Archive for the ‘Medication’ Category

Quality vs. Intensity   Leave a comment

I have not written here in a long time. Quality thoughts have been lacking. Intense emotion has not. Manic episodes, depressive states, homicidal reactions, suicidal ideation, mental clutter; I’ve been a mess. But I miss you, my quiet little blog. And I want to come home.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Covenant   Leave a comment

Not everything that breaks the skin
Is an affront to my senses
Some things are just more worth waiting for
While others are better left alone

From the jump
I lost my footing
And found myself spinning
Out of control and going under
There is always a rhythm
That escapes my knowing
And I flail as I fail

But I get up
And I try, try again

You’re like my “watched pot”
That I can’t seem to ever catch boiling
I feel like no matter how I trick time
It’s me that gets covered in
Lost anthems of relationships
And wasted moments of inner conflicts

Night terrors and static and the reincarnation of everything
I thought I laid to rest
Here again
Pressing me up hard against the glass
To be examined by the doctors of my failures
And the professors of my testaments
Battle weary Argonauts
And the wreckage left of sunken ships

Everything repeats
Only now I’m tired
And I’m less inclined to seek the Holy Grail
Now seeking out a new covenant

This is my gospel
According to me

Jen

NOTHING   2 comments

 

I haven’t written anything in months.  Nothing, not a poem or a blog post or even a well thought out shopping list; my mind has been worthless and unintelligent.  I have felt amazingly creative and have turned the music up, sat down and prepared to spill out and then…NOTHING.  Simple.  NOTHING.  Bold letters, etched or burned or maybe growing from the inside and finally finding themselves poking out through my bones, breaking free and out of my skin to read NOTHING;

This has never really happened to me before.

I have taken less medication in the last few months and I thought, if anything, that that might actually help me write more.  Maybe it would be some kind of scribble at first as the crazy thoughts come spinning out of my mouth and my fingers try to keep track.  But somehow, after a little practice, I would be fresh and able.  I would be the old me again.  Alive and awake and ready to tackle the bigger issues at hand that have made me the kind of person that other people talk about.  But no, nothing is what comes out of me.  Until this very second and I’m not really sure this is anything I should care to share or feel any sort of way about.  I mean, they are words and that is better than nothing, I suppose.  I am not dead.  This proves that, right?  I don’t know for sure.

I have no audience.  I have no point, no application, no promise, and no art left to tug or pull or settle the storm in me.  I am aimless, shiftless, crooked and spineless and unsatisfied being me.

For the very first time in my life I am not depressed or angry, I am void of purpose and full of misguided apprehension.  I want to die.  I want to stop being here and start nothing else by my leaving.  I am not looking for an escape, I am not hoping for heaven or a reward or some relief.  I simply don’t give a fuck anymore.  I am not broken.  I am not empty.  I am not lost.

I am just not in the mood to give of myself any longer.

To any cause, for any purpose.  I am done.  I am finished here.  And I feel no reason to continue.

Jen

Karen’s Got Pneumonia And I’ve Got the Blues   1 comment

 

I keep making things up.  I suppose I could just settle for some definition of what I’m doing that leaves me sounding creative and daring, but really I think that I’m just bored and a slight touch demented.  I come up with some other person I’d rather be; a name, a personality, a complete background and family tree and just live out a few days or even a whole lifetime as this new creation.  If I could be organized enough, motivated enough to write it all out and do something with it then I could say that I was an artist of some great means, but really it’s all just for my own entertainment.  It keeps me from hurting myself and lashing out at others and I know that there is some great benefit there.  I mean, any day that I wake up and know for a fact that there are no victims from the day before I can open my eyes and feel victorious.  But I am starting to worry more and more about all of this wasted time.  And I don’t just mean wasted as in “where is my life going” or “what am I amounting to with me doing nothing but daydreaming?”  I am referring to the actual loss of time that has been occurring.  I mentioned it to the psychiatrist and he made notes about it in my file.  It concerned him enough to discuss it with me again the following visit but of course I am now done with my time at Kennedy so all of the progress I have made with him is now dust in the wind which is always the case.  I never seem to get anywhere with anyone in therapy.  Just as we start down an interesting road I stop seeing that particular person and never because it is what I want.  This time it is because my 12 weeks of Intensive Outpatient is completed.  I have to start going to Catholic Charities now.  I don’t much like the idea of it, but what can I do?  With the limit Medicaid that I receive currently it was that or Drenk and Drenk had a 3 month waiting list.  I am a bit mistrusting and paranoid actually and not sure I believe Drenk.  I preferred going back to them for my individual therapy and medication monitoring, but I truthfully believe that my old therapist is still there.  She was supposed to be leaving their employment in late August, but when I called her extension it was still set up with her information.  I don’t think she wants to continue with me and I don’t think they feel I am stable enough to walk into that building, see her in person and not freak out and accept another therapist.  I admit, I got way too attached to her and I understand their concerns.  But truthfully, for as much hassle as going to a new place will cause me I would much rather go back to Drenk and see another therapist and just leave things be.  But they don’t know this and are probably just being evasive to keep things calm over there.  So they are saying they can’t take me back and now Catholic Charities is my only option.  From how it’s been explained to me, I will probably do a weekly therapy, see a nurse practitioner for medication and maybe have to attend a group.  I’m not sure how often the group will be, maybe weekly or bi-weekly.  I hope not much more than that.  They are located about 10 minutes further than Drenk and my old car has had enough of all these trips.  But regardless, it will be closer than Kennedy which was roughly 45 minutes and 28 miles away for me.  I must admit, the groups that I attended at Kennedy did help me.  They let me feel comfortable joining in discussions and being a part of the entire process of sharing and opening up.  So I am must more inclined now, I think to take part in my own therapy, both group and individual.  I don’t think therapy is something you are just born understanding out to utilize.  And that’s a shame because when you really need help you go for so long and it’s wasted just having you go and sit there and be afraid and closed off.  But now I know I will walk into any therapist office or any group setting and barring any bizarre scene I will do my part to get the most out of the help offered.  It makes me really full of hope and possibility.  I also know now that even though a lot of why I start going to therapy is because of anger and such what I really need help with is my PTSD.  My anxiety and fear is what leads me to my anger, but if you need to know where it all begins and what really stops me in my tracks from leading a healthy, happy life it’s the overwhelming fear and nervousness that I live with on a daily basis.  Out of the 24 hours of each day, second by second, I am spending so many of my hours consumed with doubt, paranoia, dread and an agony of disappointing people and being alarmed by the simplest of things.  I am at a constant level of stress and anxiety that I have just grown to expect it, but it corrupts everything about me, about my life and about my reactions.  And now I’m at a point where I am so tired and overwhelmed that my ability to manage it and hide it has fallen apart and what the world is seeing is anger and this violent, agitated, near demonic side of me that was always just below the surface and aimed at myself but now, more often than not, pouring over the brim and effecting them.  I don’t know this wasn’t a story or typical blog post.  My girlfriend is in the hospital with pneumonia and my head is frazzled because I’m alone and feeling too much freedom and way too emotional.  I know I haven’t posted in a while and I just wanted to say something and this is what came bumbling, stumbling out of my head.  I feel like there is a chance I could accidentally hurt myself while she’s gone.  That is such a strange thing to say, to admit to.  She drives me nuts and I spend a lot of time taking care of her when she’s home, but she still manages to keep me safe.  With her in the hospital I am alone and unattended and I feel like I want to do something risky.  Like I could cut myself or take a lot of pills just to do something dangerous.  I don’t know why I have these urges.  I just do.  When my old girlfriend would spend time in the hospital she always knew that as soon as I made sure she was ok I would go out and spend all of our money on drugs and just get totally fucked up.  It was like our routine.  I don’t do that anymore.  But in the absence of that plan I still want to do something risky.  I just am older now and tired and not feeling well.  But those demons still want to play.  They are still digging their claws into my brain and taunting me.  Who knows how I will shut them up?  I’ll have to figure something out.  I think I have 3 more days till she comes home.  And it is officially the first day of FALL which thrills me to no end.  Maybe when I wake up I’ll go get some hot coffee and spend the day out and about.  Anything to keep me from sitting in this house alone with sharp objects and pill bottles that sounds like a good idea doesn’t it?

Fuck it.

Wish me luck and shit.

Jen

Something Transitional   Leave a comment

 

My head is really cloudy and I’m not sure where I’m going to wind up.  I’ve spoken with a good friend and I’ve explained a little bit to my girlfriend, but I don’t think I’ve said nearly enough to anyone.  The main reason is because I don’t believe I have much of a clue as to what is going on with me.

There is quite possibly a chance that I am actually doing really well and about to bust out with something amazing; some remarkable period of growth and enlightenment.  Or that could just be the budding development of a manic episode about to take me down a very dark road.  I don’t know.  I guess we will just have to watch and see.

What I am aiming to report here is this:  I know that I have been holding on to this, this life and this concept of existence for far too long.  So whether it is death in a final sense or death as a means of rebirth and growth or something transitional or what have you, something needs to change.  I am not depressed and hoping to leave, but I am not going to lie about my eagerness, my desperate need to move on from this state of being.  If I can’t find a way to make something happen then I will have little choice, so I am going to try with all my heart, all of my creativity, all my tattered faith, all of my hope, all of my childlike wonder, all of my love, all my sense of responsibility, all of my lust for joy and thirst for knowledge and anything and everything that can propel me and move me further and beyond to make something of this life.  I am not trying for success or fortune or fame, but for some sense of purpose.  Art and integrity and a personal value that is currently lacking, I need to believe in myself again.

Right now, with all of the pretty faces that shine on me with such love and devotion, while they find me and bring me warmth it is like the sun baring down on a dead body.  I need to be jolted with the spirit of life again.

To continue like this is exactly the same thing as being dead.  And I will not allow myself to lumber around the planet, a giant and wasteful, draining the joy out of those that love me, corpse that can furnish no purpose and offer no further hope.

So while I hope this letter is the end of this despair and the beginning of me kick starting my way back or some fresh start, if nothing changes then take it as the beginning of a goodbye that will not drag on and on.  I don’t have time to waste.  I’m tired of wasting.

I still love.  And that’s why I know it’s about time I start this process.

Jen Czahur

Work to Do   Leave a comment

 

I’m trying to turn things around.  It’s true that most of what needs to change is in the fluttering chaos of my head, but there is more than enough actual, physical bullshit in the real world that needs a good ass kicking as well.  Where I live is a horrid situation and I was sold a lie as to a possible change.  I really sank my teeth into the idea that my girl and I would be able to escape here and have a normal existence and it helped get me thinking clearly for about a week or so.  But it didn’t pan out and now I’m back into a hopelessness that shoves itself down around me like a heavy, wet, wool blanket.  I am having a problem even breathing at this point.  But what I have taken away from that short time of being excited is the notion that life can get better and that I do have it in me to be filled up on possibility.  So I am trying to maintain a certain level of activity and clarity, fighting off the depression and anger that is embedding itself in my head with the passing days as the realization sets in that if I don’t work this situation nothing good is going to just happen for me.  I don’t get good things handed to me like some people do.  I will have to struggle, but I am going to be able to attain things.  I am not cursed.  I am not being punished, karma is not out to get me.  I just need to make a plan, think things through and do the work.  I can make a better life for me and for my girl.  I know I can.  Now I just need to do it.  Watch me.

Thoughtscape   Leave a comment

I’m not aiming to be dramatic and I guess that’s what keeps me going forward at any pace.  Even this slow, subtle crawl that has so many straining to make out if I am in fact moving at all.  I know that I’m not measuring up to many standards, but there are voices that sing in the darkness urging me to just keep my shuffle, to just keep my pace and so I do.  I feel the floor slipping away, the actual Earth crumble from beneath me and I want to look back to see if I have what I’ve already claimed still safely tucked in my corner, but I know that if I do and I don’t see it there I will panic.  And panic, that sheer terror that has come for me before leaves me so much worse off that it’s better, even I know it’s better, to just keep my feet inching one ahead of the other.  The door opens every 15 minutes; morning, noon and night.  No matter what I’m doing they come to check on me like I might be up to something worse off than counting the seconds between the last time they checked.  I wanted a few breaths of privacy just to calm my head, but I’m not afforded such luxury.  In that time, that brief time I might patch together some imaginary materials and hang myself from some created plain and do away with the vast playground of nightmares and thoughtscapes.  For a spell, I take to calculating just how long it might take to do away with myself from the moment they shut the door so that I will be long gone before they open it up again so that I can be freshly set in a relaxing new world by the time the light hits my body and their eyes jump from their median income skulls so that I can just feel like a winner just one last time.  And I fixate on this for about 14 minutes too long before the door opens and I hear a thick Jamaican accent say, “Ok, Jennifer.”  And just like that it’s back to me smiling in the darkness as if the only thing that has ever mattered to me my entire life was being right where she left me because all that has ever mattered to me is being right where someone has left me so that I could hopefully be found later on when they come back to look for me.  They come back to look, that’s what that proves.  And in that I feel some small comfort because I may be crazy, but above all else, I’m really just afraid of my own shadow and all of the sinister plans she comes up with when left alone to contemplate ways to do away with us both.

Jen Czahur

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