Archive for June, 2016

Runaway Brain

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

So I took my meds. Adderall on board. Now I am jumpy and my brain seems a little jittery. Rather than a dozen racing thoughts, I am down to a couple. And I desperately want to go with them. Start organizing this place. Get my shit together.

Yet depressive inertia, and the general inability to plot plans of attack that comes with depression, hinder me. Leading to frustration followed by self loathing followed by I AM A LOST CAUSE, WHY CAN’T I JUST DIE ALREADY.

Of course, I mash these thoughts down with my metaphoric Z-whacker because I know depression is a fucking pathological liar.

I just don’t get it. Why the Adderall makes me feel this way whereas the Focalin did not. It’s not fair to be forced to take a med that is less effective due to some prescription insurance rigamorole. They are hindering my progress with their stupid rules.

Spook has three friends over, they are outside and very loud. Last night, there was a confrontation in which K’s mom came down here and went off about how the girls won’t let her son ride his bike by our house without yelling at him and starting shit. I happened to agree with her.God knows how many times I have told the kids to stay in the yard, and just ignore the boys, even if they are yelling at them. Of course, I’ve said the same to her son who just eggs the girls on. “Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit” is a good motto. I apologized on behalf of my kid and the mom said Spook’s not as bad as the devil girls and she’s going to have a talk with their parents because “I’m a grown ass woman, I don’t have time for this shit.”

I found her gruff attitude off putting. Like her kid is the crown prince. I watched him throw rocks at my car, at the girls, then when I called him on it, he said, no he didn’t do. Blatant lie as I saw it with my own eyes. FFS. The devil girls fuck up everything. And I really don’t appreciate all these neighbors who think they are so “grown ass” and “have no time” to deal with normal kid bickering. This is my daily life. I guess they think I have the time, am not a grown ass woman, and Lurrrve dealing with this shit every day.

I had zero clue the most stressful part of parenting would be handling my kid’s social life.

So round and round it all goes in my brain, in spite of a xanax chaser. It may just be a couple of stampeding horses/thoughts, but it sucks just the same. I will tell the doc tomorrow but courtesy of asshole insurance, I doubt it will do any good.

I found a guy to haul off the red death trap tomorrow. He’s giving $75 for it and my dad wants me to hand it all over to him because they are in such dire straights. Whatevs, fair enough. Fucking tires are worth more than that. And I asked R if he’d make ten minutes tonight to yank the Pioneer stereo out and he said, “I can try.” Which usually means he’s too busy or doesn’t care so don’t hold my fucking breath.

I can’t get interested in any shows. I finished off Wayward Pines (to date) and it’s fucking creepy. I am gonna see if the library will order the books. I guess after a binge watch, I get restless and have trouble finding something to get interested in. Also…If you watch 2,3,4,5 seasons of a show…the characters start to feel so familiar and when it’s all over…you miss them. It’s not losing grasp on reality, it’s just…parting is but sweet sorrow or some shit.

I am gonna take Spook to mom’s in a couple of hours. Which will make all the extraneous kids go away. I have so many things I’d like to accomplish. I want to organize things, haul things to the shed. But of course, that is hindered as I am down to my last trash bag and have no boxes or storage thingies. I’ll probably do dishes then stare at the unfolded laundry, feel shitty, and still do nothing about it. I swear it isn’t laziness, it isn’t lack of desire.

In the immortal words of the band Helloween…”I want out.”

Get me off this runaway brain ride from hell.

Depressive Inertia SUCKS

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

I am forcing myself to write this because…Well, I am in that depressive place where I find myself boring and useless and it seems futile to blog…I have to fight the urge to curl up into a ball. It pisses me off this is even an issue, 60mg Prozac should have me damn near manic. I see el shrinko Friday and I dread telling him another med failed to bring me out of my slump. As if it’s my personal failure. Cos I did have a cockweasel shrink once who kept me on Zoloft for months even when I went suicidal and he said “you just don’t want it to work.”

He’s the reason I quit shrinks and meds for almost a year.

Nothing monumental going on. Hotter than Hades last week, this week we’re getting a beautiful respite. I can sit comfortably without the humidity making my skin so moist they stick to the touch pad on this computer. Woo hoo, small victories.

I started this generic Adderall shit Friday. It aspires to be Focalin. As in, fairly useless. First it makes me sleepy, then when I come out of it, sure, my brain has slowed down but I still can’t organize a plan of attack to get functional. Focalin helped so much and frankly, it wasn’t much more in cost than this shit is. Ass trash insurance company.

Saturday I was nauseous for ten hours. I couldn’t say if it was the 94 degree heat or the lithium but I felt like serious shit. (Which was odd, cos I actually felt decent earlier and even invited my mom to hit some yard sales with me. The nausea just came out of nowhere.)  Sooo…I did not go to  R’s party. I sent him a b-day text, explained the situation (you know, the usual lie, must have been something I ate, cos people can’t bear to hear about your psych meds making you sick…) I hear I missed a hell of a bash. I was honestly relieved. Sitting in 94 degree heat with 40 0ther people really isn’t my thing.

Sunday was…well, frankly, I was hella productive. I don’t know where it came from but I was washing dishes and laundry and picking things up, even vacuumed a bit. Mopped the floor, cleaned cat boxes. I wish I could feel that level, that motivated, ALL the time. I’m not talking about feeling high. I am talking about feeling alive. Doing those small basic things everyone else does but minus the depressive inertia and haze.

My spawn returned from dad and stepmonster’s Saturday. She was home an hour before she was screaming at me and hitting. Because I said no ice cream. Sunday she was even worse, slapped me, then hit my arm, all the while screaming like a banshee. I don’t even remember why. I am sure I did the ultimate evil and said no to her wanting to feed the cats to a tree chipper or something. I grounded her from her friends all day Monday.

We had zero problems that day. Which proves socialization never produces good things.

Obviously, I am jaded and cynical and have always been a loaner so even if I weren’t panicked and depressive, I’d still find socialization a chore. It occurred to me (and I say this with zero pride) that the ONLY time I enjoy being around other people in a social setting is…after a couple of drinks. Then I become interesting and funny and people like me. Sad fucking statement on people. Of course, all my prior love interests/etc loved me when I was manic and sped toward the hills when the flip side hit. Not a shocker.

“Be yourself and people will like you.”  Yeah, Mom, thanks for feeding me that bullshit lie. But it’s okay cos I have always been myself and quite frankly…I find the people who take me as I am are the ones I want to know. Everyone else can fuck off.

Today I got a 7 am wake up call (was awake til almost 3). R needed a ride to the shop as his scooter wouldn’t run. I had offered the night before (cos he’s helped me enough when my shit breaks down) so out the door we went. Spook was cold, she was still tired, she was literally channeling satan and screaming. Awesome. We took him to work, came home. She went back to sleep. I wanted to but had to take half a xanax to do it.

Not even 11 a.m. and the devil girls came knocking. Whatever. I took my meds. Battled my lithium nausea. Then R texted again to remind me I didn’t give him his change back last night and it was his lunch money. Blah, another trip into the dish. Crazy glutton for punishment I am…I actually let the devil girls come along. OMG, I don’t know how there aren’t more car wrecks cause by incessant child chatter and shrieking laughter. Made me a nervous wreck.

I stopped by the library cos they ordered Hemlock Grove for me. I thought the kids could just sit and look at books downstairs while I went up to circulation. Instead they start running around playing hide and seek and screeching (in all fairness, that life size statue of Ronald McDonald would make me scream too, clowns are eeeeeevil.) All these other children were there for reading hour and various other activities, younger than these 3, and they were calm and quiet. I got stuck with banshees. Never again.

Since then…Just watching Wayward Pines. I tried to get into it last year but it wasn’t happening. Now I am sucked in but I find it far creepier than any horror movie. Unsettling. Train wreck I can’t look away from.

We were under a 2 day boil order due to some malfunction with the public water tank. I didn’t find this out until after I’d had 4 glasses of water yesterday (definitely explains why I got sick later in the day). It’s lifted now but damn, even McDonald’s was closed down. Makes you realize how important water is.

I am pondering making a meat loaf. I am looking forward to her going to church tonight, I treasure that hour. Tomorrow night she is staying with my mother, that way I don’t have to get a sitter Friday while I see el shrinko. I’ll pick her up after my appt.

I want my zest for life back. I am trying so damned hard and my brain just won’t cooperate. It just can’t seem to stomach life anymore. The inertia…Some days, self berating and repeating, “get off your ass and just do it” works. Most days…it does not. Just suspended animation here. I go through the motions, enjoy very little. I’ve wondered if maybe the donor was right and I’m just incapable of being happy.

I don’t buy that.

In other news…R got an interview today at the  (superstorenamegoeshere) which is where donor douche works. Don’t know if he got hired but he said they want him to work weekends and as that’s the only time Mrs R is home…I’m not thinking it’s gonna go well.

Okay. I’m glad I got it all out of my brain before it started leaking out of my ears. Anyone who survived reading this to the end…I will spare you a Z-whacking even if you go full zombie.

Here’s a video I found and normally Collegehumor is hilarious, but this…is very realistic. Except in my case it isn’t just social anxiety, it’s constant anxiety.

Flukes of Hazard

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 24, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I know I mock the town where I live mercilessly. I suppose it’s not exactly a stinktank of morons. Just a large percentage. It IS however a boring unremarkable place. The other day’s headline on the newspaper was about some farmer being proud of his $50,000 boar.  Yesterday I drove by a building that said, “Boss Hoggs’ Cafe” coming soon.” EYE ROLL. Yeah, we’re small town hicks, let’s just fucking ensure everyone knows it for sure. (If you don’t know who Boss Hogg is, well, obviously you never had a little sister who packed her Bo Duke lunch box everywhere for two years.)


I have been rantless for days now. Because…my father basically ninja kidnapped my spawn. Fine, I was sick of the neighbor brats, take away the brat magnet, I get peace. I told dad two days. They decided they’re keeping her until tomorrow. Did not ask. INFORMED me. Because they have plans that include her and my brother wants to take her to her church youth group and…HELLO BITCHES. My kid. MINE.

Much as I needed the peace, by day four I was starting to feel like an extraneous third nipple ala Chandler on Friends. I mean, my kid wasn’t calling to talk to me. When I did talk to her it was for two minutes then she was busy and on her way. It’s like, I’m not necessary at all. Anyone can take care of her, she doesn’t fucking care. And that HURTS. I mean, I gotta do one or two things right. Oh, but dad has more money to go places and buy stuff so…Yesterday I just kinda went splat on the mood front. I guess I’ve become one of those neurotics who have no identity without their kid. (Actually, I’ve done fine keeping myself busy this week with things I enjoy that don’t make me wanna throat punch anyone under the age of thirty.) It’s just…you try so damned hard for your kid(s) and they have this innate ability to make you feel…useless.

I pepped back up when she called last night, via dad. She’s getting home sick and wanted to talk to her mommy. Awww. Hearing her voice on the phone is so sweet, she just sounds so cute. That made me feel better. Not forgotten. She wants to come back, though she tried to tell me she may have plans and not be back Sat. I said EXCUSE ME, I’m the mom and I want you home on Saturday. Period. We’re supposed to go this big cookout shindig Mrs R is throwing for R;s birthday (making the birthday cook all the grilled food, of course) but I am starting to develop a sickness. Yeah, you know the one. OMG THERE ARE GONNA BE FORTY PEOPLE THERE AND I AM NOT IN EMOTIONAL STABLE TERRITORY.

Now why is that since curse week’s over?  Because I spent Monday and Tuesday sans kid- with a 53 year old man filling the spot. Wifey was gone at work and he needed someone to whine to about how dire his financial situation is. In fact he brought me smokes and Mangoritas, then told me I need to pay him the ten bucks back. You come uninvited, bring me stuff I didn’t ask for, and I OWE you???Meanwhile his wife is blowing about four hundred bucks on all the booze and food for his party cookout.

Is it just me being petty and bipolar or does that not seem like the stupidest bullshit ever? Oh I get it’s “her money” and she can waste it on whatever she wants. But if he’s demanding ten bucks repayment from me over shit I didn’t ask for and didn’t invite him over…WTF? Pettty. Shallow. Whatever. I cooked him a birthday meal (tradition cos I am always broke) and I am gonna drop it and the ten dollars off at the shop then develop a mysterious condition to avoid the shindig. I actually had a nightmare Spook got lice again and instead of freaking out, I was all like, YESSS, legit reason to skip out!

I am not anti social. I am anti panic attack. I am anti oppression. And being around *certain* factions of R’s family makes me feel oppressed. Yes, I am talking about Ursula. And why is it I can call a medication “Latarda” and people get bent about it being some slam on the mentally retarded, yet I can post time after time about Ursula’s utter lack of professionalism and tact as a therapist and no one ever gets bent? I cannot possibly be the only one traumatized by this woman (demon) . Oppressed. Last week was enough, can’t do it again this week.

But Morgue, it’s not about you, it’s R’s birthday.

Yep. With 39 other people there I won’t even be missed. Except maybe by Mrs. R and the grandkids.

Truth be told…I am feeling more solid. I’ve come to the conclusion that I am who I am. I get pissed off about people who are insensitive or users but that’s them, not me. So maybe I put myself out there a lot trying to be a good friend to R and he usually makes me feel like shit at the end. That’s in him. I would go out and help any friend I cared about. Because it’s who I am.

I refuse to totally relinquish my anger and do this mindful acceptance bullshit. Anger is fuel for my soul. You stop getting pissed off, you become sheeple. People are assholes. I’m just a flawed person who tries very hard and often gets used like a welcome mat. It should make me mad. It just shouldn’t be allowed to define me.

I’ve been sweating bullets all week in every way. In fact, yesterday was the first day all week it wasn’t so hot out I had to sit in front of the fan. I was able to get up and do a few things. Like haul that hideous rocking chair dad gave us out to the shed. Hate that fucking thing. I stripped curtains in the living room and washed them. Did dishes. Vacuumed. Then I ran out of smokes and a 9 p.m. bedtime sounded like a good idea. I was tired, anyway, because I’m still doing battle with the doc and insurance over that ADD med. They finally approved one, which meant another six mile trip to the doctor’s office to get another paper script. They chastised me cos it was written on the 16th.  I told them no one called me. Well, they’re so understaffed, they are no longer required to make any calls to patients. We have to get crystal balls but the insurance won’t cover them..


I am jamming “Master of Puppets” right now. I’ve been awake since 6:30. No smokes. THIS SUCKS. But I will have them by days end if the fucking postal system doesn’t throw me a curve ball.  Lemmy (one of our kittens, named after, yes, Lemmy Kilmeister) is trying to eat my computer cord. Fucker chewed a speaker cord last week and ruined the speaker. Brat.

Another possibly good note- if R can get that death trap running…My nephew actually wants it for when he turns 18 and gets his license. It’s just been so hot (94F plus daily) I can’t castigate R for not working on it. Nice to know if we can get it running C will take it. Shiny paint is his thing.

I’ve been driving the Buick six weeks now and not a single problem. THAT is my thing.

Back to binge watching Lost Girl. I really didn’t think I’d give a damn about fae/fairy stuff but it’s a pretty good show. I’m maxing myself out on sci fi , last week I finished all seasons of Haven. I guess fiction is just more interesting than real life.

That and in fiction, I NEVER have to hear the words “Trump” or “Hillary”.

I am hoping the zombie apocalypse hits or we get nuked before either of them are allowed to make the problem worse.

Yes, I got anti political. I want the flying spaghetti monster for president.


Bitch And Moan Zone

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 19, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

***This post contains a lot of venting, ie; what others perceive as whining, so avoid if this is your view.***

After a nice 3 day respite with the heat and humidity…The curse of Mother Nature is back. I have hair sticking to my skin because it’s so humid, my skin is damp. Yes, I know, EWWW. Truth is often unsavory. Not to mention uncomfortable. Oh, well. I had 3 days I didn’t feel like I was suffering. Little things, gotta appreciate them. Because some sunshine spewing asshole insists the good outweighs the bad and attitude is everything. (Fuck you and the pegacorn you stole and rode in on!)

Father’s Day. Yeah, I gave my dad a 3 minute phone call this morning to do my daughterly social duty. Of course, even at 10 a.m. I was dealing with my kid and her friend drama (she wanted me to send the boys home cos they were throwing rocks, yet the boys are black and I worry about starting a trailer park war, judge me as evil, IDGAF)…Plus, I don’t have much trouble with K, but when his brother C comes for weekend visitation, all he wants to do is impress his older brother thus being mean to the girls….GRRR. Managing my kid’s social life is more stressful as having one of my own. Which, duh, is why I can’t handle people and their drama. My dad got sick of hearing me trying to get the kids in line after three minutes and practically leapt off the phone line. WTF? You say I never talk to you but here I am TRYING and you can’t handle even second hand what my life is like 24-7???And you call me lazy and weak??? Pfft.

In my epic stupidity, after weeks of the neighbor brats asking to have supper here, I said, Hey, why not Sunday, I’ll cook spaghetti…But of course, it’s Sperm Donor Day and everyone has plans but no one bothered to tell me until the last minute…Maybe it’s my fault for not thinking ahead. Simply because I don’t give a rat’s rectum about holidays doesn’t mean everyone is the same…Whatevs. I’m cooking spaghetti and the mooches can have leftovers tomorrow for lunch.

My moods have been shit. Everyone thinks functional is so damned great. Woo hoo, I wore a bra one day! Yeah, it’s not really a victory doing something that society pretty much demands. I do it and go out of the bubble of my home and “why are you on disability, obviously you are fine.”

Fucked Up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional. FINE.

The worst was yesterday. After multiple dish outings Friday, I was psychologically bankrupt and overdrawn the day after. I didn’t yard sale . (Even if I’d had the money, the desire was…MIA.) It took 5 hours to get clean clothes on and go to Aldi for much needed groceries. Then I came home and while I had 7 kids rampaging my yard…Panxiety kicked in. Every tiny sound made me paranoid and anxious. I wanted nothing but to go to bed. Every minute felt like an hour and I started counting down til bedtime. It was awful, being in such a dark, hopeless mental space.

And it happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I engage in dish activity with other people. Call me weak. I just don’t think I have the psychological resources to deal with everyone’s judgment and bias and how fast paced their lives are while they silently think I am weak. (Nope, not my own insecurity, just unspoken opinion, which I get told about second or third hand. Sometimes even suggested in my presence.)

Like Friday night when we went to R’s. Eldest daughter Ursula was there. Griping that she needed a Vicodin for an old shoulder injury when she worked with troubled kids. I swear, every time she’s there, she needs a Vicodin and talks about it. I’d say, “I’m hurting, that’s all.” I wouldn’t harp on needing Xanax or any painkiller. I don’t want sympathy. I especially don’t want to come off as someone who HAS to have it in a psychological capacity.

Now, Morgue, where do you get off being so judgmental of this poor woman?

Her own hypocrisy and lack of self awareness is how.

She made a statement the other night about Kenny “I don’t know why it takes so long for some people to grow up.”

Oddly, Kenny is happier than all of us combined even with the stress of life. Because he doesn’t sweat every tiny thing or hold himself to everyone else’s standard. (Then again, he never aspires to anything more than living in R’s shop loft with no shower so I guess there’s a downside to everything, you just gotta choose what bugs you. No shower would bug me.)

THEN little Ms. “I have a Master’s in Psychology and LOVE my job” went on to complain that she was on call that night (ya know, for the depressives or other mentally ill in crisis) and griped about how she hated the client. YES. Whether you name them or not, that is just immature and fucking unprofessional with 7 witnesses.

I’m not done yet.

At one point, Ursula called the client, because her job requires her to do so…Using her first name in front of us all after saying, “I really don’t wanna call this bitch.” Then she sounds sugary sweet talking on the phone with the woman, assuring her she cares and wants to check in and if needed, she can always be reached on the crisis line.


She has zero clue about her own mommy/anger/borderline issues. In fact, she thinks there is nothing wrong with her, it’s everyone else. (Yeah, she even analyzes  R and Mrs. R.)

I saw fucking fifty shades of red and it was all I could do not to load my kid in the car and walk out. I can’t stand that woman.

And it pains me because I went so far out of my way to reach her, and yes, bond with her, when R and I were together and she was a troubled 11 year old. To see what she’s become…pains me.

Everyone views the degree, the good job, the marriage, the “own kid/adopted kid”. Nice house, nice cars. Blah fucking blah. She has a dozen friends who adore her.

But I find her…abhorrent. “Good person” to me, has NOTHING to do with a degree or job or income or education or what others think of you.

I think good means not judging others so harshly. I may judge, but generally only in response to it being done with me. I TRY to be fair, to be kind. Hell, we had a wasp inside yesterday and the kids went ballistic  screaming. Rather than murder it I used something to guide it out the door.

I am, at my core, decent.

Yet all anyone ever sees is an overweight woman with a kid, whose husband hates her so much he abandoned the child, a woman who lives on disability, food stamps,. and child support. A woman beneath all else.

What proof do I have that it’s not just me being insecure?

The numerous times Ursula, and her middle sister, have so rudely in my presence said shit like, “Well, that girl lives in a trailer park, you know how they are.”  OR “They’re just lazy so they get on disability for mental stuff and there’s nothing wrong with them.”

I make none of this up, dramatize none of it. It’s just what I deal with. And after Ursula left, with just R, Mrs R, and Mark there…I relaxed and it wasn’t so awful. But the entire time Ursula is there…I just feel stabby. Not in a mentally unhinged way but in a “on principle” way. Because she’s just fucking cruel and oblivious to all that’s wrong with her and frankly, I don’t think she should be allowed to be a licensed therapist.

In July, she takes the test to become a legit psychologist. Meaning her clients are gonna rely on her for disability claims and I am betting not one goes through. NOT ONE. Because that is who she is. R views her as mature, accomplished, his pride and joy.

Forget devils and demons. I view her as EVIL.

Maybe that’s my damage.

BUT…Just imagine your therapist.(Yeah, some of you have great ones, wear our shoes). Imagine you’re struggling and reach out in crisis…And your counselor is at someone else’s house, talking about how they don’t wanna call “that bitch/that asshole”. When they finally call you and pretend to be all nice and insincere, while calling your problems “nothing” and “stupid”.

Instead of being mad…It should make us all offended.

That woman is not fit to be a therapist. But her “productivity” is so high they just gave her a raise.

I think that’s stuck in my craw. Bad people get everything.

I’m gonna stay true to who I am. It’s just who I am.

But sometimes…it’s gotta make you wonder why we try so hard to be good people when the winning side is obviously being an asshole.

Feeling Violated

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 17, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So one of the kids that plays with Spook was inside just now and her dad came looking for her. I did not invite him in. He sidestepped me and came on in to pick his kid up and carry her out.

Is it just my weird “protect safe bubble at all costs” thing or does this seem rude and invasive to others?

I am not a snob. I am, however, not proud of my ramshackle home and biohazard housekeeping skills so I try not to let people see the place at its worst and…After a week of 94 plus temps and 70 percent humidity in this place, I’ve done very little. I can’t breathe because of the effects of high humidity on my sinus problems, I just end up gasping and gagging and coughing so I try to wait for it to ease up, Unfortunately, today is the first in four days where the weather isn’t being sadistic.

So because this guy just waltzed into my home I am now feeling violated, disrespected, and also…freaking out that my lack of housekeeping skills will result in A.) him banning his kid from playing with my kid, and B.) depending on his standards of housekeeping, he’s gonna tell everyone and their dog my home is a sty and bring about some sort of inspection or whatever. Yeah, paranoid to the nth, but…I’ve seen it happen.

I was just trying to be merciful. Let the kids play inside a half hour because it’s so hot out in the sun with no shade in our yard. Now…I know, I can’t keep doing this, putting myself in this position, no matter how nice I want to be or how much these kids whine. I normally rely on basic human courtesy and etiquette- I personally would never just side step someone and come into their home uninvited even if my kid is inside and I am in a hurry. So when someone throws that polite decorum to the wolves…

Even with all my mental bullshit, I am astonished and it just feels…Like a violation.

Neurotic or justified?

In other news, Mrs. R abruptly called last night and informed us she was taking us out for Mexican food. Her treat. M’kay. We sat outside and they had a guy playing guitar and it was not awful. My kid refused to eat anything of course except dry nachos. This is fine as cos I had plain old nachos with meat and cheese, my palette is not refined at all. It’s narrow minded as hell. I TRY to adapt to whatever situation I am thrown into. My kid…Nope, she’d rather starve. Whatever.

Mrs. R has informed me that the shop is doing so badly financially that she’s been looking for a second job for R. I was stunned. I mean, she makes triple figures a year and he needs money for the house taxes, where she also lives when she’s home, and instead of chip in half to help..She decides he needs a second job. Yet she bitches that he doesn’t spend enough time with her cos he’s always working. My mind is…OUCH, it hurts trying to understand people.

I hated the donor. I had half the income he did. Yet I put every cent I had into our home and family. I guess I’m just viewing her as selfish and maybe it’s unfair. IDK.

But word has it that she has basically ordered him to use his friend Steph as a way to get on at…The  same place The Donor works. Hysterical, eh? Yeah, it’s a huge store but I do believe the first time R had to come face to face with the donor, punches just might fly. Not to mention, retail-ish work made R absolutely miserable.

I had a nightmare last night that he closed the shop down. Totally. Now it’s his business and I’ve benefited little as of late due to little business but…People need their electronics repaired and he’s the only decent game in 50 miles. For him to go out of business, after it being in business here in town for fifty plus years under the former owner…Wow. That’s just…suckage.

Especially in light of how plasma and LCD tv’s fail after three or four years. Repair is needed and thinking it might go away…Just depressing.  Especially just so he can go work retail to please his wife while probably making himself drink even more. Why oh why can’t she just chip in half on their home property taxes? Because it makes zero sense to bitch that all he does is work then tell him to get a second job. How does that…

Yeah, I give up trying to understand this shit. None of my business yet…Doubtful I’d be the only person sad to see a much needed business go out.

We’re supposed to go over there tonight so Spook can play with the grandkids. After a few Margaritas last night, it seemed like an okay idea. Today…I feel less than social. Zero desire. I won’t disappoint my kid, of course, because she’s been pretty good since the Great Splinter War of ’16 ended (she let her friend A finally yank it). I just don’t want to go.

Now my brain is back to the violation of safe bubble. Looking for every infraction he might hold against me as being unfit for his snowflake to be around. I know, I know, if I’d just get off my ass and get it cleaned up…The depression and scattered thoughts make it so very hard. I take a step forward, forget where I was, try again, forget where I was…

The insurance finally got back to me on the ADD med. Apparently the one the doc substituted for Focalin was still too expensive for them to cover so they found a lesser version. Except I have to drive the 8 miles and back to the dr office to get a new paper script which costs gas money and time in the dish. LOVELY, motherfuckers. Sooooo sick of this shit.

My kid is guilt tripping me that her friends had to go home cos they were dying of heat stroke. It’s been 94=[95 four days and they played outside fine. Today is barely 83 and they’re dying. Drama llama herd.

I need to go get groceries. I need to eat, I feel lithium nausea coming on. Yet I have zero energy. The random ovary squeezes by Oompa Loompas and back pain are annoying me. My day started out with “Yayness, it’s not so hot today and I can breathe, it’s only the mega hot days I’m too wimpy for!”

The safe space violation…And I am back to paranoid wounded “everything is shit” mind space.

Spew some sunshine, Morgue, it will make it all better if you have a better attitude.

Fuck a fancy bag.

And fuck sunshine spewers.

Truth Hurts Challenge

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 16, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

If you follow this blog at all, you know I am not a sunshine spewer. I like to tell it true. Now, the normal challenges are fun and all- favorite this, have you ever,quote a day…

But if you really wanna get to know a person, or know who around you truly accepts you for who you are…Then you gotta start showing the ugly underbelly.

So..My challenge, to myself, as well as to anyone else who cares to go there..Post some ugly truths about yourself on your blog. Things you know are socially unacceptable, unpopular, gross, neurotic, ugly. Have the guts to put it out there…and the faith that those who truly are your friends…will not think less of you.

It’s a painful thing, seeing yourself for who you really are. Many people simply can’t do it. As the donor used to yell at me, frequently, “Why can’t you just let me have my denial?”

Denial’s your right. It’s just not honest and I don’t respect it. In you or me.

So..let’s see how many real friends I have.


I am a TERRIBLE housekeeper. I mean, biohazard 1 is the norm here. I feel bad on occasion because I know I am expected to but the truth is…Some people are such neat freaks a speck of dust would send them into meltdown. Some people can live with trash piled up. To each their own. I keep dishes done, trash out, and laundry washed (rarely folded promptly.) My kid’s never spent a day in the hospital so if dirt makes you sick…We both have mutant immune systems. If neat and orderly are your thing…Yay. Just don’t judge me for not being you.

My favorite font is…comic sans. For some reason this makes me a Philistine but I don’t care. It’s the one font that is unique yet readable. And yeah, I once started a war on Reddit by claiming comic sans as my favorite font and people went batshit so..This is a thing.No idea why.

Same as…I don’t and never have, understood, why my clothing choices are anyone’s business other than my own. I like leggings and tank tops or baggy t-shirts. It’s been my style since I was 12 and I like it. I despise jeans (with my odd proportions, they never ever fit right). In my depressions I rarely wear a bra or underwear. Judge me for all I care. Personally, I view bras as devices of torture and underwear are really just one more uncomfortable layer of sweat causing fabric.

I yell at my kid. I swore I never would. But after three or four times of saying the same thing and being ignored…I bring out the “satan voice”. Maybe it makes her hate me. But she gets four chances which is four more than my parents ever gave me before they started screaming.

I mix my meds with alcohol. Oh, baaad girl. I know. I did the stone cold sober thing for years, watching everyone around me have a blast while I trusted my wonderful meds would eventually kick in and make me feel the same way without alcohol. It  never happened. So occasionally when the stress builds up…I will have a few drinks and I don’t waste time apologizing. You can make the argument that “no wonder the meds don’t work” and I’d agree with that…if I hadn’t gone it their way and still gotten nowhere.

I fall asleep every single night to a playlist of crime shows. Not once have I had a nightmare about being murdered. (Though the Titanic episode of Unsolved Mysteries did trigger a nightmare from hell.) I have no desire to murder. Just Z-Whack on occasion. I am not dangerous. I am not a sadist. I view crime shows from a psychological standpoint. Since a teen, I have wondered why some people become killers and some do not. It’s always the “troubled childhood” explanation and yet…what I went through with being bullied in school…I should have turned out to be a mass shooter or some shit. Yet I didn’t. And I listen to heavy metal! Ya know, heavy metal makes everyone a satan murderer and yet…I didn’t get that right. WTF.

The one thing I feel guilty about…I pretty much raised my sister while our parents worked. But I busted my ass to move out of that armpit town when I was 17. A few months after I moved out, my mom turned up at my door with my 12 year old sister who kept trying to kill herself and mom and the doctors were at their wits’ end…They all thought I could help her. I had made plans that night and rather than have my priorities straight…I chose my plans over my little sister. It was nearly 25 years ago and still, I feel guilty. My “plans” that amounted to a guy who wouldn’t publicly admit to even knowing me so…Yeah, I deserve that guilt. At the same time…I still think it was wrong for my mom to put that much pressure on me. That was her child, not mine, and I was only 18…I spent five years caring for my sister, I wanted my own life…The guilt just doesn’t stop.

Hard as I try…I can be judgmental. Because people have always judged me so harshly and continue to do. Sometimes, I recognize my own hypocrisy. Sometimes, I feel justified. Like the day one of the devil girls came over and said, “You need to keep an eye on me, Dad forgot I was allergic to fish and fed us tuna so I might need to go to the hospital.” HUH? I’d be keeping my kid home with me until I knew for sure, ffs. But then, I wouldn’t forget my kid’s allergy. And the other day the other devil girl came over, eating raw ramen noodles and I offered to cook them…”No, dad won’t cook them and I like them this way.” HUH? These are the parents who wouldn’t let their kids play with mine for nearly two years over a lice outbreak. They JUDGED me and this is how they do their kids???? Whereas when I say “death to all JUstin Bieber fans” I know I just don’t like his music or his air balloon sized ego and think anyone who does is deaf. That’s my hypocrisy.

I have trouble relating to outgoing or ‘popular’ people. I was always the ostracized so all I understand is the underdog. If you were a cheerleader and class president and blah blah blech…I probably don’t comprehend you. It’s my failing. I own it. That being said…In the event of the zombie apocalypse…If I am forced to choose between a former cheerleader or a nerd wearing headgear…I hope the pompoms prove tasty for the zombie.

Politics and religion make me white hot angry. I am all for believing in what comforts you. Life offers little comfort, get it where you can. BUT when a religion claims this all loving forgiving God UNLESS YOU ARE GAY, SMOKE, DRINK, SWEAR, WEAR WHITE AFTER LABOR DAY- that’s just bullshit. And politics…Trump is gonna doom us. Clinton will doom us. Because the bottom line is, they are all liars. They say what they have to in order to get in. Then do whatever they want. Obama got in with “healthcare for all” only for people to learn after the fact, healthcare for all means IF YOU CAN AFFORD IT OTHERWISE WE ARE GOING TO CHARGE YOU FOR BEING BROKE. Truth fucking hurts, sheeple.

Okay. I think that’s enough bridge burning for now. I stand by every word and if I see my followers drop I will know honesty has a price. That’s fine. If I don’t have the courage of my convictions I don’t deserve free speech.

For those who accept me in all my hideousness and stick around…I love you guys for having the balls to do that.

You’d be surprised how many people find it easier to run away than agree to disagree.

You Might Think…

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on June 14, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Morgue hasn’t blogged in days, things must be going GREAT!

Normally an absence of more than 2 days means I am doing okay or I am down the rabbit hole.

Then there are also times like this, where I’m stuck down that hole, clinging to crumbling soil walls while it keeps crumbling.

Sounds so dramatic. Really just more mundane monotony.

Week 4 of my kid home 24-7. She’s been okay but then she got a splinter and we’ve gone to war. She won’t let me near her to remove it, thrashes, lashes, and screams. I’ve tried every approach (Including my dad’s ever popular “bust her ass”, meaning I swatted her butt, to no avail so what’s the point???). Last night I actually got her sat down, went to look at the splinter and before I could even touch her, she swung at me and drove the safety pin into my hand.

So she’s grounded. No allowance. No water park trip with the devil girls. And still, she won’t let me just yank the splinter. Yes, it seems ridiculous. I am a very large woman with anger issues, I should be able to take a sixty pound girl, right? I sat next to her yesterday and she started thrashing and screaming out the open window as if she were being tortured. It’s my word against hers so of course, I backed down. Her friend came by and I even  tried to get Spook to listen to A. No go. My child is psychotic, I swear. I can’t control her.

No that I ever could. Last time she had a splinter it was the same way. Had to wait for a family get together and my brother and I had to hold her down while stepmonster used the tweezers to pull the splinter, all the while Spook thrashed and screamed and my mom went bonkers that we were killing the kid and that fed Spook’s drama llama…

I’m fucking sick of this kid’s bullshit. I am sick of everyone having the fucking answer, as if I just sit on the sidelines doing my nails. Fuck you all, every single one of you. Until you are in my shoes, dealing with a kid who loves you as much as she hates you, a kid who for all purposes has no empathy and is a sociopath…

Oh, right, the child psych said not to use terms like that. I am the problem.

I’m not the one causing this drama over a fucking splinter in my hand.

Oh, fuck, I’ve gone crazy from the heat and become one of *those* mommy bloggers where everything, good or bad, is about my kid.

Nope. She would like that.

I woke up furious Saturday morning, it ruined even yard sales. That’s when it reminded me…ahh, shark week is coming. I’m rarely that pissed off for no reason, no matter who I am dealing with.

It’s been ninety plus degrees every day for a week now. In a tin trailer with no air…High humidity…Yeah, I am miserable. I don’t get invited to the water park. I did, however, stand out in the rain (first rain in 3 weeks) Sunday. It was wonderful. Now we are facing another week of nineties and it just drains me and makes me crankier.

Oopps. I was in a hurry to take my meds before I forgot, I can feel lithium nausea coming on. Yay.

Insurance company called last night. They are STILL, two weeks after the fact, refusing to cover the Metadate the doc prescribed. Told me I’ll need to sign a release for more info they need from the doctor. I told them I would try to pay cash, leave this fucking bullshit out of the equation. Ha…I didn’t realize even generics were that fucking pricy.

I guess the bottom line is…I am frustrated. The depression is not better. My kid makes me never want to be awake. Or is that the depression?

Prozac’s conking out on me. Again.

Am I making the least bit of sense? I don’t care. I needed to vent but I had to force it so it doesn’t matter if I sound stupid. Just gotta get this crap out of my head before it implodes.

Life seems pretty fucking pointless right now. I am worse off for money than I have ever been. Thanks a lot, “child support will solve all your problems” jackasses. Nope. Now it all goes on food yet my income is considered raised so I am expected to pay for everything else instead of my sliding scale I had. No, I don’t expect everything for free. I do, however, expect to maintain the status quo I’d had and now…I am worse off. I mean, way worse off.

I feel like a whiner. Yet I am so pissed off and frustrated and on the edge, I don’t care what anyone thinks of me.

I hate me right now. I am so full of hormonal anger. It wasn’t there a week ago.

My kid just keeps mouthing me then playing victim,not a big fan of hers right now.

Two of my cats have vanished.

Oh, in my epic stupidity…The cat we call Feet, that I was told was male when it came to live here so I didn’t question it…Turns out it’s a female who just dropped six kittens on my step. One didn’t make it.

Just when is enough, enough? I get the car thing solved (except for ridding myself of the death trap, which oddly, is still sitting three weeks after R blamed me always driving it for him not being able to fix it. He hasn’t touched it once.) and now I’ve got half a dozen new problems.

To say I am not coping well is an understatement.

Okay. Nausea is getting bad. Need to figure that out. Stupid lithium, just has to work really well yet still has to have ass trash side effects.

I’m tapping out before sweat drips on the keyboard and shorts everything out.

I fucking hate summer.