writing

Drugged

~ jadybyproxy ~ Leave a comment

Well now, loyal reader, can you believe I quit rehab? Holy flipping smokes, 13 years, and it’s done. It was a shitty ending, but hey, even Stephen King has those. The important part is that, despite feeling as if it were impossible, I managed to get out of a career that does not suit the parts of myself I wish to nourish. In short…it’s not you, rehab, it’s me. It’s always been me. I was never the girl for you. I had to shut down my gentler and sweeter sides, and grow calloused and hardened, and I hated it so. I was ravenous and starved for my witchy, hippie, holistic, happy, spiritual, joyous and weird self.

Fuck universal abstinence, by the way. Drugs have been in this world for the entirety of humankind, and they’ll never not be here…even if they’re, like, robot drugs in the far future. Drug are not going away. Furthermore, they really shouldn’t. I fucking love drugs. I hate addiction, but damn, drugs are miraculous.

Drugs aren’t all created equal. Please tell me your lil’ sugary coffee drink isn’t any different from a harrowing, life-ruining heroin addiction, I dare you. I’ve been the witness to some heavy trauma, things I cannot and will not ever share outside of my own therapist’s office. Seriously. My poor therapist. I will say, they haunt me, and that’s just vicarious trauma. I know, and I cannot overstate, that heavy addiction comes from heavy trauma. People, however, tend to over-correct, and when they drop their bad habits, they get gun-shy about chemicals in general. The people I work with, the difficult one, and by that I mean, the ones who ‘never want to use a substance again’? They’re cheating themselves out of some seriously powerful healing. They also are in danger of becoming recovery bigots, who simply won’t accept anything outside of straight-edge sobriety. They also vote trump, which is a big fuck you when you’ve taken the time to get them registered to vote. (He hates the homeless, y’all. He hates you. Stop voting for him.)

ANYWAY. With the knowledge that ALL drugs aren’t the same, hey, what if a few of them were really good medicine when properly utilized? What if, go with me on this, some of us don’t have the luxury of turning our nose up at chemistry, because our brains fail us? What if I would be dead without drugs?

I think that pretending that something you dislike does or should not exist, simply because you don’t want to deal with and work with it, is some grade-A level republican-style ignorance, and I don’t accept that bullshit. Do I want people to stop ODing and dying in the street? sure do. Do I think safe injection sites, needle exchanges, micro loans, suicide prevention, gay rights, secure housing, available and healthy food, continuing as well as early education, and employment resources are in dire need and must be prioritized above all else in the world of healthcare, to STOP early death? Um, yes. Yes. YES.

I also think that I cannot live a life I deserve without the assistance of therapy AND medicine. Drugs are medicine. Abusing drugs isn’t something to punish, it’s something to treat. They’re not well. Stop telling people to not treat their own trauma, when in a system that chooses overwhelmingly to punish and exploit those with trauma and accompanying addiction, people without resources will make bad decisions out of pure social poverty.* People are going to find an exit from pain in one way or another, and I promise you that my 6 pills a day beats the hell out of killing myself. I swear, no exaggeration. I would be dead without drugs. I’m repeating this on purpose. Take note.

I’ll probably be writing quite a bit about the rehab world in a while, but right now I’m in a recovery of my own, and it’s going to take a lot of energy. It takes energy to make energy, and I’ve been running on an empty tank for quite a while. Need to refuel my soul…………and take my meds. Talk soon, loyal reader. Soon, I swear.

*social poverty is a little expression I’ve coined meaning the state wherein someone has used all their social resources, burned every bridge, even the enablers are fed up, and they have utterly nothing else but the drug.

So Much

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

I have such big, big emotions. I’m also assessed as bipolar I, which means full manic episodes. I personally would diagnose myself as schizoaffective, since I have a whole ton of psychosis, and a few other things that are pretty trademark…but you really shouldn’t diagnose yourself. Even though I’m right. It’s fine. Sigh.

However and nevertheless, I’ve got a spicy and interesting brain with a tendency to bully and trick. Oh, and delusions are the flipping worst. Even delusions of grandeur are not fun. Well, no, they’re wildly, blindingly fun, but they ruin your life and damage relationships, burn bridges and make bad decisions happen ever so much.

So I’ve got some delusions going on, and they’re quite insidious, because I’m already a fairly sensitive and worried person. I’ve been paranoid and raw to the proverbial touch. I’ve worried and panicked excessively, much more so than usual, and it’s driving me a bit crazy. Every email, every text and absolutely every call, I am instantly on edge. It’s exhausting.

On the other hand, I raised my meds a bit early this year, and it’s worked out pretty well. It’s not ideal to be groggy and tired so often, but it’s been a lifesaver in terms of my sanity. I cannot describe madness with all the details that are seemingly little but very telling. I know, for example, that I’m headed down the road to trouble when I overhear conversations and assume with surety that they are talking about me and my life. I get extremely worried that everything I do is being judged and measured. Sometimes that’s the first step towards thinking I’m in a Truman Show scenario. It’s so frustrating to be at that point with the allure of total insanity, and yet knowing it’s all a brain trick. I miss full mania the way some people miss heroin. I was in love with that feeling. It is no longer an option in my life, though. I’m not 24 again, and I cannot fully destroy my life without losing a LOT that I love.

I’ll cheer this post with a short story. When I was admitted into the Stanford psych ward, wherein I would reside for the next 5 weeks, apparently my shitty ex did laundry (very rare) and put the basket in the bedroom. Legend has it that Dante the cat pushed all my clothing out of the way, and peed directly on his clothes. I was embarrassed at the time…now I simply say GOOD KITTY.

Alright loyal readers, enjoy the day, worry about me less than you’d think, and send some peace, please.

Loyalty Points

~ jadybyproxy ~ Leave a comment

Good morning on a pretty May day, loyal and patient readers. Let’s get this out of the way:

*General Disclaimer* I AM TERRIBLE AT REGULAR UPDATES *General Disclaimer*

Now, I have a teeny, tiny reader base. I promise you, I’ve never gotten much feedback on this project. I admit, I’m pretty sure the only readers I’ve had for the entire blog has been Mom, Godfather, and varied other family. I do not hate this! My writing on this blog is raw and rarely edited beyond basic grammar and spelling, and even then I miss things. However, this blog continues to be close and dear to my heart, and an important document to recall larger, sweeping swatches of my life. And on that note:

Welcome to my 40th year of being, my 20th year post-Ashley, and my 13th year of the blog! Can you even believe I have nearly enough focus to write this Mid-May? Hooray!

I would mention other touchstones, but the divorce and a few other traumas have dropped off the edge of importance, and I don’t feel the need to count years post-whatever bullshit happened there. (way to NOT mention it, Jady) This blog has been a lifeline, an embarrassment, a venting space, and a damn sweet few memories I’ve kept that would otherwise be lost to my bipolar brain. Thank all the gods for online journaling…there’s no way I’d have maintained a paper log for anywhere close as long. I’d have lost it long ago.

Now, and since my blog reached double digits, certainly…actually, the entire time I’ve blogged, I’ve wondered what to do with all these words, eventually. The editing process of taking these written entries and making sense of the structure seem overwhelming. I could never, ever do a chronological autobiography, because my memory is shite and I don’t recall most things in a linear way. I have considered a few options; coffee table book of poetry and art, novel about the extent to which we, indeed, are all mad here; maybe a radio play…the possibilities are endless and I really cannot choose confidently. So, being me and it being wild springtime, I’ve chosen to do an entirely different project altogether.

This summer, my goal is to make several visits up north to the family in Montana, and begin the process of interviewing Ashley’s loved ones and building a library/collection of stories about my sister. It’s been 20 years, half my life. Damn.

I’m sharing this now, because when June 3 rolls around, I have no idea what I will feel. I know, right now, I’m treading in grief to depths I’ve not reached often in my life. It hurts, my dear readers. It hurts so much. It;s entirely possible that I will be unable or unwilling to discuss my feelings…and it’s also really really important that I remember this. Is part of my ‘complicated grief’ (clinical term) that I simply forget the pain over and over each time until it boils over? Is it just the cycle I will feel endlessly? Seems needlessly cruel, Universe, and a bit excessive, if you ask me.

In any case, I’m collecting my energy and directing the extra, if ever there is, to this project. I’m planning a few trips to Montana in the next few months, and I’m working on the process of scheduling my mom’s 11 remaining siblings to meet with and share stories. Everyone, as you can imagine, is not in the same area…however, there’s quite a few in Missoula, MT, and my parents just so happen to have a home or two there as well. It’s a beautiful -place in the summer, so it will not be a chore. I will be sobbing daily, but that isn’t quite a chore either. More of something for which I have a natural flair. I’m excellent at crying. Be amazed.

So, gentle and sweet readers, if you did happen to know Ashley while she was around, I am in no way limiting myself to the aunts/uncles, they are just easier to find and endlessly delightful, so it’s a good excuse to see everyone. I’m very interested in her school life, both high school and college, and yet have no clue as to how to track people down. I hope there are a few willing folk, somewhere. Help of any sort is appreciated.

To note: improv will still happen, all summer, I don’t give up my zen time. It keeps me on the sunny side of sane.

Time and Time Again

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

Shocking Opinion: Winter is lousy and dark, cold, and endless. Winter is an insidious bastard that seeps his misery into the firmament of every single day. Now, this may seem rather bleak and as if I’ve given up. Sure, I complain a whole lot, and my complaints are hyperbolic beyond measure. Yet I remain resolute in my dedication to making this winter livable.

Sigh. This post was going to be a boastful, cheerful description of all my little winter projects, like improv and craft night planning, that make my days tolerable. I was going to share my self-care and brag about how well it was working. I was going to add a few clever tips for snapping your brain out of the winter doldrums. But I’m sorry to report that it doesn’t always work that way.

Sometimes nothing really helps and then you feel awful for a while. I’ve studied this in MY brain, and I’ve seen it in so many others…You cannot completely avoid the effects of mental disorders by willpower alone. It’s an impossible goal and one that I imagine has ruined more than a few confident people’s days. Setting yourself up to believe that you must wage brain on brain war to shut down any ‘bad’ feelings is a surefire way to have a complete meltdown. Believe me, I’ve been there. In fact, I’m pretty sure I am there.

Here’s the thing: all the study and all the experience in the world doesn’t prepare me for the little, numerous, subtle ways that my brain can trick me and hurt me. My brain may be a bully, but she’s also quite clever. A goddamn velociraptor in my head. She now me better than anyone, too, and is shameless in using my weaknesses against me.

A sensible person may ask why I discuss my brain as a separate entity than myself, and I agree, it’s strange. It’s a way I’ve found of sorting my thoughts and feeling into reasonable versus unreasonable. It makes me feel agency and a bit of control over at least one portion of my whole. I’m no stranger to psychosis, which I’d most simply describe as a non optional separation of the brain, body and soul…although writing that down, I don’t think that’s a ‘simple’ description at all. Consider this: The brain, the body, and the soul are three musicians in an ensemble. Usually they’re in synch, mostly, on tempo and working together on one defined performance. When fully psychotic, they’re still musicians but there’s no synchronicity, no teamwork. One part is blasting out a solo riff while the other two are reading their sheet music in dismay, not knowing that each is attempting to play a different song from the others. Oh, and sometimes the entire gang stops to contemplate horrific trauma in my past and just fixate, all together, on that cruel memory for a while. It’s a mess.

I’ve been struggling, my dear loyal readers. Those of you who know me, by way of Oakland, Chicago, Sheffield or Salt Lake, for long enough, know that I’ve been in dangerous levels of psychosis, and I’m glad to say that this is NOT a danger scenario*. It’s a Tornado watch, not warning. However, also definitely not a drill. I’m going to be frank: I have literally been on disability for this bullshit and while I’m VERY happy I can work and function without SSDI anymore, work is exhausting and so, so hard. I do not miss waiting on my teeny disability check, and I certainly don’t miss living the way I had been; deep into drinking and smoking a pack a day, hanging out with cokeheads and abusers. However, working full time and managing being an independent adult is a huge task for me, and I don’t always do very well. It’s ironic that I’ve technically been disabled since birth, but it was only really when the psychosis came to visit that I felt truly incapacitated**.

Now, the really funny part about all of this is that I can -describe- what is going on in detail and with fair insight, but that does very little to settle my nerves. Knowing a thing and Handling a thing are two very different skill sets. Do I know what I’d say to my client in a similar state? Sure. But it doesn’t always work on clients, and it sure as hell doesn’t always work on me. Shrug and sigh.

Short story, it hurts and it’s hard and I feel a few kinds of ways about that. Well….glad I avoided that whole ‘complaining’ thing, THAT would have been a grim few paragraphs, eh? Sigh again.

* Psychosis is a spectrum. We’ll discuss THAT can of worms one day when I’m feeling better.

**We did include my limb difference on the disability application and I think it did help to have an irrefutable physical ‘disability’, although it’s weird to think of it that way. Honestly, it has rarely felt disabling at all but I guess that’s what happens when you’re both this way.

Onward, March!

~ jadybyproxy ~ Leave a comment

Good morning and happy March, dear readers. Once again, I’ve narrowly escaped the horrific clutches of February, and emerged from the darkness and madness of winter. This time, I found myself more at ease than practically any winter before, and the disquiet, discontent, and disturbing suicidal rumination of my brain were but a dull roar. All praise and credit due to a good job, an excellent circle off support, and medication management that was both well-tended and based on accurate diagnoses. Truly, no one can survive winter alone or without help.

Since my natural wake up seems to have settled on about 6:30 am, I’m writing this entry while the other human enjoys a morning without an early alarm, and blessed be. R has been dealing with an impinged nerve in his back for the majority of 2024, and the consistent, often flaring pain had been exhausting. He’s been x-rayed, MRI-ed, and given prescriptions for medications as well as physical therapy; this week he finally got a steroid injection in the spine, and we’re hopeful it takes effect before long, although the doctor told him it could take as much as 2 weeks before he felt significant results. Since we are cohabitating, I don’t feel too selfish saying this has been a wearing process for me as well. I have a newfound respect for partners of folks with chronic pain and lasting injuries, and have seen for the first time (in a long time) the deep frustration of dealing with the medical field and all it’s hoops to clear in order to obtain care.

Just as I’ve gotten a bit callous to the idea of surgery (I’ve had 13 in the span of 9 years before, what’s the big deal?), I’ve numbed a bit in relation to major medical needs…that’s just how one lives, isn’t it? However, I know my thinking is skewed and based on a long history of my own adventures in Medicine Land and Hospital Times. Not everyone deals with these things so often. In fact, I’m pretty damn privileged to have both survived and thrived as a long-term patient of American medicine. I know the ins and outs of doctors appointments, referrals, specialists, hospitals, insurance, recovery, and had advocates/helpers/family to assist with those things, which would have been otherwise unmanageable. I’m very, very, very lucky.

In any case, R is sleeping after a painful night, on the futon I’ve arranged on the floor beside the couch, which seems to be the most comfortable spot to do so. I’m awake, so the animals are awake (and needy), and the sun is rising on this fine weekend day. I’ve never been one with an overabundance of hope, but I feel it in the most cliche of ways when there’s more sunlight, and birds chirping outside, and warmer, milder days. There’s rumor of a snowstorm coming later this weekend, but we’ve by and large had a very gentle season. I’m sure this has contributed to my mood and helped me find footholds in the darkness. I do miss the quiet beauty of snowfall at night, but that seems to be the tradeoff. Never-mind the clear proof that our environment isn’t what it used to be, and never-mind the indications that summer will be absolutely brutal this year. For now, I’m quite pleased to be able to visit the balcony without bitter, biting cold, and I’ve taken advantage of the same to soak in a bit of that sunlight in the afternoons when I’m home from work before sunset (thank all the gods.)

As far as my career is concerned, I continue to navigate middle management with growing knowledge and occasional grace. I’ve been drafted into the Brave Leader program, an 8-month curriculum for those who wish to become more effective, forthright, honest and even vulnerable as leaders. Vulnerable? Yes, well, that’s what you get for having Brene Brown as the author of note for readings. Knowing me, and my professional reliance on both physical armor (dressing up to feel safe) and my perfectionist backstory, vulnerability is something I’ve never associated with being a Boss. I am, however, feeling safer and more securely attached to my job than ever before, and the desire to navigate the discomfort of growth and learning seems to outweigh my fears. I’ll commit here and now to attempt a blog entry after each session of the program, and try to discuss my reactions and thoughts on the reading in between the same. It really would be a shame and waste to squander the process by avoiding my own shortcomings, or not recording my progress, and I’d hate to do such an ambitious project without remembering properly. As you know, dear reader, memory is not my strong suit, so I’ll be relying on the written accounts to refresh my recollections, someday.

Maybe it’s the upcoming springtime, maybe it’s my career taking off in ways I’d never dared dream, either way I’m feeling the need to express myself and be creative. It’s a lovely thing, since motivation can be extremely elusive and wavering in my life. I’m finding myself thinking of new ideas for artistic endeavors, and exploring my options beyond the daily work-and-home life. Nothing is yet solid, but expect great things to come. I’m excited to see wherein my energy will be focused, and am looking forward to sharing a bit more of the right-brain side of my soul with you all. Will it be performing in a written work? Or writing on new topics in a new (probably online) venue? Who could say. Instead of gritting my teeth through the doldrums of deep winter, I find myself seeking to stretch and expand my wheelhouse, and share the joy while I do.

Well, my coffee needs refreshing and my few homework items need attention, since I’d rather not rush them all on Sunday evening and feel flustered and stressed all weekend. It’s an excellent day to be living, and I love feeling the value in it. I’ll be channeling these good thoughts and emotions into a restful yet active weekend, and I hope the same for you, dear readers. At the very least, have the coffee…There’s exciting times ahead; you’ll want to be awake.

January in vivo

~ jadybyproxy ~ 1 Comment

Gentle, loving readers, my apologies (once more, always) for my lack of checking in and documenting the wild and wondrous work of Jady. It’s a thing I’ve mentioned before, but when life gets busy, I neglect to record it, and then I’m left wondering what exactly happened this time or that time, my silly bipolar brain missing the chance to put it all down on proverbial paper, and I lose it to the wind.

Those of you who know me well know that the months of January through late march are often horrific for me, emotionally and mentally, and I generally suffer through these dark days without missing a single chance to complain and commiserate with you all. This has not yet been the case, knock on wood. Maybe it’s the career (certainly, actually), maybe its my home life, maybe it’s the lack of truly gruesome weather (sunny and mild as I type), maybe it’s the joy of finding new connections and people in the world. Most likely the delightful combination of all.

Career-wise, I’m finding my footing more and more in the world of middle management, and great things are brewing. I’ve taken on a side-hustle in the world of private practice, and I’m happy to say last week marked my consultation meeting with and subsequently being hired by my very first client for the same. I’m so excited to venture into the world of private therapy…never before have I worked outside of non-profit, and the idea of making a go at my own practice has always been an intimidating but alluring one. Of course, it’s a side job, and it’s under the umbrella of a bigger practice, but all the same…I’m making my own schedule and hours, I’m in the mix developing the marketing material and my own profile on the website AND Psychology Today, and I’m enjoying stretching my wings in an entirely new avenue of this grand thing we call Therapy.

Of course, my day job is my favorite I’ve ever had, and I adore my clients/coworkers/boss/company. It’s going so well and I feel so appreciated in a way I never have in any position. Without sounding too boastful…it’s wonderful to be seen as intelligent and capable, playing at the top of my game, and helping so many people in all the ways I can. I’m able to use EMDR and Seeking Safety and so many other awesome modalities, and work with the formerly underuse, formerly incarcerated people I adore, every day. Those who work in residential rehab will most likely agree, it’s not simply a job, it’s a way of life, and sharing my life with the aforementioned folk is GREAT!

Well, I’ve definitely buried the lead…the Boyfriend moved in! His ‘charming’ landlord sold the building out from under him, he lost his apartment he’s had for 13 years, and since I offer OFTEN, he moved in with me. Not the most fun of circumstance by which to enter into cohabitation, but the results are very nice. We own SO MUCH STUFF, but the spare bedroom is now an office for use both…me doing my private practice sessions and work from home, he with space for gaming and also working here if needed. The dark spot of the apple is, fairly immediately following the move, Boyfriend developed a pinched nerve in his spine. It’s awful and painful, and a surgery consult has been scheduled. He may not have to have a surgical procedure, but it does seem fairly likely. If so, I’m very glad he has a place wherein he can heal, and I can be there to support as I want to do. Right now, he often sleeps on the floor with his legs on the couch, which is apparently as comfortable as he can get, and is in daily discomfort and pain. It’s been a hard month and if surgery makes that go away, I’m a fan. Poor, sweet guy.

The weather has been very rare of Utah…although I suppose this is the new norm, a few unimpressive snowfalls, more sun, short rainstorms and occasional gloom. I absolutely loathe waking in the darkness for work, and heading home with only an hour or two of daylight left in the day, so springtime (late springtime, really) cannot come soon enough. I’ve been able to combat the yearly doldrums and depression with medication management and therapy, but nothing works quite as well as long, warm days, and pleasant nights when I can enjoy my balcony and open windows and doors. Sister reminded me a few moths ago to, gasp, schedule my medication adjustments by time of year, which is very reasonable and useful advice, so once I noted feeling WILDLY suicidal/irritable/sad, I marked it on my to do list for a visit to the doctor, same time next year. As it is, I visit him about every three months when the seasons change, but literally writing it down is a huge and necessary step towards avoiding wanting to melt into the earth and die. *

There are a few new connection and rekindling of friendships in my life as well, and I’m enjoying the company and getting-to-know-ness of it all. Oakland friendships have been strengthened and enriched following a visit back in October. Dating a new fellow in Salt Lake has been very fun, and is at the point wherein I don’t think he’s going to drop contact and ghost, although that’s always a concern (boys, am I right?). Polyamory suits me, I think. I’ve had a nice time, the attention is admittedly excellent for my confidence, and I get to enjoy being myself with present, kind, funny, sweet people. furthermore, my relationship with Boyfriend continues to thrive. It’s a great place to be in my life.

So…things are good. February looms and we’re not out of the woods just yet, but things are looking bright in a way winter rarely can be for me. I’m hoping this post finds you all likewise optimistic and inundated with love. If that’s not the case, you know there’s always a hug available. Til next time, hooray!

*Yes, my dears, suicidal thoughts are present in my life on a regular basis. it’s really fine, I just have an extra spicy and morbid brain. I’m going to butcher this quote, but “the thought of suicide has helped many a man through a dark night.”…meaning, the idea that I could do terrible things ironically keeps me from terrible things, and I’m weirdly grateful for that.