Archive for February, 2013

Primal scream

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , on February 28, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Every sound is like a thousand nails on a chalkboard. I want to scream at everyone and everything GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!! I have hives and a knotted stomach and of course, this was the day I went to pick my kid up from my mom’s and instead of a minor fit, she had a full blown tantrum because she didn’t want to stop playing and go home. She warbled, she screamed, she bawled, she kicked, she said, “You’re hurting me!” when I wasn’t even touching her. I try to ignore these tantrums rather than feed into them. Besides which, nothing I do works. And I don’t dare raise my voice or threaten her with no TV in front of my mom lest it start an unholy war.
Then my mom storms in and raises her voice and tells my kid it’s not nice to treat mommy like that and to straighten up. Which worked for all of five seconds. It amazes me that my sister and I cannot discipline our kids without her interfering yet if she wants to scream and lecture, it’s fine. I dread picking my kid up everyday. Between my mother and Spook’s tantrums, it just taps me the fuck out.
The tantrum continued off and on in the car…over…every…tiny…thing. I stopped at a red light. That made her cry. I took a drink of my soda. That made her cry. I mean, I get that she hasn’t napped and she’s tired and cranky but really. They don’t want you to talk on a cell phone while driving but has anyone ever contemplated how stressful and distracting it is to have a screaming kid in the back kicking seats and thrashing around?
I have become convinced my child is the spawn of satan.
This used to be an occasional occurrence, the really bad defiant days.Since being under my mother’s care and influence, Monday through Friday has become a fucking war zone. The only time I am in control (somewhat) of my own kid is on weekends. I have tried time outs, taking things away from her, praising her when she is good, sitting her on my lap and explaining why the behavior is unacceptable…Nothing works.
I am inept as a mother.
How could I possibly be competent when I am falling apart over every tiny sound and want to throttle everything around me that draws breath?
To top it all off, the cable company is apparently having issues or doing upgrades so their customers haven’t had internet in almost six hours. That made doing anything at the shop imfuckingpossible. Which added to my stress, him asking every two minutes if the net was back up and wanting to reset the router ten times. If it’s down, it’s down, dumbass. Fuck.
At least tomorrow will be a short day. My mom needs to run an errand at 1pm so I will go into the shop for a few hours and then be done. So I can do battle with my screaming demon again. How I love her, how she tickles me. She keeps telling me she lost her brain in the snow and has rats in her mouth. We get along pretty well…Until my mother’s interference.
And it could be the paranoid anxiety but I know my mom well and I can just bet she is on a tirade about how I “let” my kid get away with acting like a tyrant and I am not a very good mom and blah blah blah.
Then I got a message from the job lady wanting to confirm that I want to close my case looking for work for right now, like it’s some dire thing. I talked to my counselor, she saw that I am not doing well. What further clarification is needed? Let’s just stress the stressed out lady more.
OMG. The noise will not stop. My kid will not nap. The cats will not stop climbing on me. Normally I love the feeling of being so loved.
Right now…I just want to be unloved, uncrowded, unburdened by a cacophany of sounds that are making my inner ears cringe and my skin crawl. The entire daily dose of Tic-tac-o-pin is doing NOTHING to make it better. I’d settle for a little grogginess to take the edge off and it doesn’t even fucking doing that much.
Kill
me
now

The Witching Hour

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on February 27, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Sometimes, I just don’t have a good title for my posts. So I will just pick a line from whatever song is playing when I start writing. In this case it is from a song called “Alibi” by 30 Seconds To Mars. Awesome song.

My anxiety is off the fucking charts. For some reason, the trailer park has been a cacophony of yapping dogs all night. It’s not really the norm, but it’s managed to drown out my music and that irks me. It irks me more that I am having so much anxiety anyway due to Tic-tac-o-pin being utterly useless. Throw the stressor of noise in and I’m just like peeling my own skin off.

The sunshine spewer said yesterday I need to call the shrink’s office and get an earlier appointment and explain how little the Klonopin is doing and ask for my xanax back. Which is odd because when I first started seeing her, she preached the evils of Xanax and how it’s only a short term medication. Perhaps she saw how wired I was and rethought her position? I am toughing it out, giving the Klonopin a real chance, before my next dr appointment. Thanks to a bunch of assholes abusing xanax, I feel like a fucking junkie asking for it. It’s just the only thing that works for my panic and anxiety, ffs.

The day was…icky. Cold and rainy and snowy. My mood was sort of off. I did not want to be at the shop. I did not want to do much of anything but stay home and work on my story. I am revamping it again (cute pun, considering it is a vampire novel) and if you don’t go when the creative urge is there, you risk losing it. Thankfully I did not lose it, but the fear is like a cloud looming overhead. Reality intruding upon my elusive creative juices is icky. Everything is icky.

I was just glad to come home.

Until of course the dog symphony became an issue.

Around 7 PM I began to feel panicky because I wasn’t in bed yet. I am still not sure what that is about, why I feel this overwhelming need to be safely ensconced in my bedroom by 7pm, or 8pm at the latest. I am trying to retrain my brain but the anxiety does not give a fuck. It does what it does.

I am also feeling extra panic because using the laptop for too long and feeling how warm it gets makes me paranoid that I am going to destroy it by using it.

This is not an optimal state to be in. It was not this bad a few weeks ago, at least not with the extreme paranoia and fear causing the panic. Generalized anxiety my ass, this is psychotic anxiety.

My mom went off on me again this morning. They canceled school supposedly because the weather was too bad and she was mad I didn’t stay home today. Um, it was 35 and doing nothing outside when I left, all the snow was turning to slush. Still scratching my head on that one. I should stay in because the weather *might* be bad? So I don’t have to leave the house from November til March since i live in the midwest and the weather *might* always be bad during those months? COOL.

My mom is a nutbar,

My gut is in a stress pretzel knot. I think it may be time to go to bed if only to escape that part of the anxiety. And I hear the damn clock ticking (metaphorically) reminding me it’s getting closer to time to having to do it all over again. Dealing with people has become ten times harder in the last three weeks. I wonder why. I feel like I have a target painted on my back and everyone is a damn sniper. I believe the clinical term is decompensation.

Tic-tac-o-pin works for me as well as hooked on phonics works for rednecks.

Git r done.

Fuck

me.

Poison Rain- a post about bipolar, panic, and self loathing

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on February 26, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s 4:37 am. I woke up at 4 am to the sound of pounding rain and wind. The first thing that popped into my head were the words “poison rain”. I LOVE rain. Hell, my daughter’s middle name is Rain. But there’s a difference between types of rain. Warm summer rain is blissful. Cold winter rain is harsh. Poisonous. It chills you to the bone and erodes at the warmth.

Bipolar and panic are the same way.

When manic or in a neutral holding patter, being bipolar isn’t all that bad. Like a warm rain, it makes you feel hopeful and good and you can almost harness happiness like catching a drop of rain in your palm.

A functional panic can be your body’s way of warning you to be more careful, more wary, it can signify nervous anxiety for something new that is not entirely a bad thing.

Flipside….

Bipolar in its depressive or coming unhinged state…pure poison rain.

Panic in its most extreme, when the world around you begins to spin, and every fight or flight instinct your reptilian brain possesses all start firing at the same time for not legitimate reason…poison rain.

I am feeling the poison rain vibe today.

Yesterday was…Eh. I managed to fall on the snow and bruise a knee, then I sat down in a chair and bashed the back of my head, leaving a goose egg. I was not born with patience or an inherent grace.

The session with the counselor was more productive than usual. Upon learning of every shitty thing that’s happened in the last two months, she actually asked if I felt I was ready for work and if maybe I shouldn’t postpone the job search for awhile. That gave me a little breathing room. As did her not laughing at me or mocking me or berating me. Because I was fully prepared to just out and out tell her I was ready to quit therapy.

The shop was busy. He went out on a house call and I dealt with six customers in an hour. For that place, that is a whirlwind of activity. I liked being kept busy, but the panic was pretty harsh. When the walls feel like they are closing in and I can’t catch my breath…That’s a fleeing from the scene of the crime situation. It makes me very uneasy. I came home with a stomach ache from the stress.

It took a lot out of me. I was in bed before 8 pm.

Now…I am cold and the rain makes me feel colder and it just feels like it’s gonna be a poison day. I don’t want to go out in this shit. I don’t want to force myself into a shower then have to spend a half hour under a blanket getting my body temperature back up. I don’t want to deal with the laundry piling up and having to drag it out.

What I want to do is take a mental health day.

I won’t, but I want to.

I must tread carefully, though. On poison rain days, the ones inside my head, I run a high risk of a meltdown into tears or a fight or flight induced panic that results in me cursing and shrieking.

I told sunshine spewer that is something I want to work on. Keeping my cool in public. Let me melt down in private if I must, but I have got to learn to keep it together in front of others. Showing weakness to the kind of people I know is only arming them, sad statement that it is.

I also want to learn how to cut myself some fucking slack.

Because part of what makes the poison rain depression so much worse is the fact that I loathe myself so much for a lot of things that aren’t my fault. I didn’t ask for the bipolar and panic, and yet, I take absolute responsibility for it like it was a choice. And my own inability to kick its ass and come out on top make me hate myself and think my kid would be better off without a loser like me for a mom.

Gotta find a way to stop thinking that way. Gotta stop invalidating myself.

Really gotta get a heavy duty umbrella to withstand the torrential poison rains my own mind lets loose on me.

Newsflash: Fresh air does NOT cure a depressed mood

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on February 25, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Two days running now, in the bleak black depression zone. I have tried everything to lift myself out of it. Watching favorite movies, playing favorite music, playing games with my kid. I even resorted to a trip into the petri dish, thinking maybe there was something to that fresh air thing helping improve mood.

Bucket of fail.

About the only thing that helps these moods is a brain reboot. Much like a computer, except the only restart I have is to go to bed and sleep off the bad mood. Sometimes it takes days or months to work.

Thing is, I don’t even know why I am so down. Nothing’s really different, it’s the same bucket of suck it’s always been.

Maybe because my anxiety is just devouring me. I have cats jumping on me demanding attention and an inquisitive needy 3 year old asking “Why?” and saying “I want” every ten seconds. And because the Tic-tac-o-pin is utterly inept, I just want to scream bloody fucking murder. Instead, I put myself in a time out today. No doubt the sunshine spewer will tell me I’m the mom, I don’t get time outs. Yeah, well, it’s either time out for mommy or meltdown for mommy. Time out seems like the lesser evil.

God, I don’t want to see her tomorrow. It’s not going to help an iota, it might even bring me down more.

I am still trying to battle my way through the bleakness. I am failing big time. I don’t feel like writing. I don’t want to do housework.  (I don’t think ten unwashed dishes and a basket of unfolded laundry constitute a pig sty, but then I am not anal retentive and ocd like some people, to them that’s probably a public health hazard.)

Just at the point of saying fuck it, time to reboot the brain with some sleep.

upbeatness in me at the moment. These are the moods I wish the therapist and shrink could see.

I’d be curious to know if anyone else gets in these black moods. Because the so called professionals here have a “shake it off” attitude and I am trying and feeling like such a freak and a failure. It can’t just be me, can it?

ftw

Oh fuck a clever title, people suck and I have a Trazadone hangover

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , , on February 24, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Guess what my mood is today?

First let’s cover yesterday which lead to today’s “fuck the world” mood.

My plumbing is fucked up again. Went to do some laundry and next I know, I have nasty water coming up through the kitchen sink and water shooting out the back of my washer. YAY. It was fixed for four whole days. Impressive. NOT.

So after my dad picked up Spook for their weekend outing, I had to dig into a washer full of ice cold water and remove all the clothes into trash bags (btw, wet clothes way a fucking ton) and drag my laundry up to the shop to use R’s machines.

So at that point my mood was circling the drain.

Then R told me Kenny had gone to hook up with his ex gf (the one he rants trapped him into 18 years of child support by getting pregnant)  and I was just like, “Ok, I care because…” Only to be informed all the nice things Kenny has done for me over the months has been HIS EFFORT TO GET INTO MY PANTS.

Are you fucking serious dude?Really? I am all but wearing a goddamn sign that says FUCK OFF AND DIE and you think trying to manipulate me with nice gestures to suit your own agenda is going to fare well for you?

Of course, I was oblivious because hey, all I’ve ever had are guy friends and as one told me, “You’re one of the guys, Niki.” So it just didn’t occur to me someone would disregard this in hopes of me being a raging nympho willing to put out for some fucking smokes. (Yet, it should have because it’s happened before.)

That HURT. I thought the guy was my friend. This is why I don’t have friends. Bullshit bullshit bullshit. People are evil fucking vile creatures.

Rather than be a typical woman and be flattered that a man would want to have sex with me, I am deeply offended because I am in my “I’ve gained 50 pounds of fat as armor to protect my emotions so no one will think I am attractive” phase. Which I go through after any failed relationship. It saddens me to know that not even looking like gothic Jabba the Hut has worked.

I tried to shrug it off. I tried sooo hard. But the mood just continued to descend. By the time they brought Spook home, I was tapped out and thinking bad thoughts. I played with her a bit, put her in jammas, tucked her in, then I took a Trazadone and I was down for the count.

I was due, though, since I hadn’t slept through a night in months. Not that Trazadone got that job done, I woke up at 4:30 but I was too depressed to get up and went back to sleep.

Now my head is hurting (Trazadone hangover) and I am still shaking off the bizarre dreams that are also side effects from Trazadone. I am feeling pretty down and hopeless.

And anxiety is running rampant at the prospect of seeing the sunshine spewer tomorrow.

I just can’t ever get it right. It makes me hate myself. I do not like hating myself. I have done some good in my life too. But it all seems to come back to the fact that I can never just get my shit together and no one wants to believe it’s the mental stuff that knocks me on my ass. It’s all a personality flaw, a character defect.

And thus begins to the self hatred cycle all over.

Fuck

my life.

 

 

 

The Elusive Good Mood-it happens occasionally

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on February 23, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday, in spite of it all…I was in a semi good mood. No thoughts of doom and gloom. Moderate anxiety. No abysmal attitude toward humanity. I scooped my drive, chiseled off two solid inches of ice from the windshields, loaded the car up with kid, stuff, and my, and off I went. Okay, so I lie a little. I DID cop a slight attitude when R told me he was going to have me “tear into” some electronic device. I told him “It’s not gonna happen.” Not after him lording that mistake I made over my head all week. I get it, I fucked up, does he not know that repeating it over and over erodes self confidence? DERP. He accepted it. Because he had no choice. When I say no, I mean NO.

Nothing exciting happened. Few customers due to the weather, though the phone rang a bit much for my nerves. (I am hyper sensitive to noise.)

The anxiety kind of filtered in the closer to the end of the day it got, for I had committed to going to his house and having pizza with him and his wife so Spook could play with their granddaughter. Just to give an example of how opposite his wife and I are…She thinks he is negative. I call him “the most adorkable optimist ever.” She decorates her house in frilly penguins and bears. I decorate my house with skulls, rock music posters, and anatomically correct devil dolls. She watches “Say Yes To The Dress”. I watch “Dexter.”

Get the picture? About all we have in common is neither of us cut R any slack for being a douche sometimes and we both like this velvet red wine. That’s the extent of our common ground.

So going there…is uncomfortable for me.

But my kid wanted to play with L and I had made the commitment so we went.

When R’s daughter was dropping L off, I sat off to the side, focusing mainly on watching the girls play. I am far more comfortable with children than adults. Kids are innocent and funny and non judgmental. Adults are vile judgmental tarnished beasts. (Okay, so the goodwill toward men part faded out yesterday, sue me.) For the most part, they ignored me and I was fine with that. (Oh, and for the record, being more comfortable with kids than adults is not some creepy thing, I used to work in a daycare and kids just kinda have the same mentality I do at times 🙂 )

They left, then his wife started in on him, do this, do that, get me this, get me that…I hate that shit. And I really hate the way he just takes it, albeit not silently, he mutters shit under his breath to show his irritation. It just gets old, because it’s every time we go there. If that’s his nightly life going home to her, he really deserves a kick in the shin for dumping me. I’m not that bad. Or at least I don’t think I am, unless you’re a certain Canadian, in which case I guess I am a total bitch ‘cos I don’t like you. Bygones.

Once she had some wine and I had some wine, things got a little less uncomfortable. But then came the complaints from her about how R and I banter too well together, he lets me insult him but she cant (she totally doesn’t get the concept of The That 70’s Show “burn” thing, it’s all done in jest.) Then she starts in about how he treats me, and again, telling me to get him a beer and sammich is a JOKE that we’ve had going for awhile now. There are plenty of times I tell him to get his own damn beer.

She makes my head hurt.

She then got bent because the grand daughter wanted a little too much to do with me, and started holding her instead of letting her walk around and choose who she wanted to hold her. Puh-leeze.

It was two hours of mixed “this isn’t so bad” and “oh my god get me out of here now or kill me”.

Kind of describes my entire existence.

Came home, almost fell asleep, kid woke up screaming bloody murder and wouldn’t tell me why or stop, so I put her in bed with me. She slept soundly in the middle of the bed, leaving me a wedge. I was up from 2 am til almost 5 because it’s very difficult to get comfy on the edge of the bed.

She got me up at 7am. Or demanded I get up because it’s “not dark anymore, mommy.”

I am still debating what my mood is today. Probably not gonna be good ‘cos it’s housework day. I fucking hate housework. And grocery shopping. The petri dish freaks me out.  I feel jumpy already, no clue why, except tic-tac-o-pin ain’t working.

I have an appointment with the sunshine spewing counselor Monday I am dreading.

Typical session:

I go in, she sits back in her chair after typing a bunch of shit on the computer about my meds, etc, then asks, “What’s been going on?”

I tell her about the med changes, the side effects, the anxiety, the problems getting Spook to mind, my frustration with her dad for not wanting anything to do with her.

Sunshine spewer says, “We talked about this last time.”

Then comes 35 minutes of me babbling because I am just trying to fill the time and get the hell away from this totally not helpful person who is going to bill insurance whether I talk or not. Might as well torture her with my redundancy. She has basically told me I am redundant.

What is the point of therapy to help me deal with the problems I am having when all she does is remind me it was discussed last time and since I am out of bed and upright, all is hunky dory. WTF?

I still haven’t dealt with the job lady situation. Still haven’t worked up the nerve to open the letter she sent and get my berating for being a fuck up.

I’m a mess and I know I am mess, but what are you supposed to do when the professionals keep telling you that you “need to work, it will be good for you.” I am already have daily meltdowns from juggling so much, adding one more thing where there is no room for my disorder is not going to help. They’re fucking clueless.

And I am fucking exhausted trying to keep up with their expectations.

The one ray of sunshine in my otherwise bleak world is THE NEW WEDNESDAY 13 ALBUM DIXIE DEAD is fucking awesome. He always makes me smile. He is too funny. His music is considered dark. I find it enlightening. Because the song “Fuck You” sums up every emotion I have. Wednesday is a god.

To prove just how much I LOVE his music, this is my kid at 6 months old.

My beautiful picture

My email signature is WWWD. What Would Wednesday Do.

Guys in eyeliner are HOTTTT.

Guys in eyeliner who write songs about death are HOTTER.

I take great pride in being this warped.

Fuck the world.

Worship Wednesday.

Long inane rant done.

 

Fever pitch

Posted in biolar disorder, panic disorder with tags , , on February 22, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

We’re in the middle of a snowstorm from hell, with more coming along with freezing rain. It was zero visibility today and driving in it nearly gave me a nervous breakdown.

Now R has called and assumed I am going to drop everything to come in tomorrow, risking my kid’s life on the hazardous roads, for no money, just because…

My anxiety level is so high, I want to burn myself with cigarettes just to distract from what a nervous wreck I am. It sounds psychotic, I know, but it used to be a method of escape for me. Inflicting little wounds on myself to distract from whatever mental torment I was experiencing. That was eight years ago, though. I saw it was destructive and a little sick. But it doesn’t mean the thoughts don’t still occur. It’s hard to multi task mental pain and physical pain. The physical would drown out the mental.

But alas, I have done away with such crutches and burned them in the fire of my past.

So I fret and chain smoke and get stomach aches from the stress of the demands placed on me by others.

Earlier this week, during a semi manic swing, I was invited to R and his wife’s house Friday for pizza and Dr Who. Since my mood was up at that time and I had turned down three invites prior, I agreed.

Now my mood has shifted downward and while I will keep my word, road conditions permitting, I don’t want to go. Frankly, his wife and I have nothing in common and hanging out with her present is rather uncomfortable. Then they get to bickering if he doesn’t answer to her every whim…Kinda like walking on shards of glass and calling it a good time. LIE.

Why can’t my mood ever just stay consistent?

Why can’t I just rip my central nervous system out so I can’t be NERV-ous.

Why why why.