The Walking Wounded

I think “walking wounded” describes depression pretty accurately. No one would think twice about you being listless, down, and not being able to be shiny and keep up with the mundanes if you had a gunshot wound or knife wound. But because depression is “invisible” and met with such skepticism by society, we shamble about, wounded, bleeding out but never dying, we’re the walking wounded.

Yesterday was an exercise in futility. I got my spawn and came home, but the anxiety never did let up so I took a double dose of Xanax. Which did what…Oversedated me. I was so depressed about losing another kitten. My kid (fed Hostess cupcakes for breakfast by my brilliant mother) was on high gear. I let her bring a half grown kitten home since it seems okay with her punishment (spare my cats) so I thought she’d be occupied with  Socks. (Lame ass name.) Nooo, she was still talking loudly a mile a minute, critiquing everything I did. I asked repeatedly for some quiet and she just turned up the volume. Like a shark smelling a drop of blood in the water, she latched on. I tried to explain I was sad about Kimodo’s death, she doesn’t care. She’s a sociopath with no empathy and it reminds me of the donor. Maybe it’s genetic.

I ended up retiring to my bedroom crypt around 2 yesterday. I was groggy from all that Xanax (which finally tapped out the anxiety) but even then, the kid was in my face. She yelled at me for “sleeping” when in fact I just had my eyes closed, trying to do some visualizing exercises to soothe myself. (In addition to all the kittens dying, now Willow and Nightshade have gone missing, escaping through a window screen and I’ve seen neither in days.) But the three hours in my crypt did some good, I got up and fixed supper and showered.

I got her to bed, took more Xanax, and I slept eventually. I was packing Arsenic around the whole day, scared to let him out of my sight. Absinthe and Socks curled up in bed with me too, which I found far more comforting than sleeping next to a man. Voodoo headbutted me awake at 2 a.,m to fill the food dish. I woke a couple more times, once at six a.m. and that made two days in a row. WTF. The thought of being awake at that hour without having to be drove my back to sleep. Only to be rudely awakened by more spawn chatter and demands and criticisms. Her know it all-ism pisses me off and she doesn’t back down. Even on a commercial this morning, it says “Hotwire” and she is still insisting it’s “Awkward”. She doesn’t change I have a feeling lots of people are gonna slap her. It’s annoying to be around people who can never be wrong.

I have soo much housework to do I feel buried alive. For now, it’s more CSI and Arsenic is sleeping on me. He’s been my conjoined twin for two days now, I am so fearful of letting him out of my sight. Neurotic, yes, but not without logical cause. Normally I can’t stand being pinned down by people nor cats constantly. Now I cling to him. Maybe I’m not entirely dead inside yet. I feel it, though. Disconnected. Overloaded. Hopeless. High functioning week hangover. Tis a mystery why I don’t delight in living that way.

Note sarcasm.

Now it’s time to turn around and do it all again when in fact, I feel like I need three more days to recover. The thought of being asked to even accompany P out to the stores has me wanting to sign myself into a hospital because I am so close to the edge. I need to take a step back. Maybe ten steps. Life isn’t gonna cooperate, I just know it. Which brings on nausea and pretzel gut and no matter how hard I try to talk myself off the ledge with sunshine  spewage…

Epic fail. Story of my life, or at least the depressive anxiety riddled parts.


31 Responses to “The Walking Wounded”

  1. Give Arsenic some snuggles from me. I’m on my way to rescue you in my jeticopter! No kids allowed.
    Walking wounded is so fucking accurate. We bleed invisible blood and for what?
    Gimmicks Spook for 2 weeks, I’ll whip her ass in shape AND you get a much needed respite sans hospital. Oh, and I’ll take on your family and R single handedly with one arm tied to my ankle.
    Love you and camelaffes ❤

  2. My eyes teared and threatened to overflow when I read the title Walking Wounded. It’s so perfect and so miserable.
    Keep Arsenic close and give hugs liberally. Kitty love is pure

  3. Before you take 10 steps backwards, make sure yer not on a roof (or high place) maybe look backyard over your shoulder,,, juss sayin’, I don’t want ya falling off & bumping yer noggin’,,, H•O•T•W•I•R•E ~!! LOVE YA! I’m such a tard today, boing boing boing goes my mind, goes my mind!! ;-* did you know the sign “;))” looks like a Chinese man with a double ‘CHIN’ *chin

  4. I feel this whole post in my bones.

  5. I think sometimes walking wounded becomes walking dead.

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