Tag Archives: anger

It’s Been a While

Why am I even here? I just as soon slink into non-existence if I could.

Depression. It always seems to find me right around this time of year. Sure, before I was on a less than working treatment. But it still hits hard, like a slugger deciding it’s a homerun or bust.  My mom died a year ago. A year and two days really. Again. It was on her birthday. Facebook made sure I couldn’t forget that.  It hurt. I don’t want something to remind me to wish her happy birthday, she’s fucking dead.

But what do you do? I grimaced. I was getting ready for school, I couldn’t falter that early in the day. That was two days ago. I also accidentally stumbled on my text thread with her on my phone. A lot of “Thanks mom”. She would write awkward reminders to tell me to do something or that a package arrived. “Thanks mom”.

But when she was here, we were constantly fighting. I tried to justify a lot of it. Some of it was valid, sure, but me and her were both broken. Especially when February came around. Because that’s also when my dad had his accident. I miss him too. Now he’s actually dead and I am actually relieved in that respect. I think I fucked up my childhood somewhere. I can’t see stuffed animals or children’s toys without feeling some weird sudden obligation to cry.

And oh yeah, there was that whole engagement thing I did in February. That was supposed to infuse some positive emotion to the month.  7 years or something like that, and it spiraled out so suddenly. Don’t get me wrong. I’m better for having moved on from that relationship, we weren’t right for each other at that point. I think we both saw that. We wanted the other to be someone we weren’t. But that still makes a wonderful pang when I think about it. It hurts. I don’t know how long til that goes away.

Oh and I thought I did okay a couple days ago when I came home from work, only having cried a little during the day. But then in the night I got sick, I think I started running a fever. I was convincing myself to not throw up because I needed my meds to stay down for a number of reasons. But chills shook me violently and painfully between 11pm and 3am. They finally died down and I felt incredibly sick and not rested yesterday. I forced myself to go to school anyway, like a good student, to just get attendance. I don’t remember much for doing that either. Still haven’t eaten since Monday evening. I feel like shit warmed over.

But then I get up today, this morning, determined for it to be better. I start off the day early with an interview for a job I really want, and I’m super grateful that I’m feeling mostly better. Then I’m slightly dreading work after school because it’s inventory at my job and I have to be there very late, when I have to be up very early tomorrow and my sleep stuff is still not figured out.  Some point during the day I get a terrible pain in my back, still have it, just came out of nowhere.

But I make it home regardless to let my awesome dog out of captivity (we’ll get there in a second). Blow for blow, this day is going okay. Then I get to my room and remember, for some reason last night I pissed my bed. As an adult. I had zero awareness of it until it was time to get up and I was even doing that late. So I just dressed up, locked the dog in the crate and took off. Now I am back home in my room and I can smell the piss. So I have to move everything off the bed with my hurt back, remove the sheets and put new ones on, which is harder than it sounds because I can’t actually just go from one side of the bed to the other, again I strain my back, but I remind myself it’s okay, you don’t want to remember later on, you piss your bed at night.

So yeah, that happens, I magically get my necessary homework done, watch some anime, take off to work. Work hurt me further, but that was okay, it was money for it, but I was really looking forward to getting off work.

Right before I get off, I get a notification of what my dog did for damage. I apologize for her and promise to fix it. I thought she was in my room where I left her. Turns out my roommate/cousin/landlord felt more comfortable placing her in the crate. That’s totally cool, that’s why we have it, and she’s more restrained there. She is a problem dog that we have been working on trying to figure out options.  But yeah, breaks out of the crate, no signs of where she moved it or how, just outside. I don’t want to lose her. But having done what we’ve done and it not work, I think there’s not any other option. So not only has my week been shitty, but every time I was willing to see positives, I get bitch slapped by Reality, reminding me that I’m his whore to do with as he pleases.

Too long didn’t read? TL:DR? Fuck life. Not only is this week particularly shitty, this is turning to just force February into my cursing vernacular. There’s nothing good here. I feel fucking exhausted, bawling my eyes out. And I can’t fix it. She’s gotta go. I don’t have much to lose, but every time I think I’m okay, shit like this happens.

 

The Curse

My mom once said our family was cursed by God for some great atrocity someone a couple generations back committed. She lost a lot of siblings. Had bipolar children, one who became a drunk and occasionally hurt his wife and kids. Then my dad had his accident.  Then my mom broke her leg. Then when I moved away and the only companion my mom had was my dog, my dog got cancer.  Then my brother died. She could still hear him sometimes. Him and one of her sisters. Now she’s gone too. And my dad is in the hospital again. For like the 18th time.

The reality of the situation is that the numbers tell me my dad will die. My thoughts tell me he’s a tough guy and he’s gonna make it through. Reality does tell me if he lives, his quality of life will drop even further. I’m almost ready for him to die. I want him to be with my mom. I prayed in the temporary trauma unit that if God was going to take my father, make him go painlessly and know that my mom would be there to welcome him if he had any fear.

But now I’m at home, just having finished an assignment and trying to convince myself that I do need to go to work tomorrow, especially with it being a new job and all. But fear and conflict has taken hold of my heart. When my mom was in the hospital before she died, I knew she lived through the worst and was gonna be just fine, she was getting better and everything. One night, the fear of losing her seized me entirely and I fell apart, only to wake up the next day and everything was good. It was the day after that though shit hit the fan.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to expect right now. Certainly feels like a curse. Throw my bipolar in just for funsies and you’ve got everything you need for a turbulent life. I used to minimize the amount of trauma I’ve endured, convincing myself it wasn’t really bad because it could get a lot worse. Now I’m just starting to feel broken.

Nights like this…

It’s evenings like this that make me realize why I have had so many troubled issues in the past. I’m not going to blame my mom here. I want that clear. It’s going to look a lot like that. Really, I just want to point out the trauma left from my dad’s accident and it how it relates to my mom’s structure (or lack thereof).

Those of you who know me, know my mom can explode. You also know that she takes everything to be the worst possible outcome. There does not exist any solution. There does not exist any mediation or any sort of middle ground from acceptable loss to life changing result. Every time she encounters a problem, she’s insistent that she’s going to jail. Or that she’s going to die. Or that my dad will die. Or that she’s going to lose her job. Or that she’s going to owe thousands upon thousands of dollars. There’s zero discussion. Absolutely no problem solving. It’s just “oh God we’re all going to die” at the slightest hint of any problem.

Now, that’s cleared up. I know that’s a big issue leftover from my father’s accident.

Anyway. I came home. I told my mom I had a pleasant night. She rested in her recliner for a bit. I’ve been in pain for several days and I asked her if she thought I should see a doctor sooner. We had already discussed seeing a doctor later in the week if the pain was persistent. I think I have esophagitis or an esophageal ulcer. So it’s hurting to just swallow my spit. She lay there for a bit. Then sat up, disengaging the recliner.

She started to scream at me about how I had no right to ask about seeing a doctor. She starts in on why she’s going to jail and how I won’t have a mother around. I’m completely lost at this point. I’m asking her to take a deep breath. She follows that up with how I’ve done nothing but make problems for her. That I’m a huge financial strain and that’s all it’s been since I’ve came home.

Now obviously that hurts to hear. I yell back. Immediately after, I take a more penitent tone, and ask her to calm down and use discussion voices. She refuses and starts off on a number of tirades. So I pretty much am hiding in my room. This has been a problem for as long as I can remember after my dad’s accident. She used to call me an accident. Or plead with God to fix me. She used to demand to know why God sent her a child like me. I would hear her saying those things. She said lots of things that hurt. She still does. It’s not ok. But she’s saying it because she’s never got a grasp on all that happened with my dad.

I have to consciously correct myself when I start plunging to the worst case scenario. I’ve grown up around it. It’s practically all I know. So I’m sure it’s much harder on her. But I really can’t take this. I’m trying very hard to withstand it. I don’t want to move out without making sure she’s going to be ok. But I also know I’m going to go through a lot of things that hurt so bad in my adolescence if I stay.

I pray for guidance. I pray for her to have some semblance of calm. But sometimes she just gets set off. I asked her to remain calm when I left to my room. I closed the door slowly and softly. She’s just stopped yelling and crying a minute ago. I might go check on her now. Hopefully that goes well.

But I mean. Growing up with all that. Having bipolar disorder. Is it any wonder I didn’t complete school? That I ran away? Or that I tried to commit suicide? I’m in a much better frame of mind now. And tonight is honestly the best I’ve ever handled a direct accusation about being the source of all of her problems. Maybe God’s watching out for the both of us. Maybe my girlfriend has just helped me gain perspective a lot on myself. I could list a lot of reasons. But it doesn’t really matter.

I just need to keep moving forward. And so does she. No matter how much she is stuck in the past. She’s my mom. I can’t sacrifice myself to help her, but I’ve still got to try.

A funny way to show it

It’s odd when I’m doing well. Everything falls into line. Instead of coming on here to rant and rave and detail something that happened. I talk to my girlfriend, my friends. I make plans. I go out.

As much as I want to write consistently, I don’t. I would love it. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it eventually. Interesting problem not writing caused though.

Yesterday a post went up. It was password protected and all that, but it is supposed to go live in the event of something like my untimely demise. Obviously. I’m still alive and well. Perhaps TOO alive. Obviously I got problems from it.

You know what though? Things are looking up even more. I just nailed a job I really wanted that I thought I missed out on. Considering I had a felony charge, it’s amazing I passed the background check (I sure as Hell didn’t when I applied to work at the other Target in town).

There’s a crap load of bad things happening really. But it’s all I can do to not get caught up in them. Focus on the positive. I got a job despite terrible odds. Also, my charges for the felony got dropped.

Ok, so I’ve kind of been waiting for this to happen so I would feel okay writing about it. I was concerned it might reflect poorly to write about it in anyway while the case was still ongoing. But now it’s been dismissed. Although now my potency in presentation will be lacking, let me try to dazzle you.

If you’re a reader (or a friend) you might know I had a suicide attempt back in April. I took a lot of pills. I apparently got way closer to death than I thought. I started to lose consciousness shortly after admission to the ER. I remember being handed a a drink and told to drink as much of it as I could, as fast as I could. It tasted like chalky chocolate (chalkolate?) milk. I then remember trying to say words, and only slurs were coming out. There was a rush of noise and discussion and activity. Then nothing I guess.

At some point my consciousness surfaces. I reach down and pull a urinary catheter, and the pain alerts me. I should clarify, I didn’t intend to pull it, it just happened and when it did happen, I was temporarily alarmed and alerted.

There’s shouting. A man is telling me to relax. There’s some sort of effort to reassure me of something. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t think I’m doing anything. It should also be noted I was a point away from being considered in a coma on their scale (although, my research indicates the scale they used was inappropriate for the context).

Next thing I know. Pain. Everywhere. Screaming. Someone Angry. Feels like I just got tackled. As best I can tell someone is standing on me and thrust my face into the ground. I get terrified. I think I’m dying. In pain and minimal faculties to comprehend the situation.

And then I hear it. Like a bad dream I cannot forget.
“You deserve this! You did this to yourself!”

I tried so hard to cry out. I tried so hard to be heard. But my face was just pressed more and more into the floor and I felt like I was suffocating. Then. Nothing.

I woke up a couple more times because of the catheter thing (no idea why I kept doing that, it hurt). Eventually I briefly came to fully and my mom was on my left. The last thing I remembered surfaced and I tried very hard to whisper to my mom.

“Mom. I think someone assaulted me.”

She thought I was joking. She convinced me it was a bad dream. She said the doctors did say I fell out of bed though and that’s how I got my black eye. Can you see where this is going?

So I spend a couple more days recovering, go to an observation center voluntarily. Sleep most of the time I’m there, then I go home. I get back in touch with work and friends. Give some excuse to my leaders about being in the hospital. Tell only my closest friends the reality of the situation. I even wrote about it here some.

Still. I couldn’t get that odd memory out of my head. The really terrible dream I must have had.

Fast forward 3 months.

My mom is driving and she gets caught speeding. She gets pulled over. I kindly show my license to the officer and am ribbing my mom about speeding. I get asked to step outside of the car. If I have any weapons on me. I comply, and had no weapons.

I’m a little confused at this point. I get asked to empty my pockets and remove my watch. Now I know where this is going, but I have no idea why.

“Would you step over here with me sir?” The officer asks while leading me towards his car. “Want to tell me what happened the other day?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The other day, you punched and bit a cop.”
“No sir. I think you might have something mixed up”
“No, it’s you, I ran it right.”
“I really don’t know how”
“Well I’m going to have to take you in. Do you understand that?”
“I guess. I didn’t do anything though” (I’m sure he heard that a lot).

I put my hands behind my back. Got in the police car and took a ride to jail (More on that jail visit another time). The entire experience was frustrating. I was so certain it was a mistake and that something was going to clear up at any moment.

After I got out of jail, I got access to things such as the indictment. I was told about the police report.  I realized that it happened in the hospital and that encounter that was a very vivid and yet somehow cloudy dream was real. I was whipped out of bed after biting an off duty officer who for some reason was trying to restrain me and I had no control when I ended up biting him.

The summary of his police report indicated he was following procedure to restrain me. I would argue that he wasn’t if I managed to bite him. I can’t imagine I was very dexterous or sudden in my attempt to do so.  He interviewed no body. No one was listed as a witness. It was him writing up his own report and getting it signed off on. His report included a description of his visit to get his hand checked out because he was certain I broke it. The skin was not even broken and there was no visual bruising as informed by the doc he saw. I’m sorry, I really hate to insult people, but he also caused a huge issue for me. And I’m sorry that I hurt him, I am, but he didn’t handle it appropriately. He was wimp. I want to use a different and more derogatory word there, but maybe I have to good graces to avoid that.

So yeah. He was told nothing was wrong with his hand. So he filed assault on me. I want it clear, I didn’t even know there was ever an altercation.  I was the one who ended up with bruising, a black eye and head that hurt for days. OH, and get this. So the date of the incident report was sometime in April. They had footage of the incident. But didn’t request it. So it wasn’t in prosecutor’s possession. It was deleted 60 days following the incident. So let’s assume mid June. The indictment, that I had no idea was even coming to be a thing, was made sometiime early June. I never knew. No one told me and I had no reason to look for or follow up on.

Until the arrest. And you’ll recall, that was July 3rd. Well after the 60 day period that video would be held for. The officer and prosecution never sought the video. One can only wonder why. I couldn’t have access to it so long after the incident, so any evidence in my favor is now gone. It’s the fantastic police work here that makes me at least examine any criminal case.

We got my medical reports. Nothing about an incident where I fell. I think that should have been in there. Nor was there an explanation or an order for my restraints (also should have been in there). There is 2 pages in it that reference getting a CT scan. Why? “Acute head injury”. It’s not common practice to get a CT scan for an overdose. I needed one because I “fell” out of bed. But, there’s no mention of that fall anywhere in the medical records of my hospitalization. My mom was just told that I fell out of bed and they were concerned about a head injury.

Does this all click together in a very unique way for you? It does for me.

But you know. I’M the bad guy here. I also had to be turned down for jobs when I have a felony case pending. I’ve got evidence that happened. Wonderful. So it’s nice to have that dropped finally. Also I trust police a lot less (and I didn’t trust them much to begin with). I know there are some good officers out there, but from what I have pieced together, there was no reason for things to go that way.

Anyway. It’s behind me now. That officer can bite me (and then I’ll charge him). But I wanted to write for a bit, so since that’s over, I figured I could do it. Next time, I’ll write some about my actual night in jail. It’s not so interesting, but it did make me think some things.

Until then. Ya’ll keep your noses clean.

Why 80% of who I am is rant

Hi. I’m Grant. See my name? The latter 4 letters spell a word in their own right. Rant. You got it. And if you know me, you’ve probably heard this phrase or comparison before. But I’m also bipolar. I feel like that makes me prone to rants of sort in general.

Oh yeah, that show, Supernatural? I still have rant on that impeding my watching it. Stopped in the middle of season 7. Or government? Yeesh, don’t get me started.

More and more I start gaining real interest in the discussion of perception and philosophy. I want people to consider what motivates them. What they think motivates others. What they think is right and wrong with the world. No body is wrong, I wouldn’t argue everyone is right though. Too many variables in that.

The 40 minute rant tonight? What is communism? Heh. A good rant. I actually brought out my copy of “The Communist Manifesto” to back me up. I’ll give you the short version. “Communists”? Like the governments in China or Russia for example. Those aren’t communists. They are more or less, in my opinion, despotic rules performed under the guise of communism. This might be left over from some of the attempts at revolutions in the 1800s. Communism was meant to be a good movement. One away from militarized force and absolute rule. One where everyone contributed what they could and received just as much from the sovereign. In essence, communism is an entirely naive idea, one that could never be brought in true fidelity in this world. As a friend of mine said, “communism looks good on paper”.

But enough of that, I spent 40 minutes shouting about it. Pretty glad my girlfriend didn’t have to endure it. Just to be clear, I do not sympathize with the governments that identify themselves as communist. I just believe that to be a complete perversion of the idea. I go on to criticize current global economies and our role in them. In the end, it means nothing. I’m just getting from one angry place to another, with some strange sense of “this is just”. But again, I make no decisions, and I have no control in that regard.

I’ve been like that a little bit lately. I think it’s just an “episode” of sorts, still mostly mild, but still here. I don’t hurt people. I don’t like people that do anything that does. I don’t judge people either. And things I once thought I was above, are merely things I don’t like. I don’t need to be on a moral ladder or any position over another just because I disagree. It simply means I don’t agree. I do not tolerate people that cause others pain intentionally, whether it is the motivation or not.

But ranting as I do, also tends to reflect on my current state. Unsatisfied. Wanting justice to be present. So I pray after I yell about things for nearly an hour (ok, maybe not really yelling the whole time, I got quite a bit of normal voice in too). I tell myself I’m just passionate about some of these things. And I don’t really know if that’s true or just another rationalization.

I know that I can love people with dissent between us. My ideals need not align for me to wish you good health and a wonderful future. But these rants. They feed my anger in a way I determine is just. I don’t act in impassioned anger. I merely speak in it. As though I see too many injustices on a daily basis that my mouth opens and my brain just passes it a speech I was not aware I rehearsed.

I’m a great public speaker. In part because I can understand rhetorical approach. This bleeds through even in rants. But, do I embrace this side of me? It doesn’t seem to go away. But, it rarely leaves me pleased with myself after. Maybe I should take a more active role? I don’t know. These are all wonderful things to consider. But then again, maybe it’s just an episode?

Well. Just trying to gain some perspective. On another night where the meds don’t set in nearly fast enough. I think I’m still doing well. Just have a lot to comment on when I’m not at the computer I guess. For “rant” is 80% who I am.

This is it. The First One Since…

I had a depressive episode finally. So I had gone largely dark. Some friends I was still in touch with. And I bet most of them had no idea I was, AM experiencing something of a depressive episode. I was, am, whatever. It wasn’t the worst I’ve had. In fact, it played a lot of new tricks on me.

I don’t really want to get into specifics. It was rough. Much rougher than I let on. I still can’t shake this feeling that I’m going to die soon. I find it soothing. Like, all of my problems, real or imagined, can just be gone like that. I don’t want to die necessarily. I certainly have no plans to be the instrument of my own parting. But I just can’t get free from it.

I tried to write several times. I read and reread and reread posts of my positive energy. I read all the things that made me happy. None of it worked. It all felt like some cruel joke. Like that was some me that was kidding his self. Even writing this now? It’s laborious. I want to finish it, as a testament to me coming out of this ok. But it’s tempting to just save this as another draft and never look at it again.

I started wondering though. Is this really how life is when I’m “good”? Is it just that depression waiting to creep up on me? I stopped working on my projects. I fell off the grid for a bit for some friends. I played games to distract myself. It worked… somewhat.

But this thought of death just keeps coming back. Like some ultimate intuition.

Maybe I’m just done here for the day. I’ll post this out of more obligation than anything. Maybe I’ll write something good soon, we’ll have to wait and see.

Splay It Out

There are some things I hide very well. Some things I don’t wish to discuss the finer details with anyone, even a counselor. But, let me do my best here and now to get this weight off my shoulders without feeling like a lunatic.

People. There’s a reason I both consider them toxic and myself to them. There’s plenty of reasons why I hesitate to get close to people, and yet I still manage to do so every now and again.

Mostly when I talk about my problems I suggest it’s unknown why I try to push people away, that’s just the ‘episode’ talking or whatever. I try to delegate the accountability somewhere where it’s a gray area and just play the ignorant fool. But here’s the thing, I know why I push people away. I know why I find people insufferable or consider myself to be damaging their lives or at the very least my relationship with them. Granted, knowing the reason for those things doesn’t help me understand the origin of it.

I often want to hurt people. I mean, maybe it’s not “me” per se, but it goes through my head as though it’s one of my thoughts. Actually it’s more like a dream or a fantasy. One that does not align with at all who I am. It’s not general stuff like “I want her to hurt” or “I don’t like what he did, hope he has it comin’ to him”.
It’s very specific stuff. Usually physical, sometimes psychological or emotional.

See, I get these… “plans”? I don’t know where they come from really, but they’re there. Sometimes it’s beating the living shit out of a person, accounting for their strengths and weaknesses, how to most effectively assault them and whether that includes isolation and how to achieve that. Maybe I have a weapon this time or the next and I can see myself plunging the knife into them. It scares the right fuck out of me. Sometimes I cook up these ideas that can ruin their life, long term plans to sit on and implement. It should be said I never act on any of these, and that’s why I try so hard to remind myself I’m still a good person, but have a difficulty believing it. There are some really dark thoughts I’ve had about harming people, people I love.

My girlfriend suggested this was an aggressive OCD, maybe, I dunno. Often I turn that hate on myself to bear when my mind is telling me these disgusting things. I’m quite surprised that self harm hasn’t played a larger role in my life. All of this did recently culminate in my attempted suicide I guess though, so there’s that.

If anyone who knows me personally is reading this, you’ll recall I’ve wondered how close to a sociopath I am, and this is the reason why. Because I dream of violent things that I’d sooner die than commit. Because something in my head is wrong when I get close to a person I imagine the things that I would do to cause the most harm…

Thankfully though, I’ve had none, absolutely none of these thoughts since being on the new meds, Seraquil I think. It seems to be doing wonders for now. I hope I can continue this ride to a better me, because I don’t want to fall back to the way things were, I may have seemed strong in moments, but that was always right there in my mind, terrifying me. It was especially bad if I felt like someone hurt me.

Anyway… I don’t dare detail the darkest of these thoughts, but I want to say that they aren’t “mine” anyway, and maybe it’s enough to just know that someone who cares about me is reading this and can better understand me.