Chronicle of a redhead: June 2008

I know most people who read this are going to disagree with me, but here's some random thought about myself that I have to "talk" about.

♦I'm fat. Okay, at least I think I am. I am currently hovering near 160 pounds. This is the heaviest I have ever been in my life, and I hate it. Every day I pull my size 10/medium clothes on, I am reminded that I am 30 pounds heavier than I want to be. I look in the mirror and see nothing but flab and cellutlite and grossness. I can actually put my belly pooch on my desk. Gross.

I don't want to be stick thin, but being able to slip back into a size 6 would be awesome. I want so bad to drink nothing but Slimfast and eat nothing but nummy veggies, but it ain't happening. I crave hamburgers and tacos and chocolate and can't find the energy to work out or even walk. I love to bike and walk, but my knee makes it hard. So I sit and watch movies and mope.

When I'm depressed I don't want to eat, and when I'm manic I want to eat everything I can get my hands on. Now that' messed up. No wonder I can't stabalize my weight.

I'm ugly. "No you're not! You're beautiful!" I hear you cry. No, I'm really not. I have pail skin that shows every scar, blemish, cut, scrape and bruise in vivid detail. If you look at our wedding photos you can see a huge rash on my right leg glowing through my panty hose. I have pimples and black heads all over my face. Not to mention wrinkles, crowsfeet and dark undereye circles.

I have whispy, fine, thick hair that I can never do anything with. It's a bland color, somewhere between redish and brown. With an ugly streak of green in it that will not go away, even though it's been 8 months since I dyed it. I know how to put my hair in a pony tail, semi braid it if it's long enough, and put it half up. That's all I can do with it. If I cut it so it looks awesome at the salon, I'm too lazy to keep it up that way, or can never duplicate it. It used to be half way down my back until last April when I cut it to above my shoulders impulsively. D'oh. And don't get me started on my stupid bangs.

I'm boring. No, seriously, I am. I can act funny and interesting and outgoing and all the other things people seem to like about me, but I don't really feel like any of those things. My mind is so dull I can barely tell a joke. I can never come up with something witty to say until afterwards. I don't actually do anything interesting.

K, no more for now. I'm getting even more depressed.

And I feel petty and stupid as well.

For about three weeks now I have been in a horrible mixed mood state. For those of you who don't know, that's part of my bipolar disorder. I'm depressed and can barely function, but I'm restless and irritable as hell at the same time. I figured I'd better write some of it out and see if it helps. Not to mention this is a better place for it, as I'm sure my friends on snopes are getting sick of hearing about it.

So, here we go. In no particular order or any sense at all, I present... mostly angry ramblings.

I'm so irritable I want to punch people. Especially a certain person from Canada within the company who is looking *now* for a shipment from here from APRIL that was never delivered. I have told her THREE FUCKING TIMES I have looked for a record of it and have nothing on file. She keeps asking. If it was that damn important, you should have gotten a fucking tracking number. Piss off lady. It's not my fucking fault you're an idiot.

The other woman in Canada who's mad we sent her a free notebook and pen. Yes, she's a customer so she doesn't want it. WTF? So throw it away or write "Refused" and hand it back to the UPS guy. Quit calling me and bitching about it. Dumb ass.

When you (outside people) call and want to talk to someone like the "shipping manager" or some other position that doesn't actually exist in this office, the correct response is not to hang up in a hissy fit. NFBSK you, jackass.

Certain coworkers. Is it really that hard to make a new pot of coffee if you just took the last one? Is it really that hard to put a new roll of paper towls up when you take the last one? Apparently it is. I won't even go in to how spoiled rotten they are.

Oh, and another thing...QUIT THROWING TRASH INTO THE RECYCLING BIN! Oh my fucking DOYC, I am SO sick of pulling banana peels and other such crap out of the bin that is clearly marked "RECYCLABLES ONLY". I swear I am ready to start throwing my stapler, tape dispenser, mobile phone, and anything else I can get my hands on at these people.

DO NOT put a package on my desk for overnight UPS shipment, after UPS has already picked up for the day, and after I have left for the day and then bitch at me that it didn't go out the night before. I am not your den mother; I am not here to take care of you, hold your hand and do every little thing for you. I am the receptionist. I do extra stuff besides my job description because 1) the job is boring. B) I like you as a person and want to help, and iii) you might just catch me in a good mood.

And while we're at it, I don't care who the hell you are, you do not tell me to do something. Ask, request, inquire, and I'll respond in kind and most likely help you if I have the time. Tell me to do something, and you're in for a big surprise.

And another thing...I've been here for six months now. Are you idiots going to actually hire me on as a permanent employee or what? Seriously! This whole office loves me and wants to keep me forever and ever and ever. I know you just did a bunch of layoff, but when 2Q is done and over with, can you at least give it some thought? DOYC knows I do more work than I get paid for around here, I think I deserve at least a little bit of some acknowledgement of that, tyvm.

My "psychiatrist" and the rest of the staff at CAI are morons through and through. I had a suicide attempt last March...haven't had another once since. I've been doing okay, but hated my shrink, so switched to another one. Sometime earlier this year she decides, out of the NFBSKing blue, to stop giving me 30-60 days worth of my medicine at a time. She drops it to every 2 weeks! Her "excuse" is that since I usually do "impulsive" suicide attempts, usually with pills, that I need to have little access to pills. WTF? That is such a screwed up line of thought I can barely wrap my head around it. I pointed out to her that if I did want to try to commit suicide via pills again, I would find something to take, brain meds or no. I also pointed out that taking away my daily brain meds to always have on hand was a very BAD IDEAtm. She didn't agree, so now I (or the hubby) have to pick them up every two weeks. Yeah, in case you hadn't noticed, I WORK at a real job now, and can't just go taking off 2 hours every two weeks to pick the damn things up. Doesn't look too good to the boss.

On a related rant, about a month or so ago I realized that I was going to run out of pills SIX days before I saw the doc again, so I called up their med line to tell them I needed 6 more days to get me through until I saw her? Do you know what they had the audacity to tell me? I wasn't "allowed" to get anymore meds until I saw her again. That's right...even though I was only SIX NFBSKING DAYS away from my appointment, I wasn't "allowed" to have the pills to tide me over until then.

So I went in on one of their horrid walk in days. I was one of the first people to sign in just after 1 o'clock. I wasn't seen until after 3, and this was after the receptionist stuck her head out and said "anyone left for walk-in?" WTF again! So I finally see a doctor; not mine, because she wasn't "available". This guy is a major ass. He sits there and lectures me about cancelling my last appointment (I had Nicholas...I was NOT going to bring him there), and accusing me off being off of my meds because of that. I pointed out to him, angrily, that I had been on my meds continuously, and that I had only ran out that day. He rolls his eyes and says "then let's get you to the nurse." So I had to take an afternoon off for this?! You've got to be kidding me.

The "nurse" gave me exactly 6 days worth of meds, handed them to my husband, because apparently I can't be trusted, and shooed me out the door. Gee, thanks. So now I still had to take yet another day off and keep my original appointment. So I went in there why now? I couldn't have just picked up the 6 days worth why? DOYC damn it. ..

Fast forward six days. My doctor isn't available to see me because she has an emergency case. Okay, I can understand that 100%. I've been in there to see my counselor on a crisis base too, so I can't begrudge that. Thankfully, the receptionist, Harriet, rocks. Instead of making me wait until my doc was done, which could have been hours, she asked me if I wouldn't mind seeing another one. I said okay, and crossed my fingers I wouldn't get the same idiot as last time. She managed to rustled up Dr C, who is a really nice woman. Wish I could have her as my shrink.

So doc C and I talk for awhile, about everything that had been happening in my life. (Hubby had been sick for a bit with some mystery thing that we never figured out, and I was seriously stressing over it.) Other than that, I wasn't too bad. I pointed out to her the flaw in doc T's logic about my meds, and she agreed with doc T. ..

Oh well. She was nice otherwise. When she asked who my case manager (therapist) was, I told her I didn't have one. She looked confused and asked why. I told her that I had J, then was transferred to K. K had told me about a month earlier that she would be leaving the clinic, but would find me another case manager before she left. Guess who didn't do her job? .. So doc C called up the lead recovery case manager, left her a detailed message about what was going on, and asked her to call me.

Thankfully L did call me a couple of days later, and made it a point to meet with me when I saw the doc again in 2 weeks.

I go in the next time and am told my doctor wasn't in that day. Before I can get all pissed off about it, I'm told she's in for emergency surgery for a leaking aneurysm! I really hope she's okay, as I haven't heard anything else since then.

So I wind up seeing a visiting psych NP who is in helping. She's very nice, and we talk for awhile about how crappy I've been feeling, the mixed moods and all that. Instead of suggesting that we tweak the meds I'm already one, she suggests adding a third one. It's an anti-depressant and a sedative, apparently to help me sleep. Uh, okay. So she runs off to talk with the doc about the med to see if she'll write me a script for it. While we're waiting on that, she comes back and asks if she can talk with my husband. Huh? Uh, okay. So she pulls him into her office, and basically goes over with him everything she and I just talked about. Including the importance of making sure I don't get knocked up while I'm on my meds asking him about his observations of me from the last few weeks, and making sure he's willing to "watch over" my meds so I can't overdose on them. .. again.

Naturally he agrees with all of this, tells her the truth, and we go on our merry way to the nurses office to pick up the script and my meds. Guess what? My chart clearly states that I am to get a full month's worth of meds, but she opens the bottles, pulls out two small envelopes, and starts to divide the meds into the two pouches, 14 each. That's right...she didn't bother to actually read my chart. .. I point this out to her and she gives me this completely confused look, and finally reads my chart. So she starts all over. While she's doing this, she realizes that there isn't a full month's worth there; there's only 25 days. Great, just great. So now I have to make an appointment with the doc for 3 weeks later, instead of 4. Yippee. She puts the bottles in a little baggy, hands them to hubby, and we're finally out of there.

I go up to the window to make another appointment. While we're finishing that, the phone rings for the receptionist. It's Lee. I had totally forgotten about her! So we sit down and wait for Lee to come get me. It turns out she's a very nice, down to earth, straight talking kind of woman who doesn't pull any BS on you. We talked for about 45 minutes, and she actually paid attention to what I was saying and feeling, unlike the NP. No lectures or anything. It was great. She promised she'd find a case manager for me, but would take care of me until she did so I wasn't left hanging again. Apparently they're a bit understaffed at the moment (big surprise there), but at least I know I have someone to talk with now.

Finally out...run to Target to pick up my prescription, get a pizza to munch on and head home. Play some Wii, love on the kitties, etc. I take my pill at bed time and conk out almost immediately. Yay sleep.

Not so yay the next day. Husband almost literally had to drag me out of bed. I can barely remember anything between that and getting to work. When I did manage to get upstairs to the office I remember turning off the alarm (thank goodness I did that!), balled my sweater into a pillow and fell asleep for almost an hour. I didn't fully wake up until probably around 2 or so. And that was about a thousand cups of coffee. I swore there was no way in hell I was taking that med again. And get this...that's the lowest dose!

Hubby's been giving me half an Ambien at night to help me sleep. It's only 5mg that way, and I'm still kinda dopey when I wake up.

Let's see, what else?

Ah, yes...the left knee is acting up again. I had a scope surgery on it last March that was supposed to fix the problems I was having. Guess what? It didn't take. At least I got a different ortho this time. His name is Dr Flannigan, and I always

Anyway, he looked at my MRI shots from before the last surgery, and the ones he had taken, and basically told me my surgery didn't take, and that I'm going to need work done again. First step is to get physical therapy done. Except my crappy ass insurance company doesn't cover PT. So now I have to wait until I'm on the hubby's insurance, hope they won't turn me down for it being a "pre existing" condition, and go from there. I may also get lubrication injections. *shudder* Basically it's getting a shot right into the joint of a synthetic lubrication, over the course of 3 or 4 weeks. It can last from 6-10 months, then you have to do it all over again.

The other options to explore are another scope surgery, mostly to help fill in the place that didn't get fully filled in last time. The very last, majorly drastic action is a surgery called Carticel. Warning: DO NOT click on that link unless you want to see actual pictures of the procedure. I'll sum it up as they cut your leg open, insert some kind of goo that's supposed to heal you up, and then sew you back up. Basically it's one step below total knee replacement. I'm too young for that!

Then there's the wrist. We were in a car accident in September (totaled our car). I was holding the steering wheel when we got hit, and my wrists have bothered me ever since. I've had to roll them to pop and crack them to make them feel better. I did it about 3 weeks ago and the joint where my thumb and wrist meet in my right hand snapped. Sounded like a gun shot. So off to yet another ortho. He stuck me in a wrist/thumb splint and will see me again for it July 1st.

And now, back to the brain...

I have been in a bad mixed state lately, and I feel I'm getting worse. Hubby can still make me laugh, and the kitties make me feel better, but most of the time my brain is either racing like and Indy car, or blank. Not the good kind of blank, but just wiped clean with not comprehensive thoughts at all. I've had to leave work early both yesterday and Monday because I couldn't take it. Today I hid in the bathroom and bawled for about 15 minutes. I blamed my red and puffy eyes on allergies, which I don't even have.

There seems to be so much sadness around. Auntie Witch's mom seems to be finally losing her battle with cancer. I don't know them personally, but it breaks my heart all the same. I want to do something to help so bad, but they're in MO. A couple of months ago I mailed her a really cool advertisement I found in a magazine that showed a woman beating a drum, all in pink. She liked it.

At snopes we have a rubber fish that we mail around to each other. mrs hi-c and I joked about getting it started the first time we met in person, and wound up getting Thwacky at the very first MI/OH snopes meet in 2005 at the Toledo Zoo. Unfortunately the original Thwacky was lost somewhere in Europe, but we got it started again with Thwacky II. I'm the one sort of in charge of it, so I'm getting the pictures and exploits from his lodgers and putting them in the blog. I received the ones from Lisa yesterday. She is the daughter of mgbdriver, who we lost to cancer last year. She sent the pictures with little descriptions and all that good stuff; they had a good time showing Thwacky II around. Then I got to the last picture; it was Thwacky with mgb's grave. I bawled, and I'm not the only snopester who did. I met him once, and he's been gone less than a year, but I cried so hard seeing that.

mgb was on the list to host the fish, but it never got to him, so we wanted to include his family if they were willing. I'm so glad they did.

Of course with these two sad events, my brain is going into overdrive about all the other people I've lost or miss. It's been over 8 years and I still miss my grandparents like it was just yesterday. The guilt over not keeping my promise to Grandma still lingers over me, every day.

I miss my dad. When my folks were here for the wedding, I desperately wish I could have just spent all six days with him. He's my rock, and I miss him so much since they live in NM, and I live out here. I've seen them 5 times since I moved in October 2000.

I miss my son. He's only (?) 300 miles away, I hate every day that I can't be with him. His father is a NFBSKing @$$hole. He may "act" nice once in awhile, but I know better. I know I made the 100% right decision to move down here, not only to be with my love, but because it was better for me overall. But my heart aches for my kid.

Plus with the instability of my mixed moods, if I don't do something about it before next month, having him in the summer is going to be hell. He's supposed to be with us for 6 weeks. I don't know if I can survive.

I talked with Lee yesterday, and told her about what the other drug did to me and how I was feeling worse and worse. She suggested I go to NetCare, which is the local crisis place. Part of me knows it's the right thing to do, part of me is screaming "hell no", even though I know that staying there would be 100% voluntary. They could work on my meds and let me rest. I'm scared to be away from hubby and the kitties though; they're the only real comfort I have right now. That and I don't think I could sleep without them.

But it is better than letting myself slide into a deepening hole. Today, when I was hiding in the bathroom I felt so bad and hopeless that the very first, tiny thought of suicide crossed my mind. It was brief, and not serious, but scary all the same. I don't want to die...but I want a rest. I want my brain to just shut the hell up and let me feel okay. I can't say normal or cured, because there is no such thing with being bipolar. There just isn't.

I feel so "dead" I can barely get through work. I get so wound up I can't sit still. I walk too damn fast, I don't want to eat, sleeping is hard, and yet I want to do nothing but cry. Or the other extreme of screaming at people and throwing things.

And the brain...oh the brain. Racing racing racing like an over active mouse on speed. Want to know what it's like? Put a movie on your dvd player and make it go forward as fast as possible. Now put the sound in there too. And be sure to use a split screen, with four different screens so it's all going on at once. Then suddenly bring it all to a sudden halt and black it all out with nothing but white noise. That's my brain. And this is on my meds! Is it any wonder why I want to punch my doctor? Instead of finding out why the current meds aren't working, let's just keep everything the same and add another one! Good thinking there doc. Dipshit. ..

And the distractions. Lawd, if I didn't know better, I'd think I had ADD. I'll be walking along, driving, whatever, and I'll see an animal, and I totally focus on it and forget what I'm supposed to be doing. I was in a meeting with my two other close coworkers about two weeks ago. We were in the conference room with the nice big windows having the meeting, an a Swallowtail butterfly flew past the window. (We're on the fourth floor, so that makes it even cooler), and I blurted out "Butterfly!" in the middle of R talking about stuff. Talk about embarrassed. .. At least the two of them kinda understand. The three of us have a really good working relationship, as well as personally taking care of each other. have to pronounce it with a Scottish accent.

Oh! That's another thing. Our new "admin", she drives me nuts! She brought a bunch of "work" here with her from the office she transferred from (corp. in CA), so she doesn't have the "time" to help us out with everything we need help with up here. We have two offices in this building, fourth floor (main sales and marketing) and first floor (other stuff). They moved her downstairs after one week of being up here. She's supposed to help the sales admin, R, how? What a bunch of bull. And her first week here the four of us had a meeting where she told R that she and R, according to our boss H, were supposed to "manage" me and N. For one thing, N doesn't even work under our boss H. For another, there is no way in hell I've worked here fine on my own for 6 months to have someone come in, who doesn't even know how our office runs, and "manage" me. Granted, she hasn't tried to actually do this, and it'd better stay that way. I don't mind working I don't think so. I'm a receptionist, and I've basically been doing the work of an admin for 4 of my 6 months. I don't need anyone to tell me how to do my job.

Oh for some sense of normalcy in my life. Or at least less irritability. I even feel myself close to snapping at poor hubby sometimes, even though he's not doing

We spent last weekend in MI with BeanSprout and the hi-c family. Their little girl, Gillian, uber cute. I spent way more time trying to play with her than I should. .. And of course, even though BeanSprout was his perfect self, I found myself snapping at him way too much, and wanting to just get away from him. I know If I don't get at least a little better, and soon, I will never survive the six weeks this summer. Talk about guilt. with other people, but being "managed"? anything worth snapping at. I've managed not to so far, but even the thought of it makes me feel bad. And around and around the moods go. I'm not, but I felt like such a bad mama.

Now this is weird. I'm sitting her typing this, and suddenly I feel like I'm trying to work through molasses. I'm a fast typer and I can hardly get my fingers to move. The world suddenly slowed down…everything is slow. Weird. Hope I can snap out of it by the time I get home.

It's a good thing I'm an acomplished actress. No one at work as noticed anything, except the one person I've told. I act all cheerful and happy and outgoing and like my "normal" self they're used to seeing here. I wonder what they would all think of me if they knew that under this smiling face there was a woman who wants to do nothing more than hide and bawl and never, ever, deal with anyone or anything? Someone who wants to throw things and scream and yell and drive a million miles an hour around the world for no reason other than try to escape. Would they care? Would I scare them? Who know.

Ye gawds but what a long blog. Did anyone make it all the way through I wonder? If anyone did make it this far, thanks. Sorry it's rambling and confusing and just plain weird. But I feel a bit better for getting it out. There will probably be more later.

Chronicle of a redhead

June 30, 2008

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June 27, 2008

Ode to a jackass...

June 26, 2008

Help the SPCA!

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June 25, 2008

Spiders aren't the devil!

June 24, 2008

Words of wisdom

June 23, 2008

Laughing at other people

Stupid people

More bizare ramblings

Ramblings of the confused mind (LONG!)

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