Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

Happy Fuckin' New Year

ARRRRGGGG. Doc was being so mean! I'm so glad he went out. He has a million reasons to be angry right now, and every right and privilege to expect me to deal with it and be supportive, but he is being so MEAN!

Two little girls asked for money today, and when denied, once left alone with the scooter, they kicked it over, and broke the handlebar. The one that is the gas and back brake. And the starter. But mostly the gas. And of course B couldn't be arsed or bribed to fix it today. So Doc went to work on it with some zip ties and got the face plate to stay on so the spedo isn't dangling at his feet. These two kids really fucked up this bike. We're talking a couple hundred dollars of damage. They weren't from our neighborhood. I know all the kids of color that live in our walls. There was a shady car following them.

Happy Fuckin' New Year. You got everything paid off before the end of the year but you still start in debt! Thanks, God! Fucking kids with no respect. Fucking parents with no pride. You get a lot of that in Vegas. Doesn't matter the color. There's more white trash here than trash of color, and that includes the immigrants.

I love our immigrants in our neighborhood. The one corner section works on suping up cars and pick-up trucks and having street concerts in the summer and having small dogs that they let come over to Chewy to say Hi, and they say Hola to me. And I ask them how they are in Spanish. Sometimes I will throw in a spanish phrase I've learned from advertising or packaging. They really liked my reference to Angel Soft toilet paper, "suavidad y resistencia", one of the little kids recognized it because he had asked his mom what the big words said. They laugh at the crazy girl with the missing teeth and the scared little dog. No, they laugh with me. On some level, I do realize how "norms" must see me. It's just, most of the time, I don't care.

I read an article on today about nicotine and schizophrenia today. I didn't realize the relationship was so close. So that's why my doctor never hassled me about smoking. Sure, it would be better to use nicotine gum or patches, but the tobacco and tubes are way cheaper. So, smoking it is. I may get my own vape pen and try that out. I like hookah, so I should like vaping. Apparently nicotine improves memory and cognitive function and reduces "extrapyramidal" (sp?) symptoms, like shaking, twitching, rocking, leg shaking, and also helps deal with reaction to stimuli, so it reflects more of what a normal person would experience in what can be panicking stimuli for a schizophrenic that they have a hard time processing normally. The same part of the brain that regulates that response also happens to be a nicotine receptor. Fascinating stuff. The more I learn about my illness, the more my life makes sense, and the more I find that my most vexing and inexplicable flaws actually have an explanation.

I looked up my shrink on, and looked up his specialties. None of them include PTSD, Schizoaffective, or Schizophrenia or Clinical Depression. So, I think he is studying me. Maybe to add to his specialties. He seems fascinated by me, and I of course love that. And his front office assistant, Robin, is a blessing. She recognizes my voice, jokes around with me, calls me and checks in with me, and always gets my paper work done as quickly as possible. And always calls me when it's done. If only there was a psychotherapist in the practice. I could really get into therapy again.

So even though I am butthurt by Doc, I am so worried about him going out. He's going to a local casino to meet with his friends and get something to eat and give them their xmas gifts. What if the handle bar falls off while he is driving? I asked him to call me if anything went wrong and he said, "If anything goes wrong, I probably won't be able to call you". See? He was being mean! Don't say that to me with a limited supply of Xanax in the house. You're going to get home and find me passed out on the kitchen floor surrounded by blood, vodka and cranberry juice, encircled by the cats, daring each other to poke me. Not cool, man.

But once he sees his friend, he will be better. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow won't start out with violent prepubescent panhandling vandals.

Major is in the kitchen doing his horror movie audition practice. Now meow like you're being gutted by a rusty machete. Good, very good.

Funny how I've had this illness most of my life and I am still learning how it affects me. Still finding explanatory tidbits. Tripping over clinical truths. I'll have to write a book about it one day. I still have a lot to learn. Like maybe read the whole site and digest it and then write a book when I've figured out how it applies to me.

A scary thing, they are starting to do research on the effects of ECT on psychosis. It didn't make me less psychotic, less depressed, less anything. It destroyed my memory. And it just didn't help. Although, they did it on the wrong side of my head. They thought I was right handed and didn't check with me. I'm left handed, so they did the bilateral ECT on the submissive side of my brain. No wonder it didn't work. But I am afraid to try it again. I can't risk my memory getting any worse. And the little bit of psychotic I cling to seems just enough to help me cope with the outside world when I have to.

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