Stuck

Wow. I can't believe that it has taken me so long to get back in the mood for writing a blog-entry. I have the most lame excuse: I just can't get started with things these days, I can't focus and I basically lost all motivation. It could be a sign of depression or maybe it's just the fact that it's still winter and the lack of sunlight has drained me of energy. I think it's depression as I'm taking vitamin D - supplements and they should be helping me with lack of energy. It doesn't matter what the cause of my total indifference and concentration-issues is. Eh? Anyway, tonight I just thought I'd force myself to write a bit and hopefully it will put me in the mood for more things that I love doing. Or that I have planned. Or that I should be doing. So what has happened in my life during the last few weeks?

Mental health. I have had periods that were quite alright. But most of the time I have just felt dead inside. A huge feeling of indifference. Other days that indifference is replaced by mind-killing anxiety. Suicide thoughts come and go. Self-harm thoughts come and go. The worst is my lack of motivation. It has a lot to do with that I have given up. I don't believe I can get help for my mental health problems. I'm not in the state where I think that it can never get any better. I might have some okay-ish days. But I don't think I'll ever have any real capacity to make it out there in the world. I'll end up being dependent upon my husband, or the social services, maybe the health insurance. I feel like I'm incurable. It's not like I feel that I have it worse than others. It's just that I have tried everything, nothing worked. And I can't get bothered to try yet another med or therapy. So I have lot all interest in the future because I know I have a bleak future ahead of me. I have nothing to look forward to, no goals that I know I can reach. I'll spend the rest of my days in this apartment, in the evenings my husband will be here, I have my two cats but I'll basically be cut off from society, success, social life. And that's why I'm not motivated to do anything. Why bother? I have given up. A huge contributer to this state of mind is the fact that I have dropped out of therapy. Before anyone starts blaming me for my own situation, let me explain. I didn't really make the decision because I wanted to. My therapist, well, ex-therapist told me that we are not getting anywhere, that it is always about suicide-prevention and crisis-solving with me. He made feel guilty for being unstable. And that's what he literally said to me: You are not stable enough for therapy. I wanted to continue with therapy but he made me feel like I was taking up someone else's spot, someone who deserved it better than me. And not mention that it seemed to me like he didn't believe that I could be helped. Honestly, how can anyone be not stable enough for therapy!?! Isn't therapy there for making you stable and help you deal with your problems? So I dropped out of therapy because my therapist talked me into it. When I look at it now, I'm quite sure that he manipulated me into dropping out. Instead I was sent to see a counselor, just so I have some kind of psych-contact. I met that person once. She didn't know what to do with me. She told me that we can meet sometimes, just to talk. This really didn't seem like the greatest help in the world. So I feel stuck. If they ever think I'm stable enough to start therapy again, I'll be put on a waiting-list, a 5 months wait, at least. And honestly, I'm bipolar and I don't take any meds, how am I going to be stable for 5 months? I cancelled my last appointment with her. It just feels useless. I'm sure there are other people going through some life-crisis right now who need the time with her. So: no future, no proper help. Why fight if what I have right now is everything I'll ever get? Oh, and I have a new psychiatrist. A confused old lady. She must be around 70. She  had forgotten about our first appointment. She hadn't read my file and proposed all kinds of meds to me, and all of those I had already tried before (Seroquel, Lamictal, Prozac ....). She had also promised me to contact a neurologist about my legs. She forgot about that. I had to call her to ask her about it, over a month later, and she was like: oh, I must have forgotten. Yeah, right, maybe time to retire. So I doubt that she will be able to help me medical wise. I'll get prescriptions for Oxazepam and Zoplicone whenever I need it. I guess that's something.

Physical health. I have been very quite unlucky when it comes to my phsyical health as well. First off, I can be a bit of a hypochondriac. I think it has to do with my anxiety, my GAD. I notice every small problem I have, I give it too much attention and I get scared. And of course I always get scared that I might some serious illness that will lead to a slow and painful death. Like, they have tested my blood-sugar some weeks ago and it was a bit high. They thought it wasn't high enough to be diabetes and it could just be that I had eaten something beforehand. The same with my white blood-cells, they said that I had a few too many but it could just be a minor infection somewhere in my body. But in my head I have diabetes and incurable cancer. I am just a worrier I guess. So, almost four months after having being diagnosed with hypothyroidism I kind of thought that they should do another check-up, especially because I had been put on meds and I had no clue if they were working or not. The meds give me side-effects by the way: my skin got really bad, I have itches and I feel nausea. But I have had worse side-effects. So I called my GP's office and got told that she is taking a break from work (sounded more like she got suspended) and told me they'd tell another GP to get in touch with me. That other GP called me, I had to leave blood-samples and it turns out my hormone-levels are still bad. The "funny" thing is that I have never met that GP. Only spoken to him on the phone once. Did he give me an appointment so we can discuss the results? Did he at least call me? Nope. That idiot sent me a letter telling me that my levels are still bad and how to increase my meds. That person is supposed to be my GP! What the heck? I'm still fighting with restless legs and spasms. It has been six months now since this shit started. I have stopped taking the Propavan in the end of November for heaven's sake. But nope, I still suffer from it. In the beginning of January I couldn't take it anymore. So I went to the ER. I had to wait for 8 (!!!) hours and then got to meet a neurologist. She examined me and decided to prescribe Sifrol to me. That's a Parkinson-medication but it is known to help with restless legs too. Well, but my fear of meds and side-effects got the best of me. This medication has side-effects such as depression, impulsivity, anxiety, psychosis. Honestly, not the best medication for someone with mental illness. I have still been fighting with the restless legs and spams daily. Some days it is so bad that I'm just in bed crying. I just can't try the med, I don't trust meds anymore. I'm really sure that it won't help and that I will just get bad side-effects. The neurologist from the ER called me this week to ask me how it is going. And I just told her the truth, that I have a history of bad reactions to medications and that I'm too scared to take the med. So she wants to book in a scheduled stay at the hospital for me so I can be observed while starting with the med, in case I get any bad reactions. I don't know. I'm really thankful that she called and that she understands and that she wants to help. It kind of feels like I would take someone else's spot, some stroke-patient who needs to be put on meds, someone with MS that needs to get their meds changed. Sure, I suffer badly but it is not life-threatening. I don't know. She said it will take some weeks until I will hear from them so who knows, maybe the restless legs and spasms have disappeared until then. Okay, I know, that is unlikely. We'll see.

So there you go. This is what I have been fighting with lately. This isn't all to be honest. But it is late now, I want to go to bed. I'll write some more tomorrow.

My father - the psychopath

It has taken me some days to actually swallow and get over the fact that my father is a stupid asshole. I have always known that but I have had some hope that he would somehow change, that he would grow up. Because that's what he is: an immature, agressive, bullying, self-centered teenager. I haven't written that much about my father in this blog (yet) because I really haven't dealt with the huge influence he has had on my life, in a really negative sense. He destroyed my childhood. He destroyed my sister's childhood. He is the one that created my anxiety. He is the one that has sucked the self-esteem and self-worth out of me. I only began to realize that I'm worth something when I moved to Sweden, away from him and his demands. He is the reason why I tried to commit suicide when I was five years old. He is one of the reasons for my PTSD and the flashbacks I'm having. He is the reason why I don't go back to Germany to visit my friends and family. The anxiety gets too much. I can't stand being in my childhood-home.

Let me give you a short description of my father. He was born in the early 1940s in Iran and moved to Germany in the early 1960s to study at university. He never finished his studies but instead started working as a bodyguard for stars like Jimmi Hendrix and as a bouncer in some really famous clubs. He met my mum, they got together and after 10 years they got married. He is 13 years older than her.

 He is a really mean and self-centered person. He beat the shit out of us when we were children (well, my brother got spared because he was the "boy" and welll, boys are worth more than girls in his Iranian mind). He is kind of stuck in some old school Iranian values. But I must say I'm glad that he never forced his religion onto us. He is a muslim but not a practicing one. I have never seen him pray. It's weird because his brothers who still live in Iran are very open-minded and love their families unconditionally. You are never allowed to say what you really think in his company. That's where he and I always clashed. I say what I think. And I'm educated while he is stuck in his own little world in his head. So I know a lot more things than him.

 He is a really materialistic person. For him it's always about money. He doesn't like to give any of his children money. We were basically always the ones with the cheap clothes and never had any money for anything. Whilst he owns a huge Mercedes Benz and spends his money on drugs. But his still living in the delusion that he paid everything for us, that he supported, that he gave us all the materialistic things that we wanted. That's bullshit, we never got anything! I had to start working an extra-job when I was 14 so I could go to the movies, so that I could go on class-trips, so that I could buy the odd CD every now and then.

I think my father is a psychopath. He is really bad with animals, he beats dogs, kicks cats. He never shows any sympathy and has never been empathetic. The only time I saw him cry was when he had heard that his mother had died. For him a lot is about status and how others see him as a man. I always got to hear how ashamed he is of me because I'm a) overweight b)goth and c) I never shut up and I have my own opinions. The most important thing for him is how others see him, he wants to seems like a respected man. That makes him really shallow. He has never, not even once, told me that he loved me or that he is proud of me.

 My father is a drug addict. He has been smoking opium for almost 30 years now(he started when I was a baby!!). I somewhat always knew that but I first really got to know some years ago when my cousin and I discussed the matter. I think a lot of the agression and inhostility in him comes from the drugs. He has basically lived through my childhood in a daze. Drugs and being high is even less an excuse than being a mean child-abuser. 

He treats and has always treated my mum with disrespect. I have seen him beating her up tons of times. I have seen him smash her on the head with a frying pan. I have seen him throw things at her. While he was in his drug-daze she had to work full-time and raise three kids. But he still says that he worked his ass off for us. Hell no. He was at work in the evenings (my parents owned a restaurant and later a shop), closing the store. That's all. He spent lots of money on his stupid opium instead of doing something nice for the family.

He thinks that a man should be respected. He thinks that my family should be grateful for him paying everything for us. He thinks that he is an angel and we are all just disrespectful liars. He tries to diminish the beatings, the absence of love and the hatred he had towards us. He calls it a slap in the face, motivation and tough love.

So now you know a bit about my father. I have written all this to give you a background to what I'm about to tell you now. My mum and dad are getting a divorce ( I have already written about this). My father announced that he wants a divorce and that my mum is supposed to move out. Although the house is her family's house, her parents got it from the state after WW2. But my mum just didn't want to fight and she is kind of scared of my father. My mother moved out a week ago and it all turned into chaos. He was there the entire time while she and a friend tried to carry out things from the house. Although he had promised to let them be. He denied my mother to take certain things. He called her a whore. He acted really aggressively. And it all culminated when he threw a cup of hot tea at my mum's friend. The police was called and my mother was able to at least get a few things with her. My mum loves her new apartment. But she is afraid to go out, she is afraid that he would be around the corner, she is afraid that he will kill her. I just hope that things will calm down, they don't see each other right now which is good.

The day before my sister and my mum were at the house to fetch some things and he called my sister a whore, told her that she isn't his daughter anymore. My sister is the one that got beaten up the most of the two of us. She is smoking weed daily to deal with her anxiety. She is too proud to look for help. She has been on a sick leave for depression twice though. She has always tried to keep the relationship with our dad alive. But that day she just cracked. My mum later told me that she had been weeping, crying, screaming. I haven't spoken to my sister. I know her, she will be somewhere, travelling, on the beach, with friends, high, trying to distract herself. And keep it all bottled up. We have only twice in our adult-lives talked about our childhood. We have the same feelings around it all. She also has real difficulties to be in that house and around him. I just can't believe that he is making things her fault, that he is mad at her for helping my mother. I can't believe that my father in no way realizes that he is guilty, that he is at fault, that we all don't respect him, that we are afraid of him instead. I would really love to call my sister (we have had our differences, she has bullied me all my life, even beat me up while we were sharing a flat and I don't really respect her drug-abuse) and just tell her to stand up for herself. To not creep back to him. Just because someone is your biological father doesn't mean you have to be there for him. But I'm sure she is already in touch with him again. I hate to see her crawl for him. 

Another thing: I'm getting married in about two and a half weeks. I'm not having a wedding, I haven't invited anyone. But my father is paranoid and suspicious and thinks that everyone is invited but him. I don't want to call him to convince him otherwise. I don't have the strength for a discussion with him which will only result in him hurting me and calling me names. My grandmother, his mother, has given two very beautiful necklaces (which belonged to her mother) to my mother. My sister and I are supposed to get those necklaces when we are getting married. I have only met my Iranian grandmother once and I felt an instant connection with her. She was a writer, an artist, she loved music. She had led a difficult life as she was forced to marry a 30 years older man when she was 11 years old! But throughout her life she has been strong and just kept going and always found time for the things she loved. Everyone from my Iranian family who knows me tells me that I'm a lot like her. We share the same talents and we have the same ability to express ourselves with words. She died in the middle of the 90s. So she gave those necklaces to my mother and I have the moment in my head, I remember the exact words that were spoken, I remember the warmth in her eyes and her long grey hair. I remember it all. So, my mum wanted to take the necklace with her so she could give it to me next week (she'll come to visit me). But my dad took it from her, accusing her of wanting to steal and sell it. What the fuck? He said that the necklace is from HIS mother and that HE wants to give it to me. But the necklaces were given to my mum? And she will see me in person before my wedding! I have no plans in visiting my hometown any time soon. And I'm not even sure if I want to meet my father ever again. I won't contact him. If he calls, I'll answer. That's my decision. We haven't really spoken in years anyway, only through my mum or involuntarily when he picked up the phone when I wanted to speak to my mum. I'm really upset about this! It's not about the necklace being exclusive of expensive. It is about the necklace coming from my grandmother, the only thing I actually have of her. She has intended it to be mine at my wedding. So what the fuck? How can he be so selfish? I don't care about him giving it to me, I find that gesture to be a lie! I know that my mother was handed those necklaces anyway, I was there! I'm so upset about this!

So during  the last few days I have been trying to avoid thinking about my family, despite the fact that I was skyping with my mother every day and she kept telling me the latest news. But it's not working. All the hatred, all the anxiety and fear, have eaten me up. Honestly, I want my father to die. I know that it won't help me with my PTSD but at least I won't have to have any new bad and anxious memories connected to him. He is over 70 years old, he is a mean drug-addict. He should just drop dead. I know that's a mean thing to say. I don't want him to get killed and I don't want to kill him. I just think that enough is enough. He has used up his reasons to be alive. He should just stop torturing us. I don't care if I sound like a mean and resentful bitch. I used to be indifferent about my childhood, about his involvement. I think that was a defense mechanism. Now all my real feelings come up. And again, I don't want to hear how forgiveness can make me feel better, or to find a meaning in it all. There is no determinism, there is no meaning in anything. I'm not religious or spiritual. I'm atheist and logical. I don't want to forgive him. I just want it all to be over. I want to him to stop exisiting so he doesn't destroy our lives even more. 

Desperation

I have been feeling really desperate for the last few days. I can't find a better word to describe my state. I have been detached from reality and I have been close to giving up. I am trying hard to not let my dark thoughts and anxiety drag me down even more. But I'm slowly falling back into old patterns. 

I am trying to remind myself to think of the future, to plan for the long run and to not be too short-sighted. The emotions I'm having right now will pass, they won't stay with me forever. I know that. But my brain somehow doesn't want to work with me. I get desperate, I want it all to end, I see no future, I see only darkness. I can't motivate myself to do the things that I love. For weeks I have been thinking about the DIY-project, my jacket. I love altering my clothes. But I just can't get started. What's the point? I won't go out much anyway. So why do I need an awesome jacket?

My changed patterns scare me. Because I know what they have always lead to: suicide-attempt and hospital. I'm fighting. But my emotions are strong, especially this anxiety that is driving me mad. I am pacing up and down the hallway, wanting to scream out the pain. I have even been crying. I hate crying. I lay down in the middle of the day. Just being in bed, starring at the wall. Feeling gloomy and alone.

I have been detached from reality. I have been detached from my positive feelings. I have been in a bubble of anxiety and sadness. No one can reach me. My boyfriend is worried. I am trying. I promise, I am trying. But I am desperate. I don't want to feel like this ever again. And it probably won't ever get any better. 

The negative thoughts are racing through my head. I'll never be able to earn money, I'll always live off my boyfriend. I'll never be part of society. I'll never contribute to anything. I'm nothing and no one cares if I'm dead or alive. I'll never have real friends again, all the people I know have probably already forgotten about me. I'm just an annoying burden to the few people I talk to. I am nothing and I'll never be something. I've been fooling myself all these years, I'm not smart. If I was smart, I would be something. I would be able to fight this off. I'm weak. Just a burden.

And then I get weird flashbacks and foreshadowings. My head is filled with images from my time at the hospital. Psychotic people, screaming people, lies, pills, side-effects. The feelings I had back then come back, I feel just as desperate, just as sad, just as suicidal, just as anxious. Then I'm thinking about my dad killing my mum. I am so worried about her moving out and how he will react. He will be furious. When I'm in some kind of dreamlike state my mind paints horrifying pictures of my mum getting beaten to death by my  father. Those pictures scare the hell out of me.

And that's not all. My GAD-symptoms have been worse. I feel nautious all the time. I feel like throwing up. My stomach hurts. I have the runs. I am shaking. I can't focus. I hate when my body and my mind both scream "anxiety"!

I can't fall asleep and I wake up constantly. My sleep is not sleep, it's a turmoil. It's nightmares. It's sweat. It's desperation.

I can see myself from the outside and I know exactly what to tell myself. Think about the future. Remind yourself of the good times. You never know what tomorrow brings. You have gotten through such periods before. Activate yourself. Motivate yourself. Don't go to bed in the middle of the day. Eat properly. Exercise. Distract yourself. Do the things you love doing even if they don't bring you that much pleasure right now. Cook. Write. I know all this. But my brain has put up some kind of defensive wall. My brain has lost all of its rationality. 

I'm desperate. And I'm afraid of how far this desperation can push me. I want to die. I don't want to die. I want it to stop. I feel like I deserve feeling like this because I'm a bad person. I just want peace. Desperation. I'm nothing.

Zombie

It's raining. Really hard rain. And it is warm. I feel like I can't breathe. And I'm so exhausted. I couldn't fall asleep last night. All the time I thought: "Now I'm getting up and I'm going to take a Zoplicone!". But I didn't get up. I fell asleep around 4 a.m. and woke up at 7. I wandered around in the flat for a while, smoking, drinking water, cuddling the cat. I went back to sleep and my cat woke me up at 8.30 a.m.. I don't know why. In the end we fell asleep together, she was on my stomach. I woke up at 11 a.m. and since then I have been trying to get out of a sleepy state. I can barely open my eyes. But my thoughts are still spinning and my heart is beating at a high rate. I feel like I'm drugged, my body is in some kind of stupor. I'll most definitely not take Propavan for a few nights. My sleeping can't get any worse and I won't have such horrible hangovers. I used to be able to accept the hangovers because the pill was working. But without it working why should I endure the hangovers? So sometime next week I'll skip the Propavan for a few days. I know it has a sedative effect too so I guess I'll have increased anxiety. But I have Valium now so I can somehow make it work. 

I have also decided that I need to get things done. I feel like I'm wasting away my days with the internet and TV. I'm often surprised when it's evening and I really haven't done anything productive at all during the day. I'm most creative and productive during the evenings, that's when I write, that's when I do my DIY. But I should fill the days with something too. So I thought about doing a timetable, I have done it before and it worked alright. It would do a lot about the guilt, the feeling of being lazy. I know, it's the anxiety and the depression that's holding me back. But I should at least give it a try. I could clean for instance. Or read. I haven't been reading a lot lately which is totally weird. I love reading. Our apartment is never chaotic but it just isn't clean. We'll see, if not taking the Propavan gives me more energy I can give it a try.

I can't stop thinking and worrying about the whole bipolar and Lithium-thing. I have even been thinking about trying Seroquel again. I only gave it a two days-trial and then gave up on it. The Abilify and the Zyprexa helped but gave me bad side-effects. Maybe the Seroquel will help too? I really should give those thoughts a rest. Not think about it for a few days and then look at it with fresh eyes. I've been hearing and reading so many different things about the Lithium so I really don't know. When it comes to medication it really comes to the individual level, every person reacts to it differently.

I wish my brain would function normally right now. I feel like a zombie. My boyfriend just went out to do some errands. Well, mostly my errands. I needed new glue for my mail art things. But he also needed to go to the pharmacy to fetch his allergy-meds. So I don't have to feel guilty about him going out just for me. I think I'll do the dishes now, then fold the laundry and then try to exercise. I need to get out of this zombie-like state. 

Saturday Blues

Saturday. I'm listening to David Bowie. My weekends aren't much different from the other days of the week. The only big difference is that my boyfriend is at home. Well, not really. Saturdays he's always out during errands, like grocery shopping. At the moment he's out to buy a table cloth for our kitchen table, then he'll meet up with a friend and then buy some catfood. His Saturdays really aren't that exciting either. Haha. 

I had a lot of dissociative anxiety yesterday, I was totally disconnected from reality. The first time I experienced dissociation I got really scared. I thought I was going into psychosis, everything around me seemed unreal, I seemed unreal, it was as if I was a ghost or something. Not in this world. But nowadays I'm not so scared of it anymore. I'm mostly annoyed by it because it keeps me from doing things. I'm just turning into a vegetable, looking apathetic to others. I have had so much anxiety and so many traumas in my life so my brain is really using it as defense-mechanism. Too much anxiety? Well, let's shut down all your feelings and put you into a state where you can't react to anything. Stupid brain!!!!

I don't really know how I'm doing today. I'm a bit off. And I feel a tad guilty because I ordered lots of clothes yesterday. But I really need those clothes! I have gained so much weight so that my clothes don't fit anymore. Remember the other day when I had stomach cramps? I think my underpants and my leggings were cutting into my flesh and pushed way too hard into my stomach. I bascially went from a size S in early 2011 to a XL in early 2013. I don't blame myself too much for it. Zyprexa made me gain a lot (!!!), I didn't move much under my months at the hospital and I had real trouble getting back into my routines. I eat for comfort and when I'm down. When I'm depressed it can go two ways: I either eat a lot of junk food and chocolate or I eat nothing at all. My exercise-routines have been really okay during the last two weeks though. Anyway, I needed those clothes: I ordered some basic black short skirts, some leggings and some underwear. Well, and a skeleton-dress, okay, I didn't need that one. But it was so pretty! Now I have about 1000 SEK (around 110 Euros) for the rest of the month. I still need new make-up and hair-dye. Gosh, I hate having zero-income! I'm a leach living off  my boyfriend's income. Guilt and shame!

Today I'll check out the university-courses again and see which ones I'll apply for. I could take two part-time courses. I don't know yet. My boyfriend says that I should take The History of Ideas 2 (it's kind of like philosophy) as I have already taken the basic course for it. But I want to learn Russian!! I still have another week to decide. I think we'll start watching the first season of "The Walking Dead" later today. Everybody has been talking about that series so I have to check it out. Uh, and I need to redye the blue in my hair.

Dull weekend ahead. 

Restlessness

I'm so freaking restless. I really can't focus. My anxiety level is really high and I can't get anything done. You know, every morning I think of the things I want to get done that day and I had big plans today. Well, not really. I wanted to exercise, I wanted to clean, I wanted to reply to some emails, I wanted to read. But I'm doing everything half-assed. 

I tried to do the dishes but I was shaking too much from the anxiety so I gave up on it. So my day has been so far exactly the opposite of what i had planned. It's all just pathetic. Others do the things I had planned and still work or study full-time. I'm such a loser! I hate my anxiety so bad right now! 

The sun is shining. I should probably go out. But I'm so restless from the anxiety, I feel like my whole body is twitching. I'm hungry so I guess I'll cook some lunch/dinner soon. It's 4 p.m. and all I have had today was some breakfast. My boyfriend will come home from work soon.

At least I managed to take a shower and put some clothes on. I would have felt really guilty if I was still running around in my PJs when my boyfriend came home after an 8 hours work-day. Really, my life is all about shame, guilt and anxiety.

I wish I had an idea where the anxiety is coming from today. What caused it? I've been told that anxiety always has a cause. Well, it must have been the bad sleep and the nightmares then. Great, nothing I can do about that. 

This is a bad day. I wish it was over soon.