Archive for July, 2014

I’m Insane…

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on July 28, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Lyrics from an old Ratt song I’ve always related to:

“i’m off my rocker, fell out of a tree, been standing on shaking ground, there’s no helping me…I’m insane…”

And that is how I feel today. Not like tinfoil hat “save me from the aliens” insane but…Definitely in the realm of insanity.

I am suspicious and paranoid and jumpy. My mood is low, my motivation nil. I can’t wait to go crawl into my bedroom later. I need space. My kid has been on auto fire Uzi all day and I have been irritable and spazzing out because I can’t take the noise. I am not a pleasant person today. I don’t even like me. Then again, I rarely do.

Perhaps it’s time for a brain reboot. Perhaps the mood and paranoid anxiety will subside later. My entire existence is maybe and perhaps, hoping for the best, rarely getting it.

How I wish to wave a magic wand and simply have my brain chemical fire properly instead of willy nilly. Better than winning a lottery would be never having to feel this way again.

On the plus side, we’ve been watching Torchwood and shock, shock, shock, Bex is somewhat liking it after three years of mocking my every mention.

Cripes, my nose is itching. I really don’t want to see or talk to anyone. Damn my mother for instilling these asinine superstitions.

More Ratt:
“Lock me up in a padded room, chain me to the floor, I’m headed for the bottom bed and I’m ready enough for more.”

Today I am insane. Tomorrow…Who knows.

So much ass trash.

Mental Chaos Respite

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on July 28, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Today has not been so bad. Got up. Made scrambled eggs and sausage gravy. Which is a huuuge thing for me because I’ve been trying to do it for 30 years and just today got it truly right. See, my parents never allowed for fuck ups and learning. You either did it right the first time or you were mocked relentlessly after. I think years and years of having my mistakes, which I saw as good efforts, put down and told “You can’t do it, you’re just not good at it…” I gave up trying because if the people who love me have no faith in me, why should I have faith in myself?
But this is my second attempt at gravy in two weeks and twice, I have succeeded because I gave myself permission to fuck up. I made an honest effort. And without the stress of being told I will fail, I succeeded.
Maybe some people have amazing families who are loving and supportive. I don’t. My family, well, kind of sucks. Just today my dad was yapping about how he has $2500 in his wallet in case he punches his neighbor over their feud and needs bail money. But he constantly puts me down for living in a trailer park, for being on disability, for, well, everything. Rather than help us out, he sits and judges. I don’t expect help, mind you, but if my way of life is so unsatisfactory to him and so subpar for his granddaughter, then telling me you can afford bail money but my kid needing shoes is too expensive for you to help with.
Family is a synonym for ass trash for me.

But…aside from him bringing me down, I did okay today. bex took a nap because she maxed out at her 6 hours of steady consciousnes (ha ha, wench) and I vacuumed and did dishes and took out trash and cooked supper. Functionality is good. I wasn’t feeling it when I woke up, but I’m not really a daywalker. By the time i ran out of cigarettes, I was highly motivated to venture into the petri dish. Bex, who hadn’t been out in days, acted like she was being tortured with rats gnawing at her flesh. Yeah, sunlight and 90 degree heat are uncomfortable, but not likely fatal for an hour outing.

Now we are coasting on cake vodka shops, chasing with our choice of rita drinks, and shortly, I will make sausage gravy to put over her fried taters. Yummy late night snack.And I have not been beckoned to the shop so I may actually rest well tonight with nothing looming overhead for tomorrow.

Or it could go the other way, my brain is a traitor that way.
For now…I’m good. Not great but good. And that’s good enough for me.

Even if my loving parents spend all their time telling me nothing I do is good enough. It’s been that way since I hatched out of my egg shell, why should anything change now.

I don’t think either of them understand the concept of “nurturing”.

No wonder I don’t have a whole lot of that in my skillset. I do try, though. And I will keep trying. I am finding that allowing them to convince me I can’t do something may be what has held me back a lot of my life.

That and a brain that randomly tells me the world is out to get me and I should PANIC PANIC PANIC RETREAT HIDE AND PROTECT MYSELF FROM ATTACK.

Ass trashery.

The petri dish hangover

Posted in mental illness with tags , , , on July 26, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

So…Spent six days out in the petri dish of society. Today made seven, but we were only out less than an hour so I will concede to the six. It’s enough, I am crying mercy.

Today, in spite of a decent night’s sleep, I just feel drained. It’s not even a mood thing, I’m too tired to have a mood.My stomach is in knots because that’s just how I process stress, unfortunately.

We went to R’s last night. I wasn’t feeling it to begin with. Then we got there and two out of three daughters were there with their spouses so my anxiety was immense and intense. The middle girl I can handle. That oldest one…She just rubs me the wrong way. And it’s not that they’re mean to me or anything. Maybe it’s just me, I don’t relate well to those who consider themselves outside my class. (Evidenced by them both making derogatory comments in my presence about people who live in trailer parks.) Directed at me or not, the sweeping classification based on where you live infuriates me and turns me against those who make it.

The wine didn’t help much. I had a pounding headache and for the most part, I was enduring, not enjoying. I wanted to enjoy, truly I did. I am fine with R and his wife. But throw in 5 more people and I am at my social anxiety marker. 5 people, manageable. Ten people…living hell. Especially after living in the dish for six straight days.

Came home and tried to go straight to bed. Kid wasn’t cooperating. Eventually I just let her sleep in my bed because it became clear it was the only way I was going to get any sleep.I waved the white flag, what can I say. I’m weak.

I have done dishes, swept, folded laundry, put in more laundry, and I am going to change cat boxes and marinate pork chops for dinner. Beyond that, I am going to lick my wounds and assess the damage of high functioning to my fragile psyche. It kills me to think I did an eighth of what everyone else does daily and I am this tapped out. I don’t view myself as weak, but this makes me feel that way. But like it or not, high functionality takes a toll on me in the worst possible way.

Time to recover. Just in time to do it all again. Rinse, lather, repeat, ass trash.

Sick of the skin I’m in

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on July 25, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I overslept today which did not make the day start well. I drank a little too much orange cream vodka last night and my motivation was hankered by a headache and lethargy. I don’t know why I do that to myself. Maybe because for a few hours I got to take a vacation from myself.

There was no vacation today. The mood was just tired but the anxiety…oh, it was a monster today. By hour three at the shop I was pretty sure my skin was trying to crawl off my bones, the anxiety was so bad. There was no trigger aside from being outside my safety zone for more than an hour.

Paranoia began to rampage. I smell smoke, is my car on fire? R’s tone was a little short, did I make him mad somehow? I hear a siren, is my home finally burning down? That lady driving by looked at me funny, what did I do?

On and on it went.

I did what was needed and finally declared I was leaving. I couldn’t stand the panic that was boiling up and making me feel out of control and nutsy fucking kookoo.

I try so very hard to “talk” myself out of the moods and anxiety attacks. It never works. It’s like my nerve endings and the very skin I live in are in cahoots to misfire randomly and in abundance so I never quite know if I am paranoid or if the anxiety just makes me feel that way.

Now I am back in safe space and we are supposed to go to R’s house tonight to have wine with his wife. Truth be told, I’m not feeling it. But I begged off last week for the same reason so I am going to force myself to go and put on the mask of sanity and optimism.

I’d rather crawl into bed with Deadly Women playing and just vegetate until tomorrow when I am sure to be in different mind space.

On top of it all, my ovarian cysts seem to be in some sort of uproar and are causing cramping and random “fist squeeze” pains so that’s dragging me down as well.

I am a bucket of ick at the moment but at least the anxiety is subsiding.

I should have gotten a least competent award today. I was instructed to gut a DLP tv and I couldn’t even get all the screws out. R got them out in like ten seconds.

Then mention of craziness was made and I was awash with guilt for my own bouts of being a crazy bitch. ‘Cos like I totally asked for my brain to be this way and I should feel bad when my illness complicates the lives of others. This ingrained need to apologize and feel guilty for having an illness makes me mad. Compassion and empathy are a figment of the imagination when it comes to mental illness.

Yeah, I know I’ve gone off on several disjointed tangents there, my bad. Mental purge.

I’m done.

Maybe someone needs to wear my skin for awhile to understand.

Ha, get the inside joke, Bex?

tripolar is apparently a thing

Posted in mental illness with tags , , , , on July 24, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

My mood held steady today, until a few minutes ago. I think I’m just tired from the heat and being high functioning today. I went to the shop, I  hooked up the desktop, I did a load of laundry, cooked supper, mowed the lawn. While most would call this a normal day, for me, it’s a good day when my mood holds steady and I get shit done. Because some days simply aren’t like that for me.

When Bex and I went shopping last month, we saw a pin (like for a hat) that said, “Is tripolar a thing?”

Aside from being the title of a Sick Puppies album, I honestly didn’t know.

Turns out, while not official, tripolar is a term some in mental healthcare studies are leaning toward. It describes when bipolar disorder crosses over into borderline personality disorder. You have ups, downs, and your personality issues complicate it all thus making you tripolar.

I am still not sold on myself being borderline. At all. I can recognize certain traits, but for me, they are tied to the mood swings. If it’s some trait ingrained to the point of being a disorder, then I wouldn’t have a sudden change of heart between Monday and Friday. Personality doesn’t change very much even with mental disorders, at least not the kind of deep down character flaws they’re talking with BPD.

But maybe I’m deluding myself and I am borderline. I just don’t see it and I am fairly honest about myself even with myself. I even own being a bit of a sociopath. It just feels like a situation where someone has made up their mind based on limited, false information.

Kind of like when I tested positive for amphetamines and tried to tell the doctor I’ve never had uppers in my life. I had taken a cold medicine, which a lab person told me could come up as a false positive for speed. Not that doctors believe you. They believe their little lab paper and assume all patients are liars with addictions and refuse to fess up.

That’s how I’m feeling here. Like this current shrink has made a snap decision because she’s sees so many borderlines, she thinks all are.

Not like I’ve never had doctors with a jaded bias going on. My first shrink thought everyone and their dog had nothing more than simple depression, no matter what the counselor’s put in the file.

Then my favorite shrink apparently had an affinity for diagnosing most of her patients as bipolar and ADD.

Then my least favorite shrink thought mental illness was the result of poor diet, not enough exercise, and a negative attitude.

Sometimes, it feels like you can’t win. If you protest because you honestly feel they are wrong, it makes you look argumentative and unwilling to face hard truths about yourself.

But if you don’t speak up, then it becomes a repeat of the ten years I spent under the care of an inept doctor who diagnosed me wrong and gave meds that made it worse.

No win situation.

But…I do think tripolar may be a thing. Not in the way the study people are saying, though. I think between the highs, lows, and stability of bipolar disorder…That’s tripolar as fuck.


Sliding down the rabbit hole is not my favorite

Posted in mental illness with tags , , , on July 22, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

(I did something to screw up the format of this post, my bad, I can’t be arsed to figure it out and fix it.)

My kid’s new thing is, “That’s not my favorite” (place to sit, food to eat, et al).

So I am gonna rip her off for this post’s title.

I got up bright and early today and showered. Then I went back to sleep, hit snooze six times, and overslept big time. Which put me into a panic trying to rush about and get ready to go to the shop. My mood was livid. I couldn’t think of a single good thing. It was like this dark cloud looming overhead and no matter how hard I tried to talk myself out of it, it lingered and enveloped and smothered me.

It’s the precursor to the seasonal depression, except the last couple of years it’s started kicking in months ahead of the old usual. Yes, there are a lot of stressors on the horizon that affect my mood. This goes beyond that. This is like poison flowing through my veins and brain, telling me everything is shit, nothing will get better. It’s an oppressive all encompassing sadness I feel to my bone marrow and I don’t like it. Sliding down the rabbit hole is the bane of my existence.

Nonetheless, I went to the shop and faked my way through almost 5 hours of multiple tvs running simultaneously, ringing phones, making calls, and being subjected to R’s “Watch this, this is amazing” youtube videos of Styx. I’m not a big Styx fan so it’s kind of grueling. And my brain just wasn’t in it, I made a couple of math mistakes on tickets and he asked what was wrong with me that I couldn’t do basic math. Well, when you’re sliding down the rabbit hole, it gets that way. My anxiety was brimming, my mood was low, and the fact I even got there was impressive to me. Every instinct I had wanted to trip down a staircase just to have an excuse to avoid the dish.

It got better after I picked up the “new” desktop, grabbed some groceries, and came home.

Now it’s slipping again.

Up, down, all around. Ass fucking trash.

I’ve thought for some time now the Lamictal simply isn’t doing what it used to but I am reluctant to speak up because this current shrink seems to be a bit aggravated with my medi-go-round routine. It’s not on purpose, ffs. I’d love to find the magic bullet combo and stick with it for life. My stupid brain chemicals don’t want to cooperate. It’s not personality. If it were, I wouldn’t run in cycles without regard to environment and stressors.

I dunno.

Problem to ponder another day.

Now I am gonna vegetate and see if my head will stop aching from all the tension bundling me up like a bale of hay.

Something I just noticed, because I am dense this way…

Mood is doom spelled backwards.

So fitting.

Smothered Theresa

Posted in mental illness with tags , , on July 22, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

My mood was good for the most part today, stress minimal, even my kid was in a decent firing mode.


I get a call from R, reminding me the dish exists and isn’t some nightmare I conjured up. He found me a desktop and if i come help him he will pay for 60% of it. Awesome. Unfortunately, to come up with my forty percent, I have to bum off bex until my check comes. I hate doing that, it makes me feel like pond scum. But I need a new computer, or different one, even it does come with Vista. (ASS TRASH OS) Meh, I lived with Migraine Edition.

He wants me to come look up parts in exchange for covering most of it. I feel like i’ve sold my soul. I feel smothered. The panic is creeping up. I wanted to go to bed but now it’s out of dread for tomorrow instead of just wanting to relax and rest. I don’t know why I get this way sometimes, i just do. The anxiety is crushing. like being gripped by a boa constrictor and feeling your bones snap under its grip.

I hate being such a trainwreck. I hate even more that no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to talk my brain out of feeling this way. Even if I distract myself on one level, my brain continues reeling and sending the message “you can’t breathe”. It’s insanity.

Toss in the reality (which we both try to deny vehemently) that Becca’s time is dwindling to nothing and she will soon have to go home whether either of us like it or not…

I really can’t breathe, at least not easily. It’s like living in a perpetual mild state of hyperventilation. NO matter how much air you suck in, you can’t get enough and all you can do is ride it out and hope it ends soon.

In my case, it never does end, it just takes a breather (ha ha ha) for brief respites.

Ass trash.

I keep telling myself, i go do this, get my soul back after a couple days’ servitude, and I solve one of my biggest problems, ie, the lack of a desktop computer. I win. Yet it feels like a loss, of self, of sanity, of calm.

I’ll try to make the most of it tomorrow.

For tonight, though, I am in that creepy mental illness place where it feels like I’m locked in a cell with a pillow over my face. Anxiety, the gift that keeps taking and giving.