I’ve hovered between numb and overreation today. For the most part, numbo is my name. Spook had five friends shrieking out in the yard with her at one point and I simply took a Xanax and tried not to focus on the noise or the (self imposed, possibly?) extra pressure of having extra kids to keep an eye on. I’ve ground my teeth and gums to pulp throughout the day. On the plus side, it’s 8 pm, both spawn and I have been fed and bathed. I did dishes today (not that you can tell, I want disposable dishes, everything disposable!) but not much else.

On the negative side…One of the spawn’s friends told me one of the new kittens got outside and I went off the deep end because Spook was the one standing there with the door wide open even though I’d told her twice to close it. Well, I was almost in tears, definitely in a panic. Checked inside, then crept around outside, called, put food out as a lure…I sat her on the couch and sternly chastised her for defying me and being careless. I didn’t yell or touch her, but my upset was not disguised in the least.

Half hour later, Alchemy comes toddling out from the bowels of somewhere inside and relief flushes over me and I am gushing apologies to my kid and feeling like quite the insane asshole while also hugging the kitty. Overreaction seems to be common in my repertoire these days. I’m either stone cold numb or I am galloping off with the inappropriate overreaction.

I’ve been watching a show where a paranoid schizophrenic killed two kids and got the death penalty, so they had her go off her meds to stay the execution…And while I know it’s fiction, there are some aspects portrayed that semi mimic the symptoms I’ve developed since I had my daughter. The paranoia, the sensitivity to noise, the not feeling safe, the thinking people are somehow a threat to me, everything being too loud in my head…I’m not delusional, I don’t hear voices or feel violent (aside from the standard issue pseudo sporky stabbiness). But watching the decline of the woman from being medicated to not being medicated…I relate. Without her meds, she’s stark raving mad, irrational, begging to go back on them during lucid moments, raging fearfully the next. My god, take out the hallucination and violence and…apparently schizophrenia and bipolar have some sort of common ground.

Again, yes, it’s fiction, but I do get a little surge of giddiness any time Hollywood actually portrays mental illness realistically. None of that all evil or all manic or all teary shit. The gamut that represents mental illness.

R sent me a text today. Asking if I knew when this one customer would have money to come get his TV. Because it was the one he went off on last week about not getting a check, but “being handed money for doing nothing.” Disability and all.  I looove being lumped in there, whether it’s intentional or not. Idget.

But that reminds me tomorrow is allegedly direct deposit day and I always live in fear until I send that text in the morning to check my bank balance. Then I breathe a little precariously until I go to the store and the card actually goes through to prove the money is there. To add to it, I’m running the car on fumes so I am hoping I even have enough to go the half mile to the gas station. Life on the edge. My stomach is already tying itself in knots at the thought of that anxiety, followed by the trip into the dish.

I am about whined out by Spook. Nothing makes her happy. Nothing is ever enough. Throw in being told how awful I am to her every time I say the word no…She’s exhausting. I love her madly, but I don’t think wanting a modicum of cooperation is unreasonable. Hell with wanting, I NEED it.

Time to wind down. Tuck the child in. Get myself cryptified. Hope I can sleep without having to take the Xanax because taking it at night after 6 pm makes it too damned hard to get up in the morning…I start the Cymbalta tomorrow. One more ride on the medi go round. All the while I can see my doctor’s disdainful expression as he said, “You’ve tried everything else, why not.” Helpful.

I’d say I look forward to sleep but…Bizarro dream land is unpleasant. I wish I’d dream of Freddy or Jason or Michael Meyers or Pinhead. Anything fictional. Keep reality out, I get enough during my waking hours.

For now…I am Numbo. (And also, I noticed my last post, I titled it “who’s” when in fact I meant “whose”, I am not stupid but my brain is doing it’s little swap out thing with word spellings and it’s pissing me off.)

Just a cheery thing I found on t-shirt hell.

sketch artist


5 Responses to “Numbo”

  1. Every day is a story. For the writer, we start at the beginning. We let the pen do the talking. Clarity is assured. The spirit comes forth. It is hot and it becomes fact. It is no longer fiction. Because we are what we are. Not narcissitic. We are not just creatures that are here. Our purpose is to love and care for each other.

  2. Numbo, I like that-autocorrect wanted to change it to jumbo wtf?! I’m right there with you..fuckitall…I don’t care anymore-in my personal area of hell anyway. Love you bunches

  3. Well, didn’t the bipolar crowd initially get confused with the schizophrenia crowd? Or do I need to brush up on psychology history 101? And then how we share some of those cross label medications. I’ve only watched one show with schizophrenia diagnosis and it was a Korean drama. Fiction, yes, but still interesting to see how mental illness is perceived depending on country and person (character was a successful writer.)

  4. I’m riding a mood swing as well. It’s soooo exhausting. I too am very sensitive to noise – popping gum, the scratch from a sharpie marker, pen clicks, etc. Here’s to more accurate portrayals of mental illness on screen and film. The shirt is FUNNY! 🙂

    • I don’t think muggles get just how exhausting the mood swings are for us. They have no problem telling us how irritating is for them to deal with our moods, but no one stops to think of what it’s like to live this way.

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