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I’m sitting here waiting to go to my eval appointment and I am oddly feeling two things-scared out of my gourd that they will want to hospitalize me, and relief that they may want to hospitalize me.

I’m scared because I have so many things that I need to do-appointments that need to be kept for my shoulder, eye appointments for myself and NSLM, an appointment for him to see my psych nurse-which I am NOW reluctant to take hom too considering how fucking bad I am now.  The kids have 8 days of school left, I’m watching Cute Neighbor Guy’s daughter.  I’m just on fucking autopilot, and it’s not fucking right or healthy or safe for all involved.  *The only time I feel like I’m driving my body is when I talk to Cute Neighbor Guy and those moments don’t last very long.  **Or when I’m talking to Florida..another post sometime later.
Something’s gotta give, and it’s always my sanity that gives.

It’s so fucking FRUSTRATING when I do EVERYTHING I’m SUPPOSED TO DO for my BP, and this is the shit hand I get dealt.  I’m so fucking sick and tired of the side effects from the drugs that are “supposed ” to help me reach stable, when all they end up doing is making me worse off than when I started them.  I mean, OBVIOUSLY.  This drug has fucked me in ways my brain has never dealt with before.  And it’s labeled “safe for human consumption”  WTBFH?!

I see my therapist regularly.  I TRY to see my psych nurse on a regular basis, but her schedule is so fucking packed I’m getting the shit hand there.  I take my meds like I’m supposed too, and I call and let them know they need tweaking.  I’m ON TOP of EVERYTHING.  I know my body well enough when things aren’t working right.  I’m doing healthy coping mechanisms…but they’ve all failed me.  I think I have the right to be let down, to be pissed and angry and sad.  EVERYTHING that I have done fucking failed.  I don’t like to admit that.  I don’t like that I had to reach out to be seen in an emergency way.  All my fail-safes failed.

It’s bloody alright for me to feel fucking defeated at this moment-in-time.

And if you want to spew mind over matter, if I can overcome it you can too, happiness and rainbows and unicorn farts, you can seriously go fuck off.  Because you haven’t walked in my shows, or lived in my skin, or held a conversation with me and my brain.  This is not something that only 6 months of meds and positive thinking will fix.  I won’t pray to a God that I personally don’t believe in to take it all away.

I am broken.  I have always been broken.  I will always BE broken.  And that’s ok.  This is me, this will never change.  I am, that I am.  I won’t ask to be fixed or coddled or thrown aside like trash.

All I have ever wanted was a little compassion and some fucking understanding.  And to be loved for the broken woman I am.

That’s it.  Not much I don’t think, in the grand scheme of it all.

And now I can add Latarta to the list of meds to my “FAILED” category, and start a new one “Meds that have FUBARed my brain”

Because that’s what EVERY person with a Chronic of Mental Illness WANTS out of life-to take meds that don’t make us better and “functioning members of society” but the dregs of it.

Fuckall, Clown Shoes, and isporkacorns.

Reggie is ready for battle against the hell that is coming.

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