Archive for September, 2016

Why Is Basic Hygiene So Damned Difficult?

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on September 30, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So my stupid ass committed to something last night during a period of “I’m not feeling so awful, I can do this social thing”. It’s just lunch with R, and he’s buying, but now…I don’t want to go.

Because it means basic hygiene is in order.

Now, I have been doing better with the showering thing (which is so hard during depressive bouts) but I am still struggling with the will to bother with truly grooming to appear in public.

I try to make sure my clothes are clean, I wear deodorant, and my hair is brushed out or at least in a messy updo with a clip…Beyond this…For almost two years now, I’ve not given a fuck. Seriously.

On the rare day I feel “up to it”, I admit, wearing some make up and perfume, nicer clothes, it does feel good.

What feels shitty is that NO ONE ever comments on me taking the time to give a damn. It’s not even that I care what they think or that I need their validation.

It just pisses me off that these people have zero problem ragging on me redundantly for “letting myself go” or “looking rough”.

Guess what? Depression is a “wasting away” disorder. It affects your appearance, your skin tone, your posture, your facial expressions. You go so long feeling so downtrodden and exhausted…It takes a toll and you look defeated. Fake smiles and societal pressure to feign laughs (which further drains you)…You feel defeated, too. Like depression is mopping the floor with your soul as the mop head.

It does not matter how fierce you are. It does not matter if you have a rebellious “fuck you” personality.

It doesn’t even matter if your current med regime is “half ass working”.



I’ve hit my seasonal onset with the rapid shift to cold weather and days of damp gloom and now…I see dirt under my nails. I know my hair needs washed, my legs need shaved. But I can’t begin to process this because the simple task of digging out clothing seems daunting. I don’t wanna. No one cares except to insult me, so why should I exhaust myself with basic hygiene when I could use those limited resources to battle anxiety or whatever.

Am I just pessimistic? Lazy? Have a bad attitude?

Could be.

Doubtful, though. The cycles remain the same no matter how much therapy or mindfulness I engage in. It’s a pretty predictable cycle, too. Bipolar cycle. And every year around August I start reminding my doctor of how quick it comes on, the seasonal depression, and maybe the meds should be increased ahead of time to ward it off. Instead, every doctor tells me we’ll discuss it in October once fall comes, and by then, the descent has already begun. They just don’t listen. They think it’s all about that sunlight bullshit when that’s but a smidge of seasonal depression.

I am flustrated (yes, FLUSTRATED, it’s a hybrid of flustered and frustrated) with all this crap.

On the plus side, Spook is staying at my mom’s tonight so my brain can rest.

On the negative side, I am probably going to be so exhausted I will accomplish fuck all then feel shitty about it.

No matter how many changes I make or how much progress I make…It all goes back to the cycle of bipolar.

I will go to lunch simply because I do so love the chicken strips and white gravy at Dairy Queen, and I can use the drive thru rather than sit inside with dish dwellers.

I don’t want to, though. It requires too much work and effort and it’s exhausting. I am tired of being tired.

Awhile back I made a comment about being psychologically exhausted and R tossed out, “I work ten hours a day, what the hell do you do all day?”

It took everything I had in me to bite my tongue and not unleash my pent up fury. No one feels shittier than me that I can’t hold down a job. No one feels shittier than me that no matter how much I bully myself, I can’t break the cycle of bipolar depression and anxiety. Battling that shit day in and day out feels like a JOB. One without pay or benefits or even a pat on the back.

Clean clothes, deodorant, a brush through the hair and that’s it. I’ll be out of bed and dressed. If more is expected of me…

Fuck ’em and feed ’em to the fish.


Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on September 30, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Let me preface this post by saying…I am not a “by the rules” person.

Is a semblance of routine important for those who suffer from bipolar/depression/anxiety? To an extent, yes.

At the same time…my personality rebels against the constraints of monotonous routine and schedule.

What this translates to is…

If told I have to be up at 6:48 a.m. … I will purposely sleep until 7 a.m. If told I have to be up at 7:02 a.m. …my brain dictates that I get up at 6:54 a.m.

I MUST rebel. I MUST have variety, variation, deviation.

At the same time in a contradictory fashion…IF things do not unfold in an orderly fashion (supper is chicken and taters, kid gets out of school at 2:30, mail comes at 3:20 p.m.)…I spazz out and melt down.

It is a paradox but then, isn’t that bipolar described pretty accurately?

Today, the child support check was supposed to be in the mail. It did not come, as it has, on Thursday, for 5 straight weeks. If I had savings or other means, no biggie. BUT if you count on this influx of income…That single deviation is devastating to the mind.

Shit happens, get over it and grow up!

I know, right?

On this one…I cannot win. If I count on “routine” and “schedule” then it doesn’t happen accordingly…I come undone. Anger leads to agitation which heightens anxiety and causes me to be depressed, surly, and snappish.

YET if I go “pessimistic” and assume nothing will work right, well, then I am just letting my disorder get the best of me.

OMFG. I can count on it or I can’t, is that too much to fucking ask?

Apparently, it is.

NEVER MIND I had a nightmare last night about the check not being in the mail.

NEVER MIND that I spent hours today trying to talk myself out of “pessimism” and assuming the worst only to get hit with SPLAT and the downward spiral because all did not go according to routine.

WHY am I expected by all to be consistent in spite of my inconsistent condition while the world around me is allowed to “make mistakes” or “work at its own pace”?????

That ONE deviation sent me spiraling downward. I was depressed, deflated, anxious, pissed off. Snappy, sarcastic, jumpy.

FUCK, don’t tell me the donor purposely lost his job to avoid paying for his kid!

DAMNIT, don’t tell me this different letter carrier decided to flake off and deliver my check tomorrow instead!

Round and round, scumbag brain goes.

Setting the tone for my entire afternoon. I wanted a pizza for supper. I had to wait until I broke and told Spook her social life needed to take a backseat long enough for a trip into the dish. Aldi was packed. I had a near meltdown in the parking lot, terrified my inability to focus and take in all the surroundings would cause a car accident.

I freaked out in Thursday night traffic. I saw cop cars everywhere (no, not hallucinating, it is homecoming weekend for the local high school and the cops are out in force) and that sent my mind reeling into what minor infraction I might inadvertently be committing, because face it…It’s not difficult to forget your seatbelt or not know a tail light is out…

The ONE saving grace of the day was that upon our return to our safe space…I started to calm down.

I just cannot handle deviation from certain “dedicated” routines. I cannot stomach all the traffic and responsibility from driving. I used to LOVE driving. Now it is one more terror I cannot seem to handle.

I’ve often wondered if my inability to tolerate change, even minor ones, is a sign of mild Asperger’s or autism.

Apparently, though, if you were in advanced (old school term “gifted”) classes…You are NOT operating at a mental deficit.

So what’s the fucking deal? Is this inability to deal with deviation a symptom of bipolar, of depression, of anxiety, of panic attacks?

What. The. Actual.Fuck.

Because I would really like to know. I don’t choose to be this way. I don’t want to have a mood crash into despair simply because I was told spaghetti was for supper only to have it changed to fish filets. WTF?

I am so tired of trying so damned hard and getting nowhere.

Maybe it’s a personality glitch exclusive to me.

Though I remain unconvinced of this as I have read other bipolar blogs and it seems pretty common in *some* of us to be super sensitive to schedule changes and deviations.

Why can’t the professionals figure this out?

I lose faith, daily, not only in humanity, but in the ability of the professionals, to ever truly help me.

And ultimately this leads back to self loathing and guilt because obviously, if I weren’t such a pessimistic, picky trainwreck, I could talk my brain into getting its shit together.

If only it were that bloody simple.

Freezer Burn

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on September 29, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So par for course in the despicable midwest, the weather has taken an abrupt shift in the last six days. Last week, one day was 95 degrees and I was sweating my ass off in shorts and a tank top in a car without air conditioning. The last two nights, it got so cold, I had three blankets on the bed. This morning, it is very cold, and no sunshine, all gray, and I swear, even my pancreas has a shiver.

So begins seasonal affective disorder. I envy climates where the season shift is gradual. Here, in midwest Hell, it comes on like a bipolar mood swing. (Yeah, yeah, don’t compare the weather to bipolar, it’s offensive, whatevs, I AM bipolar so I am allowed.) It’s kind of a sucker punch. To make it worse, for all we know, next week we could get hit with a 90 degree day. FECK.

So, Morgue, why don’t you just turn on the heat????

Well, thanks to a payment deferment from last winter plus current charges, my monthly bill has been running two hundred bucks. IF I turn on the heat before it is absolutely crucial to avoiding indoor frost bite…I won’t be able to pay the bill thus they will turn off the heat and that would really be sucky. (Forgive any typos, my “e” key is not working properly). Plus, it seems my eligibility for the low income assistance on power and heating will be denied because my kid turned 7. Cos ya know, children over age 6 don’t have to be warm and all. Idgets.

She’s bitching about money again, what a broken record, get a job already.

Hey, HIRE ME to do something from home and I will be okay. Provided missed deadlines due to depression, inability to focus due to ADD and anxiety are acceptable.

Money, however, is a realistic issue and consideration. Besides, turning on the heat does not change the gloom outside or the cold wind. It does not “fix” whatever inner circuitry tells my brain that the cold is oppressive and thus renders me depressed and non functional.

All my shrinks tells me is to buy one of those mood enhancing lights due to shortage of sunlight. YES. I love paying to get headaches from bright light! All better now.

What I want to know is…

How do the changes in season/weather affect YOU guys? Is it a bipolar/depression related thing? Is seasonal a separate issue? Why don’t we know more about how this ties into our disorders? Oh, right. Mental health is unimportant unless they are pharma making a gazillion bucks from drugs or they are trying to lock us up cos some jackass on wikipedia claims all bipolar patients are violent thus a threat to public safety.


Nope. Not cracked yet. Just an inside joke from a t-shirt a kid was wearing at Spook’s school.

I am soooo ordering my Mermaid blanket next week. I am wearing socks and my feet are still cold. Maybe I can be a pegacornmaid.

The great news is…since discontinuing the lithium…I think I am getting back some emotion, some creativity, and maybe even a little will to live another day to battle this mental crap.

Sad statement when the *treatment* makes you more depressed in the process of managing highs and lows. Thank pegacorn for Lamictal and its minimal side effects for me. Now come next spring/summer I may start going manic on Lamictal alone and need the lithium again.

It’s a process. A grueling one.

Now for the nerds among us, and this one came from a t-shirt Spanglish Jill saw…

Never trust an atom. They make up everything.


Chat Room: Feedback Wanted

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so first off…mental status update: I actually stayed up until almost midnight last night. Because the melatonin was taking forever to kick in. Irritating laying there tossing and turning while scumbag brain churns and keeps you awake in spite of using every relaxation technique the counselors ever forcefed. Then when I started to drift off, it felt like falling down a black hole, so I’d jolt awake in terror. Yeah, rough night. Rougher morning inasmuch as I had a bitch of a time dragging my butt out of bed and getting my kid’s lunch ready, making sure she was clothed and delivered to school. This sudden onset of summer to fall transition and the cold is kicking my ass. But I am out of bed and doing fuck all cos well, I did my two days in the dish and I EARNED a lazy respite. Besides, it’s a school improvement day so the spawn will get out two hours earlier than usual. YAY.

Now…This is where I want, NEED, your input, anyone who reads this blog, sporadically or regularly. A few of us Volatile Femmes seem keen on the idea of a chat room for mental health support. And also to blow off steam, be it talking about movies or music or whatnot.

Be honest. TALK TO ME, my Morgueticians. Would anyone else be interested in a safe place to simply type and hang out even if we’re having a quiet time and say little?

I know chat rooms are so yesterday and everyone’s all obsessed with Fuckfacebook and Twitter and such BUT…Some of us have the attention span of gnats at times and other times, we are chatterbugs. Some of us can’t handle an open phone line or never ending text alerts due to noise sensitivity.

A safe space, a quiet space where we can’t even hear each other type…I find this appealing. It would NOT be standard issue “we’re not professionals but you can talk to us only about mental stuff” chat. It would be invite only (you’d submit your email addy for an invite and you can create a throwaway if you don’t want to use your real email) so we could control the trolls, so to speak. Word of mouth from all of us could increase interest and invites. We could have our own community, not just on wordpress, but in a safe space.

I’m no expert on starting these things. I’m an idea person. Occasionally my gnat attention span can follow through. I just know how useful chat was in the past for me during rough patches, or even manic patches or stable patches. I was even a moderator of one chat room for several years. (How I loved using my hammer to kick out the trolls!)

I want eclectic. I want empathy, kindness. I want humor when we have it.

I would also love to name the room in honor of our recently departed friend, Blahpolar. Her blog featured a “freshly depressed” graphic and I think that would be an AWESOME name for a chat room. In her honor, but also in honor of wordpress offering a way for us all to come together via blogs. It’s not promoting depression, but instead offering a tongue in cheek way of viewing this crap.

So…Show of hands. Or comments since I can’t see your hands. Would anyone else be interested in this sort of thing? Even if you just click like or peruse…FEEDBACK, PLEASE.

Because it’s not just for you as an individual. There are times you will encounter someone who pulls you  back from the brink.

Other times…YOU will pull someone else back from that bring. And let me tell you…THAT is an amazing feeling, helping someone who might otherwise have been lost to the symptoms of whatever mental ailment haunts them. It works both ways. It helps us, it helps others, and in doing so…we might even feel a release of a good brain chemicals without taking a single pill.

So what do you say, people? Repost this, share it, let me hear what the tribe thinks. This room would be all inclusive of all mental illnesses. No one excluded, not a coffee clatch of bipolar only.

Just…The tribe and new members to the tribe. Surviving. Together.

Now comment, yay, nay, fuck you Morgue…Or I’m gonna have to roast a pegacorn on a spit.

Do it to save the pegacorn, PLEASE. They are, after all, an endangered mythical species.

Tough One

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Spent the morning in a state of nauseous inertia. I ate and still, felt nauseous. Guess what? Pristiq can cause nausea. So while I lost 90% of that on the extended release lithium, then phased off the lithium…I have a new med to make me queasy. YAY. Note sarcasm. I hadn’t planned on going out, but R started blowing up my phone and guilting me so I took my nausea to his doorstep, so to speak. Not that he notices or cares, it’s all about him and his precious parts and errands. Though for a couple of hours of braving nerve wracking traffic and drive thru lines…he bought me a phone card so I’d have talk time. Serves him right, considering he’s the one always wasting what little talk time I can even afford.

The anxiety was just crippling today, especially out in the dish. I had a mega panic attack in traffic and kept repeating “you are fine, you are fine, you are fine” but I was freaking out. My brain isn’t cooperating with me and I get terrified my foot will hit the brake instead of the gas or vice versa. Or that I will miss seeing an oncoming car at intersections. I can handle side streets with minimal panic but in traffic…NOPE. Coming undone.

When I was finally able to pick up my kid and come home to safe space…BAM. Seven kids in my yard, shrieking and bickering. Bloody hell! But since we had to leave in an hour and a half, I let them be. And took a Xanax.

The eye doctor appointment weirded me out a little. My God, they took weight, blood pressure, height, they were so thorough I half expected them to ask for a urine sample. Just for a pair of fucking glasses. THEN the tech, optician, and eye doctor all piled into a room for this one machine we were told was optional because insurance doesn’t cover it unless *something* is found on the other exams…There I was, a nervous wreck that they saw something fatal in my kid’s eyes or my eyes, and panic was rising, and I asked what was going on and told them I was starting to panic. They explained the light bulb went out on the same machine in another room and they had no spare so they only had that one to use. They still didn’t explain why Spook and I suddenly qualified for this special test…UGH.

As it happens…her eye is still turning inward and tracking wrong so…my 7  year old is getting bifocals. Poor kid. I got them two years ago and kept running the car up on curbs cos the line was so distracting and I switched back to my old single vision glasses.

Of course, I didn’t mention that to the eye doc. He gave me the option of going single vision and delaying bifocals a couple of years and let me tell you…I jumped on that leg and humped it. Maybe bifocals wouldn’t be so bad if they’re no line, but of course, our insurance doesn’t pay for that. Also, I don’t think that last doctor got the line in the right place. Driving on curbs is not my idea of improvement in vision after wearing them for two months.

Spook picked out blue frames. I chose rose gold. Yes, SASS. Morgue is getting pink-ish glasses. I liked the lens shape.

No sooner than we got home, it was getting dark out. The devil girls knocked wanting her to play. Then as I tried to get her into the shower, R called and said he needed a jump for his car. So off we went to do that.

I’m tapped out. I managed a shower after two days, woo hoo! I could probably go a week without showering but by day two, the hair NEEDS washed desperately. EWW. How messed up is that?

I am hoping tomorrow I can just vegetate once the spawn is at school. Hope R doesn’t need anything. Because I NEED to recover. Today was rough.

I don’t think it’s because “Xanax isn’t the one” for me. It’s always been the one for me. It mostly controls the panic attacks (the mega embarrassing big ones, anyway). But at this lower dose, it’s just not handling the generalized anxiety brought on my the shit storm of my life. I tried Ativan, Buspar, Seroquel (yes, for anxiety, that doctor was a fucking moron), Clownapin, er, Klonopin…NONE of them did a damned thing. So I don’t believe I need a new anti anxiety med. I just need to return to my former higher dose that actually worked well. Unfortunately, the new psych regime frowns upon highering Xanax doses in this establishment. (Sorry, channeling the e-trade baby there.)

When I finally see the doc, I am bringing it up. Of all that they have tried in my years there, NONE of them ever put me back at the most therapeutic dose of Xanax, the dose that got me through many years of crippling panic and anxiety fairly well. Worth a shot. IF he’s in the mood to listen the day I see him.

And that concludes my rant. I’m gonna watch another episode of Perception and go to Fort Blankie.

I am waving the white flag on this day.

3 Pounds Of Cauliflower

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on September 27, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So I’ve been binge watching (again) the show Perception. Eric McCormack portrays a brilliant professor of nueroscience who is also a paranoid schizophrenic who goes off and on his meds due to side effects and ya know, that whole “sucks out the creativity, soul, and personality” thing. Anyway, during a lecture he referred to our brains as “three pounds of cauliflower” and pointed out…we’re stuck with the brain we are given, flaws and all. I like this show because it focuses on chemical imbalances as opposed to mere diagnoses and personality disorders. And fact is, many, many of us do go off our meds due to the side effects which “the professionals” claim no longer exist with newer meds or never existed with older meds.

I opened with this because once again…I am fed up with the cognitive problems associated with my psych meds. I actually had to look up how to spell cauliflower because I went blank. It’s happening more and more often. I am throwing away things I actually need. I am forgetting simple things, like how to spell simple words I damn well know how t0 spell. So I am taking a break from the lithium. Fear not, I have the Lamictal to keep the highs and lows in check. If the side effects don’t wear off, then I know it’s narrowed down to Lamictal or Pristiq. I would totally talk to my shrink about med changes except they called yesterday to reschedule my appointment due to the doctor being out. I can’t even talk to a live person for refills, I have to leave a voice mail. FFS. Fine, I will be my own doctor. I’ve been doing this for so damned long. At least I’m still medicated. Just not as medicated.

My biggest problem these days isn’t depression. I’ve gotten used to life without joy. In fact, if you read the latest Oatmeal comic, you will get the “happily unhappy” thing. My issue of late is crippling anxiety that has me snapping at people. I jump at the slightest sound. The new neighbors are always bickering, the dog is always barking. Any given day my kid has 4 or 5 kids in the yard. R is always bugging me with “order this part and get it for a penny with free shipping” then when I can’t do it, he taunts me with “I thought you were the great bargain hunter.” Now while that tactic would work with a competitive personality, for me, it just makes me want to shut him out. Add to it, Spook and I were visiting Mrs. R the other night and he started talking about my house having bugs and what a shit housekeeper I am. I AM TRYING HERE. I need a fucking break, from all the kids, the noise, the anxiety.

To my credit, I have not tweaked my Xanax dose in spite of  having a six month back supply. If anything, I am too circumspect in taking it due to so many ignorant people thinking all Xanax users are abusers. One thing I am sure of. My first shrink might have been shitty but he had me on 1mg three times a day and I slept okay and managed to get through the days without flying off the handle because anxiety kicked me in the shins.

My kid had a dentist appt the other day. Of course, not one dentist in town would accept either the donor’s dental insurance or the medical card so I had to get her in with my old dentist in a town 20 miles away. I don’t do well with road trips. In fact, being more than fifteen minutes from home freaks me out. I got on the interstate and went blank on which exit to take because it didn’t list the small town, just the big ones. So I went back into town and took the old country highway which was basically a straight shot. I begged Spook not to tell anyone I was basically lost on a road I used to drive daily for three years as a teenager. FFS. Just…blank. Not there anymore. Like a computer file bleachbitten. Humiliating. I tried to take the new interstate to my uncle’s a few years back and got lost on it, too, ended up turning around and going the old school long way around through the country. My cauliflower has been stir fried.

R wants me at the shop today even though he has nothing for me to do, he just wants company. I don’t see it happening as I spent yesterday running errands for him because both his scooter and his car are down. I don’t mind helping out when you’re afoot, but it does take a lot out of me. The dish sucks the life out of me. I need a break. Plus I spent yesterday scrubbing the fridge and cabinets and spraying for bugs and damn it…I just want to zone out. Give the cauliflower stir fry a break.

Shockingly, I DID have a moment (ninety minutes) of true joy last week when I watched the season premiere of Z Nation. It’s like seeing people you love for the first time in months. And of course, the zombie killing and Z Whacking. I got goosebumps of the excitement kind. I liked that. I wish I could feel that way all the time.

On an irritating side note…Mrs. R lectured me the other night about how I need to get out of this trailer and get my child a fit home with no bugs. Trying to explain the problem of “first month rent and deposit” to someone making six figures a year is pointless. I also pointed out that at least here, I get to have my cats. She guilted me about my priorities being wrong and I need to put my kid first and do without my cats.

Remind me again why I put up with these people?

I am content here. Why can’t people just accept that? I don’t like the bugs or noisy neighbors but face it…I’d have neighbors anywhere I moved and if even one bug went with our stuff, I’d have the same problem. Plus I’d be trying to stay afloat even more than I am now. But noooo, these fuckwads don’t get it. At all.

Being around people depresses me more than it helps me. I don’t give a damn what the professionals say about it being healthy. It truly isn’t for me. Not when my mental health is on a decline. I can feel the seasonal depression coming on. The other day it was 95. This morning it was in the fifties. That shit fucks with my internal clock. What’s it called…See, another fucking blank when I know I did a post on the subject…

As you can tell…I am highly agitated. So I am going to go back to watching Perception and nurse my pretzel gut (it’s trash day so the truck is trouncing through with it’s beep beep beep and setting off my anxiety) and maybe take a Xanax. Though I don’t like taking it in the morning as on occasion,it will make me sleepy and I feel like a sloth any time I take a nap.  (I blame my former mother in law, she used to guilt me because ex hubby worked 60 hour weeks since my useless ass couldn’t hold a job and she was constantly comparing how much sleep I got compared to him when she knew fuck all about my insomnia.)

I miss that insomnia now. I need the extra time for me. To calm my brain. Ya know, after all the kids and mommy-ing and ringing phone and texts. But alas, come ten o clock I am just wiped out and…

Shut up, Morgue.

My three pounds of cauliflower hurts.

I Should Not Post…

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

I am not so much depressed as…anxiety over the fucking edge.

And I KNOW, via comments left, even by the well meaning, I should NOT post when my mental state is anything but positive and sunshine spewing.

STILL…I rebel against the efforts to censor and silence. My reality is…it’s not always sunny and perfect on this side of the fence.

I am blaming less depression and bipolar and realizing…90% of it is anxiety. The ONE thing my shrinks are :uneasy” about increasing the dose on lest I turn out to be a Xanax fiend snorting crushed pills while smoking catnip.

It is the anxiety, on a daily level, that contributes to my sinking mood.

I will tell my doc this, tell him when and at what dose my anxiety was less brutal…I don’t have hope the new regime newbie shrinks will *get it* because a bunch of ass clowns abused alprazolam thus making an increase for me a no-no.

I just know outside the anxiety and panic, which make me so irritable, I may as well be manic..My old Xanax dose did wonders and it was only 1mg more, so is it not worth a try just to see if it helps to increase?

I know, I know, I am the imbalanced crazy one.

It does not make me wrong.