perzephone: (il dottore)
Even though the anti-depressants I've tried have all had a break-in period of some sort, they've all had one very fast side-effect.

The light is killing me. It's insanely bright in my house. The sun outside is this big beaming white thing in the sky, giving everything shiny lens-flare effects and making me feel like I'm in a nuclear blast-wave. The office I work in, which has charcoal-grey carpet and burgundy walls was obscenely loud last night. The computer screen glare is redunkulous. My pupils are wee tiny pinholes in my head, and my eyes feel like someone's inflated them a size or two past my eye-sockets.

All my meds - the blood pressure & birth control pills - have that 'may cause photosensitivity' warning on them. I've never had a problem w/it, even with the antibiotic thrown in the mix. Today, after a combined total of maybe an hour on the road, w/my arm protected by tinted car-window, my elbow is pink and tender.

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I'm beginning to think that part of my problem is lack of caffeine. Normally I have 2 cups of coffee before I come to work, but this past week or so I've been getting up a little late & only having 1. Last week, we came to an office consensus to start a coffee pool. I'm on my third cuppa joe this morning, and I feel fucking fantastic.

All hail the Great Goddess Caffeina!
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Right now. Quickly. I was hitting the codeine pretty hard the week (maybe 2 weeks?) prior to having my toof pulled. Then Tuesday, I pinched a nerve in my shoulder/neck area so I kept taking the pills even though the toof was gone & mostly healed by Weds. I haven't taken any yesterday or today and I am sick as a... well, as a junkie going through withdrawals. My blood pressure is waaaaay up there, too, nauseous, headachey, muscle achey - I feel like I've got a brain-crushing flu. I thought maybe it was just because the class gave me anxiety, or maybe because the lights were out for three hours & I was staring at a projected computer screen (which always kills my eyes), but a Mike's Hard Lemonade after work and a hot bath relieved the residual anxiety, I've been in well-lit areas for at least 8 hours... I've been drinking fluids all day & not peeing much, which is always a little alarming, but I'm not getting puffy. If anything dehydration is probably contributing to the headache.

Gods, I want to die. I wasn't even taking it for that long to feel this shitty. What's worse is that it only took the edge off my tooth pain. Even my rotted-tooth-pain-feeling-spasming-muscle arm only feel a little warmer & fuzzier than not taking it. Of course, the regular Tylenol wasn't even taking the edge off anything, so mild relief was far more relieving than no relief. At least the codeine made eating bearable, as long as it was room temperature & mushy.
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So I've been 5 days w/out Elavil, friendly little green pill...

Aside from being an anti-depressant & helping me sleep, it suppresses nerve pain. Yesterday, not even halfway through my Excalibur shift, the pain set it with a vengeance. My back, my tooth, my hips, my knees, all screaming along in perfect harmony. Last night, no sleep. Partly because of pain, partly because I kept waking up. I should have just given up & gotten up, but I kept hoping maybe, just maybe... Alas, nothing. I dozed here and there - no dreams, no hypnagogic imagery. Usually if I can sleep all the minor aches and pains fade, but last night since I had no restoration, I still ache.

At least this time it's mostly just pain and insomnia, not paranoid delusions.

I also think I lost $9 this morning getting out of the truck.

I'm not going back to the Ex - I'm scheduled to work next weekend, but I can call in one more time before it hits suspension level, and then the first two weeks of April are my last two weeks of vacation, and then I'm done, done, done. Way-hey-hey, goodbye.
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Ok, I study entheogens - drugs that make you see God. I have tried a few here and there - my most recent experiment was with Salvia divinorum, diviner's sage.

I am fairly open-minded, despite the drug-related tragedies that have touched my life and the lives of loved ones. Drugs are both good and bad. Good for some, bad for others. I tend to trust modern pharmaceuticals and home-grown things moreso than street drugs. Yes, prescription drugs & OTC's can be just as or more harmful in the long run than a little pot, or a little XTC... but prescriptions usually don't come with drain cleaner or formaldehyde in the mix.

However, I don't respect people who justify their drug use with ignorance. If you're going to do drugs, know what the drug is, what it will really do to you, and be honest about it. When I drink, I know I'm making my depression worse. When I'm drunk, I can be a filthy, sloppy drunk cow who takes her clothes off in public & I can get beligerent and even more brutally honest than when I'm sober. But, I know from others that when I'm drunk, I can write. I can relax, even if I can't forget all the things I worry about when sober. I know what I'm doing to my stomach, liver and brain. I know the potential of alcohol poisoning and the all-too-common death from alcohol poisoning that runs in my family. But I still get drunk on occasion, and those occasions are getting more frequent as of late because sometimes, I'm so frustrated when I get home from work that the only outlet I have is a beer or a couple of shots. Booze seems to be the only thing that can put perspective on my crappy job. I'm burned out & I know it, and no matter how many classifieds I read I'm stuck. I haven't resorted to going to work drunk. Not yet, anyway.

Wild systems contain poisons. Formal systems are certainly poisonous, but lack the playfulness of, say, wild coyotes.
- Dale Pendell, Pharmako/Poeia

'In all things there is a poison, and there is nothing without a poison. It depends only upon the dose whether a poison is a poison or not.'
- Paracelsus, 1490 – 1541

I'm in the middle of an online debate about using marijuana to treat depression. Marijuana, like alcohol, is a depressant. It supresses brain chemistry and retards motor functions. Although it doesn't bind to the opiate receptors in the brain, we do have cannabinoid receptors that act in much the same way. Eases pain, distorts space & time perception, stimulates hunger. In the short, immediate term, it can also cause tachycardia & raise blood pressure. Some may think because of the stimulating effects that it is a stimulant - but long-term use reveals its true nature. It's been shown to be very bad for schizophrenics.

Potheads of all ilks get really pissed off & defensive when anyone mentions the truth about the physiological effects of marijuana, or the fact that when you smoke it, it becomes carcinogenic. They don't recognize the danger in buying drugs off the street - fiberglass, anyone? PCP? They seem to be a little paranoid, thinking it's all some government plot to justify the illegalizing of a relatively harmless substance - but I'm quoting to them from the entheogenic heroes - Pinchbeck, Weil, Davis, Ratsch, Schultes, Pendell. Even says marijuana is a depressant - but it also lists it as a stimulant & a euphoriant. They all seem to miss the essential point - understand the drugs you use & be honest about why you're using a drug. It may not make that behavior right - I'm not right in falling back on alcohol as a coping mechanism, but I know what I'm doing when I do it. Personally, I believe that (even with my allergies) marijuana should be legalized or at least decriminalized. Clean out the non-violent offenders from over-crowded, over-burdened prison systems. Nicotine is far more addicting & alcohol is far more dangerous than marijuana, generally because stoned people stay home & don't smoke as much pot as nicotine addicts smoke cigarettes.

Anyway, I'll get off my dopebox. My diet is going well. My feet have lost weight & now my shoes are too loose. I think my boobs are smaller. It's amazing what a difference some slight changes in diet can make. I haven't even started trying to move more, I've just been applying my general knowledge of nutrition & metabolism to myself. I know I'm at a standstill unless I honestly start moving more. I'm just so freakin' tired, though. I'm thinking about getting one of those stationary bicycles that consist of pedals on a frame for under my desk. Been eating more olives & nuts & paying closer attention to serving sizes (4 medium olives, 1/4 cup of nuts). Popcorn is really great - I like popcorn (serving size 1 1/2 cups, approx. 3 servings to a bag of microwave popcorn). Trying to drastically reduce my caloric intake & spread my caloric intake out over a day instead of eating one meal per day like I usually do. It's hard, because I'm retraining my body to be hungry more than once a day. Now, when I eat, I have to take a nap afterwards because my body says, "Ok, we can sit upright or we can digest - we cannot do both at once". I am an amazing font of self-control when it comes down to it. I can deny myself anything - sleep, food, emotional outbursts, a fulfilling marriage, a fulfilling job... and somehow I still manage to not shoot myself in the head on a daily basis.
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I just finished reading The Complete Idiot's Guide to Voodoo, and it wasn't half bad. Sort of fluffy, but I didn't expect a defense of Karmically-Challenged-Magical-Practices (aka 'Black Magic'). I've got enough research under my belt to be able to tell bullshit from political correctness, and the CIGtV erred only in trying to be acceptable & palatable to the masses. Anyway, it's got a great list of zombie movies & had a blurb or two about virtual voodoo dolls & the above site, serving all your zombie appetites. 

I've been having an anxiety attack tonight. I'm twitchy as fuck all, my ribs & head itch - not due to any kind of rash, but because my skin is crawling, and my ulcer has flared up. Everybody always tells me, "Oh, you shouldn't keep your worries inside, express yourself and it'll all feel better". This is pure bullshit. It doesn't seem to matter whether I keep my worries, doubts & fears inside or whether I calmly explain my problems to someone or whether I spend a good three hours yelling "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?" at my math problems, I am still suffering intensely at the moment. I try to keep my good humor up, but sometimes it's tough.
Life's little practical joke: Valium & its herbal counterpart, Valerian, have absolutely no effect on me whatsoever. Except for once when I was 3 - Granny left her Valium on the coffee table when she went to go get her blackberry brandy. I apparently thought it was Pez. According to my parental units, I slept for 3 days & then proceeded to eat everything in the house.  

perzephone: (poppy)
Do I have spirituality, or a mental disorder?

Maybe there's a reason why I only feel 'real' when I'm drunk, why I can only create original words when I'm almost too drunk to type? Why every time my history teacher asks for another writing assignment, I get an urge to have a beer, or maybe a shot of whiskey? Or maybe forget the beer & just sit down with the bottle of whiskey? Why over the past coupla years I only seem to get really horny when I'm bombed to the point of numbness?

I'm not drunk right now. In fact, I haven't been goodly drunk in like, 2 years. I got a good buzz a coupla weeks ago, but fell asleep instead of doing anything more constructive. Of course, lately anytime I sit still for an hour, I fall asleep.

The Schizotypal Personality Disorder (StPD) )

I started thinking about this because I was thinking about how the sensation of my uniform against my skin is driving me nuts, and that was the primary reason I called out of work. I need a break from my uniform. And then I started thinking about hypersensitivity & Asperger's syndrome... which led to me wondering if I'm a sociopath, because 99% of the time, I really don't care about anyone else. People talk to me & I respond in a socially accepted manner - not because I have any real feelings for what they're telling me, but because I get funny looks when I pop off with something Pinky-like ("Yeah, but the burlap chafes me so"). I feel like I'm a big pretender because I don't honestly feel anything. So I started wondering if I'm a sociopath, would I eventually start killing people, or do female sociopaths end up as serial killers? Which led me to looking up the definition for 'sociopath', which is now called 'antisocial personality disorder'... and I'm honestly not seeing myself as fitting that description. I have read about the schizotypal thing, and the above was an interesting article, especially when the author started discussing alcohol as a drug of choice & how once a StPD tries a psychedelic drug it can be impossible to make them stop, especially if they have an 'enlightening' experience.

I think it's kind of funny how the article mentions that StPD's have trouble accessing illegal drugs because of social ineptitude, which reminds me of how I'd love to get my hands on some real Ecstasy, but I'm too paranoid to trust anything I might be able to buy on the street... and none of my pill-popping co-workers play around with rave drugs - they all prefer swapping their antidepressants, diet pills & hydrocodone.
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How fucked up am I that I actually have to take a pill in order to dream?

No pill, no REM. No REM, no dreams. Well, ok, I probably do get NREM dreams, but those are probably the ones where I'm dreaming that I'm at work. And not like, 'naked & weird at work', but where I am reliving, moment by moment, my night at work.

I am awake right now, doing laundry, working on a history assignment, wondering what to do for the next hour or so that will lead me down the poppy-lined path to sleep... I have to readjust my sleep schedule slowly to swing shift because I have to go to work on Tuesday at 

!!3ofuckingclock in the afternoon! Bastards!!

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Well, my heart is perfectly normal - no blockages, no loose valves, no scarring, perfectly healthy heart. My renal arteries are the same. I also don't have Turner's syndrome, no sleep apnea, no restless leg syndrome and no snoring, at least not at the sleep clinic. I know I do snore because I wake myself up sometimes wondering why there is a lion in my bed...

However, when I hit REM sleep I'd wake up & not fully fall back into REM sleep - at least at the sleep clinic. Each time I woke up corresponded w/the onset of REM. Weird, huh? Most likely it's alcoholism-related. I do 'suffer' from hypnagogic imagery, aka 'night terrors' only mine are more dream-like than terrifying. Probably because I understand the psychology of sleep and my hypnagogic state is closer to lucid dreaming than it is to the night terrors that some poor folk experience. I get the weird urge to tell Rob stupid Vaudevillian jokes. I do get the REarM's, complete with roaring soccer crowds & the sensation of levitation or movement but I know it's not aliens coming to get me or spirits sitting on my chest when I feel that sleep paralysis setting in.

So I'm trying a new sleeping pill called 'Rozerem' - it's supposed to restore the natural circadian rhythms, even for shift workers such as myself. If it doesn't work, I've got another prescription for Elavil, my personal wonder-drug.

I am also thankfully almost done with this round of algebra. 2 more weeks - it went by a lot faster than anticipated.
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Yesterday, after frustratedly waiting for one of my toons to log into WoW, Rob put his foot down & proclaimed, 'We are getting you some more RAM!' So that's pretty much what we did, got two sticks of 512Mb DDR & now I'm running at 1.5G of RAM.

I tell ya something, last night we had been playing pretty much non-stop from about 9pm and I had forgotten completely about it, but Mondays are when I have Norton do its full antivirus scan. Around 2am I got bumped offline & lo & behold, Norton had been running its virus scan in th background of WoW all night. Normally, even w/my original 512Mb of RAM, I couldn't do anything, let alone play a graphics-and-processing heavy video game, while NAV was scanning. I never noticed anything wrong - in fact, the extra RAM was totally eliminated my inner-city-lag problems in Orgrimmar and Undercity. I am almost orgasmic over the new play flow. It's freaking fantastic, people!

Not only that, but I can minimize WoW, look two things up - one on the Yahoo! browser & one in Explorer, open an Excel spreadsheet(who eat RAM like nothing I've ever seen), open a Word document, do some stuff in both of them, all while playing solitaire, having my typing program monitoring everything, and my printer going - without noticing any changes in performance. I should have done this when I got the freakin' computer!!!

I took the other two Lunesta I had last night - I had been up for about 36 hours playing the game (vacations are the bomb!), gotten Zane 2 1/2 levels, and I wanted to sleep. Monday nights are when the servers go down for weekly maintenance, anyway. So I went to sleep. Rob & I had really good, partially drugged (for me) sex, and I was out. When I woke up my throat was so raw and sore, & the uvula dangly in the back is still swollen to the point where it's sitting on my tongue - and annoying me. I went in & asked Rob if I'd given him an over-enthusiastic blow-job, to which he said no, and proceeded to tell me I was snoring so bad, laying on my back with my chin pressed into my boobs (sounds uncomfortable - probably why my back is killing me, too), and he could not wake me no matter what he did. The hung-over partygoers banging on the next-door-neighbor's windows did not wake me, either. He said that someone could have broken in, stolen everything in my room, included the bed, blankets & pillows from around me & I wouldn't have noticed or cared til I saw the pictures they'd taken of me on

Hey, I feel well-rested, though. Gargled w/some warm salt water, took some Tylenol & have some ibuprofen on the list as soon as I can figure out how to cut the pills into much smaller pieces...
perzephone: (poppy)
I've got a yearn for a blank piece of paper, but right now there is no poetry in my life. It's all pretty much crap. Just people at my job, hurting & wanting to hurt others. Ugly, emotional violence at every turn. All I do is sit, listen & dispense the least harmful advice I can, tacking on disclaimers at the end of every sentence. "It's only one person's opinion." "I have no experience with the situation you're in, but the way I see it is..." "I would suggest you talk it over with the other person who is involved & try to work out an equitable solution." "Don't let me be a buzz kill." "You asked for my advice, and I'm giving it to you free-of-charge - you get what you pay for." I could write EULA's & TOS' for just about anybody at this point. I am so non-committal I could easily become a politician or an ambassador. Hel's bells, I am an ambassador. Everything has 'may' or 'possibly' or 'potentially' involved in it - there are no finite terms when you talk to me. I always try to present several outcomes to any given situation, try to lend an outsider's p.o.v., and try to see situations from both sides (or all three sides if need be). Somehow I end up seeing the story from more than one p.o.v. anyway, because for some reason all the people involved end up coming to pour their tales out at my feet. Sometimes I imagine myself a spider at the center of a web, only the web has come to me. It all just adds to my disillusionment with the human race, my world-weariness, my cynicism and depression. Nothing good ever comes of letting people cry on your shoulders.

Coyote-like, I sit back & laugh. It's all I can do to keep myself from running away screaming.

There are times, like right now, when I wish I had a really good, reliable connection for some drugs. Strangely, now that my teenaged rebellious years have come & gone, I find myself wishing I could escape from reality for awhile. Even when I drink, reality follows me like a mangy black dog, drooling & stinking of garbage bins. Trying to rub against my hip, knocking me off my stumbling feet so it can lick my face w/its reeking breath. I smoked opium once, back a million years ago, in a Tennessee gazebo overgrown with kudzu. It was all green inside, smelling of leaf mold & river mist. For a few hours, it was all gone. I don't remember the dragon dream, but I do remember that for those few hours, the world went away. There were no pimples, ugly clothes, abusive relatives, no boys, no men, no hungry yearning in my crotch, no restless boredom, no frustration... it was bliss. Coming back to myself, all I wanted to do was escape again, or kill myself trying. I wish now that I had let myself descend into that lifestyle so I could be just now waking up, a different person or a dead person who had lived a little, instead of the n'zambi I am now.
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The Daily Om
July 26, 2005
Being Who You Are
Living Your Truth

When we are young children, we live authentically, seldom afraid or embarrassed to seek out what we want or to speak our minds. As we grow older, we tend to tuck that authenticity away, putting it aside while we chase our dreams, afraid that it might hinder us in our success. But we never let that freedom go completely. We may conform to society while embracing secret passions when alone. We may withhold certain opinions, though it doesn't change the fact that we possess them. It is important, however, to never stray too far from that youthful brashness and self-interest for they are qualities that help make you who you are. The authentic you is your true self and, in living authentically, you live your truth, making time for the things you love and projecting who you really are. The simplest way to live your truth is to leave the expectations of other behind and live the way you feel most worthwhile.

It takes being selfish in a healthy way by doing what you know is best for you, regardless of the opinions of others - even the opinions of close friends and family. Living authentically means that you make choices without fear, trusting in your soul's wisdom... If you value personal pursuits, don't feel forced into a certain job just to make enough money to keep up with your neighbors. Conversely, if you prize success in business, don't let others' perception of what's right for you hold you back. Denying your unique truth can lead to feelings of failure and dissatisfaction because you aren't acknowledging your true self. In living your truth, there are no pretenses. Everything you do will reflect who you truly are.

If you are unsure of who the authentic you really is, look inward and ask yourself what your purpose, values, and needs are. Honor your strengths and don't let yourself be guided by what other expect of you. Finally, discover your passions by trying new things, and sticking with those things that stir your soul. Finding who you really are and then making the choice to embrace you true dreams and desires will take your life in a direction that is both satisfying and deeply meaningful.

That being said, I like money. I like having money. Yes, deciding to be a CPA instead of a mortician feels to me like abandoning all that I am - but as I told Lisa yesterday, a starting CPA w/a Bachelor's can expect to start at anywhere from $80,000 - $100,000 a year. Last night, Scott called to catch up on ol' times, & when I told him I was going to try school again for accounting, he said, "You must like numbers!" I replied, 'Why yes, especially lots of 0's at the end of my salary.'

Psychologically analyze it all ya want... I was a poor kid. My dad lost everything we had when he wrecked two different trucks. My mom died in a hospice as a governmental guinea pig & my dad died homeless w/.16c in his pocket. My mom worked for the apartment complexes we lived in - renovating apartments, killing weeds, pool maintenance. She was not a healthy or strong woman physically, but she was determined that we not be out on the streets. I spent the better part of a year like Abraham Lincoln as a teenager - living in a log cabin w/no lights or heat because my dad couldn't keep a job. I did my homework by candlelight & took freezing-cold baths as quickly as possible. I volunteered for P.E. even tho I had all the credits I needed so I could have the luxury of a hot shower. We hunted & fished to feed ourselves through most of the year, and in Autumn I got to harvest fruit from orchards w/illegal immigrants who thought I was just in it for the worldly experience. Hell no, I was in it to take home the less-than-suitable for market display discarded fruit, just like they were. I've eaten out of dumpsters, I've listened to church sermons so I could be fed in the dining hall or the soup kitchen, I've sold my body so I could sleep indoors or have money for food & booze. I counted ribs & collarbones & hib bones rising to the surface of my skin as even my muscles were stripped away, strange structures & shapes rising to the surface beneath my fingers. The landscape of the starving body is amazing in its stark simplicity. I struggled very hard in the first 20 years of my life.
When Rob came into my life I latched onto him as though he were a savior. I moved myself in on him & he fed me & I nursed him through a bout of pneumonia... we explored many dark places within one another in those first weeks.
The cold hard heartless truth about Rob is this - he gives me what I need. He feeds me, he makes sure I'm fed and kept docile, kept low, kept down, a dangerous well-fed animal on a short chain. I care for him, I support him in his endeavours, I do no complain or give voice to my wants or needs, a simply am here for Rob. I need Rob in mine to hold me down, Rob needs me in his life to lift him up. We may not be healthy for one another, and one of us will certainly kill the other, make a final end to the other, but until then, there is the opium intoxication of the dance between us. When we come together, we're like scrowling beasts, biting & growling & scratching. We want to eat each others innards, our gizzards. We want to crawl inside to the dark, hard places inside one another & pull them to shreds.

Don't try this at home, folks - I took an Ambien & an Elavil & I am pretty high. We are stoned, immaculate... The effects of the Ambien make it hard for me to articulate things verbally. The very words on my comuter screen are swirling about like those gel tubes filled w/glitter & shapes... or lava lamps. The words form little centipede chains & mill about, swirling, contracting, rippiling. Sometimes it doesn'tseem as tho I'm typing on the screen at all, but typing off the edge of the screen, somehow on the edge of the air or past the corners of the screen. My nipples are hardening, my clit is hardening & starting to throb, my cunt pulsates. Ripples of oooooaaaaa run up & down my back & shoulders. I find myself wanting to just run my nails down my face & throat to clasp my breasts so I can chew on my own nipples as my squirming pink slit pleads for attention.

I just totally went off on a tangent... Why am I with Rob? Becuase in a past life, Rob asked for someone like me, down to the unusual name... and the Universe conspired that someone like him - beat down, hurting, fearful of mankind, fearful of his family but somehow bound to obligations not his own through them, would need someone like me, free of parental or family obligations, strong, decisive, hard, tactless, angry & scared for the right reasons, in his life. I am here to heal my husband. It's only coming more clear to me as time goes by just how fucked up that handfasting was. As long as the love shall last, in the lifetime, and the next. And the next. And the next, on into infinity.

And in order to surrender myself solely to his keep, I require, in the way of most seal-wives and bear-maidens, compensation. There are gesas in our marriage. I will do for him as long as there is money coming in to the house, be it provided by me or him, there must be money. He has to answer to my every request, be it convenient or not... I must have books, electricity, lightbulbs, tequila, Coronas, half-n-half for my coffee, a constant source of hot water. I must have mental & emotional freedom even if I have no physical freedom. I must have access to the ocean and all that it entails.

And so I give up one more thing. I admit, freely and of my own will, that money is my prime motivation. I will put myself through hell & back for money. I don't want to be homeless again. I don't want to have to eat at parent's friends homes, or from dumpsters or soup halls... I don't want to go dumpster diving for food or furnishings... I don't want to live in a nice house w/no bills paid. I want to be comfortably well-off. And once I've achieved a level of comfort for myself, I can help others achieve comfort.
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Well, I stopped taking the Paxil two days ago. The light was soooo bad. I could barely look at the computer screen. I'm trying to update my journal so I can track the effects of the medication, but damn... what's the point if you can't even look at the computer because it's too bright? Last night someone had to take one of the fluorescent bulbs out over my head because the office is significantly brighter than the house... but it's not as bad as it was like, Monday or Tuesday. Aggh!

Another thing - I started taking the antidepressant because I feel like I have no motivation, drive or initiative. I am at a dead standstill. Static & stagnant. So what did I do for the past week? Did I do anything mildly creative or original? No. I sat and watched t.v. in the dark. Luckily, the forensics shows that were on were filmed in gloomy locales. Granted, television was more entertaining than normal, but my head was empty. It's a weird feeling, having nothing going on upstairs at all. It's one thing when I reach that state of emptiness when meditating - but to have it going on all the time was something else. I felt very blank.

I've come to the determination that out of all the AdultSwim anime, 'FullMetal Alchemist' has the best theme music.

So now I'm just taking the Elavil because I can get up, go to the bathroom & go back to sleep. I'm obviously dreaming, even tho I don't remember about what - I woke myself up twice because I was talking in my sleep. I know I was pontificating to someone, too - but I don't know what about. Probably more stupid trivia, like the fact that daddy long-legs (aka harvestmen) aren't really spiders, they're opilioids like crabs & mites. There's this urban myth that the daddy long-legs is the most poisonous spider alive, but its fangs are too short to penetrate human skin... not true, because the true daddy longlegs eats rotting organic matter. It is an opportunistic hunter, but a non-venomous opportunistic hunter. I encountered what was probably the world's largest daddy long-legs in the freight elevator at the Ex. I got the feeling that someone was looking at me, but as far as I knew I was alone in the elevator. I looked to my right, tho - and saw this huge freakin' bug dangling between me & the wall. There was a good armslength of space between me & the wall, & this thing had two or three legs on my shoulder & two or three legs on the wall of the elevator, & it was trying desperately to get more legs on me w/out falling. Instead of pitching a hissy fit like I normally do around eight-legged monsters, mainly because my mind said "Wow! That is one big-ass daddy long-legs!" I stepped away from it, closer to the left side of the elevator... it fell against the wall w/an audible sort of banging noise (the inside of the freight elevators are steel) & then scrambled up to the ceiling to dangle over my head. I was quite relieved when the elevator hit the floor & the door opened. A Hispanic lady was waiting for it, & I pointed up & said, "There's a big spider in there" - she looked up, crossed herself & said, "I'm taking the stairs!"
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Agggh! My eyes, my eyes!
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Man oh man... the first night after taking a whole Paxil & an Elavil, which was Wednesday morning. Bad choice. Instead of getting better, it just got worse. By the time I got to work that night I felt like my arms & legs were going to fall off. My eyes hurt - everything was soooo bright. But I still don't know if it was lack of sleep or Ambien withdrawal or the new meds or what. My b.p. was really, really low, too. Thursday night I felt pretty crappy, too - even tho I had halved the Paxil.

I still couldn't sleep that well on Friday morning. Woke up around 1, tossed, turned. Fall half asleep & wake up again. Clock-watching. Called in for Friday night. Spent most of last night drooped over the couch. Couldn't really futz around w/the computer because my eyes still hurt. Today it's a little better. I still feel fuzzy & a little disjointed. I don't know which one's doing it - the Paxil or the Elavil, but one of them is dropping my b.p. to below-normal ranges.

I've been taking half-doses of the Paxil for the past 2 days - if I take another whole one next week, & it does to me what it did Weds. night, I'm going back to the doc & telling him, "No more! I'll just be depressed, damn it!"

I feel...

May. 26th, 2005 04:04 pm
perzephone: (Default)
Weird. Most definitely weird. I don't know if it's from the medication or from the fact that I've only gotten broken, disjointed sleep since noon. I finally said 'fuck it' and got up. I'd fall asleep for moments & it was almost like I kept waking myself up on purpose. At any rate, I'm still kind of groggy. And sort of shaky. Things are very bright in here. Normally, when I get up I'll open the blind in the living room, but today I decided against it.

Gods, I wish I could afford to call in sick for the next coupla days.


Jan. 3rd, 2005 02:53 pm
perzephone: (poppy)
Rob pisses me off so much sometimes - I quit, I told him I put in my notice, first thing he does is call his fucking mother. Doesn't ask me first if I want her to know right away, just calls her up & tells her. Argh. These next 2 weeks are going to be miserable as is, & he's got to tell her the second I get off the phone w/him. Idiot.

I am so tired of working to get nowhere. Thinking about trying school again - sans any financial aid from the m.i.l. Accounting, get my CPA or something. Something business-oriented, maybe go for MIS. I can always go into forensic documentation or financial forensics. I'll have my 3 days off again, might as well take advantage of it.

Wondering where I could obtain some GHB from (other than a corpse) - get a full night's rest in half a night's sleep... Thinking that the presence of GHB in decaying tissue might be what entices the cannibal so much. It is addictive, and only 1 of 2 substances naturally occurring in the human body that is a Schedule I drug.

2 hrs. to go & not even anyone on tribe to antagonize - wtf am I gonna do? Read both books too fast, should've brought an extra. Of course, I picked up Dale Pendell's disjointed thought-pattern but oh well.

I've noticed that odd little office noises irritate me - sniffling, crunching, hacking coughs, chair squeaks. Obviously, it's past time to get the Hel out of here.
perzephone: (poppy)
Rob has determined that John Cusack is his conscience... so somewhere, out there, John Cusack is walking around w/Rob's voice in his head. Rob even noticed (since he's sitting here watching Cusack in some comedy) that they dress alike. Cusack is better looking, tho, so Rob must be John Cusack's Evil Twin Skippy & not the other way around.

I'm going to an acupuncturist tomorrow. First time in a long time I get poked w/needles & no ink! Maybe if I brought him a bottle of India Ink, he'd remedy that. This particular doctor is 72 years old. He was born 2 yrs. before my dad... Sheesh. Weirdly enough, this procedure is covered by my insurance.

Watched 'I, Robot' tonight. (I almost want to pick up Asimov's book... I just can't stand the man's writing. Agh! He writes like Stephen King's movies come out.) It was a better than 'Hero', and about as good as the last Harry Potter flick.

I learned the shortcut for subscript - it's Ctrl+=. Trying to figure out how to make something not be subscripted took thought. I didn't think, at first, to bring something out of subscript the same way you take it out of bold or italics, tho... Duh. Subscript is useful for chemical formulae, like N2O (nitrous oxide).

I think a part of my brain is seeking some sort of entheogenic experience because, for the most part, I have no great escapes. I've been having a pretty constant craving for opium - I've only smoked opium once, but my mouth has been watering for want of it. I probably smoked it quite a bit in my past life... 12 hrs. of blissful wandering... My stomach has been hurting pretty bad lately, so alcohol isn't very appealing. Every waking moment of my day is reality, and even most of my sleeping time. Even when I read, I'm still with the here & now. Even when I sleep - I told Rob 'just put your work on my desk' the other morning. Some people carry on torrid affairs in their dreams, others have a continual fight for survival... me? "Just put your work on my desk."
perzephone: (sleepy coy)
I love Ambien, I really do :)
perzephone: (poppy)
How do I know? I killed the first scorpion of Spring yesterday, of course. It was big enough for even me to see on the back wall... looking at that reddish splotch saying to myself, "That doesn't look like a cockroach..."
Been raining. Love it. People don't know how to drive out here, tho. They had the freeway shut down for something - whatever happened, it was fiery. Burnt one of the retaining walls completely black. Of course, because it's Saturday, I can't find a damned news program to watch.
Fed the snakes. Night audited. Worried about Josh, who actually fucking emailed me last night. Miracles of miracles. Probably wanted me to come over before I went to work, right, like that's gonna happen. I pretty much stay glued to the couch when I gotta go to work. I didn't even want to get up to go to work. I was so tired. I think I'm going back to Mattimoe on Monday to get more Ambien. Sleep, more than 4 hrs. a day, would be a nice change. Can't wind down in the mornings, feel like I'm buzzing around on crack or something most of the time... new blood pressure meds. Welcome to Applied Chemistry 101. I'll be your guinea pig...


perzephone: (Default)
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