Archive for July, 2013

How does mental illness affect your life?

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on July 31, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

That is the question always asked on my disability review papers. It’s also a question,or form of the question, others have asked me when interrogating (that’s how it felt to me) about why I “can’t” work.

My illness IS my life.Maybe I have made it the center, but even if I hadn’t, the bottom line is it impacts EVERYTHING about my existence. People hear “mood disorder” and roll their eyes. Society has no problem calling you crazy, but to actually qualify for societally acceptable crazy, you have to wear a tinfoil hat, walk around naked, and talk about the spork people from planet Monsoon. Anything less than stark raving off your nut is simply your personality therefore you can suck it up.

How I wish it were that easy.

For about a week, I was a whirlwind of mania and all that accompanies it. High energy, vivacious mood, uber stress coping skills, the feeling that nothing in life can keep you down.

This week, I have been uber depressed, uber stressed, and my mind has simply been fading in and out of the coherent place. Like earlier today, I couldn’t even remember how to turn my wipers off. I’ve been driving this car 9 months now and I honestly just blanked out on how to shut the damn wipers off. It came to me five minutes and 100 tries later but at that moment…my mind was just blank. Like I’d wandered into an unfamiliar car and had no clue how to operate it. It was annoying but also scary. I mean, I am raising a kid, I can’t afford such mental slips. It also got the panic going thinking, “This could be a brain tumor.”

And ya know, the reality is, tumors can cause mentally ill behavior. But the panic rules supreme in my world so even if it is a big festering tumor of death, I won’t know about until a, I die, or b, I am in so much physical pain that the pain overwhelms the panic receptors. That’s the way it’s always been for me. Xanax helps, but when the panic is on ten, a hubcab sized valium wouldn’t touch the anxiety. Logic says get it checked out, right? Ha ha ha. My panic laughs at your logic. And panic trumps it, as well.

But it’s just slips like that. The other day I ordered something for R and my brain just kept clicking at checkout…And afterward, I realized I’d put his personal expense on the business card. SHIT. My brain was just not in the building. I run on auto pilot so much.

Today I overslept because last night I took a measly 25 mg Trazadone. It put me down good. When my kid didn’t wake me at the crack of dawn my body just kept sleeping. It’s not my norm. So by the time I got to the shop, I was damn near hyperventilating because I knew he needed me to take him to get his car tires changed and…He kept telling me to calm down. Which only makes the panic worse. (Yes, I also take the shop trash to his house, which is why when people call it “work” I have to laugh because mostly, I am just a damn errand wench for all the stuff he is too important to make time to do.)

Anyway…Bipolar, specifically cyclothymia, does impact every facet of my life. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to overcome it or how much I don’t want it to make an impact. It just does.

I know my personality is difficult.

But most men have been able to handle most of my personality. Of course, they don’t like my “open mouth and insert feet” approach to brutal honesty but mostly they complain about the rapid mood swings and the panic affecting their lives. So my relationships always seem doomed to fail because the primary issue is the one thing I can’t change. They get the luxury of walking away. I don’t.

How has it impacted being a mother?

During the worst down period, over a year and a half, I didn’t take my kid outdoors because I was TERRIFIED the neighbors were going to beat me up. In fact, other than grocery shopping and bill paying I rarely left the house, which meant she rarely left the house. I didn’t even attempt to put her in preschool or take her to places for playdates so she could socialize. My illness pretty much made her isolation a given because it was my life. It impacted her, and I still feel shitty about that. I was never gonna be the “mommy and me” or “baby yogo” type but it was…well, it was bad, for her, for me, even for the Donor. Yet he watched me drown and I couldn’t seem to do anything but drown.  THAT is why bipolars like myself MUST have a partner with a spine. Because we don’t always know we’re being awful, we don’t always know we’re drowning. Sometimes we do and we’re crippled, we literally don’t know what to do about it and can’t make ourselves figure it out. I’ve always found myself with submissive personalities who just let me drown. Which is not to absolve me of my responsibility, but to show that I didn’t realize just how bad things were and they were so bad, he left rather than deal with my state. Had he simply told me, helped me…Things might have been different, or might not have been.

I just didn’t realize until after the fact how bad I had gotten. I had stopped living. I was existing. And I had dragged those around me down with me.

Which is why I now try so damn hard with my that it is killing me. I can’t handle 7 kids 7 nights a week in addition to my own. Maybe some people can. I’m just not the Michelle Dugger type. I think for all my deficits, I do pretty well.

Another example of the panic/paranoia aspect..

It’s 5:30 pm. We have been home two hours. Not one kid has appeared. That is an anomaly and my stupid brain is telling me I did something to somehow offend the kids or parents and now my kid will suffer for it. I should be relieved for the peace. But my kid keeps asking where her friends are. And I keep thinking it must be my fault.

And it’s not without a basis in reality. The other day the chick from next door came over snarking at me about how I had no right to talk to her son the way I did and she would never talk to my kid that way and I didn’t know what was going on because the other kids weren’t mine. I stood there and watched her son throwing rocks at one of the kids at my house. It hit the car. I told him not to throw rocks and if he couldn’t get along with the kids here, he needed to go away. His version he told her was very different. I became this big adult bully who hurt his fragile feelings and made him feel threatened.

Maybe I could have been more…I don’t know, less me, perhaps? I am pretty rough around the edges.

What gets me is I was so damn submissive with this woman, because the panic kicked in and my mind began to spin.Instead of defending my actions and telling her what her snowflake actually said to me that brought about my tone and actions, I just said, “No, that’s not what happened, but you’re right, I will come talk to you if there’s ever another problem.”

I feel like an utter moron. Because now she thinks I am scared of her (my panic attacks and property kind of are) she will exploit it. Her kid just looks at me and grins now. She glares and mutters things. Of course, she is the woman who called a 7 year old girl a bitch the other day for daring to walk on the edge of the road near her trailer. So I don’t suppose she is the fine upstanding adult here that I should care about her opinion.

Ahhh…A kid has appeared to play with Spook. Sigh of relief. I live in terror that one of my altered mind states will cost her a friend. Kids forgive. Other parents of said kids do not. I just want peace and yet, I freak out when they don’t appear because I fear I did something to offend. I’ve built a life out of trying to offend or shock and yet, here I am, worrying over doing just that. Because it’s one thing to alienate people for myself, but I soo don’t want that for my kid. If they are to be alienated, let her do it for herself (lol).

I took Spook out to Dollar Tree today, was going to get her supplies for the party I am going to have here on the 10th for her friends. My mood just crashed and suddenly, I didn’t want to get party stuff. So I let her pick out the invites and said I’d get the stuff after I find out how many of the kids can make it. Another instance where the moods alter my mindset and interfere with daily life.

R, when he doesn’t have his head up his ass, takes note of my sudden quietness and morose expression and inquires. I tell him I am just low, and he asks why. That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? I’m depressive, ffs.

And there is a major factor in dealing with someone like me, ie, bipolar. Or maybe this is just me personally.

If we are making the effort to be quiet and keep our mood crash to ourselves, then you can make the effort to maybe give us a comforting pat on the back, or a compliment, and move on. We don’t expect to be coddled. We just need to ride it out, without an inquisition, without judgment. It was a big bone of contention with the donor. I tried so hard, fought so furiously, to keep my mood crashes in, to shelter him from it. I would just be quiet, maybe go do something in another room. And he still took it personally and made it about himself, as in what did he do. And when i said nothing, he insisted something had to cause the mood swing.

In cyclothymia, no, that’s not true.

The more he tried to cheer me up, the more annoyed I became. I would assert myself and say, “Just let me ride it out.” He would keep badgering with the humor, then with the “woe is me, what did i do” whining. And I would blow up. And no matter how many times it happened, he never could grasp how he was making it happen. That’s not to absolve myself. I should have handled it differently. But then if I were in the right mind to handle things well, I wouldn’t be mentally ill now would I?

How does mental illness affect my life?

In every possible way.

And it sucks.



Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on July 31, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Hendrix had a purple haze.

I have this constant gray haze. No colors, just different shades of hazy gray.

My brain rebooted last night with a little sleep, only to wake me at 2 am. I thought I would feel better, though. I didn’t. I just went back to sleep. Which means I am entering back into the depressive cycle where my comfy warm bed and blankie are more important than functionality or enjoyment.

Woke up again at 8 am. Mood was okay, suited the cold rain. Got trash out, cats fed, kid dressed, myself showered. Auto pilot. A little while at the shop. Then mood crash. Followed by a swimming head where things seemed blurred and I was wobbly. Blood sugar thing perhaps? Then came the migraine. Which affected my balance and I tripped and fell. I finally just said I was leaving.

Came home. Neighbor kids already in the yard. I let my kid play for a half hour before my frayed nerves screamed enough.

So the calm from no neighbor kids is canceled out by my kid’s constant need to talk gibberish. I swear she is in love with the sound of her own voice.

My headache went away. But my mood remains low and I keep looking at the clock wondering if it’s her bedtime yet, because then I get to go to bed and roll the dice on a chance to wake up in a different mind set. And that’s all I am gonna do tonight. Sleep. Because I am cranky and irritable and the anxiety is reaching fever pitch and maybe some good solid rest (even if induced by trazadone) will do some good.

I get so sick of doing all the stuff I am supposed to do-take the meds, counseling, et al, and yet never really improving. I read this article on line today where Jennifer Aniston was quoted as saying, “Happiness is a choice, you have to choose to be happy.”

What a wonderful (deluded) sentiment. My brain chemicals don’t know what happy is. Maybe they never did. I sure as fuck don’t choose these rapid non sensical mood changes and distorted thoughts. I fight it with everything I am, actually. I just get my ass kicked.

One thing about being in the gutter mood wise… I had an epiphany as far as my own relationship patterns go. Most men don’t want a partnership. They want a nice tidy codependent situation where they can enable and be enabled. A woman who doesn’t require coddling and doesn’t coddle them is just at odds with what they need.

I am not the coddling type. I am blunt, often brutal. And while I feel bad and in every relationship I try to conform and tow the line…Spewing the party line I don’t believe in for awhile just makes me resentful and I eventually just pop off with how I feel. Because it is more important to stay true to myself than to cater to anyone’s ego.

Fatal flaw? Could be. Or maybe I just haven’t found someone strong enough to deal with my ways. Whatever. It just goes to show that my relationships aren’t so much as failures due to any wrong doing on my part, although I am certainly guilty of much trespassing. It would seem I sabotage things from the get go by trying to be what others want me to be while betraying myself. I can never maintain though because deep down, I have nothing but disdain for those who’d have me be someone I am not to make their ego comfy.

Anyway…From the pits of depression comes clarity.

Now if I could just figure out the rest of my dysfunction.

It will have to wait for the next mood cycle, though. The only thing this one is conducive to is assuming the fetal position.

Crash Landing

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , on July 30, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I was semi manic for three days. Felt good, energy was up, was a chatty Kathy doll from hell. Not that the upbeat thing did any good to boost my standing with the naysayers labeling me too pessimistic. Because ya know they were having a bad day and throwing wrenches and everything was going wrong for them so they were fully justified in acting like 2 years old and being irritated by me being “up.”

Seems fair.

Today…CRASH LANDING. I started out okay. My mom went on the attack when I dropped Spook off and I didn’t even tear up or particularly feel my simmer. It’s just become such a norm, her exploding and saying shit like, “I can’t get along with you, Niki, but at least I love you, Spooky!” Motherly love is the best.

Once I got to the shop, I tried to talk to R, vent a little, since I listen to him, I thought he would reciprocate. Ha ha ha. Instead he said, “If there’s a kid on this planet who needs discipline, it’s yours.”

Yeah, she does, but the way he screamed at her the other night was uncalled for. Sure she was misbehaving, and he was just trying to do good by scaring her into minding me. But his method, midst his wrench throwing tantrum, left me in this space where I said, “My kid isn’t that bad, you just have a stick up your ass.” Not like it mattered because like every word I say, he tunes me out.

As the morning passed, I just kept slipping in mood. I began to feel utterly inept as a mother, completely horrible, beings my own mom doesn’t like me…The stress is getting to me, and everything has started to spin out of control,kicking in the panic attacks. Traffic is a nightmare. Juggling all these kids has become too much.

And the mood hit rock bottom, tears threatened…And it was just one more spoke in the cyclothymia bicycle. Here we go again. FUCK.

My mood lifted a bit because I had to take Spook for a physical, Then I had an appt with the new counselor and took her with me rather than face more of my mom’s wrath. That whole time my kid was very well behaved, didn’t act defiantly, didn’t act like a banshee. She saves that for certain audiences.

Came home. Usually relieved and semi relaxed. Then the kids descended and the noise ensued and my nerves just began to fray and my mood hit lower than rock bottom. Which just a week ago, I was feeling pretty decent and handling it all like a pro.

I get sooo bloody sick of this cycling thing. It never changes. Things get better, things get worse. The counselor says I need a happy medium. Wish someone would tell that to the stupid bipolar.

I had all these household tasks I wanted to do.

Now my mood is so low, my body aches , my brain hurts, the little paranoid thoughts have seeped in telling me because I am not a good disciplinarian they are going to deem me unfit and take my kid away…Logic has nothing to do with whatever psychosis has manifested post pregnancy and all that. I am at times mad as a hatter. Not in a cool “sniper in a clock tower way”, but in a “that person frowned at me, they’re going to come beat me up” way.

I tried to explain it to my mom, hoping maybe if she could understand that I am truly ill, she’d not take everything so personally, like me not coming over often. Now she thinks I am hearing voices telling me to beat my kid. NO NO NO. If it were anything of that ilk, I’d be the first to step away and put my kid in a safe place.

This isn’t exactly psychotic, though the lack of logic makes me feel psycho. It’s more distorted thought and my brain is just rejecting all logic in spite of proof.

Meanwhile, I have people questioning my parenting skills, my stability, my personality. I tossed out to R today, “No one every says anything positive, they just point out everything that’s wrong, so yeah it’s a mystery why I am so negative.”

In one ear and out the other.

But hey, I was out of smokes and he got me some, so I guess my ego can suck it up so my central nervous system can be fed its nicotine.

I feel trapped.

In my own mind.

Nothing ever really changes for long. There is the ebb and flow of life, and then there is cyclothymia.

I swear the anti depressant is working but I can honestly say the things that used to make me gleefully happy because I just enjoyed them…That lust for life is long gone. I love my kid, but my brain just isn’t making any truly happy chemicals. And it’s one more thing to make me feel like a lost cause.

So since I can’t seem to get myself out of this mood with all the counselor’s suggestions…I think I will assume the fetal position in bed, go to sleep, and hope for a brain reboot.

This low down, it can only go up.


The fiction of perception

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

I was half manic today. I took a break from the shop yesterday to nurse this chest cold I have, and I went back in today and I just couldn’t seem to stop talking. Even if R had zero interest in hearing anything not to do with himself or busted stuff. (I really want to slap kids who don’t play fair!) He even acted annoyed with me for being too talkative, unfocused and super cheerleader peppy.  He was in WORK mode and I was disturbing him but HE CALLED ME. I don’t plan my moods, for fuck’s sake. Not like I pick out my clothes the night before and ponder a bit before saying, “Im gonna be suicidally depressed tomorrow because it looks good with this top.” Egad.

BUT when he went all adhd bunny it was fine and dandy. He even had me sit through a 90 minute documentary, ffs. Though this wasn’t a hardship because it was about the conspiracy theory surrounding 9/11 (And yes, I do believe our government had a lot to do with it, even if that makes me crazy.)  I just cannot wrap my brain around how unfair this guy plays. I am trying to suck it up and accept it (give what I expect) but honestly it’s more challenging and stressful dealing with him than having 9 children at my house all week. Because believe it or not, the kids actually play fair. (They all drew me pictures tonight which I put up on the wall and A even wrote me a note saying that I am a nice woman and I am pretty and she loves me.)

They stress me out, sure it’s a lot of kids. But it’s a stress I relish because the reward is so high. It’s hard to be down in the dumps when you have all this energy and honesty and affection around you. The sadness comes but at least it is delayed.

Anyway. I wanted this to be short and make sense and NOT revolve around my bitchy little issues with someone who is so shallow I should pay him no more mind than a cockroach…Why this one guy gets under my skin so much is beyond me.

But I think the breaking point today when I completely wrote him off as ever having anything but bad side effects for me was when he was talking about this new book he is reading about having faith. He said he wants to “elevate my thinking” and wants me to “take time for some introspection.” It was all I could do not to laugh at him. I live in my head, being introspective about every fucking thing while he drowns everything in work, beer, and denial. He got to the part about how this author says his faith was deepened after his daughter was raped.

Um, if you can find something positive about someone being raped, fuck you, you’re a psycho. Our experiences may help make us stronger and help us learn but no way in hell I am gonna say rape or child abuse or pedophilia are good things for anyone involved. That’s not being negative, that’s taking my head out of the sand and being realistic.

It’s just further proof how far gone R is and probably always has been. All my warm, fuzzies are gone for him. He has just become this necessary evil.

He views me as negative.

Kenny thinks I am hysterical.

R thinks I am nuts.

His buddy Mark says I am one of the least crazy people he knows and that anything that doesn’t fit into R’s neat little box of expectations is considered crazy.

Perception is not everything because perception, all too often, is little more than opinion.

I perceive R to be one of the most uppity hypocritical least self introspective shallow fucks on the earth. I know wayyyyyy deep down he is good  but all the bullshit trying to get to it has lost its value.

Yet other people, my own family, find him down to earth and a likeable good guy. I guess it’s hard to get the full gist of anyone’s identity unless you have lived with them and scratched the surface.

And that goes for me, too. I have been introspective lately about the doomed marriage to the donor. And I look back and I can see that I was pretty unfair to him at times. I won’t absolve myself by pointing out I was stark raving mad most of the time he was around because it was a contributing factor. What really drove me off the deep end was being told I was getting a Rolls Royce and it turned out to be a fucking Pinto. Deceive me, even if only by your own flawed self perceptions, and I will punish you for life. I am a bitch that way.

But again it’s just perception, and even my own tends to lean toward fiction on occasion. Because I was bullied in school I tend to assume any teenage in a hundred mile radius who snickers is doing so making fun of me. Not the least bit realistic and yet imprinted on my brain for life, that nagging little phantom pain from a tooth that was pulled and hasn’t bothered you for years, but every once in awhile…something sets off that old pain receptors.

Perception=fiction sometimes.

At least I have the self awareness to realize it doesn’t just apply to others but to myself, as well.

Still trying to wrap my brain around him saying he wants me to elevate my thinking. He can’t exist one single night without beer and yet he is preaching to me about facing my own issues. How does such asinine hypocrisy not make everyone want to have a brain bleed?

Or am I perceiving his actions incorrectly?

I don’t think so, furthermore, I don’t care. I stand by my opinions until shown proof they are wrong.

This is why I am so drawn to forensics programs. Science is static, it does not change it’s mind every day, it does not lie, it does not have ego, it does not perceive. It simply states facts, long standing facts. (Fingerprinting bullshit not included in this because I have watched way too many shows where some expert “incorrectly interpreted the prints.)

When it comes to humans and emotions and perceptions and prejudices and opinions…I’m lost. I want to be fair but I stand for what I stand for and don’t like the constant intrusion of others trying to sway me to their side. (I’ve been to the dark side.,.and the cookies they promised? IT IS A LIE!~!!!) Now it’s one thing if they will at least reciprocate and let me speak my mind as well,. But as of late, that has not been my experience. And when placed back in that rural upbringing place “girls are to be seen, not heard from”…I become a bitch from Hades because I fought damn hard to climb out of that birthright and I am never ever going back to it.  Dismissing me like so much fluff gets my venom flowing like a three headed cobra,

So my perception is…R is just not someone who makes me feel good about myself in any way and getting away would be super healthy because I am giving what I am getting (totally made fun of his new super short hair cut but he could be the pope and I’d do that cos long hair on guys has been my major fetish since I was ten.)

Unfortunately, I was just rejected for a job selling insurance because I have bad credit. And not being hired for a job is going to help me fix that how……

So this is my reality now and I am going to perceive it as a necessary evil. For now. But should the chance to abandon ship come, I won’t swab the deck first. Life is too short to be spent around people who are just so different that everything about them makes you feel lousy and vice versa. (assuming you’re dealing with someone who isn’t an egomaniac incapable of feeling bad about himself because he’s just so damn terrific.)

Wow. I really need Focalin. I had intended to keep this short and on track and I fucked it up yet again.

My kingdom for the ability to focus…

But yeah…Manic. Then in traffic it has started to feel like psychodelic bumper cars because everything moves so damn fast from all sides and my brain can’t process it all., Which breeds major anxiety and panic.

And now that the kids are gone, mine’s asleep, and it’s finally my turn to take a breath and get stuff done or just relax…My mood is crashing into that creepy place where I am sooo demoralized and tired and know I am going to have hop right back on the same hamster wheel again tomorrow…and it’s just like I want to slither into bed and not think for 7 hours.

Yet come morning when  I have rebooted and haven’;t been obliterated by all the crazy activity around me…I will have an mental list a mile long of all the things I want to get done.

Only to wind up right back to creepy place again.




You know how I perceive that?


“Old Faithful”- the cycles of cyclothymia

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

I can feel the tides shifting, turning. Not in an abrupt way, but when you’ve gone through bipolar as long as I have you start to recognize the landmarks. Right now, it’s just a little twinge where I can feel things beginning to slip. My mood isn’t quite so light, my energy isn’t quite so high, my anxiety and irritability are cranked up. I am finding myself irked with small things, and damn near having a brain bleed over the big things.

Over and over again, cyclothymia revisits like old faithful, constantly present. One thing about it. Even in its inconsistency it is consistent, as far as the cycles go. Spring, summer, mood up. Nearing fall, mood slipping. Fall. mood starts rapid descent. Winter, face down in the gutter. No matter the personal circumstance, no matter the “Hear me roar” mindset, it comes, without fail. I can feel  it stealthily sneaking up on me. By the time it strikes, I won’t see it coming and then I will have to dig myself out of an even deeper hole.

My old shrink understood this aspect of my disorder and would prescribe a prophylactic med for the seasonal affect, usually a secondary mood stabilizer. And while it didn’t have me bouncing off walls, it did get me through winter without a suicide attempt. I have talked to the current doctor about it but again, it’s like we’re speaking two different languages. I am actually going full lobbyist this year. I am going to assert myself and demand something, even a dose increase. Last winter sucked, from a mental perspective. I was functional, but it was without joy, enveloped in darkness, sleep my only solace. That’s not living, it is existing, and anyone who doesn’t know there is a difference is ignorant.

Another difference many are ignorant about, including mental health care professionals, is that functionality is not recovery. Just because you are out of bed and going through the motions of life does not mean you’re condition is improved or cured. Lots of fully functional people are also suicidally depressed.

And I am starting to think THE ENTIRE WORLD is ignorant when it comes to cyclothymia, the red headed bastard stepchild of mental illness. It is an illusion that just because I have 4 or 5 months a year where I am high functioning and in my right mind it doesn’t negate the 7 or 8 months of the ascent and descent of my disorder.

And I. amazingly, hope this current downslide is just the ebb and flow of cyclothymia. Because it it’s the Cymbalta failing, it’s going to add to the depression. I hate when meds just stop working, it has happened so many times to me. And the doctors don’t believe you. And the cheerleading society just wants you to “snap out of it”.

It’s too bad that when I try to tell the professionals I can “feel” myself slipping they mistake it with pessimism or unfounded fear. Much like a woman can sense pms coming on, bipolar patients learn to recognize road markers over the years and try to be proactive before things go too far askew.

Unfortunately, the people there to help us aren’t listening.



Optimist, pessimist, realist

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on July 21, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Is “optimist” a synonym for denial?

Went to R’s last night. (He was cooking, which I kind of foresaw when she called and said, “Oh, I will cook up something.” She’d have him poop for her if it were possible, I swear, and he’d do it.)

Anyway, he greeted me with, “What’s the good word?”

And I replied, without rancor or self pity, “I don’t have one.”

Which just opened the can of worms for I got the  catty hissing sound and the pessimist thing thrown at me.

And I was just like, “Dude, someone came into my home and stole my shit, I think I am entitled to some pessimism.” Even if it wasn’t my goal. I could have said the same damn thing if Kenny had asked what the good word was and he would have chuckled at my response.

I swear optimist means denial. Seriously, are we never entitled to get bummed about bad shit that happens? Must we constantly take a pile of shit and delude ourselves into thinking it’s a rainbow and a puppy all rolled into one that smells of roses? I get thinking positive, but invalidating someone who something crappy happened to is just being a dick.

What pisses me off the most is that I have listened to his “woe is me” ranting every time something crappy has befallen him. This not playing fair thing makes me feel like a child on the playground. There was always that one kid who played with your stuff, ate your food, but wouldn’t reciprocate and if you stood up to them, they walked off in a huff.

THAT is R. You cater to him, he totally walks away from you if you burden him with anything you have going on.


After that, he pretty much acted like I was non existent and I spent the evening playing with his grand daughter and my kid and talking to his wife. Who made the kids play outside to avoid a mess in 90 degree heat with no breeze. I was soaked in sweat within five minutes, meanwhile everyone around me is barely glistening with a drop. THEN the bugs began to bite me. Again, no one else seemed too bothered. I, on the other hand, was left with two dozen raised red lumps that itch like a mofo because I have had a serious histamine allergy since I was a child.

I made nice. I ate their food, Philly cheese steak, which it was all I could do to choke down. Then when R asked how it was I stuck my foot in my mouth and said, “It was okay.” Thing is, though, if you tell someone you like something you don’t, you’re pretty much stuck with it for life. Besides which, I TOLD him weeks ago when he got a philly cheese stake for lunch I didn’t care for them. Of course he said, “You haven’t had mine yet, you’ll love it.”:

Just like the donor and his al fredo sauce. What part of “I hate white sauce” is unclear? I don’t give a fuck if Wolfgang Puck makes it, if I don’t like it, I don’t like it.

And this is why I abhor eating at other people’s houses. It puts you in this fawkward position (fucking awkward) where you want to be polite and thankful they have offered you ameal, but if it’s something you didn’t like to begin with  then do you tell the truth or give platitudes and get stuck eating it for life?

Damnit. I don'[t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but fuck is it that hard to listen? Tis why if I cook something and someone doesn’t like it, I want to know. Then I won’t obligation-feed them that again. Big difference between, “I’m not a fan of this food” and “OHMIGOD CALL POISON CONTROL THIS IS FUCKING NASTY GRRRAGHHHHGAGGGG.”

Am I the only person on the planet in favor of honesty?

The whole time I was there, listening to banalities, sweating and itching, all I could think is ‘THIS SUCKS, I WANNA GO HOME.

And home we went at 8pm. Enough was enough.

Damiana then showed up and asked if she could spend the night. I said sure, I was depressed and stressed anyway. It’s just so rude, my mom was very adamant with us about never ever inviting yourself anywhere, you were to be invited. This girl would help herself to my kidney if she needed it. Spook fell asleep at 10, and I could hear on the monitor all night long this girl telling my kid to wake up. They demanded a snack at 2 am. At 4 am, Damiana wanted to get up and talk to me. She wore my kid down, poor thing is taking a nap at noon. I found the potty chair in the room, and since my kid won’t use it because she is “scared” the fact it had pee in it told me Damiana did it then left it sitting on the bed to spill and stink.She decided to help herself to one of my kid’s outfits then she “dressed” my kid in a t-shirt, removing her wet Pull up so she was naked from the bottom down, and stuffing the dirty pull up into the bedding.

I’m not the pillar of tidiness or anything but that’;s just nasty.

I sent her home. She came back. At that point I got bitchy and made it clear for her to go home and NOT come back.

We’re doing the family thing here for my brother’s birthday, already went and got the pizzas.

Now I am itching and stressing and wondering what about my place my sister will find to go tell my mom about being so disgusting because she is an ocd clean freak.

All this and I am still supposed to be optimistic 24-7 and never let it get me down?

Yet the people around me can get pissed and upset while I listen to them bitch and moan.


And I am surrounded by children trapped in adult bodies. I am not perfect by any means but I am fair, at least.

Back to itching my red bumps which are the size of nickels. Allergies suck.

The anxiety monster

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , on July 20, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

Whoever said the more you do something that unnerves you the easier it will get hadn’t met me.

We were invited to R’s by his wife, an olive branch in light of my sucky week.

Well, I’ve been there dozens of times and yet my anxiety is skyrocketing in spite of xanax.

It could also be the six kids running like banshees through my home heightening it.


I just don’t understand anxiety.

My mood has been downish  but not horrible. At this point it’s just like what is new, life fucking sucks and people suck. And the shit I take for being “pessimistic” when I am just being realistic makes me furious. I have had enough bad shit happen to me to realistically face the fact that shit does happen. Pardon me if I can’t work myself into an optimistic frenzy about it. If that’s negative, so be it.

Now. To paste on the mask of civility and go make nice.

It’s harder than it sounds, trust me.