Liking Her More and More

November 21, 2012

I was a metal-head and a punk, but my appreciation for music goes far beyond that. I was a musician. I guess I should use that in the present tense–I AM a musician. But I have trouble accepting that, always have.

I’m now faced with declined hearing due to the OI. I’m starting to wear my hearing aide more often (I have two but one needs adjustment), particularly when I sing and want to enjoy undertones in music. Going deaf is one of my biggest fears. I often think that I’ll definitely kill myself if that ever happens.

But lately, I’ve been calmer, more generally content–not happy, just content. I don’t like the word happy. My contentment, however, has reached back out to the warm embrace of music, the one thing that has saved my life before.

I picked up my ukulele a few months ago when I was in the dark and the PLDs had moved in again. And though I haven’t played recently, I still plan to play it and eventually maybe write songs again. Most of my songs start off as poems anyway, so maybe (just maybe) I could adapt some of my NaPoWriMo poems as uke songs.

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Oh right, Lana! So on my Borderline Girl Song Week Thirteen post, I posted a Lana Del Rey Song. Her real name is Lizzy Grant. In that post, I called her pretentious but good. I suppose though, that pretentious is just a label given to any musician that takes their music seriously. So I will back away from that word. I’ve been listening to her more and more. Surprisingly, despite my minuscule stature, I sing better in her register, or rather, women who sing in lower, contralto registers like two of my favorites–Amy Winehouse and Fiona Apple.

I’m liking her more and more. I want to sing again and shout out loud. But I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll fail. Afraid I’ll quit like I have before. I can’t let the fear of my hearing loss take control of my actions though.

Here she is singing live. Oh, yeah, and it turns out she CAN sing very well live. It just depends.

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Wednesday

June 20, 2012

TODAY has been a good day. I woke up feeling like death, like my blood pressure was low and I would faint and vomit, but all went well at the end of the day. I haven’t been bombarded by suicidal thoughts, I went swimming for an hour, AND I designed a “50th Wedding Anniversary” invitation card for one of my dad’s clients!

I don’t like making invitation cards for his clients. They always want to muddy up the card by adding all their kids’ names (and they’re hispanic guys, so you know that’s usually a lot) and fifty Hail Mary’s and Thanks-Be-To-Jesus prayers on there. Seriously, just invite people! It’s an invitation card! Give them the time, place and date and maybe throw in a “thank you” or “thanks to our kids for putting up with us” or “thank god we’re still married after fifty years; it’s a miracle”. That’s it! I’m proud of being Latina, but damn some of these old-school Catholic country-latino folks’ ways get on my nerves!

It’s tacky and embarrassing guys! You’re messing up my design with all this other mess! But we need the money to pay the light bill, so I did it. I just did it and if felt good just getting it done despite the anxiety. I did it in just three hours too! That’s a feat for me. I’m all “spaced-out” half the time.

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Perfectionism and the Anxious Neurotic

One thing I had to learn from my Ex-Young Therapist is that I need to just get things done without obssessing, especially when the time calls for it! I’m a perfectionist, and despite what I was told about employers loving it when you say you’re a perfectionist, I can tell you perfectionism–I mean hardcore perfectionism–is torture! It is self-sabotage and self-harm at its finest!

A perfectionist mentality maximizes your anxiety, and if you’re mental like me, that’s a lot of anxiety, which leads to less productivity because you end up lying in the ground all catatonic-like thinking you’re having a heart attack or an aneurysm, which makes you not want to do anything anymore. “I can’t do anything right because I can’t do anything perfect!” Mouse says. Well, no shit Mouse.

So today, I set aside my perfectionism, and instead of  trying to make the card look really good, I just tried to make it “somewhat good”. And I got it done! It’s not for me anyway! It’s not my pet project, my baby, my ultimate design. It’s a damn invitation card for country folks!

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Drugs Once Again

I took this picture bellow. It’s a picture of my current “meds” , which reminds me of the argument I had with Mr. Mackey last night. He kept telling me to remember about the drugs and alcohol and I said, “I got it, geez. Am I boozin’ right now? NO! There are wine, vodka and whiskey bottles in the kitchen and I’m not even touching any of it. You don’t have to keep telling me!”

Then I got angry.

“Hold up Mr. Mackey, just hold up a second. If drugs are so bad, why do these licensed doctors give me so many?! I know Mr. Mackey. I know they’re the tested and approved drugs and all that, but why did the psychiatrist want to ADD Risperdal to the mix when I told her about the weeks after the overdose? I mean on top of everything Mr. Mackey?! Hmmm? I said no to her Mr. Mackey. I said no. I mean, I was barely getting off the Wellbutrin then and I know, I should’ve told her, but you can’t even contact her! You have to ‘go to the emergency room’ if you think one of these drugs is killing you or if you think you’re gonna kill yourself. And that emergency room is filled with like a hundred and fifty people despite the maximum capacity being a hundred. And some of those hundred and fifty are wounded with blood and guts and whatnot! But anyway, I said, ‘I just… I think I need to go to the hospital, but maybe not right now. Uhhh, no, no. I’m not right now. I’m not going to overdose again. I’m not sure. I mean, yes right now I’m ok. I’m sure I’m not going to try right now, this very minute, but I’ve been flipping so much. I just don’t want another drug is what I mean.’ So that’s what I said to her Mr. Mackey. I was being my own advocate, I think. Is that decision mmmmmmmkay? Is my decision to stay on what I’m on mmmmmkay? I don’t know. I really don’t Mr. Mackey. Mmmmmmkay, now what do you think?”

Mr. Mackey left, didn’t even answer, just blinked with dumbfounded eyes and floated off. Poof. Flew out of my bedroom window, high above my roof with his big balloon head.

“Mr. Mackey?”

********

Sometimes I do think that since I started the Fluoxetin/Prozac–became a part of Prozac nation a month and a half ago–the “depressive symptoms” have improved, well some of them. I don’t even know what I mean by that. That’s how ambiguous these things are. I mean, I have more energy overall, I think. I can get out of bed much easier, but that’s still not easy you still wake up feeling hopeless, having panic attacks and feeling nauseated.

The Wellbutrin could’ve been doing a better job. Doesn’t that name sound funny, like it’ll make you “well”. Then again, I’ve just been bat-shit-crazy  bouncing off the walls going from the depths of hell to the highs of heaven in ways I can’t even describe. I have energy like I’m on crack! I hardly have an appetite. And I’m not sure I like that saying “bat-shit-crazy”. Bats aren’t shitty and they’re not crazy because don’t have such a complex psyche as we do, unless there’s something we don’t know about them and they’re secretly plotting to take us down.

But anyway, how would I be able to measure the efficacy of the “meds” since I don’t get to talk to the psychiatrist until the end of July? And besides, she never does any proper evaluations or anything. Plus, summer has come along! And my body almost always reacts kindly to the Sun or vise versa. And my mom got a janitorial job at a local gym, so I’ve been able to swim more regularly there. Here’s the thing, I was bouncing off the walls five-six-seven weeks ago to the point where I was going to put myself inpatient at one of those horrid state hospital wards. I’ve made it thus far though. The ride’s been bumpy, Himalayas bumpy, but I’m here.

I’m still feeling generally unstable though, so I don’t know. I’m scared.

Shit, considering how this year’s been thus far, considering I still don’t know how Monkey Man L–one of the closest persons to me ever–died and I haven’t been able to let that go, considering the increment of my feelings of worthlessness, considering the immigra–well you get it–considering all that and more, I think I’ve gotten a handle on it as much as I can. And though my anxiety is still sky-high most of the day everyday (hell, it seems to be worse), I think I’m alright today guys!

I’m chip-chip-chip-chipper! haha.

I currently weight 46 pounds, that’s roughly 21 kilos. Here’s a list of the drugs I’m on:

  1. 40mg Fluoxetine/Prozac – A fairly potent Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor. Those are the white caps with the little dashed lines. The reason why I have two different kind is because one is a 10mg (I was initially on 20mg, then the psych decided to up it to 40, so I now have the 20mg. It all adds up).
  2. 400mg Carbamazepine/Tegretol – These are the little round yellowish-beige colored pills with the orange circle in the middle. They were initially for the neurological pain I started experiencing two years ago after I got the Bell’s Palsy for the second time and for he third time in January of this year. Oh, snapples! I never got to writing my Bell’s Palsy Part II did I? Hell, I think I’ve promised too many “Part II’s”. I need to stop doing that. Oh get this though. Carbamazepine is an anti-convulsant, so it helps reduce epileptic seizures, yet it’s used for neuropathic pain which is what I have on my face, BUT… BUT… get this: It’s also used as a mood stabilizer! So, it’s of label use is for bipolar disorder. Am I getting a “two for one deal” here. It doesn’t seem so. It seems like this shit my be making my moods flail around and flagellate my soul more?!  (You can read Bell’s Palsy: Don’t Fight It, Just Be Part 1 here)
  3. Drisderol LF 50MU – That’s the green one. This one is actually for the Osteogenesis Imperfecta-OI (aka Brittle Bone Disease, er, Condition). It’s actually a new drug that doctors are trying on patients with Osteoperosis, which I also have due to the OI, but they said it should help. It’s essentially just high absorption vitamin D.The genetecist and the orthopedic doctors discovered that my bone density has gotten even lower since I broke my arm in February. Got, it’s been five months already! We’re already halfway through the year. Anyway, Drisderol is what I take only on Wednesdays: “One capsule by mouth once weekly for three months, then twice a month for three more months.” Wednesdays are the days I designated for the Drisderol.
  4. I ran out of Caltrate and fish-oils but I’m still taking B-12.
Meds

Wednesday’s drugs, mmmkay.

addendum: Oh at the pool today, two old ladies asked my mom how old I am. I was in front of her. Really? I know I’m tiny and use a wheelchair, but I’m not mentally retarded or deaf, well, I’ slightly deaf and mental, but still, ASK ME, DIRECTLY! I used to get really upset when this happened but now I only get mildly upset. Sigh. Ignorance is everywhere.

addendum 2: Speaking of Bell’s Palsy, I got the strangest search term today — “Fiona Apple Bell’s Palsy”. Weird. I don’t think she’s ever had Bell’s Palsy but then I wouldn’t know, would I? Oh well, at least I didn’t get anything about a “hairy Hulk” or “girly Avengers”!

Much love from me and the Mouse, or just twice the love from me, a much more chipper Mouse!

Penumbras

February 3, 2012

Penumbras

They are the ghosts

Of your bitter wishes.

Drawn by your insecurities.

Magnified by your frustrations.

Don’t stare at them.

If your gaze lands,

They will begin to

Crawl. Don’t follow them.

When your sorrows grow,

Floods of them will

Swarm and form a

Haze of darkness. And

Before you know it,

They will surround you.

Like thick, hungry ticks,

They will penetrate you.

Gnawing at each vein,

They will bleed you.

Don’t cultivate their need.

Because if you feed

Them and nurture them

Each night, they’ll surprise

You when you wake.

From corners and crevices,

They’ll guzzle each one

Of your uttered curses,

Your reckless, dark desires.

Attention is their sustenance.

It makes them bold.

Soon enough, they’ll chase

You down and rob

You of your peace,

Those sly, shady devils

Will have you prey.

Eat or be eaten,

Is what I say.

That’s why girl, keep

Your sight on lighter

Things.  Become the shadow

Eater, if you must.

© PAZ 2009

_____________________

This was actually an assignment for one of those creative writing classes I took in college. I don’t do well with prompts. The prompt here was to write four words per line. I found it yesterday as I was organizing some folders whilst  having a sudden urge to get really fucked up on benzos and narcos. But then I thought, “Hey, I’m going to use the end of this as a mantra for the day”. Really, I think I’m going to use it for the upcoming weeks since I haven’t had an urge like this (at least not this strong) in a very long time. And it’s a bit worrisome. I’m still feeling that urge to take something that’ll just knock me out good. I no longer have the Ambien nor money to get a refill either. But I do have some very old benzos (no strong narcos though), and then there’s some of that Hydrocodone left… See here I am contemplating the beauty of pills that give the wonderful gift of not feeling… No, I don’t want to go there. I know where that leads back to–crushing, blending, parachuting, and snorting painkillers with benzos, and any pill really.

I need to help myself curb away from the urge. I’ve never been an addict per se, not with narcos at least (and I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve never had a full, steady supply). With alcohol, maybe a little, ok a lot, but that’s another story. So admittedly, yes, I have an addictive personality–an addict’s tendencies. But I’m not half bad now. I’m not well either, but I’m not bad. I’m not. I don’t know. I feel a bit numb already, actually–momentarily dispersed into a strange depersonalized mood. Everything around me is vibrating and when I close my eyes, I can see every atom dissipate from my being. I’m outside looking in at that flesh that I call myself but isn’t really me. The flesh has no real sensation of its own. I do not feel it as my own.

God, I really need to eat me some of these impending shadows and then mercilessly turn them to the shit they really are out the other end! I’m strong. I’m smart. They think they have a hold of my mind, but I know I can outwit them.

Now here’s the oxymoron: darkness is merely an absence of light. Pure emptiness.