So, I’m going through withdrawal from anti-depressants and anti-psychotics at the moment. It’s awwwwwwful. I’m nauseous/vomiting, dizzy, tired, sore, shivering then burning up, irritable, and most of all, I have the worst headache on Earth. One that’s so bad I’m considering if I’m experiencing mini migraines.

I’ve gone officially 2 nights and almost 2 full days without taking any Seroquel or Lexapro and the side effects are already better now than they were the first day. I’m hoping (and after reading almost every Seroquel/Lexapro 1st page Google review withdrawal story) I’m expecting these nightmare days to be over within this week. I was weening myself off 75 mg of Seroquel and 10 mg of Lexapro. I was weening myself off both over the last few weeks until 2 nights ago when I was finally down to 5 mg of Lexapro and about 20 mg of Seroquel when I decided to quit cold turkey.

At the time of quitting cold turkey I just figured withdrawal wouldn’t be tooooo bad because I’ve already walked myself off both drugs (only ever one not both) at different times and though I had headaches or nausea, it was never this unmanageable. Lexapro withdrawal is kind of a godsend because it’s just this out-of-body floating high that fluctuates throughout the day. The Seroquel withdrawal is the bloodiest beast. Seroquel is the one giving me these killer headaches and nausea and cold sweats followed by heat flashes that turn into me running to go puke every other hour (again, much better than even a day ago). Finally followed by these mini migraines where I can’t stand light or noise and my brain feels a little too swollen to be resting instead my skull and I can’t sleep without waking up with neck or back pain (elbow and knee pain is most likely from the rain outside and the cramps are from my period) and I just feel like I can’t get anything done when I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO this week because I’ve only got 10 days left in this place before I move out.

And maybe a little stress thrown in on top. GAHHHHHHH I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate this pain. I hate hate hate how terrible these drugs are and I can’t believe and am so frustrated that they exist to help someone if they felt that terrible to be on and are this impossible to stop taking. It’s so tempting to take a mini dose just to lessen the withdrawal, but I don’t think it would. Plus, I don’t ever want either of those back in my system ever again.

I found a holistic mental health doctor who’s got me set up on a supplement schedule that I will hopefully not have to take for the rest of my life and even with taking them now, DON’T GIVE ME WITHDRAWAL and are not harmful to my system down the road or like right now.

I’m so angry at the mental health world for those terrible medications being the first option given when they are so painful. Why aren’t those the last possible option they give us to try? I’m done, so done, and so ready to be done with this pain.


I feel it

like a fire. I am going to start walking myself off the antipsychotics starting tonight. Then just stay with the antidepressant for a bit. Then schedule a doctors appointment for soon, then just get on antidepressants then be okay with just those. No more psychiatrists, just general doctors.

I hate the meds. I want to feel everything again. Its kind of terrifying, but it’s more terrifying to enter into another relationship with a clouded mind and barely any emotions. I feel everything so much more grandly when I’m not on meds.

Honestly, with still questioning my sexuality and if I really ever liked men at all, I want to feel it all with a woman, nothing held back or muted.

So I’m still terrified this will backfire on me, but we’re going to try it. Maybe I can function just fine without the heavy duty meds…

A trail of her

I miss Nicole.

I’ve been listening to the Spotify playlist we made together and sobbing over the old Brand New songs that remind me of

Justin and Bridget and hiking at night, high in the woods beside campus, searching for the monster hill we’d have to climb with our arms clinging one another to keep from falling of the face of the

side of Melanie’s drunk face next to mine, our clothes stripped on the floor next to the bed, next to the first girl I ever slept beside where I thought; “maybe I wish we were more than best friends,” maybe

I wish I didn’t love the color sea-green so much, so my lungs wouldn’t catch when I thought of Haley’s hand in mine on warm, midnights in high school, escaping our parents houses to draw our names in spray paint under park bridges, to watch each other undress only to trace her jawline

but leave no trace, no trace that I slept in your bed and for the rest of my life searched for your same blueish gray corduroy skinny jeans and Mary Jane’s from Urban Outfitters so I could be you in every step I took, be you or be the girl you told me to be when you tilted my chin to the clouds and, “keep your chin up, love,” and loved me without making it about labels

though I almost wish you would’ve, demanded I face that crater of fear I felt the day we were separated, when the bolt was nailed on my basement door and the only way I could escape was to sit on the roof with my somehow straight best friend and talk about boys

pretend to talk about boys or really talk about them and think of you and which love you were with now; the tall, skinny boy in the band that you dated for a year…I heard about the day you lost it to him, and the day you cut your hair and tattooed your knees and finally moved out of your mother’s house and stopped partying with the boys in the band and came out.

And I came out, too. And you told me if those feelings of emptiness ever came back, to come find you and you’d be with me then because somehow you’ve always been there in those moments when the thing that defines me is the thing I can’t talk about so I feel lost until I hear your voice and feel your fingertips tilt my chin up,

trace the line of my chin

and whisper, love.

The parting gift of pink eye

So I have no idea what my plan is with this blog, it just feels so, so nice to write again.

I got the job in Bloomington, and my letter of resignation at this school went in on Thursday. Liz and I found an apartment that is gorgeous and is a little less than what I’m paying now. Almost all of my IEP meetings are either done or scheduled and started, so the paperwork side of this job is almost over. Life smoothed out evenly. Minus this week when I got pink eye from a student so badly that I was out of work for 2 days and came back on 4/20 with the reddest, droopiest, cracked eyes. My eyes are so dry around the corners that if I smile too big, the corners of my eyes start to bleed. That is something from the creepiest of horror movies. Even with all of this, the kids said they were happy to have me back and I was so beyond happy to be back with them. I love them.

So all is well, especially with meds. I’ve begun to slowly start going vegan. The original intention was to completely get off medication and live a vegan/yoga/natural lifestyle because we all know I’m high functioning and have only been on psychiatric meds for about 1 year now so it wouldn’t be the worst if I got off them…until I actually had to go through withdrawal over spring break because I forgot to bring my full container of Lexapro with me (I had just picked up the new refill and grabbed the wrong bottle when packing) and only had 2 pills for 7 days. So I walked myself off Lexapro and lessened my Seroquel dosage to match the Lexapro and hated myself for 5 days. I felt high from the Lexapro withdrawal and irritable/angry/depressed/in despair from the Seroquel withdrawal and vowed not to officially go off my meds any time soon without consulting a dietician/nutritionist/holistic doctor who could confirm that going vegan would help stabilize my bipolar to the point where I wouldn’t need meds. I want that answer whether it’s a “hell no, you’ll always have to be on some sort of med to function” or “yeah, with a lot of discipline and a vegan diet you could go med free.” I just want those answers. It’s been on my mind since the day I was diagnosed.

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Finally, I’m crying

It’s taken almost 2 months since we broke up and I’m finally crying over her. She sobbed and yelled the night I left and all I felt was empty, and terrified, like I was making a mistake but there was no other choice.

So much of me still hates myself for being gay.

It’s almost spring outside, though the clouds are still gray today. Just a second ago I felt tears come down onto my chest, slightly consuming sadness.

When I first came out to my mother, she got angry. She demanded to know my five-year plan, though she’s never asked that of me before. She demanded to know what type of wedding she’d be attending. I walked away before answering her.

Can I let myself marry a girl? More importantly, can I figure out a way to love myself enough to be that honest?


Posted in new

Okay I lied

A few more posts. I’ve literally made no progress on printing these posts off and deleting this blog. Not because I’m stalling, but because I have no extra fucking energy besides what gets me to work and back, makes my lunch and dinner (and coffee breakfast), and remembers to take my meds in the AM and PM. And I’m moving in a few months, and I did interview and end up getting that dream job and am now just tying loose ends and finishing paperwork at my current one. I’m so fucking exhausted all the time.

But I’m too lazy to walk and write on my hardback journal, and I’m too tired to quit this blog, so I’m back. For now.

So I have a therapy appt. tonight to discuss the childhood sex abuse. I’ve taken one Claritin and 3 Advils and have a 16 oz. of Rockstar beside me now. I got a tattoo last weekend of moon phases with a moonflower at the full one. It’s a long story, but captures the abuse perfectly. So I guess I lied again, because I swore I’d never put a moonflower beneath my skin, but healing comes in all strange ways. So, therapy. I should leave now.

We’ll be okay.


January 13, 2018

I plan (with time because I’m quite busy) to print the blog posts from this site, both private and public, then delete this account permanently. 

I’ve deleted an account before in order to start this one when I wanted a fresh break from my previous multi-year string of depressive/suicidal posts. The last 40-some posts on this account have documented my acceptance of my sexuality and mental illnesses. There are depressive posts in those 40-some, but no suicidal ones, I haven’t felt that low in years.

My reasons for deleting this account are not because I worry about privacy or “taking a break from social media,” because this isn’t exactly social media.

I have recently found a very good psychologist who I see twice a month for “mindfulness” (formally CBT) therapy to help with my panic disorder and occasional bipolar mood swings. I have also recently started a new medication, and am taking it consistently and compliantly, wow. The psychiatrist I go to listens well and started me on an anti-depressant in addition to the anti-psychotic to attack the severe anxiety and panic I was still feeling. I feel healthy.

This blog feels unhealthy.

I have felt this for a while now. As much as I post that each blog post is for me to get my thoughts out of my brain, that’s not all I hope the post does. Journaling is a proven coping  skill for anyone with a mental illness, and it does feel good when the thoughts empty onto the screen. However, there’s still a part of me who uses tags on all my posts, who checks the notification icon, who hopes that people will find the post funny or inspirational or well-written. There’s still a part of me that hopes people will like my blog posts. Or that someday, this blog really will make me famous, like I joke my mania says.

I see celebrities or Youtube stars who have bipolar or are bisexuals and who are famous, and although in my reality I keep those to personal facts concealed, part of me hopes fame would be something obtainable if only I took more of a platform on these traits.

I am so close to being in a happy place with my mind.

A huge part of my therapy is separating all my strings of thoughts (my inner narrative) and acknowledging those thoughts before letting them go. It’s accepting that those conditions I have, the sexuality that I am, the job I work, the clothes I wear, or the friends that I have (or the millions of other traits) are apart of my life but do not define my true self. I am getting to know the person I am beneath everything and without anyone.

In order to be healthy, I need to make sure my journaling is only to get the thoughts out of my head. I bought a new journal that sits beside my bed side now. So, the final reason to delete this blog permanently is to practice acknowledging my thoughts and letting them go. To not be reminded of the entry I wrote about months go by a random follow or like.

I have accepted my bipolar and panic disorder. I have finally come out about my bisexuality and am currently dating a wonderful human. I am coming to a happy place with myself that I need to treasure and be mindful of.


January 8, 2018

We had an ice day today! (no school)

Thank God. I realized very quickly this morning that I was in no way ready to teach little minds. There are a lot of school weeks where I think to myself on Sunday night, “How in the hell are you going to get through this week?” Or even better pep talks: “You will not make it through this week. I see you having a mental breakdown before the end of it.” Legit, most weeks I am surprised when I make it to Friday in one, semi-managed piece. Or when I actually remember everything I was supposed to do, it really is a shock to me, like an out of body congratulations to my mind.

So I made egg salad today for my lunches this week, and prepared the green beans and radishes for munchies. I even submitted lesson plans, answered all work emails, made lunch and coffee for tomorrow, took meds, and am 75% done with paperwork. I feel like a smidgen more prepared for tomorrow than I was yesterday. Yikes, just let me make it through this week, then hopefully I can see Nicole.

January 7, 2018

I had to post in this moment because it feels like a mini triumph of self-acceptance.

I’m getting good at analyzing my moods. Like the feeling of ants beneath my skin versus actual muscle spasms. Or being lazy and not leaving my apartment all weekend versus a depressive episode and the feeling of being trapped in my mind, or even better, a panic attack where I literally cannot leave my apartment.

I can’t tell yet if the new med is working. My doctor started me on an antidepressant in addition to a mood stabilizer. He said the antidepressant should help with the extreme anxiety I’ve been having. High hopes, man, high hopes.

It’s freezing rain outside, so my only goal today is to make it to the gas station in an hour or so, and to finish paperwork.

Happy new year, back to school, and better mind!