Archive for December, 2015

The Dish And Its Dwellers Ruin Everything

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , on December 31, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

So twas after nine last night, I was feeling calm, enjoying the last 20 minutes of San Andreas…when R disrupted and harshed my mellow. First wanting to make sure I hadn’t changed his email password. Then he called back and informed me his account had been frozen due to one of computers logging in “perpetuating viruses.” So…I was accused.

And more than fucking miffed and offended. Because yeah, it has to be the poor chick, couldn’t possibly be that ape like creature who rents the loft in the shop and spends most waking moments surfing porn thus infecting the computer daily.

So rather than finish my movie I went into instant panic mode, shutting my stuff down from the net connection, scanning everything including my wifi network, android phone, tablet,

virus scan, adware scan, malware scan, adw cleaner…I nodded off and woke at 1 a.m. to check the scans because being accused of being a virus magnet upset me so much, especially since he’d already determined his iphone can never get viruses and his laptop at home has barely been used and oh, the desktop at the shop was just scanned three weeks ago…(YEAH, FUCKFACE, I REMOVED THREE VIRUSES AND 127 MALWARE THREATS DUE TO *SOMEONE’S* PORN ADDICTION!)

No sooner than I nodded off again…Spook came to my bed and decided it was time to have a marathon yap chat. Took ninety minutes for her to go back to sleep, so it was more like two and half before I went back down. All the while she hogged most of the bed and I had to play Twister just to avoid crushing all the cats on the bed…

Of all the scans, two adware issues were turned up, and one was on the computer I haven’t even had connected to the net in months, let alone accessed his email. Jebus. Just so damned infuriating how he never pays any mind to my “don’t call after nine” edict cos it’s med time and if I am upset then the meds wear off and I gotta do it all over again…You don’t go setting off panic attacks in someone with panic disorder at fucking bedtime, you douchebag. Oh and he had the audacity to make a snarky comment about “when do you get to send your kid back to school, I need help.”

Six days of peace I had from the dish and its dwellers, I was even starting to feel isolated enough where perhaps spending a bit of time “out there” “with others” didn’t seem so daunting.

And he undoes it in a blink and wonders why I want to take a shovel to his skull.

He can rest assured after this bullshit that I will NEVER use any of my own devices, or my wifi network, to check his mail, order his parts, or do any of his bidding again. FFS, the shop computer had a keystroke logger on it a couple months back. Never occurred to him a hacker could have captured a shitload of info before it was caught and removed which might explain why some dude in Indonesia hacked his Amazon account and email and ordered a bunch of shit on his credit card…

Have I been hacked or even had to change my email password? NOPE. Though I do change my password when the panxiety kicks in. Plus, in spite of not having a fancy degree like him, I don’t use the exact same password for every account. Moron.

I thought today was going to be better cos the sun was out when I first got up. Ha. That lasted about forty minutes before going MIA. I guess my “bright side” is at least for the first time in five days it wasn’t fucking pouring cats, dogs, and squids. Gray and cold is the default now, I suppose. So my mood never really did lift up much and then…

Further splat. I got my Magicjack updated and working on a different computer so I can actually call people now so I called mom…I asked if she’d babysit tonight so I can go to my early morning dr appt tomorrow without kid in tow (she doesn’t like to get up early). Nope. She insists New Year’s Eve so I muttered, “Yeah, I couldn’t possibly want to spend it with my kid.” And she sneered, “I figured you wanted to get drunk.”

Pfft, getting drunk on New Year’s is as cliche as wearing green on St Patrick’s Day.

Suffice it to say, I have my kid tonight but she will be over there tomorrow because obviously it’s what’s more important to my idget mother than them doing a goddamn thing that might be of assistance to me. One more reason to hate the dish and its dwellers.

“But if you needed a sitter why didn’t you tell me?”

Batshit old woman.

I hovered in the mood “fuck it all” gutter for awhile..Then I got up and tackled the rest of the laundry, managing to fold six baskets and get them all put away so that’s one less stressor placed on me. My kid begged me to fix omelettes so we ran out for shredded cheese. The car died eleven times. It was awesome. And by that, I mean bullfuckingshit miserable stupid  ass electronic carb. I dread going out for that reason enough on its own cos one day someone is gonna be yakking on their damn phone and not notice my car has died and just slam right on into me. Sadly I can’t even say, oh, well just buy me a new carb for my birthday, Dad. Because it’s a fucking electronic carb and they are infamous for all doing this same damned thing during cold and wet weather. S0 joy joy fucking joy.

I got my kid fed and bathed, then I tossed my own skanky self into a shower and put on my footed jammies cos I am cold and I am anxiety ridden and frankly…this is all the comfort I am getting at the moment even if I feel like a six year old.

SUPPOSEDLY the disability checks will be deposited tomorrow as the normal day is a weekend. I will sleep and wake even more tonight fretting about that. Then if it is there I have to get out to the DMV and pay them over a hundred bucks for the sticker renewal for the car. Nothing says joy like the damned DMV.

That’s after I drag my kid along with me to the shrink, hope she behaves, and pray to the pegacorn priestesses that he will listen and HEAR me when I say…The Cymblotto is making me a damned nervous wreck and I need Lithium.

For everyone’s talk about how mood stabilizers kill creativity…I got to looking back at my longest writing jags…And ALL of them were while I was on Lithium. Every. Single. One. I guess my brain needs slowed down that much.I can’t think of a better gift for my birthday than for my brain to quiet down and allow me to have my writing back. Now if the child support order goes through, that’s just gravy. But money can’t buy my writing flame and more than all else…I want that back.

Maybe if I were writing I’d have less venom to spew here.

Gonna be a long night and a bitch getting to and staying asleep until I can rip the bandage off and be done with the dish tomorrow. And so help me if R calls again tonight after nine, I am NOT answering it, period.

I’m gonna tell him his stupid iphone gave my tracfone elitist snob cooties so we may only ever speak in person now.

Thanks to Diane for this…In memory of Lemmy, with admiration…

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Rest In Peace, Lemmy

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on December 30, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

As a long time metalhead, I feel it must be posted that Lemmy, of metal staple band, Motorhead, has passed on at age 70. While I was never a fan girl, I liked their music and I liked how Lemmy made appearances mocking himself, ego be damned. Allow me to share one of my favorite scenes from the hair metal movie, Airheads.

 

Lemmy IS God. Rest in peace, my friend, your contribution to heavy metal will not be forgotten.

As for me…After a four day recovery period from my helliday dish time I dragged my ass out of my bedroom crypt long enough to wash an ass ton of dishes and start on an ass ton of laundry. (Poor people like us should NOT have this many clothes, ffs.) All the while thinking it was Wednesday cos the holiday fucked me all up so I missed trash pick up and both cans are overflowing with garbage as well as packaging from my kid’s Christmas lottery. I am sure waiting another week for the next pick up will result in a strongly worded letter from the landlord.

Whatever. I am taking the term “trailer trash” to new heights, fuck off.

So I am going to finish watching San Andreas, then I am gonna go to bed for I am getting cold, my head is starting to hurt, and it’s just really sad that Lemmy is gone.End of an era, people. Whether you like metal or not, Motorhead, and Lemmy, made a great contribution to the genre of rock music.

You may return to your insipid Taylor Swift music which cheers you up all the while giving me cavities in teeth I don’t have and causing my brain to impl0de because once upon a time, music was about talent, not image.

Forward are all hatemail to idontgiveafuckwhatyouthink@gofuckyourself.com

LEMMY IS GOD.

Life Is Like Nails On A Chalkboard

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on December 28, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

My sensitivity to sound issue has skyrocketed into the stratosphere and it’s only noon. 14 hours of pouring down rain on a tin roof, my kid’s incessant yapping, her dvd player that won’t turn down cos she breaks everything she touches so I have to listen to chipmunks and Elsa at max volume even through a closed door…

Nails. On. A. Chalkboard.

When most say, “I cannot stand to hear the sound of your voice once more today…” it is a blanket statement speaking of irritation.

With me, it’s like the sounds are stabbing at my ears, making my skin crawl, my eyes cringe, my entire body spasm with revulsion. The ‘tinfoil in the mouth” sensation I so fondly recall from having had a mouth full of silver fillings. And part of me wonders if this a lovely side effect to my Cymbalta or Focalin or the combo because prior to taking them I was slightly irked by noise but now…OMG, it’s grueling and I want to cover my ears. And the rain still hasn’t stopped so in addition to that pounding on the tin roof for hour sixteen, I have the depressive undertow dragging me down because it’s too fucking cold, wet, muddy, and nasty to even ponder leaving the lot.

At least I will be in nice high strung depressive glory for my shrink’s appointment and I won’t even be turning up the drama a bit. (And btw, docs, we only ever do that because you see us for fifteen minutes every couple of months and unless we are wearing tinfoil and flinging poo, you assume we’re doing great.)

Prior to the brain buzz of Cymbalta and Focalin this morning, I was fairly content with the notion of doing fuck all but laying under a blanket and binge watching another season of  Scrubs. That calm acceptance has been replaced by an irritation and sensitivity to light, sound, and the very existence of life. Yay.

Methinks something’s got to go. I just want to return to the cocktail I know worked at one time, then tweak it from there, but my doc isn’t really big on the old school meds. I sometimes wonder if he gets stipends from pushing the atypical anti psychotics, the so called wonder drugs and yet most of us who have tried their magical Latuda or Abilify or whatever have had horrid experiences…The devil I know is just better, and I know Lithium works. Hell, for all I know, maybe the Lithium/Lamictal combo and a lower dose of Cymbalta might be the magic bullet. But I’ve got to get him on board and that always stresses me out.

Today’s goal is…Um…Fuck, I don’t know. Try not to hide in the closet wearing earmuffs, headphones, and mashing pillows over my ears?

I am so sick of feeling sick. So sick of people not being able to “see” depression and anxiety thus assuming I am perfectly fine. This mental stuff is metastatic, it’s consumed every normal aspect of my life and left me constantly trying to rebuild but then the mood shifts like a 7.0 earthquake and I am back to square one.

2016 HAS to be better than this shitty year. Nothing catastrophic in my life has happened to an extent I should be depressed 13 straight months. I have oodles to raise my anxiety and panic and I will own that. But I have more than some people do, I have a great kid, a home, my cats…Whatever this depressive bit is, it’s not situational.

Too bad the doctors don’t believe that.

Elf Juice and Gloom

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on December 27, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Well,  I think I figured out why Santa didn’t bring me that 1973 Pantera I lust for.

1227151022-00How was I to know Coca-Cola was gonna toss elves into a blender and hit puree then sell it at the store??? My bad.

We are in day three of wet cold gloom. To say it’s dragging me down would be an understatement. I am fighting the depressive inertia but it’s not going well. Once again, I just can’t find my giddy up and go. Meanwhile we’re bordering on biohazard six and the yard looks like a cyclone hit it (thanks, wind storm) so I am overwhelmed and clueless where to start. “Just do it” doesn’t seem to work for me. I go to do something,see everything that needs done, and I essentially cower in panic and shamble back to the safety of my bedroom crypt.

I am back to not even being able to decide what to nosh on so my stomach rumbles and I just ignore it and put off having to make any sort of decision cos everything tastes like gruel anyway, courtesy of all the damned meds. (No, doctors, I don’t care if you say the meds don’t affect tastebuds as you haven’t been taking them for twenty plus years so what do you fucking know.)

If the depressive inertia would just let up, I might be okay. The anxiety has certainly been manageable now that I haven’t had to contend with the dish and its dwellers for three days. I mean, okay, total withdrawal isn’t good for the depression, but it’s a fucking cure for the crippling anxiety. Who wouldn’t want to jump on that and hump its leg?

So much in bipolar and anxiety disorders is a trade off. Side effects versus benefit. Doing what will quell anxiety yet not help depression because being sad isn’t nearly as paralyzing as being frozen like a deer in headlights with panxiety. Take a med to get to sleep, spend the entire day shaking off the coma effect. Eating even though it could in combo with certain meds make you gain weight.

Trade offs suck.

So as much as I want to be a badass and tear through the housework like a tornado…I don’t think it’s going to happen again today. Bare minimum once again. This motivation thing irks me. I get it maybe once a week and I never know when it will hit me. Otherwise I am stuck in inertia hell.

That leads to self bullying and feeling lazy and weak.

Which adds to depression and being overwhelmed.

Some days I just want to be locked into a padded room with a dozen purring cats, my Xanax, and a laptop to stream soothing narrated shows from. Because every other thing on the planet seems to make me go batshit.

Of course, I am a mom now, and as my mother has pointed out…I don’t “get” to have a breakdown cos I have a child counting on me. (Funny, as she spent three weeks in a psych ward when I was sixteen and she had two kids.)

Blarghh.

I stuck to my old counselor’s advice and set a goal for myself. I took out trash. Yep. I know, pathetic. But having done that one thing…Anything else today is gravy. I am exhausted from the anxiety of the hellidays and all the dish dwelling and if I need to shut down for a third day to recover…so be it.

Just won’t be drinking anymore elf juice. These pointy ears are not an attractive look on me.

Disoriented

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on December 26, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

It doesn’t matter how old I get or how many hellidays I survive…I always end up feeling disoriented. Holidays throw a wrench into the normal suckage workings and then I get confused as to what day of the week it is. Today feels more like a Monday than a Saturday and I am confused as what to do with myself. What do I normally do on Saturday? Oh, right, not much unless it’s yard sale season.  It’s a little like waking up from a Trazadone coma. Yet I won’t take that shit anymore.

Yesterday was utterly boring yet peaceful and that was needed. I finally showered, Spook got to test out her bath paints.(She only had one warbling fit the entire day, but it was disturbing when she started bashing her head against the wall.) We ate leftover chicken and noodles (I siphoned some from the family batch cos we never get any, they go so fast.) Mom and dad both called to do the polite “merry christmas” thing. Otherwise…Absolute blissful mommy-and-spook time. It just felt so…boooring. I mean, she had all that new loot to entertain her. With my mental state as of late, I could win the lottery and buy an old school Pac Man arcade game and still be disinterested and meh. Because what I really want is a quiet brain with some semblance of organized thought and that cannot be purchased.

Mostly I binged on Scrubs (enjoyable but certainly didn’t “cheer” me up) and fretted about my shrink appointment on Thursday. I always get nervous right before an appointment and especially with this doctor and his “you’ve tried everything” attitude. Like I am unaware of that factoid. Like I don’t live and breathe and die a little with each med failure. So round and round my brain  went all evening trying to rehearse an assertive  but polite argument in favor of going back on Lithium. (Hell hath frozen over indeed.) Geesh, I miss the days with Dr. M who never made me nervous or feel like a failure. That’s fucking sad. ONE decent psychiatrist in 23 years of treatment, out of TEN doctors. And sadder still is how common this is with a mental health diagnosis.

Not sure what is on the agenda today. The child is on rapid fire mode, Uzi style,  and already the noise has me ready to chew my arm off. I should totally clean but I am thinking  maybe another day of holiday recovery is required. THIS. This is why I am such a loner, such a homebody. Because existing in the dish, at the fast pace that is normal to others, basically melts me down and it takes so much time to bounce back. It’s like having elective surgery you’ll need six months to recover from even though the condition isn’t going to kill you. Can you just live with it or do you really want to spend six months recovering from what isn’t necessity? I don’t know how better to explain it. Maybe my family is right and I am just anti social.

Though their usage of the term is very different from the clinical diagnosis. Lots of people are very social but cannot abide by social customs of morality and manners. Just because one favors time alone does not make them anti social. I’m fairly sure getting fired from a job and signing your final paycheck “fuck you” is anti social behavior even if you have six friends over every night.(My brother in law.) Maybe I spend too much time alone but the cost of socializing just makes it not worthwhile when I am not in a stable place.

Pfft.

Now I am gonna go insert bbq skewers into my ears so I don’t have to listen to the Chipmunks sing “Bad Day” for the thousandth time.

 

Morgueticia Got Run Over By A Reindeer

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on December 25, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

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So I didn’t actually get run over by anything but it sure as hell feels like it. In spite of zero real family drama last night, all the bright light and noise and people just really took a bite out of me. I’m gonna need a week to recover, all the stimuli was just…too much. Throw in the cramps from hell and even though I explained to everyone I didn’t feel well…They all still took it as me being unfriendly or pouting. WTF, was I supposed to limbo in joy?

My not-out-of-correspondence-high-school-yet, no job 17 year old nephew proposed to his girlfriend last night. Apparently my sister bought the ring and I gotta say…Twice married to grown men with jobs and I didn’t get anything close to that pretty. It was very difficult to smile and congratulate when every fiber of my being wanted to yell at M “RUN FROM THIS FAMILY AS FAST AS YOU CAN FOR HE WILL NEVER HOLD A JOB OR HELP OUT IN ANY WAY JUST LIKE HIS FATHER’S DONE FOR 18 YEARS!”

If I sound jaded and negative it’s because I am. Hopefully they have a very long engagement. I just think 17 is too young to be making such a life altering decision, especially considering they’ve been together a year and broken up about fifteen times. But then I heard that he got down on one knee, read her a poem, and told her she was his princess…And it’s like, wow,I shoulda married a teenager I guess cos they still have romance left in them. I do wish them the best of luck.

And yeah, I get my own hypocrisy on the not working thing. I did try for many years to work, which was what earned me the credits for disability. Whereas brother in law has worked six months over 18 years and been fired both times. He won’t mow a lawn, do any house work, just sleeps all day, plays video games all night, and smokes weed. M is a sweet girl, I’d hate to see her end up with a lump like that. Hell,  brother in law was diagnosed as anti social disorder (in spite of having more bum gamer friends than I have Halloween decorations) and he was too fucking lazy to even fill out the paperwork for SSI. Useless is an understatement. At least I make an honest effort.

None of it is my business, and I don’t want it to be, so whatever.

I just know sitting there surrounded by family (and their not related to us friends) that I felt very, very alone and like an outcast even though everyone was on their best behavior. I just don’t fit with either maternal or paternal faction. In fact, I feel so disconnected from them all I realized I could move a zillion miles away and likely not even think about them. I’m not of the herd and never have been thus blood or not…I am more connected to my wordpress tribe. I guess it’s a sad statement about how damaged I am and yet…there it is.

My kid made out like a friggin’ bandit last night and again this morning. I bet my mom  and sister easily spent six hundred  dollars on her stuff. I got sixty bucks, a new blankie, and some perfume. Dad gave me sixty five dollars and my brother…bought me a bag of cat litter. It’s needed and appreciated but wow…If they think I am that hard to buy for, I really am disconnected from them. (And maybe I wouldn’t be if any of them had an empathetic bone in their bodies and showed support for my mental struggles instead of disdain and judgment.)

To my credit, my chicken and noodles were devoured and many had seconds and thirds thus ensuring they were basically gone before the end of the end of the night. Considering that my sister is the “good cook” in the family and I am the “microwave queen” joke…Kinda flattering. (My sister is such a clean freak domestic, she got a new vacuum and rug shampooer as gifts and was positively giddy.)

I did make note, and ONLY because they’re the faction that thinks the more you spend, the more you prove you love someone…My sister’s friends and their kids got an ass ton of presents, and not Dollar Tree stuff, either. So I guess I’m not much loved (whatever) yet my kid and the bum friends are adored.  Though it kind of explains why I always feel so disconnected and left out. To my sister’s credit, she did get me specially made ink pens that have ceramic toppers of dragons wrapping around them. I do love my dragons. I’m scared to use them, my clumsy ass could break a steel pipe.

So today has been spent opening a multitude of Frozen merchandise, six of which sing “Let It Go” and all the other kid oriented flotsam. Cramps are still killing me which makes me a bummer for Spook but…It is what it is. She has another week off school so I can make it up to her when I’m not wishing for a sabertooth moose to rip my reproductive organs out. I did sing Frozen karaoke with her first thing this morning.What scares me is I know all the words. I blame Pellek from youtube, his version kicks ass. The original just sucks ass.

The other day cleaning at Mrs R’s wasn’t so bad. Aside from some Swiffer dusting and vacuuming, I didn’t do much, she did the rest. (I can only assume because when I do it, it’s not to her standards but that could be the Cymbalta induced panxiety talking.) Spook behaved well. And instead of a bottle of wine, Mrs. R surprised me by giving me cash for both cleaning, Christmas, and “putting up with my asshole husband.” Spook got an adorable outfit from them. Mrs R offered to take us out for lunch, too, but by then I was drenched in sweat (she has this three thousand dollar vacuum that looks like R2-D2 and has to be filled with water and dragged around and it is hard on the back) and politely declined. So what I thought would be awful really wasn’t. (And in an act of not sucking that stunned me last night..I came home to find two Mangoritas sitting on my step, courtesy of R.)

I am not gonna say it was a bad Christmas cos it wasn’t. We do it for the kids, basically, otherwise I doubt any of us would give a damn. She’s the only reason I even bothered with a half assed tree.

The Cymblotto has my mind racing and I realize all the things that need done, that i could be doing…My brain isn’t ordered enough to do any of it, never mind the crampage. That’s the part that sucks the most, having a head full of ideas and yet it doesn’t translate into action, just more inertia cos I can’t hold a ping pong ball thought for more than ten seconds. Fuck you, Focalin.

It’s definitely Lithium time. In six months of it, I’ll be screeching about my dead affect and how I can’t even feel love for my cats or kid. Such is the cycle but since I went off it…I’ve barely written cos my mind is too noisy. I think I need the calming effect more than I need to impress others with a bouncy exterior.

Back to watching Scrubs. I keep hoping comedy will lift my mood but meh…I’m always low on Christmas day simply because the chaos of Christmas Eve wipes me out. I am gonna vegetate today and maybe this weekend I will accomplish something. Like a shower. I had one last on um…Tuesday? Yeah, it’s that bad. I feel ashamed and lazy but if those things fixed depression none of us would need pills.

Scary Cryptmas to all…and to all… a good fright.

 

Crampsmas

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 24, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Yes, it’s true. All I got for Christmas so far is shark week with spine snapping cramps. Happy fucking holidays to me. To top it off when I took my meds earlier they made me semi manic and dizzy then I came crashing down into “look at me funny and I will stab your eye with a spork” territory.

I was going to dye my hair, cover the roots, take a shower, bother to look nice…

Now…fuck that shit. I have on proper undergarments, pants, and a sweater. I even went festive with socks that have reindeer on them.

That’s me making an effort. I am hurting in spite of Tylenol so the whole night will be miserable for me even if there’s no family drama.

Let’s just get this 2015 shit over already. This has been the shittiest year I’ve had in ages. My cats dying, my meds all over the place, the Latarda incident, the flubolapoisoning…

Now I am hurting and grumpy and of course, idget family will make it about them and how I just hate Christmas and I’m ruining it by not jumping up and down joyfully when truth is…just sitting up is grueling, let alone putting on the happy face.

In an effort to cheer myself up, I’ve been watching season one of The Pretender. (I own all four seasons.) It’s such a good show so of course it had to be canceled. The one thing on TV that gave me hope in mankind…Yeah, it’s fiction but what a dream it’d be to discover someone as kind as Jared.

Unfortunately, not even niceness is going to make me not feel crampy.

Merry Hellidays, everyone.

You can FedEx that hubcab sized pain killer my way any time…