Archive for June, 2014

crash, burn, rinse, lather, repeat

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on June 23, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

My mood crashed and burned around 5pm.

There was no trigger, nothing happened.

It just…went boom.

Gutter time.

The Paxil was increased so it will likely be this way the first week or so. Never get used to it, though.

I’ve been hanging tough but it doesn’t take Scotland Yard to detect I am in a dark place.

I need a brain reboot. Sleep. Defrag.

Like my kid is going to cooperate with that notion.

Ass trash fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

(big smile because otherwise I will be called a downer.)

(never mind it’s fake, no one cares.)

I wrote this awhile back. Describes the prior seven months of my life.

smile that never reaches my eyes


My brain hurts

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on June 22, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I have a headache. My kid has already grabbed the 4 week old kitten by the throat, then started bawling because I chastised her for it. Like she’s in the injured party. It may be a kid thing but it pisses me off. I cannot abide cruelty to animals. Period.

It has become evident I am my own worst enemy. I let these things fester in my mind and it poisons me and I rant and rave and prove the entire point that I am dysfunction personified. It may be the only obsessive compulsive behavior I have, allowing these little seeds to be planted in my brain and grow into giant sequoias.

I received a comment that actually put things into perspective for me. Reminding it’s less about labeling me and more about identifying the problems so that I can be treated accordingly and be as asymptomatic as possible. That makes sense. It also makes sense “you’ll know what’s wrong before they do.”

True that.

I think it’s time to go old school. Back when  I started this bizarre journey into crazy treatment land, not much emphasis was placed on personality disorders. It was more about identifying your long standing issues and dealing with them and how they impact your life negatively.

So screw your labels and disorders. It’s either part of the problem or part of the solution and right now, it’s become the bigger problem than what I was seeking help for in the first place. I’ll help me.

To quote a line from an Evanescence song, “Don’t want your hand…this time…I’ll save myself.”


What the professionals have done for me

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on June 22, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

The tossing out of “borderline” from the shrink the other day has me in a state of numb denial. I’m not even acknowledging my moods now because then it leads to “oh, get over it, it’s your personality.”

I still say that’s bullshit.

But once the can is open, the worms are squirming everywhere and no matter how hard you try to stuff them back in…It doesn’t work.

If there was one thing about myself I would change…It would be this loophole where certain things manage to crawl under my skin and into my head. I know who I am. Right up til someone suggests otherwise. And because I want to be a decent human being, I entertain whatever fool notion they’ve planted in my head. Because I could be wrong about myself and I never want to be too arrogant to admit that or fix a problem it’;s within my power to fix.

I’ve just done extensive reading and no matter which way I look at it…I don’t see myself as borderline. I can see a facet or two if you play fast and loose, but I am like that with EVERY category except narcissism. Thus the 20 year diagnosis of “personality disorder not otherwise specified.’ That I could live with, it was accurate. I can accept what I am. But for a doctor who’s spent all of 30 minutes with me for the last 8 months…You can dish out psychiatric diagnoses and pills but don’t tell me about my personality because you wouldn’t fucking know.

I know me. I know some of my shit is behavioral. Personality. But some of it is not and it’s not normal so what does that leave. An illness.

Quite honestly, I’m getting tired of all this bullshit crawling into my head. It’s taken me 41 years to get to self acceptance. I like who I am most of the time. I accept that I am a trainwreck in the middle of a plane crash. It’s okay. I suck at relationships. I still keep trying. I am a loner, but I don’t see it as a defect in my personality. I made do with what I had and became an introvert, which is who I basically was anyway when I was done seeking companionship.

No shades of gray?

Isn’t the fact I am willing to entertain the notion that I could be wrong about myself when it’s suggested indicative of me seeing something other than my own side? That’s a shade of gray.

It’s like this poisoned seed was planted and it’s metastasizing, killing me slowly mentally. Hell, I even admit to being a bit of a sociopath, so it’s not like I am in denial of who I truly am. Much like in high school when saddled with the label of whore for wearing short skirts and satan worshiper for wearing black and listening to heavy metal…

I get bent when portrayed inaccurately.

So here I am trying to convince myself I have no mood, good, bad, or in between, because to do so would basically validate the doctor’s little gem of thought. I am on meds and should totally be stable and if I am depressed or moody, then it is my personality and certainly not the fallibility of meds or doctors. It is a complete lack of effort and willingness to work hard and get better.


The fact I’ve been doing this for 20 years, through 7 shrinks and 5 counselors, and not one until this past year ever uttered borderline…Tells me this is just the current psychiatric trend. Like the way they hand down a depression diagnosis to anyone feeling blue for more than two weeks or pass out ritalin and and ADHD tag to those who can’t focus or are too hyper. In the 80’s, it was repressed memories of sexual abuse.

I am a riddle they can’t figure out so rather than admit, we don’t know, they have to transfer my problems to my personality. Which is stupid because anyone who has any experience with this shit knows psychiatric meds and the science itself is a big whodunit. No one knows for sure, it’s all educated speculation. It’s okay to say “I don’t know.”

I say it daily.

The one thing I do know though, is I met a woman who had a borderline diagnosis. Aside from mood swings, there is not a single behavior of hers that i mirror in any way.

But we are taught from an early age to idol worship doctors, they have education and experience and alphabet soup behind their name so they musT know everything and be right. even if they know fuck all about you as a person, you’/re still supposed to take their word as gospel.

I don’t and I won’t.

Besides, I had a doctor who was an osteopath, he didn’t want to prescribe meds for anything he could blame on your personality, diet, or lack of exercise. If I were borderline, he’d have been the first to diagnose it. He was actually, aside from being ass trash, the one who declared me cyclothymic. And it fits.

I just want accuracy. Which apparently is a disorder of its own because how could I possibly know myself better than a doctor who spends no time with me. That just makes me a narcissistic self denial laden whack job.

There comes a time in your life, even if mentally ill and fucked up, where you have to decide if you’re going to think for yourself and submit and let others tell you how you feel, what you think, who you are.

I’m finally ready to do that.

I’m 41 and I know exactly who I am. I keep evolving and growing and in this world, I suppose that makes me seem flaky. I’m fine with it. I am not fine with the moods yanking me all over the place but I’ve lived with it so long, would I really know how to behave if it went away?

It’s not conceding defeat. I will keep trying.

But I think it’s about time I stop letting people, even professionals, tell me who they think I am and who I should be.

If beauty is in the flaws…I am the most stunning person alive.



When clueless…plant seeds and let ’em grow

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on June 19, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Abandonment issues were the furthest thing from my mind.

Until the ever so helpful drive thru shrink planted borderline in my head…

WHAM. I had this epic nightmare last night that Becca packed up in the dead of night, returned to England, and wouldn’t speak to me anymore.

Not once since she got here did I seriously entertain the notion..But some professional plants the seed in my mind..And out pops a fucking tree.

I am about fed up with this whole psychiatric psychology thing. It isn’t helping me, it’s just giving me new neuroses to layer with the old ones. I am not stupid, I am not in denial. I have had 41 years to cultivate my self awareness and an endless stream of people to illuminate my every flaw, real or perceived. So when I say borderline is a bullshit diagnosis, it simply is. I’ve read until my brain bleeds and while facets mirror each others, it simply does not apply to me on a whole.

But now that the seed has been planted, it’s only a matter of time before my brilliant mania decides, “fuck this, it’s my personality and pills won’t fix it, so I’m not going to take them anymore.” Then I will be right back on that roller coaster where some genius gives me the idea that nothing is truly wrong with me except I am a bad person so I think I can fix it myself and go off meds and then I am just fucked again because it never helps or changes a goddamn thing.

Yeah, thanks for this, professionals. We come to you seeking help for our confusion and you don’t have a clue but rather than admit that, you make it worse. Stellar. I’m told great doctors take the time to figure it out. Well, my insurance only covers ass trash doctors so I am screwed. I have only had one great doctor my whole life and she got the fuck out of this armpit town after serving her two years. That’s what all of them serve here, two years max and they’re gone. More instability to help with my instability.

And what pisses me off the most is, because everything is a goddamn drive thru in the psych treatment world, is I get saddled with all these labels where everything is some “perceived” slight that I fear when in fact, I don’t fear anything but what’s happened over and over again.

Fear of abandonment? Um…The donor walked out on me and the kid with a phone call. Isn’t that epitome of abandonment? Why wouldn’t it be a legit fear?

Oh, wait, it’s not, when I’m not in a depression. Manic, I want to be abandoned because I am too high to be bothered with commitment and such. Then the mood tanks and I become sad scared weepy needy girl.

I get mad when labeled with something that’s not true. You want to call me a selfish bitch, that’s fine because it’s true on some level. You want to criticize me for being foul mouthed, rude, sarcastic, macabre.that’s true too.

But don’t tell me because I don’t fit some textbook guideline that I am some other thing entirely. My fears are based in reality so they’re not so much neuroses. My paranoia is based in reality. You fear what has happened to traumatize you. That’s logical.

Just sick of it all.

Then I tell her about the focus issues and she says oh that’s the depression and anxiety.

I mention Focalin and get interrogated about drinking and drug issues. It’s non stimulant, ffs. And it never did anything but make me able to start something and finish it, ya know, at the time, not six months down the road. I slept normally, I wasn’t manic, and life was better.

But if it makes life better, it must be a bad thing because only someone with a serious disorder would dare acknowledge their life is anything but hunky dory. If you’re not satisfied with “meh” then you’re obviously lacking in character and can’t be made happy.

My kingdom for competent mental health care professions.

Or is that like government intelligence? Oxymoron.

Well, the moron part is right by my estimation.

Ass trash.


I’m bipolar…wait,I’m borderline…wait…no one fucking knows

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 19, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Shrink appointment. I drop my guard and tell her I am feeling better but not optimal…

BAM! She throws out, “You have borderline tendencies because you can’t see shades of gray.”

I see EVERYTHING in shades of gray, by my estimation. I have written poems about it, ffs. I know who I am, but I worry about how I am perceived, thus shades of gray…I see me as fairly decent, others see me as difficult, thus a shade of gray impasse.

Seriously…this goes beyond denial of my flaws. This is genuine confusion because I have been in treatment and therapy for 20 plus years and just this last 12 months is the first I have EVER heard “borderline” in conjuction with myself.

I lived all these hears as “not otherwise specified” or”potentially schizotypal.” EVERY goddamn shrink and counselor has some different diagnosis.

If it’s my PERSONALITY then why am I taking all these side effect laden drugs? Drugs won’t fix what is inherently wrong with ME. So if that’s the issue, TELL me so I can work on it and not take this godawful toxin everyday.

I admit to having facets from a multitude of disorders thus the NOT OTHERWISE SPECIFICED diagnosis. I could live with it because it made sense.

Now I’m being told that was wrong and this is more likely the culprit.




Bipolar and borderline mimick each other so closely. The main difference seem to be a history of abuse (I do not qualify) and the speed of mood swings. I rapid cycle (thus being diagnosed as CYCLOTHYMIC). It’s like every doctor disregards the prior doctor and counselor’s input and just makes up their own. This is fine if you have a vast disagreement with the diagnosis. But if you’re simply not sure because you’ve never had a case like this one…

Ass trash.

I have had days where I was at a funeral and bouncing off the walls with mania.

I have had days where everything was perfect but I was in tears.

Just because my cycles are fast doesn’t mean it’s something else entirely. Besides, if any of these “professionals” did more than a 5 minute drive thru with me, they’d see my “disorders’ for the most part are learned from experiencing the worst life has to order. It’s not just me saying “Oh people are mean, I’m weird.” I didn’t think a damn thing was wrong with me, or others, until experiencing it daily for years and years.

Yes, I am ranting, and yes, I probably do sound borderline.

What I really am, is confused. I may be a mix of borderline and bipolar and I can live with that…But do NOT tell me I am making up the manic episodes just because they don’t adhere to your textbook definitions. I live it, I know it. When I am manic, NOTHING touches me, I am ten feet tall and bulletproof. My own mother could disown me and I’d still be on top of the world.

Fear of abandonment, my ass.

That would be consistent. I’ve had relationships crumble when I was manic and I was…untouchable.

So call me what you will but make it accurate. The only aspect of borderline that remotely fits is the rapid cycling. I can’t help if my moods don’t adhere to strict book guidelines. The fact that they aren’t directly tied to outside stressors tell me all I need to know. There are days when everything is good and the mood still crashes. There is NO stressor, it just happens.

Will the professionals ever see this as fact? No, and how could they, when they spend 5 minutes with me? Bex has been with me every day for a month, we’ve yet to have a fight, and the only accommodation either of us has made is to simply let the other be when the mood shifts.

From everything I’ve read and been told, borderlines can’t live peacefully with ANYONE.

It ultimately doesn’t matter what label they slap on me.

I’m dysfunctional, period, and I get that. Rather than getting any credit for seeking help and making an effort, I just get saddled with more labels to confuse me and make me…confused. At this point, I am once again thinking, “If it’s my personality, it’s no wonder the meds don’t work so why am I even bothering?”

If the professionals want to know why people go off their meds…maybe they should look within their own community. You confuse people who care barely gather enough thought to walk and chew gum at the same time, it’s going to happen.

What disorder do I have since this whole episode made me pissed off rather than depressed and weepy? Because ya know, feeling emotions of any sort, MUST be a disorder.

I just want to know, beyond doubt, what is wrong with me. Since the professionals can’t agree…

I think I am going to diagnose myself with “I just don’t give a fuck anymore” disorder and be done with it.

About as legitimate as all their other fucking labels.

Gripping fast

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on June 18, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s happening all over again. I am holding on tight, trying, but I can feel it all spiraling out of control around me. The housework, the cats, the overwhelming heat that makes me lethargic and cranky, the constant money struggle, my flip flopping love me/hate me battle…

I thought for awhile there, I was making progress, holding it together.

Now I’m hanging off a cliff with only my fingertips and I don’t know what to do about it. HELK! As my kid would say.

But no one can. Maybe with the housework or giving me  a break from the Uzi, but the mental stuff…no one can save me. I can’t even save me. I can’t even attempt to save me because I am never stable for more than a day at a time. Then I am manic, then I am low, then I am in the abyss only to rise back up into the manic stratosphere. I don’t think my Lamictal is working anymore. Or it is but the Paxil is lifting my mood too much. It’s a catch 22 from hell with bipolar two. We spend way more time in chronic depression land so we need an anti depressant…But those can spark manic episodes and behaviors.

I see the shrink today. It’s one of those late afternoon appointments which I don’t like because it has me on edge the whole day, unable to breathe until I get it over with. No amount of positive thinking changes this, it’s always been this way over every looming event, positive or negative.

I feel…listless today. I’m not up or down. I’m just overwhelmed and I don’t even know where to start to fix it because my mind is just a fucking tornado of thoughts. It’s like trying to pick up smashed pieces of egg shell and put them back together to form the egg again. Jigsaw from hell.

Me. My life.

It gets so old, I just wish I’d cease to exist at times. If I can’t be fixed, then what’s the fucking point? Shoot me like an old horse, put me out of my misery.

I’m not being dramatic or seeking sympathy. I’m just exhausted being me. Cycles are always the same and it doesn’t matter what changes in behavior I make.

This is bipolar.


To medicate or not to medicate…

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on June 17, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

That is the question.

It occurred to me today that I’m on so many different meds for so many different disorders and have been for so long…I couldn’t tell you if I have a health problem because I don’t know what’s side effect and what’s a deviation. Just because it’s not listed in pharma propaganda doesn’t mean it can’t be a side effect. It’s baffling.

It’s also a good point for (idiots) who are adamantly opposed to psych meds. Yes, there are side effects and some of them absolutely suck. Yes, sometimes the meds don’t work or make things worse. Yes, a lot is behavioral related and won’t be “cured” by medicine.

A legitimate disorder also won’t get any better without medicine.

And while I’ve had my share of ass trash meds with hellish side effects and little positive outcome…On a whole, I do better on meds than off. Off meds, I can manage about six months before I come undone in every conceivable way.

With the right med combo, I can have a year, two year run of functionality with minimum disturbance.

I am definitely pro medication, although I have my moments of “fuck this, I want it all gone.” What I have learned from cold hard experience is, I am wayyy worse without meds. I’ve listened to the arguments, I’ve even caved a time or two because usually a man I’m in a relationship with convinces me I’m just a bad person who’s personality is the entire problem. So I go from bad to OH GOD GET LINDA FUCKING BLAIR AND HER PEA SOUP SPEWING AWAY FROM ME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Meds it is.

I woke up comatose this morning. No idea why. Took forever to peel the cobwebs off my brain. R was texting before I could even verbalize properly. So I went to the shop and warned right off the bat, “I have cramps and a gun, any fucking questions?”

Then he asks all day why I am being so mean and unsupportive of his personal woes when he is supportive and empathetic to mine. HUH???????? I WARNED you, idiot. But hey, what do you expect from a man who considers his wife’s menopause “immature”. How can otherwise intelligent people be such utter morons? So all day I just spat whatever I thought without any filters at all. “You’re too fucking stupid to see I wasn’t as bad as you thought when we were together.” “What’s wrong with you men, you’re so emotionally vacant.”  “Your wife is right about you, you can be an asshole.”

Yeah. Fucking with me on a good day is risky. Fucking with me during shark week…After being forewarned…Your ass is gonna need skin grafts ‘cos I am biting off chunks of it.

I tried to be upbeat and helpful. I was a little manic once I took my Paxil, which lasted…about 45 minutes. Then my interest and motivation began to wane. A guy and Kenny know died and they were melancholy so my manic burst was a personal affront. Idiocy in stereo. Whatever. I’m not lacking empathy. Manic is what it is. It’s not personal.

Becca stayed with my kid. You can read all about her adventures in devil sitting here.

I was very glad to get home. I’d heard enough of his whining about his money issues and his wife taking a job three hours away so he will have to be alone MOn-Fri. Grow up. It’s not normal when you can’t spend two hours by yourself on a single day of the week. Pathetic. Six months ago, he encouraged her to take a similar job, claiming he just wanted her to be happy because she was so unhappy in her current job. Now instead of seeing that this could make her happy and improve things for them, all he’s thinking about is himself. Yeah, I’m the jerk.

It’s hot. I am marinating in sweat. The Uzi was worse than ever, having had a 40 minute screaming thrashing tantrum (which we totally ignored) over not being allowed to play a second hand of Uno after refusing to pay attention and follow rules the first hand.

Then Roger called and I said, “Oh, that must be my other pain in the ass.”

I am a ray of sunshine.

I just don’t see how I am all that awful. Becca and I get along fabulously. I don’t think we’ve had a single argument. I know we’ve both had mood swings that were not conducive to being good company but it was never personal and even if it was, it was never discussed. Sometimes moods are like a storm, let them pass and there’s thunder, but not lightning. React during a mood swing…Thunder, lightning, and a bunch of guilt and regret for reacting.

Maybe I just can’t get along with Americans or Canadians.

Ooh domestic dispute hour next door. Maybe I can learn new swear words.

I guess that’s it. I’m gonna go marinate in my sweat some more and ponder what mood swing lottery laced with hormones i am going to “win” tomorrow.

Ass trash.