Kill yourself.

Every Monday Dan I get together with friends to watch  a show.

Kill yourself.

Show starts at 8pm. I’ve been taking Seroquel XR around 9pm. It starts to wear at seven. It is odd to know that. I don’t attack myself on Seroquel. I, largely, don’t have sucididal thoughts.

Now, around “friends”, everything is a trigger.

A friend got two job offers she is talking about. Both jobs pay less then mine, I wouldn’t take either. Still.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Go apply to shit you worthless fuck. Fuck.

Still, I feel insecure, disappointed, guilty — god damn worthless.

Everything is a trigger. This is why I stopped leaving my home a few months back.

Seroquel with a gulp of beer. Oh well. Fuck you head.

This drug or beer better start working soon.

Fuck you. Fat fuck. Bitch. Fuck.

Kill yourself.

Fuck Group Therapy

Another blog I hope to read to my psychiatrist. She won’t have time for me to read all this shit. I am desperate for more of an interpersonal connection, not exactly what a psychiatrist is for, I guess.

As a doctor, I am fully aware that you are far more knowledge about my various disorders/struggling/general patheticness. 

However, Ive been in the trenches for over two decades now, attempting to control and conifer my severe emotional lows. In short, I am knowledge of me.
Group therapy is a disaster for me as a human. It is.

Everyone has a suicide attempt, most multiple. Out of eight people, one who shares daily announced her struggle to not hurt other people. She stated she feels like she will have to in order to get access to the meds she actually needs. The counselor agreed that not getting medication can be frustrating.

Wait, what? This woman states she might assault others and the therapist identifies and validates part of the emotional driver for that… Christ.

Most participants have panic attacks, don’t worry, they take Klonopin instead of working through it themselves. Most don’t have stable jobs, let alone careers.

I love the idea of suicide. I relish it. It is a cudgel that I use harm myself whenever I feel down. Regardless, I will never have a suicide attempt. Never have I considered hurting anyone other then myself. I don’t have panic attacks and I am not prescribed addictive medication.

All of this is going to make me sound like an egotistic asshole, but I need to be blunt. 

Everyone there is an idiot. An hour and a half lesson included a single worksheet and a lot of being talked at. I am better then these people. My IQ is in the top 10%, I can recognize an idiot. Two people there over 50%, the councilor is low — for real.

On the first day, you, as my psychiatrist said I needed to find a therapist who could match me intellectually. Why would this be different from group therapy?

Therapy is divided into two parts ninety minute parts. First all members update the group on their day, the worthless councilor asks questions like, “How did that make you feel,” “Emotionaly, was there an impact” and “What mood did this lead too?” These three were asked to each group member. I remember them because — they are the exact same God damn fucking question. You stupid worthless bitch. You are suppose to be helping me. Hello more hopelessness.

The lesson? Eight suggestions on how to fall asleep. Six of the eight group members furiously scribbled notes about the presented material. I sat disappointed that the councilors think so little of me. However, this material is relevant to much of the group.

The eight magic suggestions to fall asleep?

  1. Try reading
  2. Move, try sleeping on the couch
  3. Move, read somewhere else, then back to bed
  4. Count down from a large number
  5. Use various meditation techniques
  6. No phones, bright screens a half-hour before bed
  7. Listen to an audiobook
  8. Take a warm shower or bath

Really. I get five hours of sleep on a good night, have since 7th grade. Really.

What is wrong with my group? How can you be so helpless. How in the flying fuck do they not know all of these? Read a fucking book, what a valuable tip, thanks group therapy. Fuck.

Group therapy is to build identity. I do not and will not identify with people who have multiple suicide attempts, struggle not to hurt others and never thought of counting down or reading on sleepless nights. These are not my people. If they are, Christ, I should go ahead and give up and fucking paint my living room walls with a gun and my brain matter.

I can force myself to go to group therapy, I can. But I know me. It is not right for me. It is harmful. You will be angry. I know. You can send me back to work if you must, that would be less determental. Although, I am not fully functional, it’d harm my career, it would hurt me, but not like group therapy. I am taking every individual therapy appointment I can get, next week I have three.

You are an expert. I am so grateful to have you looking out for me. But, group therapy is not the right choice for me.

Fuck Group Therapy

Alone in an emergency

Have a psychiatrist appointment on Tuesday. I have every Tuesday for the past month. Im going to read the plea below to her. Fuck me.Please. Please make this stop. If it is possible, I need to know it. I spend my days laying on my couch entirely apathetic to the world around me.

Fucking awful. I wish I had the balls to fucking kill myself. I hate that I am so weak. I won’t, even now, I know I won’t. Of course not, always scared. I always quit before I start. Always worried, anxious and just god damn awful.

Seroquel does something. It is the only med we have tried that I think is doing anything. Why in the fuck am I at 300mg?  Can we stop trying the littlest amount possible?

We can roll it back, but I need a day worth living. I fucking hate that I am going to wake up tomorrow. I’ll try to force myself to concentrate on something. I’ll take five or ten baths to pass time, attempt several naps, walk five to ten miles (fucking a lot) and hope to god I don’t wake up tomorrow.

Constantly I’ll wonder if my meds are working, why they aren’t working and why I feel no different. Are meds ever going to work, how the fuck do people pretends their lives hold value and purpose? Die. Fucking. Faggot.

Help me.

My house is burning down and no one gives a damn. I get handed a watering can, told to try some intro watering can “group” classes and get a good luck.

I fight god damn hard. Always have. I know me. I fucking do. Please God. Try something new, try something major. 

Help me. 

On a human level, please. 

Please don’t give me some patronizing answer about time. Or threaten to drop me as a patient. Please. 

Make this stop. I want to stop waking up disappointed that I must survive another day. 

Alone in an emergency

Quitting Adderall Successfully


It is over. Adderall. Over.

Last Tuesday, nine days ago, I had my first psychiatric appointment. Never, never do I lie to doctors.

Last Tuesday, I took 200 mg. In the first few minutes of the appointment, I brought up my addiction.

Hospital? No, I refused. I have never been capable of harming myself. Never. I offered up the pills from my backpack.

Then a lot of “ifs.” If Dan could stay home with me for the next three days, if he would hide all the knifes, if I would do exactly as she asked, if… Yes. Yes. Yes.

A path, I have so long yearned for a path. I knew my location was perilous but I had no idea how to escape.

How has it been? This is my first time sitting up at a computer. That is how.

Wait — that is a lie. I don’t remember posting a week ago. The first few days were easier, before Adderall had completely left my system. Huh. Interesting. The last five were some of the hardest of my life.

Today, today feel different. It has been my first acceptable day since Adderall fully left my body. I am scared of when the next one will be.

But to all you other crazy people out there, all you fighting through every day, good days, even good days post-Adderall, happen.

Good happens.



Quitting Adderall Successfully

Adderall Dependant Depression

Every night for the past several weeks, maybe months, I desend into the ever deeper depressive lows. It often renders me mute and incapable. All my energy is used to tear at my very being, slowly my mind eats me alive.

Desperate, I used anything I had. Caffeine pills to ward off the tired filling, Adderall, soda, coffee, more Adderall and… Well, I told myself I wouldn’t tolerating thinking about killing myself every day.

I started letting myself take as much Adderall as I wanted, just until it freed me from my tormenting mind.

Over the last few weeks, God. I am a rational person. Having many days of 120, 130 and 180mg – that is disturbing. I tracked it all, looked at home much I consumed every day to be punish myself as I went over them, to remind myself I was a worthless drug addict.

I battled all day to push thoughts out of my head, “a kill yourself” and “have some balls.”

Had my first appointment with a new psychiatrist yesterday. Walked in the door and proceeded to crash. Bad. Hopeless. Struggling to speak. An overwhelming desire to kill myself. She wanted me to go to a hospital immidiatly.

This only aggravated my crash, freak me out that I was already that hopeless after a half hour of debating, begging and pleading — she offered another option, major med changes, no Adderall, take the rest of the week off, partner does too and monitors you.

My crash receded as this other option was presented. She now got to see the much more rational side of me. Crashes are horrifying, but they aren’t constant and I can usually hold them off until I get home.

Regardless, finally someone treated this as an emergency. She was gonna fix it, we were. Adderall, disposed of. Dan, on board.

Never been more hopeful, first day has been easy. And honestly, I haven’t had true hope in, well a while. I don’t care what hell this becomes.  I have a chance, this is my chance. I am going to be a man worthly of Dan. We will raise children, decorate Christmas trees and retire to RV around the country. He is my everything.

Here is the final comment I posted to my private mood and med tracking Google form.

I want to say I’m done using this. But I know I am not. There is no silver bullet. This isn’t going away. Adderall is gone. Thank god. It has been out of my system entirely for six hours, I feel fine, relieved and hopeful.

Much of Adderall was the constant fear of the crash so I’d take more and more. It was my only tool, then it started triggering crashes, I was confused and tried increasing the dose. I had no idea I was bipolar or what Hypomania was, I knew it erased crashing. And it still felt like cheating, like I shouldn’t do that. It gave me so much hope, I could finally live up to my potential, finally be a person worthy of loved. Yeah.

Trapped, I just kept digging. I posted twice about Adderall being poisoned, I understood but didn’t see a way out. I told the dr exactly what I was doing, I am not sure how much is left of the person I used to know, but I am glad I clung to that more, lying is unacceptable. She was concerned. Wanted hospitalization but finally laid out a plan. I gave her the Adderall bottle, she flushed them. I washed out the pill bottle, they fancy with timers, I knew I’d put water in it and drink from if I could.

New meds, lots of changes followed, she also demand I take three days off work. She knew what she was doing, she was clear on how to achieve my goals. For the first time in a year, I am hopeful. So hopeful. I can’t wait to be given the proper tools.

I’ve defend myself against suicidal thoughts since 8 without any help. I’m not going anywhere. But it has always been scary. I can’t wait to take on my demons with proper medications and a support network. I will conquer, I will.

The life I’ve dreamed of seems to once again be with grapes. Dan and I are engaged, I proposed about a year ago, We want kids, family vacations and a retirement RV. I want to grow old with him.

He is everything. And I am going to fucking have it. I am.


Adderall Dependant Depression