Archive for the ‘medication’ Tag

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.


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.


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.


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.

My Path   Leave a comment


This is what we do?  We sit and we play these games with my life, going back and forth sharing intimate details as if they were just puzzle pieces.  But what I’m sharing I have no reason to share, not anymore.  I wanted you to be some sort of sounding board.  No, it was more than that.  I wanted you to be a warm receiver who took it all in and kept me safe from it.  I wanted you to be there for me to pour it out into.  You see, I’ve been carrying this around with me for as long as I could remember, even longer than that to be perfectly honest.  There hasn’t been a time when these sins and these fears weren’t wrapped around my neck, draped over my shoulders pulling me down.  My footsteps have grown heavy and with each breath I have grown more and more tired of this death march.  I want release.  I want someone to tell me it’s OK to surrender.  I don’t want to find strength to fight, I simply want to be allowed to let it all go and to sink deeper into the subtle waters of my own lacking self interest.

And I know that you would never be the one to give me that permission.  I just wanted to unburden myself of some of this treachery, these crimes I’ve committed and have thought to commit before I moved on to ask for redemption from a score of others who have actually been the victims.  Somehow, it had all made sense to me a short while ago.  But now it fails to matter.

I do not blame you for any of this falling to pieces.  I wrap up the edges of my mind, tucking it all back in safely and neat, away from the sights of anyone who would dare come close enough to witness me.  This is the way I was intended to be, alone and barred up, deeply hidden.  This is where monsters belong.  And I know that now.

I never doubted for a minute that I was making a mistake.  I just trusted for a second too long that somehow I would be able to recover more from it than I lost.

Even monsters underestimate the darkness sometimes.

Jen Czahur

Storytellers   Leave a comment



I grew up hearing people say to my mother that she should write a book.  It’s true, to hear her tell her life out in story form made her sound like some sort of wild and crazy character who had not only herself been interesting, but had also been invested and involved with other such colorful people and plots.  But as I’ve gotten older and I’ve met my fair share of people and as I myself have had many experiences, I realize that nearly everyone should write a book if all that matters is the story involved.  We all have something interesting to say.  What makes it worth telling isn’t the story, it’s the storyteller.

It’s a rare breed of animal that can captivate you with a tale.  Someone who makes you want to sit, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with wonder, ears pricked in awe and heart pounding with suspense.  It’s not the story; it’s the person telling the story.  Think about it.  Think about how many times someone has told you about something as simple as a trip to the store and it was a revelation.  We need to cherish our storytellers.  We need to prop them up and ask them, beg them if necessary, to tell us their tales because they are the essence of what it means to be human.

But my guess is it won’t take much to get them to start talking.  After all, a true storyteller is always merely awaiting her audience.

Seek these people out.  Live and learn and pass along the passion of this amazing art.

Jen Czahur

Truck   Leave a comment

I’m sitting here staring at all of these fucking pills trying to figure out just who the hell I am.  I have no idea anymore.  Not even a guess, not even a pull or urge into a particular direction.  It’s like I’ve slipped into a vast nothing, sunk deep into a pool of whatever.  Good moods come, they go.  But what is always here waiting for me is this never ending, non stop, compelling conviction that I am never going to make it out of this mess with any kind of worth.  Yeah, it just hit me like a truck.  Fuck me.

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