So I had a not entirely bad day. It started wrong. I have this deal with a friend that I have to be out of bed by 12. Some days she'll text me but not so much lately because I was doing ok. Yesterday (by the way if you're reading this forgive me if I repeat myself my memory is shit these days) it wasn't really intentional. At 12 I hit snooze on my phone, which should be 10 minutes. I wake up and wonder what time it is because it seemed longer than 10 minutes. It was 12:40.. oops. Today I didn't care. I slept until 1, but I did manage to get to school before 2.
It actually didn't feel so bad today. Where I've been going is this computer lab for graduate research students. It has like 8 computers maybe. It's been empty the last few days. Today I had a couple other students come in. The initial conversation was the same. Hi. How are you. I say I'm reading articles. They ask if I'm studying for my qualifiers (the PhD students have a big paper that goes with their qualifying exams). I say no.
I am (I realize I haven't explained this before) working on my masters (M.S.) degree in Biology. There are multiple options in grad school. You can do a PhD, and you have to take a sort of oral test and a paper to actually be a PhD candidate. If you fail, you either quit or switch to doing a masters. I started as a masters student. I have no desire to do a PhD now because I really just want to work in a lab. I don't want to be a professor. Masters students have 2 options. You can do research and write a thesis or you can do what is considered a "literature review" which means you read a LOT of articles and write a paper about the topic and all you've read. I started as a research/thesis student. It made me very crazy, and it went wrong.
My project was changed 3 times. The 1st was pretty much identical to another student in the lab, and I really wasn't given any experiments related to it. The 2nd basically involved some random DNA my mentor had. She said it promoted RNA export from the nucleus. I honestly presented a paper that said it didn't do that (she claimed they didn't do every possible test). I was finally given this mutant virus to work on. It was a decent plan, but the cells everyone worked on kept dying. We'd thaw them from the frozen stock, and within 2 weeks they'd be contaminated or dying. I lost over a year of time doing almost nothing because I had no cells. It wasn't just me. Everyone had that problem. Just some of the other students in our lab had other things to work on or other cells. My mentor professor blamed us. We had poor technique and were contaminating the cells, which is ridiculous when you consider how long we had all managed just fine. It turned out to be something with the media we used, but after 3 wasted semesters I gave up.
So the next part of the conversation is that I am working on a "professional paper" and trying to make an outline by the end of summer, which is true. They tell me that's a good idea. I actually feel decent. One discussed whether I was teaching in summer and fall and whether I had to be done by December. I am aiming to graduate in December, but it is possible I will graduate next May. Either way, I am working.
The part that kind of upset me is that while I and another student were on the computers this professor came and talked to us. He's nice. He actually sort of knows my problems. He and the other girl there were discussing different languages and what phrases they know. (I know only bits of spanish and latin). I said at some point I was impressed he knew so much. He said it had to do with a scientist's brain and ability to remember things. We went into a discussion about remembering names, which I was relieved to know I wasn't the only one terrible with. The issue is that I used to remember random things. My memory is absolute shit now. I forget what people tell me or what I tell them. I forget things I'm supposed to do. I at times forget what actually happened and what I dreamed happened. I seriously think alcohol as damaged my brain. My therapist says it's reversible, but it really upsets me. Besides the tremors, I have to be extra careful driving even when fully sober because I will space out or get distracted. I had to start writing things down because I know I'll forget them. It really bothers me.
I did go to AA today. Some guy brought a puppy.. and it's amazing how puppies make everything ok
Friday, May 30, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
I am tired
Yesterday and today I have decided I have decided that instead of attempting to be productive at home with so many distractions and with alcohol always present, I will work at school. It feels a bit ridiculous sitting in a computer lab at school reading articles and applying for jobs. The computers are there for graduate student research, so I am using them as they should be. I can say it's to avoid distractions. The truth is that if I am home there is this war in my head about when it is ok to drink. Is it 3? 4? 5? I am sleeping more than 12 hours a night. I get up at 12 or 1. I eat breakfast at 2 or 3.
Now, I go from breakfast to school. I sit there until 5:30-5:45 and I go to AA. Today I went to AA and walked out. It was all about people getting better. About all these wonderful things AA brings.
I on the other hand am terribly lonely. I go to AA. I have several woman's phone numbers, but I really can't imagining telling them everything in my head. It's all things they can't fix. Depression, self destructive thoughts, suicidal thoughts. I don't see the happy ending people talk about. I haven't even told my friends all this. I have so few anyway. I have 2 that live near me. 3 more I ever speak to. I have told nothing to my parents. I am so ashamed not to have a job. I feel I should have looked sooner, should have looked harder. I feel like a failure when I talk to them.
It's really not surprising I drink to shut this all out. It feels so hopeless
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Money vs health
I am going to try to be brief on this.
I know I need to be in treatment. I want to be in treatment. I don't care if it's rehab or a week or two in the psych ward (I've never done more than a week because I pressure the doctors to discharge me).
My fears are
Obviously, if I don't quit there will be consequences. I know the whole thing.. liver damage, heart damage, it really messes with your stomach. Then there's DUIs and legal stuff that I've managed to avoid so far. There's the depression that keeps springing up. I almost cried in McDonalds this morning eating my breakfast/lunch at 3pm
If I quit, I am afraid that the physical withdrawal could kill me. The tremors in my hands really bother me. They're embarrassing, and they're scary.
If I quit, I'm afraid the crazy insomnia and depression will make me kill myself. I've had those days. I have laid in bed trying to figure out mentally how to tie a noose (I will not let myself look this up). I have a variety of leftover medications. Nothing crazy but there's klonopin, librium (which I know I have but can't find), seroquel, wellbutrin, cymbalta, lexapro, neurontin, vistaril (not really sure what that is), abilify
I don't actively stockpile. I just don't throw anything away.
So yeah.. drinking seems the best option for now. I can't afford treatment. I desperately need a job or I will run out of money in June. Even if I teach in the fall, that paycheck wouldn't come until October.. so that's July, August, and September I have to manage.
I know I need to be in treatment. I want to be in treatment. I don't care if it's rehab or a week or two in the psych ward (I've never done more than a week because I pressure the doctors to discharge me).
My fears are
Obviously, if I don't quit there will be consequences. I know the whole thing.. liver damage, heart damage, it really messes with your stomach. Then there's DUIs and legal stuff that I've managed to avoid so far. There's the depression that keeps springing up. I almost cried in McDonalds this morning eating my breakfast/lunch at 3pm
If I quit, I am afraid that the physical withdrawal could kill me. The tremors in my hands really bother me. They're embarrassing, and they're scary.
If I quit, I'm afraid the crazy insomnia and depression will make me kill myself. I've had those days. I have laid in bed trying to figure out mentally how to tie a noose (I will not let myself look this up). I have a variety of leftover medications. Nothing crazy but there's klonopin, librium (which I know I have but can't find), seroquel, wellbutrin, cymbalta, lexapro, neurontin, vistaril (not really sure what that is), abilify
I don't actively stockpile. I just don't throw anything away.
So yeah.. drinking seems the best option for now. I can't afford treatment. I desperately need a job or I will run out of money in June. Even if I teach in the fall, that paycheck wouldn't come until October.. so that's July, August, and September I have to manage.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Therapy
Therapy
I started therapy at 15. The story is that I wrote some incredibly depressing poetry and that got turned into the social worker at my school who called my parents.
My 1st therapist was CRAZY. She treated me like I was 5. She made me tear up paper to deal with anger (mostly angry at her for being crazy). She gave me an assignment to go home and blow bubbles. Gave me the bubble solution/wand thing, which I guess is actually kind of nice. The other crazy part that I didn't fully grasp at the time is that I was waiting to see a psychiatrist. The problem is it took ages to get an actual appointment because of being a new patient and schedules being full etc. She then (in front of me) told my parents if they didn't get me on meds, she'd have to put me in the hospital. Really, she had no power to do that. Really, I wasn't that bad. I wasn't even really cutting, just scratches (that actually got worse after seeing her). Plus, she should NOT have said that in front of me.
My parents hated her. It took some time for me to admit I did too.
Therapist #2 was actually a very nice woman. She worked with my parents about insurance. She worked with me to minimize school missed. She really never told them anything I said. The issue was that probably because of the first therapist I was afraid now of being hospitalized. I progressed at some point to actually cutting. I would dig razor blades out of drawers (the kind used for crafts and such). When I couldn't find those, I learned to dismantle the razors my mom and I bought for shaving our legs. It's very easy with cheap razors. It's harder with the more expensive ones because they usually have more plastic and stuff trying to look nice. When I was a junior in high school (age 16) I became suicidal as well. I would write suicide notes. I would debate how I could get pills to do it since I didn't have a job. I would tongue my meds at bedtime because they made me tired and I had started doing all my homework after I went to bed. I had screwed up ways of self punishment. I was overweight, but for a while I only ate dinner. I only drank water with/after dinner. The key is that I told her almost none of this because this was shit I knew I could get hospitalized for. My parents found something I wrote about being suicidal (I am fairly convinced they read my journal) and I managed to say I wrote it after something bad had happened (I don't want to go into that now) and I was ok. I started to dissociate during therapy. Not a separate personality, but I would completely shut down. I hated lying, and if I was actually thinking about what I said it was harder. I just stopped feeling and thinking to get through it.
From graduation until my junior year of college I was not in therapy. I was actually doing better, and my therapist and I had nothing to talk about. I also managed to persuade my psychiatrist that I was fine and didn't need her or meds as well.
Junior year after the whole bulimia thing came out I started seeing therapist #2 again because I did trust her. The key was that now I was mostly honest, but I was over 18 so she couldn't tell my parents, and I was really too sick to help. I remember I was abusing laxatives and diuretics at the time and purging almost everything I ate. I liked being dehydrated because it made me feel like I was actually sick.. like actually bulimic actually eating disordered. She would always ask if I wanted some water. I would always say no. She finally changed it to she would feel better if I drank water, so I finally drank a little cup of water so she'd relax. I left my job and moved home, but it still took over a month for me to get into the only eating disorder program around, so it was mostly a waiting game.
Therapist #3 I decided I had outgrown therapist 2 in 2009 I think. She was ok when I was a teenager, but I didn't feel like it was helping anymore. I tried one therapist who drove me crazy because she was always late for appointments even when I could see her walking around (it was a group office) so I knew she wasn't with another patient. I also did not feel she was listening. We didn't last very long. I got some recommendations from a social worker that ran an eating disorder support group.
Therapist #4 is my current therapist. In the beginning, things went well. I liked her. I also got a full-time job and relapsed pretty bad. I wouldn't eat at work. I was purging a lot. Unlike therapist #2 she decided to make boundaries. I had to text or email her a picture of my lunch. If I skipped lunch, she would cancel my appointment that week. I guess this is a thing with some forms of therapy (DBT I think). She didn't realize that I sometimes was happy not to see her because therapy is hard. I think I only once had her cancel an appointment. I sent her a picture of my sandwich and later admitted I didn't eat it. Lunch other says was a Special K protein shake or a protein bar, but actually having those at work was a big deal at the time.
At some point in 2010 while I was seeing her, I went to residential treatment for the bulimia, Remuda Ranch in Arizona. It was pretty amazing how they worked with me financially because I didn't make a lot and wasn't sure insurance would cover it since I was at a healthy weight (insurance didn't cover it but they still worked with me). I came back and therapy started going well.
Then recently my therapist started learning different techniques. Weird shit. I don't know the name for it but it involves colors. There's some box where you stare at a circle of colored light. There's a chart that is essentially a giant rainbow of colors. Different ones represent different things. What you see represents different things. I do admit that part is weird. The box I refuse to do in part because it hurts my eye and the other reason is hard to explain. The chart is weird. She will have me stare at it and tell her when colors move. I thought she was crazy, but they do move. Her thing today was looking at the color yellow, but I can't see the yellow. I see red, maybe orange, green, blue, violet. I see the yellow and orange parts of it as red. If I blink or look away, I can see it for a few seconds. Also, the colors are very bright, but they aren't after looking for a while. She thinks it's funny because I will look away or blink or squint and when she asks fumble over or trying to explain why. The reasons I hate this are 1) I have a hard time explaining what on earth I'm seeing because she won't see it the same way and 2) she will say how meaningful or interesting something I see is.. and I don't feel as enthusiastic about it.
We talk some. Today I made her stop and talk more about stuff with my psychiatrist.. which is enough for another entry.
I started therapy at 15. The story is that I wrote some incredibly depressing poetry and that got turned into the social worker at my school who called my parents.
My 1st therapist was CRAZY. She treated me like I was 5. She made me tear up paper to deal with anger (mostly angry at her for being crazy). She gave me an assignment to go home and blow bubbles. Gave me the bubble solution/wand thing, which I guess is actually kind of nice. The other crazy part that I didn't fully grasp at the time is that I was waiting to see a psychiatrist. The problem is it took ages to get an actual appointment because of being a new patient and schedules being full etc. She then (in front of me) told my parents if they didn't get me on meds, she'd have to put me in the hospital. Really, she had no power to do that. Really, I wasn't that bad. I wasn't even really cutting, just scratches (that actually got worse after seeing her). Plus, she should NOT have said that in front of me.
My parents hated her. It took some time for me to admit I did too.
Therapist #2 was actually a very nice woman. She worked with my parents about insurance. She worked with me to minimize school missed. She really never told them anything I said. The issue was that probably because of the first therapist I was afraid now of being hospitalized. I progressed at some point to actually cutting. I would dig razor blades out of drawers (the kind used for crafts and such). When I couldn't find those, I learned to dismantle the razors my mom and I bought for shaving our legs. It's very easy with cheap razors. It's harder with the more expensive ones because they usually have more plastic and stuff trying to look nice. When I was a junior in high school (age 16) I became suicidal as well. I would write suicide notes. I would debate how I could get pills to do it since I didn't have a job. I would tongue my meds at bedtime because they made me tired and I had started doing all my homework after I went to bed. I had screwed up ways of self punishment. I was overweight, but for a while I only ate dinner. I only drank water with/after dinner. The key is that I told her almost none of this because this was shit I knew I could get hospitalized for. My parents found something I wrote about being suicidal (I am fairly convinced they read my journal) and I managed to say I wrote it after something bad had happened (I don't want to go into that now) and I was ok. I started to dissociate during therapy. Not a separate personality, but I would completely shut down. I hated lying, and if I was actually thinking about what I said it was harder. I just stopped feeling and thinking to get through it.
From graduation until my junior year of college I was not in therapy. I was actually doing better, and my therapist and I had nothing to talk about. I also managed to persuade my psychiatrist that I was fine and didn't need her or meds as well.
Junior year after the whole bulimia thing came out I started seeing therapist #2 again because I did trust her. The key was that now I was mostly honest, but I was over 18 so she couldn't tell my parents, and I was really too sick to help. I remember I was abusing laxatives and diuretics at the time and purging almost everything I ate. I liked being dehydrated because it made me feel like I was actually sick.. like actually bulimic actually eating disordered. She would always ask if I wanted some water. I would always say no. She finally changed it to she would feel better if I drank water, so I finally drank a little cup of water so she'd relax. I left my job and moved home, but it still took over a month for me to get into the only eating disorder program around, so it was mostly a waiting game.
Therapist #3 I decided I had outgrown therapist 2 in 2009 I think. She was ok when I was a teenager, but I didn't feel like it was helping anymore. I tried one therapist who drove me crazy because she was always late for appointments even when I could see her walking around (it was a group office) so I knew she wasn't with another patient. I also did not feel she was listening. We didn't last very long. I got some recommendations from a social worker that ran an eating disorder support group.
Therapist #4 is my current therapist. In the beginning, things went well. I liked her. I also got a full-time job and relapsed pretty bad. I wouldn't eat at work. I was purging a lot. Unlike therapist #2 she decided to make boundaries. I had to text or email her a picture of my lunch. If I skipped lunch, she would cancel my appointment that week. I guess this is a thing with some forms of therapy (DBT I think). She didn't realize that I sometimes was happy not to see her because therapy is hard. I think I only once had her cancel an appointment. I sent her a picture of my sandwich and later admitted I didn't eat it. Lunch other says was a Special K protein shake or a protein bar, but actually having those at work was a big deal at the time.
At some point in 2010 while I was seeing her, I went to residential treatment for the bulimia, Remuda Ranch in Arizona. It was pretty amazing how they worked with me financially because I didn't make a lot and wasn't sure insurance would cover it since I was at a healthy weight (insurance didn't cover it but they still worked with me). I came back and therapy started going well.
Then recently my therapist started learning different techniques. Weird shit. I don't know the name for it but it involves colors. There's some box where you stare at a circle of colored light. There's a chart that is essentially a giant rainbow of colors. Different ones represent different things. What you see represents different things. I do admit that part is weird. The box I refuse to do in part because it hurts my eye and the other reason is hard to explain. The chart is weird. She will have me stare at it and tell her when colors move. I thought she was crazy, but they do move. Her thing today was looking at the color yellow, but I can't see the yellow. I see red, maybe orange, green, blue, violet. I see the yellow and orange parts of it as red. If I blink or look away, I can see it for a few seconds. Also, the colors are very bright, but they aren't after looking for a while. She thinks it's funny because I will look away or blink or squint and when she asks fumble over or trying to explain why. The reasons I hate this are 1) I have a hard time explaining what on earth I'm seeing because she won't see it the same way and 2) she will say how meaningful or interesting something I see is.. and I don't feel as enthusiastic about it.
We talk some. Today I made her stop and talk more about stuff with my psychiatrist.. which is enough for another entry.
Friday, May 16, 2014
So this is the story.. I typed out this long entry the other day and decided it was pointless, so I'll go with this.
This semester I took 2 classes. One was on electron microscopy.. it was simultaneously very cool and VERY annoying because the teacher is crazy. Like the class is over, but she still thinks we should be looking to publish an article over the class. We all know this is nuts, but nobody will tell her.
Anyway, that's not the relevant one. I am also taking an online statistics course. I took the first half in the fall, and just finished the 2nd this semester. I have known for a while that my memory is shit. It started probably a year or so after I started drinking. This semester, since I go out of rehab, it is noticeably worse. I have to write a lot of stuff down, even little stuff. Like my parents and I will decide to see a movie, and when the time comes I'm too embarrassed to say I don't remember what we're seeing. With classes it didn't seem quite so bad. I can remember facts/subjects well enough to teach them. I can apparently manage a B in statistics. It's more about everyday things and conversations (which is complicated by the fact that when I drink I have super realistic dreams about things like conversations or getting an email)
Well, I scheduled my statistics final (we take them on campus) for last Thursday. I started studying the week before, but I did most of the studying tuesday and wednesday. I can remember the previous week having a conversation with my mom and a friend about how it was really unfair to be going into the final without the grade for the 3rd exam. I saw my therapist after the final and said I didn't know how I was doing without that grade. The online grades for this class were poorly managed. Assignments only showed up when they were graded, rather than classes that have the whole list but only grades by those that are done.
Grades were due Monday, so I sat down Monday to look at my grades. The final exam grade was posted by the afternoon. I kept looking at it thinking I only see 2 other exams. It wouldn't make sense to have the final exam posted before the 3rd exam. I looked back at the syllabus, and then went back through the material for each week and saw that there was no 3rd exam. My mind invented a third exam. I vaguely remembered taking it, but I've taken all exams in the same room this semester, so that probably mixed it up. I can remember looking online and checking my email waiting for the grade. I texted my friend about this and completely lost it. Like sobbing and suicidal. It took a while to stop crying because my friend had asked about treatment and I was explaining how it wasn't possible.
I did finally settle down, and I managed a B in the class. It is still upsetting me that instead of just forgetting something, my brain honestly invented something that hadn't happened. They say alcohol causes brain damage (though my therapist says this is very reversible) and I have been thinking about that a ton lately. I'm forgetting stuff. I'm imagining stuff. Then tonight I was cooking dinner at a friend's house (which is a different issue) and it took much longer than it should have because it is very hard to cut and onion or chicken when your hands are shaking. When we went to serve it, I ended up asking my friend to do it because my hands were shaking too much. She said she had noticed. I told her about the tremors. I said I'm honestly not drinking more than I have for a while, but I guess it's finally catching up to me (?). I thought driving home of emailing and asking if I decide to stop (and I feel like I'll reach that point soon) if I can stay with her and her husband. I really don't want to go into the hospital to detox. I think I have some librium which is the med they give for withdrawal, but you're not supposed to do this alone. Some of the withdrawal stuff is serious: hallucinations, seizures, confusion. Maybe I'd be best off staying with someone and it is definitely not going to be my parents.. anyway..that's how things are. Expect and update soon about my other crazy friends
This semester I took 2 classes. One was on electron microscopy.. it was simultaneously very cool and VERY annoying because the teacher is crazy. Like the class is over, but she still thinks we should be looking to publish an article over the class. We all know this is nuts, but nobody will tell her.
Anyway, that's not the relevant one. I am also taking an online statistics course. I took the first half in the fall, and just finished the 2nd this semester. I have known for a while that my memory is shit. It started probably a year or so after I started drinking. This semester, since I go out of rehab, it is noticeably worse. I have to write a lot of stuff down, even little stuff. Like my parents and I will decide to see a movie, and when the time comes I'm too embarrassed to say I don't remember what we're seeing. With classes it didn't seem quite so bad. I can remember facts/subjects well enough to teach them. I can apparently manage a B in statistics. It's more about everyday things and conversations (which is complicated by the fact that when I drink I have super realistic dreams about things like conversations or getting an email)
Well, I scheduled my statistics final (we take them on campus) for last Thursday. I started studying the week before, but I did most of the studying tuesday and wednesday. I can remember the previous week having a conversation with my mom and a friend about how it was really unfair to be going into the final without the grade for the 3rd exam. I saw my therapist after the final and said I didn't know how I was doing without that grade. The online grades for this class were poorly managed. Assignments only showed up when they were graded, rather than classes that have the whole list but only grades by those that are done.
Grades were due Monday, so I sat down Monday to look at my grades. The final exam grade was posted by the afternoon. I kept looking at it thinking I only see 2 other exams. It wouldn't make sense to have the final exam posted before the 3rd exam. I looked back at the syllabus, and then went back through the material for each week and saw that there was no 3rd exam. My mind invented a third exam. I vaguely remembered taking it, but I've taken all exams in the same room this semester, so that probably mixed it up. I can remember looking online and checking my email waiting for the grade. I texted my friend about this and completely lost it. Like sobbing and suicidal. It took a while to stop crying because my friend had asked about treatment and I was explaining how it wasn't possible.
I did finally settle down, and I managed a B in the class. It is still upsetting me that instead of just forgetting something, my brain honestly invented something that hadn't happened. They say alcohol causes brain damage (though my therapist says this is very reversible) and I have been thinking about that a ton lately. I'm forgetting stuff. I'm imagining stuff. Then tonight I was cooking dinner at a friend's house (which is a different issue) and it took much longer than it should have because it is very hard to cut and onion or chicken when your hands are shaking. When we went to serve it, I ended up asking my friend to do it because my hands were shaking too much. She said she had noticed. I told her about the tremors. I said I'm honestly not drinking more than I have for a while, but I guess it's finally catching up to me (?). I thought driving home of emailing and asking if I decide to stop (and I feel like I'll reach that point soon) if I can stay with her and her husband. I really don't want to go into the hospital to detox. I think I have some librium which is the med they give for withdrawal, but you're not supposed to do this alone. Some of the withdrawal stuff is serious: hallucinations, seizures, confusion. Maybe I'd be best off staying with someone and it is definitely not going to be my parents.. anyway..that's how things are. Expect and update soon about my other crazy friends
Sunday, May 11, 2014
So I had this panicked moment yesterday that because my parents were coming to look at my car, they might come up to my apartment to wash their hands. This should not cause panic. Even I see that even as an alcoholic, bulimic, cutter this shouldn't cause panic.. but as and alcoholic and a bit as a cutter my apartment was awful. My back hurts today (I am honestly counting on nobody reading this to make this ok to say) because I took out 4 bags of trash yesterday. I have a couple left to be taken out. They are mostly food or drink related. I can't remember the last time I actually cooked a meal in my apartment. I exist of frozen foods, takeout, and I will occasionally cook pasta. Honestly, I've started even cooking pasta in the microwave. I use paper plates and bowls. I use plastic utensils. I do reuse these when possible. I have actual plates and bowls and silverware. Even after cleaning I'm not sure where some of it is. I may have thrown some out rather than dealing with it.
This is one thing that to me makes the alcoholism real. This is something I do not describe to people. I don't ask them to visit my apartment, and I don't mention how I eat/live. I mean.. I bathe regularly. I eat at least one actual meal (although it may be frozen/microwaved). I feed my cats and give them fresh water and attention. I take my meds. I am doing what is necessary, but the rest is a mess.
Thankfully, my parents didn't come into my apartment yesterday. I must say it almost looks unnatural how clean my kitchen is. There are no empty vodka bottles or empty juice bottles since I drink that after to keep the vodka down. There is lots to be done, but it looks different. Things being at all clean makes me realize how bad things have been, and I try not to think about it.
My psychiatrist wants me looking at rehab. I am instead looking for jobs. He doesn't understand that even with the insurance I have from school (I'm a teaching assistant and have actually decent insurance) residential or inpatient treatment would cost a lot. Inpatient/residential gets a bit complicated, but it would end in me owing at least $1000 which is a lot given what I make, after taxes, is close to poverty level. I get student loans, but all I have left is about a thousand and that has to hold me until I find a summer job. I cannot afford treatment. I'm rambling and I'm drunk (~14 shots of vodka), so I'll let this be all.
This is one thing that to me makes the alcoholism real. This is something I do not describe to people. I don't ask them to visit my apartment, and I don't mention how I eat/live. I mean.. I bathe regularly. I eat at least one actual meal (although it may be frozen/microwaved). I feed my cats and give them fresh water and attention. I take my meds. I am doing what is necessary, but the rest is a mess.
Thankfully, my parents didn't come into my apartment yesterday. I must say it almost looks unnatural how clean my kitchen is. There are no empty vodka bottles or empty juice bottles since I drink that after to keep the vodka down. There is lots to be done, but it looks different. Things being at all clean makes me realize how bad things have been, and I try not to think about it.
My psychiatrist wants me looking at rehab. I am instead looking for jobs. He doesn't understand that even with the insurance I have from school (I'm a teaching assistant and have actually decent insurance) residential or inpatient treatment would cost a lot. Inpatient/residential gets a bit complicated, but it would end in me owing at least $1000 which is a lot given what I make, after taxes, is close to poverty level. I get student loans, but all I have left is about a thousand and that has to hold me until I find a summer job. I cannot afford treatment. I'm rambling and I'm drunk (~14 shots of vodka), so I'll let this be all.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Not a good day
Well, technically I'm including last night as part of this bad day. I went out to dinner with a couple friends last night to celebrate the end of the semester. We went to this Mexican restaurant. It's a big chain restaurant, but the parking lot is way too small for the number of people eating there. Some people park on the grass/dirt next to the lot. After circling the lot several times. I decided to do this. I kind of realized it was a bad decision when I did it. Mostly there were trucks and SUVs over there, but a few normal cars so I thought it would be ok. My car did not like driving through the mud.
So I go to leave, and I manage to back out, but when I go to drive back onto the pavement I don't notice how big of a bump/ledge there is. I go over it and can tell my bumper hit it because my car is fairly low to the ground. It starts making weird scraping noises driving home. I stop twice on the drive home to look at the front of the car but don't see anything obviously wrong (nothing hanging down, no fluid gushing out). I get home and look at it a bit and decide I'd deal with it later. I emailed my Dad about it (I'm 27 and my poor dad still has to help me with my car). He says it doesn't sound like a big deal.
I go to leave to get lunch before my usual AA meeting, and I look again. Not sure if anyone reads my posts, but I'll include this in case someone does. A piece of metal behind the bumper got bent and is rubbing against the tire
So I decide I should drive anywhere :-(
I'm a bit disappointed about missing AA, but I am very disappointed because I can't go to the liquor store (which is an odd combination of worries). I even debate calling a friend and asking if she'd drive me there, but I decided that was probably crossing some sort of boundary since my friends all know I have a drinking problem.
Well, I come to terms with that. In the state I live in, you can only buy liquor from 10am-9pm and only Monday-Saturday.. so if I don't get this fixed tonight (my dad thinks he can bend it back) I can't go tomorrow, and I have enough vodka for tonight but not for tomorrow. I finally calm myself down because worst case scenario (I realize this is all kind of f***ed up) I can walk to the drugstore and buy a couple bottles of wine (wine and beer you can get on sundays)
Then the final panic. I realize that if my dad does work on the car, he might want to come into my apartment to wash his hands This I start crying about because my apartment is a horrible mess. Mostly just empty food packages, empty vodka bottles, empty soda boxes. Stuff is everywhere. It all started because I don't clean when I'm drunk, and at some point it just got bad enough I couldn't convince myself to start cleaning. When I ran out of room, I'd gather up a bag of trash, but I never cleared everything. Because of this, nobody has been in my apartment since last summer. Other than occasionally one of my friends would step inside when she came to pick me up, but never more than a step into the apartment. I'm too embarrassed. So I sat there and cried while trying to eat lunch (a frozen meal because I also don't cook). I have managed to gather 3 bags of trash, and that's only the living room and dining area. I still have kitchen and bathroom and bedroom. I decided I could clean either the kitchen or bathroom and just direct him to the clean one to wash his hands. I decided kitchen was better because he wouldn't be able to see into my bedroom. It's all very ridiculous. I decided that the best option was probably to bring some wet paper towels downstairs with me so we could clean our hands without going up to my apartment.
So I go to leave, and I manage to back out, but when I go to drive back onto the pavement I don't notice how big of a bump/ledge there is. I go over it and can tell my bumper hit it because my car is fairly low to the ground. It starts making weird scraping noises driving home. I stop twice on the drive home to look at the front of the car but don't see anything obviously wrong (nothing hanging down, no fluid gushing out). I get home and look at it a bit and decide I'd deal with it later. I emailed my Dad about it (I'm 27 and my poor dad still has to help me with my car). He says it doesn't sound like a big deal.
I go to leave to get lunch before my usual AA meeting, and I look again. Not sure if anyone reads my posts, but I'll include this in case someone does. A piece of metal behind the bumper got bent and is rubbing against the tire
I'm a bit disappointed about missing AA, but I am very disappointed because I can't go to the liquor store (which is an odd combination of worries). I even debate calling a friend and asking if she'd drive me there, but I decided that was probably crossing some sort of boundary since my friends all know I have a drinking problem.
Well, I come to terms with that. In the state I live in, you can only buy liquor from 10am-9pm and only Monday-Saturday.. so if I don't get this fixed tonight (my dad thinks he can bend it back) I can't go tomorrow, and I have enough vodka for tonight but not for tomorrow. I finally calm myself down because worst case scenario (I realize this is all kind of f***ed up) I can walk to the drugstore and buy a couple bottles of wine (wine and beer you can get on sundays)
Then the final panic. I realize that if my dad does work on the car, he might want to come into my apartment to wash his hands This I start crying about because my apartment is a horrible mess. Mostly just empty food packages, empty vodka bottles, empty soda boxes. Stuff is everywhere. It all started because I don't clean when I'm drunk, and at some point it just got bad enough I couldn't convince myself to start cleaning. When I ran out of room, I'd gather up a bag of trash, but I never cleared everything. Because of this, nobody has been in my apartment since last summer. Other than occasionally one of my friends would step inside when she came to pick me up, but never more than a step into the apartment. I'm too embarrassed. So I sat there and cried while trying to eat lunch (a frozen meal because I also don't cook). I have managed to gather 3 bags of trash, and that's only the living room and dining area. I still have kitchen and bathroom and bedroom. I decided I could clean either the kitchen or bathroom and just direct him to the clean one to wash his hands. I decided kitchen was better because he wouldn't be able to see into my bedroom. It's all very ridiculous. I decided that the best option was probably to bring some wet paper towels downstairs with me so we could clean our hands without going up to my apartment.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
I have to say.. the tremors are starting to scare me. Not sure why they were worse today.. maybe stress because I have an exam tomorrow. It wasn't just my hands. I just felt shaky in general. My hands were especially bad when I was holding things (like my phone).
It got to the point that I was watching video lectures for a class, and in another tab I was searching for rehab places. I was trying to see if anyone does scholarships or financial assistance. I have insurance, but it only pays 80%, so I'm still going to end up owing at least a thousand dollars. The out of pocket maximum is 2000 for some things and another 2000 for copays. I cannot afford that. I don't even have a job for this summer, so after my last paycheck from teaching I would be living on leftover student loan money. It didn't help that one of the example problems for the statistic lectures was cocaine addiction and relapse.
I didn't find anywhere that would work. Well, I'd have to call some places, and I'm not ready to do that. I'm more concerned with finding a job once school is over. I know it's wrong, but my health always comes last.
It got to the point that I was watching video lectures for a class, and in another tab I was searching for rehab places. I was trying to see if anyone does scholarships or financial assistance. I have insurance, but it only pays 80%, so I'm still going to end up owing at least a thousand dollars. The out of pocket maximum is 2000 for some things and another 2000 for copays. I cannot afford that. I don't even have a job for this summer, so after my last paycheck from teaching I would be living on leftover student loan money. It didn't help that one of the example problems for the statistic lectures was cocaine addiction and relapse.
I didn't find anywhere that would work. Well, I'd have to call some places, and I'm not ready to do that. I'm more concerned with finding a job once school is over. I know it's wrong, but my health always comes last.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Numbers
This is something I rarely talk about. It seems insignificant and unimportant. I am not diagnosed with OCD. I have been told I have OCD traits (whatever that means), but I do have a thing with numbers.
I was taking a friend to go shopping earlier (in my car) and I said I liked a certain song on my ipod. I messed with the volume, and honestly 13 on my stereo sounded best.. but 13 is not ok. I debated between 12 and 14 for a minute. I settled on 12 because my friend probably wouldn't like the song since it was from a musical she hadn't seen. The issue is that if a stereo or tv has numbers for volume, I have to pick an even number. I swear at times I have probably put myself in danger by staring at the stereo in my car trying to get the right number.
Another major one is when I drink. It has to be at least 10 shots. That's probably the alcoholism talking. I have to know how many shots it is. It drives me nuts if I'm unsure. I do want it do be an even number, and I also need to know if it's 12 or above or whatever (It's hard to think of when it's not currently happening). I need to know because there is a cutoff depending on when I need to get up the next day. Mostly not knowing drives me crazy. I used to be able to keep track in my head, but my memory is crap these days. I do worry I have brain damage. I've taken to writing it on my hand. I keep tally of what I've had. If I can't remember taking a shot, I don't write it down.. so I probably drink more than I remember. Still, it gives me some approximation. That makes me less anxious.
It isn't just these things.. When I drink from a water fountain (or at times from a bottle) it has to be 3 sips or a multiple of 3. This is oddly when odd numbers are ok. This started several years ago when the bulimia was really bad. I don't remember when/why, but I remember standing at the water fountain in the grocery store I worked at counting what I drank. I think because I was really restrictive fluids at times. When I was cutting myself, a year ago or so it had to be in multiples of 10. 10 cuts, 20 cuts, 40 cuts etc..
Anyway, the point is that I have numbers that bother me. I had other things that bother me (stepping on cracks or on the wrong places). What bothers me most is trying to explain them. My therapist asked me about them because she thinks trying to control these OCD traits contributed to the eating disorder and drinking and cutting. The problem was at the time I couldn't think of them.. They never really messed with my life. They were just there. The thing is.. they're still there, and now I notice them more. I still do the water fountain thing (the 3 also applies if I drink water from a bottle at night) and the volume being an even number. I have other habits... tapping my fingers... picking at my skin obsessively.
My therapist at some point was convinced that all my problems originated as a way to handle OCD thoughts. I think she's wrong. I think a lot of these behaviors developed to handle anxiety. I've been on antidepressants off and on for the past 12 years. For most of that, I wasn't medicated for anxiety.. well when I was in high school I wasn't taking the anxiety med because it made me tired and I did all my homework at night. Still, the behaviors mostly started when I was on no medication at all or on nothing except a few antidepressants that weren't helping.
I'm rambling again.. but ever since my therapist mentioned it, I am more aware of these things..
I was taking a friend to go shopping earlier (in my car) and I said I liked a certain song on my ipod. I messed with the volume, and honestly 13 on my stereo sounded best.. but 13 is not ok. I debated between 12 and 14 for a minute. I settled on 12 because my friend probably wouldn't like the song since it was from a musical she hadn't seen. The issue is that if a stereo or tv has numbers for volume, I have to pick an even number. I swear at times I have probably put myself in danger by staring at the stereo in my car trying to get the right number.
Another major one is when I drink. It has to be at least 10 shots. That's probably the alcoholism talking. I have to know how many shots it is. It drives me nuts if I'm unsure. I do want it do be an even number, and I also need to know if it's 12 or above or whatever (It's hard to think of when it's not currently happening). I need to know because there is a cutoff depending on when I need to get up the next day. Mostly not knowing drives me crazy. I used to be able to keep track in my head, but my memory is crap these days. I do worry I have brain damage. I've taken to writing it on my hand. I keep tally of what I've had. If I can't remember taking a shot, I don't write it down.. so I probably drink more than I remember. Still, it gives me some approximation. That makes me less anxious.
It isn't just these things.. When I drink from a water fountain (or at times from a bottle) it has to be 3 sips or a multiple of 3. This is oddly when odd numbers are ok. This started several years ago when the bulimia was really bad. I don't remember when/why, but I remember standing at the water fountain in the grocery store I worked at counting what I drank. I think because I was really restrictive fluids at times. When I was cutting myself, a year ago or so it had to be in multiples of 10. 10 cuts, 20 cuts, 40 cuts etc..
Anyway, the point is that I have numbers that bother me. I had other things that bother me (stepping on cracks or on the wrong places). What bothers me most is trying to explain them. My therapist asked me about them because she thinks trying to control these OCD traits contributed to the eating disorder and drinking and cutting. The problem was at the time I couldn't think of them.. They never really messed with my life. They were just there. The thing is.. they're still there, and now I notice them more. I still do the water fountain thing (the 3 also applies if I drink water from a bottle at night) and the volume being an even number. I have other habits... tapping my fingers... picking at my skin obsessively.
My therapist at some point was convinced that all my problems originated as a way to handle OCD thoughts. I think she's wrong. I think a lot of these behaviors developed to handle anxiety. I've been on antidepressants off and on for the past 12 years. For most of that, I wasn't medicated for anxiety.. well when I was in high school I wasn't taking the anxiety med because it made me tired and I did all my homework at night. Still, the behaviors mostly started when I was on no medication at all or on nothing except a few antidepressants that weren't helping.
I'm rambling again.. but ever since my therapist mentioned it, I am more aware of these things..
Friday, May 2, 2014
This week
This week has been crazy. Not actually as crazy as some, but it's been hard. I saw my psychiatrist tuesday, and all he did pretty much is give me something for anxiety and the tremors and recommend an inpatient program. I said I was concerned about even having a job for the summer and he said something like "If this goes on, you may not need a job." It bothered me because I see the alcoholism as awful and harmful to my life.. I don't think of it as something that will kill me. I do have this nagging thought that I should see my doctor and get bloodwork to check my liver, but I haven't because my schedule is crazy. Anyway, it was hard listening to him mention an inpatient/residential program when I really don't think it's possible. Even with my fairly good insurance, it would probably be a couple thousand dollars and I am looking for a job to even pay my rent this summer.
My therapist wasn't much help. She has this thing she uses that has to do with colors of light. I don't remember what it's called, and I really only let her do it if I don't want to talk. The thing is that it's fucking weird. There's a chart that's basically a rainbow.. but if I stare at it suddenly yellow and orange disappear and I just see red. There's a light box which frustrates me terrible because the damn color won't stay still. It changes or moves or whatever. She kept saying things I said made sense, and I don't see how that's helpful. Well, there was some color (blue or purple I think) where I kept seeing this red ring around the color (the light is a circle). It was really pretty, and I said that. She asked what I thought it meant.. and honestly I just thought it was pretty, but I said she probably thought it reminded me of blood. I was annoyed because it didn't remind me of that. I have just been in therapy long enough to know she'd think of cutting.
Well, the crazy started after that. I left and checked my phone and had a text from my crazy bipolar pregnant friend that she had been to the hospital about some problem that didn't turn out to be bad news about the baby, and that she didn't know what to do about my other friend (lets call her L) because she was distraught. I asked if she'd talked to her or was with her, and she said L wasn't replying to her messages. She sounded upset so I offered to go back. My therapist is 30-40 miles from where I live, so I drove back. I was pretty close to home when I got a text from L replying to something I'd asked her about going to lunch. Well, I was less than 10 miles from home and with traffic, it was too late to drive back and see my parents (who live near where I see my therapist).
Well, I go to my friend (we'll call her B) because I figure with the hospital she could still use company. It was ok until L did come over. and OMG it turned into such annoying drama. I listened to them talk about L's exboyfriend telling a friend that she kissed that friend's boyfriend while drunk and all the drama that caused. Then I listened to them basically talk about how society is screwed up and people don't try to work on relationships they just look for someone better. L was saying how maybe she should just have a kid with some random because she was getting too old (she's 30). B was saying she was probably too old to find someone to marry (she's 29). I tried to mention a few cases where people above those ages got married, and B said that was just 1 person. At like 8PM L invited us to her place for dinner. I said I needed to go home. Honestly, I was tired but mostly I knew if I listened much more, I would say something mean or unnecessary. I went home and got drunk. It was a pretty bad night. I get this sort of depression that's almost surreal. I feel alone and scared and like everything in the world is wrong.. and it's hard to describe, but I end up with this desperation to make it go away. I ended up taking a couple Klonopin in addition to the alcohol and forcing my cat to cuddle with me. I always end up trying to narrow the world down to something safe.. it worked ok, but it's a scary feeling. It becomes really tempting to just overdose on meds. I am bad about stockpiling old meds that I don't need. Anyway, it was ok, but I really am not sure how I'm going to get through the drama with B and L without doing something self destructive. I try to be so supportive, but it's really hard to try to help them while they ignore my problems. I'm giving all this advice and support while I'm drinking 10-14 shots of vodka a night and having tremors in my hands and all kinds of problems with my memory because of the alcohol.
Sorry for typos. I'm quite drunk
My therapist wasn't much help. She has this thing she uses that has to do with colors of light. I don't remember what it's called, and I really only let her do it if I don't want to talk. The thing is that it's fucking weird. There's a chart that's basically a rainbow.. but if I stare at it suddenly yellow and orange disappear and I just see red. There's a light box which frustrates me terrible because the damn color won't stay still. It changes or moves or whatever. She kept saying things I said made sense, and I don't see how that's helpful. Well, there was some color (blue or purple I think) where I kept seeing this red ring around the color (the light is a circle). It was really pretty, and I said that. She asked what I thought it meant.. and honestly I just thought it was pretty, but I said she probably thought it reminded me of blood. I was annoyed because it didn't remind me of that. I have just been in therapy long enough to know she'd think of cutting.
Well, the crazy started after that. I left and checked my phone and had a text from my crazy bipolar pregnant friend that she had been to the hospital about some problem that didn't turn out to be bad news about the baby, and that she didn't know what to do about my other friend (lets call her L) because she was distraught. I asked if she'd talked to her or was with her, and she said L wasn't replying to her messages. She sounded upset so I offered to go back. My therapist is 30-40 miles from where I live, so I drove back. I was pretty close to home when I got a text from L replying to something I'd asked her about going to lunch. Well, I was less than 10 miles from home and with traffic, it was too late to drive back and see my parents (who live near where I see my therapist).
Well, I go to my friend (we'll call her B) because I figure with the hospital she could still use company. It was ok until L did come over. and OMG it turned into such annoying drama. I listened to them talk about L's exboyfriend telling a friend that she kissed that friend's boyfriend while drunk and all the drama that caused. Then I listened to them basically talk about how society is screwed up and people don't try to work on relationships they just look for someone better. L was saying how maybe she should just have a kid with some random because she was getting too old (she's 30). B was saying she was probably too old to find someone to marry (she's 29). I tried to mention a few cases where people above those ages got married, and B said that was just 1 person. At like 8PM L invited us to her place for dinner. I said I needed to go home. Honestly, I was tired but mostly I knew if I listened much more, I would say something mean or unnecessary. I went home and got drunk. It was a pretty bad night. I get this sort of depression that's almost surreal. I feel alone and scared and like everything in the world is wrong.. and it's hard to describe, but I end up with this desperation to make it go away. I ended up taking a couple Klonopin in addition to the alcohol and forcing my cat to cuddle with me. I always end up trying to narrow the world down to something safe.. it worked ok, but it's a scary feeling. It becomes really tempting to just overdose on meds. I am bad about stockpiling old meds that I don't need. Anyway, it was ok, but I really am not sure how I'm going to get through the drama with B and L without doing something self destructive. I try to be so supportive, but it's really hard to try to help them while they ignore my problems. I'm giving all this advice and support while I'm drinking 10-14 shots of vodka a night and having tremors in my hands and all kinds of problems with my memory because of the alcohol.
Sorry for typos. I'm quite drunk
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