Jayme Closs and other things

So I’m on a downswing, in terms of my mood. I’m bipolar. This is my life and it will never change, though the five psychiatric medications I take daily mitigate the downswings.

It’s just been kind of hard to get anything done. I will decide to do some thing or other, then I’ll find myself just sitting there staring into space as I’m trying to get myself to move. Even something as simple as picking an object up off the floor.

The Jayme Closs thing has kind of gotten to me. Of course I’m delighted that she’s been found alive. That’s not what’s getting to me; that part’s great. What’s getting to me is what some people have been saying. It’s really hard not to take that personally because of what happened to me back in the day.

(If you haven’t read that far back in my blog, what happened to me is this: in 2009, while I was on a trip to Virginia, I got lost and a stranger offered to give me directions. Instead, he took me into the woods and beat the crap out of me and raped me multiple times. Then he gave me the directions he’d promised and let me go. In the aftermath of the attack, there were a bunch of people on the comments section of this blog, and in email, who accused me of making the whole thing up for who knows what reason. It was very hurtful, obviously. After almost a year the rapist, a serial offender, was identified through DNA and he’s since been deported.)

I was just writing on here about how people can make speculations online about cases, speculations with no evidence to support them, and how this isn’t helpful and can indeed be harmful, especially if the victim or their family sees it.

And some people are doing that about Jayme Closs now. They’re outright accusing her of the murder, or at least complicity to the murder, of her own parents. And the police have said they believe her abductor acted entirely alone, and that he did not know Jayme (who, I will point out, is thirteen years old), and that he had been stalking her, and that Jayme is a victim and not a suspect.

These people think they know better than the cops, I guess. Why? Because Jayme took a selfie after her reunion with her aunt and dog. Because she was clean and looked okay in the selfie. Because she was smiling.

OF COURSE SHE WAS SMILING. She’d just been reunited with her dog and what’s left of her family, after she thought she’d never see them again, and the monster who did this to her is locked up! Why shouldn’t she smile? Why wouldn’t she have gotten herself cleaned up, showered etc.?

At what point is a crime victim “allowed” to smile and act happy and still be considered a “legitimate” victim?

One of the so-called reasons people were calling me a liar about my rape was because I didn’t act “traumatized enough” to suit them, when in fact they didn’t know the first thing about it. They were only seeing words on a screen, on my blog.

And so some people, on the basis of a “feeling” or a “hunch”, and a photograph, are making dreadful accusations against a thirteen-year-old child who saw her parents get murdered and who spent the last three months, I’m assuming, as Jake Patterson’s sex slave, thinking every day would be her last.

Frankly it makes me sick. I hope Jayme’s aunt and other caregivers make sure she does not see those accusations. I’m not seeking them out myself, but when they get posted on the Charley Project’s Facebook page I kind of have to read them, though I delete them as quickly as I can.

Not doing all that well right now

I’ve been decompensating these last few days and not getting much done. Because of an accidental interruption in insurance coverage, I can’t get my medication prescriptions refilled and I haven’t had my meds since Friday.

My psych clinic got a week’s worth of medication for me and I can pick it up tomorrow. But I’m not doing very well right now. Hence lack of updates.

Plus there’s the whole Thanksgiving thing, and it’s going to be VERY hard this year on account of my brother Brendan’s death in February.

How my parents have not fallen completely to pieces I do not know. This is the second time they’ve lost a son in a horrific accident; my brother Brian died in the 1980s.

I wish I had never gone to the dentist

Yeah, I said updates would return as normal. Then I went to a dental appointment, at my dentist’s insistence, to get a broken tooth fixed. This was not, in my opinion, necessary, that tooth had been broken for fifteen years with no problem, but my dentist kept asking me to get it done.

I’ve been feeling horrible ever since. I guess while my mouth was numb from the lidocaine I chewed on my lip and hurt it pretty badly. Now I have this very painful infection going on there. I can’t eat, I can barely drink or talk, and my mouth hurts all the time.

I hadn’t thought an infection in my lip would make me feel this bad, but it has. These past several days I’ve barely gotten out of bed. I’ve been sleeping a lot.

I am taking antibiotics and the infection IS getting better, as evidenced by photos I’ve taken of myself, but it seems to be more painful every day. I’ve been gulping OTC pain pills and using some prescription mouthwash that’s supposed to numb the mouth. It’s helping a little.

Anyway. I feel like crap.

All is well

It’s been 22 days since my last vomiting cycle started and I am not sick yet.

My primary care clinic suggested that, as these were happening every three weeks and generally started several days before the start of my menstrual period, perhaps it was a hormonal thing. So they put me on the Pill.

Maybe the Pill is working. It’s a bit early to tell yet, since these cycles haven’t been occurring EXACTLY every three weeks, but I am hopeful.

All is reasonably well on my end. I’m very happy I adopted Kinsey. It’s hard to believe it’s been less than two months since she came to live with us. She’s such a sweetheart, and very laid-back and chill, which suits me just fine. She and the cats are getting along fine.

Here she is begging salami off me:

kinsey

And here I am, as of a few minutes ago, with Orville in the background:

madeup

Perhaps tomorrow…

I’m very sorry I haven’t updated in a week. I’ve felt so horrible. My throat was raw from puking and the stomach scope tube. I tried to learn to eat again. It was so painful.

Just when I was starting to maybe feel human again, it was Thursday and I had to stop eating to prep for Friday morning’s colonoscopy. Nothing solid for the entire day prior to the procedure.

So I had that done this morning. And they found nothing. Not even Jimmy Hoffa. And my throat is still raw and I am still feeling weak and sick and quite horrible.

I have lost ten pounds. And between the illness and the procedures of this week I’ve not had my medicine in like seven, maybe eight days. Last night I was watching Frozen and weeping, overcome by melancholy.

I had arranged for a gyno appointment on Friday to look into the theory that my sickness is caused by some female problem. I will have to cancel it. The gastroenterologist has scheduled another procedure that will take most of the day Friday. They will feed me radioactive food and see how fast it goes through my system. See if I’m digesting food as I should.

I am going to try to start my medicine again tomorrow. I just feel so discouraged and desolate and I do not know how much of this is because I’m off my medication and how much is because I’ve been so horribly ill and no one knows why.

I am going to try to resume work on Charley tomorrow as well. I know no greater consolation.

Tummy trouble continues apace

So I was horribly sick with another vomiting cycle over the weekend and into Monday. I was bedridden, lying around moaning for days, unable to keep anything down, so weak I could barely walk.

I’ve seen a gastroenterologist about all this. In fact I had a scope of my stomach on Monday. I could barely drag myself out of bed to get to the place to get it done but it was pre-scheduled and all I figured they might as well do it now during a cycle to increase their chances of finding whatever was wrong.

They found nothing of interest. And they put anti nausea medication in the IV during my scope, but it wore off and by Monday night I was puking up stomach acids and sobbing and wishing I was dead.

The nausea etc finally stopped Tuesday. I spent the day recovering, trying to re-hydrate and learn to eat again. I am pretty much better this morning but extremely discouraged and depressed.

If the cycles continue like they have this’ll start again in three weeks’ time. It’s been like this every three weeks for months now with no end in sight.

Still very tired

So as I said, while I was dog-sitting for Mom’s dog Kinsey, I slept on the living room floor. This was to keep her company. When Mom is home, Kinsey isn’t even allowed in the house on account of the cat. I let her in the house in their absence but in order to keep her company, and also to make sure she didn’t poop on the living room rug, I slept there. And she slept on the rug next to me. No mess was made.

Kinsey only knows about feral cats and views them as wild animals to bark at and chase. Baxter, Mom’s cat, is terrified of dogs. There was another dog Mom had, Sadie, Kinsey’s housemate and best friend, who was a real sweetheart but VERY small animal aggressive. Sadie regularly killed the aforementioned feral cats and probably would have attacked Baxter. But Sadie died in February (old age) and Kinsey (who is quite old herself) has been alone in the garage ever since.

(Not trying to pass judgment on my mom here. Just stating the facts of the dog’s living situation.)

Long story short, I’m going to adopt Kinsey. Mom is okay with this. I took her to the vet’s on Wednesday, before Mom got back home, for a checkup and to see why she was pulling fur on her butt. She has a huge bald spot there. I thought it must be boredom but the vet says she has fleas and flea dermatitis. (Otherwise she’s perfectly healthy, very spry for a 14-year-old doggo.) I have placed an order for a crate and some other dog things from Chewy.com. Once the items arrive and Kinsey’s flea treatment is completed, she can come stay here.

I think I can get her to coexist with the cats; unlike Sadie, Kinsey was never small animal aggressive. She barked and chased the feral cats but didn’t attack, and she’s a big respecter of territory. At the vet’s office she exhibited no interest at all in the office cat that was wandering around, because she understood it was that cat’s territory and not her own. Whereas a feral cat wandering through the backyard at Mom’s is on Kinsey’s territory and fair game to bark at and chase. Obviously this will still be a delicate mission and the crate is primarily to assist with introducing Kinsey to the cats.

So that is why I slept on the floor while dog-sitting. There is no couch or anything at Mom’s house to sleep on, only a horribly uncomfortable chaise lounge with cushions only slightly less soft than rocks. The floor was more comfortable than that thing.

During my time at Mom’s I had a rather awful manic episode in spite of being compliant with my four psychiatric medications. By Saturday morning I’d been awake for 48-plus straight hours without relief and was very confused and hallucinating from sleep deprivation.

It was awful. Your body really starts to hate you when it’s deprived of sleep that long. My leg muscles stiffened up and ached horribly and I limped when I walked. My glasses with the special ultra lightweight carbon fiber lenses hurt my face and ears too much to wear. I tried to sleep; I lay quietly for many hours, but nothing doing. I was zinging out the eyeballs, higher than a kite, despite being 100% sober. It sucked.

At that point if I had not had dog-sitting duties I would have checked myself into the psychiatric ward, as this was totally a medical emergency, but who would look after Kinsey then? So I gritted my teeth and basically waited out the storm. Saturday during the day I started to come down and slept for four hours. Then that night I slept for five. The next night for six.

Also, on Saturday during the day — and through Sunday, up till that night — I began vomiting again because the world hates me or something.

Though I was sleeping again, I was still noticeably manic when I went to the psychiatric clinic on Monday to tell them what had happened. Talkingveryfastlikethis and jumping rapidly from topic to topic and abnormally cheerful. I didn’t have an appointment to see my psychiatrist until next month, but when they found out what had gone on they were all like, “Wait here, he will see you in ten minutes.”

He’s changing my medicines and advised me to see a gastroenterologist about the vomiting. This Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome thing is a matter of great concern to me and to my psychiatrist because obviously I can’t remain med-compliant if I can’t keep anything down.

I finally stopped puking on Monday and have resumed taking my medicines. I’m very tired from what happened from Friday to Wednesday and don’t feel up to a whole lot. I hope to resume website work tomorrow.

That is all.