Archive for May, 2016

Cooked OUT

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on May 31, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Two cookouts in two days. Pardon my crassness but I am burping charcoal flavor and don’t care if I ever eat another hot dog or burger cooked on anyone’s grill, ever.

Today was not one of my finer days. I was anxious, worn out (people do it to me every time) and my kid had the devil girls here, playing inside. Three of them all bickering, tantrums, tattletelling…On my last nerve. I was gonna be nice and ask their dad if they could come to the cookout with Spook so she’d have playmates. NOPE. They couldn’t even play Uno without drama. Then the three of them started bawling and no longer like me. I’m crushed. The worst came when my kid told me J had said she hopes “Niki lives in hell”. I went to scold her and it turns out…my snowflake was the one who said it, not the devil girls. She LIED on her own friend and acted like it was nothing.

I sent them home. End of my rope, plus she deserved punishment for lying. Also, she told me to apologize to them and um…No. I am the adult. Those brats have cost me $20 in food and bottled water this week and most of that was them just grabbing shit before I could stop them. GRRR. Being nice does not pay because people just take and take. And what kind of whackadoodles are raising these greedy ungrateful bundles of demands? I know, same complaint for four years now, I need to grow up and OWN being the adult.

My kid puts me in an impossible situation over and over again. I offered her lunch before the girls got here today. She wasn’t hungry. Second they get here, she’s starving and so are her friends and I can’t feed her in front of them without offering them something (another one of my mother’s charming edicts she pounded into my skull) and bam…Twenty dollars in a week on kids that are not mine.

Why do people have to ruin everything? I try to be a decent person, pass out popsicles on a hot day, and all I get in return is this “you owe us” mentality. No amount of correction changes any of their heads, least of all my own.

Tonight I stuck to my guns and didn’t let her play when B came knocking. She’s pissed at me that J and A never did come back and were, in fact, playing at the new neighbor’s house. Good riddance.

I am so damned frustrated. Saturday I was on an even keel, the kids weren’t annoying me at all, I felt pretty damned good minus some gastric agony that prevented me from hitting some yard sales. (week two of missing them, that’s gotta be the depression’s lingering grip.) I want my state of mind from Saturday back. I don’t like being grouchy and irate and annoyed.

But these trailer park kids could push a saint to homicide.

In other news…I did not need to cremate my dad with the dragon-a-q.  We just didn’t discuss either car. I had a moment of sheer panic when my nephew, who was heir apparent to that Buick even though he has his mom willing to get a loan and help buy him something better if he ever gets his license…he kept asking me how much I wanted for it. Like, bitch, please. Mom gave it to me and I am not letting that car go until it is pried from my cold dead hands or ceases to run. Just makes me leery cos my mom has a tendency to cave when Little Lord Fauntleroy is involved. She’d throw me under the bus in a heartbeat if he hit the right manipulation buttons.

So…Friday cannot come soon enough. Once that car is in my name, I won’t have to worry about that drama bullshit. I’m a mom with a kid, I need a car a hell of a lot more than a 17 year old who’s not finished high school and has no job. In fact, today, one of my sister’s friends offered nephew C money to babysit her 8 year old son…And C said, “Oh, I can do it, I just don’t get up until after ten or eleven.” REALLY? You want money but the employer has to work around your “stayed up all night playing video games” schedule?

Maddening people, my family. Sadly, I know July 4th they will probably have another shindig, plus stepmonster and my brother’s birthdays are in July so that will be a fucking drama.

I want the meds to kick in and MAKE me look forward to all this shit.

Or at least make it seem like less of a chore.

I just can’t do the heat and sunlight very well. The lithium is an issue with sunlight and it’s not even staying hydrated. It’s like instead of feeling warmth, my skin feels sunburned. Now from what I’ve Googled the party line is that Lithium does not cause any photosensitivity. Yet a few years back I had a doctor who advised me to stay out of the sun for more than short bursts plus drink plenty of water because sweating could alter the lithium level in my blood. Anyway, I made a comment about the lithium and  sunlight making my skin feel burned and my dad sneered, “Oh, you poor baby….” Prick, serious shit can happen from this stuff…

I am so sick of ten different pieces of advice from ten different doctors. I am especially sick of the internet and its forums pushing information that’s simply not true or unestablished. Like lithium not causing photosensitivity. Yet it’s in the manufacturer list even though it was reported in less than 1% of patients.

Makes me want to flush all the pills (let the sewer crocodiles get stoned on lithium) and treat myself with whiskey and coke. No shocker on what happens there. You get buzzed, you puke, you get hungover and pray for death…then do it all over again.

With these meds…I don’t know whether to believe Dr. C or Dr. M or Dr.B…they all tell me different things about the same medication.

Guess I am stuck with current doc’s party line.

And now I am gonna go back to watching Hemlock Grove because werewolves are a lot less scary than trying to count all the mood swings this med increase has induced.

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Topsy Turvy

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

I hate medication adjustments. Since increasing the Prozac I have experienced stable mind frame, restless mind frame. Today is anxious and paranoid day.  Bipolar is a bitch. When the only thing you want-a stable baseline- is the one thing you absolutely cannot have…it’s a wonder any of us survive this crap.

On the plus side…I did not have to pay to have the death trap towed. Luckily it broke down a block from Ursula’s house so R and his son in law just pushed it to their house. So it sits. R still thinks there’s hope for the stupid thing. Maybe. Let him fuck with it. I am washing my hands. The Buick looks rough but rides like a frickin wet dream and it makes me happy. I like older cars. So with some help from a wondermous benefactor (you know who you are and I love you, girl) I will be able to get the title and all switched to my name Friday. Hopefully thus will end my automotive woes and that will be a great deal of pressure taken off me. That red car has been a bloody nightmare.

And my dad’s still not speaking to me over the damned thing. Not that my heart is breaking. It does lend to some dread and anxiety as my sister is having a cookout tonight and I agreed to bring Spook. Dad will be there. If he starts lecturing me for not being able to “get along” with the death trap I may just shove him face down on the grill.

Better yet…Mark sent me a pic of the perfect grill which could easily be a backyard crematorium.

One to rule them allTell me that isn’t badass!

We went to a cookout at R’s last night. I don’t even like cookout food. But I couldn’t come up with a legit way to duck out. I didn’t even feel particular mental. So we went.  Twas not a bad time. Of course, I spend more time sitting alone or playing bubbles or whatever with the kids than I do trying to blend with the adults.

An odd thing happened on Saturday. I was like super chill. Perfect frame of mind. All the things that normally drive me batshit…simply didn’t. And no, I was not drinking or loaded on Xanax. I let the kids play inside all day. A and J said they wished I was their mommy. (Ha, I thought I was a grouchy mom, but apparently I am not as bad as I thought.) I assured them they have a mommy who loves them very much. Last thing I want is some angry parent accusing me of trying to steal their kid. I got enough trouble with one child and all my furkids.

One week of school vacation down. Ten more to go. Kids, kids, kids. I can’t think of a legit reason to keep her inside away from them. Maybe that’s proof the med increase is helping. Normally, I can think of a hundred reasons to keep the petri dish from bursting my safe bubble.

Wonder how long it will last.

That’s the ultimate bitch of it all. Feeling good for a few months then it all goes to shit again and the damned doctors can’t even explain why. My kingdom for meds that simply work and keep working.

Now I have a fire breathing dragon grill to replicate. I may need to toast a paternal figure if he pisses me off too much.

Light, Tunnel, End, Not a Train

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

Oh, that elusive day where the brain cooperates, the body follows suit, and everything doesn’t seem like a pointless vile shitstorm. Light at the end of the tunnel and it’s not a train! Who friggin knew it could happen?

Nothing fabulous happened today. Nothing catastrophic, either. The cats ran out of food and I ran out of smokes…Rather than hit the R panic bell…I sold off my complete set of Nightmare on Elm Street movies. About two hundred bucks worth of movies…he gave me five bucks. Oh, well. Got me what I needed. Hadn’t touched the movies since Bex was here almost two years ago, anyway.

I’ve been running a free daycare all week. Today, blessed be, K’s mom put out a slip and slide and had all the kids down at her house for three hours. I needed the break. Of course, the brats still came back here, full of demands for foods and guilting my kid when she didn’t sneak behind my back to get it for them…Awful children. I know some say normal for kids of that age, but I say awful. Maybe my momster and her “don’t EVER ask for food at someone else’s house!” traumatized me.

Since the kids were elsewhere and my mind cleared…I kicked ass and got shit done. ELEVEN baskets of clean but unfolded laundry finally folded and  put away. I did dishes. I vacuumed. I cooked dinner. I don’t feel half bad, either, even though typhoid devil kids returned to haunt my yard.

I think maybe the trauma of the car breaking down then my dad going off on me put me in this “precipice” place. I have shut out my dad. I am not dwelling on the Grand Am needing moved. Plus, the shrink agreed to be less conservative and bumped me to 40mg prozac for two weeks, then up to 60 for another two weeks. He LISTENED. I am starting to think maybe the times I have my kid with me he’s unnerved or I am. Because this time the appointment went smoothly. He was pleasant, empathetic, understanding, said the people around me are the ones who are stupid if they think I am just flaky and lazy…I am legitimately depressed and disabled.

Validation. One would think it’s such a silly thing and yet when it comes to this mental health bullshit…I need validation. I guess that makes me pathetic. But I don’t need validated in any other area, I simply don’t care how I look or what people think of my style/likes/etc. I guess mental health has so much stigma that the occasional nod of understanding from the professionals makes your inertia seem less crippling.

I don’t have a fricking clue how this shit works. I know for two months that laundry piled up. I’d wash it, dry, but I absolutely could not fold more than a basket before falling down the rabbit hole again. Today…I just did it. It wasn’t my idea of a good time. Housework is evil, I want a self cleaning home. But I did it while the will was there and it felt good.

Now tomorrow if the support check comes and the car is still on  the street (awful that I’ve not gone to check, right?) I have to get it towed…The question is, towed to where? I don’t have much of a drive/yard let alone for two cars. IF the tow truck survived all the fucking craters, er, pot holes here the landlord won’t fill. I can’t have it taken to R’s or his son in law’s. So…what the actual fuck? I have no idea.

What I really want to do is just find some junk dealer to drag it off like I did with the blue Grand Am. I could then just get all my info from the Pontiac transferred to the Buick. Maybe I need a week or two to save up cos normal expenses don’t stop coming just because your car takes a crap…But scrap is down in price and the Grand Am has little metal anyway so I don’t think I could even pay someone to drag it off.

FUCK.

I keep going over it in my head and it makes PERFECT sense to me, but I have been at the mercy of depression brain so long, I don’t know….My dad was the one flipping out about getting the car off the street, right? Doing it NOW. He has nine hundred saved up for work on his house, thus could easily float the fifty dollar tow fee for three days…Yet he does not even offer and drags R into it and screams at me like I did something wrong….

When a week ago he was wanting to unload the Grand Am and telling me to save up for something better….

Now mom is offering me the something better….And he’s pissed. Does that seem like senility to anyone else?

I should stop trying to figure out any member of my family. I just need to end this Grand Am fiasco and move on. Keep them out of my business and if the car needs work, go to R or a mechanic. Period.

So in a nut shell…today didn’t suck.

Will tomorrow?

Weekends usually do as that’s when I have to deal with my family. Even in small increments they are like drinking arsenic. I’ve built up immunity but one day that lethal dose is gonna come.

See? I’m a ray of sarcastic sunshine even when things aren’t absolute shit! It’s a gift.

Trauma Llama

Posted in biolar disorder on May 26, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I thought yesterday sucked out of the gate as my sinuses were so infected even my gums hurt as well as my head. I figured seeing the shrink would just make the whole day suck more but I was trying to get through it.

And then en route to my 11:30 doctor appointment, the death trap quit running. Amid a fucking funeral procession. I got it running, told the doc I was on the way, then the fucker quit AGAIN and went nowhere. So I had to call back to reschedule then TRY to get mom to answer the phone so she could come get me…GRRR.  She did (oddly, two different gentleman stopped to make sure I didn’t need help, which in this town is odd) and then she let me drive her car home and keep it so I could get to the doctor.

I LOVE this fucking Buick. The paint job is pretty decrepit but the interior is posh, everything fucking works, it rides smoothly, runs quietly…So I told my mom I’d buy it from her if she was willing to sell it. I’d have to make payments, of course, but she said…Okay. And I’m like, excellent, I’ll just wait for the city to tow the Grand Am off the street (as I have nothing til Friday) and I can settle that tow bill and disposal with the city. I mean, what else can I do?

I called to tell my dad mom and I were wanting to make this deal.

You think he’d be cool, right? She doesn’t like old cars, I wanna marry the fricking thing, it’s all in working order and comfy as fuck…

Instead, that prick started screaming at me. Something about, “43 years I’ve tried to get you a car to drive but you never want to put any money into them, I wish I could find something that’d just need gas and you could drive it forever!”

Okay, followers…Did I not recently write that I was fully willing to get this Grand Am worked on, at my expense, as long as I had a loaner vehicle/way around?

He buys me a fucking car that wouldn’t even run, period. None of the gauges work. (I got yelled at for letting the coolant run dry, then the oil run low, and it’s like, fuuuuck, I checked it three days ago it was fine but DAMN wouldn’t it be nice if they designed cars with these things called gauges OH WAIT.) R has no time, or at least “time where you don’t have to be driving it”. Yeah, sue me cos this town’s public transport consists of expensive taxies and buses you have to make an appointment to ride.

Anyway…There I am, thinking, I have finally found the answer to my problem, and this man just keeps yelling at me. Like I broke the stupid car.

And then he keeps carrying on about “getting it off the street” and of course, that’s fifty bucks and where to go with it anyway…He wouldn’t front the money cos they have to have $900 to fix their house foundation…Mom ain’t got it. So…let them tow it, and fine me, what the fuck else can I do? But noo, he had to turn it all confrontational and I’m irresponsible for not having cash on hand, ESPECIALLY now that I am getting that alfuckingmighty child support….Never minding it ALL goes replacing food stamp money we lost so how can I save a damned penny?????

He had me so mad I told him I was running out of phone time and had to go. And I only have 20 mins time left til next week so it wasn’t a lie, but also, it was to escape that oppressive senile fuck of a man. All I could hear was him screaming, “I wish I’d never bought a fucking thing for any of you!”

I never asked. Aside from my first car he procured, and i paid half the bank loan on, I never asked him to get me a car. He has always taken it upon himself to do this shit. I can’t point it out cos then I am just more ungrateful.

I was okay with the city tow thing. If they don’t do it by Friday when I get cash, I’ll call a truck, figure it out. But I thought the solution, keeping this Buick, was perfect and my mom is on board. In spite of my cousin fussing about “what will I drive when I get my license and job?” Um, he can’t get his license til August and we’ve all been told repeatedly that my sister is going to help him get something “better” than this Buick. Have at it! I love the car. I just need $140 to get everything from the Pontiac transferred to it. But now I am gonna have one hell of a tow bill for the impound lot so that may take awhile…

Fuck. I can’t catch a break. And I am surrounded by ass clowns.

Making it worse, dad called R and brought him into it yesterday. After I purposely did not call him and drag him in. So R called me all growling and demanded I bring the Pontiac key to him at his house when in fact, he could have just as easily dropped by here for thirty seconds to get it instead of making me drive mom’s car (I will be less antsy once insurance is in my name, the woman is a nervous nellie from hell). He was copping an attitude. I was pissy as fuck due to the sinus issue keeping me from my cigarettes thus necessitating nicotine withdrawal and pissy little syndrome.I was furious my dad dragged him into it, pissed off at him for having such an attitude…

Yesterday sucked donkey balls.

Today wasn’t as awful. I dodged my dad’s message he left. I don’t wanna deal with him. Mrs R asked for a ride to pick up her car at the dealership today so I took her out there in the Buick and explained what was what…and she agrees it’s ten times the car the pontiac is, so what is my dad’s fucking problem?

I don’t get it, but I am a hair’s width from excising my cancerous father and his crew from our lives. He’s fucking toxic. I mean, this is a good solution to the car problem, mom’s on board and not even venomous and…

Forty three years he’s been holding every tiny thing over my head, including the fact that in 1973 when I was born, my hospital bill cost him twelve hundred bucks. I kid you not.

Respect your elders is a nice concept but useless when they treat you like shit and you just wanna give it back.

Back to more pleasant things. I found a Canadian series called The Collector about a guy who sold his soul to the devil…and the devil isn’t as much of a dick as my father is.

School’s Out, Nervous Breakdown Is On

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

Three hours and counting. Until school is out for three months (give or take.) YAY. Day in, day out, having Uzi child at my brain, shoving her devil girl friends down my throat. On the plus side, I do feel a modicum of relief from the schedule. I am not a morning person, so even being able to sleep a half hour later before the spawn rises is appreciated. Trying to find the sunny side up here. It’s grueling.

I decided to forego melatonin last night, thinking maybe it was making me lethargic in the mornings thus making it so hard to get up. FOUR hours later I was still awake. Didn’t help that my kid woke up and thought midnight was chatty Kathy hour. By three a.m. I broke a Xanax in half and took it just to get my mind to slow down. They say if you don’t fall asleep within a half hour of laying down, your body isn’t tired enough for sleep.

I’m calling the bullshit card. My body and mind were exhausted. Yet my mind, bitch that it is, would not stop churning with random inane thoughts. Maddening. And I still didn’t want to get up this morning so that blows my melatonin grog notion. Frick.

Today’s been the lottery loser and it’s not 10 a.m. yet. I took my lithium and now I am riding out waves of nausea. Joy, joy, happy, happy. I am also on day six of digestive hell for no apparent reason other than meds or stress. Oh, and the ovary oompa loompas, which should be gone by now, keep giving squeezes that double me over. JOYOUS.

Geesh, this woman has so many gripes, if she were a horse, they’d put her out of her misery.

IKR???  I didn’t even toss in my allergy misery. Sunny side up and all. I feel like a horse that needs put out of its misery.

Last night I was watching a show where this old dude died and someone said, “His heart just gave out, he’d had enough of this place.” And like the bitch that I am, I thought, Oh if only my heart would give out cos I am sick of this shit.

Yeah, yeah, I have a kid counting on me, I can’t think that way. And yet…the scumbag brain does think that way. Maybe it’s a fleeting thought or feeling but it’s there. Because…DEPRESSION.

While I am glad that my anxiety is lesser since stopping Cymblotto…My lack of energy and descent into the depressive rabbit hole makes me miss it something fierce. Why oh why for the love of pegacorn can’t we just find a bloody combo that works and keeps working? I am so tired of this medi go round.

I see el shrinko tomorrow. I arranged for my momster to watch Spook so I can focus on standing up to this dude. Self advocating, as it were. IF he will listen. His ultra conservative approach almost makes me want to go digging to see if maybe he got aggressive with meds and got sued. Would explain why he’d rather I rot in depression as opposed to risk an anti dep putting me into full blown mania.

What I need to be able to do is go in and talk to him after a couple of glasses of a good vintage of liquid courage. I am tired of how the panic wrecks everything. I am the least submissive person ever yet when a panic attack flares up…I’d agree to be decapitated and let my skull be used as a bong if it meant escaping the terror of a panic attack.

Nope, they don’t kill you. They make you wish they did.

Oh, in the win column for me…I managed to bathe my kid last night AND myself. Two showers for me in a week? Holy cow, that’s frigging marvelous! And sad that I consider bathing a success.

Fuck a fancy bag. I wanna go back to sleep but it’s all sunny out and the birds are chirping loudly (“this is my branch, it is not your branch”)..So sleep isn’t happening. Though once she is home I am sure I will be seeking toothpicks to keep my eyes open cos…insomnia.

I am gonna ride out the inertia while dating this box of tissues.

I’m allergic to life.

Insert Socially Relevant Buzz Word Title Here

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on May 22, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

As the title suggests…I’ve got nothing. PMS-y anger and apathy that ebbs and flows but…Nothing real. No joy. No sadness. Just…nothing. Oh, anxiety and agitation are there but with all these devil kids running in and out of my house, who wouldn’t be pissy.

I really thought once it warmed up and the sun came out, the depression would lift. It’s not. I plan on telling the shrink about it when I see him this week. I already know what he will do. “We can raise the prozac two 40 mg a day, come see me in two months.” Big fucking help. Since I am hormonal I might actually put up a fight and insist on something less conservative. Or by the time the appt comes I will be in my turtle place where I shuffle along the path of least resistance just to get OUT of the anxiety inducing situation. My own complacent nature when hit with panic is my worst enemy. I need to advocate for myself.

And IF this shrink would have ever read anything I brought in with me…He’d know how I feel. But he doesn’t show any interest. At all. He’s a nice guy but…Impotent, as far as psychiatric care goes for someone in my medication resistant place. I’ve just cycled through every shrink there (though most of them left and I was forced to see a new doc, not my choice) so I have no other options left but this man.

I wish he was an asshole. It makes it easier to stand up for yourself when someone is being a jerk. When they’re just nice…well, you end up feeling like a jerk by speaking up for yourself. And that’s one more bullshit societal programming thing that pisses me off. Advocating for yourself should never result in feeling shitty. Because if you don’t speak up then you’re a welcome mat. There’s no win there.

So many of us just go with the flow of shitty psych care, watching our lives slip away with “time” passing and our depressions never lifting. It must be us, not the docs or meds, big pharma is magic and all.

Hormonal much? I know.

Truth is, I had ten days of PMS and cramps this month which is fucking extreme, then bring on the actual shark week event and oompa loopma ovary squeezes…It’s exhausting. My entire body feels bruised. I go out in the sun, it feels burned. So I stay inside and pop Tylenol and alternate sitting up and laying down because the cramps sear straight through to my spine.

I should be such a ray of fucking sunshine.

Pfft.

Friday I put in time at the shop to get gas money even though I was two hours “late” for his specs and I was in crampy pain…My kid had a half day of school so I had to take her to my mom’s. I had agreed the night before when Mrs R called that we’d come over Fri night for Spook to play with the grandkids…then it hit me how little I wanted to be around anyone. At all. I went. I survived.

Sat morning…The plan to go to citywide yard sales in my dad’s town, the whole point of getting gas money, did not happen. The car’s running like shit, I was in pain, my kid had her friends here by ten a.m. Just like…fuck it, not doing a thing. And I didn’t leave the lot. Most ambitious thing I did was fix pork chops for supper.

Today we’ve run out to the store but mostly she’s playing with the devil girls and I am binging The Shield while trying not to lock the door to keep them from running in and out.

I want to “find” all this energy necessary to getting caught up on housework. I need to mow again.

The desire is there. The will seems to abandon me as every time I get up intending to accomplish one tiny thing…I walk to the other room and forget what I went in for, then get frustrated because I can’t remember things ten seconds after thinking them and it’s the damned meds no matter what the docs say cos I NEVER had the memory problem prior to all their meds…

Breathe…Yeah, what is that, anyway…My allergies have denied me the pleasure three days running.

Yes, I am aware I am rambling and discombobulated.

It’s my blog and I will babble if I want to.

And now I am done. Because while drowning in hormonal anger and depressive lethargy and apathy…I can’t find a damned thing to feel hopeful about even though NOTHING traumatic is happening in my life at the moment.

Can you say DEPRESSION, Doctor-know-it-all?

What do I know. I am, after all, Crazy Old Niki, according to that wise old sage The Donor.

Odd how I’m not too crazy to know I have to take care of my kid, which is more than he knows.

I’m out. I have some Z whackers to design.

The Real Truth About People On Disability And Food Stamps

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on May 19, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

(I like the 6:57 point where it compares what the country spends on war vs how little goes toward assistance for the poor. Less than 10% taxes used on needy families vs over 700 billion on war.)

Even if you are not on disability or food stamps…This video offers an enlightened view of those of us who are.

Am I going to claim everyone on disability is actually deserving? Nope. I have watched my whole life when slackers claiming injuries collect disability, all the while doing everything they claim they can’t do at a job. I have watched people get disability pay and spend it all on partying.

Same for food stamps. *Some* people do work the system and it is wrong and maddening.

It is unfair and cruel to lump ALL recipients into this category. Do you know our personal situation? Do you know us personally?

The fact is, I NEVER wanted to be on disability or food stamps. All my life my father criticized people who were, calling it “nitwit pensions” and “free food day”. I was stigmatized out of the gate. To end up here, knowing what my own father thinks…It was a fall from grace.

But it was a fall with legitimate medical causes. I AM disabled. The one thing employers want is stability and I can’t even predict what my mind state will be two hours from now. I can’t offer that level of stability, never could. I  have seen multiple doctors who all agree. So while some might view a disability check as “the gravy train”…I can assure you, it’s not. You feel lousy about yourself. When you fail to recover time and again and become what is demanded of you…You lose faith in yourself. That “free money” comes with a cost of its own. Many of us have zero choice, though. Seriously, living on the street or collecting disability multiple sources say you are legitimately eligible for. What would YOU do? Especially with a child(ren).

I never used to be self conscious about using a Link card (food stamp). Then the donor came along and worked at a convenience store and he would come home day after day bitching about what people spent their benefits on. Looking down on anyone who received Link. Calling them derogatory needs.   Sure, some abuse the system.Some waste it on crap food. Not all of us do.

Now every time I buy food using my card, I look around, waiting for some idget to judge me for having a bag of chips in the cart. It’s not right. People should mind their own business, yet as that video shows…They don’t.

It pisses me off.

Point being…Don’t judge unless you know the circumstances. (And for fuck’s sake, if you are gonna be an asshole like the woman above, don’t do it in front of someone’s kids, you’re a monster!) Give us the benefit of the doubt.

And know that harsh as you may judge us…We judge ourselves much harsher. We are trying. That is all anyone can do.

For anyone this post offends…I’ll take a job any time. IF you can follow the Americans with Disability Act and provide me with mental health days, mental breakdown days, paranoid anxiety days, and an inability to leave the house and deal with crowds job. If not…

I may be on disability and food stamps but at the end of the day..I am a decent person.

If you’re too busy being judgmental and superior…You’re not a good person.