and making a scene, and whoever the owner was, they kept oddly quiet. There were no hushes or calming, soothing words. Just a toilet flush and they were gone.
  
• "YOU PROMISED!!" This one was interesting. From my eavesdropping, I deduced that there was a mother and 6-ish-age daughter in the bathroom together. It would appear the kid was sitting on the toilet with unfavorable results. The mother hissed, "You promised! You. Promised" to which the kid started sobbing, "No, Mommy, YOU PROMISED, YOU did!" Glad to stay out of that one.
  
• Slamming door. This happens quite frequently, but you can get a good idea of the hurry they are in by the slam of the door. When you gotta go, you gotta go, door locks be damned!
  
• "Please, God, please." This one caught my attention right away because it was undeniably a man's voice and he was WORKING. Frustrated grunts and mini, pained yelps. But throughout it all he kept praying to God. I hope it helped.
  
• Tongues. Probably the weirdest overhearing-experience was ANOTHER man. There were no tell-tale sounds of plumbing like toilet flushing or sinks being turned on. He just hung out in the bathroom and chanted. It was absolutely unlike anything I'd heard before. Not English, Spanish, French, Russian, Mandarin, Pig Latin! It was harsh and guttural and had kind of a musical quality to it. He was just... speaking in tongues. And then he peed. 

Sorry for the bathroom humor!

I'm really getting back into writing projects and I think blogs are like exercise for my mind. You may see more of them!

Sarah