A Day In The Life Of A Bipolar Single Mom

****Yes, I am well aware I am NOT special, single parents across the world do the same things everyday and often, for multiple children. This post is not meant to be an affront or a woe-is-me thing. It is simply a glance into my daily world, balancing limited funds, multiple mental health diagnoses, and a headstrong six year old.***

6:30 a.m. The first alarm goes off. I stab at the snooze button until 7 a.m.

7:00 a.m. I tell my daughter it’s time to get up. I try to motivate myself to do the same. She groans and fusses that she’s too tired, too cold, school starts too early. I tell her she still has to get dressed for school.

7:05 a.m. I make my way to the kitchen to feed and water the cats. I brew myself fresh iced tea. I call to make sure she is awake and getting ready.

7:10 a.m. I check on her and she is still in her jammas, bellowing how she is too tired to dress herself and wants me to do it for her. I tell her to stop whining and get dressed like a big girl.

7:15 a.m. I finally get a chance to go pee. I have my tea, my first smoke, take my shovel full of pills.

7:20 a.m. Kid is still not dressed so I poke her with a verbal stick. She starts screaming at me and calling me an awful mom. I ask her what she wants for breakfast. She never wants anything but brownies and such. I say no.

7:25 She is still hostile about not getting sweets for breakfast and grudgingly agrees to a Pop Tart. (Which technically IS a sweet, ya know.)

7:30 Finally she is dressed. I have to remind her to put on her glasses and shoes, she can eat on the way. She yells at me some more. I tell her she’s lost Uno for the night. She screams more. I take away her dvd player for the day. Still, she is mouthing off, blaming me for school starting too early, and wishing grandma was her mom.

7:35 a.m. Finally get her into the car. She is either yapping a mile a minute or giving me the cold shoulder silent treatment. I try not to get too bent about the traffic, all the while my brain screams to return to its safe bubble.

7:40 a.m. She gets out of the car at school, nose red from crying fits, and barely speaks to me. She trudges along as if she’s been beaten down.

That’s just the start of my day.

8 a.m.-2:15 p.m.- “me time” some days. Some days I go hang out at the shop with R so I can get  a pack of smokes or a bag of cat food. At home, I occasionally accomplish something. Mostly I ponder doing things but my body feels leaden and I get overwhelmed and do very little then feel guilty about it. On the really bad days I become so panic ridden I swear bugs are crawling on my skin and the paranoia is so bad I think every tiny sound is as dangerous as a gunshot wound. Good times.

2;30 p.m. Wait amongst the sheeple crowd, skin crawling with anxiety, until finally my slow poke comes running out. She’ll either be pouting or ecstatic. Either way, within the first two minutes she will ask what I got her and if we can go someplace to get her something. If I say no..Right back to her yelling at me.

2:45 p.m. Snack time. I offer string cheese and fruit. She says I am trying to starve her.

3:00 p.m. Homework time. She lollygags and says she doesn’t know how to do it. I try to help her so she tells me I don’t know how to do it. I tell her to do it on her own. She tells me I am  a terrible mother.

3:10 p.m. She has dawdled and figured out I won’t do her work for her so she makes an effort. When she asks for help, I help her. She gets it done, I praise her, tell her how smart she is, high five her.

3:15 p.m. She is fussing about being hungry again. I offer alternatives to junk food. I am back in the bad mommy doghouse. “Grandma lets me eat whatever I want!” I roll my eyes where she can’t see. My mother is the devil.

3:30 p.m. I encourage her to play on her own for a bit. Watch a movie, color a picture, go play on her swingset if it’s warm enough. Occasionally I ask her to scoop litter boxes or put her clean laundry away then she can play.

3:35 p.m. She is glued to my side, uninterested in her plethora of toys. She batters me with chatter. If I don’t give her the answers she wants she yells at  me. I take one more thing away, she cries like she’s been beaten. I quietly try to explain her behavior is the problem in her losing privileges. Once again, I’m evil.

3:45 p.m. She demands supper because I am starving her to death.

4 p.m. She asks if it’s supper time yet. I offer her a pineapple ring or two. She plays the starving card again.

4:15 p.m. She is still battering me with chatter, bouncing topic to topic. She wants to play UNo. She wants her supper. She wants her grandma. Is the moon made of cheese? How do babies come out of a mom’s belly? I’ve not had a single moment of silence or time to myself for two hours so I am getting a little irate. I can’t even go into the bathroom for a break because she sits outside the door prattling and telling me I am taking too long.

5:00 p.m. I ask her what she wants for supper. Nothing I have is good enough. I finally get her to settle on a meal, fix it for her.

5:05 p.m. Her food is too hot. It’s the wrong mac and cheese. She’s got a stomach ache. It hurts when she pees. She has an ear infection. Just getting her to shut up long enough to put the food in her mouth takes a half hour.

5:35 p.m. She says she is full even though she hasn’t eaten half of her real food but she wants dessert NOW. I tell her she can wait a few minutes and let her tummy settle. She screams and stomps off to her room.

5:45 p.m. She comes out, apologizes, then asks for dessert again. Not nicely, either. I tell her for her rudeness she doesn’t get a bath to play with her paints, she gets a quick shower so I can wash her hair. I am satan.

6:00p.m. Finally she is bathed even though I am soaking wet because she won’t hold her head back for the shampoo rinse and her getting soap in her eyes is my fault so she  moves all over and I get sprayed with the shower hose.

6:02 p.m. I get her out, dry her hair, instruct her to dry herself. She throws a fit.She says she is too hot/cold/tired to put on her own jammies. So I let her stand there in  a towel until she stops her fit and dresses herself.

6:10 p.m. She demands Uno and dessert. I acquiesce.

6:35 p.m. Either she is gloating cos she won all the UNo games or pouting because I did.

6:40 p.m. I have her pick a book and we read. I try to encourage her to make an effort on the shorter pages which usually sets her off.

7:00 p.m. I tell her it is TV time, because it generally calms her down (yes, I know, she’s as dysfunctional as me.)

7:45 p.m. I give her “snuggle buggle” cuddles and jokes, tuck her in, and retire to my living room chair or my bedroom.

8:00 p.m. I am so beaten down I have no energy to do anything I enjoy so I take my sleepy pills and take up in fort blankie.

10:00 p.m. Just as the pills kick in I am wakened by a text or call from R which gets my anxiety and anger up.

11 p.m. I finally get back to sleep.

12:30 a.m My kid wakes up and wants in my bed so I let her climb in. I spend the night with a knee in my gut and no blankets.

2:00 a.m. I wake up for no reason. Decide to go pee, make sure the cats have food, get a drink of water. Back to bed where I manage to snag at least one blanket from the six year old cover swine.

4:30 a.m. I am swatting the headboard for my alarm to see how much longer I have to sleep.

And then the alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m.

———————————

THAT is a day in my life. Are they all like that? No, some exceptions apply. For the most part, this is my Mon-Fri.

So anyone who thinks I have it easy simply because I am on disability thus don’t have a job…You are very wrong. Some days just putting one foot in front of the other is exhausting. Were I a lesser person I probably would hand her over to her father and say “You take all the stress.”

But because of my anxiety disorder, I will be mega stressed whether I have a kid or not. A disorder is a disorder.

Amidst all this, I juggle limited funds, bipolar depressions, and a family that’s absolutely cruel and useless. I don’t have the energy to even entertain dating or a serious relationship.

For those who do…You’re more hardcore than I am.

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14 Responses to “A Day In The Life Of A Bipolar Single Mom”

  1. Kudos on those “maybe” days.
    Mmm food… Wtf

  2. I ……. oh good lord. I would have done beat my child so bad, DSS would have taken her away at this point. How do you do it? How do you not snap and knock the shit out of her? I’d have a nervous breakdown.

    • I have given her a swat on the butt occasionally but it makes her worse. She laughs at me. (My sister did the same thing at this age to mom.) So I end up feeling shitty, and she still acts like a demon. Physical discipline is lose-lose.

      I find sending her to her room for the worst of the fits and making her stay there until she can be civilized works best.

      The mouthing, though…Yeah, that does push the buttons. Unfortunately…she comes by it naturally. Talk about karma.

      On Mon, Feb 1, 2016 at 11:28 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

  3. I was just reading this with my eyes nearly closed in horror. I think I’ll stick with rabbits for the foreseeable future, you’ve got to have serious balls to share life with a child!

  4. Holy crap I’m gonna have a panic attack from reading it.

    I hope to holy hell that no one actually told you that you have it easy because you don’t work. Cause I will have to beat that person simple.

  5. You just bumped up my frigging anxiety level ~ GAH! !

    • It tends to put my words into perspective, especially after I receive some random comment from a well meaning person telling me I am “just venting” and should be thankful I have a child, blah blah blah.
      Of course I am venting. If I didn’t I’d be sniffing the Comet with Crystals! I am thankful for my kid. I am also thankful for my head but when it hurts…I vent about it too…
      Ugh, dish dwellers.

  6. Holy shit. Is that normal for a kid to be like that? I don’t have kids, so I have no idea. But she seems to treat you like crap & take you for granted. Maybe she should see a therapist? Again, not trying to be a bitch but am clueless about kids.

    • I took her to counseling where she put on her best behavior…and the therapist told me it was my anxiety and depression making her act out.
      Three sessions of that was enough.
      I am going to talk to the pediatrician at her well kid check up this summer, see about ADHD testing. She’s hyper and unfocused no matter whose care she is in, which seems to me like a problem, not just being a kid.

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