I haven't seen myself cry in a long time. I don't know why exactly. I guess I hide when I cry. I hide in places where there aren't mirrors. I hide in the dark.
And I forgot, how horrible it is, to look at my face as I cry. I forgot about my wet eyelashes that cling together, and my bloodshot eyes, and that my tears can well impossibly deep before falling from the inside corners of my eyes. I forgot about all the red blotchy skin. I forgot about the red and pink that surrounds my lips. And I forgot how much sadness is conveyed watching the tears fall. Falling, and falling, falling tears. Oh, it's not good to look at my face.
It hurts so much I can't tell you where it hurts. I thought it would feel better when I got here. It doesn't. Somehow nothing I do makes me feel better. I'm so messed up, I'm so fucked up, I'm so broken that nothing moves the needle in the right direction. There only worse. There's only pain. There's only more pain.
You don't understand, I need to slit my wrists. I envision a huge ledger with a gigantic negative number next to my name. It's an imaginary number. Square root of negative two. It goes on forever.
I'm going to sleep. And wake up to another today. I hate today. Groundhog Day. They tell me it changes. They tell me I change. I just don't remember. I just don't think that's true. They tell me I know it. I don't.
My brain is broken. Broken. Broken. Broken. And I can't live without a brain.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Focus
I was crying within five minutes of waking. I found my thoughts spiraling out of control before I even recognized that I was thinking at all. It's not a terribly infrequent occurrence.
And so I wipe the tears and say the word 'focus'. Focus. It's an odd little mantra of mine. Somehow I've trained myself to use the word as a trigger. It's a trigger to pick myself up, de-emotionalize, (how is that a word?) and do whatever needs to be done. Focus. Try. Get Up. Move. It doesn't always work, of course, but I try. I try. I try to focus.
Then I make myself a list of the least number of things I have to do. I have to take pills. I have to make coffee. I have to get something to eat.
And then I can sit. And sit, and sit, and sit. And Do Nothing.
I did it today. I feel like shit. I'd like someone to break into my apartment and blow my head off. But I focused. I got my pills, I got my coffee, and I got some food. And now I'm sitting. I feel terrible. But I did the minimum. I focused. Incredible.
And so I wipe the tears and say the word 'focus'. Focus. It's an odd little mantra of mine. Somehow I've trained myself to use the word as a trigger. It's a trigger to pick myself up, de-emotionalize, (how is that a word?) and do whatever needs to be done. Focus. Try. Get Up. Move. It doesn't always work, of course, but I try. I try. I try to focus.
Then I make myself a list of the least number of things I have to do. I have to take pills. I have to make coffee. I have to get something to eat.
And then I can sit. And sit, and sit, and sit. And Do Nothing.
I did it today. I feel like shit. I'd like someone to break into my apartment and blow my head off. But I focused. I got my pills, I got my coffee, and I got some food. And now I'm sitting. I feel terrible. But I did the minimum. I focused. Incredible.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Here I Go Again
It's a bad fucking day. Another one. The heat, the drugs, the heat, the drugs, my brain has become such a liability.
I thought it would be better because I slept all the way to 7:30, but it isn't. Tossing and turning and turning and tossing I guess isn't really sleep.
I don't do heat well, and I really don't do 100 degree heat well. And now I have two phone interviews to do today. I don't know how I will turn it on twice today. One with statistics. I feel hopeless and painful and awful.
The burn on my wrist is fine and the stab marks on my leg are fine. If I would stop bugging the burn mark it would be better, but even yet I'm shocked at how awful it looks. It doesn't matter, of course, because I did it under the watch strap line. No one will see. And no one will know. It hurts. Still. I guess because of all the bending. Hurts. Still.
The other wrist deserves one. Two. Twelve. But I can only wear so many watches.
Crying. Crying. Phone interview in an hour. Crying.
I do the impossible every day. It's such a magic trick, except even I don't know how it's done. Have to do it again today. Have to pull a semi-tractor-trailer out of a hat.
How am I ever going to do that?
I thought it would be better because I slept all the way to 7:30, but it isn't. Tossing and turning and turning and tossing I guess isn't really sleep.
I don't do heat well, and I really don't do 100 degree heat well. And now I have two phone interviews to do today. I don't know how I will turn it on twice today. One with statistics. I feel hopeless and painful and awful.
The burn on my wrist is fine and the stab marks on my leg are fine. If I would stop bugging the burn mark it would be better, but even yet I'm shocked at how awful it looks. It doesn't matter, of course, because I did it under the watch strap line. No one will see. And no one will know. It hurts. Still. I guess because of all the bending. Hurts. Still.
The other wrist deserves one. Two. Twelve. But I can only wear so many watches.
Crying. Crying. Phone interview in an hour. Crying.
I do the impossible every day. It's such a magic trick, except even I don't know how it's done. Have to do it again today. Have to pull a semi-tractor-trailer out of a hat.
How am I ever going to do that?
Monday, July 27, 2009
Fuck me if that doesn't smack my bitch up
Really bad day, really good day, really bad day.
I knew I was cycling, but fuck me if that doesn't smack my bitch up. Every time.
Crying, crying, pain and suffering. And a little blood.
And then everything was so wonderful, and fast, and giggly. Bright, and sunny, and I didn't even hate the fact that it's as hot as the sun here. And it was like Christmas day. You know, on the sun.
And then I was very upset again. I'm suddenly in this spiral about how no one loves me and how no one ever will. Because, um, look at me. Seriously.
My own rational thinking is astounding. I feel like I should be studied. I sort of picture these neurons bouncing all over my brain like a bunch of balls of flubber (um, old reference. I'm old) bouncing around inside, maybe a padded room. And they kind of bunch together in a corner for a while and then they go everywhere, and then they pick another corner for a bit. And they're super, super fast. (Ooo, I know a more recent reference, it's that fast ball in quiddich in Harry Potter.) You can't really chart a path. Or anticipate a path.
And the inside of my skull hurts.It's bruised.
I knew I was cycling, but fuck me if that doesn't smack my bitch up. Every time.
Crying, crying, pain and suffering. And a little blood.
And then everything was so wonderful, and fast, and giggly. Bright, and sunny, and I didn't even hate the fact that it's as hot as the sun here. And it was like Christmas day. You know, on the sun.
And then I was very upset again. I'm suddenly in this spiral about how no one loves me and how no one ever will. Because, um, look at me. Seriously.
My own rational thinking is astounding. I feel like I should be studied. I sort of picture these neurons bouncing all over my brain like a bunch of balls of flubber (um, old reference. I'm old) bouncing around inside, maybe a padded room. And they kind of bunch together in a corner for a while and then they go everywhere, and then they pick another corner for a bit. And they're super, super fast. (Ooo, I know a more recent reference, it's that fast ball in quiddich in Harry Potter.) You can't really chart a path. Or anticipate a path.
And the inside of my skull hurts.It's bruised.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Causes (?) of Mood Disorders
OK, I have a point, but it's really, really long.
Today, I was watching a Comcast On Demand program about the causes of bipolar. I thought I'd watching and see how ridiculous it was because obviously, no one knows the cause.
However, the spot had some interesting information, which I then transcribed so I can share with you. (Yes, I really did transcribe the whole thing.)
It's in fairly layperson terms, so give it a look. At the bottom is a bit more information about dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin. This, unfortunately, is not in layperson terms, but is interesting nonetheless.
(I will be tying all this together at a later date, but my thought is if you've been on enough drugs, and I have, you should be able to plot which meds work with which meds and get a diagram of what drugs to focus on. Might work. Lord knows nothing else does.)
And for the info:
Today, I was watching a Comcast On Demand program about the causes of bipolar. I thought I'd watching and see how ridiculous it was because obviously, no one knows the cause.
However, the spot had some interesting information, which I then transcribed so I can share with you. (Yes, I really did transcribe the whole thing.)
It's in fairly layperson terms, so give it a look. At the bottom is a bit more information about dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin. This, unfortunately, is not in layperson terms, but is interesting nonetheless.
(I will be tying all this together at a later date, but my thought is if you've been on enough drugs, and I have, you should be able to plot which meds work with which meds and get a diagram of what drugs to focus on. Might work. Lord knows nothing else does.)
And for the info:
…but research has shown that chemical imbalances in the brain play an especially key role in the onset of the disease. Every adult has more than 90 billion brain cells, or neurons. These neurons communicate with each other through chemical messengers called neurotransmitters. Neurotransmitters help control a range of bodily functions such as thinking, reasoning, and mood. But when they don’t function properly then problems can occur.Serotonin can also do the following:
Here’s how neurotransmitters work, each neurons is composed of an axon, a dendrite, and cell body. When a neuron fires, an electrical signal is sent to the axon, and down a long slender tube that functions like an antennae. At the end of the axon the signal is transferred to the neurotransmitters. These neurotransmitters then travel across a synapse, or gap, to a dendrite of another neuron which receives the chemical messages. Once the process is complete the neurotransmitters are pumped back into the releasing neuron.
Under normal circumstances, just the right amount of a neurotransmitter is sent across the gap to communicate with other neurons, but in cases of bipolar disorder levels of certain neurotransmitters are abnormally high or low which experts believe can trigger mood abnormalities. For example, bipolar depression has been linked to low levels of serotonin in the synaptic gap. Serotonin is a neurotransmitter that helps regulate moods. Manic episodes have been associated with high levels of norepinephrine; the neurotransmitter that contributes to our fight or flight response. And too much dopamine, a neurotransmitter effecting emotions and perceptions, is linked to psychotic symptoms such as hallucinations.
Breakthroughs in diagnostic imaging have revealed that the brain structure of those suffering from bipolar disorders also differs from those of healthy individuals. Using advanced MRI and PET scanning technologies, experts now have evidence that experiences of sever episodes of bipolar depression can lead to changes in different parts of the brain. For example, the brain has two hypocampii, each located in the temporal lobes. One of the functions of the hippocampus is to help control learning, emotions, and memory. In some bipolar patients the hippocampus appears to shrink over time. Other areas of the brain’s temporal regions may shrink as well.
Since bipolar disorder often runs in families, scientists are trying to identify the specific genes that cause the condition. But genes are likely not the only explanation. Studies on identical twins reveal that if one twin develops bipolar, the other twin has an 80% chanced of developing bipolar as well. This suggests that while genes are a primary cause, other factors may also be needed for the disease to manifest itself. People born with the possibility of bipolar may find that stressful events like divorce, job loss or emotional strain can trigger the illness…
1. It gives us self-confidence, a feeling of safety and security.Norepinephrine is a catecholamine with dual roles as a hormone and a neurotransmitter.
2. It causes us to feel sleepy.
3. It increases our appetites.
The part of the brain where it does each of these 3 things is a different part of the brain from the part where the other 2 things occur. Thus, for example, increasing serotonin in the part of the brain where self-confidence is will increase your self-confidence, but not your sleepiness. Unfortunately, we have no medications to increase only the serotonin in one part of the brain. This explains why medications to increase serotonin in the brain can also cause increased appetite and sleepiness.
Medications which increase serotonin in the brain (SSRI's such as citalopram, escitalopram, fluoxetine, paroxetine, and sertraline and SNRI's such as venlafaxine and duloxetine) give us more self-confidence, and a feeling of safety and security.
By the way, serotonin also exists in our gastrointestinal tracts. In this location, it stimulates digestion. This is why such medications can cause gastrointestinal upset. But they can also help constipation.
As a stress hormone, norepinephrine affects parts of the brain where attention and responding actions are controlled. Along with epinephrine, norepinephrine also underlies the fight-or-flight response, directly increasing heart rate, triggering the release of glucose from energy stores, and increasing blood flow to skeletal muscle.Dopamine
However, when norepinephrine acts as a drug it will increase blood pressure by its prominent increasing effects on the vascular tone from α-adrenergic receptor activation. The resulting increase in vascular resistance triggers a compensatory reflex that overcomes its direct stimulatory effects on the heart, called the baroreceptor reflex, which results in a drop in heart rate called reflex bradycardia.
Dopamine has many functions in the brain, including important roles in behavior and cognition, voluntary movement, motivation and reward, inhibition of prolactin production (involved in lactation), sleep, mood, attention, and learning.
A common hypothesis, though not uncontroversial, is that dopamine has a function of transmitting reward prediction error. According to this hypothesis, the phasic responses of dopamine neurons are observed when an unexpected reward is presented. These responses transfer to the onset of a conditioned stimulus after repeated pairings with the reward. Further, dopamine neurons are depressed when the expected reward is omitted. Thus, dopamine neurons seem to encode the prediction error of rewarding outcomes. In nature, we learn to repeat behaviors that lead to maximize rewards. Dopamine is therefore believed to provide a teaching signal to parts of the brain responsible for acquiring new behavior. Temporal difference learning provides a computational model describing how the prediction error of dopamine neurons is used as a teaching signal.
I have a refrain in my head:
I hate it when it's there as my eyes flutter open. I know what the day will be. I think the day will be an extreme fight. I know that I will feel the pain in my bones. I know that it will be terrible. I know it will be another day I wish I wasn't here.
How many days do you have to wish desperately that you're dead before you just end up that way. How many? How many heartbeats do you do you despise before your heart stops beating? There has to be an amount. Some amount where your body just gives up the fight. Just stops trying to fight the pervasive self-hatred, the unending self-hatred, the killer self-hatred.
I feel so sad. I feel so bad. I feel like hiding. Hiding under the covers, under a bed, locked in a closet, chained in a room, protected by a portcullis, surrounded by a mote. Some place where no one can find me. No one can be disappointed by me. No one can look at me with those sad eyes as they realize that I'm not better. I'm not getting better. I'm trying everything in the book and I'm slipping away anyways. And in their eyes is a desperation of knowing that they can't do anything for you. They can't help you. They can only weep for you. Which, in the end, just isn't worth doing. Because it hurts their lives too. My disease that they say isn't contagious spreading out like a ripple in a pond hurting everyone I love. Hurting everyone who loves me.
I always tell people that's it's like that. I always tell people that I'm dangerous and jagged. I always tell people that I will injure them. I know it's true. They don't believe me. I know it's true.
My doctor and I agreed that in a severe crisis I could take a swag of Seroquel, and sleep through the crisis. Sounds good. Sounds logical. Just it's like drinking. Not only do you have a wick, horrid, painful hangover afterwords, but all the problems are still there. All the pain is still there. Wake up after tossing and turing and psychosis and find exactly what you always find. A mental disorder. Illness. Pain. I feel like an addict. Like a drunk that can't handle her own life. "My life has become unmanageable". But I drug at the behest of my doctor. So I won't do something worse. So I won't cut, so I won't stab, so I won't burn, so I won't hit, so I won't die. Being a druggie with the doctor's permission is supposedly better. Addicts become addicts because of wicked pain as well. And somehow I have to be able to look at my family in the eye knowing that they're addicts. And that I performed an intervention. When I'm just like them. And if I drugged everytime I had a crisis there would be no sobriety left. Just like a druggie.
"I want to hurt myself. I want to die. I want to hurt myself. I want to die..."It just goes over and over. And over and over. It was there when I work up yesterday morning, and it was there when I woke up this morning.
I hate it when it's there as my eyes flutter open. I know what the day will be. I think the day will be an extreme fight. I know that I will feel the pain in my bones. I know that it will be terrible. I know it will be another day I wish I wasn't here.
How many days do you have to wish desperately that you're dead before you just end up that way. How many? How many heartbeats do you do you despise before your heart stops beating? There has to be an amount. Some amount where your body just gives up the fight. Just stops trying to fight the pervasive self-hatred, the unending self-hatred, the killer self-hatred.
I feel so sad. I feel so bad. I feel like hiding. Hiding under the covers, under a bed, locked in a closet, chained in a room, protected by a portcullis, surrounded by a mote. Some place where no one can find me. No one can be disappointed by me. No one can look at me with those sad eyes as they realize that I'm not better. I'm not getting better. I'm trying everything in the book and I'm slipping away anyways. And in their eyes is a desperation of knowing that they can't do anything for you. They can't help you. They can only weep for you. Which, in the end, just isn't worth doing. Because it hurts their lives too. My disease that they say isn't contagious spreading out like a ripple in a pond hurting everyone I love. Hurting everyone who loves me.
I always tell people that's it's like that. I always tell people that I'm dangerous and jagged. I always tell people that I will injure them. I know it's true. They don't believe me. I know it's true.
My doctor and I agreed that in a severe crisis I could take a swag of Seroquel, and sleep through the crisis. Sounds good. Sounds logical. Just it's like drinking. Not only do you have a wick, horrid, painful hangover afterwords, but all the problems are still there. All the pain is still there. Wake up after tossing and turing and psychosis and find exactly what you always find. A mental disorder. Illness. Pain. I feel like an addict. Like a drunk that can't handle her own life. "My life has become unmanageable". But I drug at the behest of my doctor. So I won't do something worse. So I won't cut, so I won't stab, so I won't burn, so I won't hit, so I won't die. Being a druggie with the doctor's permission is supposedly better. Addicts become addicts because of wicked pain as well. And somehow I have to be able to look at my family in the eye knowing that they're addicts. And that I performed an intervention. When I'm just like them. And if I drugged everytime I had a crisis there would be no sobriety left. Just like a druggie.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
little tiny help
Reaching out for help s hard. It's too hard actually. I feel like there's nothing anyone can do for me, so there no point in asking for help at call.
But sometimes I'm begging for help. Please, please, stop me from doing something that I really don't want to do. Stop me from seeing the most blood I have ever seen pouring from my thigh. Help me from my hands bathing in it. Help me from wondering if I would even be able to stop the blood flow.
But my call, as much as I try, can come across as a whisper. Please someone talk to me. Please someone protect me. It gets lost in the noise of the universe. Gobbled up by everyday minutia, kids, groceries, and argyle socks.
But sometimes I'm begging for help. Please, please, stop me from doing something that I really don't want to do. Stop me from seeing the most blood I have ever seen pouring from my thigh. Help me from my hands bathing in it. Help me from wondering if I would even be able to stop the blood flow.
But my call, as much as I try, can come across as a whisper. Please someone talk to me. Please someone protect me. It gets lost in the noise of the universe. Gobbled up by everyday minutia, kids, groceries, and argyle socks.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Bing actually points someone here!
Well now, look at this:
Go Bing go!
| Referring URL | http://www.bing.com/...ble&src=IE-SearchBox | |
| Search Engine | bing.com | |
| Search Words | caught in my burble | |
| Visit Entry Page | http://imbound.blogspot.com/ |
Go Bing go!
Diet and Depression / Bipolar
I've written about this before, but due to the amount of misinformation on the internet on this topic, I feel compelled to write about it again.
Now, first off, I do not believe you can cure either condition using diet. Let me be clear, people who tell you this are mostly flakes. There are ways though that you can possibly improve your treatment plan using dietary components.
Omega-3: This is the most well-known and probably well-studied supplement, and it shows a lot of promise. Omega-3 also has been studied for other reasons too and it appears to be good for your heart also, so there are actually a few good reasons to take it.
Omega-3 is, of course a long chain monounsaturated fat found in a number of foods including fatty fish like salmon. However, understand that you cannot eat enough fish to actually get into a clinical range to help depression. Feel free to eat salmon all you like, but don't expect it to make you better. Again, people suggesting that you "eat more fatty fish" just really don't know the research.
Omega-3 supplements over-the-counter are a little different. They can bump up your omega-3 intake by quite a bit. But don't by fooled. The big number on the front of the bottle is NOT the amount of omega-3's you actually get in each capsule. Turn the bottle around to see the ingredients and you'll see that the amount you get in each capsule might be only a third or less than the number reported on the front. So you might be thinking you're doing something good for yourself, but just not getting the benefit from it.
So what's going on here? It's simple really, supplements are not regulated by anyone and so you never really know what you're getting. If you're trying to treat a life-threatening illness, I don't think this is OK.
Luckily, there is an easy way to solve this problem. There is a pharmaceutical grade omega-3 supplement available for purchase. You just need to go to your doctor or psychiatrist and ask for it. Keep in mind, you should be asked for at least 2 GRAMS of omega-3 because that's what the studies used. 3 grams would be OK too (and is what I take). Bring in the study abstract for your doctor for review if you don't think he would be up on it, but it's pretty widely known. And make sure he knows about about the possible side-effects from taking large amounts of omega-3s. Thinning of the blood is one that I know of and so omega-3s should always be stopped several days before surgery. Definitely make sure that your doctor discusses with you anything anything that may effect your personal medical issues.
Assuming you don't have any specific risks, I have seen no side effects. Yay!
Folate / Folic Acid: to be clear, folate is the substance in the body, and folic acid is the supplement you find on the shelf (pregnent woman are generally advised to take it). Folate definitiantcies have been studied in depressives along with several other nutrients like B12. However, it appears that folate itself is not the part that's definitiantcy, it's actually l-methylfolate, which is a compound that is created from folate. And the key here, is that one study has found that no matter how much folic acid you consume, your body may not be able to create enough l-methylfolate to actually fix your deficiency. So by telling you to take folic acid you may be doing absolutely nothing.
Again, luckily there is an easy fix. Your doctor can perscribe you a cheap pharmaceutical grade l-methylfolate suppliment. Keep in mind, the number of people who respond to this suppliment is very low, but as there don't seem to be any side-effects (talk to your doctor) there's no real downside to trying it.
Both of these suppliments can/should be taken in addition to your conventional treatment.
And one final note. There is some thought that a low carbohydrate diet (like Atkins or South Beach) may adversely effect the seritonin in your brain which may effect mood and cognition. However, there is also evidence suggesting that this is not that case. Personally, I think long term extreme low-carb diets may be a concern, but over the short term, no difference will probably be noticable. However, if you have a serious mood disorder, like me, that might effect your choice of diet even if the evidence isn't clear.
Now, first off, I do not believe you can cure either condition using diet. Let me be clear, people who tell you this are mostly flakes. There are ways though that you can possibly improve your treatment plan using dietary components.
Omega-3: This is the most well-known and probably well-studied supplement, and it shows a lot of promise. Omega-3 also has been studied for other reasons too and it appears to be good for your heart also, so there are actually a few good reasons to take it.
Omega-3 is, of course a long chain monounsaturated fat found in a number of foods including fatty fish like salmon. However, understand that you cannot eat enough fish to actually get into a clinical range to help depression. Feel free to eat salmon all you like, but don't expect it to make you better. Again, people suggesting that you "eat more fatty fish" just really don't know the research.
Omega-3 supplements over-the-counter are a little different. They can bump up your omega-3 intake by quite a bit. But don't by fooled. The big number on the front of the bottle is NOT the amount of omega-3's you actually get in each capsule. Turn the bottle around to see the ingredients and you'll see that the amount you get in each capsule might be only a third or less than the number reported on the front. So you might be thinking you're doing something good for yourself, but just not getting the benefit from it.
So what's going on here? It's simple really, supplements are not regulated by anyone and so you never really know what you're getting. If you're trying to treat a life-threatening illness, I don't think this is OK.
Luckily, there is an easy way to solve this problem. There is a pharmaceutical grade omega-3 supplement available for purchase. You just need to go to your doctor or psychiatrist and ask for it. Keep in mind, you should be asked for at least 2 GRAMS of omega-3 because that's what the studies used. 3 grams would be OK too (and is what I take). Bring in the study abstract for your doctor for review if you don't think he would be up on it, but it's pretty widely known. And make sure he knows about about the possible side-effects from taking large amounts of omega-3s. Thinning of the blood is one that I know of and so omega-3s should always be stopped several days before surgery. Definitely make sure that your doctor discusses with you anything anything that may effect your personal medical issues.
Assuming you don't have any specific risks, I have seen no side effects. Yay!
Folate / Folic Acid: to be clear, folate is the substance in the body, and folic acid is the supplement you find on the shelf (pregnent woman are generally advised to take it). Folate definitiantcies have been studied in depressives along with several other nutrients like B12. However, it appears that folate itself is not the part that's definitiantcy, it's actually l-methylfolate, which is a compound that is created from folate. And the key here, is that one study has found that no matter how much folic acid you consume, your body may not be able to create enough l-methylfolate to actually fix your deficiency. So by telling you to take folic acid you may be doing absolutely nothing.
Again, luckily there is an easy fix. Your doctor can perscribe you a cheap pharmaceutical grade l-methylfolate suppliment. Keep in mind, the number of people who respond to this suppliment is very low, but as there don't seem to be any side-effects (talk to your doctor) there's no real downside to trying it.
Both of these suppliments can/should be taken in addition to your conventional treatment.
And one final note. There is some thought that a low carbohydrate diet (like Atkins or South Beach) may adversely effect the seritonin in your brain which may effect mood and cognition. However, there is also evidence suggesting that this is not that case. Personally, I think long term extreme low-carb diets may be a concern, but over the short term, no difference will probably be noticable. However, if you have a serious mood disorder, like me, that might effect your choice of diet even if the evidence isn't clear.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Self-Harm Shopping List 1
List:
- utility knife - warning, sharp blade
- isopropyl alcohol - ask doctor before use
- q-tips - do not use in ear canal
- dish-towel - made in China
- steri-strip - used in hospitals
- tweezers - Germany
- triple-layer non-stick pads - won't stick to wounds
- waterproof tape - stays on when set
- band-aids - sterile
You don't have to use all of the above, but trust me, you'll want them if you accidentally stab so deep that it's hard to control the bleeding.
- utility knife - warning, sharp blade
- isopropyl alcohol - ask doctor before use
- q-tips - do not use in ear canal
- dish-towel - made in China
- steri-strip - used in hospitals
- tweezers - Germany
- triple-layer non-stick pads - won't stick to wounds
- waterproof tape - stays on when set
- band-aids - sterile
You don't have to use all of the above, but trust me, you'll want them if you accidentally stab so deep that it's hard to control the bleeding.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
I have steri-strips
Usually I'm so good with the box. Usually no matter how sad I am it's just a quiet begging sadness that underlies my person but never truly pokes its head out to see the light. Usually my sadness is in a locked box, in a closet, with a huge bookcase in front of it. I'm very good at keeping the pain and the tears in the box.
Oh, but the box. It contains the worst things you can imagine. It delivers death and pain and sorrow and darkness that swallows everything around me. And somehow today, sitting here and shopping on Amazon, the box crept open. Just a little. But enough.
A high, squeaky voice that didn't sound like mine came out. It starting talking about old wounds and having conversations with people that I dispise, or that the voice in the box despises. Whiny, small, honest, unrelenting. All those things that should be said but can never be said lest people be destroyed. And the worst of it is, I don't even know if it's true. The voice in the box is so bathed in pain and coloured by depression that I fear it's twisted beyond belief. I know it's coming from my brain, and channelled through my mind. But so are all the other lies.
The sobbing and the weeping nothing will make it go away. There are people in the courtyard that can hear me. I can hear them moving their barbeque and sweeping their deck and they can hear me crying out in pain. It's light and dark, life and death, pleasure and pain. I'm always on the wrong side of the equasion.
And closing the box. It tales such effect and such pain to close the box. Such blood.
Do you know what it good about utility knives? They click open to only small amount. Instead of having an entire blade to cut you have a tiny piece of a blade with which to stab. You know exactly how deep the stab wounds will be. They will be the length of the blade, plus a little more due to the force of the stabbing, with a bruise developing around the puncture.
I don't recommend it. The blade can get bacteria deep into the wound. Most people would care about that. You should care about that. I do not care about that.
It sits beside me cold heavy steel with sharp blades. We'll see. We'll see what I do.
Oh, but the box. It contains the worst things you can imagine. It delivers death and pain and sorrow and darkness that swallows everything around me. And somehow today, sitting here and shopping on Amazon, the box crept open. Just a little. But enough.
A high, squeaky voice that didn't sound like mine came out. It starting talking about old wounds and having conversations with people that I dispise, or that the voice in the box despises. Whiny, small, honest, unrelenting. All those things that should be said but can never be said lest people be destroyed. And the worst of it is, I don't even know if it's true. The voice in the box is so bathed in pain and coloured by depression that I fear it's twisted beyond belief. I know it's coming from my brain, and channelled through my mind. But so are all the other lies.
The sobbing and the weeping nothing will make it go away. There are people in the courtyard that can hear me. I can hear them moving their barbeque and sweeping their deck and they can hear me crying out in pain. It's light and dark, life and death, pleasure and pain. I'm always on the wrong side of the equasion.
And closing the box. It tales such effect and such pain to close the box. Such blood.
Do you know what it good about utility knives? They click open to only small amount. Instead of having an entire blade to cut you have a tiny piece of a blade with which to stab. You know exactly how deep the stab wounds will be. They will be the length of the blade, plus a little more due to the force of the stabbing, with a bruise developing around the puncture.
I don't recommend it. The blade can get bacteria deep into the wound. Most people would care about that. You should care about that. I do not care about that.
It sits beside me cold heavy steel with sharp blades. We'll see. We'll see what I do.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
It's on my arm, and I'm still really shocked
Well, I've been caring for the nasty burn for days now. Cleaning the wound, putting on ointment, dressing it, and it still weeps a little here and there.
And here's what I'm left with: I'm shock that it's there. I'm shocked that I did it. I'm shocked that other people weren't more shocked. I guess no one really saw it in its really gruesome state, but still. How is this not shocking to people? I'm shocked and I did it and it's on my own arm.
The smaller burn below has healed to the point where it doens't need bandaging but the top one still has a chunk of skin missing and needs attention. If you look at a burn like that side-on you'll see where the flesh has actually been burned off. There is a divot where your flesh used to be.
And oh my god I'm going to have it for a year, maybe more. My watch band can hide it, mostly (that was my plan) but still, there it is, every time I wash my hands, every time I take off my watch, every time I manipulate pretty much anything.
I can't believe I did it. I mean, I can, I'm harsh and hateful and awful and capable; but somewhere in my mind I just can't imagine a person doing this to herself. So much anger, hate and anxiety. I wish I could wash it away.
And here's what I'm left with: I'm shock that it's there. I'm shocked that I did it. I'm shocked that other people weren't more shocked. I guess no one really saw it in its really gruesome state, but still. How is this not shocking to people? I'm shocked and I did it and it's on my own arm.
The smaller burn below has healed to the point where it doens't need bandaging but the top one still has a chunk of skin missing and needs attention. If you look at a burn like that side-on you'll see where the flesh has actually been burned off. There is a divot where your flesh used to be.
And oh my god I'm going to have it for a year, maybe more. My watch band can hide it, mostly (that was my plan) but still, there it is, every time I wash my hands, every time I take off my watch, every time I manipulate pretty much anything.
I can't believe I did it. I mean, I can, I'm harsh and hateful and awful and capable; but somewhere in my mind I just can't imagine a person doing this to herself. So much anger, hate and anxiety. I wish I could wash it away.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Don't Do This
I mean it.
This is my wrist. Second degree burns.
Don't do this.
(And you might not want to look at it either.)
This is my wrist. Second degree burns.
Don't do this.
(And you might not want to look at it either.)
Friday, July 10, 2009
Clasped Hands
When I was a child, on occasion, I would kneel by the bed, clasp my hands together, and pray. I had seen it on TV. Children kneeling by their bed, talking to God. I would beg for someone to make my life better. I thought that if good little children were doing it on TV I could be a good little person and do it too. And God had to listen to a good child.
And it was funny, because I knew there was no God. I knew that no one was listening. I knew that no one would help me. But I did it anyway. Because I was desperate. I needed someone to come and help me. I would have done anything. Just to make my life better.
Any today feels just like those days. Desperate again. Desperate again for someone to help. Some deity to have pity on me and help. Cry out to the empty heavens for someone to help. Out of desperation, and against even a child's intellect.
And it was funny, because I knew there was no God. I knew that no one was listening. I knew that no one would help me. But I did it anyway. Because I was desperate. I needed someone to come and help me. I would have done anything. Just to make my life better.
Any today feels just like those days. Desperate again. Desperate again for someone to help. Some deity to have pity on me and help. Cry out to the empty heavens for someone to help. Out of desperation, and against even a child's intellect.
Missing Skin
The burn is so much worse than I thought. It's so terrible looking. I accidentally tore off the upper layer of skin on part of the burn and I can see the flesh below the skin. It's yellow-brown and horrible. It looks like something you would see in the horror movie. I have nothing to put on the burn because I'm not at home. I'm going to try to get something later but yeah, it's pretty bad.
[Just ot be clear, it's not big, it's just nasty.]
And I can't stop crying. Everything seems to upsetting. I have no idea how I'm going to get through the wedding I'm attending later. I really don't want to go. But I told my friend, wild horses wouldn't keep me away. And I meant it. It doesn't matter how much pain I'm in, I try to be a good friend. I try to make sure that my friends know that I'm there for them. I try to make sure that I give. Giving just hurts. Hurts so much.
[Just ot be clear, it's not big, it's just nasty.]
And I can't stop crying. Everything seems to upsetting. I have no idea how I'm going to get through the wedding I'm attending later. I really don't want to go. But I told my friend, wild horses wouldn't keep me away. And I meant it. It doesn't matter how much pain I'm in, I try to be a good friend. I try to make sure that my friends know that I'm there for them. I try to make sure that I give. Giving just hurts. Hurts so much.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Flatten
I had the oven on. Which is a dumb thing to do. And I know it's dumb. But it's always dumb. Should I never use an oven?
A burn is a funny thing. You can't really see much directly after it happens. Well, you can see that the skin has been seared. Flattened. But the pain is excruciating. And I sweat through every pore. Sometimes I can't stand. And it stays excruciating. It just keeps burning and burning. As your flesh looks worse, and worse. Wrinkles and pores are ironed out. The skin turns kind of a blue-pink. It's sad and quiet and calm.
And it provides focus. Away from the rest of the pain.
A burn is a funny thing. You can't really see much directly after it happens. Well, you can see that the skin has been seared. Flattened. But the pain is excruciating. And I sweat through every pore. Sometimes I can't stand. And it stays excruciating. It just keeps burning and burning. As your flesh looks worse, and worse. Wrinkles and pores are ironed out. The skin turns kind of a blue-pink. It's sad and quiet and calm.
And it provides focus. Away from the rest of the pain.
Physiological Causes of Depression
I like to think I know almost all there is to know about mood disorders, but I was pretty shocked when I read this:
I'm shocked. No one ever mentioned anything about birth control pills to me and I've been on them for years. YEARS. This is yet another reason why I fucking hate doctors.
This quote was taken from the Mental Health: A Report of the Surgeon General. The whole report is a good read, but very long. It's everything you wanted to know but didn't know you needed to ask.
I'm disgusted.
Differential Diagnosis(bold mine)
Mood disorders are sometimes caused by general medical conditions or medications. Classic examples include the depressive syndromes associated with dominant hemispheric strokes, hypothyroidism, Cushing’s disease, and pancreatic cancer (DSM-IV). Among medications associated with depression, antihypertensives and oral contraceptives are the most frequent examples. Transient depressive syndromes are also common during withdrawal from alcohol and various other drugs of abuse. Mania is not uncommon during high-dose systemic therapy with glucocorticoids and has been associated with intoxication by stimulant and sympathomimetic drugs and with central nervous system (CNS) lupus, CNS human immunodeficiency viral (HIV) infections, and nondominant hemispheric strokes or tumors. Together, mood disorders due to known physiological or medical causes may account for as many as 5 to 15 percent of all treated cases (Quitkin et al., 1993b). They often go unrecognized until after standard therapies have failed.
I'm shocked. No one ever mentioned anything about birth control pills to me and I've been on them for years. YEARS. This is yet another reason why I fucking hate doctors.
This quote was taken from the Mental Health: A Report of the Surgeon General. The whole report is a good read, but very long. It's everything you wanted to know but didn't know you needed to ask.
I'm disgusted.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
thinking
Thinking of you, thinking of rope burn, thinking of thrusts. Thinking of you, thinking of screaming thinking of blood. Thinking of you, thinking of terror, thinking of shock. Thinking of you thinking of hunger, thinking of need. Thinking of you, thinking of slippery, thinking of hard.
Thinking of you thinking of shackles, thinking of me.
Thinking of you thinking of shackles, thinking of me.
Description of Deadly Rash Caused by Medications Like Lamictal
In a small number of cases people who take Lamictal or some other anticonvulsance can develop a deadly rash named Stevens-Johnson syndrome (SJS) and toxic epidermal necrolysis (TEN) (a more severe version). Again this is rare. However, if you develop a rash, here is a description of SJS leisions.
If you this there is even a small rash is related to this syndrom see a doctor immediately and tell them what medications you are on. Again, without treatment this can kill you.
If you this there is even a small rash is related to this syndrom see a doctor immediately and tell them what medications you are on. Again, without treatment this can kill you.
A. Description of lesionsMore info here and here.
1. The rash begins as a round erythematous papule, which enlarges up to 1 to 2 cm over 24 to 48 hours. The periphery of the lesion is erythematous and raised or edematous. The center becomes more cyanotic looking and can be white/yellow or gray. This is the pathognomonic “target lesion,” but it may not be present in all cases. If a blister forms in the middle, the term “iris lesion” is more appropriate.2. Lesions are generally symmetrical, with acral to central spread including extensor surfaces, face, palms, and soles. Mucosal lesions indicate a more severe type; bullae with sloughing in large sheets suggests TEN.
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