Tag Archives: medication

On My Days Off

I love my days off. But there’s one thing about my days off that I hate. I. Can’t. Focus.

God knows I have a million and one things I want to do. I want to read, I want to write, I want to edit, I want to blog. But I sit down and start something, work on it for, like, a few minutes, then lose my focus and have to walk away. Even when I’m on my meds! Now, if I were being paid for it, I might be able to make myself focus. But this is for pleasure. So, I’m not going to make myself keep doing something when I stop feeling like it. But, why do I suddenly stop feeling like it? Even though I enjoy it thoroughly?

Then sometimes I can’t even start something because I just don’t feel like it. Like, seriously? You love doing those things, Lacey!

Then, when I’ve left my thing out of sudden disinterest, I wander around bored looking to settle my carb cravings, though trying really hard not to. Today, my mom was successful, for a couple hours, in getting me out of the house to pick up the cause of my carb cravings (medication) and some presents for international friends. Jesus, Hallmark is expensive.

Is this my ADD? Do I need my meds upped? I should ask my doctor. Because I hate spending my days off like this. Where most of the day is wandering around bored when there are a ton of entertaining things I could be and want to be doing.

1 Comment

Posted by on December 2, 2014 in Uncategorized


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Why Birth Control Shouldn’t be Free

I don’t really like the fact that birth control, by itself, is free by law. Hear me out.

You have a choice about having sex or not. You don’t have a choice about having diabetes or not. You don’t have a choice about having depression or not. I have to pay over $800 a month just to avoid killing myself. Oh, but I can go fuck whoever I want and be irresponsible as fuck without getting pregnant for free. OK. Because that makes sense.

No, places should not refuse birth control insurance. But that’s only because birth control is often used for medical purposes, like for my PCOS. You wanna fuck around and not get pregnant? Get off your lazy ass and pay for it.

I am a feminist. I’m a responsible feminist. When you go around and have sex, you have to be resposible about it.

If birth control is free, all medications should be free. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Leave a comment

Posted by on November 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


Tags: , , , , , , ,

Things are Getting Better

Things are getting better. Slowly. Bumpily. I still have some down things. Still struggle with my parents sometimes. But it’s all getting better.

One of the biggest helps is my boyfriend. L has been promising that when I’m down, I can talk to him. I haven’t had an opportunity to take him up on that, but I’m certainly more comforted already. He’s amazing.

See, I was raised with the belief that I shouldn’t rely on anyone close to me that isn’t family. So a boyfriend? He should never know when I’m upset, basically. So although it shouldn’t, it kinda shocks me to hear all this from L. But it’s nice (:.

About that whole work situation. My boss tried to explain something to me about how it was connected with something else I had done wrong. I didn’t get it, so I was discussing it with a friend. She made it crystal clear. So . . . I’m not upset anymore. Because it’s all my own fault anyway and they should have fired me.

We think I have bipolar. That’s what’s causing the excessive spending. So I get to see a psychiatrist in a couple weeks. Kinda stoked to get a diagnosis. And then to get me on the right meds that’ll control my spending. Because I got a couple speeding tickets . . .

Well, I guess that’s all the news so far. May type up another post later. But probably not. Take care, all!

1 Comment

Posted by on July 27, 2014 in Depression


Tags: , , , , ,

What I Did on Thursday…Rock Bottom?

I kinda wanna write about it.

But I kinda don’t wanna write about it.

I kinda should write about it.

But I kinda shouldn’t write about it.

So, I guess, if you don’t wanna read about it, don’t read this.

If you don’t wanna report me to social services, but would feel obligated to, don’t read this.

So, I guess it’s time to tell you about it.

There were a couple factors that caused it. The first is minor.

I am sick of crying at work.

All I seem to do these days is cry. At work. Everyone at work is totally understanding about it, but it’s exhausting and embarrassing. I’m sick of caring.

The second reason is also minor.

The first reason I cried lately, was because of some chick at work. I had to pee, so I called R over to cover me, because she was the floater. She was walking up and said, “You’re lucky I’m coming over.”

I’m all, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t like you.”

I tilt my head and have her repeat herself. Now, we all joke around all the time, so I’m really confused. I had never done a thing to her, not intentionally, anyway. She borrowed my charger the day before. But as I’m in the bathroom I decide she’s being serious. So I go up to her and ask, “What’d I do?”

It was a bitch to get out of her what I did. As she walked away she said, “A couple things. Basically, you’re a bitch.”

I know this is her problem. She’s the bitch and coward for not even facing me with her problems. She’s so unimportant. But something deep inside me still cared, and was severely hurt. Because despite everything I knew for a fact, I burst into tears. I called the ASM to come talk to me before I exploded; either in sobs or screams directed at R.

But that was all minor. The real, main reason? I’ll tell you.

I have a system. I have a system for almost everything. And if you disrupt my system, I get frustrated. It’s the ADD/Aspberger’s in me. So, I have a system for closing down the registers at night. But Sunday night, I really had to pee (I have to pee a lot during work. I drink like a camel). So, in order to avoid disrupting my system, I ran to the bathroom when my system allowed some time. Literally, there was only enough time for me to go, pee, and come back. As I was walking back, Q called me over. He had to use the bathroom. So I was frustrated, and I was jokingly making a big deal out of it. But I covered him.

He left his phone at the register, and it went off. I thought, ‘it’d be really funny to answer that on him. ….No, no it wouldn’t.’ But then the manager that was there said, “Answer it!” So I thought, ‘Oh, she thinks it’ll be funny. So it must be funny.’ Besides, it wouldn’t bother me much if someone answered my phone. Esp if it was a joke/”revenge”. So I answered it. It was his gf’s sister. I told the chick the truth, I was Q’s coworker and was playing a joke on him. She told me to tell him to call her back, and we hung up.

Two days later, the day after the R incident, I found out his gf broke up with him that night. Again, tears.

The next day I had off.

The day after that, I decided I was going to stop caring about work, so that I could stop crying there. So I took a Xanax. I was OK. Q walked by and glared at me when I wasn’t looking, and I took another Xanax. Finally, we ended up at the same register. The awkwardness and guilt was too much. I couldn’t take it. So I volunteered to go to the slowest register. The one where no customers come by, and you have nothing to do but think. And think. And think.

I kinda wanted to do it.

But I kinda didn’t want to do it.

I tried to find somebody to stop me. But I couldn’t find anyone. Couldn’t think of anyone to call (not that I’d be allowed to call anyone, anyway.) So I did it.

On Thursday, April 24, 2014, I took a total of 10 Xanax and 10 Acetaminophen.

I didn’t want to die. Just wanted the attention. The pity. I wanted R and Q to feel bad for what they’d done to me. I just wanted to go to the hospital where someone would take care of me and I could get away from everything for a few days.

I didn’t feel anything happening, so I went up to Q and told him that I was suicidal because of the whole situation. He tried to save his ass by being all, “Oh, no, don’t do that. We fight like this all the time. It’s really no big deal.” No one noticed anything wrong for the rest of the work day. I only know this because I don’t remember the rest of it. I may have asked a coworker if my eyes were dilated. But I’m not sure.

Apparently, I got home safely. I guess I hung around for a while. My parents didn’t notice anything. My friend was 20 minutes late coming over, so I figured she was going to be really late. So I decided I felt like masturbating. I went up stairs, laid down, got my pants down, and the next thing I knew it was 10:30 and my mom was calling me, telling me my friend was here.

My friend, A, noticed right away. But she’s a CNA, she’s trained to. She almost took me to the hospital. But for some reason (maybe I told her no, I was fine), she decided not to. A and I went to Wegman’s and apparently I was acting kinda weird, cuz she was telling everyone that I was just a ditzy person. Then we came back and had fun.

The next morning, after A left, I decided my parents had a right to know. I had debated telling them, because I knew what they would do. But they are my parents. So I told my mom. She remained calm all day. Then my dad got home.


Several days of lectures and yells. Oh, and new restrictions.

My boss found out about it. Apparently idiot-ass me told a customer. But she never addressed it at work. Only on fb.

I still want the attention. I still want the pity. So I’m quietly spreading the story around at work. Even though my store is the center of rumors, my story isn’t getting around very well. Just as well, I guess.

Apparently Q and his gf got back together. He spoke to me today like nothing had happened. So, things are getting better, I guess. But the meds still need fixing. Because I kinda wanna do it again. I still wanna go to the hospital.

I went on a shopping spree yesterday. I found relaxers. Particularly, hooka sticks. They’re e-cigs with hooka instead of nicotine (right?). They’re fantastic.

No, my parents don’t know about the hooka sticks. And they aren’t going to. My counselor might. Maybe. Or not.

I’m exhausted, now. I guess it was good I wrote about it. Do you hurt yourself? What are your reasons?

Leave a comment

Posted by on April 28, 2014 in Uncategorized


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bad Girl, Lacey

So, things haven’t been going all too well. I get episodes of just wanting to cry and go home. A lot. Often. At work. So, I decided to try and balance that with a night out with a girlfriend. I have to work this morning so I planned to be home by ten. Eleven at the latest. Things didn’t go as planned.

I’m on Welbutrin, Cymbalta, and Abilify. So, I can’t drink. Buuuuuuuut~ drinking is so much freakin fun. AND it makes me happy-go-lucky wheeeeeeeeeee~. It’s a twofer. I wasn’t going to get inebriated last night. Especially because I had to drive home. But, as I said, things didn’t go as planned.

I got so, very drunk. I couldn’t see straight. I had to hold on to my friend to walk (though that was mostly because I was drunk while in these skinny little wedges). We couldn’t be happy in one place so we basically bar hopped all night.

Luckily, my friend lives nearby the bars so we went to her house and slept for like four/five hours.

God apparently has a way to punish adults what with their parents being unable to. I had left my car at the bar, of course. So I took some socks from my friend and walked in the snow about half a mile? Quarter of a mile? In just socks, leggings, a cami, and my coat. Oh, and I got rug burns because for some reason, I couldn’t walk to my friend’s bathroom. I had to crawl. And blisters, of course. But the blisters aren’t too bad.

Then I came home to a mini-lecture. I liked it, though. It showed my parents cared about me but they spoke to me like an equal. They didn’t talk down to me like they normally do. Or maybe they did. Maybe I’m just growing up and having more confidence when it comes to them. I don’t know.

So, that was last night.

Leave a comment

Posted by on March 2, 2014 in Uncategorized


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,