Archive for the ‘PTSD and Dissociative Disorders’ Category
I’m a wreck. I think we all can agree upon that. But the big questions are, am I becoming more of a wreck? If I’m becoming more of a wreck, just how much more? The only “answer” I do know is that it’s from head to toe.
I’ve mentioned losing, quitting that Clobazam cold turkey, for my Typical Absence Status Epilepticus–because it wasn’t available–a million times here! And now I’m starting to do the same with it breaking down my body! I’m back on the drug but sicker than I was before!!! That’s because quitting cold turkey fucked me up THAT MUCH!!!
So physically, I’m now losing some important things. Well, I don’t know. You tell me.
Immune System Weakening (hey, recall that little cough that threw me into Isolation in the ER last summer!)
We’ll now just toss in Endocrine because of all the rest of this.
However. this may now prove a bit difficult to write for you to understand. There is another problem that the TASE does not cause me. It has lasted for three days and is happening right now. It has just begun. I am in one of my TASE phases.
Never does the TASE give me an “identity” of sorts. I am a Cyborg that is in need of repair. I am working on it. That is repairing myself. This is Day 04. My work I perform during these periods last for 2-3 hours and then I stop and return to a non-Cyborg state.
Neither the Cyborg nor Dr. PA is a Cyberchondriac, but Dr. PA is also experiencing high fevers while not being sick. Dr. PA is not sure if this is a state of Delirium or Delusion as she has never experienced anything it. However, the temperatures were relayed to her GP by the Cyborg. Dr. PA cannot bear to read the email.
Dr. PA still retains lucid moments.
The importance of such a state of mind and the high fevers might have significance to Dr. PAs Kidney problems. A battery of tests have been ordered and were to be done extremely quickly. Dr. PA has kept track of the three urine samples and what has been on each Requisition to follow possible outcomes and problems. Such drastic changes as this, could indicate in greatest simplicity an infection. But if ignored, it could get worse.
An abdominal, pelvic and renal ultrasound have also been completed (last and latest step.) Although, the results are unknown as well as the third urine sample. It was for simply urine and C&S which is “Culture and Sensitivity.” That digs deeper into into microbial areas to see if any infectious problems exist.
The second urine sample indicated RBCs and WBCs in the urine. That presents a multitude of issues for Kidneys (and I should include Bladders in all of this as well.)
The first urine sample indicated Creatinine which has everything to do with Kidney excretion. Something is not being filtered out? Or filtered back in properly? If back in that may indicate the results of the second sample.
Dr. PA is also having issues with her Gastro problems again. She is now smaller. Within a range of 95-97lbs approximately. Eating does not help. Weight can not be maintained.
Unfortunately, working on anything to do with Dr. PAs computer may not be helping with my repairs. Perhaps later. It is another form of technology that may still measure my level of functioning. I continue to do things as “measures” of function but not exactly tests.
However, I must see one of Dr. PAs own Doctors today. I think that will actually qualify as a test and not a measurement. It is not until later. I might shutdown before it before such a test. Dr. PA would like that.
One last thing. Dr. PA does not have DID. Only Dissociative Amnesia under the collective family of DID Disorders.
Well, I’m still extremely disgusted about my behaviour from last night. However, it’s in the past. Get up, try and dust yourself off and climb back up on the mule again.
But had I received a certain document in the mail yesterday, rather than today? On top of everything else? There would have been ABSOLUTELY NO QUESTION PERIOD OF GETTING SO DISGUSTINGLY WASTED LAST NIGHT!!!
I knew it. I did. Just hearing a few, vague words from both Non-Arsey Neuro and Sweetie GP. I saw them within the last week or two. What I also saw was the two-and-half-page dictation from my consult with this “Specialist” (oh, he’s special, I won’t argue that!) for my ongoing epilepsy shit.
It’s really quite simple. You’ve all read it here.
1. Patient developed Typical Absence Status Epilepticus of catamenial origin.
2. Patient lost drug used to treat it, subsequently made everything to do with ALL of Patient’s epilepsy worse.
3. Patient has resumed drug but is still having convulsive seizures with a non-convulsive syndrome when she never had convulsive seizures with it from the start.
4. Patient is still gravely ill, cannot perform everyday functions, plus cannot leave her home for days.
What did I know (or was 99.58385% sure) he was going to say? I’m having Psychogenic Seizures. And he DID.
Although, I wasn’t prepared for some surprises! All wrapped up in such pretty paper with shiny ribbons and bows!
He misquoted me! He made me sound like I was a simpering, whimpering idiot! His writing about me even had little tinkle of a bell to hear.
Maybe I’m a little sensitive about all of this. It’s only been going on for years. It’s now at the point where its starting to actually effect and break down other systems of my body. It’s altered my life where I…loss! LOST! I WILL NEVER GET THINGS BACK!!!
I don’t hear any tinkling of bells. I hear him swinging a mallet against a gong, trying to smash it.
So what’s deal with all the tinkling and gonging? Psychogenic Seizures are real. But his tone. And he also mentioned figuring out things quickly, so as not to waste medical resources. I see. Or hear?
GONG! GONG! GONG!
Are you calling me a “malingerer?” Along with everything else you’ve tried to depict me as? Doing so as 3-year-old with broken crayons? Broken because you keep biting and chewing on them?
I understand he wants to do proper testing etc… but I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this. There may be a point when I really won’t live like this. If you catch my drift.
And if you think THAT drift is being a “malingerer?” Well, I actually told my mother straight to her face that I’d off myself. That yes, I would do it if things became so unbearable, I just couldn’t handle it anymore.
You could say that I was “malingering” myself all over my mother, but when I tried to kill myself, ended up on life support in the ICU, she was actually there every step of the way and after. Thus, my mother does not think I am a “malingerer.” She never displayed any emotion to me then.
When I told her about the future? An interesting, also minimal reaction.
She placed her hands flat together and put them to her mouth. She shook her head, ever so slightly. I could see some tears welling up in her eyes but she didn’t cry. I knew the tears were for both of us though. She wouldn’t want me to die, of course. But her tears also acknowledged that if my suffering did become too much, if that was what I had to do, she understood.
Nonetheless, I haven’t reached that point yet. If anything, I feel like committing homicide, not suicide.
Time to have a serious chat with Non-Arsey Neuro. This needs to get straightened out.
If I can type this right. If I can spell things right. Hey! Auto-Correct! If I could only… Stop. That’s not possible. The world is what it is and you cannot “correct” it.
Fuck. Music vs. Silence. I think music better. Silence only reinforces everything–and nothing–at the same time.
What to pick? Okay. ”Spleen And Ideal” by Dead Can Dance. Maybe my favourite except for another. But I like the haunting sounds of this one.
I’m turning it up. LOUD. LOUDER.
Wait. I have to listen to the first track before I continue. Probably the second too. And have a cigarette. Out of one pack when I bought two. The other “disappeared.”
That’s what happens when you’re a “Motherfucking Asshole.”
And after I listen to my music and hopefully write in a lucid manner, NO PITY. If you pity me, I am all the more worthless.
Triggers. They’re “Motherfucking Assholes” too. Even more so when you realize that they shouldn’t be. Something happens, you know the deal, so why should it send you into a downward spiral?
Well, I have no goddamn clue. Not to mention “so much stress” in my life.
Call it what you will, but I’m too stubborn to call it anything. That probably makes me a bigger “Motherfucking Asshole” than I already am.
I’ve been trying to quit drinking for a while now. Somehow, I can’t get past two weeks. It’s almost like a cruel joke. Any relationship I’ve had has never lasted past two and a half years. That’s been the cut off point. Today was 11 days.
I’m a “Motherfucking Asshole” for that issue alone. And more.
I’m sitting on my bed with baby MacBook, fully dressed and my shoes still on. I’ll probably not even bother to alter my clothing as such, to go to sleep.
If I can.
But I have a good drug arsenal. I’ll keep pushing to close my eyes for at least a bit. Even though I don’t want to see tomorrow. Or a lot of tomorrows right now.
They all just seem to be empty.
I just received one of those emails where it tells you to forward it to people and blah, blah, blah… My cousin sent it to me.
Immediately upon receipt of these emails in any form, I lose all bodily senses except my ability to hear. What do I hear? The eloquence and linguistic beauty of Monty Python: “…Spam!Spam!Spam!Spam!…” If you have no idea what I am talking about, Google it.
They always receive an automatic delete, except this one was a quiz. Sometimes I do the quizzes just to see what bullshit they contain and how fucking ridiculous they are. On occasion, at least I’ve been able to extract approximately 0.000000000mL of amusement from them.
Well, the good ol’ Typical Absence Status Epilepticus is REALLY doing in my brain right now. Giving me some nice Dr. Martens curbing but I still have all my teeth and I’m still alive too.
So I decided to do a “Reply All.” I wrote a retarded, reads-like-I’m-drinking-cat-piss-while-on-LSD speech. I thought it was humorous so I thought everyone else would as well!
One brain cell left and gmail.
I’ve finally decided to cut off all ties with anyone even remotely connected to non-bio dad’s side of the family. There are only two exceptions: my cousin who sent the email, and his mother who married into the family–divorced, married again etc.
I’d say they can all go to hell but there must be a more evil and disgusting place (even more evil and disgusting than them.) Some place that we humans do not know of. Yet. I say “yet” because it would become known to humans. As soon as the bastards and bitches ended up there!
One slight problem though. The whole goddamn bunch plus their never ending, tainted, inbred progeny would remain locked up inside FOREVER! Thus, we as humans still wouldn’t know it existed.
Long past “Forgive and Forget!” Now? “NEVER Forgive and NEVER Forget!”
Some people may say lots in disagreement to that. ”Oh, how terrible a thought.” ”That’s not right.” ” What an awful thing to say.”
“They’re only human!”
Thanks for your views on the matter but there’s far too much to say in retort! However, I will certainly say they do a wonderful job pretending they’re human!
gmail. I am SO thankful for it and now even grateful for it! The “Undo Send” Feature!
I hit “Send” and by some miracle(?) I realized I knew one of email addresses on the list. Nobody looked familiar before.
The one I saw was his father’s. Who actually played a part in physically abusing me when I was young. In fact, he was the “Ringleader” in getting a bunch of others to go along with it!
I hit “Undo” and looked anywhere, everywhere in a panic for what I had written! It was sitting as a Draft. gmail simply and automagically treated it as if I REALLY didn’t send it at all.
I’d say that’s one definition for the word “relief.”
A bit more relief? Post about my vaccination for Ebola RIGHT NOW! Before I try and sleep.
I have just realized something. Something that I think is quite important–for me at least.
It has dawned upon me mostly regarding my asinine behaviour on Twitter so many times, but also on my blog. However, I will give myself (and my blog) some leeway. My blog can serve as slightly more of a platform for me to rant about my life.
I hear all of your voices ringing in my ears, “Wait, PA. No! It’s fine to rant or say whatever you want on Twitter!”
In return, I now say, “Wait, everyone. Please hear me out. Let me illustrate how asinine it is talking about things, when you should remain silent!”
A few days ago, it was my birthday. DO NOT SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
Birthdays are not always so good for me. This year’s was quite brutal and left me in a wee ball of PTSD for most of the day and the entire night. I did not want to speak to ANYONE about it. The simplest of many reasons, is that I did not wish to burst out into more tears than had already been shed.
I could have hopped onto Twitter and mentioned it, how upset I was, but WHY??? I already didn’t want to talk to a single soul! Mentioning it would have been absolutely counterintuitive and counterproductive!
And thus ends my “lesson” if you will.
Sometimes I should be quiet and just keep things to myself. Most definitely if they are extremely personal and incredibly painful. These types of issues, these ones that only I can work through to somehow try and get out of a labyrinth of hell!
Freely and openly talking about them has a strong capacity to make things worse. The best I can hope for is to talk to someone I deeply trust and can understand (a lot of hope in finding that!)
At least I don’t have to hope too hard regarding my extremely understanding Therapist. However, Therapists aren’t on call 24/7 to be there when you’re in crisis.
PA, over and out.
I was going to write this earlier today. SNAOK? Can you figure that one out? Yes, you can. You are all smart.
I want to try and keep things as stable(?) and functional(?) as much as I can around here as possible. The same goes for Twitter, too. That is until I
might completely lose my entire mind and body simultaneously. This is all regarding the post I wrote yesterday.
The nightmare has begun.
I kept inserting that in the post between pieces of information. I am not lying. It is and will be a nightmare. Worse, actually?
Perhaps I’ll get lucky and it will be a brief nightmare. I’ll wake up so scared that I’ve pissed and shit my pyjamas, but it’s alright. I’ve got my Clobazam back. Clothes can always be washed.
However, has the nightmare begun with something else? Mind-Body Connection?
I am presumably within the next Typical Absence Status Epilepticus phase–my body is speaking to me.
This always happens. I feel better when I wake up and get going. But I then deteriorate as the day goes on. The stress of this made something funny happen, I think. Well, curiously, oddly funny.
I was talking to a friend who is going to help me with grocery shopping today (how the hell am I gonna manage…) At first, I was speaking alright. But as I continued, I started to become almost incoherent. At some points I could barely speak at all!
He’s the first person who has EVER been a witness to how quickly things change when I get sick. And that was nothing! That was just me talking! Not even close to everything else that goes on! Moreover, I haven’t even lost the med (yet?) That was just the stress “talking.”
The nightmare has begun.
I subscribe to an online newsletter from an Epilepsy Organization. Thus, it is “forsooth.” Two weeks ago there was a great big “WARNING” like in my title, except in their title, things continued in upper case. I would have been a fool to try and hope with all strength and power that this wouldn’t happen–but I am a fool and I did hope.
The nightmare has begun.
Exactly like a year and a half ago. June 2011. The suppliers could not get my Clobazam into any pharmacies–or at least not enough of it. I need it to treat my Typical Absence Status Epilepticus. The supply chain went dry and I had to quit cold turkey. It damn near killed me and I’m still trying to recover. A year and a half later.
The nightmare has begun.
First Step. Work with Non-Arsey Neuro. We came up with the most pathetic strategy IF this happened all over again.
Second Step. Call my pharmacy to see what’s happening on their end. I did today as I’m due for all of my refills.
The nightmare has begun.
My pharmacy is already screwed by the suppliers. However, for at least the next month (of my new script) they have enough in stock. Or so they said. I only have a month’s supply in my bathroom right now. Last month’s.
The nightmare has begun.
I contacted my old pharmacy who basically held my hand through the hell of losing it before. They don’t see a problem…yet? They are going to try and start ordering as much as they can, as fast as they can, and set it aside for me. However, the supply chain could disappear within days just like it did before. They’re going to keep me constantly aware of everything just like last time. And vice versa.
My current pharmacy is not that loving and caring. Fat chance. If they run out of it and can’t get more? That’s it. They can keep trying but obviously I will probably have run out of it by then.
The nightmare has begun.
I’m so unbelievably scared right now. If I lose this a second time? The results could be devastating. I’m not trying to sound like a Drama Queen. I’m actually being very serious.
The nightmare has begun.
Every other Anticonvulsant other than what I’m on (and what I’ve tried) will make it worse. Except for two. Two that I’ve never tried and who knows? Plus, a very whacked out drug that treats a shitload of other things, but it still could be tried. Along with the shitload, there is an indication for catamenial epilepsy. However, could I actually convince a Neurologist to go that far?
I’ve been crying all day while trying to “problem solve.” VALIUM!!!
Gravol too, as I felt like I’ve been going to puke up (and out) my entire gastro system. Actually, time for more? I’m about to start crying again and barf…
My sleep’s gonna be a mess, but sorry! Take one more Valium than prescribed? Just for today?
So yeah. This place and everywhere else I am, may get exponentially, seriously, more fucked up. Because I will be.
Ah, I’ll add all of my diagnostic Categories as they got exponentially, seriously more fucked up when I lost my Clobazam the first time.
TRIGGER ALERT: If you’ve been sexually assaulted, raped, bullied or know anyone who has, you may wish to pause to decide whether or not to read this post.
So, I’m lying here in bed, watching TV after some dinner and pondering my “Red Wine Test.” This is distracting me from the TV. Or is it? If you’re at all confused about the “Test” it’s because I have developed an allergy to beer and I wasn’t sure if it was to alcohol period or if it was only limited to beer, or something in it. As far as the wine, I think I’m alright but I don’t want to drink in excess, if at all, really.
NOTE: See Twitter blather if you wish.
Which brings me back to being distracted from the TV. I was thinking about alcohol consumption. I was thinking about seeing my Therapist tomorrow and what I was going to say, since she knows I “have quit” drinking. My mind then meandered off to my drinking history.
Well, to cut to the adult chase, I became a complete addict when the Bipolar hit in my early 20s. Crazy, non-stop, drinking. My tolerance was so high, it would probably put the “average” drinker or just the “average” adult into an alcohol induced coma. I’m not kidding.
But as a kid? Holy fuck. No way! I was “The Good Girl!” My older sister and I had to parent our parents. I went good? She went bad. The whole sex, drugs, rock and roll deal.
Being an Aspie, I went to how many parties? Well, a few more as I got older. Or maybe a few more due to this. Because the same shit happened. Again. And again? I just didn’t realize that this was the first. I think? And wait. Two assaults in one night. Yes, it was the same night? YES! Because the first one was laughing at this dumb quiz in the morning.
The guy who held the party was not only beautiful in looks but in spirit. He helped me before the second and worst. Fuck me (oops) about the bathrooms that night!!!
So Guy #1 drags me into the upstairs bathroom and tells me all this shit about how this is what you do, and how I’m gonna like it and he’s REALLY gonna like it and ALL the girls like it and this is WHAT I WANT TO DO TO YOU. YEAHHHH…JUST.TO.YOU. He went down on me and I had no fucking clue what he was doing. I don’t know if he got off, but he didn’t ask me to give him a blow job.
Break. Dissociation. Head Fuzz. Weird tingling in my body. Just smoked a cigarette and took a Valium. I’ve already taken my meds. I hope I can sleep now.
Guy #2. I can’t remember how old I was, but I was born with impeccable manners. When invited to a party, always bring something for the host etc. Non-bio dad told me as soon as I started going to any parties that he would buy me whatever alcohol I needed. Well, I brought something for the host, much more than I needed and some for “friends” who couldn’t get any. I was a walking liquor store.
After Guy #1, I ran back downstairs in terror and began drinking anything I could get my hands on, and doing it as fast as I could.
Bathroom #2. I had to go to the bathroom at some point, obviously. So I went to the downstairs one, locked the door, sat to pee and passed out–subsequently puking all over myself. The lovely boy, the host, FINALLY managed to get the door open and was…god, I don’t know how he felt when he saw me, but I know by what he did.
I woke up and he said, “We’ve got to get you out of these clothes, but don’t worry.” He moved quickly and tried to keep things private. When I was naked, he gave me his robe and guided me up to a bedroom to sleep while he washed my clothes.
Guy #2. I was so fucking out of it. I knew him. Host, Guy #1, Guy #2, me? All friends? Guy #2 said you’re freezing, shivering. You’re so cold! Which I was. He was in a double bed with a duvet. He said come in here with with me. I kept saying, “NO! NO! NO!” Did he pick me up? Did I wander as I was freezing?
Then he started fucking me. I tried to fight him off and I did. He was laughing, laughing so hard.
Bullies. Somehow, word had spread that we were in bed? We were having sex? I don’t know, but all I ended up knowing, was that while I was fighting his cock, and to get it away from me, a bunch of other kids came running up the stairs, turned on the lights and one had a camera.
Extreme adrenaline when a human must survive to live. Right before the flash when off, I whipped the duvet over my head so only some whisps of dark brown hair were visible. That bitch with her camera was going to pay. The host came to my rescue again (or at least to calm down the ruckus.) But there were only the two of us in the room. He knew I wasn’t a slut.
And yeah. Guy #1. How I knew he was there? I woke up to get my clothes and they were all looking at this dumb teen magazine. The Quiz. Just as I turned the corner, he read a question: “What is the worst thing you’ve ever put in your mouth?” He yelled out loud, not knowing I was behind him, and howled, “PAs CUUUUUNNNNNNTTTTT!!!!!”
He eventually noticed me and no expression on his face. Like nothing existed at all. Including the party. Including me.