Blurred Vision or Burning with Urination

I thought I would tell a slightly humorous story for once. While I was in the hospital back in April one of my medications was causing me to have blurry vision. Well every morning they hand out these papers to all the patients and there is a section where you can check off different symptoms you may be experiencing that day. Well, I had been circling blurred vision for several days at that time and I guess my blurry vision got the best of me because I unknowingly circled “burning with urination,” instead of “blurred vision.” Which in case you didn’t know…the two look just a like when you can’t see very well in the first darn place.

Well, I turned my paper in and went about my day. Well, around lunch time the nurse called me and handed me a cup and informed me she needed a urine sample. Now, I have been in the hospital quite a few times by this point, and they don’t ask for urine samples except for when you first get there. So, I asked her what for? She told me the doctor ordered it because I checked “burning with urination,” on my morning chart. I told her I didn’t, but she calmly pulled out me paper and showed me where I did. I informed her that I was fine in that department and that I had been trying to circle “blurred vision.” I told her there was no sense in me giving a sample because I was fine.

Then it got interesting. She tried to insist I do it anyways. She told me it had already been ordered and that I should just do it. I told her it was a waste of time and resources to do it. She got an attitude with me then and asked if I was refusing. I told her I was and went on about my day. I was getting out the next day and didn’t feel like dealing with it. What made it even more interesting was when I saw my doctor and he asked why I had refused, he made the comment that he had to cancel it so that it wouldn’t look like I was be uncooperative.

All that drama because I circled that wrong thing. Damn that blurry vision. Oh and in case you were wondering we adjusted some stuff and my vision is fine now. I hope this gave you a chuckle,

Love, Randi

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Its Been a While

Its been a while. I have no idea where to begin. My computer back in March and it wasn’t until last week that I was able to get a new computer, so the lack of my own personal laptop is my excuse for not blogging in a while…it’s kinda hard to type a post on a tablet. So anyways life has not been quiet. I was put into the hospital twice this year…almost back to back and both times my medications where scrapped and we started from scratch. The first time didn’t work…obviously, because I ended up back in the hospital a few weeks later. But it would appear that the second time has been the charm. I am more stable on these medications than I have been on anything else. But that doesn’t mean I am perfect.

One of the medications that I was taken off of made me gain a lot of weight. I have to lose the weight and I am sure that most of you know losing weight is hard and it’s even harder for me than it should have to be because I have to deal with a knee injury and a foot drop. I’m trying…and I fail…a lot…but I am trying.

And the anxiety is real. I am anxious all the time…and sometimes I’m anxious for no reason at all. It’s hard, because then things that make sense to be anxious about are ten times worse than they should be.

In the midst of all of this anxiety I got approved for disability…something I didn’t think would happen as fast as it did…but I’m blessed that it did. Now that I’m on it, it takes a burden off of my family and it gives me the chance to focus on my mental health and physical health and getting better.

I also got accepted to go to graduate school online. Something that I’m both excited about and terrified about. I’ve never done online classes and the idea of doing an online degree is really scary to me.

So a lot has been going on. And every day is a challenge to get out of bed. But I’m trying. I’m trying to focus on the positive and I’m trying to make good decisions.

Love, Randi

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A Busy Month

My computer fried…so this is why I haven't been writing lately. Believe me…it's has nothing to do with a shortage of happenings to write about. Things have been crazy the past month or so…no pun intended. I was hospitalized back in March…things were just out of whack and I was super depressed and suicidal. Then a few weeks after I got out of there I was put back in the hospital again for the same reasons…plus some psychosis. So yeah…the past month or so has been an interesting one to say the least.

Both times I was in the hospital they scrapped my meds and said lets start this from scratch and see if we can get some better results. The first round of this one was the worst…they did all of those changes and then sent me home after a week. Now if you know anything about psychotropic medications, you would know they take a few weeks to work. I was given a week and then sent home. I wasn't ready…but I convinced myself that the doctors new what they were talking about. We were all wrong.

Upon my second hospital visits I had the pleasure of meeting a really cool doctor. He was immediately furious that they didn't keep me very long and he was extremely concerned about some of the medication choices they had made. I took it all very lightly because all of these doctors have their own opinions about what does and does not work. But I did trust him…I mean the guy had been doing this longer that I've been around.

So I prayed that something would change because I was at my wits end. I was at a place where I wasn't sure I could continue to live in such turmoil. And then slowly things got better. I stayed there over two weeks and when I left I felt good. And I still feel good. And I hope it continues.

So I have a lot of new stories to tell and I'll be posting them just as soon, but for now I'm gonna enjoy the day,

Love, Randi

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The True House of God

I was having a conversation with my grandmother the other day and she got on a rant about the abuse of church property, at various functions at her church. She went on and on about how disrespectful to God it is for people to leave cigarette butts on the church grounds. She raged that “…it’s the house of God and they ‘ought to be ashamed of themselves leaving those things on the ground!” I love my grandma, but as I listened to her I had two thoughts: the first being that I can think of an entire list of defilements that have happened there that have been much worse than cigaret butts…the second being, that a church is just a building; WE are the true house of God.

Now don't get me wrong….I'm not saying that it's okay to litter and treat a church like a trashcan…but I am just saying that I am more concerned about how we treat ourselves and the other inhabitants of this planet, than I am about a building. I think that's one thing the older generations got wrong. You guys seemed more concerned with how things looked from the outside than worrying about the root of the problem. Maybe I'm wrong, but perhaps there should have been less worry about the kids resistance to Sunday school and how bad it looked and more concern about why the kid was so resistant to it to begin with.

And I'm not going to leave the newer generations out on this either. I think sometimes we get a little caught up in making our churches look pretty from the outside. I understand wanting to make things look nice and appealing in order to draw people in, but let's not forget to be concerned with what's going on inside those walls alongside of what's going on them.

 I went through a stage where I didn’t want to be in church…but I don't remember ever being asked why I didn't want to go anymore. I had my reasons, and honestly I think they were damn good…but no one asked, so I didn't tell. Instead, I focused on being a good little girl and keeping everyone else happy. I can't help but wonder if things would have been different if someone had asked.

With all of that said church should be an enjoyable experience. If you constantly leave church in a bad mood, then something isn't right. But just because something isn't right doesn't mean that, that something wrong is the church…the problem could be you. Perhaps the problem could be inside the true house of God and not in the building you attend every Sunday. What I'm getting at here is that we need to be more worried about the house of God inside us before we start trying to decorate the literal walls we worship in.

Love, Randi

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Shattered

I hate lying. I hate it to the point where I will sometimes say awkward truths to people. Those that know me know that unless they want a completely honest answer, they should not ask me anything. And it is for my passionate hatred of lying that I DESPISE the question, “How are you?” I hate it! And I live in the freaking south, so the standard greeting here is, “Hey. How are you?” or some form of this question. Nine times out of ten, the person doesn’t give a flying pig with golden wings how you are feeling and most of the time they are already doing something else by the time you say assumed, “fine.” But what should you say when you’re not fine? I usually just nod my head, or actually smile and say, “Hey,” instead of actually answering them. And the funny thing is most of the time they don’t even realize I haven’t actually answered their question.

So with that said, this week was one of those weeks that I wanted to punch the next person that asked me how I was doing in the face. Because when they asked me how I was doing an entire list of words ran through my mind and none of them were, “fine.” Exhausted was a frequent option in my mind. Nothing like trouble sleeping, panic attacks during the day and working alongside of some of the most irritating people in the entire population to make you feel like you’re going to fall asleep sitting in your chair. Frustrated was an option too. I was handed a nearly impossible task that should have been easy, but because of my limited mobility it took me an hour to complete it when it shouldn’t have taken more than five minutes. Angry was most certainly in the list. I was informed that I was rude because I told someone that was trying to provoke me that they needed to get the hell away from me…and nothing was said to the individual. I was told after a panic attack that I was going to have to “…just move past these things." (Which if you didn't know, this is possibly one of the worst things you can say to someone who struggles with panic attacks.)

Devastated was on the list today especially. I was informed that because of all my mental health problems that I do not need to be in the workforce…that I would have to try and get disability benefits. Let me tell you…that is not something a 26 year old wants to hear. It’s like having your heart ripped out of your chest, stomped on and then shoved back down your throat. It’s like there is a new hollowness inside that I can’t do anything about. It’s It seems like I continuously stand by and watch all my friends move forward in their lives while my life continuously falls apart. And I fight so hard to make my life better. But it’s like the harder I fight, the worse things get.

I wish I had some way of turning this post around and putting a happy inspirational spin on the end of this…but it’s not in me tonight. Tonight, I feel broken inside. So, tonight I will lay my head on my pillow and try for that peaceful sleep that has been denied to me all week long and then tomorrow I will get up and find a lawyer to help me officially declare myself disabled. I am truly shattered tonight.

Love, Randi

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Perfectly Imperfect

My pajamas. I drive my mom crazy because sometimes I just leave the house in them. Don’t get me wrong though; I like to look cute, but sometimes I just don't give a shit. I do this a lot with when going to the doctor. I mean think about…you’re not going to the doctor because you are at your best. Whether it be for a cold or for depression…you aren’t at the top of your game when you walk into those offices.

I feel like this especially about my therapist and psychiatrist’s office. These people…even the office people have seen me at my worst. One time I was waiting to go to the hospital and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I’m a messy crier too. I mean snot and tears everywhere. And loud. Really loud sobbing. In hindsight I feel a little embarrassed because I’m sure everyone in that office could hear me crying…I mean one of the doctors moved me to a vacant room out of the conference room because she didn’t want her patients to hear me crying next door to her office. I was seriously that loud. There was also an instance where one of the office girls was upset about me being upset and made the statement “Can’t I just take her home with me?” I love that girl. Another time I slide to the floor off the sofa in front of my psychiatrist and said “I’m not okay,” to which she responded “I know. And you’re going to the hospital.” Another time I was laying on the floor crying in an empty exam room and one of the office lady’s knelt on the floor beside me and was very encouraging to me in one of my many moments of weakness. My therapist has seen me dissolve into an unresponsive mess. Just beyond functioning at all…a blank slate of pain. So yeah, after a while…you just really don’t care.

So I show up in my pajamas most of the time, unless I have somewhere important to go before or after my appointment, I’m going to be in pajamas. A few times I actually went without my shoes. I don’t like shoes…especially when it’s raining. I hate wet shoes. They soak up water and then your feet are cold the rest of the day. Unless it’s really cold outside I’d rather walk through the rain barefoot. I’ve been fussed at multiple times for going in the office without shoes on. Comments about catching toe fungus and/or pneumonia are often times said. To which I respond, “When I get it I’ll let ya know so you can tell me ‘I told you so.’”

So, my point is…sometimes it’s ok to not care. We don’t have to be perfect. Trying to be perfect is exhausting. I’ve never been one to reach for perfection, but I’ve watched those who do. I’ve seen individuals be consumed by their desire to appear to be something they’re not. The perfect Christian. The perfect leader. The perfect son/daughter. The perfect employee…on and on the list goes. Now don’t get me wrong…I believe we should try our hardest. I believe we should be the best we can be…but don’t drive yourself insane trying to be the perfect person for whatever situation you may be in.

So make mistakes. Learn from them. Talk about your mistakes. Let people know you are human. Because if they know that you aren’t perfect…that you too are just as imperfect as they are, you just may make a new friend. You may open the door to make a difference in someone’s life. So, enjoy life. Everything is beautiful…even our imperfections are beautiful. We are truly perfectly imperfect.

Love, Randi

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Being Nice to Yourself

Why is it so hard for me to be nice to me? My therapist tasked me with writing an encouraging letter to myself. He handed me paper and pen and left me to it. I starred at the paper and found myself frustrated. “I don’t want to do this. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. I can’t think of anything. Why is this so hard?” were just a few of my thoughts as I glared at the blank page. Not wanting to leave the page blank, I just wrote down the nice things he had said earlier and waited for his return.

When he came back he wanted me to read it. “No!” was my quick response. Of course, like any good therapist, he inquired as to why I didn’t want to read it. And after saying “I just don’t,” multiple times, I finally had to admit that it felt weird…that it went against the grain…that it argued with the stream of negative self-talk that constantly plays in my head. When I finally gave in and read the thing, I read it in a tone of frustrated resignation, that put a smirk on his face and made me feel like an idiot.

Before the end of our session he challenged me to write one positive affirmation to myself every day. Well…I haven’t done it. The very thought of it is repulsive. I know that God wouldn’t want me to feel so negative about myself…but all I hear is a list of things that are wrong with me, another list of things that I need to be doing and another list of people that I’m letting down in my life by not doing these things or by having these negative characteristics that I have. I think of how far I have to go to be the person I think I should be and I hate myself for it. I think of how far I have to go to be the person everyone else thinks I should be and I hate myself for it. I think of the people in my life that I burden by needing them for one reason or another and I hate myself. And then I think about God, and I feel like I’m letting Him down, so I hate myself for that too. I know that these things aren’t true, especially the last one, but these things feel like a part of me.

I’d like to think I’m not the only one the struggles with negative self-talk. I’d like to think that there are other people out there, like me, that your brain is tuned into an eternally loud negative talk station that echoes into the very core of your being.

But I’m going to try and change it. I’m going to try and challenge myself for the next month, to write one positive affirmation about myself. Even now I hate the idea…I feel like a month’s worth or positive things will inflate my head and I will be arrogant of something…but I’m gonna have to trust that being easier on myself will help me in the long run.

So if there are others of you out there that struggle with this, know you’re not alone and wish me luck this month.

Love, Randi

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Security Hoodie

I’ll never forget it. It was February 4^th, 2010. I was sitting in a chair and a nurse was asking if I knew the date. I asked her for the time and it was 2 something in the morning, so I told her it was February 4^th, but it had February 3^rd a few hours ago. She laughed and made some sort of comment that I didn’t hear. I was exhausted. I had been in an ER for hours and I was tired of all the questions. I was tired of the questions, I was tired of crying, but more than anything I was tired of the overwhelming emotional pain that had become part of my daily life.

A picture was taken and the nurse pulled up a chair for me to watch her sort through my bag. A few hours earlier my school therapist had asked what I would like her to pack for me. She was going to go back to the school and pack me a bag out of my dorm room. I told her to pack a few jeans and hoodies…specifically the black thin hoodie. I requested a few pajama pants and a tank top but that was all. She asked about where my toiletries would be and I gave her a few more directions, so she could properly navigate my single dorm room.

The nurse pulled out my hoodies and pajama pants and proceeded to tell me that if I wanted these items, the strings would have to be removed. At first this seemed crazy to me, but then I thought about it and realized I was in the nut house, so I guess mental patients could be creative if necessary. I told her it was fine and she passed the clothing items to another nurse who proceeded to pull the strings out. When they got to my little black hoodie they informed me that the strings were sewn in and in order for me to have the item they would have to cut it out. A looked at the pathetic little thing and all of a sudden, more than anything, I wanted it around me. I started crying again and told her to do it. After the snap of the scissors I held out my hand and she passed it to me.

I pulled it on and rapped my arms around myself, embracing the cool warmth of its fabric. The nurse showed me my room and then left me alone. My roommate mumbled something about the light. I shut off the light and walked back down the hall into the dayroom. I sat in an empty chair facing the nurse’s station. I pulled the thin, black hood back over my head, wrapped my arms around myself and cried. I rocked hard, back and forth and sobbed for a long time. No one bothered me.

That hoodie is currently sitting on my bed. It has been with me through everything. But now it’s worn and ragged. My mother complains about it every time she sees it and she has sewn up more than one hole. It has seen depression and mania…panic attacks and hallucinations…paranoia and delusional thinking. It that hoodie could talk, no one would look at me the same way. It’s seen multiple psychiatrists, way too many therapists, one too many orthopedic surgeons, entirely too many ER’s and five psychiatric hospitalizations. It’s my go to article of clothing when I’m falling apart and it’s quite possibly the most comfortable thing I own. But the truth is…it’s reaching its end.

Right now the thought of putting that hoodie in the trashcan makes me wanna punch someone in the throat for even suggesting it. In other words…I’m not quite ready to let it go. But I’ll get there. Right now, I’m like a child, still clinging to its blankie…but one day, like that child, I’ll outgrow it. One day, I’ll confidently toss it in the trash and walk away with a smile. One day I’ll put on a different hoodie…it will smell new and feel crisp and warm and I won’t long to throw it off and retrieve old faithful. But for now, I’m sitting here all snuggled up inside of it, smiling away and thinking of a brighter future.

Love, Randi

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Shout Out

You ever meet someone and almost immediately love them? I experienced that today. I went to my weekly weight loss appointment and met a new doctor. Within maybe two minutes she had won me over. She was, of course, quizzical about my mental health history. She also recognized the struggle that my medications make for me, in regards to losing weight. But, it was more than just a Q & A thing with her…you could tell she cared…and as you guys, my readers, know…finding a physician the truly cares is like finding a ruby in a two ton bag of cow shit.

We talked for what was longer than necessary and honestly just enjoyed a conversation with one another. I told her about this blog and she actually asked for the address…which I excitedly gave her. But to be completely honest, everyone in that office is nice. Every week when I walk in, I’m met by a stream of hellos and how are yous. They know me by name, but honestly that’s not unusual for me…I always get a warm welcome from the office staff where my psychiatrist and therapist are too. They actually tell me I’m one of their favorite patients…and I believe them…because I’ve seen them all bend over backwards to help me. In times of crisis they’ve all rushed to my aid. My last mental breakdown happened in my psychiatrists/therapists office and I wound up on the floor sobbing. My therapist and psychiatrist where right there for me, and so was the office staff. One reportedly said she really just wanted to take me home with her. And another one got on the floor with me and helped talk me down a little. And I’m all up in their personal lives...how are the kids…let me see that engagement ring again…their Halloween costumes are so freaking cute…you went to Ikea for your anniversary…happy birthday…show me the dress pics…how long before you graduate…how many of those energy drink have you drank this time today? If they were reading this they would all know in turn which one I was talking about.

But finding these two offices that have great staff and physicians hasn’t been an easy task. I have seen some turds that’s for sure. I met one lady that thought I had multiple personalities once because I spoke quieter than usual one time. I met one doctor that informed me of how horrible my previous doctor was and proceeded to change just about everything about my medicine…even though I was perfectly fine before she made the changes. I had one office lady that was rude to me because I was upset that she was a week behind in getting my refill prescription to the drugstore. (I’m sorry that you didn’t do your job a week ago and now I’m out of medication. Oh, and by all means please be rude to a mentally ill patient who is un-medicated because of your incompetence and then be surprised when they respond in a “not-so-nice” manner.) But seriously, sometimes I wonder why these people are doing what they are doing. When you sit in front of one and you wonder about the mental competence of the physician looking at you, there might be an issue. I had one lady charge me fifty dollars because I got a migraine and could not come to my appointment and had to reschedule. I might could understand a no show charge if she hadn’t rescheduled me for her own needs twice in the first damn place. And when a therapist or physician you trust has something negative to say about colleague you’re be seeing, or might see…you might wanna pay attention.

My therapist accidently slipped one day, it was so subtle that he didn’t even notice it himself at the time, but he slipped about one of his colleagues not being a very good person. This should have sent me a red flag…especially knowing how guarded he is about his personal feelings about basically everything, but I ignored basic reasoning and ended up getting bit in the ass about it. Later on, when I was no longer seeing this doctor, he came clean about how bad off this individual was and that they were actually retiring and that I wasn’t the first one to have issues with this individual. I laughed and made reference to his previous slip…to which he responded that he thought he might be getting too comfortable around me.

So back to my point. If you happen to come across a good doctor…let your friends and family know! Brag about it, because you have truly found a treasure. And these few good physicians deserve good word of mouth…I mean it’s word of mouth that can truly make or break people anyways.

So here’s my shout out to the good people of Medi Weightloss in Raleigh, NC and Wilson Psychiatric Associates in Wilson, NC. You guys are awesome and I don’t know what I’d do without you all!

If you’ve got a shout out, leave it in the comments…God knows we could all use better physicians in our lives!

Love, Randi

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You are so NOT normal...

A week or so ago someone made a comment about my maturity level. They wondered if “normal” 26 year olds act like I do. They were referring to the fact that I want batman seat covers for my car at the time, but other things were being referenced as undertones. Like the fact that I have a collection of what could be deemed “immature head wear.” Like, a minions hat, a cat fur hat with ears, a sock monkey hat, an owl hat and a hat that is neon colored with bright yellow pigtails. I also enjoy dying my hair odd colors. I’ve done fuchsia and aqua streaks, green and most recently raspberry. I love glitter and I like painting every nail a different color. I laugh loud at things that probably aren’t funny and I sometimes act before I think. But I mean well.

And maybe these things make me immature. Maybe these things mean I need to do some growing up. It’s true that on holidays I sit with the little cousins. I make the young ones laugh and love listening to their stories. And yes, I do still live at home. I mean, I tried to make it on my own, but my mental health interfered with that. And when I look around me most of my friends are getting married, already married, having children, married and having children. I look at myself and say “No way am I ready for that!” I mean, I don’t even want a boyfriend right now…let alone a family! So maybe there is some truth to the statement that I’m not a normal 26 year old. But then again, I have never been normal by anyone’s standard.

I never really had a lot of friends growing up. I kept to myself. I read books and lived in an imaginary world far longer than what psychology would deem normal. I wore hoodies with the hood up so I could run my headphones up and listen to music. I perfected the art of being present in a room without ever actually being present. If I wasn’t listening to music doodling…I was in my imaginary world. I made good grades so no one ever suspected I was guilty of not paying attention. I enjoyed watching people live life more than I actually wanted to live it. Sure, there was a lot going on where no one could see…but for the most part I lived under the radar.

I chose a community college outside of my county because I didn’t want to go to school with everyone from high school. I went to community college and made no relationships with anyone…for literally two years I went to school, made my grades, went to work and came home. I had basically one friend and we have known one another my entire life basically. So, even after high school I didn’t form relationships well. And honestly I still don’t. I doubt this is normal for a 26 year old. Even now I watch the people that are close to me go through life and they form new relationships and hang out with new people, and they invite me along…but it’s hard for me to interact with new people…I’ve just never been good at it.

I stay up during the night for many reasons…one of which is that you are alone when everyone else is sleeping. And I like being alone…to an extent anyways. I like watching Friends on Netflix. And writing to the sound of the heater and the heavy breathing coming from my brother’s room. It’s peaceful not to have anyone demanding anything of you. Another reason I don’t sleep at night is because I tend to have more nightmares if I sleep at night. I’m pretty sure having consistent nightmares is NOT a normal 26 year old thing either.

But here’s the thing. I’m ok with not being normal. It’s kind of fun. People that do know me know I will make them laugh. I bring a smile to people’s faces. My best friend once told me that her mom called me a ray of sunshine...because when I walk in a room, it’s like a bright ray of light comes in too. I already adored her momma, but I could have kissed that little lady if she had been there.

I guess what I’m saying is, if not being normal means taking half an hour to do my makeup because I want to do a fun colorful design…then I’m cool with that. If not being normal means I got really excited when I got glitter in the mail, then I’m okay with that. If not being normal mean I get to see my grandpa break his poker face for a millisecond when he sees my bright green hair on Christmas…then that’s cool too. If not being normal means I get to dye my hair raspberry and wear fuzzy cat ears, a hoodie, blue plaid fleece pajama pants and no shoes, because I couldn’t find the one’s I wanted to wear, to the my therapist’s office…then that’s freaking awesome as far as I’m concerned. (And really funny according to my therapist and the entire office staff.)

So, I’m not normal and I’m okay with that.

Love, Randi

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Cold Turkey

Withdraw sucks. Period. I’ve been told by my doctor for years that you don’t just quit psychotropic medications cold turkey. And I’ve read the research and the stories of people going through withdraw and having symptoms return and people just being down right miserable. I’ve heard it all. Today, I experienced it. It sucks. It’s miserable.

You see, I didn’t do it intentionally. The drugstore screwed me over. (Read yesterday’s post to get the down-low on that.) I ran out Monday night. I had half a dose left, so I took it and submitted an online refill request and planned on picking it up in the morning. Well, they called and said it had been delayed. So, I called them to find out what was going on. I know that sometimes they just don’t have the quantity of tablets I need, but they can always fill a partial and I get the rest later. This wasn’t the problem. No. Apparently my drugstore up and decided not to partner with my insurance anymore! Go figure! I received no notice of this of course…from neither the drugstore nor my insurance company…but this is of no surprise to me. I’ve discovered through the years of my mental health battles that insurance companies will do any and everything they can NOT to pay for medical expenses. (Bastards! You pay an arm and a leg’s worth of a monthly premium and then they expect you to dance through flaming hoops to get them to pay anything for you!) Anyways…I got online and immediately found a new drugstore. And then begun the battle of…TRANSFERS! Now you would think that the act of faxing a refill request from one drugstore to the next would be easily accomplished…you would think. I called back and forth from drugstore to drugstore for hours only to discover that EVERYONE had done THEIR PART and yet NO ONE could get me my medication! I eventually gave up for the night and went to bed without it.

I didn’t sleep. I tried, but the withdraw started about the time I laid down. It felt like I was getting the flu. Cold sweats. Shivering. Shaking. Dizziness. Insomnia. And just plain misery.

Well, by chance I had an appointment with my psychiatrist today so when I got to her I asked her to write a script for every one of my meds so that I wouldn’t have to bother anyone with another transfer situation. This is an experience I will NOT be repeating.

So yeah, for those of you crazy people that want to take your use of medications into your own hands by ignoring doctor’s orders…you’re crazy! Don’t do it. It’s misery!

Love, Randi

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To be or not to be...drugged that is?

Tonight my parents and I were discussing patience. In my family we all have varying levels of patience for different things. Mom is pretty impatient about everything…and she would be the first to tell you so. Dad can have endless patience with certain things but when it comes to driving and having to explain to people how to do things…he reaches his limits really fast. My brother…well…he’s kind of like momma there. (But don’t tell him I told you so!) As for me…I’m kind of like my dad…I am a relatively patient individual about most things…BUT…when it comes to bad drivers and incompetence I get fed up pretty quick.

Now, I’m pretty sure all of you that have ever driven basically anywhere are aware that there are people driving that have no business behind the wheel and are honestly a time bomb to society…so I won’t really go into that…but let me talk about my pet peeve with incompetence. So what really gets underneath my skin is when people don’t do their jobs as they should be done. I can give most people up to two chances before I’ve had it though. And today…I came close to losing it again.

First off, part of this is my fault. I usually take care of my medication refills a week in advance to avoid any sort of pharmacy/doctor office/insurance company disaster. Well, this week I messed up. I went to take my meds last night and realized that I only had half a dose of one of them. Now for some of you this may not seem like too big of a deal…but to any of you that have ever had any experience with psychotropic medications you know that missing even one dose can throw you for a loop. Well, I convinced myself that I would be fine and I would just get up in the morning and take care of getting the prescription refilled then. Before I went to bed, I submitted an online refill request and made a mental note to check on it in the morning.

Well, around 9 this past morning I missed a call from the drugstore. I checked my voicemail and they said that one of my prescriptions was being delayed. So, I called in and found out that my insurance plan is no longer a partner with my drugstore. I made a sarcastic remark and hung up the phone and jumped into action. I went online, found a drugstore that accepted my plan, made sure all my meds were still covered under my plan and called the new pharmacy to get things transferred over. The lady on the phone assured me with ease that this transaction would be simple and easily accomplished. NOTHING IS EVER SIMPLE AND EASILY ACCOMPLISHED BETWEEN DRUGSTORES! I knew this, but I allowed myself to be engulfed by wishful thinking and let the time slip by. Well, when I hadn’t heard anything by 6 in the evening, I called the new drugstore…and this phone call started what I will refer to as “The Walgreens vs. CVS Tennis Match!” These two drugstores are LITERLLY across the street from one another and they never did finish transferring my prescription. I called back and forth and was astounded that everyone had done their part, but NO ONE could get me my medication.

So, here I sit in the wee hours of the morning feeling dizzy and a bit nauseous because withdraw has started to set in. I sit here and contemplate what I will be doing in the morning. Will I chew off the ear of CVS? Or perhaps Walgreens should receive the brunt of my wrath? And as time clicks forward I can’t help but wonder if some of the symptoms of my disorder will start to resurface before I can get the medication back in my system. But at the same time I’m enjoying the lack of the drowsiness that the medication causes. I mean…I’ve been thinking about talking with my doctor about getting off this and trying something else for a while because of how drowsy it makes me. It’s awful how sleepy it makes you. I can literally fall asleep on the potty! It’s horribly embarrassing to be a grown woman and get yelled at for sleeping in the bathroom again. I hate it. And I spent time with my friends this weekend and I slept most of the day away each day. I mean it really sucks.

So, I’m wondering if maybe I should just take this as a sign that I need to try something different…something that won’t make me miss out on so much of life. I mean I know that this is pretty much the first medicine that has completely worked for me, but I just don’t think the amount of success it’s having outweighs how much of life I’m missing out on because of it.

I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow. It’s actually just a coincidence…but I’m kind of wondering if it an opportunity presented by God…maybe it’s time for me to be brave and make a change. I want to be sane. I don’t want to be frightened, paranoid, manic and/or hallucinating, but I do want to be mindfully aware of my surroundings and the life that I have.

So, I’m sitting here wondering what I should do in the morning. Do I call the pharmacy and figure this thing out with the meds? Or do I wait a few hours and talk to my doctor? Only God knows what the morning will hold…

Love, Randi

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Fire

Fire.

There is a fire destroying everything.

It’s climbing up the walls, over the floors,

Into the windows and through the doors.

They all stand outside.

They look with curiosity.

As screams for help reach a new velocity.

And no one tries to help.

It engulfs all the structures,

While they watch, with glee, as vultures.

And it all begins to crumble.

All the sweat, blood and hard work,

Gone, with an echoing tumble.

The smoking heap burns out.

And nothings left, no one survived.

The smoking heap burnt out.

And they all turn away,

There’s no longer anything on display.

You see, they all want to be there when the show is big.

They all want to see the spectacle that destruction can be.

But when the flames fade and the smoke burns out,

They’re all left with the inevitable truth…

They watched…

They watched and did nothing…

And they alone have to live with the destruction

The destruction that will burn them alive.

Burn them inside,

As the cycle begins again.

Fire.

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Do I dare...?

Another year begins and I wonder should I dare to get my hopes up? Last year I was so sure of myself. I just graduated and I was getting ready to go to graduate school. I was thrilled at the prospects of the future…and then one of the worst years I have ever had happened. I’ve always said I don’t half ass anything, and I guess that goes for literally everything. So, it should come as no surprise that if I was gonna have the year from hell, I was gonna do it up big…”Miranda Style,” if you will.

I started out the year with a bang: Mental Breakdown #1. Hallucination and delusion and mood disturbances to boot. Then March happened: Mental Breakdown #2. Hallucinations, delusions and mood disturbances all over again. In April I was accepted into graduate school and I guess I had the nerve to think that things were going to turn around. Then the financial aid department gave me hell. I didn’t think things would ever get straight and when they finally did, I moved out of my parent’s house. Again, I had the nerve to think that things were going uphill finally. Then entire first part of that year I had started gaining weight back. I think it started as a medication side effect and then turned into emotional eating. The week after I moved into my first place I fell over my foot drop on the way to my NEW JOB! I was so excited about the job. I felt like I was finally being an adult in a real way. I was living on my own, I was going to graduate school and I was working a pretty sweet job…all at once…like a normal adult my age would.

After I fell I kinda just gave up on the weight loss thing. I got depressed and didn’t make any efforts to work out and at the end of August I had a pretty epic manic episode. It didn’t put me into the hospital, thank God, but my clinicians did talk about it.

At the end of August, I started feeling yucky all the time. And then one day, in the beginning of September, a few hours before work, I felt really horrible. So, I called into work and told them I was going to the doctor. I went to the urgent care and basically whimpered in the waiting room until they called my name. When they took my vitals they told me I needed to go to the emergency room because my oxygen levels were low. Long story short: pneumonia. They loaded me up on meds and sent me home.

I never really got better. Somewhere in the middle of all of this I adopted Howie. He was a bright light in the middle of a storm for me. I’m pretty sure I owe that dog my life. I love him so much and miss him so much right now.

A few weeks after the ER visit with pneumonia, a coughing fit threw my back out. That was horrible. I ended up back in the ER and again they loaded me up on drugs and sent me on my way.

About mid-September I got kicked out of school. Now, I will be the first to tell you, I’m not normal by any stretch of the imagination. And I know that there were approximately three times were I behaved abnormally in class. The school requested a note from my physician telling them if she thought I was capable of participating in an advanced degree, higher level education program…and my doctor told them I was. But a few days after they received the letter, they called me and told me they felt I needed to address some “concerns,” before I could continue. I was pissed to say the least. I mean a doctor…with a MEDICAL degree just told you I could do it. What are your qualifications? I was wronged and I know it. They did give me the option of returning, but I don’t know why I ever would. The teachers were horrible to me in the first place and then the administration gave no consideration to an ACTUAL DOCTOR’S point of view. So, why exactly would I want an education from underhanded, backstabbing, insecure morons in the first place? (I’m still a little pissed if you can’t tell…)

Well, this wasn’t the end of my horrible year. A week after the school gave me the boot, work called and said they were releasing me from the project due to performance…which is a fancy way of saying I was fired. I had never been fired from a position before. I’ve had unfortunate circumstances prevent me from returning to jobs before, but I had never been fired. Now, let me explain to you how this happened. You see, the job was telephone interviewing. They monitor your interviews per calls made and this is how a projects stats are generated. You see their problem with me was that I was making a lot of calls, but I was completing interviews. This kind of annoyed me because I actually had quite a few partially completed interviews, where the individual had to leave…and I couldn’t blame the person…it was a freaking 30 minute interview and there was absolutely no benefit for their participation. So, I was having bad luck with interviews…I had missed work from having pneumonia and there was this one incident involving a joking note that was accidently left behind that no one but me and my therapist found funny. (I got bored and wrote about deciding to go insane and would someone please feed my pet monkey while I’m on the crazy express lane...I thought it was funny, but work ended up making me get evaluated…oops.) So, yeah…I lost my job.

So, then I had no source of income and bills started gathering up. I sold a bunch of stuff on eBay and managed to make rent and everything for the month of October, but I never could find a job…so I had to move back in with mom and dad at the beginning of November.

I was devastated. And honestly, I still am at times. I lost everything I had going for me….even my dog. My parents are awesome and I love them, but I don’t think no one wants to be in their late twenties and still having to live off their parents. It sucks. I hate the way I feel pretty consistently. I feel so helpless. My physical health has deteriorated and I can’t really do much by myself. I don’t get out often because of my health and because I have no income. Sometimes I feel like everything I do is a burden to my family. I hate that I have miles worth of medical expenses and no way to help take care of them myself.

In December I started seeing a weight loss doctor to try and start a new healthier lifestyle. As I drove home I thought to myself…I’m gonna turn this all around. I’m gonna lose the weigh, I’m gonna recover from this stuff…I’m gonna fight hard to overcome all the adversity in my life. As I thought these things a lady slammed into the back of my car going at least 70 mph. My car was propelled into a guardrail, it bounced off, spun around, knocked the railing again and stopped on the side of the road facing traffic. My knees have been even more horrible since the accident. They were already bad, but the good one tends to hurt now too because of how hard it hit the gear shaft.

So, I sit here about two weeks into the New Year and I wonder…do I dare have hopes? Do I dare to dream? Do I dare plan? Vocational rehab is coming up in February…do I dare hope that they will help me find a good job…one that I can work and take care of myself and feel like…well, an adult. Do I dare dream of success? Do I dare to dream of a Master’s degree in Social Work? Do I dare to dream of being a licensed therapist? Do I dare to dream of writing a book one day? Do I dare to dream of living? Of living a life of peace, of success, of service to others…a life where I’m not constantly overwhelmed by a personal crisis, where I can reach out and help others. Do I dare to dream of health? Both mental, physical and spiritual? Do I dare? Because in my life daring to dream of these things has never really panned out…in fact it seems that every move I make forward is met with a thousand slaps in the face and a mile’s worth of getting throw backwards. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m on the wrong path…if maybe the things I dream of doing one day are not what God wants for me. But when I pray…when I talk to God about the future…it feels like he’s saying: “You’ll get there. I know you long to minister to others and you will get there. Just keep going…just trust me…just have faith in me…let me pave the way…let me mold you and shape you…just hang in there…we’re gonna get there…I promise.

And I hold desperately to His promises. I’m that same 9 year old that heard Him say “I’m real, and I love you.” I’m that same 12 year old that heard Him say: “I’m gonna use you in a mighty way one day…you’re gonna touch the lives of many through My Spirit in you.”

So even though I sit here wondering if I dare to hope and dream of a bright future, I already know that answer is “Yes, I do dare.” So get ready 2015…because yes, I dare…

Love, Randi

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