I Think The Mom’s Gone Crazy

One of my kid’s favorite songs is “My Dad’s Gone Crazy” by Eminem. And that got me thinking…I think this mom’s gone crazy. Last night I was having these dark “I wish I’d die, I can’t do this anym0re” thought. For those who think these thoughts are some sort of cry for attention or laziness…They are the scariest fucking thoughts anyone can have. When your will to live gets beaten so far down that you start viewing death as your reward…No one wants to be there, no one deserves to ever feel that level of hopelessness.

Today has been…Uneventful. Dad took the spawn for a sleepover. The carnival was gone so I got my evening call about what an angel she is and they took her out to eat then to the park…And this wash of futility came over me. I’m a shit mom. I don’t do those things for her. I can’t afford the financial aspect, even the nearest part is five miles away which is ten miles round trip and costs gas  money. I’ve tried to take her to the park, occasionally McPlayland, and she behaves like a fucking terror, especially at time to go. I get my ass kicked every time having to carry her out and her kicking and thrashing. On the rare occasion I can afford to take her and she actually behaves…Well, that’s like me having more than two days stable. It almost never happens. For everyone else she’s perfect. I don’t get it. Maybe because she has one parent instead of two so she has to love and hate me both. I dunno. At this point, I am so tapped out and feeling so shitty about myself, I’m just…whatever.

I’ve done fuck all today, unless you consider sweating a hobby (though that didn’t get bad til 5pm when the humidity spiked announcing a storm is coming.) One of the new kittens has a cold in her eye and I keep waking her up, terrified she’s dead. (I mean, after Castiel, can you blame me for it?) I ran to the convenience store and there were like six people there and this guy has to hold up the line with lottery and the girls behind me are saying something about black pants and I am wearing black pants and I can’t remember if they are the ones that have the hole in the butt cheek…The anxiety crawled up into my brain and turned into panic real fast. In one of my trademark mini freak outs, I muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous.”

On the way back it hit me just when the anxiety tipped over into crazytown. I used to be on 1mg Xanax three times a day. When that was dropped down, things went rampant. And it wasn’t so much the doseage, I’d take what I needed when I needed it and end up with a surplus to last six months. I never abused it. But it was there and it was prescribed and it kept me grounded during the bad times. This 1.5 for the whole day, with the bulk at bedtime…It’s not keeping the panxiety at bay. Least not in the worst periods. It just goes to show how differing opinions are in doctors. The old doctor was a quack, but his way worked as far as the anxiety went. I was able to go out back then, I could sleep at night, no other pills needed, I wasn’t crazy paranoid. Figures the one thing that worked so well is the first thing the new regime did away with. Rather than consider me an individual who used the script frugally and properly, they just take account of all the Xanax addicts who abuse it and bam, I am punished for life. I don’t need three mg every day. But the option for when I do without having to feel like I’m somehow abusing them when I take more than I should…It was worthwhile.

Cripes, the humidity is thick enough to cut with Jason Vorhees’ machete. I am dripping with sweat and I already had a shower today.(I know, two in two days, it’s a frigging miracle, and might be a third cos I really don’t want to have to wash my bedding again when I just washed it yesterday because I am a sweaty piglet.) I am so sick of never being able to get comfortable. When I am cold, it’s almost a pathological cold inside my bones and brain, renders me barely functional. I’ve been checked so many times for thyroid problems and that ain’t it. I didn’t used to be so sensitive to heat or humidity and now I am a mess. My body is preparing to shrivel up and all its lady baby making parts retire and I don’t really care since I never ever want to be pregnant again…Just…Ugh, like I need more issues with stability and comfort.

The computer keeps making this odd sound. Like I have an IM. Yet I am not signed in to anything. So my paranoia is on red alert because I remember, I clicked a link someone I used to like sent it and hey, maybe they hijacked my computer. In which case, they are in for serious disappointment. I do little on this thing but watch stuff and listen to music. The blog stuff is already posted so that’s no secret. And besides…I know I am batshit crazy. I’ve been losing it for months. Unfortunately, the only ones who can’t see it are the professionals who should. They just don’t care enough because, hey, you’re out of bed and functioning, you’re good. Idgets.

I mean, I have had all day to myself. That should lessen my anxiety, energize me, let me pursue the things I enjoy. Instead…I am in the same depressed space where it all seems hopeless and I try to fight it and it doesn’t work and I get all these self help gurus in my head telling me I am a loser because they managed to snap out of it so I should to. Bite me. Truth be told, right now..I’m fine doing nothing. Thing with anhedonia is, you’re outraged that you can’t feel anything, yet you simply don’t care enough to be that outraged. If your own doctor doesn’t care, why should you be incited to care? I had such hope for this new guy, he is so nice. But nice doesn’t mean competent or even empathetic. I am but one of a hundred patients and he probably views us all as malingerers and he’s just doing what we pay him to do. Except I would never have agreed to Latuda had he bothered to educate me on the side effects, ie, the hormonal stuff. I feel…victimized. I read the literature though. I saw the “increase in prolactin which could result in nipple discharge” and I spazzed but I still took the poison. Because I am so busy trying to be a good girl and do whatever it takes to get well…

Except I am not well, not getting well. I am existing in a state of autopilot where my only emotions are…Apathy and fear and anger, when I am feeling anything. To the extent a cawing bird outside made me think a kitten was crying and I leapt up and went in search only to realize, it was a bird outside. I’m…reeling here. I don’t think I need a hospital (yet) but…I also don’t think I’m quite right in the head. (Cripes, there’s that chimey sound again, I can’t have an IM with no programs open, wtf?) Um…Could it be the other computers? I didn’t sign in on them as I only have one person on my list and she’s busy living a normal life so I don’t bother anymore but the Toshiba could auto sign in, I haven’t spent much time with it…

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRr. I cut back on caffeine. I pretty much quit soda except for a couple a week. I’ve been forcing myself out even when I feel volatile. Little alcohol. No drugs, never been a druggie. I am trying to eat veggies, less junk. Nothing is working, nothing is helping. Why even cooperate if their methods do fuck all? Am I just being negative? Am I really just Debbie Downer? Pathetic and miserable and whiny?

NO. I know what I am like when the meds are working, at least half assed and is not this. This is…crazy. I’m going crazy. I damn well know, from checking prior blog posts, I wasn’t this imbalanced before Latuda. I was depressed and anxious, for sure, but I wasn’t questioning my damned sanity and thinking people were out to hack my computer, ffs. What the fuck happened to me? Given, shark week has begun and that no doubt has me off kilter but…Seriously, what did Latuda do to me????

Okay…I need to wash out Absinthe’s eye, it’s puffy. Figures she’d get sick once she comes to me. I can’t do anything right. No, I don’t feel sorry for myself. I actually despise myself  these days. I’d give myself the death penalty simply for being a miserable ungrateful bitch who can’t appreciate having a life when others don’t.

Depression doesn’t give a fuck.

And neither do I. I’ve gone crazy.


5 Responses to “I Think The Mom’s Gone Crazy”

  1. We had to send Sass to a program. Maybe you need one too. I took mine on Charity Care through the hospital, had no money either. Still don’t. Think about it. Maybe it would help. I care that is why I suggest this. I was afraid to speak out first to Sass, but I seconded Blahpolar. I hate to see you suffer so bad.

    • It’s not a bad thought. Unfortunately, I am in a rural area and there is NO partial day treatment program. I either say I am suicidal or homicidal and get committed or…Nothing. I’ve been locked up, it didn’t help. So…I;m gonna see where this Trileptal thing goes and go from there. Thanks for caring ❤

      On Sun, May 24, 2015 at 8:35 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


      • Shame you don’t have those programs available. They are great for people who can’t go to the hospital.

  2. https://youtu.be/z9FmOc0ofGc – Figured you could use this one, N. I know it’s not BVB, but it’s gritty and will kick that depression in the nuts – I know we like the hard stuff. Chin up my fellow warrior.

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