Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I was watching that new baby panda and the cries reminded me of birthing kittens, you always know where they are because they’re so freaking loud (not fun when the kittens are in your room and you’re trying to sleep).

In other news, mum is trying to track down a police report from last week so she can get her meds refilled. Last week, Adult Protective Services called us and informed us that they recieved an anonymous call that one of our back-up healthcare workers stole medication from us (Clozipan, an anti-anxiety drug that helps mum sleep and premairan, a female hormone mum takes). We informed them we had no idea what they were talking about…until that night, when mum went to fill her medication box for the week and discovered they were in fact, missing. And not just a few pills, but the whole bottles.

No idea why the bitch took the hormones, except that maybe she’s a complete moron and mis-read premarin as percocett (mum’s pain meds).

Anyway, APS informed us to make a police report (required) and so we did…and all but got laughed at by Officer C because the drugs aren’t controled, at the most he could go over there and wag his finger at her. Which makes sense of course, but we still had to report it.

And for almost a week since, mum has been calling everyone she can, to get Officer C to actually file the damn report, as we need that to get her meds re-filled and paid for by Medicare (since she just filled the meds when they were stolen). His supervisor promised to get on his ass to file it, but I’m not holding my breath (we have prior experiance with this officer, he’s one of those guys that…well, frankly makes you disgusted with the police. He’s an arrogant piece of work that gives you the feeling he doesn’t give a damn about the people he meets on his job, which sucks, since a lot of the officers around here are good men (and women) who do care and do their best to help people and he gives the force a bad name.

Right now, mum’s at Urgent Care, trying to get at least some Clozipan samples so she can get some sleep. I’ve been helping her with some of my sleeping pills but they’re not as effective on her and now I’m out, and can’t get a re-fill until September (so yeah, insomnia, I has it).

We also had to get a new main home healthcare worker after out last one flipped the fuck out. See, one of the ‘tasks’ she does it to clean/straighten up the house since mum can’t lift things/bend over due to her back and I can’t move around that much due to the muscle atrophy. So D cleaned the house really well (really, I do not begrudge her that she’s an awsome worker) and then, went on a four day ‘break’ (we usually give the workers four days off a week, so long as they fix us enough meals to get by and do a cleaning before the break).

So she goes on break and discovers…the house is slightly messed up! Not badly, there were some torn papers on the floor that we couldn’t get courtesy of the dog (our new sheltie enjoys tearing shit up, and can reach the counters and trash to it’s always a race to keep things out of his reach), some dishes from the day before we hadn’t gotten to yet, and probably a few things out of place we forgotten/couldn’t put back. Nothing big really.

But D flipped the fuck out and started screaming at us, that she didn’t clean the house just to have us go behind her and screw it all up, that she didn’t deserve or sign up for this (…uh, what the hell does ‘house keeping’ mean to you, woman?), that she wasn’t the maid (no shit, they do a better job) and on, and on, and on.

I admit that I got a bit pissed off this woman was screaming at my mother, and was a bit harsh with my words (no, I don’t remember what I said, but I know my tone was a bit…aggressive), D then turned on me, informing me she ‘didn’t have to take it’ and that ’she could walk out right then’ (I was tempted to tell her that she knows where the door is, but for once I bit my tongue).

I left the room, deciding to remove myself from the situation before it spiraled anymore out of control and went to my room (which, for the record, is on the other end of the house, a hallway and several large rooms away) and I could still hear every word she said clearly, that’s how loud she was.

D went on for about an hour, and at one point brought up the fact that I ’stay in bed all day…” (note: uh, first of all, no shit, that’s part of my disability, not to mention my sprained knee which was on dr’s orders to stay in bed or else, though I have had improvement lately with my movements, even going to the YMCA to swim), “…and that if I was going to waste my life away, I should just curl up and die” (yes, that is what she said, I lost it then and spent quite a bit of the time after that sobbing in a little ball, mostly because she brought up issues I had in the past).

So…mum fired her. Mostly just to get her to shut the fuck up and go away, but seriously, like we’d keep her on after that.

So we have a new worker and I…just can’t let down my guard around this one. I thought D was a great worker and friend and after what she did…I feel utterly betrayed by someone I trusted and don’t feel like I can trust any worker now.

So…that’s about it around here. Onto the meme!

( Meme )

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

So I started my first day of really moving around after being on bedrest for a week for my knee. I did some light swimming and a game of around the world with my caregiver’s son (he’s twelve, the perfect age for me to get along with and have fun which was why he was allowed to come with)…

I now have a giant blister on my foot (and my knee’s sore but that was expected).

…apparently no matter what I do, I’m destined to hurt myself *pokes blister*

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

certain times when you want your mommy.

Throwing up on your dental hygienist is one of those times.

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Okay, seriously, is it that hard to let me order my own damn prints? I put in all the information, splurging a bit (my rent’s getting upped so I’m getting while the getting is good), and after waiting for a weird ass ‘redirecting to page with more secure features’ message…

I get this lovely note:

(yes, that is a connection error image, your browser is not fucking with you).

So now I don’t even know if my order went through! But, I contacted them, so hopefully I’ll know. Sucks, because I probably won’t have the ‘courage’ to order them again and for a full set of 5×7’s of my best images at only $8.50…pretty rocking! *pouts*

And on a more “Real” note (not me bitching…just whining like a baby), mum had another one of her ‘let’s kick Sait out’ moments tonight. This time, she wants to sell the house and move into some sort of mental health ‘assisted living’ place…or something.

She’s tired of never having enough money to pay the bills (between us we make 1800$ a month, our house payment alone is 600$, then we have direct tv, phone, electricity, insurance (house/car), prescripts, food, pet food/supplies, heat (which was shut off), ect, plus loans to Uncle Mike and Grandmere), she’s tired of the house being a disaster because her home healthcare worker is a complete DUMBASS (seriously, ex 1: Mum put a large jar opener that needed to be washed after a year lost in the garage for “Ditzy” (not her real name) to wash…it sat there for three weeks before we got tired of it and washed it ourselves (well, mum did, she she SHOULDEN’T BECAUSE IT’S HEAVY), ex 2, I offered ‘Ditzy’ 60$ this month if she would help me organize my room which was still boxed up and slightly trashed from the room change a month or so ago. She spent two hours sitting there picking the lint off her pants while I worked because she ‘didn’t know where anything went’ (um, duh, that’s why the crap is still in boxes, no one knows where it goes).

Essencially, it’s just a lot of shit piling up at once. And I completely understand where she’s coming from, dude, it’s hard right now, life sucks big time.

But…It’s my home as well. I’m not just a roomate, I’m her fucking daugther (who else would pay 450, now 500$ a month rent for a room and kitchen access?! Plus, without my foodstamps? She ain’t eating.

It’s not just she promised I would never be without a home (which she has, several times, even swearing not to sell this house so I do always have it..but dude, it’s my childhood home! It’s where I grew up!

Plus, emotional issues aside, the house is trashed. The bathtub wall is coming off, it needs to be re-painted, the house stinks from years of smoking and pets who can’t figure out what a literbox is for (don’t even say it, I am doing everything I can, including owning two literboxes, I cannot figure out why Onii finds it repulsive and mus attempt to pee in my room), the front yard is molding (oregon rain + mold loves us), we have a serious ant problem, and there are cracks in the freaking windows (stupid fucking contractor).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Alright, Jo, I was wrong, it wasn’t by a dollar they bounced me this month, it was 31 fucking cents

05-19-2009 ATM/POS WITHDRAWAL 05/18 LOVE S COUNTRY00003ROSEBURG OR 22.68 -0.31
05-19-2009 NSF/OVERDRAFT FEE - PAID 29.00 -29.31

yeah, love you too bank.

Edit: Oh yeah! Remember that appointment I was supposed to have with the gastroenterologist?

Yeah…I didn’t.

After two hours of waiting (and maybe a little shopping *innocent look*) we get in, we’re ready…and she won’t see me!

Because four years ago, I saw another GI in Roseburg. Four. Years. Ago.

When I stated I wanted a second opinion, something that was in my rights, hence why I was there…her nurse ‘kindly’ informed me I would have to go to Portland, four hours away (meaning an over night trip, plus another for the actual testing).

Yeah…not really happy now, thanks.

Bitch.

(and yes, I will be editing my tags soon because even I can’t find shit).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I was bored enough while doing my morning routine of pills to take a picture. Not as much as some patients, but definitely more then normal people…and my doctors claim I’m healthy *pouts*

( Picture here! )

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Dr: Michelle, Michelle! …why didn’t you answer?
Me: Because my name is Saitaina.
Dr: Yes, but I’ve known you since you were thirteen, you’ll always be Michelle to me! *smile*
Me: When I was thirteen…my name was Amanda.

Michelle, is of course, my mother. Though for some reason, Jackie thinks it’s my name. And I’m supposed to trust this woman with my health?

We did, via ignoring the doctors and making our own appointment with the ENT, discovered I have Ménière’s Disease, which is an ‘abnormality of the inner ear’, and later this month, I have an appointment with a gastroenterologist to have another endoscopy (I think that’s what she’s doing, wasn’t really paying attention when mum brought it up).

Also, I may resemble a whale, but my cholesterol and diabetes risk are at the level of a skinny person…yay! Go for eating good! Now to get out of this bed and lose the weight…or quit smoking, which ever’s easier. *grins*

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

So, four days ago mum went into the hospital for internal bleeding, cue me, flipping out (as always). I do the good daughter thing, visit her, bring her what she asks for, bring her home, ect.

We get home…and I promptly get screamed at for their being no gas because I kept going to visit her.

Suddenly, I’m not so happy she’s home.

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Boiling water belongs in a pot, not across your breast, lesson learned…very, very painfully.

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I’m discovering, as I talk more and more with my mother, doctors and various people with degrees that make them no more intelligent then google, that I’m presenting a rather intresting case for those who provide my psych medications.

In my life, I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD, bipolar (manic-depressive), insomnia (which considering I had it from bith, I’m assuming relates back to the ADHD), a few forms of autism (though these were bandied about and later, I believe dismissed as nothing came of them), and a few other mental disorders that crop up relating to anger, selfishness, depression and just generally being a pain in the ass of every teacher I’ve met.

I will only ever admit to two diagnoses, ADHD and Depression.

In my…*counts* twenty-four years of being diagnosed and medicated (yes, they actually started me on Ritlin when I was four, but I don’t blame them), I have discovered a deep and long lasting hatred of psychiatrists, psycologists…and basically anyone who deals in emotional and mental health matters. Mostly, because I find most of them to be idiots at best, or over-paid quacks at worst.

To them, all illnesses (mental especially), are black and white. And most of them are black. They tell me I’m one diagnoses, and here’s the pills that will fix it (but don’t), and very few of them agree on what I am.

I guess it was easier, when I was four and drove the doctor insane within thirty minutes of a four hour test. ADHD was the obvious (and correct) diagnosis. As I got older, and apparently moved away from competent doctors who knew their asses from their pencil holders, my diagnosis’ got more complicated, all the while, they were in fact, the same disease. Anger, irrational outbursts, risk-taking behavors, in-ability to focus or communicate emotions, in-ability to properly experiance emotions, ect, were all forms of the same disorder, a reconized ’side-effect’ of ADHD in children (and adults). This also included the slow emotional growth that leaves me acting like I’m a teenager, instead of an adult (maybe when I’m thirty, I’ll finally grow-up).

With all this going on, it’s not hard to see why I distanced myself from my peers, unable to relate to them. In a time when “mental illness” was still a dirty word, the constant drugs/appointments/tests stressed me out, in addition to normal life factors such as income level (we were the bottom rung of poor), my mother’s own illnesses, constant moving/changing schools, an in-addiquate learning enviroment/family drama…it’s no wonder I developed depression (as well as dealing with my introversion and low self-esteam since childhood).

So yes, I admit to the ADHD and Depression…but apparently, those are not allowed to co-exist! One cannot be both at the same time, it must be something else.

This came about by my most recent (of two years…maybe three) diagnosis of bi-polar. Which always struck me as…wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, until I noticed my mother (who was also diagnosed bi-polar) as having more ‘classic’ symptoms…things I didn’t have. I didn’t have the ’stay up three days and nights before crashing’ symptom, I had ’stay up until I force myself to crash because I can’t sleep without meds’ symptom (hello, insomnia). I did’t spend money like it was water and then crash emotionally because now I couldn’t afford my bills (I just can’t afford them period, but I never had manic sprees).

I didn’t have manic ups and depressive lows…at all. I had both symptoms at the same time. Outside, my feet are jiggling, my fingers tapping, eyes (and usually my mouth) was constantly moving, things I couldn’t control unless I thought about it conciously, but inside, I was just as depressed as anyone with a textbook case could be. The only diffrence, between a classic depression and myself, was that the thoughts of self-harm (be it mutilation or suicide) were fleeting, almost as if I were debating what to have for lunch. Because, un-checked, my ADHD wouldn’t allow me to think of any thought, harmful or not, for longer then a handful of minutes.

I’m coming off a six-month daily dosage of what I consider the worst pill ever prescribed to me, and I’m starting to realize just how diffrent my behavior on the pill (more towards the depressive side of my personality…especially considering I slept day and night for most of those six months) were too off, and how much confusion I must present to doctors, who have no answer for the grey sides of mental health (when their ‘magic’ pills don’t work), and I think…I’m starting to give up entirely on the idea that anyone will have a fix to make me ‘normal’. Maybe for me, this is normal.

Doctors are relying too much on medication and loose definitions of mental disorders, no one is listening to the patient, the one who actually has to live through most of this. I think…maybe I should just be happy with the fact I’m alive, reasonably functioning and have a handful of friends who can over look my random leaps and inane babbling enough to like me…and if my mother or the doctors can’t handle it…well, sorry, but there is no magic fix for this.

(yes, highly random and odd, but like I said…random thoughts).