Pain Journal: New Psyche Doctor!

I got a new Psychiatrist today, and I can safely say all my worries about another new doc were for not. He was awesome and a great listener. He was better to me than my last one. He actually asked me questions like “How did you get your PTSD at night?” and “Why hasn’t your doctor tried these things with you?” and “You’ve only been seeing people for help after you had your break a few years ago? REALLY? You’ve been trying to do it mostly on your own?”

I had to give him a reader’s digest version of my life up until now. How living with a drug addict and seeing so many doctors chop my mother up from the inside out just made me afriad to try. The most I did was go to therapy. I have carried on and not killed myaelf because of really awesome friends and lovers in my past. Some I hurt too much by being Bipolar Q. That version of me is a hilarious asshole, but still an asshole. I had to summarize decades of horrible crap into an hour and even then, I think he was impressed. He said I had good self awareness, and that I don’t have to do things the hard way. He is adjusting my meds, doing the blood work needed, and gave me more Seroquel and a new drug, Gabapentin.  I have tried Gabapentin before, I now it helps. It is good for both pain and calming of anxiety. SCORE!  Seems I am on a winning streak with doctors. I am still leery, But the way this new doctor listened to me and cares about my being stable and productive. He knows the dangers being on drugs for mental illness can cause. The side effects and the madness.  He is going to teach me to use the meds I have to help me through the bad times. Because when the Bipolar gets bad, I struggle still through it. The Depression makes me suicidal, and the Mania makes me do crazy shit. Reckless, stupid shit. “When it’s bad, take extra Lithium and Seroquel. And don’t forget the Gabapentin. It’s okay to do this because I give you permission. Just do this when you are having a rough time. Otherwise take your meds as you normally do. And if you like how the gabapentin works with your other meds, take it at night for your sleep issues.”

He’s so…practical about it. I need that, because I respond well to practical. Give me a road map and I will work with it. I might find a new path on my own, but I will let you know if I do. He gets that I know my body and mind better than he does. But he sees my pension for making things hard. I thought I wasn’t being that bad, but I have been corrected. So I have new meds, new adjustments. Hopefully I don’t become a zombie, but I don’t think I will. I do everything I can to balance my medications and my creativity. I wont let anything kill me and make me a drugged slave. Drugs for me are to make my life easier and stable, not repressing myself to stave off madness.

I want to be a good example people can turn to when they face the choice to take any medication to give themselves a better quality of life. I need meds to function. I am literally a danger to myself and others if I am not medicated. When my brain broke last, it broke in a way it can’t come back from. Like an overheating computer. It’s hard to recall things when you are constantly having blue screens and corrupted data. I have bad genes, but it’s just another fucking stupid thing I gotta work with.

I’ve been climbing walls my whole life. I know who and what I am, good and bad. I know I don’t have an easy lot in life, but I also don’t need to punish myself for having a chemical imbalance. I look forward to a day when I can say I am in remission completely. It might not happen, but I can still strive for it.

 I don’t want to get my hopes up about anything right now, so I tip-toe into the deep end and see if I can swim.

Pain Journal Entry 1010: What True Bravery Is...

I feel progress happened today, not just in therapy, but in my personal life. Because I was allowed to explain why I feel angry to Lord Bearington, and while it was a hard conversation, I finally had my feelings listened to. Truly listened to. Bear can understand why I feel betrayed now, even if my emotions are irrational. He get's why I was hurt he sot comfort while I was locked up in what was the equivalent of a jail cell in the ER.

While in there, I was in terrible agony. And the nurses and orderlies just watched me cycle, over and over. They didn't give me real scrubs to wear, and the floors were ice cold. Imagine for a moment being in chronic pain, and having a mental break down, but you are locked up like a wild animal and told to SLEEP IT OFF.

You'll be fine Vanessa...you just need a NAP. There is nothing really wrong with you.../sarcasm

Could you sleep if you had PTSD and you were locked in a cage? I can't.  I wasn't safe in my mind. And honestly, it wasn't a safe place for someone like me. They didn't even let me have a stuffy to hold. Nothing to comfort me. No friends, no lovers...NO ONE.

Just me and my pain, with no painkillers and no hope.

Having emotions isn't wrong, nor should people be dismissed because they are "all feels". Being bipolar and manic isn't my fault. There is a reason I am in therapy right now. I get angry when I have evidence that people are dismissing my feelings. Because then I feel I am being manipulated.

What happened to me last week was horrible and effected me the worst as I WAS THE ONE WHO LIVED IT. So remember that. Remember to be kind to me while you talk about my "feels." I know I hurt people while under the influence of drugs. BUT I WAS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF DRUGS. You pointing it out over and over that I hurt you isn't helpful or healing, it's the complete opposite.

And I won't tolerate other peoples projections of me anymore.

I have apologized for my actions. Several times. Look through this journal and you will find them. I would like an apology for being hurt, even unintentionally. Because I have been. And deeply. I feel like I am the only one apologizing right now and I am the only one expected to. And that isn't fair. I never asked to be on drugs that caused me to have a mental breakdown. I never planned this whole crazy escapade. And I won't be a punching bag for other people and their past issues.

I can only handle one person's issues at a time. And I am going to be doing me right now. And talking over text about these things means subtleties are missed. Like voice inflection and body language. And I am easily agitated right now. That should be obvious. I'm not fragile, I am just easily wound up. I have a short fuse for BS. I need to feel like I am being listened to right now, and I can't handle people dumping their projections.

So if you cannot for 5 minutes put yourself in my shoes, then I shouldn't be around you.

Kweeny's Pain Journal's Greastest Hits: Hurt - Falls Apart

Today has been a really hard day, and it's not even over yet. I still have appointments to go to until 5pm tonight.  just want to curl up in a ball and disappear.

I saw my GP today. My doctor says I am doing so much better than the last time she saw me. And yet I feel completely like shit. I'm tired, sore, and feel defeated spiritually. I'm trying really hard to not let all of the last few weeks get to me, and to celebrate my little victories. But I feel so alone with all this. So completely, utterly alone.

My doctor was happy to be told about all the drugs I am on, and she seemed to even have some sympathy for me when I told her how terrified I am that I may need these drugs for the rest of my life. She actually agreed for once with me, and the irony isn't lost on me. I've bitterly laughed at the darkness for that cruel joke. The one time I want her to tell me this is all temporary and I will be right as rain in no time she cannot do it. She agrees I have Fibro now, and when I showed her the pain spots on my back she just nodded and said, "Yup that's Fibromyalgia all right. Yup, you got Raynauds. Yup, you have mental issues. Sorry kid."

No wonder I feel defeated today. At least I got a referral to a specialist. It will take me a few months and a ton of paperwork to see her, but there is progress.

I also realized how badly I have been fighting people. Wanting nothing but to hug them but I can't because I am so spiky right now. My spikes have retreated when I realized that they don't just hurt me, they hurt EVERYONE. Anyone who gets too close to me could get their face bitten off by the mad She-wolf. And my poor dying god aspect is getting the worst treatment of anyone. Because he cannot hide from the She-wolf like other people can. My inner pack I call Mirror Shards has no choice to but to deal with the demons as they lash out cruelly. My sacred Animus is being murdered and raped over and over because the Mad Wolf cannot forgive the transgressions of males in her past.

Maybe she will stop hurting him now that she realizes what she is doing is wrong.

Maybe.

Always waiting for answers...

I got a referral to a specialist. But it will take months to get in, and I will have a ton of paperwork to do to see her. In the meantime I have therapy. Lots and lots of therapy, and I have a psychiatrist I will be seeing on Friday. He will adjust my lithium levels then and do a follow up to see if I am coping okay.

I'm coping. Not sure I am okay though. Not sure I will ever be okay.  I'm hoping people can still love me like this. Because I cannot go back to who I used to be. I am hoping I can rise above all this, but I need to keep fighting in order to do so. I need to be a "shark" and circle my goals like prey.it's the only way I won't be sucked deep into the pit of despair and self hatred.

And I hope people will want to be around me again soon. Especially my girlfriend. I miss her. I pushed her hard away from me out of fear. I did it because I thought I was dying.

And a part of me is. And I'm scared. I can no longer have illusions about my abilities. I have to pace myself now, so I don't get upset and lash out. So I can still cultivate my rose garden of lovers and precious folks. I'm an asshole sometimes, but I hope I can be forgiven for that considering all the bullshit I am being forced to endure lately.

"I cracked my head and broke my heart..."

Until next time journal. It's time for Therapy.

Kweeny's Pain Journal's Greatest Hits: Hotel California - Eagles

You know what really sucks?

When simple, everyday tasks are now suddenly huge ordeals you have to get through to say you survived the day. When you need a ton of pills to just begin to function like everyone else.

Things like bathing yourself. In the hospital, bathing was hard. Showering was hard. My first visit had a really nice set up with a tub and shower. The shower stall had a seat you could sit in, and there was a dial to control the temperature at your leisure. To me, that place was the Ritz hotel. They treated me like a fucking Queen up in there, and all my needs were met with kindness as well as teaching me to take care of my damn self. And that is the key for me really. I need to know I am capable of teaching myself coping mechanisms so I can brave the shitstorm that is my body's chemical and neurological imbalances. For my sanity alone, I need to know I can be taught to do simple tasks like bathing without supervision. Sure, for a while I might need help. But eventually I wanna be able to do things on my own despite pain.

Of course I couldn't stay in the "Ritz hotel" forever. Eventually I was locked up in a terrible cell in the ER and then finally in the nut house. I call the nut house visit Hotel California.

It's not really a lovely place. It was a hard place. But it is teaching me to cope better because it is harder and gives more freedom.

Things like showering were ordeals in Hotel California, but at least I had the option of a shower without supervision. The ER cell didn't really even have that. I was lucky I could use the bathroom. At one point I pissed on the floor because they didn't let me out of the white room in time to pee.

That's a humiliating moment for sure.

The ER cell might as well have been completely padded. It was a living hell. The floor was too cold and flared my Raynauds. I had one small padded mat I could lie on, shivering and spasming in a almost constant cycle of pain. No one cared when I screamed, thrashed and cried. No one came to my rescue. I called for all the names of all my packmates at least once, and people like Mephista and Lord Bearington I called out for several times.. No one came. I was alone with my demons.

I was completely isolated with my fear and horrible agony. I thought I was dying.

When I committed myself in Hotel California, I apparently greeted the paramedics naked at my front door. Then when they crossed the threshold, I showed them a note I wrote to my loved ones which I believed detailed my pain cycle and how it was driving me mad.

Everyone else thought I was going to kill myself because I kept saying "I don't want to die" and I kept talking as though I was dying. Because I thought the pain was killing me. I really, honestly thought I was dying.

It had nothing to do with being suicidal.

But in all honesty, to me, I was trying to say I was afraid I really was dying. It was all fear. That's how bad the pain can get. Especially when you have chronic pain on top of dystonia and hallucinations, which I was still suffering from even after I was rehabilitated from the Ritz Hotel of hospitals. I has having a terrible reaction to some of the meds they were putting me on, and having an allergic reaction too. I even OD'ed on my birth control. Who knew you could do that and take too many hormones?

I am not used to kindness, so I don't trust it. Especially when they shove needles into me and other nasty shit.

Hotel California had all the basic needs. We had food, but it was all weird, bland shit. I ate more cookies than I probably should have, because they were one of the few things on my tray that tasted all right. I had to ask for showers, just like in the Ritz hotel (because I cant be trusted to do it alone you see) but this time the showers were evil and I was unable to adjust the temperature. I burned myself more times than I can count, and I had to keep hitting two buttons to get a proper flow of water. You can imagine the damage it did to my body I am sure. I actually caused my toes to go from swollen red to chalk white, which is a bad sign of a nasty flare.

I broke out in a full body rash due to some kind of soap they used on the scrubs, and only after I showed several nurses my fucked up, flaring body did people realize how much pain I was in. My Fibro and Raynauds are real. They live together in a terrible dance that I am constantly trying to learn the moves of so I can remain sane through the pain. And let's not get into my back right now...

So what made me think about all this horrible shit? The fact I just tried to bathe myself like an adult and failed just now. Because my hot water tank was used up and all the fucking hot water is gone. Now I can't bathe. I can't stand for too long in the shower. I just wanted a abson salt bubble bathe to soak my sore legs and back.

But no. Nothing can be fucking simple. Not even a damn bath.

This is my reality. And I wish I could get a fucking break, especially from my loved ones, who have no idea how hard life is for me now. That even simple little tasks like eating, bathing and sleeping are terribly hard. Which is why I am angry and snap sometimes. Why I don't like compromising myself for people's selfishness. And they don't know they are being selfish when they act certain ways. Because they are "sane." They don't have to own every terrible, horrible moment of their lives like they are trying to conquer a mountain. And their pain is way easier to comprehend and comfort than mine is. No one knows how to comfort me, no matter how many times I ask for help or hugs. Every time I open my eyes I am fighting, so I can come off very aggressive at times. Sometimes even passive aggressive unintentionally. I go to bed fighting. I sometimes snap and "bite" with words because damn it, I am in pain and just want a fucking cookie, orgasm and a hug. But that isn't how this pain shit works.

Healing from this won't be easy. Even the orgasms aren't easy. Nothing in my life is easy.

But I don't need brutality right now. My world IS a brutal mess. I just don't know how to ask or deal with showing my bleeding belly to people who I think should be able to see it by now. I mean, I thought I had told people honestly who I was. But maybe I don't know who I am anymore thanks to all this shit. And being small, frightened and exposed is the most terrifying thing imaginable right now.

Because if I show you my belly, I am afraid I will give up fighting.

I can't stop sharking.

But they can't see my pain otherwise. It's not their reality. Their reality is different. Some are freaking out because I talk openly about this shit and it hurts them to read it. They don't realize why I do. That I feel fucking alone with it all...

And it hurts me to LIVE it.

I am a bad ass for trying to bathe. For trying to show up in the game of life. For going to 6 hours of intensive treatment and therapy, like I will be doing today, and for not hiding in my sorrow completely alone yesterday on my mother's birthday. I even got cake with a friend, because damn it, I am a battle Queen and I deserve a fucking treat for dealing with this chronic-shit. With swollen legs and a bad back. With Fibro flares, Raynauds, Bipolar and PTSD so bad I wanna wall up inside my house and never see the light of day again. For coming out of the closet as a Multiple being. For trying to go out in the nice weather and hoping it doesn't make my conditons worse...

Everyday is a struggle now. It shouldn't have to be, but it is. And THAT is my reality. The terrible, brutal truth of it all.

Yeah, yesterday was hard for me. So has been the last 33 years.

And I am not feeling well. Not at all.

I keep getting told I should listen to other people's BRUTAL TRUTHS, but mine are too hard to bear. Wish I could tune my life out. But I don't get that luxury. And it hurts when they abandon me to the pain. It hurts because I'd never do that to them.

EVER.

Sure, I can be an asshole. A right bastard even. But when someone is in pain, I am the first one who will lift you up when you come to me. That's all I was trying to ask for. Because I am fucking terrified too. And I am the one living it.

This is my horrible shitshow of a life. And I need brave mother fuckers to deal with me.

Kweeny's Tribute to Hir Loves

Mother of Serpents

It's my dead mother's birthday today. This and her death anniversary are hard days for me. I have an appointment with one of my many doctors later, and it's going to be hard to get out of bed. Not just because of pain, but because I don't want to face tomorrow and my mother's ghost. The mess my life has become in the last while is a hard pill to swallow, harder than the many different medications I have to take now. But I know I am loved. Deeply loved by my Monster-kids. I know I have a support network in the wings waiting for me to tell them what I need. I just don't want to abuse that kindness, or be a burden on anyone. I am humiliated enough when I look at my swollen legs or when my back spasms uncontrollably. But I am making a choice, like I do every morning and every night. Today I want to think about my lovers and how blessed I am. Not everyone has such love in their lives while they suffer from chronic pain and bipolar disorder. It takes a lot of courage to love someone who is as complex and fucked up with disorders like I am.

I am choosing to focus on my beautiful poly(amorous) family. Especially two very special bitches I have been the most difficult with when I lost my marbles.

NOM NOM NOM!

This is my husband Lord Bearington. I grew up not believing I was ever going to be loved, let alone married. I didn't believe I could hold down a long term relationship, and for a while I broke many hearts as I learned what love was. His lordship is more than my husband. He's my battle buddy and BFF. Even when I scare the fucking crap out of him (and scare myself shitless) he is still devoted to me.

Don't ask me what we are doing. You had to be there. 

And then there is this mad creature Mephista. This demonic-fox-bitch tugs at my heart strings whether she is near or far away. Even from India I couldn't escape my feelings for her. She inspires me with her zest for life and her authenticity challenges me to be a better version of myself. She is an independent monster-kid like myself, and we pretty much can wear each other's clothes. We are dark sisters as well as lovers, and like his Lordship, she is a warrior.

She loves me, even when I piss her off. Even when we disagree.

I feel truly grateful for their presences in my life. Even when they are hurting me with their fierce truths. Especially when they have to leave me in a padded cell so I can get the help I need to overcome this chronic shit. It wasn't good for me to be there. It made some of my chronic issues more intense, but I needed help. I tried doing the self care the easy way, but as is typical of my Kweenybeast nature, I couldn't just leave my wounds alone.

At least in the end doctors believe my pain is real.

*pets Bear*

I had a legit psychotic break. It was spurred on by medication and pain, both of which spiraled out of control. I had dystonia, hallucinations and allergic reactions, all within the same span of time. Plus, I overdosed on my hormones (birth control) which made me a fucking nutbar. I got myself into some trouble because reality wasn't the same for me that everyone else was experiencing. While I accept my part in things and try to accept who I am becoming, I didn't have much control over my mental state. It put me in the hospital 3 times. My stubbornness didn't help and I didn't want anyone telling me what to do.

Werewolf has gotta werewolf.

So for those of you who stuck by me as I fell apart and put myself back together, thank you. Your concern wasn't ignored. Nor is it being ignored now. But I am who I am, and I can't be constantly on a leash, nor can I hand hold anyone back who has issues with chronic illness and madness. I get by one day at a time now. One moment at a time.  And I think I am doing a great job coping considering.

I love you all for being in my life. Thank you for loving me back.

How Nyx Tucks Ty Into Bed

I see her eyes in the dark. My siren, her voice, a deep hiss of pleasure as she curls around me, wrapping scales around my entire torso. I feel it grip around my legs, my arms, my head. I am almost suffocating it's too tight. But then my eyes roll back. I feel like I am drowning, and I don't care. In the most exquisite, hissing voice her mouth finds my ear and laps at it with a forked tongue. Her breath is hot against my flesh, causing me to shiver all over, "It's okay baby. I'm here. I will make the pain go away..."

She grabs my cock and not gently. Her talons coil around it, until she is digging into flesh. I cry out, tears streaming down my face, but I don't use my safe word. Not yet. I haven't even cum yet.

I bite my lip and my eyes plead with her. She doesn't care.

She just continues to jerk me off. She rolls her hand around the tip of my penis, and I go fucking nuts. I curl my toes, my head falls back, and I grit my teeth. It hurts so fucking bad, but GOD DAMN IT DON'T STOP! My mind screams at my Demon Queen, and all I hear in the back of my head is a soft, sultry chuckle, "Don't give up yet. There's more..."

She plucks some exotic, aphrodisiac fruit from a tree within Lord Bearington's mind and starts feeding me the slices. She peels it and does everything right, treating me like I am a Greek god. I sigh deeply in bliss. It's all I ever wanted. To be pampered. To let go of the cage I keep my Beast in. I want this moment to never end. At the same time, I am in the depths of hell.

She doesn't stop. No...she makes sure I eat the ENTIRE thing. Every last bite, down my gullet. I feel full enough to burst, and at the same time Fever Ray is playing in the back of my mind as my Predator/Sadist persona Fucks me.

No, she doesn't fuck me. She makes LOVE to me.

This is self love. This is how I do self love! I am a sexy ethical slut! I am very choosy who I bed with, but I am more than happy to bed many people. That is why I am poly. No other reason.

I am not alone. Even when I am silent in a room.

I have my head mates to take care of me.

Ty rolls his eyes back into his skull and dies like a phoenix, for the 100th time tonight. After the fire goes out his wings go back to raven black. The spiral goes ever downward into hell.

Doctor Appointment Update

Today's appointment went...interestingly.

I was running late, so I had to run around like a crazy person. I showed up all sweaty and red, but I didn't have to wait long. The nice nurse took my metrics and then the doctor came in.

I won't say it went well... it didn't go as badly as it could have, but I am still not happy with this doctor. I don't know why I keep going to her frankly. Maybe because I think she might actually be listening finally; however she is a realist. And realists don't see that while they can help with "the status quo", they aren't good with helping people with invisible illnesses.

But she's listening...so I guess that's something.

She asked me how I was, which I told her was a loaded question. She smiled at least, so she isn't without humor. Then I told her about my blood work, and let her know that I knew the blood work isn't gonna tell us anything. I don't know if that helped her listen to me better, but I am sure it didn't hurt. She did seem to listen to me more. However, I think I had to reassure her more than she is reassuring me about my pain that I am not a drug addict, and I do not want narcotics. PERIOD. End of discussion. I literally had to tell her to stop bringing that shit up. I THINK she will let it go now. If she brings it up a month from now when I come back to see her, we are done. Because I think I made myself quite clear that what I did was a mistake born out of desperation. I am NOT my mother, and I would like to kindly stay that way.

We did talk at length AGAIN about my mental health, and while I told her I have some issues, and they exist with or without pain, that is not why I am coming to see her. I am working on finding counseling options, and I told her about the advice people have been giving on that front. She seemed at least somewhat pleased I am trying. She still wants me to take anti-depressants, and while I get why she says that, I don't think she quite understood my avoidance of them. At least until my husband tried to help me out and clarify what I was meaning.

I just don't want to complicate my brain anymore than I really have to. It's already a mess in there. We don't need to add more shit.

When I could finally get her attention to where I needed it (as it seemed I had to reassure her more than her reassure me. There was a lot of, "I don't want narcotics. I swear. Stop bringing it up. Yes, I exercise. Here is a small list of things I do, and yes, I know you want more, but let me fucking go at my own pace. I move slow mother fucker! My back hurts...AND YES, I KNOW MY BRAIN IS BROKEN. THANK YOU HAVE A NICE DAY!), I think then she heard me.

After ALL THAT...I finally got her to listen to my pain issues. With wonderful backup from my husband, who gave her concrete evidence of shit he has seen with his own eyeballs I go through. (Thank you Bear. You saved my bacon.) She was finally starting to understand what I am trying to say. That I want pain management for all levels of my life. And ignoring that I am suffering is not helping, and I mean physically suffering, not just my crazy-brain issues. Or that I'm fat.

*inhales*

So she won't give me a reference to see a specialist, which pisses me off, BUT she wants to try and help me. So... I'm not sure I am getting as effective treatment as I would like...but I'm scared if I go somewhere else I will get less then these scrapes that I have fought for months for.  She believes me that I have Reynauds, however, she thinks it's the mild form and that it's not piggy backing something worse. Which...if you have been a part of my life for years and years, you know this is BS. You know I have something else going on, in the background, that isn't good. Sure, I am likely not dying. Huzzah for that, HOWEVER... I am suffering. I most likely have Fibro, but she won't send me to someone who would do the proper tests, and I don't see her doing them. Because she doesn't think it's that big a deal.

Yeah. This is what I'm dealing with.

She is trying some drugs on me. Slowly, one at a time...

So I am being put on Seroquel (aka Quetiapine) to help with pain management and my depression/bipolar episodes. Which is something. It means we've come to at least a middle ground. It's a step towards progress. My husband was pleased with this, so I am hoping it helps.

I still get to be on Flexeril to help me sleep and deal with muscle spasms.

I still get to be on birth control. At least until I see my Gyno again and give her my fucked up menstrual chart I have been keeping tabs on for months. (that's gonna be a fun visit)

I still take vitamins to help prevent bad sickness and keep me going...

She says she might give me sleep aids and muscle relaxers later if I need more help. So we have options. Options are good...but...

*sigh*

So that was my appointment.

I've got some research to do so I can keep up with this bitch and maybe, just maybe, the progress will continue. I just wish I didn't have to reassure my doctor, who should be reassuring ME as I am the one with trauma from fucking doctors.

Sometimes I get really, really tired of being the strong person. And the adult for adults.