FLAGGED, DR. DREW, DARK MATTER RADIO, DOCTORS

I’ve noticed lately when I view the source for my Blog that items have been flagged. I’m not sure why this is but it concerns me. Should I be flagged for honesty or what I perceive is true? Should I lie about my life as a Bipolar person and living with Conversion Disorder? Should I lie about the mistakes Doctors have made or how I’ve been treated by the health system?

I don’t intend to start lying or sugar coating anything. This is the one place I don’t have to.

I’ve come across several Doctors who for some reason or another did not like a medication I was on and refused to give it to me while I was staying at their Hospital. The medications were not the kind you can just stop without serious side effects, one of them being seizures. They did anyway.

Dr. Drew believes if you are and addict/alcoholic you should not be given any medication similar to Klonopin or Adderall. He will be discussing such matters on Dark Matter Radio tomorrow night. Dr. Drew is an addiction specialist with a track record that isn’t the greatest. You only have to watch Celebrity Rehab to see that for yourself.

The biggest problem I have is Dr. Drew blaming Chris Cornell’s suicide on Ativan. He said he never should’ve been given the medication at all. What I want to ask Dr. Drew is has he ever been diagnosed with a mental illness? If not he has no idea what he’s talking about.

Cornell had talked about depression with periods of being over excited and loving everything and then having that feeling disappear in an instant starting when he was 12 years old. By the way men usually show symptoms of Bipolar Disorder at this age. He also began drinking around the age of 12 to numb or self medicate.

Once again every Doctor who sees a person with an addiction doesn’t dig further to see what’s behind the addiction so the underlying illness is never really treated.

In Chris Cornell’s case he may have been taking medications for mental illness, he had severe anxiety but like most people who take antidepressants or antipsychotics doctors will also prescribe something so you are not a zombie who drools all day. Most of these medications make you feel like you’re floating under water in slow motion. It isn’t fun. Without Adderall I wouldn’t be able to make it down the stairs or have a conversation. Without Klonopin my ulcers would be back and I would be back to dry heaving daily. Neither is any way to live.

No one has the right to say what medications are the right ones for you. Only you and your Doctor can decide that. If you are happy with them and can function on any kind of a “normal” level I say “Good luck! I wish I was you”. And “Screw ’em” to the people who disagree.

WHAT IT IS

Someone recently followed my Blog for a day. I normally wouldn’t think anything of it but the person created their account on that day and it was also deleted after they had read my posts. The blog name seemed familiar to me and the posts they read were about my past.

I am an open book. I don’t lie because I’m not good at it unless I’m drunk or have a buzz and want something. I have 9 years of sobriety with one night where I relapsed in those 9 years. And no I do not start counting days over again I think that practice shames the person and leaves them feeling like “Well I screwed up, everyone hates me so I might as well keep drinking”. I don’t buy into that way of thinking and that is why I have been able to stay sober as long as I have.

Other times when I tried different methods I would make it to 6 months or a year and relapse. The guilt would be overwhelming and the people around me made sure I was reminded of what I did. I felt even worse about myself so I quit and went back to something I could depend on, alcohol. Then I was diagnosed Bipolar and became aware of why I drink and eventually things got easier. Alcohol wise anyways.

Now I sit around and watch YouTube videos from my favorite bands because there is no good music right now. For me a song should be like a book. A beginning, a middle, and an end. I want to feel emotions not hear about how great your ass is or how many girls you take home from the club and how much money you make. That isn’t music. Music is about struggling, pain, love, loneliness, losing everything, fighting for something, it has a purpose.

If anyone from my past has a problem with what I write you know where you can find me. But unlike last time I will be the one with chair and you will leave broken with nightmares. This I can promise.

I will no longer sit by while anyone humiliates, degrades or physically harms me. I will no longer be silent even if I have to stutter to get my point across.

FINDING IT HARD TO CARE

With each passing day I find it harder to care what happens to me. I’m only worried about my Dad and that only lasts until he walks away from me or spends more time with his birds rather than have a conversation with me. I’m not paranoid. You can think it if you want but he did the same to my mom when he didn’t want to deal with anything.

My appointment with the Gastroenterologist is tomorrow, I’m still going alone. I get so worked up going to the Doctor. When it’s a new one I get my hopes up that they will have some answers or a magic cure. I have a tendency to start talking a lot and fast right away. Because I’ve researched what I’ve been diagnosed with I sound like a pain in the ass patient. It never goes well. The last time I tried waiting for the Doctor to speak first. She said “So what do you think I can do for you?” I was looking for a new General Practitioner so I was confused. I wanted to say “Umm, your job?”. What kind of question is that? I wasn’t happy when I left.

I’ve had way too many bad experiences with Doctors, not only with myself but watching what they did to my mom. I’ve been given the wrong diagnosis more times than I can count, had 2 Doctors tell me it was ok to have a “few drinks” for my stuttering, have one smile like a mad scientist while asking to videotape me, another lost pictures of my breasts when he had them developed at a local photo place (not kidding), been made fun of, talked down to and humiliated. Excuse me if I get flustered when I meet you.

I’m amazed at the things Doctors didn’t think was worth mentioning to me. I’ve come up positive for Monoclonal Gammopathy the last several years. People who have this almost always progress to Multiple Myeloma and no one thought it was important. The glands or lymph nodes in my neck are swollen and every other day I have a fever. My feet have been swelling again and these headaches are like nothing I’ve ever had before.

I can’t seem to control any of my emotions. I feel so alone it physically hurts. I want to scream “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME LIKE I LOVE YOU!” but it wouldn’t matter would it?

Sometimes I think if I was dying would they love me more? Then I think of my mom. My Dad was by her side the entire time and when I wasn’t working I was there too. But there were so many other people that should’ve been there and weren’t. I don’t even know who to put for an emergency contact.

I’m sad and tired. Something has to change.

CRUSHES, CRUSHED, DATING MUSICIANS

I’ve always been drawn to music and tried to stay away from dating musicians or guys in bands. In High School my best friend Wendy and I had crushes on another pair of best friends. When I was in High School it was different. The guys looked like grown men. Wendy’s crush was over 6 feet tall with black silky hair half way down his back and the bluest eyes. My crush was an exact copy of Slash from Guns n’ Roses. I’m not kidding, they had the same hair, face, body, and both were in bands. My crush was in a band with the worst name ever “Facial Defecation”. Yup. They were popular too. Mostly because women loved the Slash look a like.

One day Wendy calls me and says “Hurry up and get ready. You’ll never believe who I’m with!”. She had somehow met our crushes and they were all coming to pick me up so we could go to a party. It was the first time I got drunk and fooled around with a Slash look a like. Sadly he passed away a few years ago from Pancreatic Cancer. His alcoholism didn’t help. His best friend paid for the funeral. He didn’t know his family would need that money a year later when he died from lung cancer. He never smoked but was always in bars promoting bands and going to shows.

So I never liked groupies and when drunk I didn’t hide the fact. Part of it was my own insecurity and self esteem issues and part of it was most of them took advantage not caring that these were actual people. I would watch as they would steal expensive alcohol or drugs and it pissed me off. Some of these people were friends of mine and I was there to support them. But I also knew how things worked. The Velvet Rope system is cruel. Many times I only got into places because I was with Wendy. Sometimes someone recognized a kindred spirit in me.

For the most part I tried to stay at a safe distance. Then I would drink and a guy with long black silky hair would show up who played guitar and tattooed. So that night I ended up with 3 tattoos and a guitarist. The next morning I didn’t remember getting 3 tattoos but I remembered the guy. That’s always good when you remember the guy. Of course he was another alcoholic who also liked coke, crack, heroin and a lot of other women.

I had a type when I drank. If they had dark hair and looked dangerous in a good way that’s who I went for. I hardly ever looked at blonds. It’s weird. The dark haired guys always got me in trouble or I got myself in trouble. And they all had tattoos, some had meanings I should’ve known about but I was still young. The teardrop under the eye can have many meanings BUT none of them mean the guy is sensitive and caring just so you know. I think about him from time to time but last I heard he was on the run from doing serious time for putting his girlfriend in the hospital. Not really surprised.

I do miss the music from that time and the guys with long hair. In my own petty way I want to go back in time but look like I do now and tell a few people off or if they hit on me insult them or slap them, either would be good. It was a strange time. Some people were cruel to me because I was a 250 pound bleach blond drunk. Some people really liked me. Now no one likes me or dislikes me. I’m not sure which is worse.

CUTS LIKE A KNIFE

My Dad can be cruel without realizing it. He makes comments thinking I can’t hear him except he can’t hear and is speaking louder than he knows. I can ignore it for a decent amount of time until he does or says something that’s a trigger for me.

Any time I have lost control sober it’s been triggered by words, body language, or feeling threatened. It’s part of having Conversion Disorder it doesn’t excuse my behavior only explains it. I don’t think I’m always 100% to blame. My dad and sister think they are the only ones on the Planet to suffer. This makes me want to slap both of them. They have both had the loves of their lives, children, their own homes, and experienced so much in life they just refuse to be grateful for it.

When I woke up this morning I had a bad headache and felt hot. I know it’s hot outside but my temperature was 99 degrees and I usually run between 93.5 and 94 because of my Kidneys and medications. My feet are also kind of swollen.

I tried to talk to my dad but he was busy reading his email so he ignored me. I started to do something else when he asked me a question. I startle easily. I jumped and yelled “WHAT?”. He said “Well I guess I know how you’re going to be today. Jesus Christ. It’s like this all the time with you now!”. I lost it.

I reminded him that I startle easily and he brushed it off. I felt myself growing angrier. I said “You never really asked about my scars or why I startle easily. One reason is because P and J locked me in a bathroom with a knife told me I was a fat f*cking waste of space and they weren’t going to let me out until I cut my wrists.” He started saying “Shut up, shut up, shut up, halfway through but I wouldn’t stop. I told him I did it and how they laughed when they opened the door and called me a “stupid bitch” because I didn’t get it right. By this time I’m stuttering and rocking and didn’t notice he had left the house.

It’s ok that I take the blame for everything, I’m difficult to be around, I talk too much, I’m too sensitive, I’m used to it. I can’t see my nephews because my brother in law is around during the day now probably because he isn’t working or it’s too hot for him. My sister is afraid I’ll start something with him. It happened one time and only because he was aggressive and looking for a fight. The things he said to me were so offensive that I can’t believe my sister would take his side.

Yes I lash out when I feel trapped which is most days lately. It’s harder and harder to stay here. When I go to the new Doctor Tuesday they’re going to ask me for a contact person. I don’t really have one I can depend on. I want to go off all my meds. I want to leave where I am. I want to be someone else. I’m tired of feeling like a joke or an embarrassment to everyone. I’m not exaggerating I was kicked out of my Uncle’s funeral by my sister because I was looking around too much. She thought I was acting “manic” and should leave so she made her husband drive me home. How would you feel?

Childhood Reminiscing

My early years were spent in a duplex behind 7-Eleven on Wasp Road or Hornet Road, I don’t remember which they were next to each other. It was also a cul de sac. You don’t know how long it took me to remember the words “duplex” and “cul de sac”.

We lived there until I think I was 5. It’s odd because I have so many memories from that time period. I first thought they weren’t memories, then my sister said some of them were her memories, eventually when I was alone with my mom I asked her some things and my dad other things. My mom could make some events sound more interesting than they were or so I always thought.

I didn’t find out until after she passed away the stories she told me were true and some had actually been toned down. If there’s one thing my Dad does not do is lie. Don’t ask me about my Grandmother because I’ve shocked people with some of my responses. I think one was “You mean the Psychotic whore who abandoned her children and left them living in a chicken coop?”. That didn’t go over well but I refuse to sugar coat a thing for that woman.

My Grandfather (Papa) and his girlfriend lived in the duplex with us. Seven people in that duplex was kind of a lot but I don’t believe Papa Doyle was there the entire time. It wasn’t the best neighborhood even then. There were drugs, drinking and fights. It was low income and some unstable people lived there also.

It was cold outside when I saw the man on his bike, I didn’t know what he was dragging next to him as he rode until he got closer. It was a dog hanging on a stick attached to one of his handlebars. When he went by he told me we better keep our dog from barking or the same would happen.

I remember standing there, unable to move for a long time. My mom finally came to get me. She kept asking what was wrong. When I told her she went into Mama Bear mode. She did this well. No one messed with her babies no matter how old they got. She knew her limits though. She waited for my Dad to get home from work and told him. He left the house with a slam of the door. I didn’t see the man on the bike again.

My Grandfather had a habit of not locking doors and falling asleep with lit cigarettes or cigars. A large drunk man was coming home late one night but came into our duplex instead of his. He made it all the way to the room I shared with my twin sister when I screamed. My Dad came running, picked the man up by his shirt collar and it was like they both floated down the stairs and out the door.  On another day outside a man put his hand through his bedroom window, I just remember all the blood.

My brother was 12 and already smoking pot with the kids in the neighborhood. He didn’t realize the glass door was down and my mom had cleaned it. He smashed through it. My sister doesn’t remember these things only being stung by a bee on the bottom of her foot which isn’t correct. I stepped on a piece of glass it was in the arch of my foot but I ignored it until I got home. When my mom first looked at my foot she thought I stepped in something. When she realized there was glass embedded in it things changed.

We also had an odd shaped glass ashtray. It was kind of a triangle. Somehow I fell into the point of the ashtray and it went to the back of my throat cutting it. The problem was it cut close to an artery. My mom was in panic mode because blood kept gushing from my mouth. To the hospital we went. They stitched it but I had to be still for days so it wouldn’t rip and open the artery. This I don’t remember but I have a small scar under my chin from hitting the table with the ashtray.

The best thing my Dad did was work hard and sell everything he had to put a down payment on a house to get us out of that neighborhood. A man with an 8th grade education, an outcast, forced into the Navy, an alcoholic, never shown love, gave everything to protect his family.

The love he had for my mom was special. It wasn’t easy but they never gave up on each other.

My Dad set a high bar. For me a man should protect the people he loves, he can be strong but sensitive when needed, my Dad has never disrespected a woman sober that I know of, if he makes a comment it’s positive, he’s honorable, that’s the word that fits him most.

Alcoholic Reminiscing

It’s difficult relating to other women about relationships and men because I’ve it’s always been complicated with me. I always had crushes that were never returned or revealed. When I started drinking it was 1990 and we all hung out in groups. I’ve said before the group I hung out with was not filled with your boy next door types. They were all older and the majority had done some kind of prison/jail time but not all of them. There were not many women around on a day to day basis except me.

Everyone gathered at J’s apartment. People were in and out constantly and the music was always loud. So loud that he had his phone rigged to flashing lights so he would know someone was calling. I was there so often that J would tell me to answer the phone and the door after giving me a list of who he didn’t want to see or talk to. He usually had a revolving door of roommates I answered for too.

One was John. I loved John. He was 6′ tall and thin with blond hair that went down almost to his waist. I remember walking to the store with him one day, I fell behind and a group of guys drove by and started whistling at him. They couldn’t tell it was a guy. lol He was warm, funny, and when he hugged me it was always like he would never see me again. He would pick me up too which I thought was impressive considering my size. He didn’t like it when the other guys said stuff about me in front me. He was one of the few that would tell them to stop. We were good friends for years until I messed it up.

He always had girls around him. He was in a band, taught guitar, and sold guitars so he was popular. He also drank too much, liked coke and crack too much too. At first he had a crush on my best friend but I thought of him as a friend so it didn’t matter. A few years later my feelings had changed. Unlike most men I’ve met he actually sat me down in a room and said “You know I love you. I love you so much but not in the way you want me to”. If more people were just honest my life might’ve been a little easier.

Two alcoholics who have been drinking together for years are eventually going to do something stupid. I initiated it and felt incredibly guilty when I remembered the next day. I stayed away from J’s for a little while. There were consequences to our actions that I felt were mostly my fault so I didn’t tell him. J with the big mouth decided to tell him. John was pissed. I didn’t know this and went to the apartment and started drinking with J like I usually did. When John arrived I was already drunk. He wouldn’t talk to me or look at me. The song “Black” by Pearl Jam came on and when I heard “I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life I know you’ll be a star in somebody else’s life” I pretty much lost it. I tried not to show emotion in front of them for years. I learned early on they smell weakness and prey on it. This time John lifted me from the table and took me to an empty room where he just held me and rocked me back and forth.

He said he wasn’t really angry he was sad. It wan’t the decision he wanted me to have to make alone. He’s also the only man that has ever told me the only reason he regretted being with me was because we were drunk and I didn’t deserve that I deserved to be treated special because he loved me.

We continued to be friends. A few weeks later he hooked up with a stripper. I had a hard time being around them and drank more. She had me beat. She drank so much she would wet the bed every time she stayed over. But there was always another to take her place. There were a lot of strippers that came and went and I didn’t like any of them. I tried at first but they never looked past the fat girl hanging out with the guys. Some of them didn’t like that I was always around. I was rude to 1 or 2 by saying “you’re not that great I’ve slept with your boyfriend too he’s not that picky”. I know not a great thing to say. Whenever I felt bad about myself or backed into a corner I lashed out and if cheap hard liquor was involved forget it. The cheaper the vodka the meaner I would be.

My story took a turn for the worse didn’t it? John has been with the same woman for years now and doesn’t drink as much. I haven’t seen him in about 17 years. I’ll always remember the good things about him. Even though I was drunk I can still have those memories of things I’ve never had sober.