Jump to content
CrazyBoards.org

Lurkie

Member
  • Content Count

    12
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Lurkie

  • Rank
    Random Crazyass

Contact Methods

  • Website URL
    http://
  • ICQ
    0

Profile Information

  • Location
    USA
  • Interests
    life, death, and pie
  1. LOL, I want the Fukitol thing as my wallpaper now...
  2. Hi chUCKIT, thanks for the reply. Yeah, I guess I am blaming my mom for this one. But, I really feel like it's on her for triggering me like that! What am I supposed to do with those feelings? I can't just eat them and pretend they're not there. Is it wrong to feel this way? No, there really aren't any other relatives I can live with. My mother is my only relative in North America. Well, technically, my father is in the Carribean, but living with him would be much worse. He would actually start hitting me, as opposed to just getting in my face and threatening me. I just feel really dumb right now for cutting all the way down to my knee. I wish I could've thought about it more and cut my stomach or my inner thighs, where people are less likely to see. Now I won't be able to wear shorts or miniskirts until these heal up, and who knows how long that will be? I still have scars on my thigh from six months ago. I'm sorry for whining like this. I just don't know how I'm supposed to feel. My mood is still very perky, due to the mania, so I can't quite sit down and sob over this. I'm just too happy for that. When I'm like this, it's easy for me to get angry, but difficult to get sad. I'm not going to forgive my mother for this, though. Forgiveness was never one of my strong points. She hasn't been asking for it, either. She hasn't apologized to me at all, and I don't feel as if she intends to. I don't think she's ever apologized for anything major in her life. Last night, my mother made my little sister apologize to me. My mother says my little sister set her off my being bratty, and I agree. My sister was being extremely irritating the entire day. However, wouldn't this work better if we all just accepted a little responsibilty? My mother's not accepting any.
  3. ***THIS MAY TRIGGER YOU. IT SURE TRIGGERED ME!*** Well, my mother flipped out on me last night. We were having a minor argument, and then she just completely lost it. She started screaming at the top of her lungs and getting into my face. She was cussing me out and just throwing insults. Then she went on and shoved me and jabbed at me repeatedly. At one point, she was about two inches from my face, and she opened up her mouth with her tounge out like she was gonna bite me. Completely invading my personal space, pulling me around by my shoulders. Then, when she raised a hand, I thought she was gonna hit me, so I lost it. I ran off to my room, and she chased me to the door. I grabbed one of my daggers and started slashing my leg. I said something to the effect of "you don't have to beat me, I'll do it myself". So, she just said she didn't give a shit, and basically stood there egging me on. Of course, I just kept cutting harder. I cut from my thigh to my knee; there was blood running completely down my leg. These cuts are the deepest, longest, and largest amount that I've ever done before. Oh, did I mention this was half an hour before my Homecoming dance? I actually had a great time there anyway, believe it or not. Now that I'm manic, it really takes a lot to make me sad at all. But, anyway, this is fucked up. She knew I was going to cut. She was the first person I know to find out that I'm BP1 She knows I've been cutting sporadically for ten years. See, it's like she wants to hurt me, but she's too weak to do it herself. When I was little, my father would shove me into walls or smack at me once in a while, and she'd just watch. Now she just knows about all my MI shit, she knows that all she has to do is push me over the line and I'll do it myself. I remember when I heard my uncle was in the insane asylum. They kept him in there for months. Whem his step-father beat him, right in front of his mother, he lost it. He stopped sleeping. He was found a few days later in the midst of a suicide attempt. My mother and I discussed this incident. I said that the manic episode he experienced, and his suicide attempt, were his step-father and mother's fault. My mother agreed. By that logic, then, this is her fault. You know, this is hard to type. I think the stress is messing uo my digestion now. Okay, I just vomited outside my mother's door. Then I knocked and told her about it. She just acted like she didn't care and went back to sleep. Well, she can just clean that up when she wakes up. She caused it. I take responsibilty for my self-mutilation problem; yes. But she definetely needs to take responsibility for jamming on my buttons like that. That part of it is on her.
  4. Thanks again, guys. This is all good advice. I'm glad that people out there relate to me. I'm still worried about what's causing this, though. I know you guys aren't cerified to give medical advice, but I'd just like some opinions here. Do you think this is a symptom directly linked to Bipolar I, such as the delusions present in a manic or mixed phase, or do you think that it's a seperate mental illness, such as OCD or paranoid schizophrenia?
  5. Thanks for the detailed reply, stonering! Well, I feel like I should mention that my symptoms get less severe when I'm busy or distracted, though I guess that applies to all sorts of illness. I do think about this stuff a lot, though, so I guess it is a serious problem. Oh no, you've discovered my firewood plot! Now my plan is foiled j/k Yes, I see a psychologist and a psychiatrist, but not on a very regular basis. I'm supposed to see them both next month, I think. I guess I should talk to them about it. It's good to know that I'm not the only one who hears stuff at night. It's not a problem for me either, but in light of the circumstances here, I thought it prudent to mention it. My chronic illness is interstitial cystitis. It's a chronic inflammation of the bladder lining. It took me a full year between experiencing symptoms and getting a diagnosis, because IC is hard to diagnose. Several doctors called me a hypochrondriac or a somatizer; and this was BEFORE anyone knew I had BPI! I'm glad I finally have a diagnosis, thanks to the surgical procedure that looked into my bladder and found all that damage. I don't want to go back to the days when nobody believed my pain LOL, batshit sounds right to me too! Seriously, though, I'm rooting for "bipolar psychosis".
  6. Thanks for the support, H. I guess you're right, they have seen it all, and I bet my psych doc has seen people a lot crazier than me. Still, I wonder how my other docs will react: the ones that treat my physical illness. I couldn't stand to be called a hypochrondriac or a somatizer when I know for certain that my physical pain is real, just like I know that my paraniod thoughts are false. I still don'y get what this is, anyway.
  7. I'm kind of scared to talk about this. Aright, so, I've been diagnosed with BP I. Years ago, I had a very severe manic episode with heavy delusions. I've never talk about it, and I haven't told any docs. It's hard to desribe, but I basically developed a messiah complex and thought I had achieved enlightenment, perhaps as a reincarnation of the Buddha. Luckily, it only lasted about half a day, then I just returned to hypomania and was pretty much okay. For the past few weeks, I've been manic. I did hallucinate slightly during my week in the psych ward last month, but the psych. doc said it was jsut because I hadn't slept in three days. After they got me to take a handful of Seroquels and I finally got to sleep, the hallucinations stopped. Well, I was okay for my first few weeks out of the ward, but now stuff is getting weird. I do sleep every night, since I take Seroquel, but there are othr problems. I'm scared to take my Lamictal, because I'm worried that it might be affecting these symptoms. I'll try to describe them... I get the feeling that I'm being watched. I KNOW that I'm NOT, it's just a feeling. I'm having repetetive thoughts of people I sorta know coming to rape me, or sometimes kill me. One possible situation involving someone in particular keeps coming up, though I' not sure why. It's kind of like a mental compulsion to think about it; it's distracting. When I'm at school, or in any crowd situation, I get pissed off about the fact that I can't see behind my own back. Occasionally, I'll glance around behind me, just in case. I try to curl myself up small when I sit down, or have my back to a wall. I can't sleep with the door unlocked or the lights off. I have to be facing my door when I sleep. There's a knife under my pillow. Sometimes, maybe once every few weeks; I will sit up on my bed at night, with the sudden feeling that I'm about to be attacked. It lasts for about a minute, then I just curl down and hug my knife until it goes away. I KNOW that all of these thoughts are false, even while I'm having them. I just read over that last paragraph, and it sounds so deeply fucked up. I always thought of myself as being a little bit skittish, but not batshit schizo. I guess stuff kinda like that has been going on for years, but I never thought of it as a problem before. I just thought of myself as being kind of jumpy, and somewhat of a wuss. It was milder then, I guess. I did go through a period of a few years when I coudn't sleep without the TV on. I've been hearing voices as I go to sleep at night since I was about six, but I just thought it was tinnitus. See, it would ONLY be as I'm falling asleep, and the voices wouldn't talk about anything in particular. Actually, they just sounded similar to random whispers in a room. Perhaps it was (is?) a sort of sleep disorder, like hypnagogic hallucinations. I don't think of them as real. I really, really don't want to tell any docs about this. See, I have this chronic illness *pokes sig* and I don't want to be called a hypochrondriac or a somatizier. If my doctors knew how fucked up I've been lately, maybe they wouldn't want to treat my illness anymore. I used to be in a lot of pain, until I found a mix of medicines that worked for me, and good breakthrough pain meds. I couldn't stand to have these taken away from me. If they think that I'm crazy enough to be a somatizer or a hypochondriac, would they stop giving me my meds? My illness was surgically diagnosed, but maybe they won't even care about that. I can't go back to living in pain like I was. Anyway, do you think that these sound like symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia, or some kind of overly anxious OCD? They seem like schizophrenia at first, but what about the insight factor? Aren't schizophrenics the ones that think that they're perfectly okay, and people with OCD the ones that KNOW that there thoughts are false? I really, really don't want to have either paranoid schizophrenia or OCD on TOP OF BP I. Do you think this could be some manifestation of BP I, manic phase? Like, bipolar psychosis or something? I seriously hope that this is some kind of BP I thing. Then perhaps it'll go away as I treat the BP. Any thoughts? Paranoid schizophrenia? OCD? General anxiety disorder? Bipolar psychosis? Batshit crazy?
  8. Hi there. I've been experiencing the same symptoms as you. Actually, I was supposed to go to the gyn earlier today, but they cancelled because they had to go deliver a baby Anyway, up to this point, I've assumed that mine are a side effect of my chronic illness, interstitial cystitis. Interstitial cystitis is the chronic inflammation of the bladder wall, in the abscence of infection. I'm starting to wonder if it's something else, though, as it seems that my periods get more severe each time. About half the time, I end up vomiting. I have pretty much all the same symptoms as you. Do you, by any chance, experience urinary symptoms when you're not mestruating? If you do, that could be a sign of interstital cystitis. One of the only good things about me having IC is that I get to have all sorts of pain meds. I use these whenever I have severe menstrual pain. Perocet and Ultracet work really nicely. I've also used Tramadol, and I like it as well. Other than that, yeah, it does sound like endo. Have you asked for a laproscopy? This is a procedure where they make a little hole somewhere on your stomach, usually your bellybutton, then get a little camera in there and look around. If you have endometriosis, then they'll be able to see it. I'm also used to being treated differently because I'm "too young" for a medical consition. People aren't "supposed" to get IC until after menopause, but I got it at 15. I just try to ignore all the age comments and just focus on myself. Well, good luck!
  9. Hi guys, I'm going to bitch and whine now! Ironically enough, that's what got me into this mess in the first place. Last year, I had friends. This year, I don't; and I know a big chunk of it is my fault. BACKSTORY: There has been a lot of shit going on in my life lately. I was put in a mental ward for about a week just at the end of last month. My biological father is making threats to come back to America to "handle matters himself", since he's apparently not comfortable with how my mother is doing. He claims not to be drinking or using using using substances anymore, but that's probably bullshit. My former step-sister says I should probably get a restraining order, since he's hit my mother and I before. Child support money isn't coming regularly. My father has accused me of faking my interstitial cystitis and bipolar one in order to get attention. I want to cut so bad. My first day at school was spent drunk and vomiting. My friends are driving now, but I can't, because I can't get a driver's licence. I'm an Argentine war refugee, and I have to get a green card before they will get me get a licence. That won't happen any time soon. I also can't work, as I can't have a work permit, also due to my war refugee status. My former step-sister will be moving away soon: the only close friend I've had for the past five years. I'm worried about where the money for gas and food will come from. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I have shit going on. CATALYST: I was sitting by my friend, let's call her J, this morning. She began to accuse me of making up details about my life to get attention. I was very offended and told her so. My other friend, let's call her An, came over at this point. They both began to insult me, and continued until I was visibly close to tears. Then An walked away. J and An were some of my closest friends last year. My friend Am noticed how bewildered I was, and came over to help. She explained that, while I probably didn't know I was doing it, I had been hurting people's feelings lately. They see it as a cry for attentiona and pity, and they feel manipulated. They shouted that I was a drama queen. Apparently, I have been attempting to dump my shit off on other people non-stop. Anyone watch SNL? You know that one chick who is the "downer"? Whenever the other characters in the skit are having a fun conversation, she comes in and says something totally depressing to kill the mood. This is what I seem to have been doing since school started. I thought it would be okay to discuss my shit as long as I did it sarcastically and with a giggle, but I guess not. Many of my friends don't want to spend time with me anymore. ISSUES: Does anyone else have this problem? You have so much shit going on in your life that it just spills out onto other people, and you hurt them. You never meant to. I feel like a Chinese vase filled with vomit. People see me around: aloof, blue-hiared, kind of pretty and mostly strange, and they're interested. They come talk to me. These people want to see what makes me tick. Once I show them, they're just freaked out. They run. The more private and cold I am, the more friends I have. When I reach out (rarely), then I'm just seen as clingy, and my outstretched hand is slapped back. My only close friend will be moving in a few weeks. I have a lot of friendly aquaintances, but apparently, no close friends. They only like me when I play the elevator talk. Well, I suppose I will find a way to go back now. I'll take a broom and sweep all my pain back inside of me. Yet, I don't really know what to do with it. I might mutilate it out. I might drink it out. That's not what I want to do. Am told me to go to therapy. I think I will. They have me the name of a psych doc when I was at the ward, so I do have somewhere to go. I can also bitch at you guys here, though maybe you'll get pissed at me too. I guess I'll just take a break from my group of friends for a while, to let things cool off. Shit, I should cool off. I've been stumbling in the dark looking for someone to save me, but that's bullshit. I've gotta save myself, somehow. Dumping my shit on people won't help. When I go back, I'll be friendly and impersonal, and they'll accept me again. Dear world: I don't want all your attention. I don't want your pity. I wanted you to heal this chasm for me. I see now that it was far too much to ask of you, and I'm sorry. </angst>
  10. Hi guys, I'm going to bitch and whine now! Ironically enough, that's what got me into this mess in the first place. Last year, I had friends. This year, I don't; and I know a big chunk of it is my fault. There has been a lot of shit going on in my life lately. I was put in a mental ward for about a week just at the end of last month. My biological father is making threats to come back to America to "handle matters himself", since he's apparently not comfortable with how my mother is doing. He claims not to be drinking or using using using substances anymore, but that's probably bullshit. My former step-sister says I should probably get a restraining order, since he's hit my mother and I before. Child support money isn't coming regularly. My father has accused me of faking my interstitial cystitis and bipolar one in order to get attention. I want to cut so bad. My first day at school was spent drunk and vomiting. My friends are driving now, but I can't, because I can't get a driver's licence. I'm an Argentine war refugee, and I have to get a green card before they will get me get a licence. That won't happen any time soon. I also can't work, as I can't have a work permit, also due to my war refugee status. My former step-sister will be moving away soon: the only close friend I've had for the past five years. I'm worried about where the money for gas and food will come from. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I have shit going on. I was sitting by my friend, let's call her J, this morning. She began to accuse me of making up details about my life to get attention. I was very offended and told her so. My other friend, let's call her An, came over at this point. They both began to insult me, and continued until I was visibly close to tears. Then An walked away. J and An were some of my closest friends last year. My friend Am noticed how bewildered I was, and came over to help. She explained that, while I probably didn't know I was doing it, I had been hurting people's feelings lately. They see it as a cry for attentiona and pity, and they feel manipulated. Apparently, I have been trying to dump my shit off on other people. Anyone watch SNL? You know that one chick who is the "downer"? Whenever the other characters in the skit are having a fun conversation, she comes in and says something totally depressing to kill the mood. This is what I seem to have been doing since school started. I thought it would be okay to discuss my shit as long as I did it sarcastically and with a giggle, but I guess not. Many of my friends don't want to spend time with me anymore. Does anyone else have this problem? You have so much shit going on in your life that it just spills out onto other people, and you hurt them. You never meant to. I feel like a Chinese vase filled with vomit. People see me around: aloof, blue-hiared, kind of pretty and mostly strange, and they're interested. They come talk to me. These people want to see what makes me tick. Once I show them, they're just freaked out. They run. The more private and cold I am, the more friends I have. When I reach out (rarely), then I'm just seen as clingy, and my outstretched hand is slapped back. My only close friend will be moving in a few weeks. I have a lot of friendly aquaintances, but apparently, no close friends. They only like me when I play the elevator talk. Well, I suppose I will find a way to go back now. I'll take a broom and sweep all my pain back inside of me. Yet, I don't really know what to do with it. I might mutilate it out. I might drink it out. That's not what I want to do. Am told me to go to therapy. I think I will. They have me the name of a psych doc when I was at the ward, so I do have somewhere to go. I can also bitch at you guys here, though maybe you'll get pissed at me too. I guess I'll just take a break from my group of friends for a while, to let things cool off. Shit, I should cool off. I've been stumbling in the dark looking for someone to save me, but that's bullshit. I've gotta save myself, somehow. Dumping my shit on people won't help. When I go back, I'll be friendly and impersonal, and they'll accept me again. Dear world: I don't want all your attention. I don't want your pity. I wanted you to heal this chasm for me. I see now that it was far too much to ask of you, and I'm sorry. </angst>
  11. WARNING: This is gonna be a long story. You might wanna bust out the pillows and the sleeping bag. Or, if you're a mod, you might think that this post is TOO long for the "Just who the hell are you anyway? - Introductions" forum. Sorry, but I guess i havn't lurked hard enough to know all the rules. Move me if you like, I'm cool with it. Hey guys, I just got outta the loony bin! Don't worry, I didn't bust out, they actually let me! Anyway, I've been lurking around here for a while, as well as on other crazy message boards, and I've elected this one to be my Bipolar One support group, because you guys are special. In the good way. (I actually started out looking for self-mutilation help and support, but this new turn of events really drew me to these boards) My other support group is for my Interstitial Cystitis. I don't suppose any of you know what that is, but it's this weird thing that hurts your bladder and makes you piss a lot, sometimes with blood. Fun, huh? Now, because I'm too lazy to type it all again, I'll just copy-n-paste the post that I gave my IC group into here. I'll skip the most of the intro at the begining, and some of the stuff that's really IC-specific. Here it is: "...I have been in a psych ward. Please allow me to explain my dilema, and perhaps you will have some advice to give me. About a week ago, I discovered that I had lost the ability to sleep. It wasn't simply nocturia, which involves going to sleep and then waking up to urinate, it was the complete inability to sleep. At about 2 AM, I took sleeping pills with a bottle of wine to get to sleep. This proved ineffective. When the clock hit 6 AM , it was time for me to attend school, so I attempted to counteract the effect of the sleeping pills and alcohol by taking 1000mg of caffeene during a 6-hour period. It was the first day of school, and quite a rough one due to my frequent vomiting, but I returned home relatively safe. The staff at the school assumed that the vomiting was due to my interstitial cystitis pain, which has been the case in the past. When I returned home, I was certain that I would be able to sleep. I was wrong. When I reached my 41st consecutive hour of sleep deprivation, I contacted the local poision control center to inquire about the caffeene pills. The representative on the phone replied that 1000mg was indeed an overdose, and recommended that I go to the ER immediately. At the ER, they provided me with a bed and advised me to wait out the effects of the caffeene, since it only had a half-life of about 6-8 hours. I still did not sleep. All the blood tests returned normal. After 48 consecutive hours, the doctors informed me that it would be in my best interest to be admitted into... well, the nut house. My mother was strongly against this, but I actually agreed, for the sake of my safety. Security kindly escorted me to the nearest loony bin. I still was plauged by insomnia. I talked to the staff, talked to the other patients, answered questions, but was still not even sleepy. The staff of the ward kept me under constant supervision, and they observed that I was not even resting at all. By the time I reached my 62nd consecutive hour, I began to hallucinate, as is the case in nearly all instances of complete sleep deprivation. My legs could no longer support me after nearly three days of being on my feet, and I had to blink constantly to keep my eyes wet. The staff decided that they had to do something before I damaged myself, so they sedated me. I slept then. The next morning, a psychologist informed me that I suffered from Bipolar One. My mother and my former step-sister were shocked with disbelief. The thought had never occured to any of us that I may have something like Bipolar One. I stayed in the unit for about a week, to allow the staff to monitor me. They put me on two new medications for my Bipolar One. During this time, I requested to have my Elmiron, Urocit-k, and Atarax, since I didn't want my IC to worsen while I was on the funny farm. They sent over someone who worked for my current uro, who gave me all the medications I needed. I was happy for a while. Some of the patients there became my friends, and I'm still a little bit sad that the psych unit doesn't allow patients to share any personal information. Now I'm at home, and there is a fear gnawing away in the corner of my mind. When I was struggling for a diagnosis, I spent a whole year attempting to convince urologists and pain specialists that I'm not mentally unbalanced. Now, guess what? I AM mentally unbalanced! Some of the statements made by the psycologist that diagnosed me are becoming disturibing. He said that I shouldn't take Percocet or Ultracet anymore, since any opiate or narcotic use can have detrimental effects on my Bipolar One. Well, those types of pain medicines were the only ones that ever relieved my pain! He also said, in a private conversation with my mother, that (paraphrased for meaning): "that whole urinary pain thing" might be "a symptom of Bipolar One", and would "maybe just go away". He said that "pains" were a symptom of Bipolar One. No one at all will ever, ever believe that I have IC now..." Then there's more stuff that's just kinda boring, like me bitching. Anyway, you guys see the problem here. I guess my worry is just regarding the bipolar in relation with the IC. Maybe one of my docs will think: if she has bipolar, then why not hypochrondriasis? I've been called a HYPOCHRONDRIAC many times before, and that was before ANYONE KNEW I had bipolar! My biggest fear is that they will ALL call me a hypochrondriac now. I sure do understand that Biopolar One and Interstitial Cystitis are different, but will they? Docs can be stupid, and a lot of them don't believe in IC anyway. I guess it's sorta like fibro. and CFS. I'm also wondering if I should tell the teachers and the kiddies at my high school. I'm kinda scared that they'll all shit a brick over it, y'know? That would suck. This whole thing kinda sucks. Whale shit on the bottom of the ocean, and all that stuff. I'm trying not to get seriously pissed, because if I do, I'll self-mutilate again. It's been three months since my last time, and I still have big scars on my outer thigh. Um, yeah, so... any advice or words of encouragement?
  12. I hope this won't trigger anyone, but I'm curious about what age everyone began cutting. I began self-mutilating when I was six. I used to systematically grow my nails out, sharpen them through biting, and then slash at my wee little belly. My bellybutton used to be scarred from it. I didn't start using tools until I was about 12, when I cut my neck. It was such a pathetically small cut too, far from the "short sweet suicide" I had planned. It didn't even bleed. Ah, the angsty pre-teen life. Well, it's been 10 years since I started, and I'm still cutting. It's all very sporadic: sometimes I go years without even scratching a mosquito bite too hard. Then, I'll just bust out and have "fun" with my skin and one of my daggers. There's a few apple-red, half-healed scars on my thigh right now. I love cutting there, no one can tell. It makes it easier that I don't even wear bathing suits, since I don't swim due to another, physical chronic illness. I hate the pain from being a cripple, but I like the pain I give myself when I mutilate. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I was a cutter long before I was a cripple. I'm in a support group for the illness, BTW. Anyway, enough with the rambling. Attempt to feel at ease, knowing that I'm a cutter like you. Tell me when you started. I'm curious if anyone out there liked it as young as I did.
×
×
  • Create New...