It’s been getting harder and harder to sleep and as much as I don’t like myself, I like myself even less addicted to something like Ativan. Excepting, of course, that these days, now that I am 100% certifiably BPD and off my Bupropion and Cipralex, I can’t sleep, the head is a country of its own with its own Taliban independent of me. I am still on the Trazadone but its like popping blanks, nothing happens. By about 8om the skull pounding reaches African rain God levels and I start with the Advil and Tylenol, then at about 10pm, I try and cut the tension with an Ativan, followed by a Trazadone. Even all those combined sleep is a battle I am not winning. Tonight, I am thinking of doubling the Trazadone and keeping the Ativan at the same level, as I know of all of them, that will be the addiction drug.
I told a girlfriend last night I had stopped meds. She couldn’t understand why and I really couldn’t recount to her that wit or without it didn’t make a difference. It hasnt helped me feel all that much better. Sure, things are harder now, but they were hard on the drugs too. And what the drugs did do, was mask to everyone else that I was ill and I am tired of hiding that. This is me, crazy me and you can say what you want but at least I give you now more excuses to say “well, you look fine” “you act fine” “you must be fucking fine so let me rip you a couple of new assholes about what a bitch you are”
Do you think for one minute I want to be this way?? That I want to have a brain I can’t control. That when go outside I spend 75% of my energy controlling my stimulus, controlling the sounds and lights that vibrate in my head. That i want to “pretend” I am OK so I can go to work, go to school, have friends and socialize. I hide who I am everyday even from the people who say they love and understand me, because if I didn’t, somehow you would all be disappointed. That I really should just try harder. You get such kudos for beating cancer, a survivor they say. Survivors are all of us that walk around with no cure, that hide in the gutters, that can’t scream I am a survivor and wear a pink shirt and ballcap and get pats on the back and congratulatory hugs and galas and charities thrown for them. I have been surviving for 30 years, still waiting for my mug.
Fuck the merry christmas off. The people that need your Christmas are those of us in the hospitals, in the homes, the ones that are miserable at Christmas because the world thinks we should be happy, be loved, be merry and bright. Bright? We live in the underworld mother fucker, throwing bright at us all day and now magnify it by 100%, no wonder holidays make us miserable, we don’t get the joy from the world.
I for one have not spoken to barely a soul outside of my 60 hour work weeks other than the cheery and bright happiness I need to give to all my clients. Maybe I should go pay $5000 for some of my own cheery and bright because it sure isn’t at home. Nice thing about this week is instead of 60 it may just be 40, party time. We all know the mental wall is slowing going to slam down, healthy people work 40 hour work weeks, unhealthy healthy people work 60-80. Crazy people who do it, well, we eventually get to go visit Robin Williams. I feel for him, being in the spotlight, everyone thought he was so happy and funny. Him having to pretend this was who he was must have made the private moments excruciating when he could let it be.