Scared and semi-alone May 19, 2008

So, today I see the gyno.  My mother is going with me, which is great.  I need the support and a second pair of ears.  Its the kind of appointment where a lot of information is going to be thrown at you and I don’t know about you but there will be a slight buzzing in my ears from fright.  So its good to have someone else there to pick up info that I miss.

Because of my lifestyle, in the year and a half that I’ve lived here I’ve made 2 friends.  Neither of which are very close friends, they are older women and have grown children of their own, I’m like a novelty to them.  I have a couple of old friends from my previous life, but they aren’t the ones I would pick to be the ones who I’d still have if given the choice.  Things had gotten so bad I alienated friends I had had for 10 years or more.  I’ve made overtures towards a couple with no luck.  Yes, I have my parents.  But, I can’t pick up the phone and just chat with them.  And I’m not allowed to discuss my sister on this blog.  Enough said.  I tried to call two of the old friends yesterday and both were busy and I pretty much got blown off.  One called back and wanted to call while she was in transit somewhere, but I was at the store.  The other, was, well with her who the hell knows.

So, here it is 1 in the morning and I realize how alone I am.  How am I supposed to meet people.  People scare me.  I have three or so places that I’m not afraid to go to.  Otherwise I’m petrified to leave the house.  Why else would I go to school online?  I used to be so outgoing, made friends easily.  I had anxious periods, those periods became longer and longer until they were everyday.  Even on the amount of klonopin that I am, this fear takes over.  I’ve tried all the things you are supposed to.  Maybe I’m lazy and its easier to just live this way than do the work.  But, at this point what am I supposed to do?  Go to a cafe walk up to someone at a table and say “Hi, I’m Samantha, will you be my friend?”

Anyway, its too late right now.  I’m scared and lonely right now.  I need someone to talk to about today’s appointment and the biopsy now.  I need to talk on the phone, have someone make me laugh and forget about this underlying panic for a few minutes.  But, for a variety of reasons (which I have to honestly say I still don’t completely understand) I don’t have those type of friends anymore.  And, I miss them terribly.

Mania, money, and me May 18, 2008

Where did it go wrong? So, so many places.  Now, this isn’t a therapy session where I’m going to place all of the blame on my mother.  But, I learned quite a few habits from her, or what I thought were her habits.  Let’s start at the beginning, or at about age 13.

My problem with money has two parts.  Manic spending, and bad money management.  So, its illness related and situational – if you can understand the distinction.  When I was a kid my dad would go on and on about how tight money was, then the next Saturday my mother would take us shopping.  Here’s the catch – My mother had her own job.  I didn’t put that into consideration.  Next – we lived on a ranch and I was a big time 4-H’er (I’ll take a second here for you to laugh and get it out of your system) OK, so I raised cattle.  I needed to be able to buy alfalfa, grain, etc. And have a place to put the money I would earn from selling a steer or what have you.  So, at 13 I opened my first checking account.  Not a joint account, my own.  BAD IDEA.  I kept getting overdrawn.  I have this idea, that I guess started then that I can keep a tally in my head.  Well, I can’t.  Well, mom would end up giving me the money I needed to cover the overdrafts.  So, their big plan to teach me responsibility actually taught me that money comes from the sky.

I still have that theory, because in the worst of times I’ve been able to figure something out.  Yes, at times its been my parents bailing me out.  But, more often its been something more inventive (always legal, so wipe that thought out of your head), like getting an advance on financial aid checks sent to me even though my school only gives them to people who live on campus, etc.  Used to drive my ex-boyfriend crazy when all of a sudden I’d find some weird temp tutoring job right in the nick of time. 

 Yet, it doesn’t always work.  I might find enough money to keep the lights on and to be able to eat, but I’ve had three checking accounts closed and I filed for bankruptcy about 5 years ago mainly due to pay day loans (evil things).  I don’t write things down, I don’t keep receipts, paycheck stubs, tax returns, bank statements, or any of the other things you are supposed to.  I have this fantasy that I can keep it all in my head.  Why I still hold on to this fantasy I don’t understand after 25 years or so of this you’d think I’d learn.

When I’m manic, and if I have money, or some type of access to money, I generally head to Target, I get a cart and just walk around the store in a sort of daze and throw things into the cart.  In these cases I usually can keep a tally of how much I can spend.  If I realize I have too much, I’ll choose something to take out of the cart and just put it on a shelf wherever I happen to be.  As I head to the register its a rush.  While the cashier is ringing things up I’m crossing my fingers that I didn’t go over.  I rarely do.  Its almost better than sex.  When they hand me those bags, I don’t know, it must be what smoking that first hit of crack must feels like.  Then, when I get it all home, I crash.  Hopefully, I did buy something I really needed or wanted.  If I’m well enough I can do what my previous Psych doc used to tell me to do.  Take things back.

Therein lay the problem with ebay.  You can’t return items you win.  You can try and resell them.  Which I did try.  But, I bought a lot of crap that no one wanted.  That’s why I won a lot of stuff, no one else wanted it. 

After my parents realized I had pretty much hacked into our joint account to set up paypal so I could go on ebay, they were furious (obviously) and scared for me and for themselves (I had put them in financial jeopardy).  I was starting to feel better, the new meds were finally stabilizing, and realizing what I had done.  With this realization I knew that I needed someone who was tougher to watch over my money.  I also wanted to take it off my mother’s shoulders, it was killing her.  She was angry as hell, but in deep pain because she saw how ill her daughter was.  I didn’t want to inflict this on her anymore.

I’ve talked to a group of lawyers who act as conservators and money managers mainly for elderly clients, and they set up exactly what I need.  I only need a money manager, I’m in no way in need of anything as serious as a conservator.  They aren’t going to take my case because they are too expensive, but are going to help me find someone who I can afford – they already have a few names for me.  My mother acts like she doesn’t mind doing it.  But, I know once I set this up a huge weight is going to be lifted off her shoulders and our relationship is going to improve ten fold.

Ahhh, meds that work! May 17, 2008

So, let’s get off the uterus subject.  After two months of utter hell, its over!  Ramping down my blessed seroquel (why oh why did it have to stop helping like it used to?) and starting the higher dosages of Abilify and Topomax was awful.  I was climb the walls, spend money like water, scrub the walls with an sos pad manic.  I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t write, couldn’t even read a book.  And, I’m a two book a week reader.  Somehow I got through my semester with an A.  When I had a paper I just chunked it into little pieces.  Luckily, I was fascinated by the topic enough to get through it, and had a fantastic professor who understood my predicament.

I can read again!  Finish a complete thought, and look I’m writing!  It might not be great, but its something.  I see things clearly now and am looking for a money manager who can take my finances out of my mother’s hands and make it harder for me to get my hands on my funds in case I have a manic spending phase again.  Not a conservator, just a money manager/accountant type.  I found a group of lawyers who laid out a plan, but said they were too expensive for me and pledged to help me find someone.

Now I can deal with some family crap.  Can’t go into it here.  I made a promise to my family I wouldn’t post anything about them.  This leaves definite wholes in this blog, but a promise is a promise.

I’m working on post of a few parts about my manic trip from Sacramento to Maine.  Look for it!

Hot flashes during a heatwave May 17, 2008

For most of my life I lived in the San Juaquin Valley of California, whether it was Central California or Sacramento.  That meant 103 degree summers.  I bitched about them, but they were pretty much all I knew.  Then I moved here, where a hot day was 80 degrees.  Last summer I had a horrible time adjusting, I wanted my parents to drive me somewhere just for 1/2 hour where it was hot.  They never did.  I almost went to a tanning bed, something I have a moral problem with (don’t try and figure it out).

Now, the last few days we’ve been in the middle of one of these heat waves, averaging about 77 degrees and my apt temp has been holding just below 80, I know big deal.  For me that should be nothing.  But, I’ve been on a huge amount of estrogen, meaning I’ve kinda been going through menopause and the wonderful world of hot flashes.  I am so glad I hadn’t thrown out all of my tank tops.  Its meant tepid baths, lots of ice water, and well, whining.  Luckily, I lower my dosage today so maybe the side effects will subside.

At least it has given me something else to think about other than what ever is growing inside my uterus.

Finally over on day 19 May 16, 2008

So, the annoying period part of this ordeal is over.  May you never have an 18 day menses.  And for my male readers may your female loved ones never have one.  So, what’s left is this low level feeling of fright.  This is one of those times that my computers should be taken away from me and my research skills are a curse.  I know all about fibroids, hysterectomies, and the word that won’t cross my lips or fingers as I type.

At the same time this has been happening my mania has been slowing down praise who ever.  Except I haven’t been able to concentrate.  Haven’t read a book in a month, which is a big deal.  I usually read at least a book a week, even during school.  I can’t exist without something casual to read. But, I was finding myself reading the same sentence over and over again.  It was a hard semester in a sense.  What saved me was a fantastic professor and a subject that fascinated me.  I didn’t think it would – History of Mexico.  I was able to create a time-line of the creation of the country and develop an understanding of how they became what they are today.  I saw where there were mistakes made.  I’m obviously not an expert, but I think I have a basic understanding of how a country so geographically close to ours developed so differently from ours.  I won’t bore you with my elucidation.  I’d get started and wouldn’t stop.  Anyway, when it came to my papers I just took it slowly and kind of put them in little chunks that I could concentrate on.  And it worked!  I got an A!

So, the new med cocktail works.  Yay!  This blip of estrogen is not fun, but its only for a few weeks.  Unless I need a … not going to even say it.  Forget I was going to mention it.

I’ve been looking for some online work, most are scams.  So frustrating I could scream.  And looking for a money manager as I want to take it out of my mom’s hands.  Its getting to be too hard on her and on our relationship.  Found great lawyers, but charge too much, they are helping me find someone else.  More stress.

So, yesterday did something I haven’t done something I haven’t done in a year or more.  Took a seroquel nap in the middle of the day.  Just popped 300 mg.  and slept through the afternoon.  Just wanted to shut off my mind.  Felt wonderful, but won’t do it again.  Scout’s honor.

Head may explode waiting for gyno appt on monday.  Send good thoughts!

Inept doctors and a fibroid baby (note guys, mention of mensturation) May 15, 2008

So, a few weeks ago my psych meds were finally stabilized.  Yay!  Then on the day my nephew was born my period started, ok big deal.  Eight days later its still going.  10 days, 12 days.  So, first step is to call pharm guy.  No, none of my meds can be causing this.

Now my cycles have been out of whack for a few years.  But, in January I went through a battery of tests.  When the sonogram and what I think is called an “inter-uterine scan” but I call the dildo test (its a dildo looking thing with flashing lights they insert and it takes pictures) results came in my Dr. was called out of town on an emergency.  I called the family clinic for the results a few times and the Dr. who was covering for her never returned the calls.  I was going to try one more time (squeaky wheel), but my family said to go by the no news is good news rule.  WRONG!!!

So here it is 4 months later, I’m in the Dr.s office because I’m on day 14 of my period and that doesn’t seem quite right and its getting a little old.  She’s looking at my records and all of a sudden I hear her curse under her breath.  Turns out she never received the results either.  I was supposed to get an MRI and a biopsy ASAP as I had a “thickening” in one sectioning of my uterine lining.  So, basically a growth, like a tumor.  That should have been looked at 4 months ago.  And its big enough that it is causing me to have the longest period in the world.  Its starting to end today (day 18), because my Dr. put me on estrogen.  Lots of it.  Which is not fun.

I go into to see new gyno on Monday.  Hopefully the hot flashes and agitation will be over by then since I won’t be taking the heavy estrogen dosages then.  I’ve been researching fibroids and uterine and menstruation problems and not even letting the word that won’t be named cross my lips.  Generally all symptoms and things I can cross off points towards a fibroid.  But, the seriousness of my symptoms may mean a hystorectomy.  I’ve decided if they have to remove it, since I can’t have children, I want the fibroid so I can put clothes and a bonnet on it, put it in a carriage and take it on walks.

So, everyone cross your fingers that I’m not the crazy lady with the fibroid baby.  Update later.

Road from destruction (for best results, start with pt. 1) April 29, 2008

            Now, where have my parents been through all of this?  I’ve been in Sacramento; they now live in Eureka on the northern coast of California.  I’ll make calls to my dad to ask woodworking questions, emailing him pictures of things I want to make.  I have short calls to my mom and sister.  But, they know me and they are starting to realize that something is wrong.

            My birthday is November 20^th, right near Thanksgiving.  My parents have decided to come get me and take me to Eureka.  My mom and sister come on my birthday and want to take me out to dinner.  When they get there, I’ve tried my best to make my apt look nice (impossible).  I tell them we need to get take out, I can’t do a restaurant.  I notice many shared looks between them.

            I bring the dog, leave the cat with enough food for a month not for the four days I’ll be gone.  I feel so guilty for leaving him by himself; there is no one I trust to check in on him.  He’ll be fine though.

            During my visit I realize it is actually an intervention.  They have made plans to move me to Eureka.  I can still go to school, since its online I could live in a tree as long as I can get a signal.  Mom is going to be my payee, take over my finances.  She will pay my rent and bills for me (from my money, this is no free ride).  My job is to pack up the apartment which includes getting rid of about half my stuff, and to go to the county clinic and get my meds and find out how to transfer my information to the new county.

            I kept expecting to get angry.  I never do.  I’m relieved.  This is what I wanted when I was in the hospital two years ago after the Geodon stroke.  I knew I was going to get sick, but was too proud to ask my parents for help.  Think of all the things I would have avoided – two black out car accidents, an evil boyfriend, pretending low lives were my friends, and leaving splatters of black paint on the kitchen floor from painting shelves that never quite stood up straight.

            After they drive me back to Sacramento I start to tell everyone I’m leaving.  They all pretend to care on a personal level.  Yeah, right.  The redecorating friend and I put my sofa and huge army surplus desk in two different alleys.  I start just handing things out.  I made a mistake on a couple of things, but most were things I’ve moved from place to place for 15 years and have never needed.

            All the while I’m trying to keep up with the Romance class.  I give up a week before it ended.  I talk to the Dean and it is decided that if I get a Psychiatrists letter I can get a medical withdrawal.  This brings up mom’s rule about meds.  I go to the country clinic, after a week’s wait I see their Dr. I have my meds and start taking them.  My brain slowly starts to come back to me.  Boy, when I start seeing what I have been doing with my life comes to me; I want to crawl under my bed.

            The day after Christmas my parents come with a U-haul.  My dad looks at my “shop” and shakes his head.  We can’t fit the workbench, but I find a friend to sell it to.  I end up selling most of the bigger items in Eureka because my dad has everything, and better versions in his shop.  I’ve made a beautiful Poplar coffee table with my dad, four full size bookshelves (that actually stand up straight and hold books), and a shelving system for the bathroom.  But, I’ll always look back on my kitchen wood shop with a smile.

            Once we find an apartment I can afford my little family settles in (the dog isn’t really supposed to be here, but the owner is 100 miles away) and I start to get used to quiet living.  I love it.  I’m 3 semesters from graduation with a healthy GPA.  I’m writing a lot.  I have plans.  I have an advisor at a university with an online option who is interested in my idea for a Doctoral dissertation.  I found a wonderful Psychiatrist.  He listens to me, he calls me on things. But if I say something isn’t working he’ll say let’s try something else.  If I say I was researching new meds and I liked what they said about this, he’ll look it up as well and give his opinion on whether or not I should try it

Its not all flowers and butterflies, but it’s a nice life.

Road to Destruction pt. 6 April 29, 2008

So, yes I spent the summer using power tools I had no business using in the state I was in.  I’d be so manic I hadn’t slept in a day or so.  For some reason the old apartment building I lived in was sound proofed quite well (my apartment was sub-basement) and my upstairs neighbor could only hear the router (probably because its one of the loudest tools and my router table was right under her bed) and the table saw if the window was open.  So, I would be up at 2 am piddling around in my “shop” making coasters and planters.

 

            Then school started.  I was really looking forward to it.  I was taking two classes, against my better judgment.  I knew it would be better to start off with just one class, but once I make a plan there is no talking me out of it.  As the classes started I was excited, this is what I was talking about.  The two courses were Romantic Attraction and Close Relationships and Leadership: An Historical and Literary Study.  They seemed to be fascinating topics.

            Unfortunately, my brain was not working correctly.  Why should it?  I hadn’t given it a medication in a month or so.  I tried valiantly.  In each class we had weekly posts to the class online bulletin board.  The leadership class had a long paper due every two weeks.  It was the Romance class that kicked my butt.  Each week the professor gave us five to six questions to answer.  Doesn’t seem hard does it.  I received a C on my first assignment.  What?  I. DO. NOT. GET. Cs.  We each get an email from the Professor with a critique.  I did not come close to the amount of explanation he was expecting.  The next week I work on it for three days, turn in a 7 page paper.  A-.  This is what he expects every week.  There is no way I can handle the work of both of these classes.

            The leadership class is turning into a business class.  We’ve seen how well I do in that realm.  The date to drop with a refund is coming near; I need to make a decision.  I drop it.  It might have been wiser to drop the Romance class and its mountain of work, but at least the topic keeps me going.

            One fantastic byproduct of this school thing is I now have an excuse to tell the miscreants to go away “I’m doing homework, come back another day.”  Besides there really is nothing left to steal.  Someone even cleaned out my jewelry.  None of it worth much, except for my Sweet 16 pearls.  My new mantra: “its just stuff, its just stuff.”

            But, I’m getting weird.  I walk around the house talking to myself out loud.  I’ve always talked to the dog and cat, but this is different.  I’m explaining everything I’m doing.  “I’m going to get up of the couch and walk down the hall to go get a diet pepsi.  I am now walking down the hallway.”

            One of my few real friends comes over one day; He looks at my house and is amazed/disgusted.  This is a wonderful byproduct of the male gay friend.  He makes you almost fashionable.  He insists on cleaning and rearranging.  He’s a big guy and just takes charge.  I’m having a panic attack.  He’s touching my stuff.  I just follow him around talking under my breath.  He can hear me but doesn’t pay attention.  When we are done, its fantastic, a place for everything and you can see the carpet.  He starts in on a lighting scheme.  I tell him enough is enough; all I care about is my overhead lamp.  I give him a big hug and send him on his way.  Four hours with another person in the apartment is pushing it when it comes to my comfort zone.

Road to Destruction pt. 5 April 29, 2008

 

            I’ve now hit rock bottom.  I have degenerates coming in and out of my apartment.  I have a boyfriend I don’t love.  I rarely have food in the house.  Not because I don’t have the money, but because it’s a production to get to the store.  Finding someone to take me, and they can’t be doing their shopping as well because I only have about a 10 minute window before I’m going to have an anxiety attack.  Also, I’m about 5 blocks from Target.  I can spend about 10 minutes there and still plunk down $100 in that time easily.  And that’s my high.

 

            I can’t pinpoint how it started my decision to start playing with wood. My dad is an expert woodworker, he makes gorgeous boxes, furniture, and he was making custom order stirrups for cowboys for awhile where he’d inlay their brand in the stirrup for them.  One day I woke up and said I want to make things!  I bought a wood working book and started looking for plans online.  I realized that I didn’t have any of the tools I needed.  Larry suggested going to some garage sales.  He did not understand my fear of the outside AT ALL. 

 

            One Saturday we get in his car, I’m in fetal position in my seat.  The first one we find actually has a box of saws.  Bingo!  He pays, I run back to the safety of the car.  We try a few others, but he is starting to realize how uncomfortable I am.

 

            Larry looks at some of the little projects I have chosen; I’m obsessed with the cutting board.  Most of all because I need a router.  He says I don’t, I can sand the sides.  I honestly don’t believe that’s true.  In one of my magazines I see an ad for a smaller router than usual – a palm router, coming out in a week.  I am buying that router.

 

            And, I do.  Not before I have set up an account on EBay and PayPal and an online bank (remember I’ve already had a normal checking account closed the previous summer).  I’m ready.  I’ve bought about 5 beginning woodworking books.  Subscribed to 4 woodworking magazines. 

 

            You may be asking yourself, this girl lives in an apartment where is she going to be doing this “so-called” woodworking?  Well, my kitchen has what I guess would be called a breakfast nook.  It’s huge.  Because Larry can’t say no to me, we go to Sears and but a very large work bench and a table saw. 

 

            Now that I have the basic set up, I sign on to eBay.  Search in the tools section.  OH MY GOD.  So many!  And wood as well!  Exotic wood that my dad loves.  I have bought the palm router and have been playing with it.  I have a skill saw.  I make my first project – the cutting board.  Boy was that fun.  I love the router.  I don’t really know how to make too much yet.  Its coming up to Mother’s day so I find some nice Maple cut it into squares on the table saw and route the sides into pretty shapes, presto!  Coasters!

 

            Father’s day, I bought a few pieces of Paduk.  I found instructions for a Boy Scout troop to make a hanging message pad holder.  I make about 5 practice ones, it takes some brain power to route the right sides of certain pieces.  I finally make the perfect one.  Dad loves it, but says – seems like a waste of a perfect piece of Paduk.

 

            There were of course other things going on at this time.  They were easy to ignore, because all I cared about was in my “shop.”  The reprobates were still coming around.  Because I was unmedicated I’d have manic periods and be up at 3 in the morning, so they would assume I’d want to purchase their product.  I’d tell them why would I pay for it when I get this feeling for free?  Of course in my case, I do pay for it with 2-3 days in bed.

 

            Then there was Larry.  I cringed when he touched me, let alone tried anything else.  I calculated I could put him off for about two weeks each month, then I had to give in.  I needed him though; he helped me financially when I made stupid manic purchases.  My mother was always lecturing me about how good he was to me.  But, she didn’t know the whole story.  I was now a sort of courtesan.  I felt like I was using him, leading him on.  I did not want to spend the rest of my life with him.  One morning we were talking on the phone before he went to work for some reason, I asked him if he could drop off some cigarettes on his way.  I had no idea what I was going to do when he got to my place.  None at all.  He gets there gives me the cigarettes and sits down.  Out of the blue I say “Larry, this isn’t working.  I love you, you know I do, just not in the same way you love me.”  Long pause.  He says “I know, I thought you could learn to love me.  Anyway, I knew how much you hated sleeping with me.”  Silence (I’m fuming).  “Well” he says “I guess there is nothing more to say, goodbye.”  He leaves the apartment.

 

            I’m furious because for a year he has known I’ve been doing something I’ve hated, but it’s made him feel good so he didn’t care.  But, then again I’ve taken his help for years.  Five minutes later he calls and says “I can’t believe you asked me to get you cigarettes on the way to your house to get broken up with.”  I tried to explain it hadn’t been my plan, but he’s hung up.

 

            OK back to eBay.  I needed a biscuit jointer, clamps, electric hand planer, 20 piece router bit set, oh and that complete set of screws and nails.  Oh, yeah I want that block of walnut, and the cherry.  And the router table for the full size router I just won.  (Getting the picture?)

 

            Now, once I got the laptop the internet opened up to me as it never had before.  I ordered every free sample I could get my hands on.  I was starting to feel like looking at MA programs again.  I had a plan.  I wanted to study something wide open – Liberal Arts.  So, I had been finding online programs all over the country and they were all sending me brochures.  Basically for the last year, maybe, maybe one day every other week I’d have a no mail day.  I went away for 5 days once, put my mail on hold.  When I came back they had to bring it to me in one of their baskets (which was full).  Point of that little story?  I knew the Postman’s route and exactly when he would get to my house.  When he would park, I’d run out of my house and ask him if there were any packages.  There usually were and he’d give them to me.  Yay!  Fed Ex, UPS, or even DHL, were trickier but I soon learned to know those drivers as well.  Then I get the notice – PayPal can no longer cover my purchases, my bank account is closed.  Damn.

 

            At least I had a fully stocked woodworking shop in my kitchen.  So far I had made, besides the aforementioned, two planter boxes, a paper towel holder, but most of my time was spent on a set of bookshelves I had seen in one of my magazines.  I made two sets before I was somewhat happy.  I’d still like another try.

 

            Was my life all woodworking?  No.  Like I mentioned I was looking for a MA program.  I found two that I liked, but one had already closed their acceptances.  I could try again in January, but even then they only took 12 people.  So I chose Texas Christian University.  There is a wide range of topics, and despite the name of the university, not conservative at all.  I was accepted and had two months to get my head together (as much as I could without any psych meds) and play with my toys.

 

Will this be possible?

Road to Destruction pt. 4 April 29, 2008

            So, what else did I do with my time?  I let miscreants come “visit” me.  I had so few friends now I was over appreciative of anyone who would come over.  The people who I met from my apartment complex were not the sort of people I should have let in. 

 

Here is an example.  In good times I am considered messy.  When ill, you have to make a path through the junk on the floor to make it to the next room.  I learned (I always knew people did this, but just learned that it applied to me) I could pay someone to clean for me.  I paid one of my neighbors to clean my apartment for me. She did a very good job.  Then I realized a bottle of Codeine (almost full) I had from the car accident was missing as well as a necklace.  I didn’t confront her, I don’t do confrontation.

 

It was disgusting, but I kept telling myself “well at least they’re my friends.”  Friends, who came to my apartment to do drug deals, steal what they could quickly grab while I was out of the room and who new when my checks came in and could ask to borrow money.  They would run errands for me, since I couldn’t leave the house.  Were always there to clean (of course I was paying them).  Eventually I cut back on their numbers.  But, until the day I moved, I never knew what I still owned.

 

            So, I’m sure you’re wondering A. why was Larry letting this happen? B. What was happening with my meds and the doctor?  Well, Larry didn’t really know.  Everyone came over during the day; I made sure they were all gone by the time he was going to be there.  Ah, the Dr., we tried a few more meds without much luck.  In order to go see him it was a production because I had to find someone to take me.  The anxiety attacks were so awful; it had gotten to the point where I was getting the band around my chest feeling.  Eventually, I quit going.  I was doing what I swore I wouldn’t do; not just to myself but my old Dr. I was off my meds.

 

And now the fun begins.   Watch out EBay! (actually a reoccurring theme in my life!)