Much Ado About Everything (AKA Damned if You Do(n’t))


…don’t know what to write.

I have yet to read a book this year. I keep trying, but nothing holds my focus or interest. I keep trying to read blogs. Articles. Even the rare thought-provoking Facebook post. I can’t. Fucking. Do it. Same with writing. I can’t think of anything to write about. Part of me wants to write. (The part of me that’s here writing this.) The other part of me couldn’t care less. (The part of me that cannot come up with anything to talk about right now.) It’s maddening. On slow days at work – I shit you not – so many times I’m just staring at the monitor or wall. Just fucking staring. I want to read. I want to write. It’s like I can’t.

Is it the medication?




Speaking of (psychiatric) drugs, I’m only on Lexapro and Seroquel now. I’ve been through three anti-psychotics so far…Geodon and two others I’ve already forgotten. All three fucked me up in a major way. I’m not having major negative (discernible) side-effects from Seroquel, but…but I feel even more numb than I did before I was on it. I smile and laugh and crack the occasional snarky remark. But, for the most part, it doesn’t reach beyond the surface.

At one point, I was on at least 12 scrips at once (that I can recall) and felt worse than I ever have. Against doctors’ orders, I’m down to five plus an OTC antacid. And I still think I can do without Seroquel.
I am still taking the sleepytime drug (Clonidine), but I’ve ceased the anti-anxiety drugs (Vistaril and Klonopin). First, I was just too fucking tired and sleepy all the time. I’m already tired all the time – I certainly didn’t need drugs that exacerbate that. Second, and most importantly, at least one of them was causing panic attacks. I’m the girl that has maybe three or four full-blown panic attacks a year. Maybe. The rest of them are milder anxiety attacks. Like can’t get out of the car to go into the grocery store. While I was taking the anti-anxiety drugs (at 50 mg Vistaril 3x daily and 1 mg Klonopin 3x daily), I began having them daily. Daily. Sometimes more than once per day. If I was at work, I had to scurry off to the bathroom to hide in a stall until it passed. If I was at home, I exercised less control but would eventually tuck myself in the closet. The closeness and darkness helped soothe and calm me down.

I knew something was fucked. And it had to be the drugs, because nothing else had changed. Granted, I’m going through some life changes right now – and they aren’t minor. But I’ve been easing my way into those for several months now. There was no brand new catalyst aside from the steady increase in anti-anxiety drugs and doses.

All that to say, I’ve ceased those – though the psychiatrist doesn’t know. When I tried to share my observations, she insisted I was better off with the meds than without – to the point where she brought up hospitalization again, as though holding that over my head if I didn’t take the pills. So I lie and tell her I’m still on everything except the ones where I have pictorial evidence of bad side-effects (like the big, burny rashes). I even asked her at one point if she wanted pics of vomit. (While I am a smartass, I don’t often use it with willfully mean intent. But she was basically accusing me of lying to her and being treatment resistant – hence my offer.) So now I really am lying to her, and I fucking hate it. It pains me so to admit it, because I hate lying. I hate liars. I used to say liars and thieves, but really they’re the same thing. A lie is theft of truth. So to tell a lie is to become both a liar and a thief. Next time I see her, I’m going to tell her. Just flat out tell her, and by then I will be able to tell her that I’ve been off of them long enough to know for damn sure they were doing more harm than good. Hell, they were doing no good and only harm.

But what about publife?

Once I took myself off of the anti-anxieties, I was strangely able to appreciate my anxiety. I’d gone weeks with severe daily panic attacks. So now that things had calmed back down to being too nervous to go into the grocery store, rather than pulling my hair and rage-screaming, I was less concerned.

So much so that I was finally able to push myself far outside my comfort zone and go to a pub – not once, but three times. And one of them was alone! I even took myself to the movies and to a concert – solo!

But here’s the thing…the Saturday and Sunday immediately subsequent to two of those pubnights?

In bed. Crying. Sleeping. Contemplating. Crying. Sleeping.

You get the idea.

It’s important to me that I share this here, because for anyone else going through what I’m going through, I don’t want to give the impression that this depressed introvert was “healed” after a few nights of bravery. I wasn’t. I’m not. Though I am proud of myself for pushing outside my comfort zone and even doing something I’d never done before, I also realize that wellness is an ongoing process. That goes for mental and physical health and wellness.

Last time, I only talked about the good shit. But it’s important to show the other side. What happened after the Happy Hour High.

The extreme highs of forced extroversion (that was honestly quite fun and liberating – errr aside from pubnight #3 which was an epic fucking disaster), followed by quiet solitude…well, let’s say that combination resulted in major emotional backlash for me. So. On this journey of mental wellness, I have to eventually discover a way to at least minimize the extroversion hangover caused by going from being ON to being alone and exhausted.

I haven’t been back out since the failed third Happy Hellish Hour, and I’ve had a negative urge to. Until Friday. I could have done Happy Hour after work. But..I kinda didn’t wanna. Because while I now know that I can do it, I also found it far more fun when I was with people than when I went alone. Frankly, it’s depressing. It was awesome in a lot of ways, and I was so fucking proud of myself. But. It’s also me. Sitting alone. At a bar. Alone. On a Friday night. Out. In public. Did I mention alone? Yeah. So while I kinda wanted to go, I didn’t. 

Then again, maybe that’s the drugs, too. Fucked if I know. What I do know is that my slowass pace doesn’t mean I’ve stopped progressing.

I’m trending upward. That’s right. Slowly but surely, I’m trending upward. Speaking of which…

Inching along the Oregonton Trail


I continue to make progress (albeit slow) toward getting myself up to Oregon or Washington.

The yard is landscaped just along the front of the house. Azaleas, some fast growing lantanas, and some gorgeous annuals in window boxes. The house looks adorable. Fucking adorable. It went from ghetto to adorable in a flash. It’s amazing the effect flowers have on a house’s appeal.

As far as the house goes, there are still some hurdles before it can be put on the market. The driveway has to be re-graveled. The laundry room floor has to be painted (the previous owner painted it, and it looks ridiculous). The kitchen floor needs some tiles replaced. Other than that, it’s down to scrubbing and little things like window blinds and light bulbs here and there.

Strongly considering figuring out how to do it For Sale by Owner. It’s the legal shit that concerns me, not the showing. My boss is flexible, so I could show it on evenings, weekends and the occasional midday during the week. I’ve learned that hiring a realtor will take all of the little equity I’ve got in the house. I can’t afford to lose that, so I have to find another way. Enter FSBO.

I’ll do my research and give it a go. 

On the job front, I’ve stopped applying for now. I’ve had several interviews, but I have a solid lead thanks to a VIP at work. When he found out about my plans, he asked for my resume and sent it to another VIP in Vancouver, Washington. He tells me it’s solid and to bide my time while I sell my house. So I’m gonna let that simmer for a while and pour all my focus into the sale. 


This post took three days to write. That’s how bad my “block” is. I know this is an abrupt conclusion, but I don’t really know what else to say.

Until next time, y’all are the best. I’m not neglecting you on purpose.  This “block” is maddening! Hope everyone is well and happy!

53 thoughts on “Much Ado About Everything (AKA Damned if You Do(n’t))

  1. I’ll take your leftover serequol. πŸ™‚ And yeah, pace yourself , Chica. Introverts are always exhausted after social gatherings. But that along with the cocktail of meds drained you. Now it’s finding that dammed elusive balance. Lol. Still, the little risks you taken are adding up so keep on. πŸ™‚ ❀️❀️❀️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Charlie Charlie thank you Charlie. And yeah, you’re right. I can *feel* that I’m over-medicated. Not nearly as badly as I was before, but I still need to get rid of one or two more.

      I hope you enjoyed the holiday!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. It’s the seroquel. The shit is numbing, I use it to go to sleep, in 30 minutes in dead to the world and maybe having conversations with mister. Seriously you should tape yourself, every person I know on seroquel say the most hilarious things in their sleep. Apparently I said to mister ‘don’t do it’ he said ‘ok I won’t’ and apparently I said ‘good’ and fell back asleep. My sister in law once asked me to take the drill out the freezer when I was sneaking into bed at 2am.

    Please, for the love of fuck get a new psych. You shouldn’t be on this much meds and its fucked that they keep threatening you with the funny farm for not complying. FUCK HER. It’s not her body she’s wrecking.

    You are young and believe me, probably not as fucked up as everyone keeps making out like you are. Take care of your liver, flip your psych the bird, tell her to shove her mess up her fat twat and say 2, find me fucking 2 meds that get along and that’s fucking sweet but not fucking 5, you shouldn’t be on as much medication as a schizophrenic when you’re not even close. Fuck me, I mean, at least in the psych wards they give you the right meds, probably less then 5 at a time too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. And if I couldn’t make my point any clearer, your psych is clearly getting monetary gain from prescribing you medication. She must be making a small fortune. I swear doctors over there are fucking soulless, no wonder Americans feel like they get no help with mental health issues. Because you don’t, big Pharma actually exists over there it doesn’t over here. Our doctors have no gain in diagnosing and prescribing things. Yours do, so be careful or you’ll end up a dribbling byproduct of a doctor draining as much funds as they can out of you, due to meds you shouldn’t even be on.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh this bitch is definitely getting kickbacks. I’d bet my paycheck on it. Oh god you should see the poor bastards in her waiting room. It’s sad and pathetic and terrifying. She tells me I’m being “treatment resistant.” If I didn’t resist her brand of “treatment,” I’d need a cane and bib like the rest of her clients.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. There are so many horror movies about psych wards I could reference here about crazy doctors, but again. If you guys have electroshock therapy still, then I worry about treatment at all, come to Aus, get diagnosed then go back and say the Aussie docs don’t think I’m crazy so ner.

        Liked by 1 person

    2. Oh man, that’s the ONLY thing I like about the seroquel. Sleep problems? Be damned – I’m out like a light. But I bet I am talking. I tell you what…the Lamictal had me waking myself up, I was talking so much in my sleep. That was some crazy shit. Every morning now, since starting the Seroquel, I feel dazed and confused. As though my dreams were real and as though I’m forgetting something incredibly important. It’s so hard to describe, but I go through my days feeling like I’m forgetting something vital. It’s a strange sensation, and it makes me feel legit crazy. Like any minute now, the walls are gonna crumble around me because of whatever vital thing it is that I forgot when I “woke up.”

      Bleh. I’m fighting my insurance company to get a new psych doctor. I’m in a small area, so there aren’t many and even fewer that take insurance. They finally found one…………………’s a clinic that does electrotherapy. Yeah. I turned that down flat. I think I’m gonna have to get off of everything – including the Lexapro – and just start over, no matter how long I have to wait. Fucks sake, I was better before starting all this shit.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh god are you fucking serious that they still use electro shock therapy over there? That’s fucking barbaric.

        And don’t worry, everything you am described about seroquel is exactly how it is for everyone. I’ve only dealt with it for 4 years, after a while you start dealing and it just turns to general absent mindedness, and sometimes it’s good not to react as much you know. I don’t think the seroquel is the issue, that paired with an anti depressant should be a good enough combination.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I was completely floored by it. The electroshock shit, I mean. Floored. I thought that shit went away decades ago. I don’t know what all it entails at the facility I was scheduled to go to, but I don’t plan to find out. Bleh.

        Thank you for the info on seroquel. I’ve been feeling…”crazier” by the day. Taboo word, I know. But I think you know what I mean. My mind doesn’t feel right or even my own, if that makes sense.

        I will say the best I’ve felt was when I was on Lamictal and Lexapro. I felt great. Great. Until she bumped me from 150 mg to 200 mg. And then I spiraled hardcore. I asked her to let me go back down to 150, but she took me off it altogether instead. I dunno what the answer is for me, specifically, yet. But I know she doesn’t have it!

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Nooooo…if it is, I’m creepy, too! I’ve missed you, too! It legit pisses me off that I “can’t” read/write. It’s as though nothing reaches through to me. I’m gonna keep weaning off of drugs and see if the haze lifts.

      In the meantime, I’ve been told I need to write even if I just ramble nonsense. Otherwise, I just won’t write anymore. So I may try that.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Glad you managed to post Steph, even if it did take all of your effort.
    I have no knowledge or experience of you drugs but they don’t sound very nice. Maybe you could talk to Dr Johnathan via my blog. He appears to know a great deal of things, is very anti pills and is a really good guy.
    Just a thought but at least you might get the truth.
    As for selling the house, we have “On-Line” fixed cost services over here so I would be surprised if there wasn’t one where you are….
    Most of all, be well friend πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Cameron! Hi! Thank you! I’ve taken myself off Seroquel and already feel better after only two days. My mind feels clearer and as though I’m in control of my own thoughts once more. It was so bizarre…

      I may have to look for Dr. Jonathan and check into fixed-cost services. That would be way better than the 6% rates being bandied about by realtors here. I understand they do a lot of work and deserve to be paid for their time and work. I just can’t afford to lose that. If I have to, I have to…but for now, I’m digging into alternatives!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Hey chica – you might not feel like you’re doing all that much, but dang, you’re accomplishing a lot. Keep putting one foot in front of the other (or planted firmly on a deserving person’s behind)

    Liked by 1 person

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