Archive for November, 2014

Skip In The Record

Posted in biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , , on November 29, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

For those of us who grew up in the 70’s and 80’s or those who are retro…The concept of vinyl records is known. Vinyl. I miss it sometimes. CDs have better sound quality but vinyl, wow. It was so raw, so real.
But like everything, it had its flaws. It got worn and warped and scratched.
There was nothing as irritating as your favorite record having a skip etched into one spot, usually during your favorite song, and the only way to get past it was to bump the needle a smidge.

My brain, today, is like a vinyl record with a skip in it, only I have no needle to bump and make the song progress. It’s just the same series of thoughts and searing emotions in an endless loop. I can’t distract myself from it. It’s stewing and simmer and brewing and it won’t stop. I feel helpless and hopeless, like it has taken me hostage. I try to distract, to move onto something else.
But the skip remains and the churning thoughts of futility keep going.

I recognize this obsessive compulsive thought pattern as one of my flaws, a glitch in my programming that usually drives me to react impulsively, in a volatile manner, because otherwise, I am going to implode.
Xanax will dull the edges, but for the most part…I am at the mercy of this shit until it passes. There is no true trigger that makes it pass. Much like the bipolar mood cycles, it just takes on a life of its own and will fade out the same way. Fizzle. Eventually.
Until then…
I feel like I am bound in chains, at the cruel mercy of my own twisted mind, and no logical argument with myself changes a thing. I feel weak and powerless, and those are not emotions I tolerate well. If anything, it turns me into a cornered feral animal. My strength and tenacity are all I have ever had. To be stripped of that and placed in this position of my own mind torturing me with feelings that might not even be there a few hours from now…It’s living hell.
It chisels away at you. It leaves you vacant and hostile and basically, a powder keg.

I am learning, slowly, how to isolate myself from anything that might trigger that powder keg to explode.
Unfortunately, I am a mom and there is the constant trigger of my child who literally loves the sound of her own voice and never stops talking. Never.
It’s like nails on a chalkboard when you’re in this mental place.
I need quiet. I need calm. I need to breathe.I can’t even have a clear thought because it’s halted with “Mommy” every thirty seconds. Literally. I have never known a child who talks this much.
And this one’s not just me being irritable and edgy. It’s been witnessed by others who find it pushes them to the edge as well.

So not only am I being flogged by my own brain, my kid is on rapid Uzi fire mode and I can’t think clearly or even take a deep breath.

Proof that even when the moods don’t get you…
Something else will.

It’s easy to understand how people go clinically insane. How it hasn’t yet happened to me is a mystery. Sometimes, I wish it would happen. Lock me up, give me drugs, tell me what to do every minute of the day so I don’t have to make any decisions…
And a day later I would be shrieking and kicking to get free and take control again.
I am an enigma, even to myself.
I know what I am.
I’m just not sure why I am this way.

And it doesn’t matter because figuring out what caused the damage doesn’t make the damage diminish a bit.

It doesn’t even really offer clarity. It just makes me wonder why I’ve bothered and fought so hard trying to fix myself when every single person around me remains the same and clings to their own dysfunction to the detriment of others without even a flicker of awareness or conscience.
Maybe I just don’t want to be them.
Maybe all the therapy just made me more fucked up because frankly, ignorance is bliss and I was at least partially happy accepting myself as a kookoo flake as opposed to constant self analysis of every personality quirk.

I want to break free from it all.
It’s imprisonment. Life sentence.
And no one told me what crime I committed to be sentenced to this.

The record needle skips in the groove, again and again, and no peace is to be found.

Such is mental illness and emotional baggage.

Hell In Human Skin

Posted in mental health with tags , , , on November 28, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I heard that term on a show describing mental illness…hell in human skin. I like it. It’s very apt.
This post is not to bitch about the latest mood swing or anxiety attack. Yesterday, while stressful and full of little minefields that could have gone off, is gone and I survived.

What is filling my mind now are the knots of emotion that I find so hard to sort and assign importance to. I’m damaged, I know this. I have many many issues. My thinking is not always logical.
But at which point do you stop invalidating yourself and taking all responsibility for everything around you and face facts…
Some people are just toxic.

To gain clarity, I have been reading sites about manipulative people, how to spot them, how to handle them, what to ask yourself in regards to the relationship to gauge whether your are being overreactive or illogical.
The bottom line is…
Some people just really need to wear skull and cross bone labels because while they put on a wonderful facade of decency…They are just poisonous to the bone.
When someone makes demands of you but gets pissed when you expect the same in return…TOXIC.
When you realize the relationship is one sided rather than two sided, that person is TOXIC.
When every interaction leaves you walking away, feeling disrespected and dismissed, the person is TOXIC.
When you ask for the opinion of another who has seen the way the toxic person has treated you and they agree you’re not being unreasonable…
It’s time to reassess, for the thousandth time, exactly what the toxic person brings to your life you actually can’t live without.

This is where hell really is in human skin. You’re torn between wanting to believe the toxic person means well but lacks the emotional intelligence to realize how horrible they can really be.
You want to give them the benefit of the doubt.
You want to be wrong, for them to be worthwhile.
You don’t want to think they view you as so insignificant that the poor treatment could be anything other than your own neuroses distorting a well adjusted relationship.

I think, though, after giving this person nearly 20 years to prove they are more than the sum of their own egomania and arrogance…Maybe it really is time to reevaluate. Again. Because it’s always that tiny smidge of me that pulls away then gets sucked back in, all the while thinking, it’s just me, maybe things have changed, et al…
I’ve changed.
He has not.
And the fact is,while his friendship can make my life easier at times…I’m not sure it’s worth the emotional toll.
Though from the view point of a writer needing research on a sociopathic narcissist with no self awareness and little conscience all the while putting on a socially acceptable facade…It’s quite fascinating, like a Ted Bundy minus the murders. Charisma blinds people to the truth. Fallacy becomes fact. Anyone who questions the mask the masses believe is real becomes the unstable one.
Fascinating to study. Not fun to deal with.
Less fun is to realize how the person manipulates you, plays on your kindness and feelings, and makes you out to be the monster taking advantage of them.
I’ve wondered if I keep this person around as punishment for who I used to be prior to the mood stabilizers. Back when the manias and lows made me seem like a manipulative monster. Subjecting myself to a similar monster to atone.

Hell in human skin. It’s apt.

There is no right or wrong when it comes to human behavior. One person’s “atrocious behavior” might entail using the wrong dinner fork while another’s might consider skewering puppies acceptable.
I guess what it boils down to is what you as an individual can live with.

I have redeemed myself enough to deserve a modicum of respect, so being associated with someone who makes me feel so disrespected and disposable really seems beneath me.
At the same time…meeting someone so fabulous fucked up and not even smart enough to realize how much of a hot mess they are…Well, you can’t create characters that disturbingly fascinating. The writer in me wants to cling and gather more data and create the next Hannibal Lecter. The murderous part will be the only fiction.
I also have this deeply disturbed pathos in me that loves to watch the mighty (even if only mighty in their own minds) fall.
For all the times I was falling apart and no one had the time or patience or even cared enough to listen.
For every time my problems have been back shelved to make time for the problems of another who never had time to reciprocate.

Knowing where all the bodies are buried is a powerful feeling. Knowing you can go digging them up at any time, and basically bring someone’s world crashing down around them…
Yeah, I’m a bit sociopathic.
We all are, if anyone ever had the courage to face the truth.

Toxic people. Hell in human skin.
Decisions, decisions.

I think I shall learn from past mistakes and just step back. Watch. Wait. Gather data. If nothing else, this person is good for entertainment on occasion.

The biggest thing to all of it is…I finally admit, I won’t wither away without this “friendship” in my life.
This is my choice.
I want to choose wisely, not just because I’m feeling pissy or getting mixed signals.
When the ties are severed…

I need time to decide whether to use scissors or a chainsaw.

Shame I’m not homicidal. I’d make an excellent segment on Deadly Women.

The flicker that is cyclothymia

Posted in cyclothymia, mental health with tags , , , , on November 26, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Ever have a cord to a light that wasn’t quite right? Bend it one way, it works. Bend another way, it goes out. Jiggle a bit and it flickers on and off.
That is cyclothymia.

Yesterday I thought contentment was good enough, embracing the small things a comfort.

Today my soul is uneasy, my mind is rampant with negative feelings and thoughts, I can feel anxiety down to my bone marrow. This is…
Prelude to a family get together. My mom will either be in her nicety nice mode or she will be a livewire spewing venom. You walk in blind every time and never know what you will be hit with. Cutting little jabs sprinkled in otherwise civil conversation. An outburst over a simple statement (Last time it was me calling Honey BooBoo stupid that set her off.) Or her digs at what a bad mother I am because I don’t let my kid run with scissors, juggle chainsaws, and eat raw sugar cubes.
coin toss.
It never gets easier, there is never less trepidation.
It wasn’t always this way. Before my parents divorced, her venom was generally aimed at dad. It only came at us during her nervous breakdowns or in his absence.
Since he left her for another woman (one younger than me) and I opted not to take sides and try to have both parents in my life…She’s pretty much wavered between treating me like a leper and a treacherous traitor.

Uncertainty is not something I deal well with. I prefer to either be hated or liked, don’t in between me, don’t two face me.
My mother’s duality makes a simple family meal like walking in a snake pit trying to avoid the poisonous breeds.

Guess it makes sense I’d be so…filled with dread.

I suppose that can affect mood. Except family stresses me more than affects my mood. Just another spoke in the mood cycle.

I am boggled by all the people rushing about, so excited about spending time with their families. What is that like?
I talked to my dad on the phone today and he got his digs in. Made me mad, but he’s no better than mom is sometimes except he does have logic when he pulls his head out of his ass. Maybe it’s their age. They know their time on earth is dwindling so they feel entitled to be complete ass clowns.
There is love in my family.
It’s just stunted, dysfunctional, conditional, judgmental, and frankly, not worth all the damned anxiety and emotional scars left behind. I am not without gratitude for them, but as a counselor once told me after meeting my family…”They’re toxic, limit contact with them for your own good.”

Unfortunately, I seem to be the only one in the family remotely aware how dysfunctional and broken we really are. And always were, even before the divorce. How can kids become balanced adults when the parents can barely stand each other and agree on nothing?
Maybe that’s why I’ve come to the point of viewing relationships as bad bad things. Because if the love.hate thing is the only thing I have known, only example I have seen, only thing I was taught…
I am screwed.

Or maybe I’m just not skilled enough to balance my moods with the moods of those around me.

Hot mess any way you look at it. At least I am to the point now where I don’t define myself by being in a relationship making me worthwhile and not being in one making me somehow lesser.

Just wish I could buy a venom shield and maybe not get so twisted and sick (i could throw up at the moment, I am so dreading tomorrow) over family stuff.

I don’t know how to do that when my moods seesaw so frequently. Counselors and doctors never could give more of an answer than “Learn to regulate your emotions.”

Not sure how to regulate fury and hurt when your own mother says, “You act like you don’t even love your daughter!”

If only I had the kind of family that drinks wine with meals. Wine would make it all less painful.

Unfortunately the only wine I will be getting will be the whining of everyone around me unable to agree on anything.

I try to hang back and duck out of the line of fire. But not speaking and trying to make myself small doesn’t make me a smaller target for my mom. She used to just use my own low self esteem against me.
Now she uses my kid against me. Knowing I can let it slide when my mom calls me a fucking bitch, but telling me I’m not a good mom…
Yeah, that’s either war or time me for to walk away before the minefields start going off.

ask me about my mommy issues.
Meh. I can admit I have more issues than a newspaper morgue.

Just gotta survive tomorrow. By Friday the dust will have cleared, the horrormones will level out, and once the anxiety dies down…maybe I will feel more solid again.

So I can turn around and do it all again in another month.

I hate the fucking hellidays as much as I hate bipolar disorder.

Crazy is seeping back in

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on November 25, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

Ah, shark week…A lovely time of month where the crazy is on ten the week before, then dies down for a day or two while I curl up fetalized in pain with pain. The Marquis de sade has nothing on a woman’s body when it comes to inflicting pain and misery.
Ya know, bipolar and a once monthly bout of dysphoria, which my doctors, sages they are, call mild. Joy, joy, happy happy.
I’m still in pain but the pain induced lethargy is dissipating slowly. I am coming back to life. And so is the crazy.
Anxiety so rampant I feel like I have bugs crawling on my skin and am itchy with hive spots.
Paranoia I can’t explain. (X hasn’t called in a few days, how did I offend them now? That lady at the gas station gave me a dirty look, what is her problem? What was that noise outside, is someone trying to break in?)

Let us not forget the Fangsgiving family thing, AKA ninth circle of hell Thursday. I called my mom today and mentioned something about not having money for something…And she told me to get a better job. Meanwhile, my brother in law has not had a job in 17 years and she and my sister support his x Box and weed habits.
Yeah, mommy is working up her venom so Thursday should be a bloody blast. The venom is generally aimed at me. Can’t wait. and by that I mean, I’d rather have open heart surgery while conscious.
C’mon, universe, shark week and a family get together in the same week? Whose Cheerios did I piss in???

I have done fuck all for days now aside from taking care of my kid. Pain demotivates. Makes apathy metastasize. The world won’t implode ‘cos my laundry needing to be folded rivals Mt. Vesuvius. And anyone who has a problem with it can bite me. (Hey, she’s my mother, venom is in my bloodstream.)

I am hoping once the sharky horrormones die down, I will be in a decent place mentally.
The anxiety may settle after (IF) I survive the family shindig.

I want desperately to start writing again but my thoughts are so scattered, so cluttered, I would only churn out drivel. Desire and inspiration rarely coincide when it comes to my writing. Forcing it makes it worse. It’s a creative bondage, of sorts. You want to break the chains, get free, let it flow…But the strength isn’t there to overcome the binds.
I love writing but I would have much rather have artistic or musical ability.
Writing is going the way of the dinosaur and vinyl.
People will always want artwork and music.

Oh,well. For all my griping…I’ve had two days to curl under a warm cover with various kitties sleeping on me. That’s one of life’s best treats. Hard to be unhappy when a purring cat is near making biscuits on you.

I still think happiness is a mental disorder.

Contentment…Now that is true sanity. Being at peace with the place you are at any given moment in time.
Or maybe that’s the delusion I feed myself because with cyclothymia, not even the bad moods stick around long. Therefore even if I reached this “happy” place…It’d be gone in a blink.

Content…I can abide because even in madness there is always one small thing to cling to that gives contentment. My kid saying, “I love you, sooo sooo much.” Good song. Good show. Purring kitties. Yummy food…The little things so many take for granted, waiting for the big exciting moments in life.
Placing so little importance on things that are constants in life while striving for a place you might never know…
That seems delusional to me.

The Half Hearted Misanthrope

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on November 23, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve noticed I’ve gotten fewer views since posting “Fresh Hell Begins With Human Contact”. I never began this blog for views or comments. Popularity is not my concern. But at the same time, it was never my desire to offend or alienate. While I thought my post was clear as to human contact being a trigger for some of my issues, maybe it came off as misanthropic and a “fuck you” to others. My bad, if that is the case.

Truth is, I am a half hearted misanthrope. I’ve been hurt enough by so many people that it is this power keg for me. Sometimes, I thrive on human contact. And sometimes, I feel like it makes my soul malnourished and my spirit overdrawn. And when I feel threatened, intimidated, hurt, or in danger of being hurt…I get misanthropic. It’s only half hearted. There are good people out there. I just haven’t encountered a plethora.

Anyway… My mood has been up. My anxiety is still high but with holiday and financial stress, it’s not a puzzler. The big thing is, I am doing ok. Last year at this time I was three quarters the way down the depression rabbit hole. I like this place I am in now. The prozac seems to be combining well with the other meds and while I do have low points, they aren’t as severe and the light at the end of the tunnel seems to dim and brighten much like the sun. I can live with that.

Today..I swallowed the bitterest pill of all. And it may seem asinine but it was this big thing for me. I let my child attend Sunday school. I didn’t really have any problem with it as long as I wasn’t required to attend. And the church even arranged transportation for her. This kindly older couple picked her up and brought her home. She had fun and can’t wait to go back. I am happy about that. She needs to experience things for herself and eventually arrive at her own conclusions about her beliefs.
It’s scary to let go that way, as a parent, and as the person I am.
But I did it.
And the people who transported her were so kind. They did not seem judgmental at all. So good people exist.

So do bad people.

I don’t want to be naive, but I also don’t want to be entirely misanthropic. It’s certainly not what I want to teach her. (Though she’s been under my care and influence for five years now and she has always been a super friendly extroverted child so maybe nurture isn’t everything).

I guess at this point, as the meds work properly to clear my mind of the clatter, I am able to see more clearly.
There’s bad in this world.
There’s also good.
Finding the balance is tough but you have to work at it.
It helps when your brain isn’t sending the wrong messages.
It helps when you don’t let your emotional baggage taint everything.

I feel…content.
With cyclothymia, this is huge.
It’s a good thing.

I posted an hour ago. I was good.
There has been no trigger. I have eaten/drank/ingested nothing.
And I feel like I am falling down a flight of stairs, as far as my mood and mind frame are concerned.
WTF, cyclothymia?
Is it any wonder I am unstable when things shift this abruptly all the time? If this is what shrinks consider mild and not disruptive to a normal life…They’re the ones who are insane.

Mental Swirlies

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

I never actually got a swirly in school (mainly because I avoided the bathrooms) but understanding the concept of what one entails…I’ve come to think of my life as one never ending swirly. You live in fear of it, know it is inevitable on a daily basis, and no sooner than you recover, bam, another one comes your way.
Only instead of teenage bullies the culprit is a mood disorder, keeping you disoriented, intimidated, scared, and frustrated to the nth.

Yesterday I was blah. Not up, not down, not even in between. Living dead girl, going through the motions. Faking smiles and humor when really, I felt nothing. Nothing, seriously. I didn’t want to be home or at the shop. It was one of those days where about the only thing I did want was to be asleep because feeling nothing is worse than feeling an onslaught of emotions.
Least that reminds you that you’re alive. Gotta be to feel pain.
Walking around in a haze and daze…You feel dead.

Today was better. Overslept which threw things off kilter but I rallied and actually felt pretty good today. Bit more focused though I’m still shaky with ringing phones and people coming in and out the door. Business at the shop has picked up, which is good, but at the same time, triggers every anxiety response I have. I’m rolling with it but after trying to maintain the mood all day…By the time I got home, I had serious cramps and was just bitchy to the extreme. That’s what time in the petri dish does for me. Sucks the life out of me and makes me defensive, hostile, and a bit adversarial. Then a few minutes after getting back to my safe space, I forget what it was I was so bent about. Thank you, whacked out brain chemicals and hormones.

I did some serious thinking earlier (because even when surrounded by people and interacting, my mind still swirls like a funnel cloud) and I realized…The reason I am so bent by the lady shrink pushing the personality disorder thing…is because maybe I do have a plethora of disorders. The bottom line is, I am quite content with who I have become and who I am. Maybe my traits are dysfunction or maybe because I grew up the way I did, it’s just an imprint that makes me view things differently than others. Since my moods do not rely on outside triggers, I am still not at all convinced I am borderline. Facets, sure, I have facets from every damn disorder there is. I think most people do. Breathing is a personality disorder these days.
But when I push aside the doctors, counselors, and societal bullshit…
I like who I am now.
Mood stabilizers made sure I stopped throwing things at people’s heads, stopped the extreme manic episodes and extreme crying meltdowns, and I no longer hover between homelessness and thinking I am ten feet tall and bulletproof.
My daughter forced me to grow up and realize the world doesn’t revolve around me.
The bills get paid, we have food, and we get what we need.
So while my issues certainly contribute to my problem with relationships, I dispute, whole heartedly, that it outweighs the bipolar. And whatever disorders I do have, like the love/hate relationship pattern….It’s what my parents had and it is what I was imprinted with from an early age. No matter how much I don’t want to have that in my life, it’s what I know and what I keep recreating.
And even though each relationship fails, I feel like with each failure, I learn where I go wrong and what I can do to change the behaviors I learned. Unfortunately, until in a relationship to put them to practice, they’re just theories.
The fact that I recognize this, admit it, and desire to fix it…
My personality isn’t as dysfunctional as they want me to believe.
And I refuse to take the word of someone who spends an hour a year with me. That’s the total amount of time my shrink sees me over the year. That hardly makes them qualified, especially when they don’t read further back in the file than the doctor before them.

My biggest problem is spending way too much time trying to be what others think I should be or want me to be.
I’m not conformist or conventional and never was and don’t ever want to be.
I have my own beliefs, my own faith, and a method to my own madness.
The mood swings often make it hard to discern…But I am learning. Slowly. And firsthand is the only way to ever truly know anything about anything.

Until the doctors spend some time in my shoes, in my mind, dealing with what I deal with…They can stick to pushing their meds and leave my personality out of it.

I have evolved. I continue to evolve. I continue to fight. I keep trying. And seeing how some people only put a half hearted attempt into it, refusing to help themselves while bitching about not getting better…
I’d say I’m more functional than given credit for.

Even if I did forget to brush my hair today and went out wearing a pair of jeans with one butt cheek torn through and flashing.
I’ve evolved.
I’m still not a morning person.
I can handle being a hot mess, though.

I can use that heat to keep warm this winter.

Bobbing For Sanity

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

Today has been weird. My mood started out ok, little subdued. It rose. Then it came crashing down. Then it lifted. Then it stabilized. Then it crashed.
I knew the first weeks of adding a new med would be a roller coaster but this is more like bobbing for apples in a bubbling hot tub. And I am wondering if in all my indignant self snobbery I brought this on myself by thinking two anti depressants worked in the past against the seasonal depression so it will now.
Seven days really isn’t enough to gauge but it’s not been impressive thus far.

I’m sure pms is a factor, as well. Ya know, that non existent thing women have and use as an excuse against the poor helpless man folk as an excuse to be bitchy and act crazy.

I’m also a little thrown because someone threw a behavior deviation at me today. It was positive and pleasant, but soooo out of character for them. I’m still trying to figure out the angle they’re working, if they’re fucking with my head. I wish this were pessimism or paranoia but it rarely turns out to be. My gut is usually dead on when it comes to people and their motivations.
As much as I want to take this deviation for the better as a good thing…there’s this knot in my belly telling me not to shut off the alarms just yet.
And yeah, as a matter of fact, I do hate being this way. I miss the days when I trusted people implicitly, without suspicion or paranoia or fear.I was what, six, back then. Until my trust was eroded, abused, and morphed into the creature you see today. Perhaps if I had a stronger psyche I would still be a naive little mouse. Though coming from the family that I do, it was unlikely in the first place. We speak our minds, we call a spade a spade, and we don’t suffer fools.

I noted that yesterday’s post about fresh hell being human contact got a lot of views but no input. It was disjointed and rant-y, I will give you that, but it proved a salient point. Many of us are teeter totters with our moods, and maybe one or two wrenches in the works don’t toss us off balance. The more wrenches, though, the more we flail, and we come to see human contact as a trigger. Call it pessimism, personality, whatever.
It’s not anti social. It is not hatred of people idly.
Much like those who see the color red as a trigger for self mutilation, some of us have such precarious moods, we view human contact that way.
The biggest thing is that we keep trying. We may take time to grouse and regroup, but we keep trying to interact while managing our disorders.

If ever a post deserved a few likes, it was that one.
But I’m getting used to it. The more drivel I write, the better people like it. Anything I am remotely proud of is frowned upon or ignored.
And it’s not just this blog, it’s that way on the poetry blog. I write something I think is amazing and heartfelt, I am lucky to get one like.
I post something I threw together in five minutes without a second thought and it gets ten likes…
That’s life.
You regurgitate something meaningless and it is idolized.
You speak from the heart and it languishes.

Good thing I never started blogging for validation.

Blogging is the cheapest therapy out there and fortunately, therapy doesn’t need to be liked.

I’m doing that ranting thing again.

why am I the only one who finds that aspect of my writing charming?