Briefly Better

I am, atm, feeling sleepy and calm. I have not batcaved yet but it’s coming. Another week in the dish, counting down to three solid months of Uzi child to the brain. If today was an indicator…I am gonna be in a lock down ward. She did nothing but bicker with her friend today, run in and out, demand food for them both…Then the girl said Spook had lice so my snowflake spit on her, and the girl runs to me. I make Spook come inside, and she stomps in mid tantrum and slams her friend’s hand in the door. I took away her dessert for supper. I made her sit down. I stood her against the wall. I sat her on my lap and tried to teach the concept of empathy in a calm voice. There are times I  feel like there is nothing going on behind her eyes. It’s like she’s blank. I let her play with her Lincoln Logs. They made her mad so she  started bashing the cabin in and declared, “It made me mad, so I am gonna break it.” She went spaztic.

And terrible as this is…I kept thinking, oh god, let it be chemical imbalance or ADHD, don’t let this nasty little sociopathic bit be her personality. And it hit me…If that’s how I act off meds or when the meds aren’t working…God, maybe I am evil. Except mine behavior can change when the brain sends out the right messages. My kid…It’s scary, even if it seems asinine. Kids are brats, they throw tantrums, they have no empathy or gratitude. They are sociopaths and only through social conditioning to most of us became adults with a conscience. But the mental illness on so many sides of the family…It’s a concern and it’s daunting.

Mrs R called. On his behalf. To ask if I’d pop into the shop tomorrow. How sad is it he can’t even fucking call me himself. Ain’t he just special. But the cats have no food left (they’re eating leftover spaghetti with meat sauce, they ain’t slumming) and he offered to buy a bag for a couple hours of my time…No doubt to put up with more of him telling me I’m a basketcase and can’t get anything right. Yay. Cats are damn lucky I love them. It’s sad the man can’t check his own email and is too cheap to buy a printer so he has to fetch me since I have a library card and can print stuff out. Who uses who? Fuck it. By tomorrow my mood will probably be shit anyway, let him reap the rewards. More than being snarky, I will just be dead silent and stare off into space. That freaks him out even more. (I’m such a troll.)

I’m almost two hundred pages into another book. Robin Cook. Medical thrillers. Love them, but they do give me anxiety and freak me out. Insurance companies are just fucking evil. Doctors and pharma companies are evil. Everyone is fucking evil.

I didn’t do much today. I did, however, mow the lawn. Woohoo, accomplishment city. Put some mulch down around the rose bush. Showered TWICE even if the second was only a cool  down so I could toss my kid in and get her cleaned up for school. I didn’t freak out a lot after the convenience store thing. Guess that was my gauntlet to walk for the day. That and putting up with bickering kids, one of whom is something out of the Exorcist and she happens to be mine. (Oh, I remember the naive days before I had a spawn when I’d declare, “My kid will NEVER act that way, I won’t allow it! Such arrogance.) Thing about kids is, they’re just little adults and THEY HAVE A MIND OF THEIR OWN. My kid does not respond to any method of discipline. I wonder if she is even capable of drawing the conclusion that bad behavior results in loss of privileges. Is she supposed to at that age? Hell, I don’t even know. I used to be so good with kids (during the manic periods) and even during the depressions I was good…But that was all before The Nardil Incident which seemed to destroy my life as I knew it.

I am a little freaked out. I’ve noticed little things and I wanna call it a brain misfire, random mistake, busy brain…But I’m doing shit like writing “weigh” when the word I wanted was “way.” I’m doing that a lot. I seem to speak in the same dull tone for everything and with my deep smoker’s voice, it just all sounds hateful, even a mooshy I loooove you, Spooky pookie. My affect is all wrong no matter how hard I try. It’s unsettling to view yourself as “losing it”,

It occurred to me earlier, if the disability people wanted to talk to my family about my illness…I don’t tell them fuck all about it because they are so cruel. None of them know what the Latuda did to me. I only told Rboto because he thought I was simply being a flaky bitch to piss him off. Of course, I think four years of blog posts speak more loudly than anyone else can. I think all shrinks and therapists should have to read a journal or blog before forming a diagnosis or treatment plan. There is no better way to know someone than what they feel on a daily basis. Labeling someone based on some worksheets and brief sessions is borderline negligent. But that’s not exclusive to psych care, it’s healthcare period. How long before they deem mentally ill people not productive enough and start herding us into gas ovens? Oh, that’s paranoid and ridiculous? HOLOCAUST. It can happen because it did happen.

I think it’s crypt time. Read some more. Take my bedtime Xanax. I am starting to think all my 7 pm batcaving was necessity because it can take two or three hours for me to get to sleep. I guess by starting so early, I can expect to be asleep by ten. If I wait until nine, I am awake until one or two. But no matter how little sleep I get, I still have to get up and function. Only variable is how functional I am. I sleep walked through an entire eight month period once when my brilliant shrink took my anti depressants away as I was  entering the seasonal depression. So compared to that, I guess shambling about like a zombie is a step up. If you say so.

One thing I am doing differently is taking my Lamictal 250 mg during the supper hour. Since the mood always seems to go subterranean around that time daily, I thought it might establish a stable point. I don’t know shit anymore.

Now…As a comment was left about getting me a head scan if I ever said anything polite…I took it as a challenge. I am indeed capable of being polite and nice even. But the blog is my toilet to purge all the venom into. Still…I made an attempt at polite and came up with this.

***Affects British accent***

“Sir, would you be obliged to humor me while I share my true feelings…FUCKEST THOU.”

How polite and Shakespearian is that?
Meh, I tried.

 

Do I get my free headscan anyway?

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3 Responses to “Briefly Better”

  1. I am doing the same thing with words. Latarda. Would thou liketh jelly on thine doughnut? Can we both get scans for free?? As for the flatline on apathy-Latarda. Do you need a life? Latarda takes it away! Where the hell are my calgon bubbles?? I managed dish dwelling without incident, and FINALLY a shower. We be badass bitches. *Passes you the Spork of Awesomeness* **Not to be confused with the Sporkitude Dude*

  2. Oh you guys give me something to smile about. Sorry about that, but you can be funny while you are bitching away. I am glad my spawn are all grown. They were bad enough and nowhere near as bad as spook although my son wasn’t much for punishment and when his dad tried because my son said to his dad “why aren’t you going to work?” and stupid dad says because I don’t feel like it. So son says,” Well then I am not going to school. It works both ways.” I love my son, but you have to speak exactly to him what you mean. Don’t imply something. He goes for whatever you say and does that. Spell it out completely because then he says, but you didn’t say that. Too damn smart for his own good sometimes. When I got custody after ex had him for 4 years I realized how his mind worked. I flat out told him what the rules were and that breaking rules has consequences including at school. He used his brain there for trying to get around things. When the counselor called I told him I can’t force him to do anything. He has been taught the rule of consequences and if he chooses to misbehave it is on him. Punish him! He is almost 28 now and we still talk about this. It was the only thing that worked with him. He almost didn’t graduate. At the last minute he decided he wanted to graduate and walk. I told him get in there and talk to whoever you have to, but it is your job. You caused it, you fix it. He graduated and walked. So in the end he grew up some.

  3. The part of me that hates the world laughs evilly, the part that’s still sane laughs nervously but either way I’m laughing… Ether a good thing or I’m just twisted!!
    PS: Head scan well earned, I’ll let you have mine, after reading my blog any therapist would put me on suicide watch and skip the head scan completely anyway!!

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