Archive for October, 2014

The Beauty Of Cyclothymia

Posted in biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , , , on October 31, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

The instability of constantly rapid cycling moods is enough to drive one insane. Bipolar one gets long periods of mania. Bipolar two has long periods of depression.
The only constant in cyclothymia is that there is no consistency. If our mood sticks more than a few hours, we do cartwheels.

So the fact that my mood has been hovering in the middle for a couple of days..is like a winning lottery ticket. Not feeling too little or too much. Having a few laughs. Putting on actual clothes, including undergarments, leaving the house. No panic attacks.
The holy grail of rapid cyclers.
This is a mental space I could happily exist in at all times. No extremes. Just middle of the road.

So…Without my mental demons nipping at my brain and toes…I don’t really have too much to say.
My kid’s been declared lice free (not that I think there was any this time) so we can take her trick or treating tomorrow.
My allergies are acting up and I am drowning in phlegm and sneezing and coughing like a maniac.
I feel…
okay.

Having said that, it is with cautious optimism I hope for some more middle ground days. It rarely holds with the ever changing rapid cycles but much like wishing unicorns and dragons were real…Hoping for some stability is not a bad thing.
I want to believe.

On a final note… I wrote this this week after seeing how differently people treat me depending on my mental state. It sucks to feel like you have to wear a mask and live a lie because people are too ignorant to educate themselves about mental illness.
I call this one Lies.

lies

Paranoiapalooza

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on October 29, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Not an awful day, mood wise. Fairly holding steady in the middle.

Anxiety wasn’t too bad. UNTIL I left the house. Then my mind started whipping up a hurricane and typhoon of panic inducing thoughts.
The teacher hasn’t responded to my email. OMG, they’re discussing how to transfer my kid because they don’t want to deal with me! Did I send it to the wrong email? Are they passing it around laughing? Have I been reported to the principal for daring to question a teacher’s commitment to my kid’s education?
OMFG, they asked her how often I bathe her. They’re getting ready to call DSF because she had scalp flakes in her hair!!!!
Enter:Panic.

It’s difficult to function in the here and now when you’re mind is a cyclone mixed with a tornado of paranoid anxiety triggers.
And it’s so bad, and I hate confrontation so much (even though I’ve never really learned when to keep my mouth shut diplomatically), there’s a part of me almost relieved the school/teacher has made no contact. Because I panic when it comes to confrontation. Panic sets off the physical symptoms which set off the fight or flight response…And my mouth acts independently from my brain with responses not based on logic but on terror induced defensiveness.
It’s been a problem for as long as I can remember. And for every one time I’m able to bite my own tongue…There are nine times I’ve spazzed out and reacted out of panic rather than the way I actually feel. This makes me come off as a rather unreasonable bitch or plain batshit crazy.
I hate it and yet…No matter how much I attempt to retrain my brain, the panic disorder does not give a fuck. People say mind over matter…Well, in the case of bipolar, it’s your mind sending out the wrong signals so you never stand a chance of working from a place of logic to truly “overcome” it.

I am calmer now that I am in my safe space and the evening promises to be dull and calm. I can deal with that. But the paranoia tugs at the back of my mind, sending my heart racing and my entire body dissolving into some much physical gelatin.
There is no such thing as overreacting when it comes to intrusions into your parenting abilities. The system is set up to blame, accuse, and assume first, then investigate and by then, it’s too late. I’ve known this to happen to otherwise excellent parents (including R) and once you’re entangled in the system…The noose is around your neck for life.
I must sound dramatic and pathetic.
There simply is no room for “keep calm and carry on” when it comes to my daughter. I am a good mom. But society has these ridiculous standards where failing to sign a baby up for gymboree is some sort of neglect. I would think myself nutty if I hadn’t witnessed this happening to others with my own eyes.
Yet I’ve known kids living in horrid conditions with guns and drugs floating about and abusive adults…But nothing was ever done.
Once you’ve seen how the system fails time after time…It taints your mind. There is no longer the self argument, “I’m being silly, no one is going to take my kid away because I’ve done nothing wrong…”
People get convicted of murder even when they’re innocent. Society cares fuck all about evidence. Rumor’s good enough for the majority.
You could argue, “But, Becca is there, she’s a witness to how well you take care of your kid.”
Yeah…I had an apartment once, and the landlord felt my clutter made me a bad housekeeper so he forced me to get an independent living advisor to do monthly inspections. The lady always said the place was tidy and yes, cluttered, but I managed what little space I had well.
Next thing I know, in spite of their reports to the landlord and in spite of paying rent on time for five years…he evicted me. His standards were that high that not even the advisor’s word and approval overrode his views.

I suppose that’s where all my terror of losing my kid comes in. Because everyone has different standards. There are some people who have one speck of dust and consider it unfit living conditions. I can’t live up to that.I don’t even believe in it, I think it’s asinine. But it’s people like that who will judge me and hold me to their personal standards rather than, “Place is tidy, there’s food in the fridge, the child is bathed, clothed and happy, all is well.”
Because it happened to R. I was there. I saw it.

So maybe my panic and level of paranoia are not proportionate to what others consider realism…I can’t unsee what I have seen. I cannot help but be terrified when intrusive personal questions are being asked of my child. I could see if she smelled or had dirt on her or smelly clothes…The question was out of context and rude and my fucked up head and lousy experiences are making spaz the fuck out…
It is what it is.
I sometimes wonder if my anxiety and panic are on some psychotic level that’s uncommon so the doctors think I am dramatizing.
It’s no drama. It’s no joke.
There are times I’ve felt less panic over a car wreck or emergency surgery than when my brain throws its random paranoiapalooza shows.

Doctor says I fixate on the bad things and live on the assumption if it happened once, it will happen again therefore I am causing myself the problems.
I say, if you see more bad things than good, it warps your mind and proves you’re right to be concerned.
And believe me, short of ect and exorcism I have tried everything (light therapy, aromatherapy, chakra therapy, hypnosis) to be rid of the anxiety disorder.
All it did was leave me feeling like more of a loser because none of it worked for me.

Oh, well. I’m a hot mess with a bucket of crazy thrown in.
Once upon a time, it was considered eccentric or quirky.
Now it’s a personality disorder.

And it’s all my own fault, that’s been made abundantly clear by so many…

Meh.
They can go to hell.
I hope the devil jabs them with his pitchfork at random intervals so they spend all their time going “what the fuck”.
Because that’s what mental illness is like.
You keep getting poked but you’re never answered on why.

In The Middle

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , , , on October 28, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Yes, I am in that lovely stage of bipolar where my mood is neither up nor down. In the middle. I’m here, I’m functioning, I am underwhelmed and overwhelmed.

Shark week cramps have died down enough to muddle through.
I put in time at the shop. Until the school called, oh wait, the school didn’t call me. They called my stepmonster and told her they couldn’t reach me because my home phone was disconnected (I called it, it’s fine, never even rang) and my cell never rang. They never called the shop. Oddly, I get their automated school messages at all three numbers. Needless to say, I went in rather irate. Anyway, they said she has a lice again. This school is pissing m the fuck off.
They misplaced my kid on the bus the first day, they don’t even know her gender, the teacher never contacted me about rescheduling parent teacher night, I have to call her in sick to two different numbers because the school proper has no idea what is going on with central office Kindergarten…The teacher even asked her today when the last time she bathed and washed her hair. Last night, actually. I even Robicombed her hair and combed it out. (I swear what they’re seeing is dandruff and even Bex found nothing when I had her doublecheck because I am apparently incompetent.) But asking when she bathed last…That’s intrusive, insulting, and uncalled for. She’s clean, her hair is clean, her clothes are clean. I can see if I sent her in covered in muck with a greasy mop. That infuriated me.
Sooo..I fired off a terse but fair (I read it to Becca just to make sure I wasn’t being all hormone-y and bitchy) email to the teacher expressing my frustration with it all.
To add insult to injury I called my mom to let her know because, surprise surprise, she saw Spook about ten days ago, hugged her, and she’d just (well, my sister found it ‘cos mom won’t do anything for herself) found three live bugs which means nits. But nooo, it couldn’t have been her reinfesting the kid. Nope, it’s me, my treatment doesn’t work (yet it does for many of us who do it right.) I’m not clean enough, my house isn’t clean enough…The woman is negativity personified and even my 16 year old nephew informed her, to her face, “You’re a real c*nt to Aunt Niki.”
Bygones.
It’s just very frustrating and makes me want to turn into the Hulk and smash skulls in. Of course, that would mean a mood that lasts more than ten minutes.

Went back to the shop for a bit since I owe him for buying me smoke supplies and some gas.
Went to the store, came home. Rinse, lather, repeat. Once home, the neighbor girls came knocking to use the phone. For the first time ever, I said no. They told me two months ago “Mom and Dad said we’re not supposed to play with Spook.” So if my kid isn’t good enough to play with them, they can go get their own damned phone. Talk about rude, don’t speak to my kid for two months like she has ebola, then ask to use my phone while saying “We’re not allowed to come inside.”
WTF? I have had enough with rudeness. Just…ENOUGH.
But the guy who just knocked and wanted to borrow milk (he’s always bumming smokes but he does give me a handful of coins for them) I have no problem helping out. Long as its not abused.
People who abuse others’ kindness need to get hit in the head with a shovel.

Still, in spite of all these stressors…my mood is holding steady in the middle. I can aide. I’d kill for a manic episode. I got a random panic attack from hell earlier, and there was no trigger. I couldn’t breathe, I was doubled over, dizzy, felt like someone was holding a pillow over my face and fight or flight was kicking in. Ass trash.
Finally got more Paxil after being out for three days and having no money. Good thing, because those withdrawal brain zaps were hitting hard and making me look like an epilectic with the random abrupt jolts and spasms. Oddly, Lamictal is used to treat epilepsy and even at 250 mg it didn’t knock down anti depressant withdrawal. Cold turkey from xanax sucked less. And I did that three times due to money issues or incompetent doctors.

So…I am frustrated and on the stressed side but I have been in the same mental space for almost 12 hours. For a cyclothymic, that’s like a holy grail. I rapid cycle so quick it’s no wonder it’s mistaken for borderline personality quirk. Problem is, doctors don’t like to admit they’re wrong or plain inept so now my file has that little mark in it and every doctor in the future will just operate from that assumption. And that’s not assumption, no shrink ever does time in this town for more than two or three years. They flee like the building is on fire once their sentence in purgatory is done. So any doctor I see in the future at my clinic will likely not give me the benefit of the doubt or even form their own diagnosis. It’s in my Permanent Record. And I know I harp on this wayyy too much but I have this thing where I will admit to my flaws as long as they are correct. If they are nt valid, I’m doing the rebel yell primal scream thing. (Ha, worked in Billy Idol and Motley Crue song titles, how awesome am I?) Call me a bitch, fine, I AM a bitch. Call me a slut and I will go ballistic. I have cobwebs growing in certain places I’m such a nun these days. Geesh.

Okay. Disjointed rant needs to end. Gotta purge, though. Lose about ten mental pounds when I spew in this blog. Only to rinse, lather, repeat with more spewage the next day. Such is life.
It is what it is.

Now I am going to go bathe my kid. I may spitshine her as well, since apparently our cleanliness has come into question. THAT offends the fuck out of me. Not one person would ever say that I am a dirty person, or my kid, as far as personal hygiene goes.
Ass trasher worthless buckets of monkey spunk petri dish dwellers.
I want my Unabomber shack.
Provided it has wifi.
Gotta watch my shows and get my Word Poker on, ya know.

McCrampy, McBitchy, McMental

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , , , , on October 27, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m having what I call one of my “Batshit crazy” days. I am in pain thanks to a particularly vicious shark week. The hormones are making me swing between anger, exhaustion, and the middle. The anxiety is high and causing major paranoia and “crawly” skin sensations. I am too tired to move around and everything aches. Now my apathetic mood is spiraling down into “why the fuck do I even bother” territory.
The good thing, if you can call anything about mental illness good, is that rapid cycling bipolar means you’re rarely in the same mood for very long so if you can just ride it out, you’ll spring back up. (Of course, that is also the bitch of it, you feel good and think, well, why can’t I feel this way all the time…)

I’ve been reading a lot about bipolar. The newer stuff has more information on rapid cycling (cyclothyic bipolar) which is a breath of fresh air. Doctors who have and still ignore rapid cycles are the bane of a cyclothymic’s existence. They are so hung up on their little DSM, aka Bible of Mental Illness, they don’t pay any attention to the patient half the time. The book doesn’t mention rapid cycles, therefore it must not exist.
I LIVE it, so it does exist. And from the comments I have received as of late on this blog, cyclothyic bipolar is finding its way out of the mental health closet. More of us are getting properly diagnosed (even if we have to research it and mention it ourselves). We are no longer ignored husks, dismissed as histrionic, moody, and mercurial in personality. I don’t think my shrink puts much stock in my rapid cycles, but she seems to see borderline personality disorder everywhere so I don’t think any amount of communication is going to help there. Once a doctor has latched onto their diagnosis de jour, they’re unlikely to relent. I’ve lived that as well, several times. A stubborn doctor more set in their books and personal beliefs is the biggest threat to one’s mental health.

The fact so many have spoken out to me through this blog (And I really hope even more speak up because it sure as hell helps me to not feel so alone in this) about their battles with bipolar, especially those who rapid cycle, tells me the tides are changing. Cyclothymia, long considered mild and benign, is finally making its way into the spotlight. It’s about damned time.

As my seasonal affect depression sets in, and I do the shuffle of cyclothymia where one day I am able to function and the next I am shut down..It does me good to vent in this blog. To hear “It’s not just you.” To hear others are experiencing something similar, validating what I go through when so many have brainwashed me into self doubt and self bullying. It’s not laziness. It’s not unwillingness to work on character flaws.
Mental illness is real.

No one would ever tell a diabetic to skip the insulin, it’s all in your head.

So why is mental illness still so bastardized?

It’s time we start speaking up, stop hiding in the shadows like we did something to deserve this, and, if we can’t educate society, at least we can form a network of support for each other.

I really should be doing this with pom poms.

Oh, well, cheesy as it might come off…Every word is truth. It’s how I feel. I am sick of feeling ashamed, of being invalidated, of being bullied. I didn’t ask for this and I won’t be forced into the position of denying it so ignorant people can have bliss.

Of course, I’ve got my McBitch on today thanks to hormones, so who knows. Tomorrow I may be in paranoid timid mousy “just let me fade into the background” mode.

I still feel the same way on those days. I’m just not solid enough to get out the pom poms and shout it from mountain tops.

McBatshitcrazy.

Making a Mockery of Mental Illness

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on October 26, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I don’t get many comments on this blog. So when I do, I read them with much interest. This morning, however, I awoke to non helpful bitchy little comments from someone with a site and an agenda. This site is abhorrent to me as I believe it trivializes the struggle of people with mental illness by making it all seem like some big personality/social issue that can be cured by willpower alone. Meds are crutches, blah blah blah.
To be fair, I will post here the comments because I am currently in hormonal imbalance week and maybe I’m overreacting. I don’t think so because I walk in my shoes and this person does not. Belittling mental illness like some sort of choice we make insults my intelligence and that of every other person who has mental illness.
On the post about the anxiety of anxiety disorder: “Delusion or illusion?” Not sure it matters what this dude thinks as mental illness is neither to those of us who have it. We believe what our misfiring brain is telling us.
The insult was on “My Name Is…”
“Now you know, what are you going to do about it?”
Um…Exorcism?
I was very proud of that post. It was heartfelt. It was well written. It was honest.
To have it mocked (whether intentionally or not) is abhorrent.

I am pretty sure this guy has his own agenda and his site speaks volumes as to his views of mental illness. He’s promoting something called “Social Anxiety Fix.” Like repairing a broken toaster. Belittling, trivializing, and offensive to me. Also offensive to me is giving his site any traffic.
But I am quid pro quo and if I am going to disagree publicly, then I feel compelled to let those who might read this post judge for themselves. Hell, we are all so different, his page might prove to be helpful to some.
It’s little more than a taunt to me, acting on the assumption my disorders are somehow minor and linked to some sort of personality weakness I just need to “get over”. He seems to think those with social anxiety are just lonely and socially awkward. While I am the posterchild for the latter, I am rarely the former. I love being alone. Why would I need an audience to watch me write or read?
Making a mountain out of a molehill, am I?

Meh.
I needed a subject to rant on because today is just not one of my better days. I’m in pain, and mainly want to zone out doing something that makes me happy. Which today means a marathon of eps of CSI I missed.
I’ve done everything I am supposed to do to get well. I have issues but I am not some lump whining and doing nothing about it.

On this one, Mr. Anxiety Fix and I will have to agree to disagree.

If someone else who reads this finds that way helpful…I wish them well.

Now back to CSI. A plane was sabotaged and I need to know who did it and why. Sometimes, the best break you can give yourself is one where you think of anything but your own crap.
And I am aware my petty crap is no more or less important than anyone else’s. But this blog and venting here are MY THERAPY so…
don’t fuck with it.
And if you’re selling something…You are knocking on the wrong door. I can’t afford to pay attention.

But I haven’t ruled out that exorcism thing. It’d make for great entertainment on Halloween 😉

Mom, Embalmed

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , on October 26, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been less than functional today. Well, in my own mind. I did get up, take care of kid and cats, did dishes and cooked a good meal. But other than that, I have been in this zombie haze. My entire body aches. My knees are starting to hurt as they do every fall and winter. I’m exhausted even though I did fuck all. So on top of feeling shitty for not being super mom with the housework…I get to feel guilty about it as well.

It’s like this any time I spend more time out and about in the dish than at home. And last week the scales were about even on time out/time home. Throw in cramps and PMS…I’m drained. Embalmed.

Of course, having said all this, I will have to further guilt trip myself for being narcissistic and self absorbed and whiny. I can never seem to cut myself some slack.
I need to do that. Just not sure how.

I think…I will start with a shower. Then some Xanax. And once my kid goes to sleep and the uzi fire to my brain stops…perhaps I will return to a better mind frame. Or just get lost in the nothingness of sleep.

I find if I allow myself that luxury once or twice a week, I am able to somewhat recharge and spring back into action, so to speak.

On the plus side, six years ago, I was staying up all night, taking 300 mg of seroquel and 400 mg of trazadone and sleeping til 4 pm day in day out.
The mom gig at least has taught me that I don’t get to be a lump anymore. I may not feel like functioning, I may not be entirely functional, but I don’t have any choice but to get up and go through the motions. Which is what it feels like sometimes when the depression is tugging at your mind, raising your anxiety, and all you can think about is how you’d give a kidney just to have a manic episode and feel alive again.
It’s good that I have evolved and learned to tough it out rather than hide in come inducing pills and sleep. As long as I give myself vegetation time on occasion…It’s all good.

Besides. I’m never much use during pms week. Or the first two days of shark week. It’s hard to feel good when you’re in pain and exhausted for no reason and doing battle with a slew of emotions you don’t know are real or hormonal. The fact I haven’t been spotted in a clocktower with a high powered rifle is worthy of Ripley’s.

Though…If I really wanted to screw with people I could walk around with a realistic water gun, announce I have PMS, and see if they start running.

Meh. Maybe not. I’m too crampy and cranky.

The Anxiety of, well, anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , on October 25, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I was relatively ok.
Until beckoned to the shop on the premise of helping Kenny with something. Nothing was said about me being needed by The King. (make not that is said with my best dose of snarkasm.)
I get there after spending a few hours at home in the morning watching tv shows.
Lots is full. Kenny is there as well.
Lovely. Instant panic.

All Kenny wanted was the desktop wallpaper changed. REALLY? If you’re that dumb, you’re too stupid to own a computer. LEARN. Oh, wait, neither of them want to listen to me when I try to teach them to do these little things. Nooo, let’s bug Niki because she has nothing else to do and loves us so much.
Um…no.
THEN R put me on the spot and told me to look for an upper buffer board. While the antsy customer is standing right there looking over my shoulder. “I found it for forty bucks last week.” says R.
“Did you bookmark it?”
“No.”
“What site?”
“I don’t know.”
So I spend 45 mins, ten pages, five search engines, all the while this customer hovers and makes me so nervous I can’t think straight…And while I find several of these parts, the price is wrong, or it’s in China and that will take too long. The guy lurks and buzzes nearby like a helicopter. My anxiety creeps into the stratosphere. I finally walk away. I was there out of the goodness of my own heart (HA HA) and he puts me on the spot knowing I can’t do things quickly or competently when I have an audience.
An hour later, after the chaos of his friends and the lurker have gone…He pulls up the part he’d found last week. It was number three on page one of Google. And I missed it.
He thinks I am lazy and slacking off.
I admit, I am dropping the all a lot lately as I am clearly off my game and admittedly so.
But I can’t help but think I missed it because I was too busy trying to recall how to breathe under close scrutiny by some random dude, too busy trying not to make typos, to remember the part number, to get it done quickly…
I fucked up.

I didn’t appreciate being thrown under that particular bus, when I’ve made myself abundantly clear I don’t work well, at all, under pressure or with an audience, even of one. It was dirty pool. There was no reason for me to be there other than doing some inane thing for Kenny. To be put on the spot, in a known anxiety inducing position, then castigated for it…
Makes me remember why I’ve never been able to work consistently. The world will adapt if you need to use a can, crutches, walker, wheel chair…
But if you have mental issues with triggers that might require a little accommodation…You’re out of luck. And no, I am not saying a panic attack trumps not being able to walk. But if mental disorders are recognized as disabilities, then we should be afforded certain allowances so we can do something in spite of our disorders.
The work force, family, friends-none of them consider this. It’s laughable to them.
Which makes you feel shitty, guilty, self conscious and worsens the whole disorder, turning it into an even worse disorder.
Or in my case, a plethora of disorders.

I went in feeling good.
Until I was disrespected, thrown under a bus, and forced into a corner that brought one of my disorders boiling over the top.
If someone is afraid of heights, you don’t force them to go up a ladder and snicker at their terror. You don’t toss a spider on an arachnaphobe and wonder why they’re freaking out.

So why is it acceptable to exploit someone with panic disorder who has explained their hard limits (yes, I’m reading Fifty Shades Darker, without shame, and it’s a good term that shouldn’t exclusively apply to kink.)

As I have reiterated so many times, only to be labeled anti social, pessimistic, paranoid, yet proven right every time…
I am fairly fine…until other people are involved.
Are my mental illnesses my problem rather than theirs? Sure.
But most wouldn’t dare accuse someone in a wheelchair of being lazy yet it’s fine to take someone with panic attacks and place them repeatedly in a triggering situation then have the nerve to point out they failed.

The more people I meet…the more I like my cats. And the more I really want my own Unabomber shack, provided it has wifi. I may not do well with people, but I have got to be able to get my American Horror Story and Supernatural on.

Fiction is a place to get lost for forty minutes and not think about all my failings.

Killer clowns, demonic possession…child’s play.

Going out my front door…TERRIFYING. Because that’s real.