One of Those....

Everyone knows those people...

Those people that can make life miserable. Those people that always have something to bitch about. Those people that make everything about them and find a way to make drama.

That person that takes crazy to a whole new plane...

Yeah.

I mean, I'm crazy, don't get me wrong. Certifiable, as a matter of fact. But I'm talking about that psychotic person, most always female, that takes bitching to a new level of torture never before experienced.

Yeah...

Got one of those in life right now.

This particular breed of psycho bitch, while not interrupting our lives in the way I'm sure she hopes to, makes an annoyance of herself rather effectively. Nothing that isn't totally dealable and dismissable though. And believe me, she's easily dismissed!!

Ironic or just backwards?

I've never been one to journal. It's been something I've tried several times and it's been recommended to me many times over the years as it is to almost anyone with any kind of mental illness. It's always proven a problem when it comes to consistency.
But here I am with a blog that I write on fairly regularly... What's the deal there?
I feel, for whatever reason, that there are strict rules with a journal. It has to be written in a 'Dear Diary' fashion. Or at least that's the crazy (hellloooo?!) notion in my brain. I just don't always have something to say. I've been told many times that it doesn't have to conform to any set parameters, that it's just there for whatever you want/need to get out, however it comes out.
Hello...earth to Melissa, what do you think you're doing with this blog?!
Yeah, I know, I know. But gimme a break-I am crazy remember?? I'm not expected to make sense!
If you're reading this expecting me to make any sense, you had best stop now. Take your disappointed ass somewhere else cuz you're not in it for the long haul with me here! ;)

So anywho.

I've been writing general wonderings, crazy emotional questions, random thoughts, and poetry in my hospital notebook lately and some of it is making it here on the blog and some is not because I think it's just too random or crazy or just plain doesn't make any flippin sense.
But then again, that's me in a nutshell and you love me so far....
:)

Yeah....No

  So I'm reading a book. It's a wonderfully expressive account of one woman's journey with bipolar. She's funny and snarky and real and matter of fact. She has an excellent vocabulary and uses it with great skill.

And she totally intimidates the shit out of me.

  I've been told that I write well. I've been told, by more than one person and on more than one occasion to write my story into a book.
Not-a-gonna-happen my friends. Not after reading this book. There's no way that I can come anywhere near this woman's talent.
Afterall, it is she that has so helpfully put into words so many of the things that I have been feeling and thinking but just couldn't articulate.

And besides, no one wants to read about all the shitty things that I've lived through. I don't even wanna hear about all the shitty things that I've lived through.

  But I love writing. I love getting it down, getting it out of myself. Like somehow releasing a balloon: no one else is going to get it and that's ok. It was mine, I let it go "into the great wide open" as Tom Petty so aptly wrote. Such a great song. Boy if that isn't some pertinent prose. If you're unfamiliar with the song I highly suggest you give it a whirl.

So yeah.
There's that.
Again, out there. Outside of me. No longer held captive by that which might stifle it down into the abyss that threatens the whole.

My mind has wandered again.

1 S(uper)

...kid, that is.

Well, my kid now has even more letters after his name. He is officially the only (identified) 2e student at his school.
2e meaning Twice Exceptional which means that he is in both Special Ed and Gifted.
Yep. In a school that ranges from Pre-K to 6th grade, he's the only one.

Come on! You knew that if there was only going to be one, it'd be my kid! "There can be only 1" Hello?!

So now, kiddo's got more initials than a post grad student. While all of these initials and designations don't say anything about who he is, they do in a way. They are descriptors of what makes him who he is as a person.

ADHD and OCD is a 2E with an ALP and an IEP. (In english, Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a Twice Exceptional student with an Advanced Learner Profile [gifted] and an Individual Education Plan [Spec. Ed.])

Ha!

I'm so proud of him. He has faced, and continues to face, so many challenges and he is doing so well.
I am my son's biggest advocate, as it should be. Sometimes, his worst critic, admittedly, but ALWAYS his biggest advocate. I will raise hell, high waters, and anything else I deem necessary to get my sweet boy whatever it is that he needs to be successful. Both in school and in life.

So there it be.

My kid rocks like only he can!!!

A pretty big bullet...point

  So, after that last sharing session, the next bullet point seems to be my having a 16 year old that I haven't seen in 14 years.
Not that I think you need the specifics of the process, or at least I really really hope that you don't need them as you're out of luck in getting them from me, you know what I mean. I'm already doing 2 "talks" with 2 separate kids, I'm not sure I can handle having one with you too. ;)

  Well, pretty obviously, I got knocked up at the tender age of 16 from a less than ready for the world fellow 16er. We were in a relationship, but we were 16. And we each had more than our share of shit to deal with at that point already. I had my family dynamic to deal with and was desperate for a way out, he had his shitty family dynamic to deal with and needed stability and someone to love him. He was already into drugs by that point and I knew it. He was pretty good at hiding it for the most part but as it was what I was raised with, it certainly wasn't hidden from me. I went ahead and denied it to others tho. (I'll go into more detail about our relationship in a later post)

  As is common, we weren't using any form of birth control. We knew the stakes and we gambled anyway.

  When we finally got confirmation that I was indeed pregnant (I had taken 3 at home tests, 2 of which were negative and the other didn't develop properly), he immediately "needed a break". LOL! Like that one couldn't have been called a mile away! When I got the positive results at Planned Parenthood it came with some counseling. I had already decided what the necessary course of action was and was set in my determination. So him taking a break had zero effect on the outcome except to just add to the story. ;)
  As a matter of fact, over the years, short of real abuse, I've always won the "worst ex-boyfriend" contest.
After a week long break he told me one morning that "it just isn't working". LOL
That's an interesting observation. How keen and perceptive.
Needless to say, I wasn't surprised in the slightest and took it pretty smoothly. I let it roll off my back for a while before I got all hormoney and weepy about it. But hey, it was my 1st relationship and I was pregnant so..I mean really. I was allowed.
  Anyway, over the course of the pregnancy he himself started 4 separate rumors as to why it couldn't possibly be his kid. Yeah, he went with the deny it's mine tactic.
The 1st rumor was that it couldn't possibly be his kid because I cheated on him. Well that was just freakin physically impossible. I was with him 24 hours a damn day. I practically lived at his  place. There were nights that I wouldn't even go home. Some only to shower, get new clothes, and then leave again. Gimme a break!
The 2nd and 3rd stories I always mix up their order but they were, the baby couldn't possibly be his because of all the drugs he had taken-they made him sterile. Well unless he was shooting up into his scrotum, and I mean like wayyyy up, that one's really not a front runner for truth. The 3rd being that since he used to have his scrotum pierced (all genital piercings were removed before anything happened with me I'll tell you that!) the baby couldn't possibly be his because he was sterile from the piercings. Again, unless that needle took a significant detour, not-a-gonna-happen baby!
The 4th and final rumor, and the one that went in to the legal denial of paternity, was that the baby couldn't possibly be his because he was satanic and as part of his standard rituals, the high priestess shared with him a potion that just happened to have a side effect of sterility. And he knew this by getting his doctor to do a sperm count which was ZERO.
Ummmm....riiiiiiiiight.....

Alright, so that was that.
  In the meantime, I picked out an amazing couple to adopt this very loved baby growing inside of me, we met several times, and it was wonderful. Truly. I never had even 1 second's pause about the choice of these fabulous people to raise this baby that was going to be a blessing to the world.

  So fast forward 14ish years and I reconnect with the ex, that up until that point had ALWAYS been solely referred to as The Asshole. Many people never knew his real name. But I had come a long way in those 14ish years. I finally came to accept the fact that what happened between us happened so very long ago when we were very different people in a crazy difficult situation. We were both 16 and scared. But he, of course, had drugs fueling him whereas I did not. He made the only choices he could at that point in his life. I hold no grudges or ill feelings.  As a matter of fact, he and I are now quite good friends. We've been there for each other through some major life stuff in the past almost 2 years and it's been great.
Now. He has asked me for information regarding this offspring of ours. He also prefaced his request with the statement that he fully realizes that he has no right to any of this info since he signed away his rights, in more ways than one, years ago. But he has been curious these past years and wanted to know basics. Sex, birth date, name, whereabouts, etc...
After a bit of thought I told him the date of birth but that was it. He's not aware of whether or not I have contact with the family/kiddo. I don't feel that it's my place to tell him. It will be entirely up to the kiddo in question. He understood and was grateful for what I gave him. It was at least something to tie to this unknown he's had for all these years.

  So that kind of brings us to now where I have a 16 year old that is newly aware of my existence (I just found out from Dad) and has a desire, somewhere within them, to contact me. I'm blissful, I'm anxious, I'm honored. I also have some guilt because I also learned that the kiddo has been dealing with depression and anxiety for about 3 years. Yep. The grand genes that his father and I bestowed upon this kiddo.... :( But, Dad says that they have been working on those issues and this is where we all find ourselves at the moment.

  So yeah.
  A second little dish on my life and how it has unfolded and is continuing to do so.
I'm sure that I've left some pertinent points out but my brain is having a hard time digging them out at the moment.
Feel free to ask any questions to fill in any blanks you think need filling. :) I'm always down to dish.

A little catch up..

  As mentioned in my oh so poetic post from the other day (it'd be great if you could just insert a ridiculous eye roll here), I have been fortunate enough to play the infamous (and kinda actually famous) Bipolar medication switcheroo.
  Party over here. Woo woo. Party over here. (I'm sure you read that as completely uninterested and monotone as possible, for which case...Great job!)

  My fabulous Shrinkydink -that's my new name for my awesome Psychiatrist, came to the life altering realization on this past Wednesday that I'm "one of those bipolars that can't be on antidepressants 'cuz they have the opposite effect".
  Well holy frickin' hell! What a novel concept!
  Now, I say this genuinely because it actually hadn't occured to me that the antidepressants were exacerbating my depression as opposed to just not helping it.

  So yeah. Now, I'm totally down for this with the exception that one of those damned anti-d's was also my sleep med. Crapdoodle! Now what.
I've dumped the trazodone and the Cymbalta (which I'm still having withdrawals from) and we subbed Zyprexa at 10mg. So now it's just my clonazepam and zyprexa. 2 pills. That's it. And both at bedtime which is really weird for me. Every morning I feel like I'm missing a step 'cuz I don't have any meds to take. Not that I'm complaining mind you, it's just taking some adjusting to.
  And oh yeah, I don't have anything for sleep. And it's blazingly freaking obvious.
~sigh~
  On another note, she agreed with me that I've been cinched tight in a mixed state for quite a while now.
My First!!! Go Me!!!
~vomit~
Oh, and she also agreed with me on my "Responsible Noncompliance". She agreed with my logic and rationale that the lithium was doing nothing. She actually agreed with me so much as to say that she was either (I can't remember which) disappointed or surprised that I hadn't stopped the Cymbalta too.
LOL
I responded that I was just trying to give that higher dose a fair chance to which she said "..well, ok. Fair enough."
Talk about trust huh?!
See why I love my fabulous Shrinkydink???

Anywhoo...
That's a little catch up on me. And for those of you that missed reading between the lines,
*Exhausted
*Dizzy
*Crazy

Yeah, I'd say that covers it.

No Mummies Here...

Ok, so as bat shit crazy as I am, I'm feeling a bit better about myself at the moment.
  I picked up another armful of books at the library the other day. Amongst the mass was The Mummy at the Dining Room Table  Eminent Therapists Reveal Their Most Unusual Cases by Jeffrey A. Kottler & Jon Carlson.
Dude!
  The 1st 'chapter' had me cracking up. I mean, with a title like The Man Who Wanted His Nose Cut Off ...come on!
  So, anyway. If you have any interest in psychology or the human condition (given the fact that you're reading this, that's a bit needless to mention), definitely give this book a good going through. I am about to start 'chapter' 5. I started a couple hours ago and can't put it down.
If nothing else, it sure will make you feel better about being you!

The things I get them to say...

Good Monday evening to you.

This is a just a really quick post that I had to drop in here about my therapy appointment on this past Monday.

My therapist and I are in her office discussing my anxiety, and how, thanks to my medication (namely my Trazodone), my day-to-day anxiety has really decreased. I mention to her that my startle reflex, which has always been pretty exaggerated, has just been worsening since the summer. How I not only jump, but scream at the slightest and most benign thing like my husband sneezing anywhere in my vicinity, the maintenance man knocking on the door when I knew he'd be coming, etc...
So I'm telling her this and the conversation continues as follows:
Deb-"So have you applied for disability?"
Me-"Yes, I'm just waiting for a determination."
Deb- ...thinking..."Good! You need it!!"
LOL!!!
Deb-"I'm sorry. Sometimes I think out loud. I'm sorry." as she's laughing
Me-laughing "It's quite alright Deb. You just made my day!"

I love when I get mental health professionals to say things like that!

Now, if only she had the power....