the fuzzy purple blanket is close to being shredded by safety scissors. i want to take the pink panther and throw him across the room while screaming "YOU NEVER LIKED MY MOVES!" and then make the fucking wooden frog splinter into a million pieces.
i never want to leave the safety of my apartment ever again.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
I want a brain that produces the right amount of the right chemicals at the right time.
My story begins with a mysterious fever at the age of four that no one had an explanation for. Shortly after the fever broke, I saw Captain Caveman, club and all, in full cartoon form, running around in my back yard.
From the moment I recovered from the phantom fever on, I was a different person.
Entirely.
What's wrong with little Casey? The devil.
My mother was a pseudo christian who only called upon god when I was out of control.
"Oh, you say the devil's in your head telling you to do awful things? Recite the lord's prayer. That'll teach him."
My father was an absentee parent due to the need to support the family. Twelve hour work days six days a week made family time scarce.
At age eight I was put on Ritalin. After a year of dosing her child, my mother called upon my great-grandmother's church in West Virginia (mountain folk. the snake handling kind.) to do a mass prayer to end my battle with ADHD, and BEHOLD! Casey was saved and taken off of medication.
(right.)
School was a breeze. I was one of those kids who never had to study to get an A+ on a test, so they threw my little geeky self into gifted and talented classes, thinking that would make me "blossom". Beta Club, honors programs, gifted and talented summer classes at Murray State and SAT's at the age of 12...
Middle school was a terror. High school was even worse. Authority figures, and people in general, were a big problem for me. I was suspended twice my freshman year of high school, and wasn't allowed to return until I had psych evaluations (not as bad as it seems. I was a "weird" kid [in Marshall County High School], Heath had happened not too long ago, and I made the mistake of standing up for myself when the redneck boys decided to pick on me.) So what did I do? I just stopped caring.
At the way too young age of seventeen, I gave birth to Laelah.
(The next six years were filled with abusive "men", horrible decisions, and mental breakdowns that I don't want to go into at the moment.)
So we're at the age of 23.
January, 2008.
Maybe I rented a hotel room and tried to just leave. Maybe I didn't want to come back. Maybe it would have been easier that way.
Maybe I overdosed on the stupid combination of medications my psychotherapist had me on. (Adderall, Klonopin AND Xanax, but no anti-depressant/mood stabilizer? Way to go, Doc.)
Maybe I did it on purpose.
My vitals didn't want to stabilize in the ER, but of course, because I am who I am, they did, and I got to experience what it was like inside of Lourdes psychiatric unit, Two North.
Before I had even seen the attending psychiatrist, I was put on Adderall in the morning, and Risperdal and Xanax at night. I was a manic attentive mess during the day, and a slobbering fool at night. When I finally did get to see the psychiatrist, the visit only lasted for two minutes. He asked how I was feeling, and then told me what mental disorder had given me the balls to attempt to end everything.
I was on a 72 hour hold for evaluation, and in order to get out after those 72 hours, I had to attend group "therapy". All I got out of it was a fear of schizophrenics and a weak stomach due to the tab addict's seriously bad case of oral herpes. Sitting next to a three hundred pound schizo who announces to the group that the voices have been telling him to kill again makes you wish for even the dullest pencil, anything that can be used to protect you if he decides to listen to the voices and lunge forward...
So what is wrong with me? Why do I seem like the most awful cunt in the world?
Borderline. Personality. Disorder.
What is it?
You know that hell that some of you believe in? Where you go if you're an awful person to be tormented for all eternity?
I live in it everyday, and have for as long as I can remember...
It's hell. Day in and day out.
I don't want hell. I don't want to feel angry for no reason at all and push people as far away as I can, but without fail, I always do.
I don't trust. Anyone.
My emotions, when they're positive ones, are something that no one else will ever have the pleasure of experiencing. The joy, elation, and love that I feel are a billion times more powerful than that of a so-called "normal" person. If I love you, I can make you feel like the only person to ever walk the earth, and that pedestal that I put you on can't be touched by anyone.
But if you reverse that, and delve into the negative aspects...well...that's where it all falls apart. The pain, sadness, etc. that I feel is more than likely enough to bring down an army. I don't hurt like others. My pain is so horrendous and so far down into the very core of my being that it literally cripples me, and life? It doesn't seem worth the trouble.
There is never a grey area. If I like you, I love you. If not, I hate you. You don't have to do anything but look at me in what I perceive as the wrong way, and you've made Casey's shit list. I never mean for it to happen, and I'd love nothing more than to like you, but with me, it's not possible. You can always redeem yourself by speaking to me, letting me know that you in fact DO NOT hate me, which is what I'm thinking, because who could like a bitch like me?
It's all so confusing, really.
I'm jealous of those who go through life's problems unscathed. The ones who can handle all the stress without the thought of just killing themselves off popping into their head.
I want a brain that produces the right amount of the right chemicals at the right time.
I'm not going to shoot up a school, a mall, a movie theater. I won't stalk you, try to kill you, try to purposely ruin your life. I don't have voices in my head and I have no imaginary friends.
I'm not psycho crazy. I'm just passionate...
...and I struggle to get through each and every day.
From the moment I recovered from the phantom fever on, I was a different person.
Entirely.
What's wrong with little Casey? The devil.
My mother was a pseudo christian who only called upon god when I was out of control.
"Oh, you say the devil's in your head telling you to do awful things? Recite the lord's prayer. That'll teach him."
My father was an absentee parent due to the need to support the family. Twelve hour work days six days a week made family time scarce.
At age eight I was put on Ritalin. After a year of dosing her child, my mother called upon my great-grandmother's church in West Virginia (mountain folk. the snake handling kind.) to do a mass prayer to end my battle with ADHD, and BEHOLD! Casey was saved and taken off of medication.
(right.)
School was a breeze. I was one of those kids who never had to study to get an A+ on a test, so they threw my little geeky self into gifted and talented classes, thinking that would make me "blossom". Beta Club, honors programs, gifted and talented summer classes at Murray State and SAT's at the age of 12...
Middle school was a terror. High school was even worse. Authority figures, and people in general, were a big problem for me. I was suspended twice my freshman year of high school, and wasn't allowed to return until I had psych evaluations (not as bad as it seems. I was a "weird" kid [in Marshall County High School], Heath had happened not too long ago, and I made the mistake of standing up for myself when the redneck boys decided to pick on me.) So what did I do? I just stopped caring.
At the way too young age of seventeen, I gave birth to Laelah.
(The next six years were filled with abusive "men", horrible decisions, and mental breakdowns that I don't want to go into at the moment.)
So we're at the age of 23.
January, 2008.
Maybe I rented a hotel room and tried to just leave. Maybe I didn't want to come back. Maybe it would have been easier that way.
Maybe I overdosed on the stupid combination of medications my psychotherapist had me on. (Adderall, Klonopin AND Xanax, but no anti-depressant/mood stabilizer? Way to go, Doc.)
Maybe I did it on purpose.
My vitals didn't want to stabilize in the ER, but of course, because I am who I am, they did, and I got to experience what it was like inside of Lourdes psychiatric unit, Two North.
Before I had even seen the attending psychiatrist, I was put on Adderall in the morning, and Risperdal and Xanax at night. I was a manic attentive mess during the day, and a slobbering fool at night. When I finally did get to see the psychiatrist, the visit only lasted for two minutes. He asked how I was feeling, and then told me what mental disorder had given me the balls to attempt to end everything.
I was on a 72 hour hold for evaluation, and in order to get out after those 72 hours, I had to attend group "therapy". All I got out of it was a fear of schizophrenics and a weak stomach due to the tab addict's seriously bad case of oral herpes. Sitting next to a three hundred pound schizo who announces to the group that the voices have been telling him to kill again makes you wish for even the dullest pencil, anything that can be used to protect you if he decides to listen to the voices and lunge forward...
So what is wrong with me? Why do I seem like the most awful cunt in the world?
Borderline. Personality. Disorder.
What is it?
You know that hell that some of you believe in? Where you go if you're an awful person to be tormented for all eternity?
I live in it everyday, and have for as long as I can remember...
It's hell. Day in and day out.
I don't want hell. I don't want to feel angry for no reason at all and push people as far away as I can, but without fail, I always do.
(the actual symptoms are here:
My emotions, when they're positive ones, are something that no one else will ever have the pleasure of experiencing. The joy, elation, and love that I feel are a billion times more powerful than that of a so-called "normal" person. If I love you, I can make you feel like the only person to ever walk the earth, and that pedestal that I put you on can't be touched by anyone.
But if you reverse that, and delve into the negative aspects...well...that's where it all falls apart. The pain, sadness, etc. that I feel is more than likely enough to bring down an army. I don't hurt like others. My pain is so horrendous and so far down into the very core of my being that it literally cripples me, and life? It doesn't seem worth the trouble.
There is never a grey area. If I like you, I love you. If not, I hate you. You don't have to do anything but look at me in what I perceive as the wrong way, and you've made Casey's shit list. I never mean for it to happen, and I'd love nothing more than to like you, but with me, it's not possible. You can always redeem yourself by speaking to me, letting me know that you in fact DO NOT hate me, which is what I'm thinking, because who could like a bitch like me?
It's all so confusing, really.
I'm jealous of those who go through life's problems unscathed. The ones who can handle all the stress without the thought of just killing themselves off popping into their head.
I want a brain that produces the right amount of the right chemicals at the right time.
But someone has to take the fall, right? I'll consider myself lucky to be able to feel love like no one else can, and cursed because my pain, it really never ends.
I'm not psycho crazy. I'm just passionate...
...and I struggle to get through each and every day.
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