Well, that didn’t take long. I told my landlady, through my realtor, that I’m not happy in Forks and wish to break my lease. She agreed; now, I can leave any time. There’s a trailer for $40K I was looking into in Port Townsend, but since I don’t qualify for a personal or home loan from my bank, I may have to end up going back to Santos Housing, the transitional shelter in Seattle I’d just left three months ago. At least I gave it a shot. Forks isn’t conducive to my mental health at all; in fact, it’s been downright depressing these past couple of months. Everything works at a snail’s pace here. The operative word is wait – wait for this, wait for that, wait for the other thing. In the meantime, you just sleep to pass the time. That’s what I did. I accomplished nothing – no writing, no blog entries, no walking. (You can’t freely walk around here because of the large amount of dogs strolling about loosely). It was costing me a fortune to stay here, too, as everything had to be paid for – electricity, gas, heat, mailbox, garbage disposal, internet, etc. I went from $405/month at Santos to about $1,000 a month here, and I was happier at Santos! Hey, at least I gave it a shot. Tomorrow, I’ll call up Santos and ask to go back. Hopefully there’s a room available. If not, I’ll just look for another transitional shelter somewhere. I’d stay in my car but it’s a bit cold for that.
To appease my psychiatrist, to make her happy, I recently started two meds – Abilify and Prazosin. Abilify is being used for the treatment of depression and bipolar disorder; Prazosin if for my high blood pressure, PTSD and sleep tremors. So far, the side effects I’ve encountered are this: teeth grinding with the Abilify. A few months ago I experienced one frightful moment of syncope which lasted for about 4 to 5 minutes when I was sitting in the Northgate Mall. I’m not sure if the Prazosin I had started around that time was the blame for that one, but according to literature I’ve encountered, it can cause it. Side effects suck. They really do. Makes it seem like taking the pills are a waste of time. I’ll have to seriously think about whether I want to continue them or not, or end up one of the statistics in the chart posted above.
Living with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder is like having a well-armed bank robber stuck in your body 24 hrs/day. The “money” he steals from you is your freedom, energy, future, pride, time and confidence. Can you imagine? You’d like to get into a relationship with someone, but just the thought that you’ll ruin it somewhere up the road, or it won’t last anyway, is enough for you to turn away any possible suitors. I know better than to write novels as quickly as I do, but the chance that I may not live to see tomorrow means I have to quickly hurry up and write, edit on the fly, and hope what I publish on the internet is as good as books that took years to write.
PTSD doesn’t allow you to get close to anyone. How can you when you’re capable of such little trust? Is that guy trying to hurt me? Maybe. Is that woman trying to hurt me? Could be. Should I trust the smiling man talking to be in the mall? Probably not; he may just be looking to empty my wallet of every penny in it.
Time is one of PTSD’s bigger thefts. It tells you to forget about acquiring long-term housing, like a mortgage or beach-front property. Why should you? Something bad will happen and send you back out on the street anyway. And with me, I’ve spent so much time on the street that the thought of moving into a place is really not first and foremost on my mind. As I’ve said in the past, I’ve been undomiciled more than I’ve been domiciled in my life. Maybe I was a stray cat in one of my past lives, digging through garbage cans for my breakfast, lunch and dinner, constantly being chased up trees by the neighborhood canines.
I’d sure love to know that I have the time to write a novel the best way I can, but good ol’ PTSD would never stand for that bit of courtesy. Why should it? It doesn’t consider my writing as important as, say, constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not in somebody’s cross hairs.
And I don’t want to be homeless anymore. I can’t stand it. Last week I smashed two windows of a bank to get myself sent to jail because it was freezing and I had no place to sleep. (I’d accidentally locked my keys in my car – and my car was running all those three days I was incarcerated, too!) The judge said, “Eh, you’re not a criminal. You’re just crazy,” and released me. Maybe he’s right; maybe he’s wrong. I’m no criminal? The PTSD bandit in my head begs to differ, but then he thinks that he is me. My PTSD is me. That can’t be true. I hope not.
You know, I can’t win. It seems like every time a psychiatrist sees me, their definition of what makes me tick differs from the other docs. To wit:
Creedmore Psychiatrist – diagnosed me with Depression and Autism
45th St Clinic – diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder
Clinical Psychologist – diagnosed me with Asperger’s Syndrome
CPC Northgate – diagnosed me with PTSD and depression then later changed to PTSD and Bipolar Disorder
DSHS Psychiatrist – diagnosed me with General Anxiety Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Substance Abuse Disorder and Alcohol Use Disorder
I still believe everyone’s missing BPD, but, oh well. You can’t have ’em all.
A few days ago I started two new meds for a manic episode I had. (Yes, I’m bipolar). People were frowning on the fact that I walked around the streets and parks naked. I can justify that by saying our Digambar monks do it, so why can’t I? Of course, in this society, I could catch an indecent exposure or sexual harassment charge for that, so I told my psychiatrist about it. I also told her I’ve also been climbing the walls and feeling out of control. The meds she put me on were Geodon and Seroquel. I made the mistake of taking two Seroquels on the first day instead of one. I went to bed around 9PM and woke up at 7:30AM. Obviously, two pills were two strong so last night I took just one. It worked fine. As far as the Geodon, I feel a little more balanced, like I’m not going to snap suddenly.
This morning I was sitting in the mall playing a game on this here computer, when out of the blue, I got light-headed and started seeing double. It drove me nuts. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get my vision realigned. Instinctively, I reached to palpitate my pulse and felt nothing. My blood pressure was so low that the lack of a pulse put me in panic mode. You know what’s the first, and only, thing I thought? That I didn’t have a chance to finish the new book I’m writing. Once I’m done, then yeah, it probably won’t matter so much. But since I’ve already written 212 pages/77,000 words, I might have only two months to go.
The book’s called ‘Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven’. I’m not sure if I’d posted that before; I barely seem to get the time to create new posts these days. The Jain influence in the book is strong, but hopefully, not so strong that it seems like I’m proselytizing, I think this novel has a lot of potential, so chances are, I won’t publish it myself. I’d like to go the way of an established publisher or try to do that Amazon/KDP Select Publishing deal or whatever it’s called. If neither of those pan out I’ll just publish it m’self.
It’s been a while since I posted here. Needless to say, it’s been a busy few months. I lost 45 pounds – 20 from a gout flare up and 25 from becoming a vegetarian and getting sober. I have a best friend, a female, who shares a lot in common with me. There were challenges in the beginning, but once I reached an epiphany on what makes her tick, she’s easier to understand. I may even write a short story or book about her one day. The nice thing about the weight loss is my BMI index is at a good range, a range which puts me in the low category for heart disease, diabetes, etc. I’m still a mental wreck, though. This is forever. My SSI/SSD hearing is set for April 28, 2015. Hopefully the judge will find me lacking in normalcy and require help. I also have a song playing frequently, and gathering fans, on NumberOne Music. It’s “Hot Body, Cold Heart”, a song I converted from country to electro-pop. All of this sounds good, but the bad news is, I’ve been homeless sleeping in my car for about 3 months. It hasn’t been so bad. A few nights were bitterly cold, though. Those were hard to get through. In any case, I’ve slept in my car when it snowed a few times. This was in Lodge Grass, Montana and other cities around the country. I guess it’s true what they say: if it doesn’t kill you it’ll make you stronger. Well, I’m not on the internet that much; I use the computer at the library. This makes it hard for me to be on the internet all the time. Anyway, the takeaway from all this is, I’m okay. Physically, I’m not doing too bad. There are lots of people worse off than me in the world so I’m not complaining.
I’ve moved in temporarily to an aPODment on First Hill in Spruce Park. It’s a pretty quiet area and is near medical centers like Swedish, Harborview, and so on. An aPODment, for those who don’t know, is basically an SRO – Single Room Occupancy type of deal. You get a bathrooom but no kitchen. It’s a very small studio that comes with a bed, microwave, shelves, and triangular desk. The utilities, as well as internet, is included in the price. The price is $775. Mine is being paid through the HEN (Housing & Essential Needs) program. I’ll have the apartment for three months because that is when HEN expires. August 31 will be my last day there. (I wasn’t eligible for a HEN extension because DSHS’ doctor claims my continued disability rises to the level of requiring SSD and therefore I should go to the ABD (Aged, Blind & Disabled) program. This means I’ll be homeless, once again, from September 1 till my SSD kicks in which should be around January 2015 – if it kicks in, that is. In other news, I visit a therapist every two weeks and see a psychiatrist once a month. My depression hasn’t abated, though. I think about suicide constantly. Sometimes I make concrete plans to end it. The best one I’ve come up with so far is to buy heroin from the street, cook it, and overload my system with it. Last year there were 99 heroin OD’s resulting in death in Seattle alone so I know it’s possible. There were probably more deaths from heroin than from jumping off bridges or standing in front of moving trains. I apologize for this post being so depressing and negative. I just needed to get all these feelings off my chest as it becomes unbearable sometimes.