A new 2009

Yesterday I called for a new appointment with a new doctor. Oh how I hope he can bring some normalcy to my life. Oh how I hope he can help me overcome this rage, this anger, this depression, this general feeling that I have. I want to live my life. I want to be happy. I want so much, that I am prevented from having right now.

Borderline Personality Disorder? That sounds like me. The rage being one of the most important factors. Treatment? Same crap they have been doing, only using Haldol for the extremely bad cases of rage or anxiety that come on. Wow, that is what they give crazy people. Wow, maybe that is what I need.

Next week, I meet the new doctor. Next week, maybe I can start a new life..... Always next week, next time, next month......Tired of the next's.....

The beginning of the end....

I met a woman that was everything my wife was not. She was tiny, well groomed, materialistic, and what seemed to be down to earth. She was my rock during the first month or two of my separation.

We would have arguments, not unlike the ones that I had with my soon to be ex-wife. We blamed them on a lack of her willingness to communicate, the fact that I had to give my still wife a ton of money for bills, so our living arrangements were less than adequate.

Finally, I snapped. I remember screaming at her, in such a way that caused her to have a panic attack. I remember throwing shit across the front yard, and I remember how I don't remember. It was such a bizarre set of circumstances, that led up to it. They do not matter though, as there was no reason for my actions. So there I sat, in my car feeling like I had no control, no hope, nothing to fall back on. I walked into the emergency room. I didn't know if I was going to kill myself, or someone else, but I went somewhere where I couldn't.

I spent some time inpatient psych again. Only this time it was different. I was there on at least a 72 hour hold. Removed from friends and family, an hour away. When I finally met a doctor, after 5 minutes of writing in my chart, and reading what the counselors have written, low and behold, he claims I am bipolar. Zoloft and Depakote here I come.

Seriously? What in the hell did he know? What could he have possibly known about my situation. However, I took the meds as prescribed, figured it couldn't hurt. After my week stay at the fine accomadations of a psych hospital, I was released to continue with an outpatient program.

I had met a new doctor, one who would talk to me, and try to figure out what was happening, after a month of the Depakote, he said to try Zoloft and Klonopin to solve my problems. The bipolar issue did not exactly fit the bill that I had described as my life. So...I take this for a month, then two, whoa, wait a second, I FEEL THE EXACT SAME.

I can feel the rage overcome my body in moments of anger. I can feel the anxiety rush over me in uncertain moments. I still have dreams that involve, well....scary thoughts and actions.

I go to a new doctor, who spends approximately two minutes with me each visit. When I tell him the Zoloft and Klonopin make me feel no different, he ups my meds. Two months later, I repeat myself, he tells me there is nothing else he can do.......just continue to take the meds....

SERIOUSLY?

A fresh start maybe......

After the accident, I went through very hard times. Deep depression, that I cannot even place into words. I turned to my high school sweetheart to help me through this, and because of me being alone, so far away, we decided to get married.

My marriage was anything but bliss, because of my depresssion and hatred towards myself and pretty much everyone around me, I experienced pain as did my wife. From arguments to fights, to breaking things, to adultery, I was far from the ideal husband. Far from an ideal person.

Everything was blamed on the Marine Corps. I was not happy because of that, I was not happy for the day to day lifestyle I was forced to live. So when my discharge happened it should have been the happiest day of my life. For the most part, up until then, it was. We packed up our belongings and thought we would live in a normal civilian life like everyone else.

Fast forward again, this time four years. We have bought a house, two cars, a motorcycle, had a child, living the so-called American dream. Happiness, however was anything but a myth in our life. I was a recluse. Not wanting to venture out with my wife, not wanting to be with my wife. I blamed her, her lack of self-discipline for letting herself go. Her laziness around the house. Her lack of attention to me, to the family.

We fought so much. Money, bills, time spent together, stupid things, it didn't matter. Yet again, I blamed her. It wasn't my fault- it couldn't be my fault right? So, I gave up everything and left my wife. I thought it was just what I needed to move on with my life. What I needed to be happy. What my daughter needed for a good happy childhood. That she would be better off with two happy parents living apart, rather than an unhappily married family.

The beginning......

I knew I was different from everyone when I was in high school. The things I said, the way I acted, I knew that I had a different thought process than them. This blog is going to help me own up to my own life, and my own actions.

I am currently 28 years old. Divorced, father of 1. I had everything, and I have lost everything- so goes my story.....

When I was 15 years old, I was addicting to cocaine. I was the life of the party, it did not matter if it was, weed, cocaine, acid, nitrous- if it was a party drug, I was taking it. I soon ended up in a juvenile detention center, and spent month's on house arrest, complete with the ankle monitor that has become all so famous with Michael Vick. It was after the drugs, after the parties- that I realized, something was different.

I had a burning desire, now that I was sober to die. It wasn't a cry for attention that so many teenagers go through- it was something different. My school forced treatment before allowing me to return and it was then that I had my first experience with anti-depression medication. Wellbutrin is an interesting drug. It made it so I could not sleep, I was wired, and it made things worse I believe. I had an overwhelming feeling of being overwhelmed, this medication was not helping. So there I was, inside of an hospital seeking treatment, and I hung myself. I took my belt, which they neglected to remove from my personal property, and hung myself in the bathroom from the towel rack. I was found, face all red and blue and on the verge of passing out. I was almost dead, my wish had almost come true.

Fast forward three years. I am serving in the United States Marine Corps. Having not been on medication for years, having suffered and dealt with my own depression and worthlessness. My grades were below average, so my only choice was to enlist. I was in the Marine Corps for 9 months before something that forever changed my life took place. I was involved in a horrific one vehicle accident. I was driving my GMC Sonoma with my friend Jason and his fiance Ann back from the airport, on a rainy Halloween night. I lost control of the vehicle and we slid into the grass median, we slid for about 100 feet before the tires caught the grass, and we began to flip over. Myself and Ann were ejected from the vehicle. Jason was not that lucky. The vehicle landed on him, killing him instantly. I am able to sit here and say that I was lucky to have only broken my back in two places and twisted my leg around. I do not think I have ever recovered from this incident, nor do I think I ever will.