Dear Depression: You’re Winning

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on September 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I am loathe to wave a white flag, on principle, simply because I have always had such a rebellious personality. But at this’s true, the depression IS winning. And what sucks the most about it is that it’s not even the good old blackened can’t fake my way through it, I should be hospitalized depression.

This is so much worse. My mental state is just….at a stalemate. Nothing really enthuses me but bedtime. I feel love and joy but it feels like it’s a zillion miles away. I smile and occasionally it is for real but mostly…smiles and laughs and feigning interest in others and conversation…it’s exhausting and grueling. I don’t care about me, why should I care about them? I am upright and functioning half ass, woo fucking hoo. Yesterday I even BATHED! First time in 6 days.

This notion that you’re not in a depression simply because you’re not laying in bed 24-7 sobbing and starving is asinine.

Much like you can’t see cancer devouring a person inwardly, you also can’t see depression metastasizing and eating away someone inside.

Speaking of cancer…my paternal aunt was just diagnosed with a fast spreading form, so now we have cancer on ALL sides of our genetic tree branches. Because the mental illness on all sides isn’t enough, why not some cancer, too.

After a brief euphoric period following the legal severing of that abcess called the donor…I have returned to Splat and the depression is winning big time. I can’t shake it off, I can’t bully it away, and I am fighting so damn hard. I’ve lost myself somewhere along the line in a way I never have before in any depression.

Part of it is the fiancial aspects. I see these sweepstake commercials about winning $2500 a week for life and think, dear God, I live on a third of that every month, that’d be like paradise. Because our needs are very meager and we are very thrifty. We’re just getting slammed with misfortune this year and I am feeling buried alive, like the only favor I can do for my kid is to die, because as long as she is stuck with my disabled, broke and in debt ass, she will never have anything good.

I know it’s depressive artifact feeding me poison so I lose even more of my piss and vinegar but it’s not totally wrong, either.

It’s fucking sad when just $2000 would pull you out of the gutter and put you on your feet and you can’t find work, you can’t get a loan, and you can’t even have a fundraiser that would save your mental health. $2000. That’s all we need to be caught up and on our feet again. And I can’t even manage that. Deplorable political candidates can motivate people to donate tens of thousands of dollars for no good reason but a single disabled mom with social anxiety can’t network enough on line to fundraise even a smidgeon…

Okay. Depression has turned to boo-hooing and even I want to slap myself. But it’s the truth of how I am feeling right now. Fuck you, depression. You got me pinned and we’re up to a count of six.

I’m not done fighting back yet, feeble as the fight may be. Just…fuck you, depression, and fuck you, brain, for denying me the smallest of joys. Like taking in a homeless, abused pregnant cat who just had 4 beautiful babies. I should be delighted. Instead, I feel…buried alive. But at least the depressive blackness hasn’t hardened my heart so much I’d let a cat go to the pound for certain death just because I don’t need more mouths to feed or care for.

If I ever get to that point, I’ll know I’ve officially become a psychopath.

Right now I am just the walking wounded, trying to duct tape and zip tie my pieces back together so I can be what is needed.

It won’t always be like this. Right?

With my current mental health care options…

I’m afraid this is the beginning of the end. No joy from kittens…Maybe it’s time for electroshock, this is just not acceptable to me. I don’t want to be the walking wounded.

I want to have a zest for life and enjoy every tiny thing and every big thing and not see all the ugliness magnified. I don’t need to be happy. Just let me get to a place where I can at least chase the illusion.

Can’t say it enough. Fuck you, depression.


Court Jester

Posted in depression with tags , , , on September 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

How I wish it referenced the funny hatted court jesters that make you laugh. But no, today was about going to court, testifying under oath, and severing legal ties with The Donor. Who, again, did not bother to show up, even though my lawyer went to his job and informed him, et al. That jackass had the audacity to tell the lawyer he was interested in seeing Spook. He definitely wants legally rid of me. Yet no show. Again. And oh, this is bloody rich. This lawyer my uncle ‘vouched’ for me with…has two ex wives and some issues with them so no wonder he’s so buddy buddy with the donor. He even tried to send him an email REMINDING HIM of his daughter’s birthday and that it would look good in court if he sent her a gift.

What the actual fuck?

Good news, I didn’t lose sleep, I didn’t barf or have nervous stomach issues, and I didn’t have sweat running down my sides. I just went. (Though halfway to town I realized I had on flip flops which I thought might not be allowed in the court, but they’re rhinestone decorated sandals off the $3 clearance peg so I guess they passed muster.) So, legal ties gone, sans the judge’s up in the air order of a child visitation paperwork the lawyer is going to handle for me. Unbelievable. The man doesn’t help, send her a birthday card, doesn’t show up and has to be forced by the state to pay support yet he still maintains the right to see her. To her, he is a stranger. Poor kid was nervous all last night about them taking her away from me and I assured her that was not going to happen. Now she’s fretting about seeing him but nothing I can do there except hope his apathy and preoccupation with himself make it a moot point. To my credit, though, I have been trying to encourage her to consider that maybe in 9 yrears he has become different, changed, become better. I’m a cynic so I doubt it and if I annoyed him, oh, well Miss Chatterbox will make his brain implode. My big concern is his hard line disciplinary views. I don’t spank my kid as it seems idiotic telling her not to hit others if I am able to hit her. HUH? But again…out of my hands.

I AM FINALLY BLOODY FREE! I mean, the visitation thing looms and it will take a few weeks for discharge papers, but…It’s done.

And now…

The judge wouldn’t order the donor to pay my legal fees or back support so you know what that means…YESSSS, ANOTHER FUNDRAISER IS COMING!!! (The old one for Spook’s school clothes, now that season is changing is HERE) But I’ve seen single women with well paying jobs run campaigns for help with divorce costs so I’m not gonna waste a moment feeling ashamed or silly. 2018 has kicked my ass in every way so soon, there will be a new fundraising page and it will be going toward all these bills (brake repair, legal fees, etc) that cause me immense anxiety and depression. My kid hates it here and she went from being an A stupid down to barely getting C minuses because the curriculum is stringent and she has trouble making friends here-unheard of for my Spook the social butterfly- so…much as I am content to never move again cos it was a hassel, I think for her sanity I may have to consider moving back to town and again…money is needed.

One thing about the court paperwork that irked me was that even though I am sole parental custodian and can make all decisions for her without him…I am still required to ‘ask’ his permission if me and her get a chance to move out of state. WTF? Seven years he lived down the street and never tried to see her. But we can’t leave without his consent? Does the law have any idea how utterly idiotic it is? I mean, it’s one thing if the parent is super involved in the child’s life and a move would break that tie and cause all around hardship. But he didn’t give a damn for 7 years if she ate or not so…pardon me if my attitude is ‘go fuck yourself’.

Learned another tidbit from stepmonster I never knew before. 7 years ago, shortly after he bailed on us, she confronted him about financially contributing to Spook’s care and he told her, “Not until you show me a court order.” What kind of monster has the audacity to say that, let alone believe he’s right to even think it? If the state has to order you to support the child, then I should have the right to say no, you can’t see her until I get a court order. But oh, wait…it’s coming.

Pfft. I am relieved but now I am feeling less up and more down. At least I kept my word to my kid. I told her no way in hell was anyone going to take her from me. I may be flaky and moody and high strung and I screw up a lot but I have done right by her the very best I can and most importantly- I love her. My needs come after her, the cats, the bills, everything. She’s first and foremost. Can the donor say the same thing and pass a lie detector test?

There’s this misconception that mental disorders somehow mean you’re physically incapable or that you’re unintelligent. If I could shut off my brain, my body would be a workhorse, as evidenced by mowing this huge lawn by myself. I used to be in advanced placement classes in school because I was ahead of standard curriculum. I am not lazy, lame, or lacking in intelligence.

But right now when I should be joyous and instead my mood has crashed and burned and everything is back to being suckage again…THAT is my battle. When not even good things can bring you out of your funk…It’s called depression and it’s every bit as limiting as other disease/disorder.

Now I am legally and morally free to move on and find the next sexting pervert that will pass as ‘trying to get back out there’.


Winter school clothes fund is here. Donate and a penguin gets its flippers plated in fish juice. Or something.

Rocking The Boat, Coloring Outside The Lines, And Upsetting The Status Quo

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on September 13, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

2:30 a.m. and I abruptly woke and can’t get back to sleep, in spite of 9 mg melatonin. The hamster is back on its squeaky wheel, racing thoughts pummeling my brain. My TV options for self lulling are limited. Right now I am watching a news segment on the ‘teenage vaping epidemic’. Hurricanes, poverty, homelessness, despicable politics, and this passes as an epidemic? Newsflash: kids have been using tobacco and such products for decades and if it isn’t a cigarette or a vape, they will just find another way to rebel. Booooring. Forget opiods,ooo, evil tobacco, nicotine, and vaping. Did I mention boring?

My prior post, dealing with ugh, politics, was met with 3 brave souls clicking the like button. I’ve noticed any time I try to cover a ‘controversial’ topic outside this blog’s mental health scope, it is often met with disinterest, disgust, and hey. I get it. Clicking like on a post that even remotely touches on issues like politics, abortion, religion, etc, could put someone in the line of internet trolls and zealots, so fair enough. At the same time, it’s symptomatic of what’s wrong with this country right now. The people speaking up most and loudest are the zealots, the bigots, the narrow minds who think only their political party is right and the rest are libtards or right wing wingnuts. Some of us fall in the middle, independent thinkers who stick to their long held views without closing their mind to new ideas. And new ideas and principles involving your beliefs are sorely needed. Way I view current ‘head in the sand’ wishy washiness on controversial topics is this.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

It’s so damn easy to practice denial and not be bothered if it doesn’t personally impact you. But one day it will involve something you closely identify with and….who will speak for you since you kept your silence as long as it didn’t impact you?

Giving the public food for thought is pointless, though, as it’s like verbal bullimia, they just purge what is too ugly to cope with. And hey, fair enough, some days I skip any sort of news cos it is too corrupt and sad and icky but then again, I am signing a dozen petitions fighting for the lives of animals, against cruelty to animals, in favor of more aide to poverty sticken citizens, political (ugh) causes I find resonate…

And I am doing this while juggling single parenthood, a never ending noose of financial battle, and my multitude of mental health disorders. Some things really do matter and I really do care. And if I weren’t so crippled by mu anxiety issues I’d probably be out on the front lines protesting-and teaching my daughter to do the same- because the only voice that goes unheard is the one that never has the courage to speak up in some manner. I don’t want to instill this ‘don’t rock the boat’ mentality in her. I want her to know she has rights, she is entitled to be who she is, believe what she does (even if she thinks we’re gonna win the lottery, build a castle, and have a moat filled with alligators.) I want to empower my child. Not to offend, not to upset the status quo just for the sake of trolling or rebelling idly but…because this is America and we have rights and are free to express ourselves yet everyday that right is eroded. Rock the boat a little or a lot if your rights are being stomped on.


In the last two days, I have made a trip to town, dealt with both family factions, tackled the enormous task of mowing my lawn, put up with my kid having 4 days of her friend over to bicker, I did more dishes. And my body aches and my mind is on overload and I just want to rest. But my mind won’t cooperate, round and round it goes, and much like the Ratt video for the song of that name…my thoughts are like rats scurrying across the dinner table and upsetting the precarious balance that already exists. Friday I have court for that whole legal surgery of ridding myself of the donor and I am hoping to pegacorn this is the last one, this formal shit gives me digestive issues from anxiety.

I watched something recently about a mom who had mental problems and multiple breakdowns and her son asked the dad, “Did I get it from her? Is that why I am weak?” And it was all I could not to laugh. While mental health issues tend to be hereditary and that is a factor…calling those of us who keep fighting to get better weak is not merely insulting, it’s ignorant and ludicrous. If your character is weak, that isn’t a mental disorder. That’s a personality disorder, get thee into psychotherapy and quit blaming mommy. Because like it or not people, NO ONE CHOOSES TO HAVE MENTAL DISORDERS. Blaming a parent who passes this junk dna onto you is what is weak. Much like diabetes or other inherited conditions…it’s no one’s fault, there is no blame, you just cope best you can and face the problem and move the fuck along. If you can’t do this…then yeah, you’ve got weak character.

So in closing…this blog is probably going to stay primarily focused on mental health but rebel that I am, outspoken as I am…I am from time to time going to spout off on ‘controversial’ topics that are likely to piss people off or at least even die hard readers squirm a little. Sorry, not sorry. I’m tired of walking on political eggshells and suppressing my views and trying not to point out the sorry state of the world lest it invite trolls to migrate my way. Fuck that. Whether the issues touch me personally or not…

I will not remain silent until one day there is no one to speak for me.

And no, the voices in my head don’t count. They’re all in a big fight over who gets to sleep in the bed and who gets stuck on the lumpy futon or beanbag chair. JOKE.

If I can find humor in all this ugliness then I suggest a collective surgery for my fellow Americans to remove the sticks in their asses. Literary gloves are off. I will talk about whatever I want in this blog, theme or topic or ‘writing what readers want’ be damned. Censorship is the first step toward taking away free speech, even if I am censoring myself. I didn’t let fucking Tipper Gore censor the music I liked at 14, I went out of my way to find uncensored versions of albums so…I will not become a shrinking violet at 45.

I will just need massive amounts of Xanax to deal with the inevitable trolls that wordpress will fail to filter out. And it’s okay. Some Troll Spam amuses me and makes me feel like I have a genius IQ. Bring it.

Now…what to do with my sleep resistant spinning thoughts…News isn’t working to bore me to sleep. Informercials ain’t doing it, either. BBQ skewers through my brain via ear canal?

Fresh out of skewers so…back to the insomnia shuffle. And today, if it kills me, I am going to allow myself to feel exhausted because I have accomplished much in a couple of days and am due a break even from my own self bullying. And the fact I can see this is what is needed for me to recharge physically and mentally is not just a sign of strong character…

It’s a sign of mental strength, too. Anyone can boast about their good qualities. It takes a truly tough person to admit their weaknesses.

Politically (IN)Correct Thoughts

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on September 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

***Potentially triggering topics and unpopular opinions with politically incorrect views, avoid if you’re not wearing your big person underpants, author is not responsible for any wedgies this post may cause.****

This post *will* include its mainstay mental health topics but first…some personal ranting on topics near and dear to me.

I try to avoid spouting off on hot button issues like religion and politics. Frankly, none of these things have a place in my corner of my world. I am not democrat, republican, Baptist, Catholic.I am just…me. Labels bore me and the world’s obsession with labeling everything bores me even more. Suffice it to say, spouting off on topics that are triggering might land me stuck with more icky labels but I’ve been repressing what some might consider ‘controversial’ topics to avoid such grotesqueness. We are the land of free speech so I am disgusted by how easily someone can type out a string of text meant to be sarcastic/joking/thoughtless that suddenly becomes hateful and basically costs them their career and turns them into a pariah. Which in this day and age is viable on any topic at any moment, even something as asinine as feeding your kids box mac and cheese cos omg, the toxic artificial dyes…Kill too slowly if you’re a dumbass. Oops, there goes my TV deal for I have been offensive with my insensitive humor.

Yes, I am talking about Roseanne, and I don’t need to like the woman to have enjoyed her show, original and reboot, and I recently binged it all and ya know what? It’s like we have de-evolved since the late 80’s-early 90’s run of Roseanne, because that show was rude at times, offensive, it tackled hot button topics (in which the characters eventually opened their minds and evolved) and made fun of itself constantly and PEOPLE LOVED IT…But hey, one idiotic Tweet from the star and bam, the world goes bonkers, she’s a raging racist, she’s the devil, she must be banished completely. OVER A FUCKING IDIOTIC TWEET. Please understand, I do not know Roseanne Barr. Her newfound politics are at odds with my own beliefs, and I do think based on her own self presentation, she’s kind of unlikeable and Ambien or not, intentional or not, probably did throw out that cruel Tweet that started the melee based on some ignorant personal bias. Perhaps she got what she deserved. Yet our own commander in chief hourly hurls insults at everyone and everything and yet…he still his job. Politically correct or incorrect, it’s too stupid to even comprehend. Not like Roseanne had the launch codes to nuke city thus posing imminent threat to all. But the one who can access that and is renowed for whiplash mood swings and knee jerk behavior has access and still has his job.

How are people not thinking about this logically?

I’m the first to admit with my bipolar depression and crippling anxiety that logic is not always a friend by my side. I can have knee jerk reactions, overreact, I get flustered and fight or flight kicks in so I lash out with sarcasm, macabre humor, and more vitriole than is called for. I am this about myself, which is why a few years back, I put myself in ‘time out’ on matters that get me riled. My general rule is if it’s still bothering me 48 hours later after I have calmed down and the mood tides have changed…then it’s a legit problem to be handled. If it’s vanished from my mental space or seems pfft, what was the big deal…Then I can differentiate between being overreactive and being properly reactive. It’s been a good system for me. Which is why I have dozens of draft posts saved because I am pretty passionate to begin with, before my wonky brain chemicals chime in. I think I have only ever ‘reanimated’ 3 out of dozens of drafts because once I gave myself the cooling off period…I could see more clearly. The problem with that is that real life rarely gives you the option for self imposed time out to cool your jets so sometimes, bipolar people are slapped with nasty labels they really didn’t deserve.

Don’t get me started on the impact political correctness has made on our ability to use humor, or even slang, as a coping mecahnism. Or yeah, let’s do get me started on that. That and how in our collective lack of wisdom as a people we have started to taint and villify words that have multiple definitions but for whatever reason, only the bad ones are deemed relevant therefore use of these words is insensitive, rude, politically incorrect, etc.I won’t link to the post that kind of sparked that one for me because the writer is very fair with valid views and a wonderful way of expressing those views. But learning that by my occasional use of words like ‘retarded’ or ‘stalking’, I am no longer using the dictionary properly and I am being insensitive and well, a dick. I disagree with this, but I guess that’s the sort of thing of an insensitive dick-ish person would do. Still, and YES, I did consult the dictionary for the multiple definitions and usages of the suddenly offensive words, and there’s no legal precedent in a dictionary declaring using these words is politically incorrect or offensive. But we are no longer a society who deals in truths, facts, or ponders intent before we start black balling people and getting our ruffles feathered. All I can say is, I TRY to be sensitive and I do not take things such a crimes of stalking or cruelty of calling developmentally delayed people retared as jokes. So the next time I am outside with my kid and our cats are slithering through the long blades of grass chasing bugs or whatever and I do my ‘wild kingdom’ voiceover that makes me kid laugh…I am still probably going to say, “The striped feline lies in wait as its prey approaches, closer, then moves away and the feline stalks along behind….”

It’s not so much as get a joke. It’s more like ‘use a dictionary and learn the multiple uses of these words that are not always deragatory nor criminal therefore people who use them are not always insensitive louts making fun of very serious topics’. Tyvm.

Politics…I started Binge watching an old one season run “Commander In Chief” with Geena Davis and aligned with my prior viewership of Scandal and Madame Secretary…What TV is teaching me (my meds rotted my brain already, pfft, tv has now power over my swiss cheese gelatinous brain dwelling organ) and….If I do decide to break a 25 year streak of avoiding voting booths and vote this year…I find I relate more to independents than to R or D. Politicians are just vile self serving creatures with no scruples and zero conscience. And it’s this inability to side with those with decent values and a conscience is a stumbling block for me. I don’t need to agree 100% with their views but I often find myself in 99% disagreement with both sides (even if my current views lean left, that’s cos they labeled it, I didn’t.)

In memorium of 9/11…

I have memory troubles. I don’t remember much beyond my child’s birth or when I got to go see Skid Row and Pantera when I was a teenager.ONE THING I have never forgotten, though, is where I was when the planes hit the twin towers. I was supposed to go to a crappy part time cleaning job that day and I suck at cleaning so I was about to be fired anyway…But I turned on the news and I saw what was happening and I remainded glued there for hours and hours. I knew none of those people. Never been to New York. But I cried, and I cried, and I cried. Then I cried some more. I felt such agony and empathy. Wished I could do something, anything, to offer comfort to those waiting to hear if their loved ones made it out alive. I couldn’t take a phone call or answer my door, I was far too shaken and couldn’t stop crying. I was profoundly affected and my last thoughts were of terrorists or the economy. My every thought was with those lost in the tragedy, those who so bravely went into to find and recover victims, the families of those waiting to hear one way or another…all those husbands and wives and parents and children, friends…I didn’t know them. I had no real reason to go so overboard with my feelings. Except it was how I truly felt.

Yesterday, in an act of questioning myself and my current feelings, I listened to a call in Donald Trump did to a TV show back on 9/11. He may as well have been discussing his golf game, his tone was so flat, casual. Actually, his golf game would have gotten him more emotional. He wanted to talk about losing hundreds of friends that day (zero 9/11 funerals he attended) and oh, bummer, they shut down the wall street nasdaq bullshit but oh, hey, now with the twin towers gone, my building is the tallest…No emotion. Words mimicked to feign humanity and humility yet so false it was nauseating. A day that should have been about the victims, their families, our country…and he made it all about him.

17 years ago, before he was commander in chief.

So if my distaste for this man’s personality has lasted 30 years even long before he became president…I’m not being politically correct or incorrect. I am being honest.

And honestly, he’s in good company. I watched my daughter playing with her neighbor friend the other night and caught her bossing him around, yelling at him, the defying me and telling him what lie they were going to tell me about it…And she was just so mean and sounded so nasty and so selfish…all I could think is, “Thank God I don’t have to be her playmate.”

Some personalities rub you the wrong way and that’s not political.

So maybe sometimes I can’t trust my mood swing to operate safely and properly so I make poor choices or say dumb things.

On something that has plagued me nearly 2 years now, though, I finally have found clarity by looking back long before ‘fake news’ was a thing and hearing it from the horse’s mouth himself. Politics aren’t even relevant to this one. I just don’t like arrogant, narcissistic money whores whose ego are so massive they’d have to call in to a show on a devastating day in U.S. history to talk about himself.

17 years later I still remember sitting home in front of my tv with tears streaming down my face at the loss of life and all the broken families and broken hearts and absolute destruction…I don’t even always like people and i managed to have empathy and show sadness not for photo op or credit but because…

It’s the decent thing to do as a member of the human race.

And it comes naturally to you if you are decent. If not, well, you call in to a TV show and talk about yourself then get elected president, and live sleazily ever after while insulting your citizens daily and meanwhile, a woman who I might fight repugnant on some levels, actually found a way to make me laugh during the current climate..and YOU’RE FIRED.

I am not defending her, her words were awful, but seriously. If we’re going to hold an actress that accountable then our president should be in the unemployment line right along side of her. It’s not like she met with a military widow in mourning and said, “Your husband knew what he was signing up for.” No that act of offensive cruelty was done by….

If your eyes are open and you have a brain, you know what I am saying, incorrect as it might be.

For all those lost on 9/11…you are not forgotten. For the families and friends who lost you…you are not alone. You will forever be in the thoughts and prayers of those of us who have also not forgotten and never will. Time passes and life goes on…but memories are forever and American’s with good hearts also have long, good memories.

Tweet that. Wait, no, that’s kind of heartfelt and kind, that’d never fly.

Go see what the Kardashian West crew is doing, that’s about all the intellectual stimulation Twitter can handle.

<<<<<<<politically incorrect rude nasty woman says 'sorry not sorry'.

Shame And Mental Health Disorders

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on September 7, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

FYI, yesterday’s rant was about social media whoring but aside from, ha ha, making me look like a social media horror (and failing to draw any attention to the topic), it was actually pretty coherent (for me) and a decent read if you want a point of view that’s not brainwashed by people as brands.

Today’s rant is going to be a grab bag of this n that. Which is kind of how I view my own mental chaos in writing this blog. You know it’s 99.8% going to be on mental health issues but whether you will relate to whatever ones are being railed against is…iffy. Personally as a kid, I LOVED grab bags at stores and flea markets because sure, I could get a trial size tube of toothpaste and floss and a comb…OR a I could get some out of package eye shadow, glittery nail polish, and some funky sunglasses. You just never knew and that was part of the thrill. In my older age with a child who loves these ‘blind bag’ toys of Shopkins, My Little Pony, Pikmi Pops, et al…I’m a little wary of shelling out $4 for a toy she might already have on the slim chance it will be one she doesn’t already have. Adulthood definitely robs you of your childlike excitement for surprise, if you know, you have to pinch pennies out of your pennies.

Fortunately, this blog is free so even if the post is a grab bag full of foul tasting dental hygiene products, you didn’t pay for it and you don’t have to take it home. (But hey, our fundraiser page is still open and I owe my dad for my car’s brake job and we have sick kittens so if my ranting resonates, feel free to say so with a fiver or whatever.) Still, what you take away from my writing is indeed a grab bag, not always gonna be great for everyone, but there’s always the CHANCE it could be awesome so it’s a little exciting, right? Meh.

So, depression and shame. Yeah. We had a week of temps in the 90’s with high humidity-the kind where even cat hair in the air sticks to your damp skin- and of bloody course, our window unit AC DIED. Even with fans and open windows the daily temp inside was in the 90’s, the cats even wanted out to catch a breeze. And when it’s that miserable and the weight and moisture weigh me down, I’m more useless than my norm. So laundry piled up, the dishes piled up, there were two days it was so hot I felt too sick to eat more than a couple of potato chips, just refilling ice cube trays and choking down my meds were a chore. I tried to pep talk myself, bully myself, but when the air is so thick you bead up with sweat sitting in front of a fan…hard to get motivated. So I let it all go and focused only on what was necessary. Kid getting fed and to school, trying to keep the cats fed and cooled and of course, attempting to save these kittens the mama cat ditched. It’s not looking good, in spite of all my efforts but I’ve got to fight for them best I can cos, well, it’s who I am.

I was on high anxiety mode during that scorching miserable week, worried people might drop by and see the biohazard (at least the cat boxes were scooped) and that causes shame. Unfortunately, shame doesn’t help with depression. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. I mean, geesh, that kitchen was smelling pretty gross with the sink filled with skanky week old dirty dishes and I was pretty mortified by that but I can’t say it’s never happened before. Prior to having a kid, it was actually my norm. And I was kind of renowed for throwing out dirty dishes rather than washing them, pre-Spook days, cos hey, second hand dishes are pretty cheap at thrift stores…This time a few things sat so long they either rusted (love my dollar store stuff) or couldn’t come uncaked even with scalding hot water soak and scrubbing so I just pitched those…And felt ashamed but after a week and it finally cooled down, I was just giddy to be up and doing laundry and washing that mountain of dishes. It’s just a dent in what needs to be done but for me, it was a molehill-mountain that I scaled successfully and I felt proud of myself. Pride is a much better feeling than shame.

Shame is a big part of mental health disorders, though. I’ve heard it more than once from others when I’ve gone down the rabbit hole. “Have you no shame? Look at this place, look at yourself, when was the last time you bathed?” Instead of shaming me into action it just added to my desire to keep people out of my safe space. Of course, I have shame and I feel it deeply. I want desperately to do better for my kid, for my, for the cats. I fret constantly that even when I consider the place ‘immaculate-ish’ some judgey clean freak will spy it and decide I am unfit to raise my kid. And that’s a crock of shit, considering how many parents buy their kids everything, keep an immaculate house, yet still deny them food or beat them. Sorry if clean freakiness isn’t high on my priority list when I am just trying to stay afloat. And also…fuck the domestic goddess bit. I tried faking it and fact is…I’m a slob. I keep the trash taken out and the cat boxes cleaned but if I drop an ice cube on the floor I don’t even bother to pick it up half the time. When it melts, it will clean a patch of tile, yay. I don’t take shame in being the anti domestic goddess.

I do take shame in my mental issues causing it to mount up and make me feel so…buried alive.

Onto my next topic…

Since the psych pros can’t agree on my diagnoses and have me ten kinds of confused…I’ve been poking through the internet (and I know not everything is true, I don’t buy that Trump once said the word ‘monkey’ thus he is a raving racist, my god, even democrats can do better than that smear campaign)…I find one of my biggest problems throughout my life has been anxiety and complete inability to focus and prevent my mind from spinning and wandering. Or I will become so engrossed in something I seem to leave the real world aside from feeding the living critters here. It’s like my brain is too damned full and most of it is meaningless pop trivia (I remembered the words to “Love Shack”, for fuck’s sake, and I can’t stand that song or band!) Yet I can’t quite remember what day I bathed this week, I forgot to mow 1/4 of my lawn, I am constantly starting things and not finishing them not because I lack follow through but I get distracted and my mind…moves on. It’s a carousel on warp speed than rarely slows down, especially at night when it’s time to sleep. From everything I’ve read, both firsthand accounts and the literature…I have so many hallmarks of adult ADHD, it’s like a blind man could see it.

95% of my psych care, however, has centered around professionals insisting this is secondary to the anxiety and depression. I buy that to an extent, but I also did their stupid borderline personality disorder test and while I have a trait or two here and there, it’s not consistent behavior, the mood stabilizers have changed my behavior completely, my thinking has evolved…I simply don’t agree that is my big issue. My opinion means shit with professionals but I stand by it, right or wrong. I live with me, I know all 45 years of my history and I don’t need to check a chart and read the notes of ten other people over 20 years who spent an hour total with me and labeled me. I had attention issues or absorption issues even as a kid. It seemed like some anti social loner thing but it was just too damn difficult for me to maintain focus on group activities and even school. Wandering mind syndrome and traffic jam of the brain are real things.

Problem is, on the rare, rare occasion I find a doctor willing to treat the ADHD, insurance won’t cover the medication and I can’t pay out of pocket even for the generic version…It helps so much, brings so much clarity to my life and I finish things without starting and stopping and I can write on topic and hold coherent conversations, read a book, focus on playtime with my kid. And insurance companies who won’t cover ADHD meds just because I am an adult, well, they’re full of shit and they are evil. EEEVIL, I say. This medication could drastically improve my quality of life and to be told nope, we won’t pay and you can’t, sucks to be you…Maddening. My reality.

Okay, this wasn’t supposed to be a long rant. I am half tempted to try getting whatever passes for Focalin through some foreign pharmacy, this lack of focus is mucking up my life so much. My luck though they’d cut it with something toxic and I’d end up in a persistive vegetate state which while similar to my current state, I do prefer to be able to go pee for myself and ya know, not get turned like an egg to avoid bedsores. I’m a snob that way.

So I shall bring this to a halt and hope a couple of people liked today’s grab bag. Since my meds are sucking out my creativity and I have zero inspiration to write fiction, this blog venting is my only outlet for my need to write. So yeah, a couple of likes remind me to just keep venting, quality writing or not. It’s a purge that is necessary for me to not Z Whack random people who cut me off in traffic or whatever is pissing me off that day.

For those who finished reading this…spork of fortitude for you. You’re very patient and dedicated. And have a better attention span and ability to follow a single thought at a time.

I envy you.

My Effing Brand Is MENTAL CHAOS!

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , , , , on September 6, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Read an article earlier about today’s ‘gig’ culture, which at my ancient of 45, I thought was some sort of computer storage reference slang. Apparently it refers to ‘millenials’ and their social media ‘gigs’ where they work so hard at building their ‘brand’, ie; themselves, to make what amounts to minimum wage except for the, of course, 1%.

I thought it was the height of idiocy when celebrities and such started being labeled ‘brands’. Silly me grew up in the days where we rode our dinosaurs to school while envying our friends wearing BRAND NAME SHOES AND CLOTHING. This whole ‘people as a brand’ thing baffles the fuck out of me.

And this whole ‘internet star’ and ‘meme’ thing not only baffles me, it honestly annoys me the way having a bug hover in your face does. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good meme. Like Grumpy Cat, Honey Badger, and Scumbag Brain. Some half literate teenager who appeared on Dr. Phil and speaks some form of language no linguist could decipher…Um… HUH?

It’s all so bloody silly and petty and vapid and omg, this is the world we are living in. Even our ‘most powerful man in the world’ is so prevalent in social media, it’s hard to take him seriously. I guess 30 years ago when I was second hand reading my mom’s sleazy Enquirer and Star tabloids I was silly and shallow but I never took any of it as gospel, it was fodder to keep my brain from going comatose. Nowadays, social media is everything. Number of followers, likes, comments, it all creates your self worth if you have any kind of social media presence at all.And oh, here’s a hilarious irony or morony, in my lingo- employers check your social media to determine whether you’re fit to be hired BUT ALSO if your social media presence isn’t large enough, they don’t want to hire you.

Damn me for reading my own email subscriptions and getting exposed to this drivel. And the worst drivel of all was the millenial writer pleading her case that millenials aren’t narcissistic, vapid attention whores forcing themselves down the internet’s throat. No, it’s former generations ruining the economy for them so that they have to work real jobs as well as pimp themselves on the net in ten various social media forums in hopes of getting followed, liked, and popular so they might make some money on the side.

The saddest part-and this is the second article I’ve read in the last week referencing the topic- is crowdfunded healthcare. Where people need freaking surgeries to LIVE but have no health insurance or crap coverage so they take to the net and gofundme in an effort to raise funds. And once again, the popular kids, er, diseases, win out. No one wants to donate to someone (like me and Spook) with 2 followers and no special ‘narrative’ to make it interesting thus worthy. First, that Americans even have to fight tooth and nail for healthcare is disgusting. Second, people are thrilled to donate millions and millions to political campaigns yet those same people can’t shell out ten bucks toward someone needing a new lung or medication or well, less dramatic but necessary, food and shelter.

It’s reached a level of stupid my brain simply cannot compute.

So allow me to promote myself as a brand: fucking.mental.chaos. That is me, that is my brand. No consistency, mood swings, posting at all hours on all topics, never staying on point, can’t focus to save my life…Paranoia, anxiety, depression…Money problems, kid won’t mind me, sick pets I can’t take to the vet, can’t afford to buy enough food…And I’m not even pretty or young and my narrative of being a single mom on disability isn’t even that unique. No wonder my fundraisers are epic fails.

Yet desperate as my child and I are…I never sell out my own principles even to get money. I never started blogging for attention. I’ve only ever handed out my url to like two people, everyone else meandered along however people do on line and clicked the follow or whatever. My goal was to get story out there so maybe just maybe someone out there feeling just as shitty and thinking shitty thoughts might say, wow, this chick gets it, maybe it’s worth sticking around just to laugh at how ridiculous the world has become even though I want to curl up and cry and die or implode or all of the above…

I’m not Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, et al. I don’t do that shit. So my social media presence is this blog and oh, I once submitted a question to an Abiword message board under my real name. What an attention seeking money grubbing sleazeball I am!

But I digress. Mental chaos. I tagged this blog with that term on the intro page 7 years ago and it remains relevant and damned accurate. It is my brand. It’s not a popular selling brand but it is my own and frankly, obscurity looks pretty damned comfortable in comparison to what amounts to the corner of a shady street where everyone leans in your car asking if you wanna follow them.

I miss when hookers did that classy thing where they offered sexual favors for money. That was something I could respect.


Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on September 3, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Everyone finds themselves stuck ‘in a rut’ from time to time, or hell, even more often. Usually it’s monotany of routine, work, bills, kids, etc.

When you have depression, the ruts are different. Every day, you find yourself hoping THIS is the day whatever mental dam holding you back breaks and you can get out of that deeply dug rut. Sadly it’s not that easy 99.9% of the time. And I use that number because, sure, from time to time, from out of nowhere, I will emerge from my rut for a brief period and amaze myself with how much I accomplish.

The truly awful ruts, however, never seem to go away. And the more you try to dig yourself out and hold yourself to mainstream standards, the worse it gets. Everyone looooves giving their “pull yourself up by the boot straps’ pep talk and they NO idea. They wouldn’t have a clue if they bought a vowel from Pat Sajak and Vannah White walked her sparkly gown wearing butt to stand in front of the illuminated tile.

Depressive ruts are trenches. Almost like freshly dug graves you fall into and you try to claw your way out but you just end up dirty and sore and exhausted with bloodied fingernails. And it doesn’t even have to be a particularly brutal rut. Sometimes even medicated and upright half functional, you just feel like you’re never going to escape your rut, your living grave. You scream for help. No help comes. You tell yourself you can only count on you to save yourself so you keep digging and bloodying your nails some more. To no avail.

I understand I harp on depression ad nauseum here but since it’s such a huge factor in my daily functionality and this whole blog is about depression, it seems appropriate even if redundant. It’s not whining or complaining. It’s venting about a real topic that mainstream society dismisses as some sort of weakness of character.

The test of character is to keep up the battle even when your fingernails have been pried off from digging at the dirt of your rutting grave.