Nonbipolarism

Good morning.

There are only 2 days left until opening night of the play I’m in. I’m very anxious! However, I think it is a good kind of anxiety. Yesterday we reported straight to hair and makeup two hours prior to start time. I felt so happy sitting there on the stool, my face illuminated with bright lights, applying my stage makeup. I missed theatre in all of its glory..

Last night’s full run through went extremely well. The director said it was the best I had done since starting rehearsal. I have finally connected with my character and I totally feel that I have honed her in.

My body is super sore today. I think it’s from stress and running around the stage last night.

In other news, I had a productive therapy session this past Monday. We discussed my anxiety and then, my diagnoses. Perhaps I’m not bipolar. When this possibility presented itself to me, I must admit that it shook my foundation a bit. I don’t want to have bipolar disorder. However, after being labeled as such for 7 years, I’ve come to accept it and it’s ugly features. “Knowing” that I was bipolar meant I could base my recovery on that diagnoses. I researched, I educated myself, I made fellow bipolar friends, and that was that. Now, again 7 years later, I am faced with a newer and probably more accurate diagnoses: just good ol’ fashioned Dissociative Identity Disorder.

I was casually reading the DSM-IV and stumbled upon the dissociative disorder section. Yes, I’ve been reading about DID. I’ve joined a few forums, have read autobiographies, and have done my obligatory Web MD Google search. I had not read straight out of the DSM. Each line described me and it was a little scary, but also really relieving. It was also partially comical because I couldn’t help but feel the text was written about me. Everything from hearing voices, severe trauma, association to a cult, attachment, depersonalization, migraines, curious illness, even allergies and hypoglycemia. All of these symptoms and signs were present throughout my childhood to now.

I have DID. I accept it.

As my therapist told me, there is recovery for me. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Integration will come and I will move past my trauma.

Proteus

Please excuse the silence.

A few nights ago, there was an internal shift which sent me into a seizure. These have happened before; the convulsing, the blood coming from somewhere in my mouth. I’ve been tested numerous times for epilepsy,diabetes, etc. There’s really no medical reason other than stress. I was released from the ER around 6:30 am. My girlfriend and I went back to her apartment, slept for a few hours, then she was off to work and I was off to group.

Yesterday morning as I drove to group, I felt extremely different and movie-like. I feel this quite often. Usually, the movie revolves around a victim and a detective. I’m almost always the victim. However, this time, I was the criminal. I had- or we had?- fleeting homicidal ideation.

There is a security gate to the hospital building. You need to be buzzed in. When we approached the gate, *I* was pulled out of my body and began watching everything as a ghost. The door buzzed. He smirked. Loud music thudded in my head as I watched this. It was as if he had just gotten away with murder as he pushed the gate open and walked through the therapy bungalow.

Whenever this happens, I watch the movie as if I’ve watched it a hundred times before; I always have an idea of how it “ends.” This particular movie was about a serial killer right before a rampage. I don’t get the feeling that it is a pointless rampage. I feel an underlying current of vengeance.

Today I’m speaking to my doctor about Abilify. She recommended Abilify and Latuda to stabilize my paranoia and hallucinations.

I didn’t sleep last night. I was so convinced that someone was in the house with me. I could hear footsteps and breathing. My dogs are here and logically I know that they would notify me if anyone were actually in the house.

Anyways, it’s not all negative news. I do feel that I’m gaining more strength from therapy. My girlfriend came in for a quick family session and I found it to be very beneficial. I also found how strong our relationship actually is. Not that I didn’t know that before, but talking it out aloud really opened my eyes.

Hell is a Place Full of Uneducated Psychiatrists

Oh, have I got a story to tell you.

Firstly, my anxiety and symptoms came to climax yesterday. I have been feeling chest pains- more specifically, it feels like sharp pains centered around my heart- for the past 2-3 weeks or so. Yesterday, the pain became consistent and was accompanied with numbs fingertips, tingly lips, and dizziness. I was alarmed, but even more so alarmed because I was withdrawing off of the lithium.

So, we journeyed to the Urgent Care by work. They couldn’t really do anything, so they sent me to the Emergency Room. I checked in there and long story short, they told me my symptoms were just a manifestation of bad anxiety. I was relieved, yet my inner hypochondriac wanted to scream, “But! It’s my heart! I think! Am I really okay?!?! Are you sure?!?!?”

They gave me a dosage of lithium and sent me on my way. I began to feel better an hour and half later.

Now, I had my first psychiatrist appointment yesterday evening. I left work, arrived at my destination early, filled out all of my paperwork, and waited. I waited for 45 minutes. Alright. I’m just going to bullet point all the STUPID AS FUCK things my psychiatrist said. I was livid.

This is during the initial interview. I filled out all the relevant information (suicide attempts, family history, abuse, trauma, drug use, diagnoses, etc..)

• She asked me, “Tell me about your suicide attempts, how did you do them?” I told about the first time and when I came around to the second attempt, I said, “Well, I tried to jump off of a building…” She promptly dropped her pen and asked dumbfoundedly, “Why would you do that?” (Insert uncomfortable blinking here) “Why would you try to jump off a building?”
• She noticed my scribbled in heroin history in my drug use summary. She said, “So you grew up with mom and dad and saw them doing it so you just thought it was okay?” No, bitch, my dad COMMITTED SUICIDE and my mom ABANDONED ME so I didn’t get the basic privilege of watching them shoot up while I was enjoying an edge-of-your-seat episode of Blue’s Clues.
• She asked me what my official diagnoses was at the hospital. I told her it was Schizoaffective. BRACE YOURSELES. She said, “That can’t be right. You don’t look to me like someone who is schizoaffective.

You must have PTSD.” Are you kidding me? I don’t look like someone who has Schizoaffective…I’ve never in my life….well, actually no that’s not true. Kayden, where are you? You mentioned this happening to you, too. But oh my dear Christ on a sunflower, I’ve never heard anything more unprofessional.
• She was reluctant to write me a prescription because she didn’t feel she should be giving me medication for PTSD, but because I was in the damn emergency room yesterday, she wrote me a script.
• She asked me if I was sexually active and use protection. I said yes I am but I’ve been with a girl, so I’m not getting pregnant anytime soon. She got quiet and said half under her breath, “Oh…so homosexual…”
• THEN, at the end of awful experience, she was mid-sentence talking to me as her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “OH! I have another appointment. Oh no! Is she here?” She whips around in her chair, glances at her calendar and she said, “Oh! She’s here already! Here, sign these…” She rushed me through some paperwork and my script. I waited for 45 minutes AND my appointment was cut short.

At least I got what I needed. I have my prescriptions and that’s what matters. But oh my god…

Psychiatrist from hell.

Rapid Cycling, a Guest Writer, and PNES

 

I am cycling faster than an Olympic Triathlete. And I’m tired of it.

I am depleted, depressed, deranged, and desperate. I want to say the hallucinations are better, but with the influx of anxiety at work, I am still swimming through teeming auditory hallucinations. I’m frustrated. I am not a fun person to be around right now. Every little thing sets me off either into a fuming rage, or into a morose melancholy in which I sit in to ponder my existential purpose.

On top of this, I want a drink. OH I want a tequila shot. Or a glass of wine. I’m itching and I cannot remedy the cravings with grape juice anymore.

On another note, I’d like to introduce a guest writer- my girlfriend. I wanted her to recall what happened on Thursday night, since I feel it’s important.

Without much further ado, COME ON DOWWWWWNNNNNNNN

 In regards to what happened last night, there was a certain familiarity to the situation. There was a loss of touch with reality, a sense of fear (mostly emanating from me), and what I would describe as a kind of takeover.

Simply enough, she and I were laying in bed. She sat up and blankly stared ahead. I asked what was wrong, and she told me she didn’t feel too well – that she felt a bit hypoglycemic. So off I went into the kitchen to get a glass of whatever I could find which ended up being some flat soda. After drinking it, her hands stopped shaking and she just laid back down. No more than 10 minutes had passed after this incident when I got up to get dressed. I stood at the edge of the bed while she began to sit up and addressed me. She looked at me mischievously, and in the most tauntingly devious, callous tone of voice she began to talk. This was the dialogue:

“Oh, you don’t want to fuck me first?”

“What?”

“I fucked you, why wouldn’t you fuck me?”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Come here baby, *makes kissy noises* OH, I loooove you.”

At this, she began to slyly grin. Her hand was reaching out for me – she wanted me to come sit down next to her. She dropped her gaze, bowed her head, with her hand still in the air, she got really quiet and began to cry. I sat down and looked at her and asked her to come back to me, since she was far gone at this point. When she stopped crying, she looked up with a manic grin behind her eyes, and I realized she was dripping blood from her mouth. She looked at me in the same way she had just moments before, and said “You’re sure you don’t want to fuck me now? Come on babe, I’m right here.” This is when she began to have what appeared to be a seizure. It was a slow onset; she began shaking lightly, then more and more violently. This lasted for about a minute and half. As she shook, blood dripped from her mouth, down her chin, and onto her thigh. I wiped it up with my hands and went to go get a towel or something in the bathroom. I was gone less than ten seconds, and when I came back her head was back down and she was no longer ‘seizing’. Her voice changed to the voice I’m most familiar with, and a meek “I don’t feel well, babe” escaped her lips.

I pulled her towards me, and she was confused. I asked her to get dressed, to put her pants on. She kept coming back to me. Her eyes slowly unglazed and she came back to reality. I guided her to the bathroom and when she saw herself in the mirror she asked why she was bleeding. We then realized that she had bitten and chewed the inside of her lip and that’s where the blood was coming from (this to much a relief for me, since my first thought was that she had been back to using drugs without my knowledge; this wouldn’t be the first time she bled from her mouth in that manner).

She, for a couple of minutes, had completely dissociated and removed herself from present time. She had no recollection of what had happened. She remembered laying down after drinking the flat cola, then coming to, when I was asking her to put her pants on.

All I could do was lay back down with her, assuring her everything was okay, that I loved her and that I was here for her.

Also, because she cares so much for me, or maybe she was just scared out of her mind (because who wouldn’t be), she did a little research and learned about Psychogenic NonEpileptic Seizures (PNES). According this website:

“PNES are attacks that may look like epileptic seizures, but are not caused by abnormal brain electrical discharges. They are a manifestation of psychological distress. Frequently, patients with PNES may look like they are experiencing generalized convulsions similar to tonic clonic seizures with falling and shaking. Less frequently, PNES may mimic absence seizures or complex partial seizures with temporary loss of attention or staring.

A specific traumatic event, such as physical or sexual abuse, incest, divorce, death of a loved one, or other great loss or sudden change, can be identified in many patients with PNES.”

I’m not self diagnosing. I will bring this up to my doctor, however, does anyone out there have feedback, and/or experience with PNES, or dissociation? I want to know I’m not alone here.

I wrote this to my girlfriend yesterday and it describes how I feel:

I feel as if the dust of my childhood had settled for years and years on the attic floor, untouched and unbothered by light or a footstep. Now, I’ve let people into the attic- doors and windows splayed open. The wind is tossing all of the dust into a flurry, illuminated by bright sunlight. And I’m in the middle of it all, gazing at the floor, remembering that the wood panels below had etchings and designs. My lungs are contracting, wheezing, and coughing from all of the dust. All the while, everyone else around me is well equipped with masks.

I think that through group, I have been rustling up my past memories. Yesterday I actually had a flashback to my molestation. As I ran to the restroom at work, I kept thinking over and over, there’s nowhere for me to hide. Not a crease, nor crack. There is no place where the pain won’t reach me. So, I cried in the stall and cut my wrist to quiet it down.

My girlfriend made a great point (again. She’s great). In regards to me telling her that I don’t think I’m getting better- I mean I WAS feeling better, but I crashed again. She said that when I was first admitted, I handled the immediate situation. I got meds, I was in therapy, I talked out my immediate issues and felt better. However, we all now that mental illness isn’t cured by wiping the superficial grime off of ourselves; I began digging deeper and finally hit the center of my earth. My childhood and past. It’s hitting me like a truck now.

I know I’ll be alright, though. I need to keep thanking those around me for simply being there for me. I’m a wreck right now.

Cappuccinos and Pride Flags

This morning started out a bit rocky; woke up at 4 am, greeted the familiar depression, flirted with a glass of wine, then I snapped out of it.

My girl friend took me to the cutest damn cafe today. We talked over cappuccinos and hot chocolate and ended off the afternoon by meandering through West Hollywood. I needed that outing.

The rain is coming down. Meanwhile, I am cozily snuggled on the sofa with a blanket draped over my legs. My dogs are snoozing next to me.

I’m feeling pretty content. Earlier this morning, I feel a little on the sedated side. I felt detached- not in a bad way. I just felt very off. I’m not depressed, nor am I manic, so that’s a good sign! So far so good with the lithium.

I’m still a little anxious about tomorrow. I’ll have to email my boss at work and let him know that I’m still going to be out. I’m going to try my hardest to have my primary care write a note for me so I can fax it in tomorrow. I have a lot of anxiety over not being at work, getting paid, etc. In a utopian society, I would file for disability and get my shit together. It’s frustrating as hell not knowing how long I’ll be out of work. I wish I had a concrete answer so I could plan…

I’m also pacing whilst nail-biting because I’m supposed to receive my prescription for my antipsychotic tomorrow, as well as bump my lithium up to 900 mg (although that will probably be in the mid week sometime). I’m fairly certain she’ll give me a script for Abilify, but I could be wrong. Ahh I just need to calm down.

Breathe, breathe

Tomorrow is Day 4 of PHP! My insurance approved me for another 5 days. Hallelujah.

I was supposed to go to an AA meeting this weekend. I know I should. I really do. I’m running into a lot of trouble admitting to myself that my drinking problem warrants meeting attendance.

Day 3 of Partial Hospitalization- 600 mgs of Mania

Day 3, done.

I felt so incredibly manic today. I haven’t felt that wound up in a very long time. Once I got to group, it was pretty apparent. I could barely sit still. My attention was all over, as well as my speedy speech. I felt as if I was bursting out of my skin; complete with anxiety and rapid auditory hallucinations.

I brought it up to my doctor. When I was first admitted to PHP, I had let them know in my assessment that I felt a manic and/or psychotic episode coming on. (I have had several intense psychotic breakdowns in the past, so I know the onset symptoms well, now) She said that it sounds like the mania is setting in before the psychotic crash. She had me up my dose to 600 mg tonight- which I took 30 minutes ago.

I was so incredibly anxious before I took the meds. The anxiety attack started around 7:30. I felt it buzzing beneath my skin…then, it all set in. I began crying uncontrollably, desperately gasping for air. I wanted to harm myself, I wanted a drink to diminish the panic. It was all okay in the end. I’m really looking forward to the lithium working.

Today was very quiet and mellow. There were only 4 people in group today so we had a lot of time to really delve into ourselves and such. During fourth group, we participated in a guided meditation. Ahh, finally, relaxation. I was elated to greet the fresh blankets and pillows. I napped and I napped hard. So did everyone else. The heater softly blew tepid air into the room as we listened to the rain propelling down onto the bungalow roof.

I left a message for my primary care physician. The plan is to get an approved leave of absence from work for 1 month from my medical doctor. That way, I won’t have to totally jeopardize my job because they won’t know I’m in behavioral treatment. While I’m in PHP, I’ll be able to work on myself some more, adjust my meds, and just get better- the ultimate goal.

I cleaned the shit out of my apartment when I got home. In 30 minutes, I had picked up the living and dining room, vacuumed, dusted, wiped down the tables, washed the windows… mania is good for production purposes.

As of right now, I feel kind of dazed and detached from everything around me.

Day 2 of Partial Hospitalization; Animated Paperclips

Day 2 of PHP was fantastic, again. I was so drained and exhausted by the time I came home last night that I didn’t want to write.

In the morning, I spoke to the social worker for quite a while. I realized how much pain and turmoil I was suppressing in the depths of me. Also, she is going to work with me this morning to file for a leave of absence. As you know, I work for a company deemed as a Scientology affiliate; they manage the staff and all under the administration side of the church. The social worker suggested that I call my medical primary doctor and ask her to put me on leave for a month or so. This way, my job is a little more protected (legally, too), I can continue to work on myself and push through the shit, and I’m in a safe place while my meds are shifted and increased. There is a plethora of stress and anxiety accumulating over the logistics of filing for disability and blah blah…

I think what makes me most anxious about- and this may seem silly- taking more time off is I miss my girl friend. We work together, we communicate consistently throughout the workday, and I miss her. She’s what brings me back to reality, she makes me happy, etc, etc. I know, I know- I need to work on stabilizing myself. Maybe this experience will also give me the strength to change my living situation as well. I have been using ad hockery as a crutch. Now it’s time for me to start planning, little by little so as not to overwhelm myself of course, planning my recovery.

Anyways, so I strategized with the social worker. Next group session, I processed about Allie and my fears of losing her due to antipsychotics. (I would be elated for the others to stop, in particularly Morris) My homework last night was to list the various traits about Allie that I found to be beneficial to me. What was it about her that made her such an intrinsic support net for me?

Then, the more I was expressing this, I came to another a-ha! moment. Morris tends to reiterate pernicious phrases from my past. I had never given this a second thought until now:

When I was very young, I heard from my grandfather, my brother, and step-mother that I am the reason my father committed suicide. That’s fucking hardcore. As a child to be told that not only did my dad take his own life because of me, but my mother abandoned me as well. I had stuffed those memories way down in the caverns of my darkest memories. Now, it’s all resurfacing.

I felt as if I was buzzing inside my body all day. I was AWAKE and ready to go. I had to take several deep breaths to bring myself back down. I was hallucinating a lot more- though I’m sure that was due to anxiety. In the morning, I had to speak a little slower in group, and focus on what was happening. I found my self wandering around in my mind. Although the voices and such were prominent, I was dealing with a significant flux of visual hallucinations. For example, objects would animate. When I closed my eyes, I would envision people falling from the sky, hitting the ground, bones shattering and ….well you get the idea. THAT was unpleasant.

I slept like a BABY last night. I was so alert and felt fantastic when I woke up this morning.

Lithium, Orange Badges, and Art Therapy

Diagnoses: Schizoaffective Bipolar Type (hasn’t changed)
Rx: Lithium, 300 mgs

I started my Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) today. It went really well! They signed me in, took my vitals, and I received a PHP badge so I could access the designated bungalow for outpatients. I’m there from 9:30 am to 2:30 pm for 5 days. I was assigned a psychiatrist, doctor, social worker, and psychologist. The days consist of 4 intense group therapy sessions led by the psychologist.

During the first session, she went around and checked everyone’s basic how-are-you-doings, medication issues/concerns, sobriety check-ins, etc. The second group session consisted of processing through areas each person needed to work on.

Side note, they had coffee throughout the day which was available during breaks. I was very happy about that. Third group session was an educational session. Today’s topic was mindfulness and breathing mechanisms. In guided meditation, the psychologist had us listen to the sounds around us, both inside the room and out. After about 5-10 minutes of this, we shared our experiences through the meditation. Then, we had lunch. Everyone was so welcoming to me! I shared some of my stories about the Church of Scientology. We talked about medication, our lives, what it’s like living with our disorders, and music.

Finally, art therapy came around, which is the last group session of the day. We journaled. The psychologist had us close our eyes, and she read 3 quotes about anger. “At the root of all anger is pain…Do not teach your children to not be angry; teach them instead how to be angry….” The last quote is escaping my mind at the moment. For 5 minutes, we were told to write. The only rule was to not stop writing for those 5 minutes. This was the poem I created during that time:

Dear mother, dear father
this anger, sick, sick, reverberates
it pushes and lulls within my marrow.
through blue heroin
you speak, you cry, you birth.
my dear parents, this anger rises
from the silver needles.
my small veins soak with it. and how angry you’ve felt…
4 years gone, dear father,
you vanish. trickling behind you were
photographs of my first birthday,
still wet with ink.
suicides- they don’t always die
yet the great, grave flesh burns and turns.
you have betrayed us.
dear mother, the absence of you has
embroidered itself within my heart,
stitching thoughts of
you were too worthless to be loved.
still, I loved you and had forgiven you.
this unrelenting fury an anguish lingers.
you had given this to me, this sick disease.

We all shared the pieces we wrote. I realized through processing how much anger I have been carrying towards my parents and myself. I didn’t really think about how angry I was for allowing myself to become my parents. I had taken on addiction, alcoholism, and suicide attempts. Now, I am on the road of forgiving myself and realizing that I really need help. It nearly brought me to tears.

It was so relieving to be able to speak freely, unafraid of judgement. It was also wonderful to be with people who understood. We were able to support each other through tears and laughter. I felt really safe and I wanted to share with the group instead of isolating myself.

Tonight I start 300 mgs of lithium. I’m a little anxious of side effects. Next week, I’ll start an antipsychotiic.

I’m also going to give sobriety the good ol’ college try. Irritability, here I come!

I feel better. I still feel wildly depressed and mind-fuckingly anxious, but knowing that I have a support system- my current and new- I think I’m going to make it out alright. PS- Here’s some related humor because without it, everything just sucks

The Price is Right and Assessment Papers

I bit the bullet and went in for an assessment today at a mental/rehab facility.

Allie sat with me in the passenger seat all the way to the hospital. She reassured me that no matter what happens, no one will take her away from me. So, in that, I found comfort. Although I was beyond anxious about it, the minute I stepped on to the grounds, I felt a little bit of relief. The outside of the facility itself was so calming and soothing.

I called last night and told the receptionist that I’ve been feeling very suicidal. When I walked up to the check in desk, she happily exclaimed, “I’m so happy you decided to come in!” They even gave me hot chocolate- so I was sold right then and there.

I didn’t have to wait for too long. I found myself laughing at the overly giddy Price is Right contestants on the lobby television. Then, my name was called. She took me into this small assessment room with cozy love seats. First, she took my blood pressure and heart rate. Then, the usual questions. What brings you here today? Have you had thoughts of suicide? History of drug abuse? Are you on any medications? Any recent losses?

I found myself tripping over my words. It was incredibly difficult admitting to her all of the gory details of my depression and psychotic episodes. We touched briefly upon my past and present opiate abuse, my alcohol reliance, suicide attempts, psychotic breaks. The more I talked the more I wanted a drink.

I was accepted for an intensive outpatient program, which starts tomorrow for 5 days. After those 5 days, we can reassess my situation and schedule more appointments and such. So, from 9 am to 3 pm I’ll be spilling my guts to my psychiatrist and working with other people.

I’m scared shitless, I’m still sad, I still feel floopered, but I know that tomorrow I will at least have the opportunity to alleviate some of this unbearable pain. By unbearable, I mean just that. I mean I just don’t want to be alive anywhere. The emotional agony is absolutely intolerable. What makes it worse is I really feel that I’m alone; I’m suffering from an invisible and seemingly phantom anguish that no one else can see or understand.

It will get better. I just need to pull myself up by the boot straps. Holy hell, this is a bad ride.

I keep hearing knocking on the window next to me and it’s slightly frightening.

Anyways, readers, thank you for being there. I’m going to try my damnedest to make it through tonight alright. I may come back on here and just write. I can already feel it creeping and weaving through my fibers.

Paranoia Bullets, the Zyprexa Edition

2007-06-04_psychiatrist_and_mobile_phone

Well, she prescribed me Zyprexa. I would like a second opinion, though. So, I think I’m going to see another psychiatrist next week, or as soon as possible.

(I wish I could help myself by simply applying the kindergartener’s philosophy; crafting via finger paints and macaroni necklaces. I wish I could cure myself by succorance and constant communication)

Though when I was at work, later on in the day I kept hearing my coworkers talking about how insane I am…and I thought…maybe Zyprexa isn’t such a bad idea after all.

Does anyone have any experience with olanzapine? Good, bad?

The appointment went well, over all. Oh, to blahpolar, the dr asked me how I was doing, and I responded with a chipper, “Tenebrific!” She was definitely amused at my response, as well as the short story I told her about it.

It was a short appointment. I let her know what’s been happening since I saw her last week. I let her know about the brutal suicidal thoughts I was having two nights ago. Nothing seemed to surprise her.

After I left her office, I stepped into the elevator. There was a man behind me and I truly felt as if he was going to stab me. I felt so paranoid. Even as I was driving back to work, I felt everyone staring at me, following me. Then, I began to think about how this same thing would happen to me when I was younger. I was constantly on my toes, thinking that someone was peering through my window, ready to shoot me. I would crawl on the floor to avoid the bullets. To this day, actually, I get that feeling frequently. I’ll have to do little ritualistic things to rid myself of the overwhelming expectation of getting shot.

Again, I felt that I was being filmed. I couldn’t shake it off. What a peculiar sensation it was.

This morning, the familiar, tendrillar, black creature wrapped it’s wiry limbs around me. The voices pervaded my very thoughts. I’m sure anxiety has a lot to do with it. You see, not only was I nail-biting over my appointment today, but work itself was a harrowing feat. I raise my glass of wine to all of you. Mondays are a bitch.

In other news, my mom finally called me. She is still at home, living with her husband. It bothers me. It really bothers me, actually. Yet, what say do I really have? Absolutely none. Other than residing in the same home as her asshat husband, she seems well and in high spirits. She is looking for work currently. I hope she finds a better life for herself soon.