Life’s Stranglehold

Life has its hands wrapped firmly around my neck, squeezing with every ounce of strength it is, cutting off my air supply, sending me into a panic of fight or flight where I claw at those wretched hands in an effort to even steal one moment of breath…

Sounds dramatic and yet it’s precisely how I am feeling.After yesterday…I’ve revived but those bony evil fingers called life only let up briefly, then start squeezing all over again, so the term “breathe easy” does not apply.

It’s not simply shitty personal situations. It’s my ability to handle them as my state continues to crumble with the seasonal shift. The fact I muttered “maybe I should just die” yesterday, and my kid heard it, and ran riot with it…That’s not my norm, I usually don’t say shit like that. You just hit a breaking point. Her words knocked me to the floor, and she just kept throwing the verbal punches until I was curled up, bruised, bleeding, broken. And it is from that shattered space those words of dying came from, because I am sick of never getting credit for what I do accomplish, only my failures. Now my own kid is doing it to me.

If I were manic or stable or the anxiety wasn’t so high…It probably wouldn’t have made a dent. I know my kid, she did wrong and rather than deal with that, she went on the attack after me to distract from her own poor behavior. She is a manipulative bully and I don’t care if the counselor thinks it’s wrong for me to say it. Truth hurts. And while most small children are basically sociopaths because the social programming hasn’t had time to take hold…I’ve done enough research to also know…Some people are born sociopaths. Even sweet faced little girls. And if that’s the case…most sociopathic personalities are pretty much etched by age six,no amount of super parenting from me will change that.

That is, of course, worst case scenario. There’s the mental health/genetics link.

My sincerest hope, after her bringing home this “report card” yesterday to let parents know where the kids are succeeding, excelling, and not measuring up…My kid is apparently very average, not at all excelling, and on many things she is below their expectations. And it’s nothing to do with her intelligence because many of the things she was marked for being “deficient” in are things she does not have trouble with at home.

Maybe because she’s not in a  bright room full of colors and light and other kids and noise and she has someone to focus on helping her exclusively. Stick a kid with attention deficit issues in that kind of chaos…It would explain a great deal.

The one thing that pissed me off the most, and no, it’s not finding out my kid isn’t Einstein, it was her being marked low for doing homework and returning it. Now I may be dropping the ball quite a bit lately, but I know I check her bag every day and if it says homework, I make her do it, I make her put it in the folder. So if I make her do it, it goes to school with her, but somehow the teacher isn’t getting it…WTF? I went on their website looking for the teacher’s email addy so I could contact her directly, but she’s new to the district and not listed. I want some damned communication here, you got a problem with my kid, you tell me, don’t simply mark her down as below expectations. I am gonna get that form from the pediatrician and have that teacher fill it out. If Spook isn’t excelling or staying on track because her attention span is like mine…That can be fixed without it becoming some permanent mark on her record declaring her ready for special ed.

I hate this fucking school district.

At the same time I am not blind to my who my child is. Prior to the meltdown yesterday she started poking the bear, declaring we’re all mean to her. I asked why she felt that way. She said, “You all just want me to do hard work. It’s not fun, I want to have fun.”

Explains a great deal. She has spoiled brat-itis like most small kids.

And today she was back to being my sweet girl, like nothing ever happened, no anger, no defiance, no “You don’t do anything mommy, you’re no fun.” Just silly Spooky girl.

Reminds me of the difference a night makes between “manic rageful Morgue” and “remind me what I was so mad about last night” the next morning Morgue.

I’ve had my ninety minute respite this morning, that time where I’ve dropped her off, am safely home, and can take a deep breath. But now the clock watching commences, counting down how long until I have to face that throng of chaos to fetch her. Pretzel gut says hello, panxiety pops up like a demented Jack In The Box.

I really should call my shrink, this is not getting better. He scheduled me for two months and by then I may be on lock down in an unfashionable white coat. Just…I like to give it time, in case I’m just raw from being too emotional.

Which with bipolar is pretty much a daily game of doubting myself on every level because chances are, I don’t have any legit feelings, just bipolar distortions.

Back to fiction soup for the soul. I watched “Nashville”.  Now I am gonna watch SVU.

Because while I should be cleaning…as my kid says, “watch shows and smoke is all you do.”

May as well live up to it.


11 Responses to “Life’s Stranglehold”

  1. Seriously-were we separated at birth?! I’m feeling the same way. All of it. Ffs lemme breathe! Love ya lady ❤

  2. My bag lady offer’s still out there. No expectations, no repercussions, just living up to job description,,,

    • Just working out the logistics on how to be crazy cat lady and a bag lady, cos those crazy cats won’t fit in the cart with all my junk, demmit.

      On Thu, Sep 24, 2015 at 12:10 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


      • I saw a documentary on netflix called “Lost Angels” about street people living on Skid Row in LA. One of said homeless bag lady (shopping cart & all) had many stay/feral cats she fed along her streets/neighborhood. Problem solved! Learn by example ~ no excuses! ;-*

      • Fine, but I am buying a Taser to protect my booze stash while I putter my cart about feeding feral cats. Woo hoo, eating out of dumpsters means no washing dishes!
        How dare anyone call me a pessimist.

      • Seeeee!!!!! WOO-HOO YIPPEE!

  3. All I do is look at shit on the internet. I don’t have an external being telling me this, just my hateful, self-sabotaging inner monolog that tells me without a shadow of a doubt that it knows I will fuck up my temp job when I start on Monday, and that I will get sent home and blacklisted from everywhere because I can’t do anything other than look at shit on the internet and drink tea.
    At least I can medicate mine into oblivion come bedtime.
    I don’t know what you’ve tried so stab me if you’ve already exhausted all of these, but when I used to teach, I’d have kids say stuff like that to me, and I’d just flatly say “that’s not appropriate. I’ll speak to you when you say something appropriate.” or I’d say “that was rude, try again, only I want you to say it in a reasonable tone” and wait for them to think of a better way to say it (I was happy getting criticism if it was reasonable and valid). Then they’d keep coming at me, and I’d do it like a broken record. It sends them into a tantrum the first few times if they’re attention seeking (and I’d ignore it so it’s like one hand trying to clap – if you leave the room while they’re having a screaming fit it literally throws them for a loop and they have to calm their shit down enough to at least follow; sometimes I’d move my whole class into a different lab; I only ever had one kid incident where this didn’t work, and she was the one who I quit teaching over because she was too much like me for me to know how to handle her, cos I had no idea how to handle myself when I got like that), and if they aren’t attention seeking, they will literally go sit down and think of something appropriate to say. As I said, stab me if you’ve already been down these routes and are sick to the back teeth of hearing people give you unhelpful advice, I thought I’d say it on the offchance that it might help at all.

  4. If you think that you need to see the shrink, then make the appointment. Fuck her/him if you get there and they don’t understand why you called. Even though we are “crazy” those of us who are least partially together, know what we need. If that thought floats through then you should honor that.

    You’ve had so much going on recently and especially with that school drop off/pickup every day. There has to be a way around that and maybe the shrink can help with that

  5. Call your shrink…… Morgue, you’re so harsh with yourself – you DO deal with a hell of a lot, and you have the heart to help others when they need it too. And we all adore you out here in tribe-space. So there.

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