Archive for August, 2016

Life is Like Shampoo

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on August 31, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I’ve felt this way about life for so long, I think it’s doused whatever will to live I had left. Because no matter what progress I make, be it with my kid, housework, the bills…It never ends. You just have to turn around and do it again an hour later, a day later, a week later. Endless. Fucking. Cycle.

And to prove it’s not some depressive/negative attitude about my life in particular…I view ALL LIFE this way. Even that of a celebrity or the idle rich. Oh, wow, let’s go to a movie gala, let’s hit this hot nightclub and get wasted, let’s wake up in the afternoon and go shopping…

Pfft. That, too, is lather, rinse, repeat. Just more of the same.

Am I jaded? Pessimistic?

Not really. I am being honest.

Even when life is “good”,  I still view it same as I do washing my hair. Blah.

I keep doing it because I am, after all, a well trained seal.

It does not bring much by way of joy. Fleeting moments of relief or “yayness”.

Is this part of the depression? Ya know, the depression I told my shrink I thought was getting better at the start of this month?

Maybe.

But also…having a child changed me. My brain chemistry even. In the 8 years since pregnancy and her birth, I’ve spent about 7 years as a joyless hopeless husk of my former self.

Now, before anyone jumps to the “go to” conclusion that obviously, I just find parenthood boring and probably resent my kid, blah blah blah…

I love being a mom. I love my kid. I love her giggle, I love the way she begs me to tickle her pickles and play bongo butt (don’t ask.) I love her art work and I love hearing her on the phone and she has made me ten times better as a person. Given me a conscience. A moral compass. She has made me want to become better.

So let’s not blame this on my child.

And let’s not blame it on the grind of life, entirely. No, I didn’t see being a single mom and trying to survive on disability. It does wear me down. I get tired of, as in this week, looking at the gas gauge and breathing nervously, as I hope that orange mark means I still have enough fuel to get her to school and home until Friday. Hells yeah, that shit is stressful and takes it out of you.

Unfortunately,it’s common as I hear my neighbors and family voice the same concerns.

What could possibly dampen the smoldering flames of defiance that once made me want to live forever?

I think something happened to my body, between the pregnancy, then getting dosed with depo provera and nearly losing my mind, that has put me in my current mental space.

I WANT MY FUCKING GROOVE BACK.

I want back my defiant “fuck you, I am gonna live forever and if I die, I will come back and live forever some more, fuck you fuck you fuck you!”

That was the fire that kept me alive for so long.

Now…when being nakedly honest and risking judgment…My brain exhaustedly mumbles, “Woohoo, 11 more years til she’s 18 and I can finally die in peace.”

Yes, that is how my brain is working. Because it is a scumbag.

Also, I think rather than jar my chemicals/hormones into behaving as an old shrink once hypothesized…all the hormonal, chemical, and bodily changes jarred things into perpetual depression and anxiety.

Am I in denial and just blaming what’s handy?

Doubtful. My honest is so blunt it could be used as a murder weapon to bash in a skull.

I just haven’t quite been myself since Spook was born.

And I wonder if all my chemicals got so altered, maybe this is my new norm.

In which case…It’s gonna be a long ass 11 years.

Just sayin’.

Trained Seal

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on August 28, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s bad enough to have to wear the mental health mask daily. Lately, I have received comments or indications that make me feel like I should keep the mask in place even on this blog. I know, I know, it’s all in my head, I mistake optimism for pressure, blah blah. Gotta say, though, no matter how well meaning…if someone comments something to the extent of “positive post for a change”…

NOT fucking helpful.

And…fuck you.

This blog is a mask free zone. NOPE. This is where I get to be me. The real me, the me the world out there can’t accept because OMG displays of emotion are bad enough but not being able to control your own moods and anxieties, you menace to society!

I guess this would be one of my personality flaws. I get a comment or two in a year that makes me irked and never  mind the dozen comments that felt nurturing..My stupid brain will fixate on the one that made me feel mad.

Still…my blog, my rules. No masks. No filters. No censorship.

So later I am going to write a long rant about all the inane yet sanity challenging crap I am dealing with. There will be no mindfulness, no effort at optimism, no attempt to place blame on myself because I have feelings and am being honest.

You have been warned and you know where to click to navigate away from this mask free zone.

Except for October, then I encourage everyone to visit this page and we can all wear our masks. I got dibbs on Pinhead.

404: Sanity Not Found

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on August 26, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday, I did not come back from dropping my kid at school and nap. I finished off a series I was watching then went to the shop for four hours to earn some smokes. Today, I could barely drag my butt out of bed at the alarm and lay in bed until it was time to go. I literally came back home and slept for 4 hours.

THIS feels like the start of the seasonal downward spiral.

But I always feel like that when my own behavior deviates (taking naps). It could just be plain old exhaustion. Hormones. Anxiety.

And I have anxiety to spare. My kid is still having her little friends over daily and that comes with bickering, fibbing, tattling, demands for food…I don’t know how “normal” parents handle it. It just seems so rude to me to explain, “I only made enough (x for supper) for two people so maybe another night you can eat with us” and the same kid asks three more times. For an 11 year old, this is rude. Annoying.

This getting an extrovert child is karma biting me on the ass.

This morning she was prattling on as I drove her to school and  you simply do NOT ignore or delay Ms Spook. Well, she was demanding an answer to her question, I was distracted by traffic coming all ways and a bunch of teenagers waiting for their bus and goofing off…My brain got so confused I started to accelerate and nearly pulled in front of someone.

How the hell do y’all not bipolar parents haul these chatterboxes around? My kid is more of a threat than texting, eating, and fiddling with the radio dial simultaneously.

One thing for sure…The Pristiq, like every other anti depressant before, does FUCK ALL for my anxiety even if the studies claim otherwise.

I really thought I was going to regain my sanity with school starting back up.

Instead I just keep getting that damned 404 message.

It’s got me frustrated and feeling like maybe i am just this wretched, ungrateful never happy or satisfied monster.

Because to face the truth- that there is something wrong with my brain wiring thus expecting me to have standard issue responses and feelings is ridiculous- well, much easier to assume I’m just a brat.

404: Compassion Never Found.

School Haze

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on August 25, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I would love to say having my kid back to school has cured me of all mental woes. Sadly…it offers some relief yet introduces new stressors. Not the least of which has been her anger issues of the last week where she balls her fists up, gets in your face, and screams or threatens you. I used to think, well, it’s just me she does it to, must be some parental defiance issue. Now she’s started doing it to her beloved devil girls and said at church tonight she even “got mad at God and almost lashed out”.  Then she came home and lashed out at me some more.

Yay.

I can see a psych referral in her future since the anger/tantrums are getting worse and expanding toward others.

The last 3 mornings I have used as self recovery time. I am not one for naps or coming home and going back to sleep but this week…Three mornings in a row I returned to fort blankie after getting the kid delivered to school and I snoozed.

And still have managed to get “petri dish” chores done. Like getting my cousin a pizza for his 18th bday (two days after the fact but whatevs.) I went to Aldi for groceries. I returned a lamp to the post office for R.

The most daunting was the trip into the public aid office to drop off our med card renewal. Stood there waiting for 15 minutes. Maybe ten people there but it felt crowded to me. I sweat  buckets. My stomach churned in a spaztic colon way. My heart pounded. I got dizzy. It was disconcerting to have such extreme physical symptoms for something that was so simple.

What made it worthwhile was when I asked about an appointment and she said we’d get that done right now. She asked me two questions about the child support coming from state disbursement, told me the interview was over, and I’d hear from them. Well, hell, if all interviews were that quick and easy, it’d make the panic less. Maybe.

Family drama out the yin yang. My mom called me crying the other day as her brother, only remaining sibling (she was kid number ten) is in the hospital with cancer and it does not look good. Short of the one brother who got killed in a car wreck, mom has lost EVERY sibling to cancer. Good genetics are not on me and Spook’s side.

Dad and his woman showed up Saturday, bitching about my overgrown yard and how it was going to get me evicted. (When in fact, it was the landlord’s lazy ass employee who put down some weed killer, weed whacked a bit, and did not mow a square of grass as I requested.) My kid made a comment about, “Mommy wants a pet snake.” And yeah, I had a ball python (who froze to death when I was hospitalized and my jackass family turned te heat off in the apartment) at one time and I loved her and I want another snake even if I have to buy it for myself as a Christmas gift.

Dad tore into me about how I don’t have the money to feed myself properly.

Yes, I lost six pounds, I must be starving.

Such a dick. Not like I said I’d be getting a snake any time soon. Besides, once you’ve got the terrarium and heat rock/lighting, a small snake like my Ophelia would eat a mouse every three weeks, if that. As if my cats are fed that cheap!

Just such a benign thing for my kid to throw out there, his was an overreaction, a judgment, and not his fucking business anyway. Nor is my damned lawn.

My mom called to guilt trip me about how they have no food and (<insert unrelated bums>) were buying them groceries so my nephew would have food.

Yeah, totally on me that my sister lost her primary job (apparently telling your boss she’s not a nice person results in firing), mom decides the 18 year old with no job HAS to have a shiny 09 to cruise in which means two hundred bucks a month insurance…

I. don’t. get. my. family.

Sunday, Dad and his sasquatch were so seriously worried about my pending eviction due to the lawn they brought a mower to town and mowed the yard for me. Then said, “We’d charge anyone else forty bucks for that.”

I didn’t fucking ask them to do it.

The  next day I had to go by to see my nephew at Mom’s and she informs me that my dad is going around telling her and my sister that I am in some sort of blind jealousy over this  car she got for my nephew. Which just blindsided me because I hate newer cars. I am very content with the old Buick. There’s not a single feature on that newer car that I find appealing. So why my dad is saying I am jealous…Then she snapped at me not to mention to him that she told me cos then he’d be calling my sister and yelling at her for blabbing…

Surely, dear friends, you can see why I avoid my family at all costs. They are backstabbing, two faced asshats trying to start a war. I have enough drama trying to referee my kid’s social life, fuck all this family in fighting.

Dad further insulted me by asking me to bring Spook to see them. Well, they live 12 miles out of town, that’s 24 miles round trip, and I am getting good gas mileage but now that I have to take her to school daily…I can’t do it. Does he proffer a fiver? Offer to get me a gift card at the gas station? No. He just berates me for not having money saved up.

Now I didn’t graduate properly, I got a Good Enough Diploma, but I am pretty damned sure that it is IMPOSSIBLE to save if you’ve got more going out than coming in.

I wanna say he’s senile but the sad fact, my dad’s always been a dickbag. Like when I got the death trap hauled off. Ok, the guy gave me $75 bucks. Dad asked for it back, since he did pay for the car and things were so tight for them. (They were in the middle of a three thousand dollar bathroom remodel.)  I thought since I’d just filled the gas tank he might toss me a ten or a twenty. Nope. Not my warm fuzzy father.

And kicker- mom said he doesn’t pick on my sister the way he does on me. How did I get to be so special? Oh, riiight, I am the shame of his world, what with my “nit wit” pension disability check.

I try to keep it all in check, I know these people, family or not, are nuttier than most psych wards combined. It gets irksome.

So far, though…No mega calamities, we’re getting into a routine. Summer exhausted me so I think the morning naps may continue until I get to where I don’t need them. I’m not a daylight sleeper so if I am able to go back to sleep after a trip outside and with sun streaming in…Yeah, I’m tapped.

Of course, it could also be dealing w R and his militant love for Trump which he won’t back down on at all. I keep telling him “I don’t like either candidate and you can’t make me, so let’s agree to disagree or I’m not coming around anymore.”

Last night he said, “Whatever, goodnight” and walked away. Pouting like a child because he can’t force me to go against my own beliefs.

Reticent of my entire school life when the rednecks tried to get me trade in my black clothes and heavy metal for flannel and a Banjo.

Epic fails of history!

Now…Back to watching Dead Of Summer.  A series about a kid’s camp built on satanic ritual and lore just feels like the right thing to watch now.

Tapped Out, Maxed Out, Overdrawn

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on August 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So I thought after getting the meet the teacher night over, I’d start feeling less anxious and more…alive. Ha. If you think, you stink. (I am forever indebted to Skid Row’s Sebastian Bach for that line, so very true, Bas.)

The entire outing drained me and other than paying car insurance and buying Spook some food on Friday…I’ve not left the lot all weekend and don’t want to. I did wash bedding yesterday, woo hoo, what a powerhouse of functionality I am. Just…I got nothing. My stomach is still churning, I am still tense, and the idea of an outing with my kid in tow makes me want to curl up in a closet.

Nope. We have food to avoid starvation. The whole store thing can wait until tomorrow when she is safely ensconced in school and I am safely able to breathe a bit. Of course, there’s no guarantee I will feel like doing it tomorrow, either…

Just kind of how it is when you’ve overdrawn on your own strength reserves.

I think the start of school is the start of sanity for me again, to an extent. Oh, I loathe getting up early (they want them there by 7:45 for these new morning pep talks based on the habits of highly effective people, wtf, my kid can’t even pull her underwear up without getting them tucked into her pants, teach her that effective habit first!). I don’t breathe for five nights, terrified I will oversleep and make her late. But in spite of those pitfalls, it’s a structure and that comforts me. Me, the rebel, who hates routine and schedules because my brain makes committing to them so difficult, and yet…I am craving structure. I truly am insane.

I don’t doubt I’m going to need a week or two before I even recover from 3 months of having my Uzi child firing away at my brain. It also signals “oh, she doesn’t need a babysitter, now I can make demands of her time because I am bored and don’t want to be alone or order my own parts” from R. Yeah, well, I am even giving myself a week off from his crap. If he never speaks to me again…At this point, it’d be a relief.

I also gotta get my paperwork back to public aid. For the first time in 5 years, they are requesting a face to face interview with me about us having the medical card. I know what this meeting is. “Why haven’t you gotten a job yet?”  To which I will happily reply, “Find something I can do from home on the internet so my mental disabilities aren’t triggered to the point of breakdowns and I will be all work for you.”

Meh.

That’s the thing, ain’t it. If you use a cane or a wheel chair, they can find all kinds of ways to make a job work with your capabilities and limitations.

If your mind is what is disabled…Fuck you, you don’t matter.

I wish that were my bad attitude. Sadly…It’s fact. Society simply does not care about mental illness the way it does other disabilities.

Just thinking about it is making me start to break out in hives in addition to the pretzel gut.

That is why I am medicated for everyone else’s safety.

Idget society.

Why Not Me?

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on August 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Not to sound like an old Judds song but seriously…WHY NOT ME?

My nephew turned 18 today, got his driver’s license, then promptly sent me a text about how he had spent the day driving is mom all over the state capitol.

In true narcissistic fashion, his triumph sent me into a tail spin, wondering why, at age 43, I still can’t manage a panic free “I’m not lost” trip just the same.

It pisses  me off for I am independent. I don’t relish asking for help. I don’t like losing my cool.

Yet over and over, even with directions printed out from Mapquest…Every time I venture out of t0wn…I  end up lost and stunned by panic.

I am supposed to relish life, see hope…

Yet here I am, once again, trying so fucking hard only to meet with failure, ad nauseum.

“If you want it enough and try hard enough, you can make it happen.”

Not sure what offends me more, the fact that it’s a lie or it’s a lie I read on some rand0m mental health blog.

WANTING it to be true…and reality presenting you with the tools to make it true…

Two VERY different things.

 

Survival of the Sweatiest…Again

Posted in anxiety disorders on August 19, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

spook school

Yep. I survived “meet the teacher” night at my kid’s school, as well as taking her two friends to their respective class rooms. The devil girls were fine. MY devil was wearing flip flops on highly polished floors and running at mach 4.Nerve  racking to no end.

That school always feels so small and I sweat so much in it. It’s gotta be me right? IDK.

I also get uber socially uneasy when dealing with other people’s kids. Mainly because 2 years back I was accosted by neighbor lady who basically accused me of being after her man….simply because my kid played with her daughter and ONE TIME her man knocked on my door to ask if I’d seen their pit bull.

Nutsy fucking kookoo right?

These are my neighbors and this is my reality.

“She was nice to MY KIDS while I was at work? THAT BITCH IS AFTER MY MAN!”

I can honestly say, I have never eyeballed a neighbors’ man.

Frankly, unless your man has long hair and is wearing eyeliner, you’re safe, safe, safe.

Just gets old, ya know? I am overweight. I wear all black. I interact with no one. The only people who like me are kids who find  my macabre nature funny and appreciate my “warm and fuzzy” moments.

I am zilch threat.

If there was a truly (happily) disconcerting moment tonight…

It came when we visited A’s (the eldest devil girl) class room. I pointed out her desk and the teacher, told her to get a copy of the transpo paperwork for her parents…And then I was accosted, to my shock, by the adopted daughter of R’s eldest (yeah,Ursula, the psychologist, who said to being on call, “I don’t want to call this bitch back”) I haven’t seen this adopted kid  (Ch) in 2 months since we were last at R’s. But she saw me, remembered me, came up and hugged me…

Which just carries on my life long tradition-adults don’t much like me, but kids adore me.

Ya know what? I am ok with that. Kids are pure and innocent at that age. They don’t care if you are heavy or ugly or poor. They remember how you treat them, and how it makes them feel.

Gotta say…I feel way better that kids think I am awesome as opposed to some ADHD grown up who’d swap me for someone willing to smoke dope and “be cool”.

If that makes me some sort of freak…

So be it.