Archive for January, 2016

Chain Reactions, Brain Reactions

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on January 31, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Sans child and with the benefit of 60mg Restoril…I slept most of the night, waking only once.

I got up this morning and launched right into my to do list. Put the chicken on to boil so I could make noodles. Started laundry. Put a new bag in the vacuum, made sure it worked. Took out trash. Forced myself into a shower.

And then the first link in the chain….The chicken (given to me by my mother who got it from her friend who got it from a food bank) was freezer burned and tasted like rubbery cardboard. I didn’t realize this until after I’d already added noodles to the broth. Talk about a let down. And knowing my mom would be let down was even worse but man, you give me a freezer burned bird, what can I do? My magic wand is in the shop.

So around noon I figure mom is probably getting worn out by the spawn and likely going to visit her roommate in the hospital out of town today…I go to get my kid. And my kid yells at me that she was getting ready to go outside with Trigger (once of my sister’s random bum friends, called this because she has a horsey face and yeah, I am mean, fuck you.) “You ruin everything!” Spawn screamed at me, tears flowing. “You make me angry. You need to go home and come back when I am done playing!”

I was…devastated, truthfully. Then my mom jumped to her defense and said, “You never stay, Niki, you always gotta leave fast, Let her play!”

My mom is the devil.

I told Spook, “You really hurt my feelings being so rude.”

And my idiot mom snaps, at ME, “Oh, grow up!”

This from the woman who spent years sobbing any time my sis or I hurt her feelings.

I asserted myself, “She does not have the right to speak so disrespectfully and rudely to me.”

At which point Horsey took my kid outside to play and when they came back in, they’d had a “talk” and of course my kid was contrite and mimicking proper emotion…Only to launch back into her tirade about me messing up her fun.

I didn’t think it could get much more despicable.

UNTIL my mother started prattling, “You know, the donor has more money and a hell of lot nicer home for her than you do, he’s going to take her away  from you!”

Time to flee. The whole time my kid stomping and pouting and telling me how I ruined her fun.

I started crying. Yes, I know, you don’t cry in front of kids. Whatever. I haven’t cried in two fucking months and after that assault…I was goddamn entitled to some stress relieving tears. I am busting my ass fighting for my kid, I have done nothing but right by her, and my kid is cruel to me, my mother is cruel to me…I earned every one of those fucking tears.

From there it was just a chain reaction.

My brain’s reaction was to slip into a depressive defeated abyss.

I am having nightmares about this situation with the donor and the realization that once it’s all court ordered..I will never be free to leave this place, never be free to escape my family, my demons, or show my daughter that there’s a bigger better world outside this tiny town. I will be wearing and walking in the cement shoes that accompany child support and visitations. We will both be at his mercy. He can miss days, reschedule, file court papers, change jobs so her support and insurance get canceled…Hell, he could even take her back to Canada with him.

It’s a fucking nightmare I can’t wake up from and for what? Three, four hundred a month? All it costs is everything that holds my frayed seams together.

And the kicker is…He’s left all his kids. When the woman left him and took the kid, he had a fit about her “taking” his kid away. Yet he left Canada to come to the states with the second wife, leaving behind his young daughter. He left his son in Kansas because it was a small town and there was “no future” for him there. He’s been here almost 8 years and I always thought it was Spook keeping him here yet not once in almost five years has he asked to see her, mailed her a birthday card, etc. Why can’t he just go away? Sign away his rights, I’ll sign away child support.

I want my calm serenity back.

Yes, I know, a million couples hate each other but they share custody and visitations, it’s stressful for all…

For me, with all my disorders, I fear it might be fatal.

So today has sucked. My kid has accused me four times of starving her because I dared to point out four times, “There’s fruit in the fridge.”

My self confidence has taken a beating today.

I do appreciate all the support my readers give me. Your perspective is needed because, let’s face it…Even my own blood thinks I’m incompetent. Which if I’d walked out on Spook or was sitting here with booze and smokes while she had no food to eat…Then you could judge me. But her every need is met so why are they such assholes?

I don’t blame this chain reaction on bipolar (though  the anxiety sure as hell factors in.) But I started the day functioning, accomplishing, feeling level…And ten minutes at my mom’s and…I feel like pond scum. I don’t believe, of course, I’ve always known my family are overly critical nutters. This is just not the time to be picking on me as I have enough on my plate with the donor situation. You’d think they’d have some empathy. God knows they have it for mom’s sick roommate, for that school mate of my brother’s who died, for animals with genetic skin conditions, even they get empathy from my family.

Not me.

I’ve told them all a million times…I don’t stay long because I can’t handle being outside my bubble for long periods. Nothing reaches them, nothing even helps them understand or attempt to. And it’s a sign of what has surrounded me all along- the people are me are so self absorbed and narcissistic that even my mental illness is an affront, thus about them. There’s no, “Sorry you’re having such a hard time.”

I get “Grow up!” or “You have a child now, you don’t get to be depressed!” 

The healthiest thing for me, and I’ve had multiple therapists tell me so after meeting my family, is limit my exposure to them to the bare minimum.

Maybe I need to enact a policy of my sister picking Spook up so I can avoid my mom altogether. Of course, that won’t fly because “Your sister is busy working her ass off, you’ve got nothing but time!”

Never mind the 14 years she didn’t work and mom raised her kid. Never mind I worked or tried to, all those years, and no one ever felt bad when I worked sixty hour weeks.

I truly thought when this day started I’d have the elusive optimistic post today.

Which just proves…if you think, you stink.

The Shame Game

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on January 31, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Today has sucked. Yes, I know, I sound like a broken record. No, I don’t give a damn what you think of me. I am venting. I don’t promote this blog. I don’t forcefeed the url down anyone’s throat. This is my therapy so if it offends anyone…————->there’s the thingie to click and exit the page.

I have been pondering, simply because it happens so often, my fitness as a mother. I mean, I was dealt a shitty hand of cards, I was born at a disadvantage, but I have been here since day one. When it would have been so much easier and less anxiety provoking to walk away from the mom gig…I was still there. Breaking out in hives, not sleeping well, crying behind a closed bathroom door…BUT I WAS HERE FOR HER.

So you can only imagine how galling it is when a couple of simple remarks make you doubt yourself.

I know all the arguments. “If you were really strong, a comment or two wouldn’t touch you.”  Or an old classic, “If you’re so sure you’re doing right, then nothing anyone could say would make you doubt yourself.”

When your entire life is spent surrounded by people whose only joy in life seems to be running you down so you can never build up self confidence…Things are very different.

I have never faltered on the “fluff” factor. I don’t give a fuck if you like the way I dress, my make up, my hair, the music, shows, music I like….That doesn’t phase me at all. I am true to myself, you can go fuck an electrified barbwire fence if it bothers you.

Since having had my spawn…

I am suddenly very sensitive, very paranoid, very defensive.

So when some jackhole (usually a member of my family) makes a statement about how I gripe “too much” about how my kid annoys me and strains my nerves so I must not really love my kid or be grateful to have her…

I reeeeeeaaaallly want to get out the shovel and smash some skulls.

Just because your central nervous system is especially fragile and every tiny thing threatens it, let alone a hyper aggressive super loud chatty child, doesn’t mean you don’t love your kid or appreciate how special being a parent is. What it means is…you are a human and your nerves get fried. This is NOT exclusive to those with mental issues. Most normal parents find their children a challenge on their best days…It does not mean they love their child any less.

I think it’s absolute  bullshit to be judged so harshly for “venting” when the stress in your life has skyrocketed.  I don’t care if you’re a mom, a dad, a nun- we all have a breaking point where we need to “vent”. To deny a person of something so therapeutic, especially with “guilt” and “shame” techniques…is plain sadistic.

And this is where I say thank you to various factions of my family.

My kid is at my mom’s tonight. When I dropped her off, I told my mom that we have a nightly ritual of playing a few hands of Uno as it seems to put Spook into the sleepy zone. My mother snaps, “I don’t have that problem, she goes to sleep for me just fine!” Never mind this wasn’t the point of me establishing a routine with my child that works. Nope, it’s all about my mother reminding me I am the only one Spook acts out on. I told my kid not to go hugging people, in light of the lice season, but then my sister’s friend is there and tells Spook, ” No, you can hug me any time you want.”

Being invalidated at every turn SUCKS.

Then my sister informs me dad and stepmonster have scraps for my cats and my vacuum bags I asked them to get since I don’t the gas in the car to run to walfriggingmart to get…so I rush home, under the impression they’re en route. Then I spend five hours so anxious I can’t take a shower, a nap, or even go to the bathroom cos waiting has me so bound up.


So  I waited four hours for them. The new microwave made my popcorn chicken overdone but my mashed taters ice cold. I can’t work up energy for a shower. I am ready for sleep. Even without the spawn….I am drained.

Proof? R gifted me with a laptop that’s barely 2 years old cos the guy thought $20 for the repaired hinges was too much and never came back…Rather than being all happy and stuff…I managed an Avast quick scan (67 viruses) but truth be told…I don’t have the give a damn to deal with it. Least not now, in spite of the nice weather and ten hours of my kid not pounding my brain with a verbal sledgehammer.

This is depression.

And I feel utterly ashamed because I should be stronger. Because my kid deserves better than a mom who is mental.

She deserves better than someone whose self esteem is so eroded she is having nightmares and night terrors about taking the donor to court for child support…

NO ONE would make a diabetic, a cancer patient, someone with MS- feel ashamed for “failing” their kids. No, they would be credited with battling their condition and still being a caring parent.

Mental illness….

I am chopped liver and it has nothing to do with my poor self esteem. It has everything to do with the cruelty from a society too ignorant to equate mental illness with physical illness.

The shame game sucks and ya know what?

I fucking quit.

If You can Banter or Laugh, then you cannot be mentally ill

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on January 30, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Or…so I am told.

Which means every one of us in the mental health blogosphere are “faking” our illness.



There are times our banter and sarcastic humor are the ONLY things that help keep us afloat. Humor is sort of the “lifesaver” of depression. Maybe we don’t feel mirthful or laugh out loud, literally, but I think every one of us all appreciates and celebrates the therapeutic benefits of “humor” and “banter”. Dark as we may be…The banter, that connection to others who know why we are so dark, is as good as any pill.

Am I saying quit your meds and just try to swap sarcastic snarks with others?

Hell to the no!

I am, however, saying…We may be mood swing-y, we may be depressed, but the ability to use humor does NOT make us “cured”. It is simply one more tool in the arsenal against the bipolar and anxiety that oppresses us.

Such a shame the professionals and mundanes cannot grasp this fact.

I often ponder how the mundanes would feel if they had ONE good stable mental day a month. I doubt they’d be so quick to judge. I bet they would feel as frustrated as we do. I bet they’d even treasure the inane banter that amounts to nothing in the big picture and yet means so very much to us in our dark place alone.

It took everything I had to venture into the dish today. Even things I know how to do and usually find simplistic became insurmountable tasks. The noise, people, sunlight- it all ignited my anxiety like throwing a match on a gasoline soaked sofa…Even the simple act of sitting in a busy drive thru to  get lunch had me recording my panic on my phone. I tried to tell R that I could function faster at home where my mind was clear,to no avail.If your friends won’t listen and take you seriously…praying an employer will is lunacy. To say I felt anxious and deflated is an understatement.

Then Mrs R called him and asked to talk to me. She invited me and Spook over tonight for pizza. After a month of declining invites, I said ok.

Then I spent nearly four hours clock watching. Not because I was looking forward to the outing. Noo. I was looking forward to just getting it over.

Not because it was so awful, we had a good time.

It’s just the anxiety with which I respond to all impending outings,  be it court, helping R, going to someone’s for a meal…I battle it. It makes no difference.

I mean, if it were simple anxiety, it wouldn’t be deemed an “anxiety disorder”.

We went, we enjoyed pizza, I had a glass of wine, then we left,  before 8 p.m. I begged off saying I don’t like driving after dark.

It’s true.

Mostly I wanted my bubble.

Pathetic yet the raw truth.

So…if you like/love/care/laugh at me…Banter with me.

It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy and a hell of a lot more useful.

My Fellow Blogospherians…Don’t drink the Kool-Aid

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on January 29, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

*possibly triggering post, IDK*

As I was sitting here, dreading my trip into the dish today to serve as R’s monkey, er, friend, I recalled last night’s abrupt crash into depression. I took 45 mg of Restoril and 0.5 Xanax just to ensure sleep because I did not like the dark thought emerging.

Depression is like an evil cult leader. It robs us of our own beliefs, convinces us to adapt its beliefs, and far too often…It is screaming DRINK THE KOOL-AID AND THE MISERY ENDS!

I just wanna say…let’s all make an agreement to never ever let that evil cult leader depression win and let’s never ever drink that freakin’ Kool-Aid.

Yesterday even though I felt the depressive inertia.. I found myself doing little things around the house I’d wanted to do for a long time…I even cooked a meatloaf, did the dishes. The instant my kid comes home, though, all that energy dries up. And its not just the noise or demands or fits. It is because I can’t go to the bathroom without her standing outside the door. I can’t do dishes and she’s attached to my leg wanting to play with the bubbles. I go to my bedroom to get something and she’s asking what I am doing. The child literally cannot mind her own business and leave me be. So even when she is good, I don’t feel able to accomplish anything around the house without an interrogation.

In many ways, it is reminiscent of the way the donor would constantly badger me if my facial expressions changed or I got quiet or frustrated. “Are you okay? What did I do? Are you okay?” Ya know,by the dozenth time someone has poked you with a stick in spite of you assuring them you just need to ride out a mood swing or whatever…You get irate and pissy.

And it continues with my kid poking me with a stick constantly. Maybe everyone’s right, I can’t get along with anyone. I maintain if “anyone” would back off and let me be it would be very different.

I am not looking forward to going and being R’s “friend”. Which usually means he needs someone to watch the shop for ten minutes while he goes to pay some late bill or taxes or whatever.

But it’s more than that. He didn’t even text me until 11:30 last night. Who the fuck does that????? Of course, I am not gonna answer, jackass. In fact after he disrupted my sleeping pill induced trip to sleepyland, I started putting the phone in vibrate. Enough of this drunken calling whenever he pleases.

My sister called last night (at a decent hour) to let me know she bought me two pairs of pants, having noticed all mine have holes in them. And while I am grateful, I also feel utterly ashamed. I am the older sister, 43 years old, ffs, I should be in a position to buy my own clothes, my kid’s clothes. This fucking depression and anxiety have just turned me into this useless husk. I am starting to hear the Kool-Aid spewing depression telling me I am just a drain on everyone around me and I fucking hate it.

To top it all off..I had a nightmare about going to court. Being on the stand. But then it got delayed and it was held in a different county, the shit county where I grew up and was so tormented and the  donor took advantage of me being a basketcase….I was so relieved to wake up.

And wake up I did, four times, in spite of all those sleeping meds. Because apparently this is my norm now. I think I liked total insomnia better, least then I got shit done at night. Now I am too depressed to do fuck all.

Still…I won’t be drinking the Kool-Aid.

However, if there’s a Mangorita on hand…


How To Write A Blog Post People Will Want To Read

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on January 28, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Ha, another joke title. I have NO idea how to write drivel to appeal to the mindless masses which is why my blog is so obscured and rarely liked or commented on. I am okay with this. I just like fucking with people who skim titles to determine if they want to read a post. Blogging how to’s seem to be popular with the sheeple cos ya know, everyone wants their fifteen minutes of “I got thirty likes on my post about why drying paint is so intellectually stimulating!”

Meanwhile those of us with actual writing talent and something of substance to say languish with hundreds of “followers” only ten of whom ever bother to interact. If I had ever in my life been popular this might hurt all two of my feelings. As an eternal outcast it’s just one more reason sheeple deserve a spork in the eye. THAT brings joy to all two of my feelings.

I woke up at 3:15 a.m. Tried but could not get to sleep. Round and round went scumbag brain. So I finally just got up, made some iced tea, fed the cats , brought the laptop to the living room since my bed has been commandeered by a six year bed hog and various cats. I watched Arrow. Packed my kid’s lunch. Signed off on her reading log for the month. I even ate some breakfast. Or more accurately, nuked one of those brown and serve breakie trays I got for a buck. I ate the sausage and tater tots, saved the pancakes for Spook. Then I took my breakfast of champions.

pillzySix pills for breakfast. Then another seven for evening. Thirteen pills a day, that’s hardcore. I don’t know how anyone could still be depressed, anxious, or have trouble sleeping with all these pills being shoveled. I guess I am special.

Last night was wasteland time. I just crashed into this depressed sleepy place but of course, scumbag brain wouldn’t shut up and get on board with the sleep thing. I tried so hard not to resort to Restoril but I failed and took a 30 as opposed to a 15. For all the good it did. Takes too long to kick in,  still wake up multiple times a night, and every morning I battle the sleep logged hangover. Blah.

On a positive note, I did pork chops and garlic mashed potatoes for supper last night with green beans and…my kid actually ate it and didn’t complain. This is like an eclipse.

Today I need to go back to the housework thing but I can’t vacuum til delivers my bags next week. I am predicting an energy crash around nine, ten a.m that necessitates a nap. I hate taking naps, it makes me feel slothful. Why oh why cant I just sleep through the night???

Ya know, I was pondering why I crashed so hard last night but now it hits me…I did a bunch of dish time yesterday. I went to six different stores, stopped by mom’s, faced the spewage of the brightly colored shrieking mass exodus of kids getting out of school…That’s a lot of input for my brain. No wonder it took my ass down by seven thirty p.m.

And now that it is almost time to wake her and get her to school….sleepiness has arrived. The universe has a sadistic sense of humor.



Bugged Out

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on January 27, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Day two of feeling unsettled.  My skin is crawling with anxiety. I am trying to watch The Flash, normally a guilty pleasure I relish. The anxiety is so high today, I can’t even be distracted enough to enjoy one of my favorite shows. I have no explanation for the anxiety. The professionals always want a reason, want to know the trigger and some days…There’s neither. Every inch of my skin itches like I am on Fear Factor and in a tank with a million bugs crawling on me. It’s so disconcerting. Panxiety is settling in, and that is the cruelest insult of all. When I am robbed of the comfort of my safe bubble at home because whatever in my brain has decided to misfire and turn my nerve endings into a mosh pit from hell.

It was gray and hazy when I woke up. (Damn is it hard to get out of bed during the seasonal depression.) I stumbled through making my kid’s sack lunch, feeding the cats, doing a checklist to make sure she was wearing pants and didn’t have pudding smeared on her face. Got her to school but now I just sit and wait for them to call with some ailment de jour. Kid gets a hangnail and it’s a national tragedy and I blame my crazy ass mother for creating the medical drama llama child. If I hauled the kid to the doctor every time she cried “illness” I’d be up on charges for Munchausen by Proxy.

I am still irked from last night. I took my Restoril, then waited for it to kick in. Just as it started to…R invades, wanting me to find a pegacorn (part that’s not readily available) and it’s like, motherfucker, do you know how hard it is for me to get to sleep and now I gotta turn around and do it again? Polite people don’t call after ten p.m. R is not polite. Nothing exists outside his needs. So thanks to him it took me another hour to get back to sleep.

I guess if you want optimism, I took my lithium and haven’t started gagging yet. Yesterday I was not so lucky. It works like gangbusters on the bipolar but this “will I puke” lottery with the twice a day dose…Sucks.

And in another “Positive” topic…I mentioned how my cat Voodoo came back home after being gone for six months…So I wanted to show off my boy. He only has half a tail as he comes from the bobtail line. He loves to nose butt and head butt lovingly. Last week Spook gave him an award for winning the “butthead” contest. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants and explained to her she kind of had it backwards….

Mr. Voodoo



Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on January 27, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Today’s mind frame can only be described as unsettled. I did my dish time, singing for my supper with R, or playing lackey for a pack of smokes, as it were. The entire four hours I was out, doing fuck all but keeping him company, fetching lunch, and making sure morons didn’t pester him…All I could focus on was what time can I go back to my bubble…It was one of those high anxiety “bugs crawling on my skin” days and we all know there is no respite, just gotta ride it out.

Returning to the bubble helped, but a yappy defiant child did not. At one point she told me she wanted a better mother. (This, after yesterday morning’s shocking “I appreciate everything you do for me, Mommy.) Kid gives me whiplash with her fickleness. Her noise just makes me want to deafen myself. Especially come bath time, or well, shower time as it was tonight. She just has a fit, it’s too cold, it’s too hot, there’s soap in my eyes, you don’t give me time to play, you leave me in until I am pruned…Fits, tears, fighting me…I dread bathing this child, in all honesty. I always thought bath time would be fun. Nope, not with my kid. One more hurdle to clear in a day filled with hurdles and me ill equipped to get over them.

I got myself showered, woo hoo. I am in a holding pattern on further vacuuming as I  had to order bags and they won’t come til next week. See, I figured the bag had filled cos it was spitting dirt back out. In fact, one I finally got it open…the back had exploded inside. I called my sister to ask about it and she said they used the wrong type and had to modify it, so that’s probably why it exploded….Lovely. By the time the bags get here and I figure out how to put one in, I’ll be back in apathy sludge land, too leaden with depression and anxiety to even want to brush my teeth, let alone clean floors.

I’m not really sleepy but the anxiety today…wore me out and all I want is my comfy fort blankie. I don’t want more noise, I don’t want cats stampeding and climbing on shit, I don’t want to hear cars driving by noisily with their bass thudding…I want peace, quiet, comfort. I want to wake up tomorrow and have another “energy burst” and do some stuff around the place. I don’t want to be paranoid and terrified of what this child support thing is going to bring down on me. I don’t want to break out in hives like I did today because my nerves are raw.

I want to feel settled.

Because feeling unsettled is as comfortable as walking across shards of shards of glass, barbwire, and a bed of nails.