Chainsaw Meditation

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , on September 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve always found this whole notion of meditation and ‘find a quiet place to destress’ laughable because, hey, ambient noise, people, life is going on out there and most of us don’t live in soundproofed homes. I literally cannot go anywhere in this house where the ambient noises outside don’t intrude. It’s this cacophony going on across the street today that has my nerve endings on fire. They are doing some sort of overhaul to a house and it involves noisy trucks and digging machinery and oh yes, the chainsaws cutting branches off a tree. And no matter what room I go to, I can hear it, so there is no quiet place to escape.

Chainsaw meditation.

Yesterday I did finally rip the bandage off and get to town. I endured Hellmart to get the foods my kid asked for. Got her script. $294 for 30 pills of generic Focalin. I see why insurance fights against covering it because it is ridiculously overpriced but then again, they fight over paying $54 over a less effective drug that only costs $12 so frankly, big pharma and insurance companies are all a bunch of assholes. I remember awhile back when I was waiting for Spook’s script and this elderly woman told the pharmacy girl she needed her script filled and the employee told her that her insurance wouldn’t pay for it and the lady said, well, I have to have it, so I will pay…and the employee said, “That’s a $900 medication, ma’am.” And of course the elderly woman did not have that to spend so she left without her drugs. It’s just so fucked up all around. Just a minute ago on TV they did a promo for a show about diabetics who are either rationing their insulin due to its extreme costs or scoring stuff on the underground market. And the Epipen debacle…I could rage on and on about that stuff but I will try to stay on point.

So I did the errands and briefly thought getting out of the house and out of Armpit may have been good for me. But then I encountered a wreck on my way out of town and it relit the panic fuse because it’s a road I use frequently coming into town and it has lots of steep curves and Spook gets freaked out by them…and there was this car right there, all bashed up, fire trucks, EMTs, ambulances, cops, flashing lights…And it’s like, damn, I just reassured my kid it was safe to drive there, thank god she isn’t here to see this…She’s already been involved in two car smashes since she was born, though neither were my fault, someone else smashed into us. At least the first time the lady’s insurance paid for damages. After my brother fucked my car up backing into it, there was no insurance reimbursement because my dad and stepmoms are dicks and if they ever mention me not repaying for breaking their SUV windshield…I am gonna tell them their precious man child fucking up my car without an insurance claim makes us fucking even.

I came home and carried everything in and then dissolved into the rest of season 3 of The Magicians. I am kicking myself for not catching onto that show sooner. It is SO good. Pure escapism, but with plenty of messy human emotion. I am going to watch the season 3 finale this morning then start season 4. All this noise does not have me in a good place to focus on much but how disturbing it is for me. Never a good way to start the day but then again, they could have started it at 9 p.m. so I should be thankful for that much. But I am not because this noise thing is a real problem for me, not that the psych professionals give zero fucks.

I need to get the lawn mowed before the lawnmower king resumes chewing on my ankles like some psychotic chihuahua. Friday is my kid free night since Spook is sleeping over at my mom’s. Truth be told, I don’t have the energy to mow and I am very close to telling my dad if it’s such a concern for him, he can do it him fucking self. He wants me to be a grown up but he constantly infantalizes me by not letting me handle my own yard. It’s only been ten days since it was mowed, it’s not that damn bad yet. His obsession is maddening.

I also need to bathe. More dishes to do. It just never fucking ends. And I swear the Zoloft is making me more depressed as opposed to better. The nurse won’t listen. I’ve started pondering CBD oil just to see if it would work but that shit is pricy. I need something to help me out of this rabbit hole.

Ok, enough fussing. A magical kingdom awaits and I am dying to see how it all turns out. And they renewed it for a season 5 so yay to that. Next week the new TV season starts up so that’s something to be jazzed about. Oh and I did a good mom thing yesterday, I grabbed my kid a couple of $1 packs of Pokemon cards and she got this rare one and went freaking bonkers and declared me best mom ever and she couldn’t wait to show her friends…I am pretty raw with this chainsaw meditation so those itty bitty victories are starting to count for a lot more than you’d think. I’ll take any lifeline I can get.


Ripping Off The Bandage

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , on September 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In literal terms, I am generally a rip off the bandage type. In metaphorical terms, weighted down by depressive inertia and panic inducing anxiety, I tend to take my sweet time lifting an edge here, an edge there, taking a break, maybe wetting it down to loosen it so it comes off more easily…

That time has come. I am almost out of bread, the freezer is bordering empty, and my kid pleaded with me yesterday to get to town so she could start her new medication already because she is going nuts at school. I wasn’t fretting it so much because within 2 weeks of starting Concerta, her interest waned and she said she didn’t want to take a pill every day. Then the insurance dicked around and gave her the non extended released metadate which does fuck all and I thought other than the mood swings and impulsive reactions she was maintaining. It’s one thing when the mental issues fuck with my functionality towards my own self care but now it is impacting my ability to do what needs to be done for my child. That infuriates me.

Every day and night for 5 days I have vowed “tomorrow will be different, I will feel better, I can just go get it done.” And 5 days later, it’s still this insurmountable task of dragging my 5000 pound leaden body to multiple places. But I HAVE to do right by Spook so today has got to be the day. I was all determined last night to get some good sleep and be ready to go this morning but alas, my stress stomach aches are becoming a constant companion which kind of makes it hard to feel like venturing out when at any time a wave of spaztic gut goblins might necessitate a need for a bathroom. (Could these disorders be more embarrassing?)

To top it all off, the Zoloft has lost its magical ability to keep me asleep. I keep waking up multiple times a night since the dose increase and I do get back to sleep, but only after I have to spend an hour with my countdown ritual. I think I spend more time counting backwards from a thousand in odd numbers in an effort to get to sleep than I actually spend asleep. And fall starts next week so I can feel the seasonal depressive undertow coming on. I am scared. If I become any more less functional, they’re gonna take my kid and lock my ass up. And as I’ve said before, with shit insurance, you get about 3 days, a new script (be damned if it you can afford it or it takes weeks to do any good) and what kind of help is that?

So I WILL buck up and get my ass to town to get her Focalin, grab some groceries, and then I will return home and zone out to the rest of season 3 of The Magicians and hope the escapism is enough to recharge some of my expended energy. Because make no mistake, these trips to town, out of my safe (ish) zone really take it out of me. Last year they nourished my soul and made me feel less trapped. What changed? Oh, right the Benzo fucking Nazi turning me into a virtual hermit because the world outside feels so panic inducing and threatening. As long as her conscience is clear I guess my life being wrecked is of no consequence.

Now another battle. Finding clothes to wear out in public. I am not even gonna bother with a bath. I bathed Saturday and I own plenty of deodorant and perfume. Faking it til you make it is exhausting. But I don’t know what else to do right now to break free from my depressive imprisonment. Just this one small victory, get to town, get the stuff we gotta have, and get home safely. ONE TASK. I gotta get this right, Spook is counting on me.

Just sometimes…I wish I had someone to count on to help me when things get this bad. Because I didn’t choose this anymore than any sick person does yet because my problems are mental, I am somehow unworthy of help or support. And then I just hate myself for being so weak as to even think I need help or support because hey, I made it 46 years pretty much alone, I’ve got this.

Except this time…I’m not so sure I do got it. It’s terrifying.

Twitching Roadkill

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on September 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In the aftermath of the brief but mentally destructive exchange with my father last night, I am feeling like roadkill. Only I’m not quite dead, still twitching. Lovely mental image but the metaphor is fitting. I am battling the gut goblins, hives, and an utter lack of motivation to do anything but sit or lay in bed and feel completely worthless and overwhelmed. A normal person, I suppose, would spring into action and try to find the offending odor and clean top to bottom through the whole house. A depressed person just goes further down the rabbit hole of depressive inertia and is filled with too many feelings of worthlessness to fight back.

Earlier I had this awful thought about poisoning my dad. Because even though he is 72, his mother is still alive at 92 and 20 more years of his oppressive presence in my life seems fatal to my mental health. And I don’t really do the sadistic thing, anyway, it sickens me, so it was one of those fleeting desperation born thoughts, no serious intent. I keep trying to put things into perspective because a couple months ago when he and stepmonster came to put my AC unit in the window, I was using Gain scented wax melts and they were coughing and choking and had to go outside to breathe because they said it smelled too bad. So the bottom line is, NOTHING I do will ever satisfy them. Torturing myself is not going to help.

I still haven’t gotten to town to get groceries or Spook’s new script. I had planned to do it over the weekend but it would seem whatever oomph I had was drained when I did the dishes Friday, followed by the internet outtage. Then the Dad debacle. I don’t see a trip to town today, not with the gut goblins twisting my innards and sending me to the bathroom repeatedly. So I can feel shitty about not getting shit done. Depression is a sadistic disorder.

I had no idea typing could be so exhausting. Maybe because I am forcing the thoughts when my brain just wants to ‘go away’ to anything but my thoughts. I hate feeling this way. HATE it.

Shitty Internet Service, Panic Attacks, And Fear Of Leaving The House

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on September 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

We were without internet service from 3:30 p.m. yesterday until 8 a.m. today. It wasn’t just our house. I got a call from my dad towards 8:30 p.m. and he said their service was down, as well. Way to go FRONTIER COMMUNICATIONS. The cheats left me a week without service due to their repair schedule, didn’t credit my account, and my service is still spotty and it’s town wide. WORST INTERNET COMPANY EVER. Well, I’ve only ever had two, but this is definitely the worst and proof of why I shelled out mega bucks all those years for cable over DSL. I had certain amenities back then, however, that I no longer have, like no child to support and extra income, so I went with shitty Frontier. And the first year was pretty decent, speed and reliability. This year they’ve gone to hell in a handbasket and they have no answers to explain it. Every other week or so the net goes down and we are at their mercy to repair whatever the problem is. Today it’s been up but the speed is so slow I can’t even stream video except in start and stop mode to catch about 90 seconds of video before the buffering starts so I have to pause and lather,rinse, repeat. FFS. Can’t believe I still have 8 months of contract servitude for what amounts to absolutely overpriced shitty non service half the time.

And while not exclusive to Frontier, this has been a long standing issue for me no matter my provider, when the net goes down or lights on the modem/router are a different color than I’ve seen before…I start freaking out that maybe I got hacked and someone’s been using my network to do some shady shit and get my service cut. I pay on line with debit then I get freaked out that maybe the payment didn’t go through cos, well, much as I love computers and the net, nothing is fool proof, shit does happen. (Like the people who had like a hundred grand wrongly credited to their or account or whatever now they’re going to jail for spending some of it.) The panxiety runs riot any time my service goes down and when it goes down for hours on end, my world is uprooted. It doesn’t matter if I wasn’t even using the net, it’s just the fact that it is there if I need it that is like my comfort blankie. Losing that really sends me into a bad mental space. Last night, until I learned from my dad that it was all Frontier customers in town, I was convinced that my payment didn’t post correctly or I got hacked or my kid accessed some government site accidentally and they shut us down and the Men In Black were about to storm the door…Okay, that was dramatic, but still…Panic gives zero fucks about logic.

Jebus, my dad just returned my daughter, invited himself in and immediately says “I smell cat shit.” Well, his nose is magical because I’ve got an occasional whiff of cat pee from when the boys got in through the window screen but I can’t smell shit so it must be in the carpet (not shampooed for three years when we moved in) and I can’t exactly afford to rent a carpet cleaner and god knows they wouldn’t loan me theirs. That man never has a good thing to say, ever. And I HATE people barging in unvited, it has become an even bigger issue for me since they jacked my Xanax dose down so low….

So low I can barely leave the house anymore even to hang clothes on the line outside or sit on the step with my kid waiting for the bus or get groceries…But yeah, by all means, barge in, insult my house, and then wonder why I can’t fucking stand you. He says the place stinks if I use Febreeze or Airwick plugins or generic Scentsy pots. He cannot be pleased. And no sooner than I started to calm down he called to tell me to move my car to the drive out back because the farmers have their big machinery out and they will hit my car out front…

To make the day even better, the neighbors across the street are huge into hammering and using various noisy saws as well as their OCD lawn mowing and car door slamming and car alarms going off and it’s right next to my bedroom window so…HOW THE FUCK IS IT THAT PODUNK IS MORE STRESS INDUCING AND MAKES ME FEEL LESS SAFE THAN 9 YEARS IN A RAMSHACKLE TRAILER PARK?????????????????????????????????

What I need desperately is a friend or two willing to come in with cleaning supplies and help me get this place into shape that even the royal dickwad couldn’t argue with. Obviously on my own I don’t do well enough. Yet their house at one time smelled like cat piss a palooza and you see the odd bug on the wall and oh, one of their cats shits right in front of the back door but, nooo, it’s all okay for them because they own their shitty house and I rent and they put their names on the line for us to get this place…All I recall is an introduction and a “You gotta talk to the man yourself.” But they take all the credit and make it all about them if I am failing (which I know I am, but I am not throwing in the towel just yet, I got a little fight left in me, just hope I can find it sooner than later) and…Man, if I had money sometimes I swear I’d venture to the dark web and invest in a hitman to rid myself of the scourge that helped me spawn me. Okay, no, it’s just fantasy cos I can’t even run over a possum without feeling like a murdereress so I really don’t have that killing thing going on but…

This went sideways as all my posts do, forgive if you made it this far. I’ll show mercy and wrap it up now. Courtesy of my judgmental prick father, the gut goblins are stomping my innards which means heightened anxiety, last thing I needed. If only The Magicians were real, I’d have them cast a spell on the man so any time he went to say something racist, homophobic, or cruel, he’d get a jolt of electricity through his tongue.

I exercised great self discipline and self censorship there because his tongue was not the first place I thought the electrical charge should go to. He really brings out my inner sadist because, well, he’s a sadistic fuck himself.

Itty Bitty Victories

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday started out as yet one more “I was gonna…” day. It was gray outside so I got used to the idea of rain and gloom. Then the sun came out and blinded which set off my anxiety so my hopes for a calm gray day were blown. I had to escape my own mind so I took my kid’s advice to ‘watch something you don’t think you’d be interested in’. I found The Magicians and started with season one and…Yeah, it is definitely a case where the title gave me the wrong idea of its subject matter. Magic and paranormal shit is my jam. I am loving it. It’s a bittersweet thing, though, escaping to this magical place but knowing…Not even magic could cure this cancerous soul sucking depression. It’s a welcome distraction, at least. Sometimes just getting out of my own head and dealing with other people’s problems is some sort of pressure release valve. Does that sound nuts? Do I seem too preoccupied with fiction? Meh, I’ve always been a TV junkie, wasn’t something that appeared as a way to escape the depression. If anything, it’s a coping mechanism.

The most amazing thing happened yesterday, though, amidst getting into this new show and battling my weather prone ups and downs and anxieties. I DID MY DISHES.

Okay, this is no big deal to people. For me, it is huge. And the difficulty level is higher because, well, I had my kid do dishes once and she yanked on the faucet so much a piece broke and water was shooting up at the ceiling and I’ve just not gotten it replaced so…I have to use a big pan and bring hot water from the bath tub to put into the sink, then water to rinse the dishes, and as many dishes as I had this had to be repeated a couple of times…Not to mention finding a clean cloth or sponge since I am barely keeping up with laundry and everything is either in a dirty basket or unfolded in a clean basket…And my eyesight, not to mention attention span, are very limited so sometimes I have to wash the same dish two or three times because I miss a spot or something…

It was like climbing a damn mountain wearing weighted boots coated in molasses. I wanted to quit. I wanted to retreat to ‘fuck it’ territory and just say, meh, I did a few…But I didn’t. I kept going. With breaks and allowing myself a smidge of The Magicians in between doing dishes here and there. Chiseling away, little by little, it’s the only way I know how to do things that overwhelm me. And I got them ALL done. I even did a quick scrub of the stovetop which helped but it is going to need some elbow grease and I used all of that for the dishes.

But the point is, after 9 days of putting it off while it just snowballed and every day facing it without having the energy to do anything to handle it…The strength came from somewhere at long last and I got it done. And this is where I think, were I on social media, I’d start my own movement of #sanityprivileged. It is so damn easy to judge people with mental health issues because YOU don’t have them so YOU don’t know because you have a sanity privilege. I could go dark and just label a bunch of people I don’t know as insensitive assholes but I prefer to think of it as collective ignorance for most decent, intelligent people. Frankly, if you or a family member does not have mental issues or you don’t work in the field, you are clueless about the entire topic. (I was until it hapened first to my mom, then to my sister, then to me.) I can forgive clueless. But ignorance can be cured with some knowledge and an effort to learn and try to grasp what you can’t otherwise understand.

I digress from the above but I feel it is important to celebrate these rare itty bitty victories. I accomplished something and it took a lot out of me, but…it also helped me feel less lousy about myself and being chewed up by the depression goblins.The sanity privileged scoff and eye roll and spew out gems like get over it, grow up, stop being a baby…These little victories for those with mental health issues MATTER. They are not silly. They count for a lot. And I can’t even say for sure what changed over the course of the 9 days I let it get so out of hand and why even when I didn’t have a clean cup to offer my kid’s friend some tap water didn’t get me moving…Depression is like that. But getting that little victory over the dishes…put me in a better mental state for my child when she got home. It lead to our evening Frasier viewing and silly and cuddle time, though by 9 p.m. her ADHD topic shifts and excitability wore me out and I sent her to her room to watch TV or read or whatever. The difference between the Concerta versus this Metadate could not be more stark. The metadate has done fuck all to help wind her down whereas the Concerta had me feeling like I was living with my loving calm child as opposed to a rabid battery bunny of mood swings and screaming fits.

Today we need to go to town to get her Focalin and get her started on it. I was shocked the insurance actually covered it without another weeklong battle. Hopefully it will help her, it is extended release like the Concerta was. But I still need a bath and I am dealing with heightened anxiety and a churning gut just waiting for my dad’s call to INFORM me they will be coming over to mow. Which baffles the fuck out of me when I end up mowing half of it myself anyway. Just piss off, I don’t need your criticism. He wants you to be good at what he likes, be up to his standards, yet refuses to ponder that much as he loves his lawn mowing, my skills are more computer based which is something he cannot do, doesn’t even know how to turn on a computer. And refuses to learn. I think it’s his hypocrisy and lack of reasonability that really put me off. I am all about fair play. And after years of him running me down for being on disability when ‘nothing is wrong with you, it’s all in your head’…they are now looking into some state funding so they can get paid to drive my brother back and forth to work. He’s 24 fucking years old and aside from medical decisions, he is by law fully functioning with no determination of disability. Just learning disabilities and stunted emotion growth. Oh, he is bipolar but they wouldn’t let him get even SSI to help him gain some independence. Yet they are gonna ask to be paid to drive their own son to work when he has a vehicle and a license….WHAT THE FUCKING HELL, YOU HYPOCRITES?

This really turned into a clusterfuck. I should have posted yesterday when the itty bitty victory was fresh and untainted by all this other bullshit. But weekends have become really stressful for me just because of my dad. He calls me 6 days a week, sometimes 2,3,4 times a day.They show up unannounced, they have critiques for everything, they never say anything good about me. And that pisses me off because I think, with all my mental issues and financial issues, the fact I have raised a child ALONE the last 8 years should warrant me an iota of respect. I know perfectly manicured lawns are far more important than a healthy happy child but…Oh, fuck him and his idiocy. Spook has lost her single digit blissful ignorance as of late. I warned her once she started getting older and maturing they’d turn on her and they have. Constantly criticizing, nagging, telling her she can’t cry in front of them, she doesn’t ‘get’ to have panic attacks and hyperventilate…She is now seeing why I have so little to do with them willingly. They’re toxic. I know they mean well but it’s been this way my whole life with both my parents, they seem to thrive on put downs and making me feel as lousy as they can for all my failings without ever commenting on what I get right. There’s just no point in letting them poison me further. Every counselor I ever had said it was a miracle I made it out of their care alive and fairly sane. So it isn’t just me being bratty cos they’re not warm and fuzzy. They are…family, that thing you love but find it so hard to like…

Okay, I vented, I patted myself on the back, and now I am back to freaking out over what I haven’t accomplished. The little victory felt good for the time it lasted, though.

Different Day, Same Depression

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Last night I thought I hit rock bottom when my kid was playing outside with a friend and he wanted water…but I had no clean cups to use. She told me how nice he is and how rude I was being but…I’m at a loss here. I am barely sitting upright. But I was filled with enough embarrassment and shame to vow that after a good night’s sleep, I would come hell or high water, kick ass right out of the gate this morning.

Shocker: It didn’t happen. I can see in my mind breaking it all down and working slowly through it all but…I can’t seem to force myself into action. Hell, I need a bath and I don’t even know I can manage that much because my mental space is…black. I am filled with self loathing and WANT to break out of this depressive prison and prove that I CAN recover from this self made live burial I’ve done to myself.

What it all goes back to is, even if I were to do my best, it wouldn’t really be good enough. The ONLY things that matter are keeping my kid, my disability income, and being able to feed the cats and use my on line support forum. Thinking my depression could cost me all of that without helping me at all…It’s terrifying. I mean, okay, the dishes situation really needs handled, but I am keeping my kid in clean clothes, food, and baths. She gets healthcare. She goes to school. So why am I only able to focus on what isn’t optimal? Why am I paralyzed with fear no matter which direction I go? As if I have a choice because depression gives zero fucks what you lose when your meds aren’t working, your psych pro won’t help, and you’re just…down and out.

This is so not me. I am a badass. After last year when we were so abruptly forced to uproot and move and come to this place which has really changed me and Spook both because, well, we don’t like it here, we don’t like this house…But I managed, barely. Now…God, I wish I’d left one bridge unburned so I’d have one person who could come in and help me get this place shaped up-without judging me, because yes, I know how awful it is.

And when Spook asks why her friends can’t come inside, at one point, it really was because my lowered xanax had me all paranoid and panicky cos these kids would touch our stuff without permission. Now…I just don’t want them running back to their parents about unwashed dishes, unfolded laundry, a greasy stove top, disorganization…Because in this town I can’t even get a piece of mail without my dad hearing about it. Which I should think is illegal and invasion of privacy but it’s funny how the laws are different in these 400 population rural places. I loathe people being up in my business. I loathe that my own freakishness is now impacting my kid’s social life, but in all fairness, I see no reason the kids need to be inside with our limited space near all my breakables when it’s been warm and sunny outside. There’s a swingset and toys galore and a patio table and chairs and umbrella and water toys…There’s no reason I should be made to feel guilty for not wanting my home invaded with noise I can’t process due to my panic attacks.

But I do feel guilty because failing Spook is just…

I think more and more about how close I am to a hospital stay. But because it’s mental and not physical, it would count against me as a fit parent. And with insurance drive thru treatment, I’d be lucky to get three days, a new med, and bounced out before the med could even kick in. So aside from maybe getting some rest and someone taking care of me for a change, the hospital route is as depressing as battling it alone in the petri dish and my crypt.

The dark thoughts about ending it all pop in more than I’d like. That’s how I know the depression is so damn bad. Suicidal thoughts are not my norm. This is depressive artifact. And as bad as it gets, every day my daughter is talking about how she loves her mommy and one day when she is a highly paid meteorologist chasing storms, she is going to buy us side by side houses so we can still be together…She’s a high maintenance prattling child, but man, she has a good heart and such imagination. Though she’s been slacking off on her spelling words and it’s only 5 words and it’s world war 3 trying to get her to study. She argued over the spelling of one word with me last week for a half hour until I pulled it up on Google and she was forced to admit she was wrong. Spelling is ALL I have ever done well, so listening to me on that matter would benefit her greatly. I did get a giggle when the teacher sent home a paper where the kids had to use the words in a sentence. And, LMAO, bless her heart, she wrote for the word frigid, “My mom is frigid during the winter but I wear tank tops.” LOLOLOL. I was so proud of her for using it correctly, and more proud, that she’s not aware of the common use of the word in reference to women of low sexual skills.

Okay, so now I have had a call and two visits from my dad and brother. I am exhausted from faking the smiles and jocularity. Sick of his obsession with lawns, mainly mine. Just…it’s exhausting and only someone else going through a black depression could understand how true the statement is. The call and visits necessitated a break in the Benzo nazi cutdown. I can’t function even minimally if I can’t breathe because my heart is pounding and I can’t think straight.

Times like this I really wish I was into illicit drugs. I fail to see how they could make me feel worse than the legal ones are. Then again, I slept too close to my wall last night and rolled against it head first so now I have a bruised temple, so maybe altered senses are the last thing I need when I am stupid enough to whack my own head on the wall in my sleep.

I fucking hate depression and anxiety. It has robbed me of well, me. I don’t know who this husk is anymore but I want her gone and I want me back. I just don’t know how to fix it when the meds are making things worse instead of better and the nurse won’t LISTEN.


Posted in anti depressant side effects, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I couldn’t think of a better title except for the incessant annoyance of a cricket somewhere inside chirping. Metaphor for my mental health issues. Can’t find the root, can’t make the noise stop, can’t seem to fix the problem so I just live with it and grow increasingly more irritated and pissed off. Crickets.

Yesterday was a testament to strength in the midst of a breakdown. Just traveling the extra 20 miles to fetch my kid from Armpit school and get her to town for her dr appointment was harrowing. Surrounded by nothing but corn fields and stretches of road, literally in the boondocks. Every sound the car made, every time it shifted too slowly or whatever, my heart began to pound and I became convinced the car was going to break down. On top of that it was scorching hot and I was melting in sweat. My kid didn’t have her pill in the morning so by the time I fetched her and gave it to her and we got to the doctor office…she was loud and busy…then the doctor saw her and she’d barely speak and pulled the shy hiding behind mommy bit. Makes me livid. They kept us waiting for almost a half hour and she went through so many topic changes (a ten year old discussing the illuminati,wtf?) and she colored pictures and she wreaked havoc on some sort of toddler toy with the colors and shapes and bars you slide them up and down. I was getting seriously irate by the noise. It was ADHD in its most primal form. And instead of the doctor getting to see what I have to deal with daily…my kid puts on her halo and instead acts like a social misfit too scared to speak up. Lovely.

After that, we had to go to the pharmacy because the doctor switched her to Focalin and the pharmacy didn’t have it so we gotta wait til tomorrow, or longer, if insurance puts up a fight even though it’s allegedly on their formulary. Then we had to get cat food and I had to feed her and we came home…And it was like I’d run a marathon. All that fear and panic and paranoia, all the while trying to maintain my calm and force the social smiles that say “I’m not a danger to my kid or child, I love being a parent and am awesome at it”…Exhausting. To come home to what has become my nightmare crypt of inertia with the hopes that ‘a good night’s sleep will help and I will kick ass tomorrow on all this housework.” Not happening today.

I finally filled out our renewal for food and medical assistance on line. About 11 days late but within the window. Waiting to find out how much getting child support fucks our situation as opposed to helping it. Because like it or not, if the cash you have coming in has to go for food from losing food stamps, you’re not getting ahead, you’re just getting dragged further down. The system is just lacking in logic. I wish I had the answers. Um, reward people for effort, maybe, instead of punishing them. Truthfully I wish I didn’t have to deal with any of it. I want a job that has benefits that can keep us comfortable, nothing more, nothing less.

Unfortunately, I am pretty useless right now even to myself. Yesterday was the first bat I’d had since last Thursday and I only did it because my hair was gross. Feeding myself is stressful. Choosing clothing is tear inducing. The ONLY thing the Zoloft even at increased dose has done is help me sleep a little more consistently at night without multiple wakings. It has done nothing to ease the depression, anxiety, or energize me. I keep hoping, praying, waiting for ‘something’ to give and things to be different. And I am TRYING. I am washing a load of laundry right now to go hang out on the clothesline.

Which brings me to another issue I am debililtated by these days. Going outside. Hell, even out of my bedroom makes me feel unsafe and shaky. Going outdoors where people can see me…It feels wrong. I can’t explain it, but it’s like the old agoraphobia is coming back and I do not want to go back to that shit. I have to be semi functional for my kid, ffs. What kind of psych professional hears the med isn’t doing a thing for your depression and says, oh stay on it, it’s a low dose, we’ll just double it. I think a month even at a low dose should have given me some relief. Instead it has made me regress. And I can’t talk to this woman, she twists whatever I say because her agenda is monotherapy, period. I wonder how much of my year has been wrecked because of her unwillingness to entertain a dual therapy.

God, I want to work. I just…I can’t even manage enjoyable things. I am in bed at 8:30 every night because it’s my only true safe space, in bed, in the dark. This is not normal thinking. And I told the nurse and she just does not hear…

So here I am in my hamster wheel with my crickets, waiting for the seasonal depression to swoop in soon and make it all the worse and I don’t have any fucking answers. I am seriously starting to think I took the wrong path along the way. I should have just said fuck therapists and shrinks and become a functional alcoholic and pothead. I don’t see how it could have possibly made my life turn out worse than my current mental space.And addiction is considered a disease so there is less stigma and more empathy.

Trying to do the right thing…sucks.