Ever Had A Screaming Hissy Fit?

I feel:: really, really sleepy; my head hurts and I'm hungry

I've been terribly remiss. I must apologize to Suthern for not pimping her out here on my blog sooner. After all, that's what my ad says. Just the facts, m'am.


I've y'all haven't noticed, I have a wonderful new renter this week Suthern's Place. So, get on over there and get to know her! She's married to one of those "mad scientist" types, so you know she has to be fun!

The reason I've been silent for a few days, and this obviously has nothing to do with Suthern, is that I've gone and sliced my arm up again. Monday afternoon, after having a screaming (literally) hissy fit/panic attack (One would have to wonder as many times as I freak out while driving that it's a wonder I haven't wrecked. *knock on wood*) while driving at least 70 mph down the freeway in my car; I walked into the house straight to the bathroom and sliced the inner side of my left arm with a razor blade at least 30 times. I didn't hit the main vein even though I was going "down the street and not across it", so no need for a hospital visit. Just a lot of antiseptic wash poured on my arm while my face contorted into visages I previously had not seen. I didn't know my face could contort so wildly. It seems to me that the antiseptic wash hurt more than the cutting did, but of course that must be my distorted perception.

I felt the cutting coming on for at least a month. I have been having very strong suicidal/self-injury ideations. (Told y'all I was loony.) Seriously though, I haven't been this depressed since my last suicide attempt in '97. I am, at least, managing to go to some of my classes. A hearty achievement for me because it would be so much easier just to stay in bed, drugged and asleep.

I could say that the trigger for this cutting relapse was the fucking twat in financial aid that was such a bitch to me on Monday, but that's just an excuse. I mean, she did trigger me, but it could have been anything. I was on the edge just waiting to fall. (God, was I pissed at her. While I was driving home I swear I was homicidal. My temper got the best of me and I hate that.)

I had my therapy appt. this morning at 8am (Thank you God for giving us Starbuck's. Hallelujah.) in which my psychiatrist prescribed an additional med for me to take: Lamictal. (I've been spelling it wrong in all my other blog posts. Hooked on phonics evidently didn't work for me.) It's a mood-stabilizer and also works like an anti-depressant. I get to start that tomorrow. What's fun about Lamictal is that you have to build up your tolerance to it, otherwise you get a blistery rash all over your body (if you up the dosage too fast), so you know that's something I'm looking forward to. There's nothing like a rash to make a girl's day.

Hopefully, that won't happen. I'm going to be very careful with the dosages. So, in a few weeks, maybe I'll rise from my vegetable grave of depression and be able to function consistently. I was going to say "function normally", but as I said in a previous post, "normal" is an extremely relative word. I don't really know what "normal" is. I only know what is familiar to me.

I've got to stop looking at this computer screen now and take some migraine medicine. Let us hope that I don't sneeze since I also have to take my night-time dosage of Klonopin as well. Welcome to the world of prescription drugs.