The Sandwich Saved Me

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on July 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

What do you do when depression is flogging you and your efforts to fight back take more out of you than give back?

For me, I retreat into binge watching TV shows. This weekend, it’s been both seasons of Jessica Jones, based on a Marvel comic. For the last few years, I’ve been absorbed with the DC comics series like The Flash and Arrow. It never occurred to me Marvel series might have something quirky to offer until I watched this year’s Cloak and Dagger. Now I have two Marvel universes to get lost in when the sandwich isn’t saving me.

Come on, that is hilarious! And kudos to them for season one with David Tenant as the evil villain. Oh I love that man, he brings snark to every character though some of his work has been pretty…shall we say bleak? Or is that just British not-Dr.Who-programming? Nah, I watched the US show Gracepoint with Tenant, he’s a very versatile actor. Easy on the eyes too but it’s always the accent and the snark for me.

I guess I am posting because…I woke again, this morning, and was disappointed that I was awake. Which I guess means disappointed to be alive because dead people can’t wake up, only the living can, so if every single day you are filled with disappointment and dread upon waking…stands to reason something is wrong with your life or your mind. My life is plenty 50 shades of fucked up but currently, I think the depression is just winning 6 out of 7 days of the week. Which I predicted would happen when the doctor refused to up my meds and leave me hanging for three months, but hey, what do I know, I’m just the fucking patient who has to wither in this mental space and watch my life slip away from me.

And it pisses me off and fills me with shame. So many others have it far worse, their lives are far more meaningful than mine, and here I am, feeling like I lost all my limbs when I am abled bodied yet my mind won’t cooperate for shit and honestly, I am about self-bullied out. I am pep talked out. I am shamed out. I WANT THE SANDWICH TO COME SAVE ME NOW.

My kid returned from her zoo outing and ya know what? I’m kind of glad I didn’t take her. All she did was gripe that they couldn’t buy her this and they had to eat hotdogs cos it was the only semi affordable thing then she was griping in the car on the way back so much they actually stopped to buy her a coloring book and crayons to shut her up…And she had the nerve to tell them she thought it was boring at the zoo at one point and damn near made my nephew’s girlfriend cry. Welcome to Spook experience, people, all the work, zero gratitude, and incessant complaints all in hopes maybe once a week you hear the word ‘thank you’ and get a hug. Pfft…If I want to be dissed and hear complaints, it’s called every day of the week. So even a $150 trip to the zoo didn’t please her. Maybe she’s just one of those kids nothing will ever satisfy.

She just found out her little friend next door is going to be moving and she is pretty bummed. They’re gonna stay in Armpit but I guess living with the mother in law and grandma is too much for them, they want their own place and good for them. If I’d had to live with any of my family once I had Spook, blood would have been spilled. Lots, and lots, and lots of blood. I am trying to be supportive and sympathetic for her sake, but she’s having none of it, she wants to embrace her misery in a chokehold. Sigh. I want my misery to fuck off and die in a fire.

I did have a little ‘cool but in a sad way’ moment earlier when she said she was soooo exicted for tomorrow. I asked why and she said because we have the standing pizza date in town. She’s looking forward to taking lunch across the road to the park and eating with her mom….Yeah, right. She’ll take two bites then find another kid or some playground equipment to ditch me for. But she’s looking forward to it and I am too. Thanks to our very good friend Mr. M preordering and buying it for us, I will be getting one wish granted this week-for Marco’s pizza. And it’s so very good and they don’t do a lot of business so I feel like I have to eat there every chance I get before they too are run out of rural hell….Anyway, we love you, Mr. M.

Now back to the final two episodes of season 2 of Jessica Jones. No sandwiches have saved lives this season, but they did have an episode called “Shark in the Bathtub, Monster In The Bed.” Oooh, sharks and monsters and sandwiches, oh my. One of them please save me. God knows my psychiatric care center isn’t doing a damn thing to even try.

And people wonder why I watch so much TV and prefer fiction to reality. Yeah, total mystery. NOT. Bloody hell.

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It All Just Sucks

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Honestly this is not some boo hoo woe-is-me post, I just couldn’t come up with a better title at the moment. I was too lazy to eat when I woke up so I thought, I’ll do the mood stabilizers later after I do eat but what can it hurt to take the Cymbalta now while I am thinking about it…Well, the hurt is in my gut which is now burning like a mofo, something that was never a side effect when I took the same in the past but now suddenly it is a random thing. As if my burning stress stomach aches and lowering myself to take Pepcid isn’t enough, then playing the “will the pills make me puke or not today’ lottery…Just what I bloody needed. GRRR.

You can spew all your sunshine and wave your pompoms in my face and tell me what works well for you and it’s all about a positive attitude but you know what? It doesn’t change the fact that MEDICATION SIDE EFFECTS EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE JUST PLAIN SUCKS.

In a surprise twist the other day after being assaulted by some well meaning but ’caused traumatic flashbacks’ pompom waving…I felt like a loser for a couple of hours and then I realized no one has my permission to make me feel inferior no matter my failings and hey, that includes ME. I was busy beating up on myself because I’ve not found my magic cocktail of unicorn farts, medication, and meditating on clouds made of cotton candy I forgot the most important things of all: we are all different. And I really need to get the stick out of my ass because I suck at being given advice, I take it way too personally and in doing so, I close my mind to some positives I could take away from it. I totes want my uicorn fart magical cocktail but until that happens…I’m gonna keep doing me.

And I surprised me because after the loserpalooza mental state kicked my ass long enough, I started moving around the house. Not because I wanted to but because I was pissed off, because I was sick of beating myself up, because damn it, I am fighting as hard as I can and the pegacorns aren’t barfing rainbows on me so I may as well do something. I folded 7 baskets of laundry and attempted to find a place for it all thus making the middle room look less biohazard-y. (It is very challenging to store things when YOUR IDIOTIC HOUSE HAS NO CLOSETS,FFS, whoever designed this place was a fucking moron.) I cleaned cat boxes, tried to clean floors (epic fail without a working vacuum and fans blowing dust everywhere you just swept or dusted, grrrrr.) The humidity that day was so high I had sweat running down my back, indoors, with the AC. 93 outside, 89 inside, what a joyous life. But I got shit done and it felt good. Hypomania always does, though I sure do miss my full blown mania and oh those delicious but lethal diet pills that kept me looking pretty and so energized I could run 56 hours straight but that’s a story for another (never) time.

I zonked around midnight, only to be wakened three times by the rioting cats who don’t do diurnal…I had a nightmare I jolted from at 4a.m. and could not get back to sleep. So I tried boring myself to it by watching, oh dear god, Martha Stewart glazing a ham. (The horror!) Fail. By 6 a.m. I was doing dishes, counting time til I had to take my kid to my mom’s for her sleepover and outing. Which meant by the time I got my ‘me day’ I spent most of it sleeping because I hit the hypomania wall and when I did wake up, I was up til after 2 a.m. and too tired to do anything I had planned because when planning it, I had assumed I’d be well rested instead of my cycles all fucked up.

Today I am edgy and grumpy. My kid is off to St. Louis with her cousin and his girlfriend for her first ever trip to the zoo. And selfishly, I feel pissed off about it. I want her to be happy, but I feel pissed off that my nephew doesn’t work, doesn’t pay a single bill, his girlfriend just had to resign from her job before they fired her, and still they have all this money to drive so far away and go to the zoo and feed my kid (after they took her out of town shopping last night!) and it’s just not fucking fair that I do all the sacrifice and hard work and I can’t even be included in the fun stuff she gets to do. Me, me, me, I know, but is it so wrong for a parent to want to be with their kid doing the fun stuff? It should be a memory for mom and daughter but no, I’ve got every cent tied up keeping a roof overhead so…

So I am feeling left out and petty and at this point…I’d just be happy if I could afford a damn pizza from Marco’s. Everyone takes Spook out to eat, to swim, to shop, and I am always stuck home, can’t even spring for a damn McDouble. Boo hoo, right? Well, newsflash:parents are people,too, and while we are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary for our kids to be happy…

Some of us selfish bastards would still like $13 to get a damn delicious pizza.

But knowing my mental state and how the meds are wrecking my body daily..I am glad she has others who financially able to give her what I can’t. Honestly, some of my fondest memories of childhood aren’t of amusement parks or zoos, they’re just the mundane daily things, like playing with a dog, or running through a sprinkler and having ice cream after. Of course, I’m not vapid and my kid kind of is, so her memories will involve everyone but me cos they all have money to do the fun stuff. I won’t begrudge her that. I’d probably have a mental breakdown if I was even sitting in a car in St. Louis traffic (sure would love to see the snakes though, such beautiful creatures.) I still think it’s bullshit that my cousin and his girlfriend don’t have to pay for food or a single expense by living off my mom and my sister. But then isn’t that how everyone views me, living off disability…Difference being, my money isn’t going toward happy fun ball stuff. I prioritize and my kid comes first so if her having food means no trip to the zoo and I’m a downer…so be it.

Really makes me think of everything my parents sacrificed for me and my sister when we were kids. How little they got out of life other than working to pay bills and keep us clothed and fed. Not to mention they hated each other and stayed together for our sake (not a favor) so that had to suck a lot, too. At least I am not stuck with an albatross in my home thus ours is a happier home than what I grew up in.

I still want my Marco’s pizza, though. If I can’t have pegacorn barf and unicorn farts…I just want a damned pizza. I’m shallow and demanding like that.

Word Vomit

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on July 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

What an appealing title, right? Who isn’t going to break a finger clicking to read this! Actually, I just need a good purge so whatever I write here will be…word vomit. And ya know, sometimes it’s a lot like being physically ill where the last thing you want to do is throw up but once you do…you start feeling a little less putrid? That is what I hope this post will do for my mental state, which to be honest, has not been good at all, thus the ‘long time, no write’. And yes, if I go more than 2 days without posting, it usually means I am in The Bad Place.

Over the weekend The Bad Place hit hard and I was swallowed up by blackness.

Looking toward the legal proceeding with the donor and how the judge will likely grant him visitation even though he hasn’t so much as mailed the kid a birthday card in 7 years or asked about her when faced with my family members (most of whom seem to side with him cos they are from that antiquated ‘children should have both parents’ mentality, which, in this day and age is absurd…Ideally, yes, kids would have both parents but in this case…I don’t think rewarding abandonment is the right move. ) But once the darkness hit, I started thinking maybe it’d be in her best interest because I am a shitty mom, always down or up, always jumping at every sound, unable to socialize let alone work…Maybe they should take her from me because, plainly, I suck.

And thank pegacorn I’ve been on this hellish hamster wheel long enough to know depression is a blatant liar and distorts the truth. My kid is healthy, happy, creative, smart, we’re very bonded, and she’s got her basic needs met, always.

But then that bastard depression starts whispering, pointing out all my failures, as fluffy and vapid as they are.
“You’ve never taken the kid on a vacation once in 9 years.” “You can’t afford to sign her up for the sports she wants to try.” “You buy her second hand clothes because you’re such a loser, you can’t even work and earn minimum wage to buy her new stuff.” On and on and on it goes.

Then come the Really Bad Thoughts, the ones telling me that she’d be better off if I were simply dead. That I am a hindrance, that I am a bad influence, cos hey, I don’t work and she knows it’s not normal and points it out frequently. I look at all my damn years of meds and doctors and therapists and I’m not any better now than I ever really was. The only change has been in me, as a person, in my personality and thoughts but if I can’t ever escape the bipolar depressions, it’s all been for nothing. I’m an albatross for this vibrant little girl.

I rode out 4 days of those thoughts poisoning my system. Lived only for sleep, which is still interrupted and plagued by nightmares and the dread when I wake in the mornings.

I know I had a brief ‘up’ when the Cymbalta first start working but when the doctor made no changes and left me hanging 3 months before an appointment with yet another new nurse doc…I just feel like they dropped me in a war zone with access to water and military rations, but nothing else. I am stranded in this shitty place and will be for another month at least. And knowing how that place works, there’s a good chance I might even get bumped for someone ‘not doing as well.’

I don’t know how much more ‘not well’ I could be doing to have the dark thoughts lurking and stalking me, to feel so lethargic, stressed, hopeless. This is better than 4 months ago, but after gabapentin and Effexor giving me such horrendous side effects, the bar for better is set pretty low.

I am still juggling the stress of living so close to my dad. Even when they leave us alone, I just live in fear they’re gonna crash my limited safe space. (Conversation with normal person:”Thanks for mowing our lawn, we appreciate it.” “You’re welcome!” Conversation with my dad: “Thanks for mowing our lawn.” “Yeah, you need to be thanking us!” Lack of basic manners totally sets me off!) I keep trying to convince myself it’s not so bad here and yet every time we are in town my kid sees a friend from the trailer park or her old school, she gets sad, I get sad, and realize…We had no choice and we’re making the best out of the hand we got dealt but this is never going to be our home. It’s is my dad’s town (he even knows when I go to the gas station cos it’s such a tiny town and everyone talks) and…I called living in town a cess pool and the petri dish but it was OUR space, our privacy. Now…Armpit just makes me feel exposed and even though my dad’s not footing a single bill or buying us groceries, I feel like we’re depedent on him. Which is ludicrous and yet I fight myself tooth and nail to change my mental state and…FAIL.

Today I took my poison, er, meds, with milk…and got so sick. I ran to the bathroom 4 times in 10 minutes, I was dizzy, nauseous, my head was spinning and…I’m sick of it. I’ve never been a pot user but the more people I talk to who are fed up with the psych meds not working but pot seems to help…It’s not the road I want to go down, but I sure as hell understand why people are going down it. The medi-go-round is the ultimate test in constant aggravation and frustration but I’m not giving up hope. It has, occasionally, gotten me to a good place mentally. Besides, as I recall from youthful dabbles, pot just made me sleepy and if I wanted to sleep all the time, I’d go back on Trazadone, least keep it legal.

But yeah, that’s where I am. Word vomit. Purge complete.

The Futility Of A Depressive Existence

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

I am down the rabbit hole today and not sure why, other than monthly hormone fluctuations. I can’t blame the oppressive heat because it’s cooled off significantly. My kid isn’t channeling satan. My family has yet to darken my phone line or door step. Nothing traumatic has happened. Such are my mood cycles. The doctors always want a reason, a trigger, and sometimes…there isn’t one other than I HAVE A DEPRESSIVE DISORDER, duh.

I managed two trips to town this week. Needed to go in today for cat food but it will keep another day. I can’t seem to do two trips in a row anymore. Just too mentally taxing, all the activity, noise, people, colors. Sensory overload. July 4th, morning, anyway, I was feeling pretty good even though melting like the wicked witch. I wore a bra, I put on make up, we made a trip to town for some groceries. But then we came home and my kid had a friend over then proceeded to do nothing but yell at him and no amount of correcting her or standing her against the wall did any good. I didn’t really like dad and them sweeping my kid away for a cookout (which, FYI, I wasn’t invited to) and leaving me alone on the holiday because she’s my kid, not theirs, but I can’t punish Spook with my zero desire for social interaction. And also, I wasn’t invited. I don’t know why I keep mentioning that, I don’t know those people, met them once, but based on how they treat the little boy and the dog, I don’t much like them so it’s not like I wanted to go. I think it was just basically being excluded from being with my child, dismissed as it were, was very very rude of my dad’s faction.

But they brought her back early enough we set off some sparklers dad bought her then we were in bed before 11 pm. Party animals. The heat takes it out of me. When you’re running the window AC and five fans and the temp inside is still 89…pretty miserable, especially in 8 days stretches. Thursday we had a blissful day without any word from them, though I got hit with cramps from hell and was so tired, I could barely walk room to room. I just looked forward to bedtime. Which for someone who can’t stay asleep more than a couple of hours is just frustrating so if I am looking forward to nothing but that…my mental state is pretty bad.

I had one of *those* nights last night. Crashed by 10:30, woke in a half panic around 2:30 a.m. and my racing thoughts just wouldn’t let up. The more I thought about needing to sleep while I could cos soon my kid would be up just made me more stressed and that didn’t aid in sleep. I eventually took another melatonin and half a Xanax…only to still be awake at 5 a.m as the sky lightened and the stupid birds started in with their little “This is my branch, it is not your branch” sing songing. At some point I nodded off…and Spook woke me before 7:30. It’s going to be a long day. My body feels bruised and beaten, my mind feels tapped out and while she is behaving pretty well, Spook is wound for sound and making lots of gleeful noise. This on top of trash trucks, trains, and lawn mowers….half a Xanax time. Otherwise panxiety sets in and worse than plain old anxiety is when the paranoia piles on and you start feeling like the world is out to get you and something bad is going to happen. I try to avoid taking Xanax when I can, especially during the day lest it randomly make me sleep (99% of the time it doesn’t but a few times it has and I can’t risk it with my kid on the loose) so if I am taking a pill…I am borderline freaking out.

It just has gotten to a point where my existence feels futile because depression just never shuts up, never truly dies down or even recedes. And even worse, I ponder what ifs, as in, “Well, maybe it’s *this* existence, constantly struggling with money, overwhelmed by noise, bogged down with oppressive family members…So I let myself imagine another life, something without money worries, something a little glamorous and exciting, like being a celebrity loved by millions…And frankly, even that existence seems pretty futile to me. I don’t think I could handle the stimuli overload and I definitely could not spend my days being a bubbleheaded shopaholic and partying every night to the wee hours. Now if even someone else’s supposedly great existence feels futile to me…I’d hazard a guess that my depression is far from stabilized. And with the psych center’s staffing issues it doesn’t look positive that it will get straightened out any time soon.

So here I am in limbo, perpetually trying to find reasons to make life worthwhile other than my kid, cats and TV shows that occasionally make me happy. (REALLY into Cloak And Dagger, maybe because it taps into how powerless I feel and how I wish I had some superpower that could help me dig myself out of this depressive snakepit…Oh, wow, what an insult to snakes, they are beautiful creatures who wouldn’t stoop to hang out in a depressive pit.)

If I want to be fair, though, I did get a couple of very supportive, flattering comments on my blog this week and that did bring some measure of comfort and ‘keep spewing it’ fire in the belly. While less concerned that my grammar is not always kosher and I am typo queen…when someone says that I put into words thing they have thought but couldn’t articulate in such a dead on way…That was the entire point of starting this blog. We all struggle through this, feeling so lost, so alone, and just on occasion, we stumble on something like a random blog post that gives us hope (I envy writers who can stay on topic and not write novel length posts of rambling like I do, but this is me.) and it makes it all seem less futile and worthwhile.

For today, though…I guess it’s the rabbit hole and lurking panxiety ninjas and cramps and just feeling like drawing breath is too exhausting. The tides will shift. They always do. I just wish they’d shift to a more positive place and STAY there. I don’t want to feel this way. That anyone should have to feel this way sickens me. Living with this darkness in your own mind, no matter how hard you try and fight….It’s cruel and unusual and for so many of us, it is reality.

And reality bites.

Pseudo Functional

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on July 3, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Been up since 7 a.m. waiting with a knotted gut and anxiety from hell because the landlord said he’d be by for his rent around 8:30 or 9:00 a.m. 2:23 p.m. and nada. Probably forgot or is waiting til the last minute which puts my plans on hold. I’d wanted to run into town for a few things today instead of waiting til tomorrow when helliday traffic will send me over the edge. I hate being beholden to other people’s idea of a ‘schedule’. It was so much easier paying the slumlord, at least he accepted debit cards and gave printed as well as book kept handwritten receipts. This new landlord tries to hit me with late fees for not paying by the first, there is gonna be hell to pay. He could’ve had his money Friday but nooo, paying early confuses him too much so he can’t keep his months and records straight. Which leaves me wasting gas trying to track him at home and calling, to no avail, only to reach him and be told he’d be by at a certain time and I put my life on hold and….GRRRR.

I know this probably doesn’t bother ‘normal’ people. But I’ve not paid my rent later than the third of the month in 10 years. It hangs over my head like an anvil. I need this done, for my peace of mind. And also, I never know when I am gonna lose the money order or the cat or kid might dump something on it. Nerve racking. Maybe my level of worry is neurotic but wanting to pay your rent on time like clockwork cannot possibly be considered a bad thing, ffs.

I was feeling decent this morning, raked the yard, picked up toys, pulled some weeds, even sat outside with my kid for bits and pieces. Which is misery due to my sinus drainage choking me to death inside and especially in the 80% humidity. Then I said screw it, the car needed gas and I needed out of the house and pacing nervously, so we went to the gas station…When we got back, I took my meds with a couple of pieces of beef jerky (it’s food!)…next thing I know, I am woozy, doubled over with stomach pains, running to the bathroom and trying not to hurl. Omg, this joy every single day in exchange for barely functioning? Yayness! Not.

I’m coming out the other side now that I’ve sat in front of the fan for awhile and let the nausea and gastro pain abate but I keep pacing, hoping to catch the landlord as he pulls up cos, yeah, that knock on the door thing freaks me out. Still salty that my plans had to be put on hold. And it’s not like we couldn’t run to town around 5 or so, stores we need are open til 9 or all night. I just need to get these lurking tasks off my plate so the anvil doesn’t remain dangling over my head.

I finally broke down and called the psych center yesterday about ya know, 5 weeks and no call telling me if I have a new doc or not. I am being shuffled to a new nurse practitioner cos the others are all booked taking on Dr. H and and Dr. B’s patient load after their departure. (Or word was I am such a pain in the ass they simply wouldn’t take me on, and I was a little relieved cos while nurse doc C was a truly sweet woman, she just missed every sign possible that my meds were what were making me act out and go stark raving mad with anxiety and panic.) Anyway, the new nurse is named Michelle but the soonest they can get me in is August 13th. Bloody hell! That’s technically only 10 weeks between appointments but I was told to come back in 4-6 weeks. It feels like I am treading water here when it could just take a 20mg increase in my Cymbalta to get me to a good place so they are robbing me of enjoying my summer with my kid with their scheduling issues.

I may look functional. That fools a lot of people. Out of bed and dressed? Feeding your kid, caring for them, paying your bills, keeping food in the fridge? Leaving the house? You’re super duper good!

Ugly truth about depression is that superficial functionality is necessary and sometimes I pull it off, sometimes I don’t. What bothers me so much is that for the doctor to consider me doing so well she didn’t change my dose…I haven’t bathed since Friday. (Yeah, disgusting, but hey, they make wet wipes and deodorant for a reason.) I have returned to my bedroom crypt, same as the trailer, because all the train noise and cars and farm machinery and lawnmowers are prevalent outside the living room windows and it was circuit overload. I need to feel safe and my dim crypt is my safe space. I’m not laying in bed all day crying, my kid is not neglected nor ignored, and I definitely laugh more now than say, 4 months ago…But this isn’t my idea of ‘fully functional.’

The misconception that depression means we’re all living in our pajamas under Fort Blankie, bawling our eyes out, 24-7, or otherwise we’re fine…Such rubbish. Depression manifests in so many different ways for all of us. For me, inability to focus on reading books or listen to music are soul killers as those are things that nourish my soul. Unfortunately, the depression demons don’t want my soul nourished, they want it underfed, puny, vulnerable, so they can keep chewing away piece by piece until I cease to exist except as a husk.

Someone noted that a lot of my posts seem very angry. And THEY TOTALLY ARE AND I TOTALLY DO NOT APOLOGIZE. If I spew all these vitriolic feelings here, then I am not at risk of going off on another person because I bottled it up til it explodes. I am bitter, I am pissed off, I am outraged about soooo many things. And by not beating down people and simply venting the venom here…I think I’ve found a healthy medium for myself to cope with all of the extreme emotions that come with bipolar disorder.

Honestly, just writing this post (and Xanax) have made me feel calmer, less knotted up inside, more lucid, and less angry. So if it works…I’m gonna stick with it.

Honestly, if I started to bottle up my venom I fear someone might try to milk me and sell it for a cure to snakebites without giving me a percentage. 😉

Swallowing Your Feelings Is Akin To Drinking Drain Cleaner

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on July 2, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Last 2 days have been stress overload. Some triggered, some…my new life in Armpit near my overly stressful dad’s faction. But I find myself forcing down my feelings to the degree it feels like I may as well be downing shots of drain cleaner and waiting to keel over. I know that anxiety and depression often lend to irrational feelings that cause an overreaction but some things kind of warrant a reaction. In my current financial position, it’s an option I don’t often get to exercise because, geesh, I owe, I owe, family, landlord, upcoming school clothes and supplies. In another crushing blow today, I found out the local center that usually helps with summer cooling bills has no funds so they won’t be doing that this year and running the AC is gonna put us under to the point of disconnect. I’ve not gotten a disconnect notice in 7 years since the donor left us high and dry so this option simply isn’t desirable.

Yesterday one of the car windows wouldn’t roll up during a torrential downpour and my dad went off on me because I rolled the window down in the first place. It was broken when he gave me the damn car, works sometimes, sometimes doesn’t. He ordered me to use the AC instead of rolling down the windows but when the car gets hot so easily, that just seems bloody ignorant. On and on he went, lecturing me like some dumbass teenager, not hearing a word I said, and because I owe them I have to bite my tongue until there are so many tooth holes in it, you could strain spaghetti. I did thank my stepmonster for fixing the window (sort of, least it went up so I don’t have to drive around with a trash bag on the window) and not yelling at me…but then she went off on my kid for rolling the window down and said she was going to ‘beat her ass right in front of your mother.’ At that point, I DID speak up and said I got no problem grounding her, standing her in a corner, taking away TV and tablet…But NO, you are NOT gonna spank my kid, you redneck sadist.

We went to town today to try and pay rent. Landlord wasn’t home, won’t return my calls, so I sit here, nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, not knowing if he’s gonna pop in at some random point or charge me a late fee or…who knows what. My kid went into gasping “I want!” and complain mode while we were in town, sticking so close to me I tripped like 5 times and was at my breaking point. Got home only to get a call within moments that dad and crew were on their way to mow the lawn. Ya know, I’d like to think it’s because they care but he reminds me EVERY time that they’d get $50 per mow from everyone else. 6 years at the trailer they never once mowed my lawn. Then again, they hadn’t vouched with their good buddy that I’d be a good tenant. They care what this landlord thinks since they did vouch for me so they only mow it so I don’t make them look bad. Sound cynical? I wish it was.

Then my dad started in on how they are gonna be so busy the 4th cos they were invited to a hog roast, then to their neighbor lady’s soiree and Spook was, too, but…not me. I did nothing to these people! And hey, hanging out with redneck strangers may not be my cup of tea but this gloating how popular they are with the locals seems a lot like reminding me that I’m an outsider. Normally, I am fine with this. BUT they’re taking my kid from me on a holiday and they robbed me of saying no by asking in front of her and she wants to go cos other kids will be there so if I say no-and we can’t afford to do anything- then I am boring, mean mommy.

I am grateful for their help, the lawnwork, but damn, they just seem hellbent on making it clear my kid would rather be with them and I am not accepted here. And I can’t fathom what sadistic father would want to do that to his own daughter but then, some of the atrocities parents have perpetrated on their kids…guess mine is a lightweight. Still pisses me off.

But our errand into town is done, the mowing and family interacting is done, and now I just gotta wait for the landlord to ninja visit or call. (Will phones ever stop making me panic????) Oh, and of course, the wild card of dad visiting and by now I’m 1.5 mg in on Xanax so I’ll probably be perceived as too calm thus on something like booze or drugs. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh. Pre-spawn, I gave zero fucks. Now that I am in the position where she could be taken away from me even on rumor or wrong assumptions…Yeah, now I kind of care but I can control medication impact no more than I can control hypomania. It happens and compared to days of old…this is child’s play. Seroquel and TRazadone had me sleeping 14 hours a day and nursing a hangover the other ten so I was loopy as fuck. This is an improvement.

So much as I don’t like doing it…I am gonna mention our fundraiser again.

At least I have the decency to not feel good about asking strangers for help.

Half the time I wake up to 3 a.m. religious infomercials where some preacher is promising to plant seeds of hope for people who donate $15 or more. Some poor woman said she couldn’t spare it that month and he bullied her by saying, “If I offered to sell you my BMW for fifteen dollars, could you get it then?” She said probably, and he said, “See, it’s just the desire to want to do it.”

Fuck you if you’re a preacher and driving a BMW while begging your parishioners to give money that might just mean they don’t get their medication or groceries for a week. These ‘Godly’ folks are frauds, they are out for themselves, and worse, they do it in God’s name. THEY are the ones who should feel ashamed, not a single disabled mom with a small child. Unfortunately, the world is such an obscene place these days (and as far as TV preachers are concerned, always has been) so I’ll be the one called a fraud out to scam people when I drive a $450 car and wear clothes with rips and tears so I can make sure my kid doesn’t. Yep. I am the devil.

Just a share. $5. Whatever it takes to get us caught up.

You may not know us and you may think it’s a scam but you have 6 and a half years of my archives you can read and you will find only inconsistency of my stability mentally. My story has never changed because that’s how the truth is.

Thought Panic

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on July 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Panic ninjas are attacking in brute force and this time, it was my own thoughts that kicked it into motion.I just realized how far in the hole I am in so many ways, facing so many stressful things-money, family, a court hearing involving my child’s donor..And bam, the ninjas come flying out of nowhere wielding their nunchuks of hyperventilation, their swords of dizziness, their throwing stars of terror…And I am as disoriented as if washing down Amibien with Jim Beam. (Which for the record, I’ve never actually done, but I imagine that’s how it would be, Ambien was bad enough just being downed with water, total mental smackdown.)

Maybe part of the feeling woozy and disoriented is mommy withdrawal. My kid’s been at her grandma’s 24 hours now and I do go into withdrawal-and that whole too attached to my kid thing- after a certain amount of time. Also, my nephew and his girlfriend are returning her, so I’m trying to accomplish some housework lest they run back and report my messiness is some sort of affront to my child’s well being. (Ever notice how judgey clean freaks are over one missed cobweb or a dusty table? Geesh.) So far the cleaning project is going very slowly because the humidity is making my choke on my sinus drainage and I can’t catch my breath.

And I endured a call with my dad last night and I was a little hypo and on my way to a melatonin induced nap to quell the mania so he assumed I was drinking. Again. (With what money? I phased out my supplier and lost 20 pounds, not going back to that shit.Though at 45, if I do want to have a fruity little yummy drink, I think my parents should fuck off.) That makes me so mad I could fricking spit nails, cos mom does it too. How ignorant are you to have two kids with two different moms diagnosed with the same disorder, on similar meds, and know NOTHING about their symptoms? Bet if we had physical ailments he’d want to gain some information but mental stuff, pfft. My brother simply has ‘problems’ with his anger and me, well, I’m apparently just a lazy useless lump even though I’m the only of his three kids to NOT live with one of the parents after my teens. So his idea of successful independence and mine are very different but this selecive ignorance about his kids having mental disabilities is just disgusting. And my mom went off yesterday saying I never talk to her about my mental stuff and meds so how is she supposed to know…yet when I do try to talk to her, she gets huffy and says her and my sister got off the pills, they’re fine, and I’m just looking for a pill to make me happy.

The sheer ignorance contained in one family is mind boggling and definitely panic inducing. All it takes is their wrong assumptions and it could interfere with me being deemed fit to care for my child. I’ve seen the system in action with too many decent parents and all it took was one ignorant or vindictive person to set off a chain of events that got the kids removed while it was all ‘investigated.’ Living in a world where you’re doing nothing wrong but having symptoms of your disorder that hey, might make me act a little whacky and as I fall asleep on melatonin, maybe my words get slurry but don’t call me at 9:30 on a kid free night expecting me to be awake and bushy tailed.

Being made to feel this way, by the people who claim to live me, plain sucks. I get little credit for what I do right and even their wrong perceptions of me doing something they don’t approve of gets run into the ground ad nauseum. It kind of feels like perpetual suspension in time as a dumb 16 year old they had to reign in and berate ‘for my own good’. I’ve managed to keep a roof over my kid’s head, the power on, food in the fridge, she’s clean and clothed and very happy-and I have done it as a single mom 7 years now, while battling my mental demons but hey, let’s focus on every bad thing I could be doing or may have once done when I was a stupid teenager or before I had a kid and grew up emotionally. I guess I’m a little sensitive to criticism but then again, if it’s constructive, I kinda learn from that. Destructive criticism just tears apart my mind. I love my family, don’t get me wrong. They have some good qualities, and I know any major crisis, like the unexpected move, they’ll be there for me…But it’s not a crisis everyday and the daily tearing me down takes a toll. I didn’t give a damn before mood stabilizers, it’s like they robbed me of my spine and gave me a triple dose of conscience and ‘want to please the family so they don’t take my kid away.’

Wow…I really got off track. But panic makes my mind race even more and it matters not if it’s irrational or downright ridiculous. It feels real to me, and the pounding heart, sweating, dizziness, and sheer terror are very very physically real. So before some well meaning person reminds me that panic attacks won’t kill me, I KNOW THIS. But they do mess up my life and my mind and my body and to me, it’s worse than death. Death is final. Panic is perpetual. And knowing what a rebellious, stubborn bitch I am in nature, it galls me that I haven’t been one of the magical pegacorns who were ‘strong enough’ to ‘beat’ their disorders.

So all I can do is remember to breathe, do my best, take them with a grain of salt, and not freak out about all the things coming up that I truly have no control over.

What I can control right now is watching a long canceled show about a gated community of vampires and witches and hopefully it distracts scumbag brain enough with fiction to put reality-and my lack of control over much of it, into perspective or at least on the back burner.

I really don’t miss the trailer park anymore, but I do miss the distance I had between me and my family. Days and weeks they’d barely call, let alone darken my phone or doorstep and now…there’s no escape. I don’t think with them on the loose, having zero repect for why I need a heads up call and why I feel so threatened and anxious by pop up visits…I don’t think I’m ever truly going to feel safe and calm here. And it’s a shame because I am managing to adapt in every other way and feeling less vitriol for Armpit every day.

Leave it to well meaning family to be the one thing I can’t escape. Just gotta keep reminding myself they are well meaning. Even though their good intentions are paving the road to hell for me.