Archive for July, 2012

Night of the Living Dead Girl

Posted in mental illness with tags , , , , , on July 28, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

For years now that’s how I have thought of myself, living dead girl. Not some Rob Zombie fangirl affectation, either. I am alive, but most of the time, I feel dead, and for all the living I do, I may as well be dead. I get my ass kicked on a daily basis by depression, mood swings, generalized anxiety, panic attacks, and paranoia, so there’s not much time to live. I function. I take care of my child, work in caring for myself if I can remember to, tend to the cats, the house, and at the end of it all, I fall face first into a pillow and thank whatever deities created the escape of sleep.




I mentioned in an earlier post how I wished they had emotional novacaine.

They do, I realized.

It’s called psych meds.

I’m not without feeling. I feel lots and lots of anger. Depression. Anxiety. I occasionally even feel happy.

What I DON’T feel is any real emotion.

I feel so disconnected and detached, it’s hard to muster up any true emotion, even for that which should make a person sad.

Hell, my grandma fell in the nursing home a few weeks back and cracked her head open…and I had to REMIND myself to show concern and ask how she was. Because I am that dead and numb inside.

That was when it hit me why even though I know it will lead to a downfall, I have gone off my meds several times. Because after awhile of being dead inside, you yearn to FEEL again, even if it’s pain, even if it leads to your own mental demise…You just get sick of not feeling, of having to muster up appropriate emotions then feel like a fraud because they’re not genuine.

The doctors say this isn’t a side effect of the medications but rather a manifestation of the mental illness itself.

I say bullshit.

If I went off my meds for two weeks, I’d start feeling things again and probably be able to cry.

Until tonight, I hadn’t cried in MONTHS.

But I was watching an episode of Dark Angel and Joshua, the transgenic dog-boy met a blind girl who he clicked with and he had to turn her away to evade discovery…and I CRIED. Not like out of control sobbing, but there were tears and my heart broke a little.

I relate more to fictional characters than real people.

But, hey, I FELT something,

I cried, but it made me feel happy. To FEEL SOMETHING.

I love my child more than words can say, and I cannot look at her without feeling my heart swell up with that love.

But when it comes to expressing my sadness…it’s bottled up and manifests as anger, so even when I should be upset and crying, I’m just…dead. Dead inside.




Two emotions I am not at a loss for are annoyance and inferiority.

R’s eldest was at the shop when I got there today and it just hit me…I don’t really like her. She’s not a 12 year old anymore. And in my opinion, she’s a lousy mother, because she spends so little time with her baby. The kid is like four months old, and her and her husband are so busy working, going to school, and having a social life, they probably spend all of three hours a week with her when she isn’t sleeping. I can’t fathom that. I know I’m  being bitchy and judgmental because everyone is different, but I feel crappy if I am not with my child every minute I am not working.  When you become a parent, your social life is supposed to slow down. Hers has not, and plus, she reminds me so much of her selfish insane mother, I get the creeps in her presence. I could never tell this to R, of course, but I have searched my soul long and hard and this is how I truly feel.

Same with his middle daughter, who is vapid and shallow.

The third girl, the youngest, I absolutely adore, and she hugs me every time she sees me.

So what about the other two makes me so uneasy and hateful? I bottle it well, but it’s still there, and I purposely find an excuse t avoid spending too much time in their presence.

Is it just a matter of you’re comfy with the people you click with and the people you dn’t click with make you uneasy?

Fuck if I know.

I just feel like an evil bitch, but I know I’m not a bitch for simply being honest with myself.

I also feel bitchy because the neighbor kids came to the door tonight asking if I had a cigarette the handyman next door could bum and I told them no rather bitchily. My mom is to blame, she told me to always share everything, and any time I go against that, the guilt gene kicks in. Bloody hell. I should have the right to say no and not feel like shit. I barely have enough for myself, let alone for people to bum, especially people who wouldn’t piss on me if I were in flames.


I found an 8 inch screw sticking out of my step the other day when I got home.

Thank you, neighborhood future criminals.

Someone’s also been stealing my mail, but the landlord, post office, and senders all seem to point the finger at each other without telling me what to do to fix things.

I got hit with an astronomical power bill because they were estimating so many months due to the asshole neighbors’ dogpen blocking my meter.

Spook’s birthday is August 7th and I had planned on a small party but the power bill sure as fuck makes sure I can barely afford to buy her a gift if I want to keep the lights on.

I can’t catch a bloody break here.

What it adds up to is mega anxiety and panic, stomach aches, and the new meds not doing much to lift the edges of depression on my brain.


My solution tonight?

R gifted me with a bottle of cheap whiskey,so I am riding out a whiskey numbness.

I’ve been trying to lay off the booze since it solves nothing and worsens depression but after this week…I don’;t feel bad for self medicating tonight. I needed some numbness to quell the panic that seems to envelope me every single minute of the day. (I even left the shop 90 minutes early today because I had such a bad stress stomach ache and was paralyzed with paranoia over what the neighborhood hooligans might be doing to my trailer in my absence.)

Days like this, I wish the counselor could see me struggling and going under. She sees me once a month and declares me a success simply because I am still getting out of bed.

Hell, the other day, I forgot to put on deodorant and brush my teeth.

Which made me feel like a giant loser, but geesh, I manage to get my kid fed and dressed and packed up, and I barely have time to throw on clothes and get out the door each morning. I’m overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, my shrink is telling me to get a job and take on even more when I am drowning from what I already have.

I feel like I am beating my head against a fucking wall, and ya know what? That;s A LOT of blood and it fucking hurts. Enough! Can I please take a break and regain some equilibrium?

Meanwhile, everyone keeps telling me to get over what the Donor did, and I’m digging my heels in, swearing I will NEVER get over him abandoning his kid nor will I merely forgive and forget. No one else holds him accountable for his actions, I sure as hell WILL. Where ever he is at any given time, I hope he feels the heat of my anger and hatred and condemnation,

Which I know I self delusion, I doubt he’s givenj Spook or me a second thought in 11 months because he is just that horrible a person.

What’s more is, he never cared how I felt for him anyway, he has enough self love to compensate, and now he has a younger woman to add to his own ego feedings.

And why I am even talking about such a useless waste of skin?

Because i am still furious and I am allowed to be furious.

You don’t reject MY child and walk away without earning my scorn.

Funny,ain’t it? How I can feel so much anger and frustration and panic and paranoia yet it takes a TV show to move me to tears?

My wiring ain’t quite right, and I know it.

But I also know for five minutes tonight, with tears pooling in my eyes, I was ALIVE again. briefly, but still, alive.

I know I can’t function off the meds, but I fantasize about being able to do so.

To be able to FEEL.

Not just the bad stuff, but also the softer sadder things. I mean, my husband walked out on his child and me, shouldn’t that make me want to cry?

Yet it doesn’t.

It did before I got medicated.


I’m just tear-dead.

Or maybe I’m just insane.

Anyway…sorry for such a long rant, but I needed to vent.,

Now…I have purged my mind, maybe I can fall asleep without needing Trazadone. Tis a wonderful thing to fall asleep without chemical aid.

Could the living dead girl get that lucky?

Anything is possible.

They told me I’d never have children, but I do have Spook.

Who knows?

I may even-gulp–be happy one day.

My tears may have dried up but my hope has not.

The train wreck that is me

Posted in depression with tags , on July 23, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

So…I have numeric dyslexia, apparently. my appt with the sunshine spewer wasn’t Friday, it was today. It went okay, she was pretty supportive for a change. (Is she sick? Am I sick?) Still, I walked out feeling pretty bloody empty, like I am so totally alone it’s not funny.

Spent the day at the shop with R singing my praises. He seems to really seems to appreciate me, which kind of defuses what Kenny said about R only keeping me around so he doesn’t have to do everything for himself.

My mom had my kid good and sugared up, just got her down for a nap. I’m talking Toddler Cornholio here, which is a reference only Beavis and Butthead fans will get.

It is hotter than hell out, hotter inside this trailer.

The only good point today was on the way home, they played a song on the radio that I really liked and rushed home to download.

Is that all that keeps me holding on? Occasionally finding a good song?

I wonder.

I told the counselor I am miserable and struggling.

She said she’s proud of me and I am doing well.

(eye roll here.)

When I have my breakdown, her expert opinion will be duly noted.

I’m slipping, I know I am slipping. I can’t keep up with the bloody housework, I have two kittens who won’t catch onto the litter box bit, I cured my ant problem only to inherit roaches, I am sleeping in fits a couple hours at a time, haunting the place at 3 am night after night, in NO mood for company yet bored and feeling isolated and every day I come home (mon-fri) and swear someone has been in the place messing with things I know (or think I know) I left a certain way.


Then I come home and read that a friend lost a friend to cancer and I just feel so sad for her, and feel like such a selfish jerk for thinking my stupid problems count for shit…


I live in a perpetual state of GRRR.

I just want emotional novacaine, why can’t they make a pill for that? Just make me numb. Because as of late the anxiety attacks have been kicking my ass on top of the depression, and frankly, this crazy bitch could use a goddamned break. (Pardon my french, but ya know, I have anger issues and when angry, I swear A LOT.)

I guess I will post this while I can still see the publish button through the sweat streaming down my face. Bloody hell, I hate summer. Fall may bring seasonal affect but it’s better than the wicked witch melting disorder.

Don’t make me endure the sunshine spewer!

Posted in biolar disorder, depression with tags , , , on July 20, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

I have an appointment with my “counselor” today. I put that in quotes because I don’t think she’s a very good counselor and I absolutely HATE going to see her. She canceled our last appointment due to emergency and was supposed to call to reschedule and she never did, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to her, so it’s been like six weeks since we last talked. My job lady set this up, she thinks since I am in a depression I should talk to sunshine spewer.

I don’t want to.

I AM in a depression and talking to someone who can find a sunny side and lame ass justification for everything I feel pisses me off.

I never walk out of her office feeling like I’ve been helped. Hell,  I don’t walk out feeling better, she actually makes me feel worse.

Half the time our appointments consist of her sitting in her chair like Jaba The Hut, looking bored, while I stumble and stammer trying to express myself in a way that MIGHT wake her from her indifferent stupor.

She’s not a mean person, honestly. She’s pleasant enough.

I just don’t think her counseling style does a thing for me.

And I would rather go to a dentist’s appointment for a root canal knowing the office is out of Novacaine than go to this appointment today.

Fact is, I don’t have much to say at this time, because I am so depressed, everything just sounds whiny woe-is-me. I know this. I know it’s the depression. I don’t need this confirmed. I don’t need to be reminded there are rainbows and sunshine and moonbeams at the end of the depression tunnel. (Okay, she’s not quite that nauseating but you get the gist, she could put a positive spin on terminal illness.)

Gah. I don’t want to go. Teeth grinding has commenced and my gums are already sore. I wish I could call in to cancel claiming death.

But, I know I have to suck it up and pretend and…

I miss the days when my counselors helped me. Made me feel better. Actually helped me figure out answers and coping mechanisms.

This woman…does none of this.

In all honesty…I am sick of trying to find clothes to wear. I am sick of getting dressed. I am sick of driving the same streets and sick of the rude people and sick sick sick fucking sick of it all.

Now I will tell her this and she will tell me that everyone gets sick of the monotony of life, including her, and blah blah blah. So helpful.

Sometimes, I think I’d giggle maniacally if the world just imploded and I had ten seconds of viewing pleasure before disintegrating myself.

Is it any wonder a ray of black sunshine like myself would not relate to a sunshine spewing counselor?

Bloody hell, this is an hour of my life I will never get back.

The Lies Of Functional Depression

Posted in depression with tags , , on July 18, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Lately I have felt like the walking dead. Just putting one foot in front of the other and stumbling along.

People see me out and about and I am dressed and taking care of my kid and errands and helping at the shop and the consensus is, “You’re all better.”

Never mind these people didn’t watch me spend three hours trying to force myself into the shower, nor prowling the house at 3 am because my brain won’t shut up and let me sleep, or how I have to take ten breaks between getting my kid fed and dressed then myself. They apparently don’t notice that the woman who usually wears six layers of eyeliner has barely been putting make up on and has a hairstyle best described as “I used a fucking hairbrush, what do you want from me?” Let’s not forget that she went out in public three times in two months with the ass end or inner crotch of her pants completely ripped out,totally unaware because she just felt so triumphant putting clothes on in the first place.

I’m ambling about like a zombie, I MUST be hunky dory.


I have NO support system in real life when it comes to my bipolar/depression;/anxiety. It was the reason I became so wrapped up in the internet and computers. On line has been the only place I have ever encountered others who understand and get it. Most people don’t want to hear about it because it harshes their mellow. It could be contagious.

They like to buy into the lies of functional depression like people buy into the lie of functional alcoholism. As long as the person shows up for work every day, pays their bills, and supports their kids, everything is hunky dory. Sure, they have a little drinking problem but they have it under control or they couldn’t do all that they do.

Of course, much like the functional depressive, functional alcoholics just coast through, trudging uphill, waiting for that moment when they can drink again and become numb. Depressives look forward to sleep or the next mood swing the same way.

No one knows that I grind my teeth so bad I actually have a hold in my gums. Like a sunken in raw indentation. The Celexa had seemed to help with that, but that was about all it helped with. Now that I am tapering off, the teeth gnashing has returned with a vengeance. I even take Ibuprofen because sometimes my mouth hurts so bad from the grinding.

That does NOT cross me as being hunky dory.

At the shop, R goes on about how he runs 18 hours a day, and his eldest daughter does the same thing. They have what I call the doctor,lawyer,Indian chief syndrome. They want to be one of everything, never mind the cost to themselves or those around them or what they have to do achieve their lofty “run myself into the ground then bitch about it” goal. I get so sick of hearing about it, because I do have a bit of an inferiority complex and here I am, struggling to put pants on every day, and these people are doing a hundred times more than I am doing. They’ve earned the right to be exhausted. Whereas I spend ten hours out of bed dealing with my kid, with other people, with daily stressors…and I’d sell a vital organ just to escape home to my safe zone and silence and regathering equilibrium.

I know I shouldn’t compare myself but I do. And I feel like a giant loser. I know that I am not, I am doing pretty well all things considered…But for me, other people have always been toxic. I have decent self esteem until I am around others who either directly or indirectly make me feel like an inept lazy whining brat.

One more lie of bipolar and functional depression. You CANNOT measure yourself by the same standards as people without the disorders. It’s like saying someone who is Diabetic has the same dietary needs as someone who is not. Whether we like it or not, whether we want to be different, the disorders take that choice out of our hands and we are left with the hand we are dealt. I’d love to be a doctor, lawyer, Indian Chieft, and have people think I am so amazing for being so energetic and giving and productive.

Truth is, I just spent an hour bullying myself into a shower, even though after a hundred degree day, I should have been leaping at the chance to scrub the sweat off myself;. And sadly, I even congratulated myself for taking that shower. Just like the nights I manage to get to sleep without taking my Trazadone. WOOHOOOOO! I’ve achieved something that comes naturally to others.

One more lie of depression is that you can “talk” yourself out of it. The positive attitude gurus have done such a disservice to mental illnesses, I suspect they might be responsible for more than one suicide. Sure, a little optimism is a good thing. But when you are stuck in a depression and someone is shoving it down your throat that you’d be all better if you just had a different attitude…Do a lineage search and I bet someone in their family tree used to perform lobotomies because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The more I try to bully myself out of a depression, the worse I feel because inevitably, I fail. Which you’re bound to do when trying to use attitude to cure what is a serious medical condition. Telling people they can do this if they want it bad enough borders on malpractice.

Obviously, I have strong opinions on the matter. I’ve walked a long time in these shoes and feel entitled to those opinions from cold painful personal experience.

And the biggest lie of functional depression is…that you are alone.

I feel totally alone right now.

But, thanks to the comments and likes readers leave, I know I am not alone.

On that one, depression loses.

I call it functional rebellion.

Pocket full of ick

Posted in biolar disorder, depression with tags , , on July 16, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been tapering off of Celexa and taking Effexor XR for a week now. The ride is bumpy because you just get locked in a darkened room in your mind and all you want is for the pills to work like Aspirin. You’re in  pain, you take a couple, and you feel better.

Psych meds don’t work that way, perhaps the most bitter pill of all to swallow.

I am bored. I was writing for 6 straight days. Then I hit the wall, which is normal for my writing. It leaves me lost, though.

My focus is crap so reading is pretty much impossible.

The heat sucks the life out of me.

I just feel…down. Lonely. But not really in the mood for company or activity. GAHHHHH, I hate my own brain, it sucks.

There have been certain changes in my life i am not okay with, like a former close important friendship changing to little more than acquaintance who occasionally bothers to speak to me because they have someone in their life now. This person has done this before, and it irks me, because when things fell apart,I was there for them to vent to. To be basically shunned is hurtful and pissing me off. I’m ready to wash my hands of it, fickle people do nothing but cause pain. And it’s not some petty jealousy thing. I’ve entertained the notion, but fact is, I don’t want to live the lifestyle my friend lives therefore there’s nothing to be jealous of. I just get frustrated being heaved aside every time something better comes along. That’s not a friendship.

Maybe I am being unfair, God knows I don’t handle change well. And in this current depression my feelings are all amped up to ten. It just hurts is all to need your friend and try to talk to them only to be left hanging and then dismissed if you speak up about it. God, it makes me sound like a needy teenager. Ick.

Both of my pockets are full of ick right now since someone informed me another friend only keeps me around because I make their life easier and they’d get stuck doing everything for themselves.

How is that not depressing?

My one rayo of sunshine is my daughter but the bruise on my boob where she bit me proves even that is a double edged sword.

It just seems nothing ever changes for the better and I am stuck in this rut and I feel trapped and hopeless. And while part of it is the depression, part of it is also the fact this town is dying and there just aren’t many jobs available. When you have a hundred people applying for one position, someone with my wonky history isn’t going to get to the front of that line. I’m treading water and having panic attacks when I think that this is as good as it gets. I want better for my daughter and for myself.

I want people to stop treating me like I am disposable and have no feelings, too, but that’s not likely to fucking happen. In fact, I’d bet everything I own if I dared to speak up about it, I’d be told to quit being so hypersensitive and people have lives outside of me so grow up.

God, speaking honestly while in a depression just makes me sound like I am having some big pity party. One more pocket full of ick.

I just want the Effexor to kick in and do something. I am so tired of feeling this way.

This is depression

Posted in depression on July 4, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

I do not want to go anywhere.

I do not want to do anything.

I cannot find a reason to feel hopeful or excited to be alive.

Everything seems like an enormous task, and I am overwhelmed.

The only thing I look forward to anymore is going to sleep.

I am frustrated with my meds/doctor/insurance company, which adds to the anxiety and depression.

I am irritable, quick to be irritated, impatient, testy…

Food tastes blah.

I sit and I chain smoke and I stare off into space or try to lose myself watching TV shows on dvd or on line.

My mind is just…dark.


I am worse instead of better after all these months. Ten months.

Am I not entitled to my frustration and annoyance?

I do NOT want to take anti psychotics because of the weight gain and side effects. I do not believe I should have to since I am not delusional and my paranoia is anxiety based. I do not believe anyone is out to get me. I just fear the worst will always happen and it has enough that I’ve been brainwashed.

I need to be deprogrammed, not given even more pills.

The one thin that might help I don’t dare ask for, lest she take my Xanax away entirely rather than increase it. I did so well on the higher dose. So well.

I feel like I’m secondary in my own treatment plan, like I get no say and I am just expected to lay down and let  myself  be used as a welcome mat.

I am still reeling from how screwed up the Abilify made my brain. I am not longer using a brain wrapped in gauze and cobwebs with a skeleton crawling out of my skin.

I just…want to go to sleep.

Like, forever. Not by my own hand, that’s too dramatic.

Just…go to sleep. Not die. Just sleep indefinitely, until this depression lifts, until the meds combine and work. The Lamictal and Xanax and Trazadone work well. Now…how about an anti depressant my insurance company won’t substitute? EFFEXOR.

I don’t want to be depressed, this is the 4th of July, I should be out doing something with my kid.

Instead, I am holed up inside with her, listless and pissy and sooooo not wanting to go to the shrink appointment tomorrow because after ten months, I am getting worse instead  of better but it’s never the medication’s fault, it’s always mine. Or so Dr C convinced me. That idiot did more damage than good and I will never let it go. I should, but I won’t. I went against my own instincts and gave him a chance. It won’t happen again. My gut told me not to trust the donor and I ignored it. It’s not magical thinking to have a gut feeling. I need to trust myself more.

I feel like such a loser. I went out earlier with the ass end of my pants ripped out and didn’t even know it. Because I am treading water and it’s getting up my nose and in my mouth and it’s all I can do to put clothes on myself and my kid, I don’t have the wherewithal to stop and make sure my pants have an ass in them.That’s three times that  has happened in two months.

I have gone down the tubes and I just want to scream FIX ME NOW!

This is depression.

Insurance Companies are the devil

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on July 2, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

So I quit taking the Abilify because I felt like I was going to have to chase my skeleton down the street once it escaped my skin.

The doctor prescribed Geodon as a replacement to treat the paranoia.

The insurance company denied it and gave me Risperdal.

Which they tried to do last time instead of the Abilify and I told the nurse I refused to take it ever again because it made me gain sixty pounds and did no good at all.

So now I have to do battle yet again because the doctor expects me to take this shit when I believe I made myself abundantly clear. And ya know, she’s the doctor, so them overruling what she wanted me to have in favor of their cheaper idea should piss her off. It sure as fuck does me. I’m all for saving money but when the patient has tried the cheaper versions with no success and unappealing side affects, then the more expensive should be covered, period. Insurance companies are the devil and should not be allowed to stick their nose into medical care when all they care about is money.

I have been super depressed, just functioning on auto pilot. The heat has not helped. And when I say heat, I don’t mean 85 degrees normal summer. I mean nothing less than 96 for the last 8 days and we’re looking at seven more with temps in the hundreds. I am sweaty and cranky and pissed off to say the least. Every day it just feels like trudging uphill, and I have summer bronchitis, so I can barely breathe in the humidity and keep coughing up lungs. I am frustrated beyond words. I am not looking forward to this dr appointment.

I think it is Thursday.

I am going on a downtrodden tirade. LISTEN TO ME, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HOW CAN I GET BETTER IF YOU WON’T LISTEN AND COOPERATE????I want back on Effexor, the Celexa is as effective as tic tacs for the depression. f course, that would probably be too expensive and they’d stick me on Zoloft which made me suicidal. But hey, what do I or the doctor know, the insurance company is God.

No, they’re not, they are the devil. They just think they are God.

You have no idea how much I wish to be independently wealthy and just pay straight out for my meds, so I don’t have to deal with this shit of people I don’t know who don’t know fuck all fucking with me getting better. Geodon may have been my magic bullet but I will never know now.

The more I see of this brave new world, the more I wish I had a time machine to pack my kid into and just go back to a time when things made a little more sense and people had more control over their own bodies and lives.

The United States used to be a great country.

Now it is run by Big Business (aka pharma companies) and I’m not particularly proud to say I am from this country.

Sad. Very very sad

And being depressive and depressed makes it even sadder and more infuriating.