Archive for May, 2012

Cycles

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on May 30, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Wed 5/30/12 1:02 a.m.

Tues was…Ick. I started out groggy from the Elavil, grumpy from the curse, then I shifted into hypomania, and this whole side effect of Abilify of not being able to sit still is actually starting to really drive me crazy.
One minute I am at the shop, thinking this is cool.
Next I am crawling out of my skin, thinking how bored I am and I gotta have something to do because just sitting behind a desk isn’t keeping me sane.
Gahhhhhh.
Of course, R and his Mrs had some big drama this weekend so that oppression hung in the air. Kenny told him it’s time to call it quits with her. I agree. I didn’t say as much, I am learning to tactfully keep my mouth shut. R’s penchant for self punishment is just one of those things I find so distasteful, I can’t discuss it without getting venomous. Let him wallow in misery if it floats his boat.
I don’t need that shit dragging me down.

By the time I got home, my mood sundowned and then stabilized into functional hypomania. Then Spook started saying something about “She’s taking our home away” and acting very scared and whiny, which made my anxiety skyrocket and set the paranoia into action.
Then it skyrocketed into absolute anger. Not even sure why. I just suddenly felt very very very angry at certain individuals.
The neighbor kids started bugging me again, actually thinking I was going to sell them a fourty dollar walker for fifty cents. The fuckers are making me regret sitting outside. I just want to be left alone, ffs.
That made me even angrier.

The whole can’t sit still kicked in, yet my attention was not on doing anything, so I paced a bit. I couldn’t even concentrate on reading a single paragraph. I got Spook to bed and then I assumed the position myself.
Musta been tired, I don’t remember falling asleep except it didn’t take too long.

Now here I am awake, pondering it all, feeling the aftermath of all those mood swings during the course of a 14 hour period, and thinking I am fucking exhausted.
Now it is time to do it all over again in a few hours.
And I still feel highly irked with R, so I don’t even know if I want to make an appearance at the shop. Not like I was invited, and he does have Kenny glued to him like a Siamese twin, so why bother? Why mess with the hassle of my mom guilt tripping me for being away from Spook?
Why, why, why.
Why am I so angry at everything?
Why does a knock on the door send me reeling every time?
Why why why.

A quiet mind

Posted in biolar disorder, mental illness with tags on May 30, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

tues 5/29/12 12:22 am

My mind is a little too quiet right now.
Like, there’s lots of thoughts flying around in my head, but nothing that really warrants writing about.
I’m tired, but it’s finally cooled down enough where I can putter about and be relatively comfortable, so I want to enjoy that.
Other than that, though…it’s just a little quiet in my chaotic brain.
Maybe a little too quiet.
This is not pessimism or me trying to create drama.
It is years and years of experience, knowing that when my mind gets too quiet…it is usually a precursor to a depressive crash that leaves me barely functioning.
I live in fear of such crashes, to the point of being deeply disturbed when my mind is too quiet.
Or maybe things have just been so boring I actually have nothing to say but the usual stuff so I’m taking that boredom as quietness.
I never know.

Manic I am, Sam I am

Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Sun 5/27/12 11:18 am

I have been up since 5:50 am. No reason, stupid brain just woke up.
I have actually accomplished more thus far than I did all last week.
It
is
called
hypo
mania.

I lack the happiness and throw-caution-to-the-wind-mindset that comes with full blown mania.
Still, I am a bundle of distracted energy. I can’t focus on reading a book to save my life (I’ve started reading three different ones in hopes one of them will capture me and hold me hostage but no such luck.)

It is heating up outside and inside, but not too unbearable yet. That comes later, toward three pm, on into late night, doesn’t cool down til 2, 3 am.
That is part of why my sleep pattern is so screwy, I purposely lay down for a while early on so I can enjoy and accomplish stuff once it cools off.

Azazel and Nightshade both have been crawling all over me (what is about cats sticking their butts in your face????) and my laptop, and now I am all itchy.
Of course, my ear has been itching and the paranoid panic receptors have been going off, telling me someone is talking trash about me.
Now it’s my nose, which means company.
Bahhhhhhhhh.
DOES NOT WANT.

Have I mentioned I hate holiday weekends?
I call them hellidays.
Especially the ones people use as an excuse to cook out and get drunk.
Memorial Day is supposed to be to remember the dead. Judging from keg sales the last few days, I’d venture to say everyone wants to forget the dead and just eat greasy brats with as much beer as their innards can store.

Yes, I am a judgmental grinch. I own it and hump its leg.
My mood is just…blah. I am exhausted and hot and sweaty and I have no money, no gas in the car, so I am basically trapped at home.
No booze.
(Yeah, I know, not necessity, but until those fuckers next door are gone, it keeps me from grabbing a shovel and beating them all to death.)

The other day, Spook had her toy horse face down on the carpet and was trying to put her jeans on his hind legs.
That was funny as hell.
Yes, I know, everyone thinks their own kid is funny.
Mine just is.
To me, anyway.
When she does the “sexy and I know it” “wiggle wiggle wiggle” it is Hi-LARIOUS, to quote Jayne from Firefly.

I was looking at my kid pictures today and realizing just how much Spook looks like me. When I get them scanned, I am going to post them here side by side. She’s my mini me, except she prefers Spiderman whereas I prefer Iron Man.
Oh, and she’s a dog person.
I’ll love her anyway, no one is perfect. 😛

Oh, another thing, when I am hypomanic, I tend to talk a lot or write a lot, and fast, and it’s disjointed. I am aware of this, no one needs to point it out and correct me. From what I understand it is not exclusive to me personally, but is a common behavior in bipolar disorder. So if you only judge me against others with bipolar, we’re all normal and you normal people are weirdos. 🙂

Manic and panic and hot glue, oh my

Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

5/28/12 2:23 a.m.

Hypomania…it’s what’s for dinner.

Eh, I dunno, it sounded funny in my mind, like those commercials for pork or something.

Anyway. Yes, it is almost 2:30 am and I am awake, burning cd mixes, moving shit around from hard drive to flash drives, just being hypomanic in general. Earlier I was playing with the hot glue gun, fixing shoes and picture frames and hair pieces.
Oh, and working my way to an iron lung with my chain smoking while battling bronchitis and hacking up my chest innards.

YAYNESS!
Life is grand.
No, the only thing grand about life is that it is a big cesspool.
Oh, not entirely, but I kinda like grumpy me better than happy positive me.
I mean, there are plenty of upbeat people out there, why should I have to sell myself out be one of them just because it’s more pleasant for others?
I mean, does anyone try to make my life more pleasant by changing who they are?
I’d be happy to never have to hear a racial slur again.
I’d adore never having to hear the phrase (spoken by my own father last night) “She’s pretty for a heavy girl.”
No one makes my life more comfy.
So fuck ’em, if I wanna be grumpy and crotchety then let me be.
I can be, like Matlock, vaguely amusing and endearing.
(I said so!)

Hmm..What can I burn, glue, rearrange next…
This is actually the third time I have been up in the last six hours.
I hate the Elavil. Least the sleepy hangover.
Can’t argue with it easing my nervous stomach, though.
Bah.
Must everything be a double edged sword?

I got panicky earlier, complete with pounding heart felt in every fiber of my being. When the bad anxiety attacks hit, it’s like I have a pulsating heart in every part of my body, down to my fingertips and toe nails. It is disconcerting. More baffling is I don’t know what triggers that panic half the time.
Tonight I think it might have been the barking dog next door and my spinning mind.
It sucks to start falling asleep…
then jolt awake, like being zapped. Over and over again.
Makes the heart race even more.

I need to make another skull tree or something funky. Being weird makes me giddy. Though I don’t find myself all that weird, others are the ones obsessed with saddling me with that label. I think I am…eccentric. But beauty is in the quirks, and wow, I should be a raving beauty queen with the plethora of quirks I have.

Stand back, people. Manic woman with a hot glue gun on the loose.

Fat-o-flage

Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Camoflage.
Hunters and soldiers dress themselves according to their surroundings to blend into the scenery, to obscure themselves from plain view.
I,on the other hand, have elevated Fat-o-flage to an artform.

It is a necessary evil for those of us who have always been sort of heavy, when even at our smallest we were still considered “fat” and harrassed. I learned early on to wear baggy blouses with tight leggings, giving the illusion of skinny bottom and indeterminate top size. it also served as a deterrent to the age old problem  of chesty women: guys who seem to think our eyes are down there. Can’t gawk at what is hidden under voluminous fabric.

I have been termed chubby my whole life.
I have always had a pot belly. When I was 12, my pediatrician told me I could do all the sit ups I wanted but my belly was in part to genetics as both my parents had a belly.
Now, some factions will say this is a bullshit excuse for overeating and laziness.
The only gluttony I am guilty of is Dr, Pepper and Cake vodka.

The most magical part of fat-o-flage, after the diaphanous shirts, is a tummy flattening girdle. That way if your muffin top makes you self conscious you can smoothe it all down so that it at least looks uniformly plump.
Another trick I have learned, even though I certainly don’t need the padding, is padded bras give you “shelf boob” which keeps your shirt from clinging to your belly and makes your boobs stand out.
This is at odds with what I used to practice, but given a choice, I’d rather have my boobs stared at than have some perfect strange note my pot belly and ask my due date. (It has happened more times than I care to admit.)

I do NOT like the term fat.
I used fat o flage as a humorous term.
I prefer to be called fluffy.
Like a big fluffy kitty cat.
It is bad enough to feel self conscious at every moment, but to go through life feeling like you must wear muumuus to keep people from commenting on your weight sucks.
But I always liked baggy shirts so I guess it’s no hardship for me.

One thing about it.
Fatoflage, as far as girdles go, is not a comfortable artform.
In fact, if the government wanted to get these suspected terrorists to talk, they should stuff them into a girdle or bustiere with boning in it.
And an underwire bra with the wire stabbing them in the arm pit.
And thong underwear so they could become intimate with the wedgie from hell.
And stiletto heels so they could become crippled and plead for mercy if they spilled their secret.

Being a woman is a lot of work. Being a heavy woman, indulging fatoflage, is even harder work.

But it beats looking like a stuffed sausage who needed a pit crew to stuff all the jelly rolls into a sizes too small outfit.
Some females need to learn that size 12 does not mean buy a size two.
Because if their skinny jeans ever split at the seams, someone could lose an eye.

Least with fatoflage you’re actually being helpful. In the event of a disaster, you can offer to tear off strips of excess fabric for people to use as blankets.
MOOOOOO.MOOOOOO.

I hear voices…and they don’t like you

Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Sat 5/26/12 11:56 pm

I don’t mean to make light of something that medically, is not funny. I’ve had auditory hallucinations before (thank you cold turkey Effexor withdrawal) and they are most certainly not funny. (Though my t-shirts alluding to hearing voices are kinda funny but I’m just warped that way.)
So when I use the phrase “hearing voices” please understand it is a metaphor for that voice we all have inside us, the one that changes allegiance according to our mood and how things are going in our life. I am not mocking and intend no disrespect to anyone who does literally hear voices.

Today was just one of those sucky why-did-I-get-out-of-bed-days where everything I touched seem to turn to shit. And in that weakened mind frame, I found myself getting pulled under and bullied by that inner voice which told me I am a loser and I deserve misery.
I mean, I’m so horrid my baby daddy even abandoned his kid to avoid dealing with me and that which I have wrought. (Yeah, I know, that voice is an asshole, but that asshole wields a lot of power when I have days like this.)

Less loud, and less assertive, is the tiny voice, reminding me everyone has bad days, it’s not fatal, blah blah blah.

I hate days like today. It puts me in a  weakened mental state. That opens the door for the bad voice basically telling me I’d be doing society a favor by killing myself.
I don’t believe that, but that damn evil voice can be convincing, especially on a day where nothing is going in a direction to prove otherwise.

I can honestly say this inner voice thing wasn’t as bad on Lithium. But then on Lithium, I pretty much was numb to my bone marrow, like Novacaine to your jaw, so I had the same feelings for sucky and good things alike.
As much as it can hurt to actually feel things, it’s better than not feeling.
Now I just have to learn coping mechanisms for being able to feel things that I did not feel prior to the med change.
Neverending vicious cycle.
By the time I work this out, these meds will quit and it will be time to start another hamster wheel attempt at stability.

Okay, bad voice is talking, and it’s not wrong, but it is cashing in on my past med failures,so I will pay it attention due a grain of salt.

Just…
Sucky days…
suck.

And there you have my great wisdom.

Stop knock, knockin, knocking on Morgueticia’s door!

Posted in Uncategorized on May 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

5/26/12 Sat 11:22 pm

In what has always proven to be opening a can of slimy slithering icky worms, the mere act of interacting even minimally with neighbors has somehow turned my yard and front step in to their territory to call upon me. Can they borrow this, do I have that, et al.
I hate it.
And every time there is an unexpected knock on the door, I jump ten feet out of my skin and my heart palpitates like Freddy Krueger and Jason Vorhees are on the other side of the door wanting to gang bang me with a claw glove and machete.
DOES NOT WANT.
I am not anti social,  not matter what my mother, the amateur insane shrink, says.
But I DO value the sanctity of my safe zone and to have it invaded, especially by those whose only interaction with me has been via that yard sale fiasco, really pisses me off and heightens  my anxiety.
And it’s not like they’re wanting my company.
They want me to give them things, for free.
And so has been the bane of my existence my entire life as far as befriending any neighbors I have ever had. I always end up becoming the one who is called upon to give rides, to babysit, to borrow all of sundry from but never repay. I’ve watched it happen time and again, just like my old building where a girl bummed a smoke…then started coming over four, five days a week to do it, yakking my ear off about her love life.
No good deed goes unpunished.

Tis bad enough that my anxiety repeatedly puts me in the position of having to have a doctor write a note explaining to landlords that I require a phone call warning me of visits or else I get physically ill…Now the simple benign act of trying to make a little cash getting rid of my old crap has somehow put me on the radar of the 9 people living in this one trailer down at the end of the court. Ya know, the ones with the dog named Poon Tang.
Um…Not to be a bitch or rude or anything, but…I don’t want to make friends. Not ones who just take and take and never give and irritate the piss out of me while exploiting my mental issues.
DOES NOT WANT.

It is just such a delicate fabric weaved about me, trying to juggle the stressors of daily life and single motherhood and the last thing I am equipped to cope with is this socialization thing, especially a one sided friendship.
So now…in addition to my general paranoia of knocks on the door, I am living in panic of random knocks on the door from these people.

Goes to show what going outside gets me.