Icky..Okay…Um…Maybe…Good…I dunno

It’s been a day without much event, yet my moods have run the gamut. (Skipping mania, of course, because that might make me feel something positive and that absolutely cannot happen.) I was icky and down this morning. Anxious. Then okay. Followed by more anxiousness (Dr appointment, three hours outside my bubble, panic alert).

Upon returning home, two minutes in the door…A call from my dad set off my stress, anger, and resentment. Then a four hour stretch of “not so bad, almost good.”It was less good mood and more a sigh of relief, school’s out, it’s the weekend, I’m broke but am beholden only to being a mom to kid and cats, I can breathe…Kid channeling satan lite. It was…manageable. She even ate what I cooked for supper without a battle.

Toward seven p.m. I was leaning towards shower and crypt but then  R called and reminded I owed him…Blah, blah, so I have to meet a customer at the shop tomorrow for them to pick up their TV. Maybe twenty minutes out of my life, whatever. I reminded him, you told my dad you’d change the oil in my car and he’s gnawing on my ass…So he said bring it over now. Not my idea of fun, and yet after my dad yelling at me because I didn’t drop everything and drive to his armpit town because oh, I didn’t have enough gas in the car to get there and somehow that makes me an ungrateful pain in his ass…R is the lesser evil. I never thought I’d say that.

My moods are so willy nilly. One day I like someone, two days later they’re like nails on a chalkboard. They want to label it borderline these days and I dispute it to the death. It all revolves around my frame of mind. And that hinges on the bipolar cycles, the seasonal affective, the level of anxiety and paranoia, whether I’m hormonal…Jebus, I gotta win the fricking mental health lottery just to have a stable day. Tell me that’s my personality and you deserve to be stabbed in the eye with the sacred spork AND throat punched. I pretty much slapped a patent on a sarcastic barb and walking away to avoid confrontation but yeah, it’s my personality making me hostile and argumentative and stabby sporky.

I was okay for the first few minutes at R’s. Then when his wife basically said hi and went to the next door neighbor’s I got a whiff that perhaps something was rotten in the state of Denmark. I asked him if I’d offended her and he said, “No, but she’s pissed off I’m changing you oil and not hers.” Um…I didn’t demand it be done this night. He deemed it so. Yet I’m in the middle of their drama, getting the evil eye. Bloody hell. When Mrs R returned, my kid was acting up (mildly) and of course, by the rules bossy professor woman has to butt in. Okay, it was in my defense and chastising my kid for being disrespectful to me, but honestly…Today really was satan lite for Spook, I can manage that. The bigger deal made of it by others, the more I suffer for it later. Just…let it go, kids are defiant little brats. I can handle a little defiance.

Needless to say, the oil has been changed in the car, I finally showered, the child is asleep, and the humidity is breaking so it’s cooling off. The doctor wanted to increase the Trileptal but I told him it’s been six months, the Prozac isnt working, I’m tired of living life like I am wearing three pairs of Latex gloves on my emotions. He said something to the extent of, “What do you want to try, you’ve tried everything.” Helpful. Factual, but not my fault, ffs. I told him I want to try to Cymbalta again. It’s an SNRI, rather than SSRI, so maybe the change will actually accomplish something. So he dropped the Lamictal to 200, kept the Trileptal at 3o0, and I am going to taper off Prozac (over three days, he claims it basically tapers itself off and there is no withdrawal, omg, what the fuck is he smoking, that is a LIE.) I am going to start the Cymbalta. Except I can’t buy my meds until Wednesday. The plus side to the Cymbalta is it actually helped with my knee pain in addition to boosting  my energy and mood. Who knows, I may just need a different chemical formula every so often. God knows what 12 years of straight anti depressants did to further fuck up my brain and its response to the compounds.

I didn’t walk out feeling optimistic, but when I told him I was facing three months with a noisy hyper kid and I am already on the edge…He signed off on a letter asking a local Y to grant my kid a scholarship for their summer camp so I might be able to focus on getting better while keeping her entertained. Of course, I now have to go out to the Y with this letter and convince them my kid is just as worthy as every other kid who needs a scholarship…It’s something that he at least recognized I’m walking a ledge here and kind of need help to avoid going over. I’m trying to find the silver lining here. Hopefully it’s not mercury.

All in all, in spite of the mood gamut..,One of the less awful days. Though I do feel shitty when I see how others who are in a more dire place mentally than I am and they’re still working, going out, shopping, et al…None of that is within my capability, not even the fun stuff. I’m just…dead inside. Even my anger is coated in gauze. But it is what it is and I am me, and I’ve done things differently my whole life so maybe my lack of interest in everything is just a subconscious way of protecting myself at a volatile time.

I am so full of shit.

BUT it’s 10:34 p.m. and I have yet to cryptify myself or truly crash into dark space. This is subject to change at any time. I get stressed when there is no trigger, my mood lifts and crashes for no reason…I am random, my mind is random, life is fucking random. I mean, why do I get this stupid disorder and yet stupid fucks like Charles Manson get groupies to follow their stark raving assholeness? Not that I want a bunch of mindless worshipers, just saying…He’s batshit and evil and he gets a fan club. I have a legit illness and I get…

Yeah, I get THIS. I have much to be grateful for but there is never going to be a day when I say something idiotic like, “Well, at least I don’t have it as bad as Joe Schmoe.” It’s not battle of the psychological torment. Mental illness is nothing to be thankful for, nor is it to be belittled. To do so is to belittle yourself and your battles, which makes you as bad as the scientologist-minded muggles that think mental illness is fiction.

I am grateful for a not awful day. I am thankful for my daughter. (One of the teachers told me today that Spook is one of the nicest kids she’s ever taught, which I think speaks volumes as to me doing right raising her for polite society). I am thankful for my fur children. I am thankful for all my used freebie computers. I am thankful for sporks and beef  jerky and menthol smokes.

I am not thankful to have mental illnesses.

They can go fuck themselves. I typed that with a smile. Does that count as a positive attitude?

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8 Responses to “Icky..Okay…Um…Maybe…Good…I dunno”

  1. Yes, even in a blah moment, a smile counts as a tiny itty bitty positive attitude 😉 I’m thinking of raiding my local Taco Bell for sporks.. But they’re black..because those assholes need to fuck themselves with sharpened sporks THEN come at us with the belittled entitlement. I can’t believe I’m awake at 730 on the first Saturday of summer vacation..wtf is wrong with me?! Glutton=punishment

    • I’m awake because I have an evil bladder and a kid who doesn’t understand “sleeping in.” It’s gonna be a loooong summer, dude. Black sporks are fine UNLESS they’re the new design which is more square than circular (screw you KFC), in which case they should be flogged with barbed wire for bastardizing the utensil of my dreams. Leave the sporks at home for your dinner with cute guy. I am sure he’s awesome but those bipolar surges are quick to ruin things when you realize you have someone at spork point and have no idea why. 😉 Good luck!!!!

      On Sat, May 30, 2015 at 6:30 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

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  2. Crayons are pointy (some restaurants give ’em out with kid menus) juss’ sayin’ 🙂

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