Archive for September, 2012

Facedown in the gutter again

Posted in depression with tags , , on September 30, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday was not one of my finer days.

Dad and his brood took Spook for six hours to some redneck function…and rather than accomplishing all the things I put off because she is underfoot…I basically sat the whole day vegetating, enjoying my season premiers of my favorite tv shows. Then I began to feel anxious without her here and I had some whiskey.

Bad girl, yes I know.

Tis the only thing that kills that level of anxiety and paranoia.

It also made me sleepy.

So I laid down.

For all of forty five minutes til they returned Spook. And my dad was like, “Have you been SLEEPING?” Like I was sacrificing young children to Satan or something untoward. Yes, I had a bit of a nap, big fucking deal.

They stayed awhile to tell me how much fun she had.

Then I fed her and my mood hit rock bottom because damn it,  I feel shitty that between being fucking broke all the time and being terrified of any event with large crowds, I don’t do anything fun with my kid. I play with her at home sure, but I can only stand to take her outside every once in a blue moon because truth be told, I fear the neighborhood we live in and the people here.

My damn neuroses are going to ruin her childhood.

I put Spook to bed, then fell face first into my own bed, took a Trazadone and Xanax cocktail, and waited…and waited. For sleep. My mind just kept going round and round. Thoughts of her father and his venom, and how he is so broke he acted like being asked to buy some diapers was a hardship yet he is spotted outside his job smoking cigarettes everyday so how poor can he be…And I got angry and more angry. Then I got depressed and the self loathing began, because ya know, whose fault is it, I am the one who got involved with him.


It was toward midnight when I finally fell to sleep, and by then, my mood was so dark, I might have done something crazy had I been awake much longer. My self esteem has been thru a criss cross cut shredder and I suck at puzzles so putting it back together seems impossible. Or am I failing to regulate my emotions? (I HATE THAT COUNSELOR, HATE HER HATE HER HATE HER, AND I KNOW SHE MEANS WELL SO I FEEL LIKE A BITCH FOR HATING HER BUT SHE IS DOING ME MORE HARM THAN GOOD!!!!

Saddest part is, I don’t have the balls to go ask for a different counselor. In all honesty, I am kind of scared of this woman, like if I did ask for someone different, she might actually refuse and claim I am just being a brat…Or worse, alter my records in some way detrimental to me.

Eh, who says paranoia makes sense anyway?

I just wish there was a way to take some of these doubting Thomases who don’t believe how bad depression can be and let them spend an evening in the mind frame I was in last night…Which scared the hell out of me, because I couldn’t come up with anything good about myself or a reason for me to keep drawing breath. And I believed it and I knew the only way out was to sleep it off…

just so


of it.


Semi-suck (9/28/12 post)

Posted in biolar disorder, depression with tags , , on September 29, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Ya know how chocolate chips are semi-sweet?

Today was semi-suck.

My mood was alllll over the place because in my infinite premature alzheimer’s state I forgot to take my meds before I went out the door. No, I am not proud of this, especially considering how much crap I give others for their crap memories. It is what it is, though, so I went through about ten mood swings before lunch, shifting from blah to manic to too manic to crash landing to anger to acceptance to…You get the idea. It didn’t dawn on me while until halfway through the morning, I just thought I was having problems “regulating my emotions”.


Without the mood stabilizer I am a merry go round on a roller coaster ride from freaking hell.

And I can never seem to apologize enough for this to those in my proximity who have to deal with it.

Because wow, when the too manic goes into plain pissed off…it ain’t pretty.

I managed. Though I am sure I raised some questions because of the rapid shifts in behavior/train of thought/et al. (I was trying to regulate my emotions during a manic episode, so the fact no one got dead is pretty damn impressive.)


I am finally home and the day is done.

I didn’t think it ever would be. Before I could even pick Spook up, R was calling to tell me there was a girl in the shop who did something to her netbook and could I come look at it…So I took Spook to the shop (after a ten minute treaty-treat of hearing about the problems of many befalling my mother and sister’s zoo) and had the girl’s problem figured out in like, three minutes. Then I had to get cat food and told Spook she couldn’t have a ten dollar Dora toy so she promptly threw an unholy screaming mimi in the parking lot. I had to pick her up, press her against me, and carry the screaming thrashing kicking octopus to the car.

She’s usually not that bad.

Then we get home and somehow,I am held responsible for feeding mom and them and getting my nephew to his school dance so I just parted with my weekend money and told them to hit me back Monday when mom gets paid. Spook and I have food and don’t really need to go anywhere. I would have given a kidney to shut them up, I have empathy and sympathy but after 15 years of this every month with my sis and her husband never going to work for a fucking hour to try and help themselves…Cripes, enough already.

Needless to say,I was not home before 5pm…but surprisingly, my world did not implode, as I have thought for the last year that it would.

I can’t begin to explain that particular neuroses, wish I could.

But every day around 4 pm, I go into panic mode because I am terrified if I don’t get home like NOW, the world will implode…Routine is essential, it is crucial…

Yet yesterday the routine was out the fucking window and it sent me reeling and I was ready to just dissolve into a puddle of tears…the world did not end.

Of course, proof positive means fuck all to my mental issues.

Monday it will be the same thing all over.

And I kick myself for not being strong enough to “regulate my emotions”, as the counselor says, but nothing has changed.

Except I survived another day, when in the past, I would have fallen to pieces.

Why must personal progress be so goddamned slow?



Posted in anxiety disorders, mental illness with tags , , on September 27, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Kenny did not appear at the shop today and I spent the whole day wondering if I actually offended him. I mean, we play off of each other like the characters on That 70’s Show, throwing out insults and “burns”. Always trying to one up each other. He swore I absolutely could not offend him, so I went all How I Met Your Mother and thought, challenge accepted. I called him a helper monkey and asked him why he lived there at the shop 24-7.

Now he might not have appeared because he was working.

But then, maybe I did manage to offend a guy who said he could not be offended.

Thing is, we got a lot more accomplished without him there hijacking the computer and yapping and watching TV, even tho R’s grand daughter was sick and in the shop for three hours til her mom could pick her up. (Babies are like an instant upper for me,I was gaga.)

I don’t know why I even care.

Comes on the heels of the donor basically telling me how horrible I am. Which with as little time as it took him to get over me and recover from all my damage, I’m thinking I did something wrong. His first wife was allegedly so bad he didn’t date for 7 years. Cripes, I can’t even terrorize a man and traumatize him properly.

But apparently I was getting too twitchy today because R looked at me and said, “Getting paranoid there, Nik?”


It didn’t get much better once I got home. I just have this gut feeling the donor is going to find a way to punish me for not caving and signing his stupid paperwork.

Kinda feel justified in being paranoid.

But the anxiety is causes, the train of thoughts it sets off border on being completely insane.

That scares me.

I used to be paranoid,like Mulder, from X Files.

I am slowly becoming paranoid like Mel Gibson from Conspiracy Theory.

While my ever so helpful counselor tells me to regulate my emotions.

If my damn  brain would quit misfiring and putting me in these illogical frames of mind, I might stand a chance of that.

But since I spend so much time confused about what is mood swing, what is personality disorder, what is anxiety, what is my failing…

Bloody hell, the woman has me as confused as the donor.

I don’t think the mental health care “professionals” have a bloody fucking clue. They’re not even on the same damn page.

One says you absolutely have a mental condition and must take meds.


wtf is that?

Then you have psychologists,most of whom have zero use for medications and think everything can be psychoanalyzed and cured through thousands of dollars of chit chat.

I am becoming pissed off and disillusioned again with the whole mental health community thing.

I don’t think these people are helping me.

Or is that my own skewered perception?

I should feel better having talked to my therapist and her validating some of my concerns.

Part of my brain tells me she’s giving me bad advice because secretly she is on the donor’s side.

Which I am still thinking of my stepmonster,given that she talked to the man for 15 minutes and gushed about all the help her and dad have given me and how they’ve had her stay at their house (like I can’t handle taking care of my kid myself.)

She always wanted the donor, and she wasn’t shy about saying so right in front of my dad. Good looking, good cook, nice butt, blah blah b lah.

I don’t care if she denies it now, I think she just might be buying his self pity and leaning in his direction.

Though truth be told, I hope that is just the misfiring brain and panic and not fact.

I mean, I had a comment/message on my other blog tonight asking if they could use some excerpts for their similar themed blog as long as they give me credit…

and all I can think is, what if this is some trick by the donor, setting me up to look insane in court by using my blog against me?

or what if this is some random anti mental illness freak who wants to post my shit and have people mock me?

Yes,I know, I am pretty loopy.

This is where I force the logic to kick in, and just ride out the skewered perceptions and paranoia and panic.

I still can’t help but feel wary.

If things continue to slip this way…I may volunteer for electroshock.

I am sick of not being able to trust my own mind.

I think my therapist is broken

Posted in depression, mental illness with tags , , on September 26, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

(Quick recap to segue into current rant: stepmonster went into convenience store where The Donor works, he approached her, and asked her to “talk some sense into Niki and get her to sign the divorce papers”. Then they had a nice 15 minute convo about how he is doing all of this for his daughter(yet he never asked once about her,if she was even still alive.)

(So I called him at work and got the same old “you made me feel like shit every single day for three years” speech, plus he had to live in the store for three months til he got the money for a place and he didn’t leave me for another woman but he is dating and living with someone now and he got demoted and only gets 28 hours a week so if spook needs anything, email him or leave a message at the store and he will TRY to help but he has bills too.)

Commence vomiting.

I was a trainwreck. He knew which buttons to push to cause the most damage, R and his wife had to come over because I was in such a state of chaos.

He still thinks NOTHING was his fault. NOTHING. Even him not paying any support or calling to check on his kid is my fault for waiting so long to file support papers.

I offered to let him see her any time, and he said no, after everything is settled then he will give me his number and we can work out the visitation thing.

Incensed didn’t begin to cover it.

I was nearly suicidal all weekend.

Told my stepmom I thought she was wrong to go into his store when there are 15 others in town, and she was even more wrong to talk to him that long, telling him how her and dad have basically been supporting Spook when other than helping with car repairs and occasionally some diapers, I am supporting my kid.

She hung up on me.

I had to eat crow and apologize to get the family equilibrium back. God knows she could never ever be in the wrong. Even the counselor says my family is wrong to always go into his store.

I thought he was wayyy out of line approaching her with a matter that concerns us only.

Counselor said my stepmother was in the wrong and the Donor did nothing wrong.

Which seems to be the case in everything, he walked out on his kid but everything is my fault.

I was even ordered to stop calling him a deadbeat on line. (Why the fuck is he reading my blog if he can’t even call to check on his kid? And I don’t use real names or locations and no one local even knows I have blogs,wtf?)

Anyway…Got an emergency appt with the counselor yesterday.

Other than feeling relieved to vent and her assuring me not signing the papers is the right thing to do…I walked out actually feeling shittier about myself.

She says the mood swings I am having are not to do with the bipolar but are actually my own inability to manage and control my own emotions and triggers.

I admit this is all stressing me out, and it does affect my mood, but even prior to this latest debacle, I was having the angry moods and the burst into tears moods. I am entering Seasonal Affect territory, and there are days I really do think about dying a little too much. Yet it is usually without any direct cause other than something wrong in my brain giving me ideas that make no sense. Which has been happening a lot the last three years, my brain has never really been the same since the pregnancy and all. It’s so bad, I have kept much to myself, not revealing in this blog or even to a doctor or friend just how distorted the ideas in my head have been.

The fact that I am able to combat the distorted thoughts with logic kind of indicates a certain level of emotional control, I would say.

The counselor actually laughed at me-not a chuckle, an uproarious out loud echoeing off walls laugh, when I told her i had hoped in the past year the Donor might have grown up a little and come around a bit.

That made me feel stellar.

Perhaps I am naive. Perhaps I am unrealistic.

But having hope is not something that should be mocked that coldly.

And while she validated my concerns towards the paperwork he is pressuring me to sign,telling me under no circumstances to sign anything until he has a case number filed with the court…

She also made me feel as shitty about myself as he did.

She didn’t mean to, I am sure.

I am just beginning to question whether some of my depression stems from having a counselor I don’t feel all that connected to or comfortable with. Sometimes, the way she laughs and her condescending tone make me feel like she is mocking me.

I keep pondering if I am just being bratty because she is saying things I don’t want to hear…

But I don’t believe so, because I have had a couple of counselors who didn’t handle me with kid gloves but I left my sessions feeling strong and looking forward to the next one.

I don’t have that here.

Is it possible her approach is really just not healthy for me?

Is she broken?

Am I just beyond hope?

More often than not, I feel hopeless.

The Donor gets to walk out, not pay  a dime, blame me, then get a demotion and his hours cut so even if he does have to pay,it wont be more than fifty bucks a month and I have to let him see a kid who has no clue who he is.

It is depressing.

Rewarding him for abandoning his kid.

Punishing me when all I have ever tried to do is right by my child.

Maybe I am just bitter and depressed over it all, maybe I’m not even bipolar at all. Maybe The Donor was right and everything is just me having a rotten personality.

My gut tells me no.

Even R, who broke up with me, admits now that I have grown up so much and he enjoys my company a lot because I’m not the same person I used to be.

I’m not fixed, or perfect, but I have grown.

It counts.

I guess.

I dunno.

I’m ready for bed, thinking this much makes my brain hurt.

And is giving me panic attacks.








Licensed but clueless

Posted in mental illness on September 21, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Saw my counselor today.

She chastised me because I spent the forty five minutes ranting about The Donor.

Well, when I tried to talk about my mood swings, depression, and anxiety, she said it all tied back to him.

I was trying to clue her in as to why my self confidence is in the bloody gutter. It all leads back to him and the fact that I loved him and I bought into all his manipulations and lies.

And she made me feel like a criminal.

Oh well. We had a few decent sessions.

Any time I do something outside her approval, though, I end up feeling like a kid getting their hand smacked.

I’m sorry if my estranged husband still invalidating me via postal service is stressing me out and making my mental stuff worse, allow me to drop it all and perform for your benefit, oh wise licensed counselor.

Licensed but fucking clueless.

I have a man basically blaming me for something that is a state sanctioned legal matter, how is that not gonna stress me out?

Isn’t it hysterical when you’re telling your therapist about your very public meltdown into tears and suicidal thoughts and she basically dismisses you like you’re just some drama queen?

Invalidation left and right.

Welcome to my life.

Is it bedtime yet?

THIS is why my decor runs to skulls and grim reapers and Freddy Kruger and Jason Vorhees.

Because for all my panic and paranoia, I know those aren’t the monsters to fear.

The scary ones are the ones wearing human masks and pretending they give a fuck what you’re going through.


Survival of the sweatiest

Posted in anxiety disorders, panic disorder with tags , on September 20, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

When I say I sweat while nervous or panicked, I don’t mean a spot here and there. I mean, 110 in the shade running a marathon sweating.

And when I sweat, I smell bad. Not like body odor, just stagnant.

The smell of fear, I suppose.

It’s mortifying, but I have tried every sweat gland blocking agent known to man and every perfume and deodorant and layers of powder and lotion and perfume…

When I am nervous or freaking out, my sweat glands run along with it.

Tonight,I would have rendered more sweat than the combined sweat socks of a basketball team after a three hour game.

I know, ewwwww.

Welcome to my life.

I showed up 20 mins early for the lawyer,only t find two other people ahead of me.

And I sat. And my hands were soaked with sweat and I just knew the man would shake my hand and think GROSSSSSS.

Because I think it myself, I just don’t know what to do about it. The doctor says calm down, that’s the stellar medical advice I have been given. Like if I knew how,I would be taking more pills to tackle the anxiety when it’s insulting enough to need pills to keep from turning into the tasmanian devil on hormones replacement therapy.

I digress…

I was sweating and trembling and I just knew the woman next to me could probably smell me (like a musty attic, that’s what it is) and I know she kept looking at me because I was-ha ha ha ha=quietly hyperventilating.

Finally got my turn and the lawyer spent all of three minutes with me. He said not to sign any of the papers, the court will not allow this as a child is involved, we will both need lawyers and there will be court ordered mediation which we will have to split the cost for.

I was vindicated because I tried to tell these things to the Donor and he wrote how wrong I was, blah blah blah.

I also like the idea of mediation, not that I want a reconciliation, but ffs, we have a kid together, we should at least be able to communicate in a civilized fashion.

Of course, the lawyer asked about the donor’s income,told me I’d be entitled to 20% of his take home pay, about fifty bucks a week. (Seems fair, when every cent I have goes into her care, eh? Takes two to make a kid, but only 20% of the deadbeat parents’ wages to raise ’em.)

Then he asked if I had anyone who could help me come up with the money for his services, which is about fifteen hundred bucks, plus the court ordered mediation, et al.


I’d find a way to cough up the mediation money.

Fifteen hundred,though, there’s no way in hell. And since this was all his doing, I don’t think it’s right that I should have to pay for any of it. He left me for someone else. I was willing to work on the marriage, work on my flaws, work, work, work, to keep our family in tact. He abandoned us. His choice, not ours.

But at least I got solid advice from an actual attorney and not just a legal student. That girl advising the Donor must be pretty fucking dumb, if a lawyer takes one look at the papers and says, “You can’t sign this, the court will never accept it,not when a child is involved.”

He also said he doesn’t think the donor even wants visitation, though it is within his rights, he obviously does not want the responsibility of a child or he would not have walked out on her.


Since Mr Donor, with his full time job and expense sharing with his new woman, is sooo poor he has to be his own attorney and get crappy incorrect advice from a legal student…I will place a call to legal aid and see if I can instigate proceedings with representation and maybe we can get this thing moving.

If not, well, it’s not really my problem since I don’t have an unhappy gf/fiance pressuring me to get a divorce.

I was so rattled when I left (vindication does not kill panic, fyi) I forgot to fasten my seatbelt and pulled out in front of the municipal building where a bunch of cops were sitting in their cars…MORE panic. Thought I was a goner. Since the last $75 ticket and my insurance rates increasing I have been very very good about wearing the straight jacket of state sanctioning Orwellian protection from myself. Tonight I slipped. Thankfully they did not stop me.

Came home. Spook was mesmerized by it being dark outside. I don’t go out after dark much, guess maybe I am sheltering her too much, but in truth my night sight makes me nervous.

As do my neighbors, at least the kids, who have decided to kick one of those huge spindles that copper wire comes on (ya know, the ones the size of a tractor tire that look like thread spindles) up and down the street right outside my bedroom window when there’s an empty trailer next door they could be doing it in front of. I said something and the kid goes yelling to his momma about it, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find my car vandalized in the morning. It’s not right, all these feral people moving in, uncivilized and without boundaries. I like my home and they make me fear going outdoors. Sometimes, even staying indoors. I wouldn’t put it past some of these fuckers to try to set the place on fire with us inside it. I mean, these are the same kids who smashed that kitten to death with a brick.

Humanity sickens me.

Parents who churn out children like that because they can’t be botheered to watvch them and teach them better piss me off.

Pardon the typos, I am still shaking like a leaf and sweating.

So…bottom line is, he needs a lawyer, i need a lawyer, neither of us can afford one…His gf is gonna be pissed. Of course, they will both direct their anger at me and not the legal system, because if I’d just roll over and obey, none of this would be happening.

Pardon me if I want to do things legally. That is wrong of me, I suppose. To not try and circumvent the law and basic legal matters for my own purposes,ie being rid of the Donor.

Seeing it typed on paper that I am his spouse makes me want to projectile vomit.

That affliction needs to go away.

But,as the lawyer said, I have to do what is best for my child and The Donor’s way is not it.

I feel better, having gotten advice from an actual attorney. How I wish I could afford his services. The Donor would probably go hide in the beer cooler at his job until he froze to death rather than have to go to court with lawyers and have to answer for his behavior.

One day at a time.

Tomorrow I see my counselor.

I need it.

And I do apologize if I am flood posting, it has been a really rotten week mental health wise and venting really helps, so whoever reads my ranting…Thanks.

I appreciate the comments and everyone who hits the like button immensely.

Just knowing someone out there relates to what I am going through simply by reading these words I type makes me feel a little less alone.


Why is avoidance a bad coping mechanism?

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 19, 2012 by morgueticiaatoms

Had a meltdown at the shop today.

Probably,at least in part, due to forgetting to take my meds this morning, I did not sleep well last night and this morning was just in a walking coma.

Burst into tears.

R was witness.

I was humiliated and mortified.

Even tried to call my counselor but she was with someone.

All this negative stuff started floating around in my head.

How I screw up everything I touch.

How ruin every relationship I have ever had.

How the Donor told me none of it was my disorder and it was just my personality that makes such a difficult wretched human being.

That ya know, R couldn’t handle me, either, so he’s probably secretly siding with the Donor, because I am just that broken and hopeless.

That maybe I’d be better off dead because Spook deserves better.

That maybe I’d better just sign the damn papers and suck up the fact that the Donor once again gets off with no responsibility for his actions and skates off into the sunset to do it all again to some other unsuspecting woman who just wants to be loved….

I wanted it to work, I tried so hard, I was willing to sacrificed every last vestige of myself to have my family in tact, right or wrong.

I know now it was wrong because we were both terribly unhappy even if he was lying about it.

I was going by what I was being told.

Never mind he was lying every time his mouth opened.

I meant well.

But again, I send another one running into the night.

Yet how can I be such a good mom if I am such a horrible partner in a relationship?

Anyway, the dark thoughts consumed me, and I came home to take my meds, then went back…which was when the tears flooded and wow, as nice as he was about it, I bet R was thanking his lucky stars he kicked me to the curb so he doesn’t have to deal with the mood swings and drama.

Which just made me feel even worse about myself.

I didn’t ask to be bipolar. I don’t like this shit. I do everything I am supposed to do and I STILL can’t seem to “get well.”

At least the men get to walk away. I don’t have that luxury.

It sucked. I was just…I kept telling myself “you’re not weak, you are stronger than this, toughen up.”

The tears just kept coming.

I HATE crying with an audience.

I should have just called him and told him I had a stomach ache and wouldn’t be in. Which isn’t untrue, I’ve had a stomach ache for three days now, not to mention hyperventilating panic attacks, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, and the desire to do nothing but sleep because it hurts to think.

And here I sit at 5:30 pm Wednesday, watching the time tick by slowly because even after the emotional roller coaster day from hell, I cannot relax yet for I have to wait til 7pm and go see some ambulance chasing lawyer who does a free legal advice clinic every week on this night for an hour.

I sincerely doubt anything will come of it except him telling me to suck it up, sign the papers, and move on.

I keep asking myself and soul  searching to see if I am being petty or paranoid or ridiculous or vindictive.

I do not believe I am.

The man, has after all, proven to be a pathological liar, a coward, and a chronic deadbeat dad.

I do not believe wanting to be in court when the judge handles the custody/visitation/support manner is off base.

God, I do NOT want to go do this. From what I have heard this lawyer is an ass who’d sue his own mother if it meant getting a dime. Since The Donor and I have no money, I don’t see him wanting to dirty his hands with our little drama.

Like I do,.

If it had all just been spelled out and agreed to like human beings, none of this would be happening. The Donor did this, I didn’t.

And for all I know he’ll go into court and claim to have paid support all along and I denied him seeing his kid.




Paranoid or not, I learned the hard way he is not to be trusted.

I keep trying to think positive, as in maybe this lawyer will give me some good advice, but my routine has been upset by having to go do this at 7pm and take Spook to mom’s again and…I do not do well with deviation. At all.

It’s almost like I become paralyzed with fear at the prospect of being away from home after 5pm.

Why can’t I just avoid this anxiety all toegther and say fuck it and sign the papers?

Let him have his way once again.

But I KNOWwhy.

I once tested him, just to see if he was a good man, because my paranoid gut was telling me he was not.

He was talking about a better paying job and how it would give us more money and I told him, “WEell, you know if (his son’s mother) comes after you for child support, she’ll get more of your paycheck so you wn’t be naking more at all.” (Yes,I know bitchy comment but I needed a reaction.)

And what he said was, “Oh, she won’t come after me, she can’t afford a lawyer.”

Any man who would say that, and feel no responsibilty toward his own flesh and blood without a court ordering him to do so…

deserves a bitch like me making him step up for a change. He owes me nothing, but he owes Spooky big time.

I’ll have my nervous breakdown after I meet this ambulance chaser, as R calls him.

It can’t hurt,right?