02.14.04 This entry is for me to clear out some thoughts. That is all. Fucking Shit. (Sorry) Yesterday was a big blur - though at the time it all seemed very clear... The trileptol I'm taking that I mentioned in the previous entry is an antipsychotic. Yes. It seems that I have been experiencing psychotic episodes during what I've been calling "massive mood swings", which is why I've been prescribed to take it. I can't even believe it. The trazedone and the lexepro are anti-depressants, while the xanax is for anxiety. I sat there last night, full of xanax, wanting to cry as I looked at the bottles sitting there on the coffee table (lined up like a big joke) where I had arranged them in the order that they were to be consumed. I started researching on the internet this morning about these medications - especially in combination with each other. [Condescending doctors who won't be straight with me about what exactly they think is "wrong".] I don't need them, and I don't need their fucking prescriptions. I am NOT crazy. Though, my family history dictates that I will eventually end up in a mental facility - just like dear old dad, his mother before him, and his fucking grandmother. I remember his screaming, drinking, raging. I remember them from the safety of my mother's arms where she fled with me in my smurf pajamas the night that he held a gun in my mouth. I remember crying for him to come home after he finally ran off to another state. I remember the broken things and the holes in the wall. I remember being sad that I couldn't be a better kid so that daddy wouldn't get so mad. I remember bruises and marks on my legs. I remember thinking that it was all just a dream. These are the things that mold our personalities. These are the things we remember. These are the things that we keep and hold on to. Oh, I remember good times. Those were when daddy was in a heightened manic state - everything was exciting and lovely and interesting and beautiful. Here I am at 25 bitching about my childhood? No. Just reminiscing, you know. I hate the way that Lydia asks me how I feel about these memories. How does she think I feel about them? Good? No - indifferent, like it happened to someone else. I told her about my dreams. I just don't want to follow that path. That's why I'm not ready to say, "I do" to BF... not until I'm fixed. Not until he's fixed. I don't ever want to be my father. But there I sat last night looking at those bottles of prescription fix-it-all and tried to cry (with nothing to come out) and decided that by taking these pills I was admitting that I was becoming just like dad. Crazy. This will be the last time that I bitch about all this shit. I just needed to get it off my chest. I will post some pictures later to get this entry to go away. It's time for another dose of anti-crazy pills. Hahaha. |
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