Archive for April, 2016

Bipolar For Dummies

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on April 30, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I am feeling better today.

I stress this because every time I have a day or two where I don’t want to drink bleach, some jackass thinks it means the depressive bout is over thus my bipolar is managed and all but cured.

If only  it w0rked like that, DUMMIES.

Or shall I say…ignorant folk. Because contrary to popular belief, “ignorant” is not the same as “dumb” or “stupid”. See, if people had been ostracized their entire lives they’d have had time to read the dictionary for fun like I did and know these little differences. (Mrs R has a master’s degree and even she thought ignorant meant stupid.) Ignorant simply means you are not knowledgeable on a topic and face it…Unless you are bipolar, this is not exactly something you know. That’s okay. I can forgive ignorance.

I simply cannot abide the way so many of us suffer through this shit while those around us plead ignorance or inability to understand when ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK US. There’s a plethora of research on line. Read mental health blogs. LISTEN to what we have to say. You’re confused by it all? Try being on our sucky side of the fence. Yeah, we’re real bummed you have to deal with us and our mental health accessories (thanks for that one, Blah) but if you really want to know what it’s like to be “bummed”…Walk in our shoes.

Point of my blathering is…It was better today. Not great, but better. I wrote 14 pages. I ran errands. I did battle with my death trap basically stalling in the road multiple times. My kid had a playdate at my mom’s and my mom was actually civilized and supportive of my parenting. (Ha, guess that three week freeze out did wonders. Bow down to me, bitches, bow down!) I mowed half my lawn before my give a damn gave out and it was like, fuck it, let the landlord send out the yearly notice about messy yards, I’m done.

It is a spork thing. I start out with X amount of sporks and everything I have to contend with costs me a spork. By the time I got to mowing the lawn, I knew I only have a couple of sporks left for cooking my kid’s requested spaghetti supper and getting her settled down for the night. Lawns can wait, kids cannot. Spork management is crucial in this bipolar depression deal.

I’ve had two R free days, which is helpful. Aside from him texting yesterday to tell me the shop computer wouldn’t let him place an order. Well, yeah, I’ve been bitching about how slow and fucked up that thing is for weeks but there’s never a time someone’s not on it so when shall I run a scan? Fuck me, right? Anyway, it took me ninety seconds to order the part from home and he was whining about why it wouldn’t let him do it at the shop. IDK, maybe Kenny’s mommy porn fetish has the computer infested with malware and viruses? But it kind of makes my case for me, pretty much every favor he asks of me to earn cat food or whatever can be done from my home computer, and way faster. Fact is, he can’t be alone, he just wants company. Which is dumb because then he ends up buying me smokes and lunch so it’d be cheaper to leave me at home in my safe bubble.

I try to fathom being that way because my kid is just like him, she needs constant companions and entertainment. I can’t relate to that and I think it makes it harder for me to relate to both of them. I like being alone. I LOVE solitude, it’s not some sad pathetic loner thing. I mean, if I invited you over and you assumed we were gonna go out or just hang out but I spent the entire time at my keyboard writing…would that be fun for you? Exactly. My hobbies don’t require other people to be present. Still, I wish I could relate to the desire for constant or even frequent companionship.

Truth be told, I need alcohol to be around people for long stretches. Yes, I NEED it. I don’t always want it. But if I am to be social and fit into “polite” society…I need liquid courage.

And then sometimes, after a particularly trying week of depression and anxiety, I treat myself. Tonight, with my pasta, I have a nice velvet red, made by St. James. And before I get any nasty comments about mixing meds with wine…My former shrink refused to give me sleeping pills and told me to have a glass of wine at bedtime. So the fact is, while probably not optimal…everyone in the psychiatric community has some cockamamie opinion we’re supposed to follow blindly as we get bounced from shrink to shrink for whatever reason.

If I am going to hell, I shall have wine along the way. Period. Keep your judgment and advice.

But the wine has me mellow, the spawn’s not spewing pea soup, and while my mood isn’t fabulous due to the gloom and coming rain which will ruin my yard sale weekend even if anxiety and depression don’t…I’m better, for now.

Oh, dear, in what is probably a monumental example of mother of the year, my daughter overheard the term “sex change operation” from my show and now she wants to be a boy. HOW do we not have a reality show yet. I am rocking this white trash bad influence mom thing.

Maybe tonight I will write more. Maybe I will just crash, exhausted and spent. I should put a shower on my to do list, I think it’s been three or four days…Maybe? IDK. I bathed my kid last night. She’s the priority. Depressive inertia has deemed me completely irrelevant. I realized earlier today in my baggy sweat pants with my gray roots showing…I must look like a fucking fright, and not in a cool way. I need to get my shit together.

And this is where we learn, in Bipolar For Dummies, that wanting and needing…

Mental health and all its accessories give ZERO fucks.

 

Living Dead Ghoul

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on April 29, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Yeah, yeah, the Rob Zombie song is “Living Dead Girl” but I gotta be different.

So today was a complete and utter bust. After delivering my kid to school I pretty much took to my bed and blankie and while sleep did not come immediately…I needed my cocoon. Then I did nod off, and I woke, and clock checked, and dozed and woke to the check the clock.

This is so not my norm. I hadn’t taken my meds (that came after 3 p.m.) so those weren’t making me lethargic. It’s just this fecking depression that has me by the metaphoric balls.

I am beginning to understand there are levels of depression.

If you are able to go places and have the desire to be around people…your depression is moderate. I am sure it seems all encompassing but the fact is…Less than zero depression is just that. It doesn’t matter how much you like someone or enjoy doing something or how hard you are fighting…

You. Cannot. Do. Things.

I am at that place where I could win Wednesday 13 tickets and a free ride to the venue…and I wouldn’t even feel giddy, let alone interested.

THIS is bottom of the barrel depression.

I am sure I’ve offended a dozen different people who think their depression is the worst but if you are still out in the world, coping…You’re a hundred steps ahead of those of us in a truly depressive bout.

This is not to invalidate anyone’s feelings. You feel how you feel and depression is a bitch any way you slice it.

No, my boo boo is not bigger than yours.

It’s just a different kind of boo boo that no bandage can cover.

Instead of feeling better, I find myself slipping under. Yard sales tomorrow? Pfft. The kitten is so cute…Oh, one more mouth to feed. My kid is doing well at school…she treats me like shit.

There is no silver lining in a true depressive bout. If you can find one, you are either a psychotic optimist or your meds are half ass working. (Not to count out the ones who battle this shit sans meds, you are badasses.)

The same goes for anxiety. Different levels. I can’t drive even 12 miles out of town I am so panic stricken. My kid had 4 friends in the yard today and all their noise had me a nervous fucking wreck. I get confused in local traffic, fear drivers in cell phones. I can’t go to a bar to hear live music. I can’t even work up the give a damn to think maybe I need a date or to just get laid…

I am in a crippling state of depression and anxiety right now. And my doctor could not give less of a fuck. Because hey, I take care of my kid and pay my bills, I must A-okay.

In my mind, I am anything but okay. As I was going out the door to pick my kid up earlier I had this one thought that kind of made me feel better. Except it is a morbid wrong though my brain should not be delivering to me. I thought, I don’t wanna off myself but if I were to get run over by a combine…it’d mean the end of all this mental bullshit. I could be at peace.

Yes, I do know how pathetic and warped that sounds.

Depression gives zero fucks.

So today is a wash. Maybe tomorrow I won’t feel so paranoid and lethargic that I spend all day under the blanket dreading every waking moment.

Today just wasn’t one of those better days.

Ninety minutes and counting before I can tuck my kid in and climb back into Fort Blankie.

It seems like a lifetime for a living dead ghoul.

Back To Less Than Zero

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on April 27, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Oh, yay. The cable company is putting in new lines today and so not only is their large equipment blocking me in my driveway, the noise from their work has my anxiety in the stratosphere. It’s right outside my window but it may as well be inside with me, I can’t dampen it at all. I took a Xanax but to no avail. This just plain sucks. And them digging up the yard seems blasphemous as I have kitties buried out there and I loathe the notion of their final resting place being defile and disturbed.

Alas, this is something I have no control over. Perhaps that is the biggest issue. Being out of control is a trigger. Not that I am a control freak exactly. But being in control lessens the anxiety. This is all out of my hands and I can’t even escape due to being blocked in. Does Not Want.

So several days since I last posted. Mostly because nothing too traumatic happened outside the usual fall out from battling this depressive bullshit. I went to get my lithium filled. They had to order it. So much for keeping my levels consistent. Of course, genius doctor had to prescribe 150mg @twice a day, so I am taking even more pills now. Lovely. I lost the lottery yesterday and spent an hour in nausea hell, munching on crackers in an effort to keep from tossing my cookies. If that was from one pill, and now I gotta take six a day…cockweasel. Now while he’s cooing about my meds being lower in number and he likes that…I am still taking 12 pills a day. Oh, joy joy, fucking happy happy. I don’t know why he couldn’t have just gone with 300 three times a day, my old doctor did. I guess that would be too simple, he has to make me jump through flaming hoops.

Saturday night supper at Mrs R’s was okay. My kid actually ate the food, though  I pretty much forced her to at least try it. Then R’s youngest daughter and her fiance stopped in. She’s the one I really adore. We sat outside while the grandson and Spook played together. My mortifying moment came when I dumped my wine all over my lap and the step and they were all joking about my pissing myself. Then R mentioned my expert klutziness. Always good for a laugh when you’re already feeling like an inept twonk.

Sunday…I don’t even remember it was so uneventful.

Monday…I had one of those elusive good days. Not that anything great happened, but my depression was at a low roar, I was able to go to the shop to earn cat food and smokes. The anxiety was still present but only in response to people and phones. Those are the triggers, noise. I can’t discern when I became such a wuss. But all in all, it was a good day from a mental standpoint. I let my kid play with her friends for several hours. R came by with Mangoritas and we watched The Forest.

Tuesday was the cold gray rain and my mood followed. My allergies went bonkers, the lithium made me sick…I apologized in advance in case I had to flee R’s instructions (car needs gas so I gotta serve) to hurl and…He asks, what exactly does lithium do?

It;s amazing how all these people have zero problem telling me about how moody or high strung or wacky manic I am yet not one of them knows fuck all about my disorder or its treatment. It’s insulting.

Last night I was exhausted so I did little but binge watch Scorpion and go to bed early.

Today..well all the work outside has me too distracted to write (I did 23 pages between Sat. and Mon.). My stomach is upset. My body aches. My kid is on her school field trip out of town which normally doesn’t bother me but today I keep having these fucked up thoughts about, what if the bus wrecks, what if she wanders off…GRRR. Panxiety returns with bells on.

Since I am at less than zero (my kid asked why the house looks so nasty today cos I haven’t done my spring cleaning of dusting and rearranging, fuck you depression) I am just…binge watching more Scorpion because as it turns out, it’s a good show. As long as you don’t let the genius factor make you feel like a dumbass. I find it fascinating, though I sincerely doubt it’s as harrowing as Hollywood portrays it. It is based on the life of Walter O’Brien, genius IQ of 197.

Oh, the itchy hives are starting. I am jazzed.

So yeah…I managed a few days and now…back to less than zero.

I’d swear at the depression but I don’t have energy to type much more.

Hasta la vista.

Blogjacked By A Dog

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on April 23, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I received an email today, from a reader, I am assuming, though I didn’t recognize the name or email addy. It was to inform me a Facebook person was using one of my posts and claiming it as their own work. I moseyed on over to fuckfacebook and…The page is for a dog named Bella. And sadder still…I had to read halfway through (why oh why can’t I have an edit button to stop my rambling!) before I even recognized it as my own post.  I have no idea why a page told from the perspective of a dog would want a long rambling bipolar post but…Um…Okay. Cute dog.

Of course, after defiling my computer by visiting fuckfacebook I ran a virus scan and a malware scan. Cos I don’t trust anything Zuckerburg has to do with.

I shall digress.

My doctor appointment was a bigger disappointment than usual. He wouldn’t even discuss raising my prozac, but he agreed we could settle on 900mg lithium, a concession between extremes. He tossed out his usual, “I don’t want to change too many things and upset the balance. Let’s see in a few weeks if this dose of lithium is making you feel any better.”

Imagine my enthusiasm at another month of depressive misery because this guy is too conservative.

Frankly…Kind as he is…I question his quality of care. He said we could raise the lithium to 450mg twice a day, then he had to consult his smart phone to see what dosages it comes in, and asks me if I get tablets or capsules. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE A DEGREE IN PSYCHIATRY AND NOT KNOW SOMETHING AS BASIC AS THAT ABOUT THE LONGEST PRESCRIBED MOOD STABILIZER ON EARTH???

I tried to discuss my frustration at how the depression has become so much worse during spring rather than better, like my seasonal is going backwards. I voiced concern about how little quality sleep I get and how drained I always feel. I brought up the lithium nausea and thirst. I even asked him why I’m not losing even a pound in spite of my newfound water guzzling and becoming more physically active outdoors. He said I must be retaining water or eating too much because it can’t be the lithium putting weight on me or slowing my metabolism.

The proof, for me, is that every time I’ve gone off all my meds…I suddenly drop forty pounds, without changing diet or exercise norms.

I walked out of there feeling pretty disgusted. Hell, he even asked if I had an upcoming appointment and I told him, no, you canceled it cos you’re gonna be gone that week,that’s why Jill got me in today.  I guess he was under the impression I’d hit a panic button to get an appointment.

No, that would have been three weeks ago when I begged to be seen and all I got was a lithium increase.

GRRRRR.

I did do something yesterday outside my normal capability. But there was so little time between picking up my kid and going to the doc I didn’t see wasting gas coming home. So I took her to a park along the way and let her run riot until it was time to go to my appointment. It’d rained so everything was wet but she didn’t mind a damp booty at all. She ran riot and was happy.

0421161444-00The whole day, R blew up my phone. I uh…had an toxic lithium reaction. That’s what I came up with because, “Yeah, I’m paranoid and anxious and I can’t really pretend to be normal for your comfort right now” wouldn’t have gone over at all. Empathy about mental illness might well be the man’s biggest flaw and the one thing that’s not changed in 20 years. And I think it’s why I rail against him so often. He gets to keep all his shitty traits that he could well work on but he sees himself as perfectly normal and fine. Whereas I have a brain wiring problem and he cuts me zero slack during my struggles. Kind of feels like he deserves my wrath.

So to atone, I did four hours servitude today even though it took every ounce of strength I possessed to do so. I mean, I was out of smokes, and he did get me some, so I was compensated to a degree. Then again, when your anxiety is running riot, you smoke more, so it cost me as much as it got me. Still…As I told my father the other day when he snarked about me having more money if I didn’t smoke…I don’t buy my own cigarettes except that one pack of month. My smoking is supported by doing bits of part ordering and such for R. If I ever manage to quit smoking, he won’t have much lure for me. Well, after he fixes the death trap, anyway.

It was damn near impossible to get going this morning. He wanted me there at 9. I came back after dropping Spook off and set the alarm for 8:30…Nodded off. Hit snooze when it sounded. And continued to hit snooze until  ten til ten. Then I forced myself to haul ass, knowing I was in for a “you’re not reliable” lecture.  Well, duh, I’m under water here with the depression and the meds being wonky…I never claimed to be reliable. My body wants nothing but sleep these days. I don’t want ringing phones and doors opening and well, human contact. I need to drop out until my mental state solidifies.

Imagine my own surprise when Mrs R called to invite me and Spook for supper tomorrow night. And I agreed. Then remembered his middle daughter is there this weekend and while she’s fine to me…It’s that whole crowd thing. That’s gonna be seven people. Am I strong enough to do it? But I have dropped out so much from social stuff I guess I feel compelled to push myself. It’s a dinner and sitting outside while the kids play, no biggie, right? I am sure wine will be served.

Or maybe subconsciously I leapt at the invite because I know my mom will be calling to ask for a sleepover with her grandkid and Spook did NOT earn it this week (she lost four dollars of her five dollars allowance due to fits and screaming and mouthing off) but of course…my mom does not believe in discipline, at all, so I will be the bad guy keeping her from her grandbaby. This way, I can politely say “Bummer, but we already made plans.”

I am so sick of having to fib and use subterfuge. This mental health thing and its bullshit stigma and the general public’s ignorance…makes me nuts. Nuttier.

And I need a vacation from bipolar and anxiety because I watched a show tonight and they found alprazolam and scopalamine in the victim’s cabinet. They described xanax as a “sedative” then said scopalamine is for anxiety. UM? Yeah? I guess maybe in Canada that’s what y’all use it for but my info says scopalamine is for motion sickness and post surgical nausea.

Yeah, I am picking apart FICTION because I have lived this mental bullshit for so long I probably know as much about the medicine as the doctors. Or hell, more at this point, because I’ve never been giving lithium in anything but capsule form yet my doc asked if it’s tablets or capsules. Wtf.

I am gonna try to get up in the morning and hit a few yard sales. It kills time. It also wards off more time with all the kids in my yard. At one point tonight, there were six kids plus my own outside. Never ever have a swingset, it’s a kid magnet. But they behaved pretty well and it gave me time to recover from my dish trauma so…whatevs.

Now I am gonna curl up in bed, hope the melatonin kicks in soon, and hope I can get my butt out of bed tomorrow and hit a couple of yard sales. I need to get back to me, do me things. And Spook enjoys going, behaves fairly well, so it’s quality time for us together.

One day I hope when my kid asks me what we’re going to do tomorrow…I can commit to something rather than say, “We’ll have to see how I am feeling, I never know how I will on any given day.”

Bipolar is so fucking tedious.

Shrinking Violet

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on April 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I was supposed to see the shrink May 2nd. I got a call yesterday that they needed to reschedule. Or should I say, I got a voice mail. Damn phone never even rang. Stupid piece of shit. Anyway, I called them back and the nurse asked if I was doing okay. I told her, not really. So she got me in today at 3:30 since they had a cancellation.

True to my norm, instead of feeling relieved and hopeful…My gut is in knots, I am feeling weak and vulnerable, and my anxiety is climbing to the level I can’t think straight to focus on anything. Tick tock goes the clock. Counting down the hours until I get my allotted fifteen minutes of being ignored. I want to speak up for myself, express how displeased I am being seen every two months when I am not doing well at all. How frustrated I am with never being able to get refills properly, or get a lab report read, or get an earlier appointment date rather than just a med change by phone…

Unfortunately, speaking up often makes things worse for you seem demanding and non compliant. Because ya know, you’re mental and they’re the professionals so any issue you might have is obviously not relevant and simply an overreaction.

Grr, my skin is crawling with anxiety. Pretzel gut is making me too uncomfortable to eat, which means I haven’t dared take my lithium yet. Empty stomach and lithium almost guarantees pukeage. Of course, sometimes even on a full stomach, I hurl.

I have to take my kid with me to the appointment. It’s not biggie. I don’t want to take her to my mom’s. And I am just waiting for the guilt trip for last weeks’  missed idget birthday and the inevitable accusation of, “You’re trying to keep me from my granddaughter because you’re a bitch”. My mom is warm and fuzzy with the calling me a bitch thing.

So much stress. And I am just exhausted. Even my bone marrow aches. Like muscles do after being sedentary then doing exercise. I can’t organize my thoughts let alone any projects around home or the one R wanted me to do. Maybe he found some other minion to do it. I admit when I am not functioning lucidly. (Damn it, I jinxed myself, he just texted for my presence and I suddenly feel the urge to use the “oops, the phone was dead” excuse.)

I don’t think I am ready for lock down hospitalization and shock therapy.

But to go from 120mg  Cymbalta plus 20mg Prozac, down to just the 20 of Prozac…How did this doctor not anticipate the depression worsening? I know they think mood stabilizers have anti depressant properties but for me…they do not. And I feel like his apathy has been a disservice to me. To take me off that doseage then say, see you in two months. I almost feel victimized, as pathetic as that sounds. But he’s the doctor, he’s supposed to help, not let things get shittier.

I’m whining, aren’t I? Because we all know how rare it is to get a shrink who isn’t half inept and totally apathetic.

Just…fuck this appointment anxiety.

Fuck friends who bully me and can’t accept, “I’m not feeling up to it” as enough of a reason not to do their bidding.

I gotta channel my inner badass, out from under the depression and anxiety which weakens me.

Must speak up for myself, MAKE this doctor see that I’ve gone down a dark rabbit hole.

What I can’t do is make him give a damn.

Frick.

Anxiety Meds Do Nada For Panxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on April 20, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I have no idea why but today my panxiety is in high gear. Paranoia, anxiety, crawling skin, twisted stomach…Sense of foreboding…

I took a Xanax.

It’s done fuck all.

I feel like I have that target on me and everyone is packing a gun.

Adding to it is the fact that the power company is installing new meters and they’ve got my yard full of multi colored flags and spray paint, warning me they’re coming…but I don’t know when. I hate knocks on the door. I hate strange people around my safe place. It’s necessary, I have no choice, but it doesn’t lessen the emotions.

Or the physical issues.

Maybe my mood is down which makes me vulnerable to the paranoia and anxiety. Maybe it’s because my kid accused me of abuse when I brushed her hair this morning and the brush got tangled in the rats.  Maybe it’s because I had another rough night of sporadic sleep (this time due to my allergies).

I don’t know much of anything except no matter how much the psych professionals downplay it all…Living this way sucks. Anxiety is not funny, it is not mild, it is not something you “shake off”.

That is all.

Ninja Functionality

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on April 20, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

As usual…I never see it coming. Like a band of ninjas this stuff comes on me…I wish I could see it coming and plan life accordingly.

I was functional-at home-today. I was not feeling the deal-with-the-dish vibe and figured with my lack of sleep the last few days I’d zonk out and sleep…Nope. Instead I found myself working in small increments. I cleaned the bathroom. I did more laundry. I swept the kitchen. I vacuumed the living room and hallway. Cleaned some mirrors. Put some scented oil on.

I even wore proper clothes to go pick up my kid. Of course, it rained and I still looked like a hag. Oh, well.

To my chagrin, after my kid making snotty comments about the house being messy, she comes home and I ask, “Is this any better?” and she says, “I can’t tell a difference.”  Just like my mother. No credit where it’s due unless it’s negative.

No matter. I felt good about it. I went on to cook a good supper, my kid read to me, we played Uno, once she went to sleep, I got a shower, and even managed to write ten more pages on my story. I got shit done. Maybe I didn’t go anywhere or deal with anyone without necessity but still…kudos for me. Because after last week’s ninja naps and stomach upset followed by the shark week hell…I was starting to worry about myself being so non functional.

I think all the physical stuff, especially the hormones, just took my energy level down for a week and caused some pain and exhaustion.

It’s always easier to deal with depression and anxiety when your body isn’t being stressed physically. The mental stuff finds its own way to stress you physically so you kinda need all your resources.

For the first time in two weeks…I can go to bed feeling like I didn’t waste the day and waste oxygen. It’s nice. I want more days like this.

Hear that? That’s bipolar depression laughing its ass off at me.

So to end this on a positive note…This is the last living kitten from Nightshade’s litter, the others passed. I present to you…

Cleopatra.

cleo 5 weeks