Archive for August, 2012

Damn you,bipolar disorder!!!!!

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on August 31, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

So…I was going along,doing fine, thinking maybe my current med combo was The Magic Bullet…and I was stabilized.

Then today from out of nowhere, I burst into tears at the shop after several hours of feeling majorly angry.

I CRIED IN PUBLIC.

Like a ninny.

And no matter how hard I tried, I could not keep the tears at bay.

So I fled the shop at 4pm, telling R I was not mad at him but upset at other things…

And he followed me to the parking lot and I just babbled and blathered about all his personal drama weighing on me and Kenny saying I am a contributing factor to his marital problems and my issues with the Donor…I JUST CAN’T FUCKING STAND IT ANYMORE AND I WILL NOT BE THROWN UNDER THE BUS BECAUSE HIS MARRIAGE WAS A WRECK LONG BEFORE I CAME BACK INTO THE PICTURE. At this point, I am studying the A plus certification thing because I want to do better for my child and for myself. If I am deemed the problem, guess who’s going to be thrown under the bloody bus?

ME.

I dunno.

I didn’t even cry when presented with divorce papers or a threatening letter pressuring me to sign said papers.

Today the tears just kicked my ass and I could not find the off switch.

I just ended my monthly curse so maybe it’s hormonal, maybe it;s just the ebb and flow of bipolar even medicated. I don’t have a fucking clue except today I pretty much melted down.

And the whole time I was like, bullying myself mentally, because ya know, what employer wants a tear stricken basketcase on their hands?

i just could not hold the tears at bay.

I came home and…I just felt so depressed, so blackened, all I wanted t0 do was curl up into the fetal position.

But I can’t because I have a kid.

What i can do is numb it all with liquor, though I take zero pride in this.

Then R’s wife called me and told me if I needed to vent about the Donor situation, she and R were there for me. Which I thought was very sweet, in spite of Kenny insinuating that I am somehow a bone of contention in the R and Mrs R war.

I really hate Kenny right now.

I shouldn’t, he’s very nice to me, he’s just opinionated and clueless.

So for all my “dark engel” toughness, why am I processing it all this way?

Do I care what he thinks?

Not especially, he’s basically a homeless bum by his own design.

But if he’;s thinking I’;m the problem, how long before others think the same thing and accusations fly?

And I am not entirely convinced R wouldn’t throw me under the bus, especially since his wife gets his kids involved in their fights and they make him feel guilty.

I can’t compete with a man’s wife and kids.

I don’t want to.

I hate drama.

I need this chance to do more with my life, to be more for Spook and myself, so this whole me being part of the problem thing really cuts deep.

I’ve done nothing wrong except evolve. To have a friend ,you have to be a friend. I have been a friend for R. That;s ALL I have done. Why am I being made to feel like scum simply because I am the ex gf?

I think perhaps I am letting Kenny’s insignificant opinion carry too much weight. He doesn’t think couples should have girls’ night and guys’ night out, period.

I learned the hard way, if you don’t give each other space and let the other have their own friends and outings,it’s the kiss of death.\

So why am I letting this man get to me?

Maybe because he is R’s closest male friend and R has always done EVERYTHING by committee, I remember my wardrobe having to pass “child appropriate” status with his neighbor lady. He can’t seem to make his own decisions, everything must be weighed based on what others in his circle think.

This scares me.

And frankly, disgusts me.

Nut up, for fuck’s sake.

Gahhhhhhhh!

Isn’t this proof that I am fine until I have to deal with people long term? Then I start coming to pieces.

99%  of the time I either angry or dead inside.

Today was the 1% when I just crumpled and became a basketcase.

HUMILIATING.

I felt so weak, so pathetic, so…like my former self, pre proper diagnosis and proper medication. Erratic.

But for six months at least, I could not cry.

And then today the dam burst and I became all but catatonic.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

I have changed sooooooo much since the advent of the bipolar diagnosis and the mood stabilizers.

Yet here I am, cracking up and looking like the same unstable erratic nutbar.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCk!!!!!!

I am embarrassed, drained, sick of it all.

Blah.

Every time I think I might be stabilizing something happens like this.

It'[s fucking random.

It may be a response or whatever from outer stimuli…

But I can never be sure what is going to be the catalyst.

The Donor asking for a divorce didn’t demolish me to tears.

The Donor pressuring me to sign the papers and mentioning visitation didn’t reduce me to tears.

Then from out of nowhere a statement from a bloody redneck crumples me.

I HATE YOU BIPOLAR DISORDER AND FUCKING FEMALE HORMONES,HATE YOU HATE YOU HATE YOU!

I just want to be stable. I’m not expecting happy. Just stable.

I can’t even get that for more than  a couple of days at a time.

WTF?

I wish I could just take a pill to fix whatever is wrong with my brain.

I hope it knows how much I hate it.

Stupid dysfunctional unreliable fucker that it is.

Oh,well.

Bipolar,like shit, happens.

Bedtime.

Emotionally bobbleheading

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on August 22, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Last Tuesday,I received a big envelope in the mail. The Donor has MAILED me do-it-yourself divorce papers. ADDRESSED TO ME IN HIS GIRLFRIEND’S HANDWRITING.

There is no mention of Spooky,or the fact he deserted us and hasn’t lifted a finger to support her in 11 months.

He wants a no fault divorce with a waiver to get it before the two year rule in this state.With  marital misbehavior having no bearing on how the judge chooses to divvy up marital property.

His gf even included a nice little post it telling me I can have the papers notarized for free at the courthouse.

I AM NOT SIGNING A BLOODY THING.

I did my first divorce and there was little property and no children and there was a hell of a lot more paperwork included, as well as a case docket number. These papers have four total pages and as far as I can tell, have not come across in court desk. They were printed straight from the net or at least printed up with some internet template.

just when I think he cannot sink any lower, he proves me wrong. Acting like we don’t even have a child and he bears no responsibility.

I am going to seek legal advice. I will NOT let those two screw me or my child over.

Meanwhile, I am bobbleheading between medium functionality and total depression with acute anxiety, panic attacks, and sleep disturbance.

My kid is the battery bunny with a nasty attitude.

There’s never enough money.

Some days, I just want to  take spook away with to that place that doesn’t exist, where we can both exist happily without The Donor’s taint hanging around our neck’s like a noose, without my mental issues clouding everything.

11 months without any contact,and he MAILS me divorce papers. I fully expected to be served. Ya know, by a sheriff. If he has the money for a new car and matching wedding bands for him and his gf, I want him to have to stand in front of a judge and explain what makes him so special that he doesn’t have to support his child.

If those papers had included a waiver signing away his paternal rights and giving me everything he left behind, I’d have signed them in a heartbeat. I’m not contesting the divorce.

I AM contesting his mentally ill denial of our child’s existence and his responsibility to her. To not even mention her in the divorce papers, not even to waive his rights…

That’s so low he’d have to look up to kiss a snake’s belly.

Everyone thinks I am crazy because I’ve decided I would let him off the hook for past support as long as I get a legal document declaring he has ZERO rights to Spooky.

I don’t give a rat’s ass about the money, my entire life has been a struggle as far as money goes. I’m used to it.

But night after night of not being able to get to sleep or stay asleep because my mind is spinning, wondering what else he has up his sleeve to screw me over and hurt me…To possibly want to make a reappearance in her life at some point down the road…That is a dark cloud hanging over my head. To be rid of it would be worth more than money to me. My child is my everything.

I am highly suspicious because if I sign off on these papers and he adds a list of “marital” property it could list shit I had before I met him or stuff we never had to begin with. And the decision would rest with the \judge and I would have no recourse.

NO NO NO NO.

Fucking hell to the no.

They must think I am stupid in addition to having my psych issues.

I want my day in court if he isn’t going to be a man.

To not even ask for a divorce in person….

I should not be surprised, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that he is a horrible human being, even though every single day I search my mind and my heart to find ways that maybe I turned him into a bad person. Ultimately, the responsibility is his. He has made his choices, and there is NO legitimate choice to go 11 months without even offering to buy a package of diapers. I have lamented endlessly about how his rejection of his flesh and blood, the child WE created together pains me…

I want the divorce.

But more than that, I want a piece of paper that puts him out of our lives forever.

I think my panic and anxiety and depression might just alleviate if I could wipe the slate clean and be free of that particular albatross.

Then again, we’re nearing the season change and my seasonal affect will be kicking in, so I may just be falling down the rabbit hole all over again soon, no matter how hunky dory things might be.

Bloody fucking hell.

No rest for the wicked, I guess.

And to be MAILED divorce papers addressed by his gf/fiancee’, I must be one evil fucking witch to him.

Makes me regret the fact that I held back on my whiplash tongue and was nicer to him than any other guy I was ever with. Had I really unleashed myself, he’d probably be in a psych ward or dead by his own hand.

Weird thing is, I talk to the guys at the shop the same way and they don’t fall to pieces.

The Donor may have planted seeds of self doubt in me, but ultimately, my gut reminds me of the truth.

I’m flawed, I can be difficult, but I am NOT the one who walked out and I sure as hell didn’t desert my child.

Though I am sure he has found a way to hold me responsible for his own fuck ups.

He and his little gf may soon find out just what Morgueticia is made of,.

Methinks they are not going to like it.

Especially if I find a pro bono lawyer and his ass has to appear in court.

don’t

fuck

with

the

mama

bear.

Especially a bipolar one with a decent brain.

 

 

 

The I-just-want-to-sleep depression

Posted in depression on August 11, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Going on two weeks now, I have been in a “I just want to sleep” depression. Which is stupid, since the doctor increased my Effexor, so I should actually be feeling less depressed. Oh, well, it is what it is.

I just live for the portion of the day when I get my kid today and I am free to retire to my bedroom, pop in a movie, and just drift off for however long she will allow me. Which lately has not been much, since she wakes every hour on the hour wanting me to restart her Blue’s Clue’s dvd.

She’s been sick and I haven’t had a sitter, so I have missed two days at the shop, which irks me. Not her being sick, I mean, a cold is hardly fatal. I just feel so much better when I can be useful out there, as opposed to sitting at home vegetating.

We went to my dad’s corner of podunk this morning per his request. Parades bore me. Like, a LOT. Spook got lots of candy, though I don’t think she really understood what was going on.

We went to a couple of yard sales, dad and his gf bought her some winter clothes, which she needs desperately.

Then we ate fried fish at the legion on dad’s dime. That was nice of him.

She’s spending the night with them.

I am forcing myself to go to a cookout R and his wife are having (Jello shots are supposedly on the menu) but I don’t want to. I’m not feeling motIVATED OR social.

I just know I have to MAKE myself fake being a normal person.

And trust me, I am faking it. I had planned on cleaning house and just sleeping a lot while dad has the Spookster.

But an invite is an invite so I will put on my mask and go pretend to be one of the human race.

One of the boys in the trailer park killed one of my outdoor kittens, Lola. Snapped her neck. I can’t prove anything, though. She was buried yesterday. I was soooo sad , she was so sweet and friendly.

Then one of my asshole neighbors told the landlord I let those dog people from next door move in with me.

I don’t know what kind of crack they are smoking, but it’s some heavy shit.

I wouldn’t let that bunch and their dog within a hundred feet of my child.

Suiting because the guy who lived there was in the paper last week,on charges, for fathering a child with a 14 year old girl.

EWWWWWWWWW.

Sick fuck.

Now…

I must face the daunting task of bathing and choosing clean clothes to wear to the shindig.

It really is exhausting, why can’t I just live in pajamas?>

Why did I say I would even go?

Oh, right, to force myself to be normal.

Fuck.

Maybe I don’t want to be normal.

I will go fake it.

I’m pretty good at putting on my mask by now.

It just leaves me feeling so…hollow…and pissed off…and depressed.

Like no one will ever accept me for who I am if I don’t wear the mask and pretend there isn’t an elephant sitting in the room called depression.

People suck.

But at least Halloween is coming up. That makes me smile.

Ghouls just wanna have fun, ya know?

 

DIE BRAIN DIE!!!

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on August 3, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

I had a shrink appointment today. Which meant I barely slept last night due to the anxiety. Then I went today and I was such a panicky mess I was coated in sweat by the time I left and it was still cool outside. Ick factor ten! God, I don’t even want to be around me when I go so freakazoid and get sweaty and gross, why would anyone else?

I put on a happy face. It was, of course, semi fake. I think the Effexor is helping slightly, but so has laying off the booze. As much as numbness rocks, the side effect of worsened depression sucks. Fact is, I am still barely keeping my head above water here. I have learned, though, that doctors lose patience easily, and if they don’t see some improvement after so many medication changes, they get testy and start making accusations of you not wanting to get well. Been there, done that, have the emotional scars to prove it.

So I downplayed some stuff, lied about drinking (No, Dr, I can’t drink in this heat)(which is only a half lie) lied about the paranoia being better (it’s not) but I was flat honest about the anxiety. It’s free floating and I can’t stand it. It’s that damn paranoia inducing anxiety that leads me to drink in the first place.

I did okay the last five days.

Today, Mr Paranoia waltzed in with his line of “what ifs”.

What if that freckle on my arm is a melanoma?

What if that pain in my left arm is a stroke?

Oh my god, what if that stomach ache I had earlier is a sign of stomach cancer and the Donor is going to get custody of Spook because I’m going to be DEAD?????

What if that’s not a heat rash on the back of my legs but flesh eating bacteria?????

ohmygodohmygodohmygod

I am totally freaking out.

I HATE this part of my brain. I wish I could have it zapped dead with lasers. Yes, bad things happen all of the time, but why must my brain go all OCD about it and dredge up  EVERY possibility of doom?

I try to attack the paranoia with logic.

Logic gets its ass kicked royally.

There is only terror, cold, all encompassing paralyzing HAND ME A FUCKING BOTTLE OF BOOZE RIGHT FUCKING NOW BEFORE I MAKE A NOOSE AND HANG MYSELF TO ESCAPE THESE INSANE THOUGHTS panic.

Just after I told her the panic was pretty much under control by the Xanax.

Well, it was to be expected after five semi good days. What goes up must come down, good comes with bad, blah blah blah.

Hate it hate it hate it.

Because it makes me hate myself.

And it makes me question my sanity.

And then I start to seriously ponder these things, like what if I DO have a cancerous lump growing somewhere in my body right now as I write this and right now it’s just a speck but it’s going to turn into an inoperable terminal speck and I have to go to my grave knowing the law will hand my child over to the ogre who abandoned her almost a year ago without a thought as to whether she had a roof overhead or food in her tummy??????

WHAT IFS are EEEEEVIL.

And contagious, for my brain, because once one seeps into my head, a stampede of them comes out.

Logic would dictate that I go see a doctor for a physical just to put my own mind at ease, right?

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Logic has no place in panic disorder. I hate doctors, and if a mere med check with a psych on a TV screen had me sweating bullets, well, the thought of a physical has me paralyzed. I try to bully myself but it does not work. Because while I could get good news, I could also get bad news and in my current state of anxiety induced hysteria and depression, I’m not sure I could handle an ugly truth, especially if it turned out to be a death sentence.

So…The what-ifs keep coming and I keep swatting them away, but every few days they add up and march in and kick my ass to the point where I am so freaked out by my own mind, I just want to take a Trazadone and not be conscious until tomorrow when my brain MIGHT find something new to obsess about.

Neurotic be thy name.

I reiterate, I hate my brain.

I hate whatever it is that makes me this paranoid panic stricken freak of nature. My god, I’m 39, why haven’t I outgrown this idiocy?

Oh, and to make a bad day worse, I was at the shop listening to Kenny eschew his thoughts on how anyone on disability for a mental condition is making it up because they’re lazy and don’t want to work.

Yay.

That’s so helpful to my self esteem and paranoia issues.

Just talking about all this is giving me hives.

I think it’s time to put the evil brain to sleep for the night and hope against all hope that it is in a different space in the morning.

Does anyone else have issues with this type of paranoia? I’d really like to hear from anyone who does. The doctor seems to think it’s the auditory/visual hallucination type paranoia, but it’s not, I don’t have those issues. This is pure anxiety and panic based, and it would be helpful to know if anyone else endures this sort of thing.

As a post note to this crazy person rant, I’d just like to thank everyone who reads this blog and cares enough to click the “like” button or leave a comment. It helps to know I am not entirely alone and you are all very appreciated by me, even if my flaky butt doesn’t always reply to your comments.