New Habits

So I’m trying to turn things around. There’s too much sitting around doing nothing in my life right now.

The main things I’m focusing on are trying to get a job, trying to be healthier, and getting some mental stimulation into my day in some form.

In order to do these things I’ve used some resources on the computer and internet to help me.

For example for the job-searching I’ve been using Craigslist and the such. That’s been going all right. I just had a job interview yesterday at Wegmans and I’m hoping to hear from them soon for the second part of the interview.

For weight-loss I’ve set up an account on a website called Habitforge. (Well, this is one of many things I’m doing for weight loss, but this is the only thing that involves the internet). With this website you make an account then enter a habit that you’d like to “forge”. The theory is that it takes 21 consecutive days to form a new habit. So, they check in with you everyday (via e-mail) to make sure that you went through with your habit. If you did, they add it to your building agenda. As soon as you reach 21, congratulations. You have formed a new habit. The habit I’m trying to form is taking my dog, Trouper, for a walk everyday at 5 pm. This is for his health as well, actually. He’s a bit pudgy. And a little mentally unsound.

Well he is my dog.

As for mental stimulation. I have three focuses: writing, music, and art, all of which I wish to approve upon.

So with the Mac application, Things, which I only have the tester version of at the moment, I made a sort of schedule for myself. I have it so that I write for at least 30 min on Sundays and Wednesdays. I play or write music on Monday and Fridays. And I make art on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

It’s okay if I don’t stick exactly to my schedule, as long as I’m doing something productive. So if I want to substitute one for the other, that’s fine.

It’s going pretty well right now. I just hope I can stick to it.

Fate or karma or whatever

Ah, okay, so something odd happened.

Something hurt me. I won’t go into much detail, but I was sure I was going to lose a lot of sleep over it and I was not looking forward to it.

In my mind I pleaded to the powers of fate that the memory of this event might just be plucked from my head so that I wouldn’t have to dwell and weep over it all night. So that I could just have a peaceful night’s sleep.

The powers of fate answered.

At around 1:00 I heard stirring in my mother’s room. I hadn’t gone upstairs yet. The stirring lasted a while, and I was starting to wonder. Then she came out of her room and I heard her saying something. I thought she might be suggesting I go to bed, but I could hardly hear her. Then I realized there was something wrong.

I rushed to the steps where I met her and she told me her throat was closing up. She needed to go to the hospital.

I ended up driving her there. As an aside, it was the most driving I’ve done in a long time and the first time I drove on main roads and the highway in years. Luckily it was so late, so there was hardly any traffic and I was more concerned with my mother’s condition then my usual fear of driving. I was surprisingly calm, but occasionally shaky.

She was much better by the time we reached the hospital and by the time she received attention, you could hardly tell there was a problem, but we were still there for hours and we didn’t get home until 6 am.

I fell asleep immediately, never once worrying about the thing that happened to me earlier that night, never shedding a tear. Just glad that my mother was okay and that we were both back home and safe in bed.


So, how do I feel about this? I got what I wanted. I never had to dwell over the memory, and maybe I didn’t get to sleep exactly when I planned on it, eventually I did get to right to sleep, and it was completely undisturbed.

I really don’t know how I feel about it.

Yes, it was nice to bypass that misery, but I can't help but feel guilty in its wake...

Classy musing

When I was younger I never thought I would say, "I can't believe that bitch is younger than me". Not only was I clueless, I was also a bitch.

Psychiatry Insanity

I have a new psychiatrist, finally.

I’m trying to think how many psychiatrists I’ve ever had. Keep in mind that psychiatrists and psychologist are different things—psychiatrists prescribe medication and usually have shorter sessions than psychologists. You also see them less often and have less of a familiarity or “relationship” than you would with a psychologist.

I’ve also found that they’re less reliable. They’ll send you away or leave or what have you with ease, which didn’t use to matter as much. Hell, I used to be picky about what psychiatrists I had based on their personality. But that was before Clozapine.

Clozapine is an anti-psychotic. It is also a pain in the ass.

So why am I on it? I’ve taken a couple anti-psychotics before, but nothing works for me like Clozapine. And it does it without any side effects.

Here’s the thing, Clozapine is known to cause this condition called agranulocytosis. Basically, low white blood cell count. As a result, when on the medication, the prescribed has to take frequent blood tests, and the psychiatrist has to be specially qualified in order to prescribe it, and not a lot are.

I’m okay as long as I have a psychiatrist supplying me with this medication that’s vital to my mental health. And I was okay a many months ago, when I was with the psychiatrist I had been with the longest. Then she announced her retirement. So, we searched the psychiatrists on my insurance and asked for my old psychiatrist’s appointment and went to see a new psychiatrist. Keep in mind that by the time you get to see a new psychiatrist it is usually at least a month-- a month that you’re cutting into your supply of medication, which has to be refilled every month.

It turned out that the new psychiatrist, Dr V, didn’t believe he could handle my case, so again I searched for a new psychiatrist and made another appointment. (Dr. V was nice enough to write me a script to tide me over). The next psychiatrist lasted much longer, but ended it as well because she was moving on to teaching. Searched, made an appointment. The next guy it turned out didn’t actually handle Clozapine, which was a bit of a scare because then I didn’t have a script to get me by, and my situation became desperate. We actually had to contact a doctor I knew at the hospital who had done so much for me in the past in order to get a script. Then it was back to the searching and the appointments.

It only took one more before I found the doctor I have now. I don’t remember exactly what happened with the last one. Too busy I think. Anyway, I have a doctor now, she can handle my case, she isn’t going anywhere and she is actually not that bad as far as personality goes. Which, ya know, is simply a plus.

Fucking with my sleep

I had the weirdest sensation last night.

So my insomnia has come back, full-fledged. Ridiculous.

I stopped taking my Ambien a good while ago because it is counter-active to weight-loss and it makes me feel stupid. My mental functions have significantly improved since I’ve been off it. I had been substituting it for Propanalol and Melatonin.

Pronanalol is not a sleeping medication, in fact it was not originally intended for psychiatric purposes. It is sometimes prescribed to treat social anxiety, as it was for me.

I’ve also found that, if taken at bed time, it helps with insomnia for three reasons—it calms the mind (racing thoughts keeps one awake), it causes fatigue, and it slows down heart-rate (which mocks what would happen naturally as one falls asleep).

So, I had been taking the Propanolol and the Melatonin for a while until it seemed that I could sleep without them, which has been a few weeks now.

(As an aside, Melatonin is a naturally occurring chemical that regulates the sleep cycle. It’s very safe and over-the-counter. Of course you should consult with your physician before starting any blah blah blah, etc.)

Anyway the sensation I began this whole post to describe— last night I couldn’t sleep. I tried until 5 am, but was plagued with intrusive thoughts. I finally gave in and knocked back the meds.

Naturally, I took the amount I had been taking the last time I took the meds. The amount I was taking after I had built up a tolerance.

I... felt like I was melting. Which was okay, actually, at first. Melting is okay for someone who desperately wants to fall asleep. The problem was—because of course there was a problem—my mind still wouldn’t shut-up!

It wasn’t sleep paralysis, but it was a similar concept—the mind is awake, but the body is still or “asleep”.

So my body was relaxing, going limp, I felt like I was falling asleep, I started snoring, but my mind was still completely conscious, still bothering me with my stupid qualms. Torture!

It didn’t last long. Longer than I wanted it to. And of course I was worried that I had done something harmful to myself. But I suppose that’s the price of a good night’s sleep.

Stuff to think about while I'm in bed sick

I don’t know why I can’t feel like physical crap without feeling like emotional crap as well. At first I thought it was some hormonal thing, but it seems to be vicious coincidental bullshit, so that after that sad Thanksgiving, I get to toss around in bed all day thinking about it.

Yes, that was a particularly bad Thanksgiving. My dad got absolutely hammered the night before (left his car in the city, came home in a cab) and didn’t show up next day. We almost couldn’t pay for the meal.

Yesterday was even worse. My brothers were playing catch out in the street and my father was watching. I went out and asked if my dad had bought dog food and he said he only had enough money for toilet paper. When I came inside, my mother asked about the food, and I told her dad didn’t have enough money for dog food.* My mom stormed outside and started yelling at my father for having enough money to go out drinking with his college buddy but not enough to buy light bulbs (which we also desperately need) and dog food. My dad positively fled inside and up to his room, I’m sure for two reasons, but not sure on which was higher in his priorities—to get away from my mother or to garner some privacy. After all, it was a nice day, and my brothers weren’t the only ones in the neighborhood outside enjoying it.

But our familial image was hardly my main concern. I’m already tired of being in the middle of my parents’ fights, trying to assure one or the other when I need to. The last thing I wanted was to actually start one of their fucking spats.

I’m going to have to fix them with muzzles soon.



*Don’t worry about Trouper, by the way. He is being fed.

Trying to understand

I can’t stop thinking about that night.

I didn’t get too far into it when I first brought it up because there is far too much to say, but something so meaningful happened that night and I think I will be spending a long time trying to explain what it felt like.

I want someone to understand what happened, what I experienced. I want someone to tell me it’s not crazy or just plain stupid to want someone to care about something that happened to me while I was high off my ass.

Yes I have considered that it probably seemed so much more special than it really was because I was high off my ass.

I just don’t think you can throw it away just because of that.

It moved me.

I felt like I understood life a little better.