If That’s Movin’ Up than I’MMM….Movin’ Out!

Big things have been brewing here at the Woodlands. Ken finally got the call that he would be starting his clinicals at the VA Hospital, starting…..today. We have been waiting for this phone call since the beginning of January and were growing worried he wouldn’t get in and therefore NOT graduate on time. HUGE sigh of relief. On the stressful side this means 10 hour days, and no car for me at home for him to catch up for time lost, but we will take it. Anything to get this done.

However in the same day we also had to make a HUGE decision. Our current lease is almost up so we were sent our lease renewal papers. The new rent was just too high to justify paying for the house we are in and all it’s problems. So we have decided to move, or transfer units. We were lucky enough to get a renovated unit, that while it’s only two bedrooms, it has a basement rec room, so it’s actually a LARGER floor plan for the same amount of base rent that we pay now. Having two furballs though to pay rent for is going to raise our rent uncomfortably, but at this point we have no choice. Until Ken has a steady job, we can’t prove income to move anywhere cheaper. It’s more important than ever I win my disability case.

So we are moving in April, and I’m already obsessively packing and purging. I have a huge donation for Purple Heart, a veteran’s charity, of clothes and household items we really have no need for, and so much of our stuff is getting packed away because it’s just clutter it’s unbelievable. I’m so stressed and excited to have a new house and floor plan to play around with, but I want it to be nice and clean, not overstuffed and cluttered. I’m a minimalist, Ken is the pack rat. My therapist probably thinks I’m a special kind of nuts at this point because to be honest, I’ve been freaking out over the stresses of the possibility of moving since October, and now that it’s actually happening, Ken’s going to have to hold me back from falling over the edge. We have moved 8 times in 5 years, yay Army! , and I’m so moved out I have a complex about it now. So, there might be some moving talk coming up if I forget to take my Ativan.

Peace out.

The Light at the End Of the Tunnel?

So things have been cooking over here at Casa Woodland. While the government is having its own crisis, we have been having our own financial crisis ourselves. It’s tough to write about, so there won’t be many details, but we are poor people living off of financial aid, grants and loans with a wee bit of military pay at the moment, and well, EVERYTHING went haywire and as things sometimes happen, the money wasn’t coming in on schedule. Imagine me first waiting by the window for the mailman like a dog. Progress that image to me fighting Ken in a race to the mail box every day to get to it first to see if “today was the day!” I could stop dying inside and pay the power company who I was sure were going to personally drive over with huge scissors and cut the power to our house. Now at the end of this ordeal, I was asking moral questions, like, “is it wrong to inflict violence on the mailman or others if no money comes? Should I put the weapons away, or look for more household items to wield into battle gear?” Seriously, it was getting all survivalist up in my head.

But FINALLY we got a break and in time we received relief. Which of course I promptly cried like a baby after paying all those bills I had been terrified over and watching that money quickly fade away, and the rest fall carefully into a budget that will once again require us to resort to some ramen eating days in order to be “fiscally frugal” until the spring semester.

In other news, I woke up one day last week and felt that click in my head and KNEW my Welbutrin/Abilify combo had finally kicked in and my world was clearer than it had been in years. It was like a blanket was lifting off me finally and I can kinda see my way out from underneath. I don’t hate everything as much. It’s encouraging to know I might be on a path to stable. Panic is still a huge issue and we have decided to add a long term medication, Lexapro to see if we can knock that down to a functional level (I would LOVE to drive my car without it being the drama of the century in my head) and maybe make me all around a little happier too. I’ve still got my old benzo friends though for random onset attacks, and to help me sleep.

There is more…. But I’m pooped and written out. And I’m making navy bean and ham soup that needs attention. I’M COOKING AGAIN BITCHES!!!!!

Brought by the Letter M.

Sooooo, a murder victim was found behind my house a couple of days ago. Like directly behind my house they dumped the body. Thankfully I don’t go into my backyard area much or my therapist would have a whole new set of issues to deal with.

As the story officially goes now, a guy killed his girlfriend in a fight and then tried to dump the body behind my house. And someone came across it. When the police went the the woman’s apartment her baby was still inside. And they arrested the guy. I appreciate how everyone in our neighborhood was also notified of the situation via letter in our doors, like when you get a Chinese menu in your door. Only this one was like “FYI, there was a murder today….”

I would also care to mention that this happened when I arrived home from my appointment with psych where I was told officially I had General Anxiety Disorder, PTSD, and Bi Polar disorder. It was a LOVELY day. But there we have it folks. The official reports are in on what I have been going through the past few years that have exploded the past few months. I took the weekend off to process the information, even though I’m not surprised and I was prepared for what much of the personality assessment had to say. It’s just so, sobering, to see yourself, what makes you tick on the paper. The good, the bad and the ugly, and agree with it because you do know its true. There were things I was proud of on that paper, traits I wouldn’t give up, but also things on there I would trade in a heartbeat not to have to ever feel again. If only letting go were just that easy now that I know about it. If just seeing it could cure me and free me of this mess. It’s just not like that.

So instead, I’ll be meeting with a doctor to work out a plan to stabilize my moods and control my anxiety, and I’ll work on learning how to cope and process information in a healthier way with my therapist. I think the next question down the road is, will knowing all this be a opportunity at a last attempt at communication with my parents, or will it be the last break for me before I have to say enough for my own health and really move on in a more drastic measure?

Inkblots and Imaginary Friends.

Lately I have hit this level of exhaustion that has rendered me just too exhausted to write. It’s not that things haven’t been going on, because man have they ever, but just living through them have been enough at the moment. Writing about them, that’s just had to wait. Until the Klonopin wore off and I had my mind back that is. Klonopin is one of those great drugs that calms you down but also kind of renders your brain useless to cognitive thought, so writing is damn near impossible.

Did you know that psychologists still use those inkblot tests for things? I had NO IDEA either until confronted with my very own set last week. Now THAT was fun. Apparently I just see the inside of the human anatomy in everything, and I think she was surprised at my graphic detail on that. And I saw the bat signal on one. But really there was a point where I looked at her and exclaimed “COME ON! A two year old just splattered paint on that,” and refused to “see” anything else. Apparently that wasn’t an acceptable answer and finally I told her “fine, it’s a body.” From the best of my Internet research when I got home, while my answers aren’t standard, I got the conceptual idea of the inkblot cards right, and it safe to say I’m not schizophrenic. That was on the table?! Schizophrenia?! (One little breakdown and they think you might be full blown schizophrenic, that I will never understand. I was never climbing the walls, talking to imaginary people, threatening to hurt ANYBODY or the like.) I’m going to be skeptical of the whole inkblot method though anyway, it’s too much guesswork and not enough proven accuracy for me. Luckily the rest of my visit was more in depth and focused on better diagnostic methods concerning my issues.

I’m convinced this one is Optimus Prime.

The summary of our week beyond that consisted of some high stakes finances. It’s like poker, only with our utilities, cable, and rent up as collateral, and we are playing with groceries. Ken’s car unexpectedly died and won a all expenses paid trip courtesy of our checking account to our house from the middle of the road. Now we have one car for the rest of the month. So there’s that to be excited about. Negotiations for obtaining my medication for my Rheumatoid Arthitis are tense and frustrating as its being held hostage somewhere between my doctor’s office and the mail order pharmacy. No one really knows, they both say someone else is fucking up. I’d also like to throw in here, that no one seems to give two flying fucks what i have to say about it because they have pushed this process through every step of the way despite my concerns, and every step of the way it’s ended up a problem for ME. Either way, I’m in terrible pain and no one is sending in back up. Stay tuned. It’s a developing situation.

My Eyes Feel Like They’re Gonna Bleed….

Greenday’s Brainstew. Yes. This is my theme song for months.

I’ve been highly sleep disturbed for the past few weeks. Way more than normal. I really feel pushed to the edge here about this. I’m extremely grateful on the one hand to have solved “the mystery of the batshit insane migraines with vertigo” but it’s not like the hits haven’t kept coming.

I’ve had the equivalent of a nervous breakdown. I ended up seeking to be admitted somewhere for psychiatric help because I had no choice and I was totally freaked out and Ken and I knew it wasn’t normal. Like on a rating of 1 to INSANE I’m probably about a 8.8. You know me, down and dirty with the details here. I was pretty much the meal short of a picnic lunch, I could feel it and I wanted help. That’s a desperate feeling when you are considering giving up your shoelaces voluntarily just to get someone to listen to you because everywhere normal has a waitlist. (This is also not the first time I’ve sought immediate help, but its been a number of years, and the worst, and I thought I had managed pretty well on and off through talk therapy and sometimes some anxiety meds. I’ve also had a shitty time with a past diagnosis/doctor which has made some stuff hard in the trust department.) We have gotten some GOOD help this time after a bumpy start, if you didn’t know, obtaining mental health services can be a lengthy process, I’ve had to get creative and even wait for treatment! I’m finally getting the most comprehensive diagnostic evaluation I’ve ever gotten for Bi Polar disorder after meeting with a professional who has determined it was well worth the time and expense to see me for the evaluation and get it all official and shit for my medical history. I’ll be set up with talk therapy to learn how to understand this and medication management to work out a plan as well. All this is good stuff but as you can imagine, a lot to process. I’m on a mood stabilizer and a antidepressant right now to take the edge off with my anxiety meds but its clear by my sleep issues we haven’t gotten this right yet although I’m starting to feel better and there is a lot less crying and rage going on. And I’m writing about it in specifics. Openly. This is huge.

Going back to the Rheumatoid Arthritis for a moment. I’m in a huge flare since stopping the methotrexate because of the Migraine Mystery, and its finally been decided I will try a biologic medication for treatment. However, getting it all approved and between that and fibromyalgia, I’m feeling pretty shitty with pain, so sleep is also a bitch when you are waking up due to that lovely swelling and burning in your joints or just overall uncontrolled aches.

I realize this post is 100% venting, but its my blog and I’ll cry if I want to. Also, I’ll make as many musical references if I want to. I dare you to stop me. I’m delirious.

BRAIN WWAARR!!

I don’t usually encourage bad grammar or spelling but I really want to scream “IMMA ‘BOUT TO NEED A VALIUM DRIP UP IN HERE!” with all the recent changes going on in my life right now. We all know I’m one crack up from going completely insane, and I just feel like life is pushing those buttons right now just to see if it can break me. JUST SO YOU KNOW LIFE, YOU CAN. YOU CAN STOP NOW. THIS WHOLE BIBLICAL JOB COMPLEX IS NOT AMUSING.

Sure, I’m on meds that are like my secret little weapons of second wave back up forces keeping the anxiety armies and tears at bay. I have the friends kinda dropping in from the sky and beating back my insecurities like kamikaze pilots when it gets bad as well. I certainly don’t want to kill them off, and everyone needs to sleep around here. And I’m fond of their devotion and all that.

But the point here is this, none of these things can keep putting my brain back together if you, life, keep dropping nuclear bombs in here of ridiculous nature. Between my illnesses, the military, financial, and family life struggles I simply need a break. Don’t you give me any of that “God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle” nonsense, because we both know full well I don’t believe in God and that saying is bullshit. Surviving and handling are two entirely different things.

I’m angry right now, I’m venting, I need a good stiff drink and probably a sense of humor. But I allowed myself the usage of the slang “IMMA” for the very first time ever, and now I am going to have to reflect on THAT for a few hours. *Cringe*

I’M SO ASHAMED.

The Wheels On The Bus Go Round and Round…

A few days ago I woke up crying in a panic over “what if getting better changes me and I lose the parts of myself I like because of it” WHO DOES THAT? Is that normal? To be scared of getting better because you are afraid of losing part of your uniqueness or something in a way? Or that people you know now might not like the fact some of the YOU qualities are now muted? The not bad ones? Do you even lose those? I truly have no idea because I don’t know what “normal” feels like, or what it will feel like for me. However, right now I feel like I’ve lost my edge in a way in the whole “limbo” of waiting to figure it out process, and its getting to me, not having answers, or an idea of how this works. I’m pretty sure it’s not as beautiful a transition as all those neat little anti depressant/mood stabilizer commercials where I’m just going to burst through as a beautiful butterfly as soon as the medication just rights my ass on out. I KNOW better. Healing takes time, work and commitment. But man I miss that little Zoloft bubble from back in the day. He was uber cool.

Look at him, transforming his life and shit. Classy Zoloft bubble.

I just feel less funny, or maybe less able to be expressively funny lately, and I have always loved my own sense of humor. Some call it snarky, but I never cared. I crack myself up, I draw on it to observe and write and tell stories with my friends. If I lose that, I will be devastated. If I become this serious, just introspective person ALL THE TIME, who can’t let herself fly off fantastically at the mouth, or just crack up at random sometimes, without it being a manic episode, I think I will miss that part of me. I’m also afraid other people won’t recognize me either, quite frankly. However, I can’t LIVE my life like that 100% of the time, I must heal myself, I MUST become a better person, but I’m scared of losing a bit of what’s made me ME in this whole “facing the music” road I’m putting myself on.

I’ve been assured by people with some experience in several aspects of this what I’m feeling is both normal, and also something that I will get over as I figure out my situation, my treatment, and basically the groove of what the hell is up with my life. Once again support system to the rescue while I hash out the mixed bag of nuts life has handed me. I have to say, at least these aren’t all freaky exotic nuts no one has ever heard of, as complicated as all this feels to me. It’s all nuts that while the package may be hard to open, no one seems surprised to encounter what’s inside. Whew.

It’s like undergoing a procedure. You know it’s for your own good but you’re still scared of going under the knife for a myriad of reasons. I think that’s a valid way to feel about it.

The Fruit Of the Week is: Pepino Melon

This is our new fruit we are trying this week. The Pepino Melon.

It’s been over a week now. So much has happened, but I’m so tired and still confused and sad I’m not sure I want to spill my guts about it all yet. I still feel drawn to write, yet awkward about doing so. I guess my inspiration is just down. Out of whack. As broken as I feel at the moment.

I’m learning there are actual words to describe what I’ve been going through recently, and for many years in fact, and that’s both comforting and a little sad at the same time. Knowing I have a starting point for expression and help is great, but facing realities is always a difficult process. I want to just get back to some really funny stories here again, and I’m sure I will. I’m just weathering out this storm and waiting for the good stuff to come around.

I have learned this week that my onslaught of vertigo related migraines are most likely due to my use of Methotrexate for my RA, and since I have quit the injections, the vertigo has nearly ceased and the migraines have receded to happening for the “normal” reasons and only 3 in the past month instead of 18+. Now, I’m in an RA flare and must find a new med, but there are options for that and I feel that’s a compromise I’m willing to look into. My physical therapist agrees, and my Rheumatologist better get on board because well, I’m not going back on the methotrexate.

I’ve learned that sometimes the Army gets paperwork right two years later and drops a reenlistment bonus into your bank account without notice. Freaked us out at first (because usually these things are a mistake and they then take it back and it’s a HUGE ORDEAL) but this time it seems to be ours and we really need the money this month for bills. That reminds me: Make JAG appointment to update our wills. Because where the Army gives us money to live, they also want us to remember to prepare for death in a timely manner.

Pets are valuable. So are spouses/significant others and good friends and family that reaches out. It’s like a small army of people not willing to let you die mentally until you can get what you need.

I only teared up twice writing this post.

Emergency Broadcast Interruption. Maybe.

So, I’ve realized I have hit a breaking point here. It involves dealing with mental health. I’m going through some stuff. Normally I would write that stuff out. I actually plan to, in time. Because I believe it’s going to be part of the process of why I write and how I find my voice, and how I end up finding my way. But right now, I’m not in a place to do that, because I’m in a state where I have to admit that I can’t cope on my own and have to seek out professional help ASAP, to put a halt on the neurosis going on all up in here at the moment. So I can stop and breathe again, and so I can only hear one inner monologue at a time.

Ken has been wonderful in stepping up and saying “Whatever this is, we will find the help, just tell me where I’m needed” and I’m thankful to have that because I honestly do not know what’s going to work out best for me in the short term. The mental health care options can be frustrating to work with to say the least. So, if my updates are less frequent for the time being, if not completely on hiatus, please know, it’s because I’m getting my proverbial shit together, taking back my mind, and with a little luck, learning how to sleep again. No inner screaming, no crying. I love you guys.

The Diary of a Military Spouse.

Here we are, as the ass crack of dawn and Ken has just fled the house with his pants on fire. 17 year in the military and he has perfected the art of fleeing “pants on fire” style. I shall be alone for the next three days and I would like to take this opportunity to tell the Army that I HATE YOU. We were informed less than 48 hours ago that there would be a 3 day field exercise starting today and everything has been pandemonium since, trying to meet the ridiculous packing and prep lists that always goes out with these things no matter how much notice he gets. In his case it is particularly awesome because we are still fighting this battle where they insist he still has gear issued to him HE DOES NOT, because he turned it in back at Ft Bragg when we left, and apparently proving that 200 times doesn’t get him issued new gear any faster or clear up the confusion.

In October his unit is supposed to be mobilizing SOMEWHERE for an entire year, but no one knows whether or not that’s actually happening, so we are playing the hurry up and wait game getting no information pretty much weekly. But we are all of a sudden being commanded to GET OUR AFFAIRS IN ORDER BY AUGUST because orders could be issued by September. “AFFAIRS” mean things like our wills, powers of attorney, legal matters, regular deployment stuff. Been there done it before, so I’m already in “deployment mode” in my head, but I do not like the jerking around game with no information still, even though I am used to it by now. I love the urgency of these new commands without orders too, because JAG will not see us without orders for these things (although apparently they will make exceptions with memorandums from commanders, but they don’t tell you these things up front. It’s one of the joys of being military for so fucking long, you LEARN how to pull teeth to get information)

I got an email roundup from a military source I subscribe to for the latest and greatest of military news and they sent me an email headlined:

“DARPA Unveils Advanced Humanoid Robots”, and it’s probably now my favorite and most sad thing to make fun of ever.

HUMANOID ROBOT.

“KEN GET IN HERE, THE MILITARY EITHER JUST BUILT THE TERMINATOR FOR REAL, OR LIBERTY PRIME FROM FALLOUT 3! YOU’RE NO LONGER NEEDED AS A SOLDIER!”

When we got the field day requirements, and bullshit list of things to do by next month I said “Email them back and tell them you are no longer reporting to work as they now have HUMANOID ROBOTS to do this shit themselves, and your wife is just sick of this shit. Kisses”

This morning my response was “Fuck getting up at 3 am. HUMANOID ROBOTS. It’s where the budget is apparently going anyway, because it’s certainly not in your paycheck.”

Sadly, he still left me. He has to though. He keeps me under pretty good health insurance and with access to all the doctors and treatments I need for the most part. The heartache of letting him go for another whole year just sucks though. He’s my best friend. In every single way. And I’m not looking forward to it at all. We do really well as this military husband and wife team, and we have enjoyed taking the approach of helping soldiers and families in his career (he’s in the medical command, and I was a DoD Army medical civilian) instead of an aggressive soldier approach, but the military is still stressful, exhausting and taxing to deal with all it’s intrusion in every aspect of your life, even when you are perfectly healthy.

So I’m going to drown myself in some indulgences I bought to sustain me through the weekend, mixed in with some veggies for good measure, hang out with the cats, and wait for my soldier to return home. It helps that he does look good in uniform.

Day before our first deployment separation together.