Hagrid is in the House!

Been tossing and turning for a couple of hours now. I want to be asleep, but the Akathisia is back. I hate this. I'm so scared.

I am going to stop taking the Abilify.

I have more energy, drive, and motivation. Things are getting done. I've been tidying my nest. Emails are getting answered. I'm writing more. And my sex drive has returned.

Either the new meds are working, or the light is returning for Spring. I can't rule either one out. I'm rarely depressed in Spring. I haven't used my lightbox much this winter.

If I could be like this more, life would be sweet!

So, today is the third consecutive day that I haven't been able to leave the apartment, because of my swollen foot and ankle. One thing is very clear -- my next apartment MUST be a ground floor one, because if these kinds of attacks continue to get worse as I age, and my joints continue to degenerate, then I am going to find myself more and more trapped in the apartment, unable to navigate the flight of stairs. I can't even do simple household tasks that require going down the stairs right now, like taking out the garbage and recycling, or checking the mail.

I've eaten no meat protein today, and have finished the last of my black cherry juice. I need to get someone to go to the store for me again.

And I still don't have any painkillers, and I don't know who to ask for help?

Each day that goes by, I am giving up more and more, surrendering to this life, a shut-in invalid. I am going to be forced to file for Social Security, and all of the things that means to my future.

Part of me believes that I deserve no better.

OK, I got to remember to take my antidepressants every day... I can tell I'm slipping after a couple of days.

I just woke up after having slept 16 hours, all last night and all day today.

Right knee is still a serious problem. The pain has shifted from inside the joint itself to the soft tissue around the knee -- muscle and tendon -- especially the back of the knee. Swelling seems to have subsided, but the pain has not. Hurts to lay on it in certain positions, and painkillers -- Naproxen and Tylenol -- don't seem to help much.

Getting up from bed hurts, anytime I have to exert my knee it hurts. Still hobbling around, using the cane. And my right hip is aching now, too, I suspect because of all of the unnatural positions I am having to put it in to keep weight off the knee.

Was supposed to go to the food bank today, but slept through it. Couldn't bear the pain of carrying bags of groceries. I'm almost out of food, and have no more food stamps. Out of cigarettes, too.

Haven't left the apartment since Faerie Coffee on Saturday morning. All I've done for days is slept and watched Babylon 5.

I feel like I'm falling apart.

I got a letter from the Washington DSHS today, saying they are discontinuing my medical coverage and monthly cash benefits, effective immediately. (For some reason, I'm still getting food assistance, though).
( A plea for financial help )


Let me reiterate this point: I'm asking for LOANS, not handouts. I will repay any money I receive as a result of this plea (Plus 10% interest. Seriously.)

Think of this as an investment in me, my education, and my future. Any amount will help.

Thank you.

Donate here:

I just got off the phone with my maternal aunt, Virginia, who I call every year on December first to wish her a happy birthday. I adore Virginia. She and I have very similar attitudes about politics and culture, which means we get along well.

I was telling her about my observation that I appeared to be the 3rd generation of the Wright family of Knoxville, Tennessee, with severe mental illness problems. And she told me something new and astounding: Her grandfather, 'Buddy' (Thomas Jefferson Wright I, my great-grandfather) had a "nervous breakdown" when he was younger, though he eventually recovered. (They attributed the breakdown to "working too hard.")

I had NO idea, but that means there are now FOUR confirmed generations of this mental instability in the family. Buddy's daughter Evelyn was institutionalized for uncontrollable violent episodes. Everyone described her as "mean." She was probably an undiagnosed schizophrenic, and later died in the psychiatric institution of pneumonia. Until today, hers was the earliest mental illness problems in the family I knew about.

Her brother (Thomas Jefferson Wright II, my grandfather) possibly committed suicide, though no one knows for sure, because of the mysterious circumstances of his disappearance and death.

His daughter (Cecilia Wright Bell, my mother's sister) is schizophrenic, and has been institutionalized for years.

And now I am the 4th generation to have severe mental health problems -- I've dodged the schizophrenia bullet, but the major depression episodes have been grinding me down for a quarter of a century now. *sigh* At least I came by it honestly.

Wow. I wonder how much farther back this goes? No one knows much about Buddy Wright's family, so what madness might have come before him is lost in the mists of time.

I need to tell my brother Dale about this, because that means his children are 5th generation, and he needs to watch his kids carefully for signs of this "darkness of the soul," which seems to have come down the Wright line.

Neither I, nor my sister, nor three of my four cousins have ever had children, so right now, Dale's the only one where, if this is indeed genetic, it could possibly have been passed down.

I just wish I knew how to contact my cousin, Rose Bell (her birth name), who Cissy gave up for adoption at birth. I think she should know about this. But we don't know what her adoptive name is, or where she is, or if she has children. She's never attempted to contact her birth mother, as far as we can tell.

Had a followup appointment with the P.A. at Interfaith Medical Clinic this morning (which is why I missed DVR Job Club today).

We've upped the Fluoxetine to 60mg/day, close to where I was before back in the 1990s.

No comment from her on my blood pressure: 140/90. Pulse: 80 bpm. Weight: 389 lbs. She did ask if I was getting any exercise, to which I answered "yes, some" -- which is true. I've been taking guests and friends up to the Sehome Hill Arboretum a lot lately, which gets me out of the house.

If all goes well, with school registration, then I won't have to see the staff at Interfaith anymore - I'll be a student come January and have access to the Student Health Centre, which has far superior care to the free clinic.

OK, I've now been on the Fluoxetine at 20mg a day for 5 days. So far, so good, with only a few instances of suicidal thoughts, bursts of rage, self-destructive behaviour and binge eating. Starting a new regimen of antidepressant meds can trigger all of these things in me, which has happened over the past 5 days. I actually was "stable" in my depression before starting the meds, and was warned by the prescribing P.A. that the early stages of taking this med could be rough. She was right.

Today I up the dose to 40mg, as prescribed. It could be a roller coaster ride for the next few days, so be warned. Buckle your safety belts, please keep arms and legs inside the ride at all times, and enjoy your visit to Disneyland.

I'm still without antidepressant meds due to bureaucratic snafus, and have been barely holding it together. I'm supposed to be going to the Dept. of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR) seminar tomorrow morning, so why am I still awake tossing and turning and unable to sleep? My brain is going a thousand rpm, and the dark cloud that envelopes my soul is still there.

I'm still waking up in the mornings, disappointed that I hadn't died in my sleep.

( Click here if you want to read more depressive ramblings )

So I've been through anger, bargaining and depression (well I'm still in depression, actually)... don't see how denial's gonna work, but I'll be glad to get to acceptance. In the meantime, however, I have a question:

Is there truly someone for everyone? Or is that just a self-serving myth we tell ourselves and others with broken & lonely hearts, because the truth might just be too frightening to bear?

Is it possible that some people are just meant to be alone, no matter how much they try not to be?

What if not everyone has a "soul mate," or if you just missed them? What if the man of your dreams thinks you are too complicated and messed up to be involved with? Does that mean empty anonymous sex or celibacy are the only options left?

What if some men truly are islands?