Yep. Circling the drain. Want to drink Drano. DRAINO.

I suppose it’s not so bad after some rest. Oh, if you can call waking up every two hours the whole night rest. And it wasn’t even my kid. I let her sleep with me because I just…felt like maybe I was being irrational and was too hard on her (even though I maintain she acts like a sociopathic brat). I grounded her for the week and I will stick to it, her behavior is unacceptable. I wonder, though, if my irritability is any more acceptable. Maybe I should be grounded, too. Except no playdates or going outside is a reward for me.

No, she slept the whole night. It was me who was up and down, getting a drink, smoking a cig. At three a.m. Voodoo came in to headbutt me awake and to fill the food dish. I do so love having claws dug into my boobs at that hour, it’s awesome. No sooner than I got back to sleep, I woke to Pantera trying to nurse on my neck. I could close the door to keep them out, but oh wait, I can’t because whoever broke into the house to steal my tv and laptop three years ago busted off the door that closes the bathroom and bedroom off so there’s just a curtain now.

No need to rain on my parade and blow up my floats, I’m doing it for myself just by thinking of my reality. Oddly  a few weeks ago I was rock bottom depressed but still content. Now I feel like a piano wire about to snap and everything is pissing me off and stressing  me out. Like it got worse instead of better and how is the doctor going to make this my fault rather than maybe face Latuda isn’t the wonder drug the reps make it out to be…Or maybe I doomed it by hearing all the bad experiences and somehow psychosomatically made it fail.

I have all this housework taunting me. I came close to getting caught up the other day but my mood just tanked. I am so far under now, it’s depressing in itself. Which makes me want to go beg the doc to get rid of this Latuda, which I think is making me so anxious I am irritable 24-7, and scream for some Effexor or Cymbalta. Sure, in high doses they make me manic. So make it a low dose and see me more than once a month to monitor me. Something’s got to fucking give here. It is far more torturous to feel okay for a couple of hours only to hit rock bottom for the next 20 hours every single day. It’s been like this for two years, so let’s try something different. Hell, give me amphetamines, give me magic shrooms, just help me, ffs. I can’t occupy this mind space much longer. Last night, I actually started with the suicidal “my existence is pointless” shit. This is not an improvement. And the whole “it takes weeks to see an improvement”while factual means fuck all if you completely lose your shit before it happens.

Part of me thinks I am being a whiner. Of course, this seed was planted by my father during one of his loving beratings in which I am somehow lesser than him because I’m smart in different ways and have different coping mechanisms than him. God forbid we should be individuals, one size must fit all and if it doesn’t, it’s your own fault.

I think what pisses me off the most is…People are allowed to have different shoe sizes. (Unless you’re a woman, in which case wearing a size 11 somehow makes you less feminine and gross and is all your fault.) But the logic is the same. A size ten foot will not go into a size six shoe. And even if you managed it, you’d be in agony not to mention crippled. So quit expecting me to put my size 11 foot into a size six shoe, for fuck’s sake. I’m doomed to fail from the word go, how is that remotely fair? Yeah, yeah, life’s not fair. But it should be a more even playing field. And if this god everyone has so much faith in were listening, he’d make it a more level playing field. Deal with the good and the bad, but give us all the necessary tools to cope. You can’t go giving all the sanity to some and none to others and sit back in judgment when everyone’s stumbling about wearing the wrong shoe size and not functioning properly.

I am so not in my right mind. Just get tired of feeling like I studied my ass off for the test but got the wrong study sheet so I failed the test. Prepare me properly so I can have a chance at succeeding.

I am in the final season/final episodes of Weeds now. I must say, I almost want to be shot in the head if it means my personality will become more pleasant and enlightened and positive. And selling weed probably wouldn’t suck any more than waiting tables. Well, maybe not drugs, cos my nerves couldn’t handle that stress plus not a big druggie…But if only I could find something unconventional in which I could work at my own pace, in my own disorganized way, and earn a living. I want that more than my next breath, to never have to justify my illness to anyone else simply because they can’t see it. It even gets to the point where you’re trying to please the doctor, something you’d never do with physical pain because tests and such would back up your story on being in agony. With mental illness, it’s just your word and I think shrinks are pretty jaded either to the negative or positive. They’ll doubt your every word and go along, or basically call you a liar and prescribe everything but what will help. So many fecking hoops to jump through.

I have like six bucks to my name. The car is on E. I owe the school money for her “technology and bubbleope” fee and if I don’t get it by the end of the month, they can hold her report card and avoid passing her to first grade. (Would have been nice to get that notice, oh, say, eight months ago,for fuck’s sake.) Almost out of cig supplies. About out of toilet paper. The cats will be out of food and litter by Friday. Why would anyone CHOOSE to struggle this way if the opposite were within such easy reach?

Not to mention my good friend “call me if you ever need anything” R-sole hasn’t so much as sent  a text in four days yet saw me in traffic and waved and grinned. Yeah, fuck you, asshat. I’m his slave until wifey gets back, then he doesn’t give a rat’s ass if my kid and I are eating shoe rubber. WTF kind of friend is that? Sounds more like my family. Or am I just that far over the edge that I am distorting everything?

Draino. Live it, drink it, circle it. No wonder people become alcoholics and druggies. Trying to do shit the right way has gotten me nowhere. And those suicidal thoughts, which I rarely had prior to my brain damage..Such a drastic change in personality/thought tendencies is disturbing. I tell the doctor but it’s like…Meh, this $26.50 a pill stuff will fix everything because the drug rep says so and 40 out of a million people got better on it.

Ass trash clown shoeing fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

It’s weird. I feel this downtrodden undertow with every fiber of my being. It’s not affect, not drama. I feel it. My soul is blackened with it. Yet I look to my right and I see fuzzy little Castiel next to me and hear him purring and he looks at me with that lil pumpkin shaped head…And I melt. Yet it’s not the same as it once was. Because something is very broken in me, some part of the brain that feels positive things like love and joy and contentment. It’s just broken.

And I don’t think JB Weld or Gorilla Glue can fix it.



8 Responses to “Draino”

  1. Stop the damn Latuda. I swear it’s making you worse. not worth the half ass positive side effect you MIGHT be having. Seriously, not worth continuing it. Even if it’s been a week and you’re already feeling worse, no go dude. ix-nay the atuda-lay. Docs don’t know shit when they don’t listen to their patients. your irritation with Spook is from the med, as is the anxiety increase and panic and yada yada yada. You aren’t distorting a thing right now. Don’t get me started on R-i have been sharpening my grapefruit spoons and really need a reason to use it. Stick to your grounding guns. Not cool about the school and the “past-due balance” and not passing her on because of that-WTF is THAT shit?! For reals, yo! I’ma throat punch and stab people for you today. Crawl under the blanket, and I’ll stand guard and fend the fuckers off with my isporkacorn.

    • I’m starting to agree on the Latuda thing, I’ve been pissed off without cause all day and flying off the handle over every tiny thing even when alone. This is not my norm and it is not an improvement. Big fear is, the doctor’s solution will be to increase it. I really will go off the deep end then.
      Throat punching sounds fun. And playing five finger filet with a metal spork would be a new twist.

      • Yes doc will want to increase and say ride it out. You fucking ride it out asshole. The increased agitation is also an indicator of depression-hip-ho-fucking-ray-and no one needs that, specially not you or the lil punkin head kitteh *cue purrs*

      • I can’t say I’ve five fingered filleted anything in awhile…nope. Metal sports RULE! *cues bevis and butthead impression* uh hhuu huuu huuuu

  2. Jeez I wish the universe would lighten up and give you a break sometime soon. Now, in fact. :/

    Let’s get some attack-sporks and go fuck people up and spork their livers out.

    • I think the Latuda is going away, it’s making me too anxious, too angry, and there just aren’t enough sporks in the world to combat it.
      But attack sporks are my favorite. Stabby for digging, spoony for scooping up livers. Viva multi tasking.

  3. Get rid of the Latuda and if your dr is worth a shit they would listen to you and take you off it and give you something else. That was the worse 14 days of my life. Get rid of IT!

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