Insert Socially Relevant Buzz Word Title Here

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.

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8 Responses to “Insert Socially Relevant Buzz Word Title Here”

  1. I have just been labeled med-resistant although this doesn’t stop her from trying to help me and she was shocked at how the hospital APN nurse treated me and wouldn’t listed when I complained about the side effects of Effexor. Started new meds this week.

  2. Can you make mine pink with black glitter? I’m feeling a bit edgy as of late. Fucking mixed episode. Cry and throat punch babies. And exes. Because DB is SOOOO omnipotent and omniscient that he should see it coming that his love is only going to get better… Assfuckery. I had to go back to my old place of therapy because 1) I needed to varmit all over Jane and 2) I see the NP Tuesday and not next week because my other place they can’t fit me in and told me to go to the ER. Three day hold? PASS. You should take your Z Whacker to you appointment so you can get your point across *Ha! See what I did there?! Meh, not so funny now that I wrote it. Here’s to women’s suffrage without the win of kicking people in the balls for douchebaggery

    • GRRR, this pink glitter glue is as hard to remove as glitter nail polish, I think I now have pink sparkly fingerprints…Me and my big idea customizing Z Whackers….

      • You could have used the black glitter after you spray painted it pink… Hey, at least customizing Z Whackers will bring in extra income, sparkly fingerprints be damned

  3. I’m on prozac too and incredibly down

    • I wonder if those ten plus years I was misdiagnosed and shoveled these anti depressants altered my chemistry to the point they just plain don’t work anymore or quit working. I mentioned that to my shrink and got one of those “poor delusional psych patient” smiles but…I think it’s as valid a theory as any.

  4. Fuck, my whole tribe is down. I hate this. I love you all inasmuch as love might be encouraging, as much as Mrs. M will allow. I hope you all get set right very soon. I’m in the middle of some down-mixed thing as well, but praying for you. Maybe my mixed up thing will make you laugh, or distract from the shit. I hope, I hope, and we’ll endure. Hmmm z-whackers… I need a purple one with gold lettering that says “fuck you, mother fucker!” on it, so they can read and go away or I can whack them. And a couple of red-painted spork spikes on the business end.

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