Mental Health Issues AKA The Albatross

To my chagrin and outrage last night, R called nearing the 11 p.m. hour. He wanted to remind me I asked him for help the other day getting some food items for Spook so of course, I owed him my soul. I was pissed. I have asked him, repeatedly, not to call after 9 p.m. Mainly because I take my sleep med at 9 so it will kick in by 11 and if I am wakened during the lull period…I will be awake and panicked for the night. Even his wife has chastised him for not respecting my wishes because she agrees, I am not being unreasonable. Does King Narcissus care? Nope. HIM HIM HIM, it’s all about him, we are but peasants in his orbit. I was half asleep and ticked off but I agreed to help him at the shop today to atone for the evil act of trying to keep a balanced diet in  my kid’s tummy(even if I agreed to pay him back in full on Friday).

I had to take another Xanax and melatonin to calm my brain down from its anxiety and anger and to get to sleep.

Then I pretty much woke up every hour on the hour because, well, I have always had that anxiety problem, be it a job, dr appointment, date, or chance to go to a concert. EVERYTHING manifests as anxiety with me. Positive thinking gets its ass kicked every fucking time.

Alarm goes off at 6:30. I hit snooze until 7:15 then mumble for my kid to get up cos ya know, she’s once again gotten into my bed. 7:25 I stumble to the kitchen to pack her lunch and she’s still in her underpants, complaining that she can’t find the “right” Shopkins ensemble. That infuriated me and I told her to just put on clothes already, fashion be damned. Once again, she made me feel inadequate for not having tentacles and being able to pack her lunch AND find her clothes at the same time. I gave her a breakfast granola bar to eat while I packed her lunch.

7:40 she is still in her undies, bar half eaten, and telling me I am an awful mother because I told her she still needed to get her hair brushed and glasses on.

7:45 we were out the door, her lecturing me all the way to school about how I make her “late” for their “habits of successful students” thing. THEN she blames me because she is never picked to go up in front of everyone and hold some banner and dance to a Katy Perry song.

My child really is a self esteem assassin.

Kind of like bipolar is an assassin of self esteem.

So I came home, knowing full well R said “first thing” in the morning…But  be it spite, rebellion, or just a need to calm my brain before dealing…I delayed my arrival until 9 a.m. Because it was dreaded. I HATE him for not respecting my schedule. Seriously, for twenty dollars worth of groceries on his credit card…I should be able to serve three hours, MAx, AND be even. Nope. I just wanted it OVER with. And since I am hormonal, it was an iffy situation because ever fiber of my being wants to snap about him calling so late even when he damn well knows not to. If I did it to him, he’d have a fit. If  I do it, I am “unreasonable”.

And there is the albatross, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I can NEVER have a legit emotion or reaction because, oh right, I am bipolar so EVERY thing I feel is an overreaction.

I seem to be the only way who staunchly believes otherwise.

I still didn’t go off on him. I clock watched. I did what was requested. (Most of which involved using gas from my own car, being exposed to petri dish interactions,and feeling vulnerable and edgy.)

Unlike McMuggles, I am humble enough, (or had enough therapy), to recognize when I might be coming from an unreliable place therefore I should delay “going off”.

At the same time,  I am FURIOUS that I have to second guess myself even on shit that would, logically, anger ANYONE. Ya know, like saying “don’t call after 9 p.m.” only for jackass to repeatedly call after 10:30 p.m.

It’s like, I am packing around this albatross called bipolar, PLUS I am packing around the insensitivities of those who simply won’t believe bipolar is real.

By hour 5 outside my safe space, I was bitch slapped with a second albatross. ANXIETY.

I heard sirens and could only think, “OMFG, my house is burning down, my kitties, my kitties!”

It doesn’t matter if it’s logical. It’s REAL. The fear, panic, terror, urge to rush home and make sure you are wrong…That is all real.

I am certain this is where EVERY job/dish activity goes haywire and melts me down.

Safe space isn’t some spoiled brat syndrome. For the mentally ill, it’s the ONLY “control” we truly have. If we have to leave our safe space and have no control…

We truly become unstable. FORCING us into that mental space is cruel.

But, I am a woman of my word, and DETERMINED to earn/pay back/show proper respect and gratitude, for all kindness shown me. So I went, I did, I suffered, I served, I agonized, counted minutes, clock watched, prayed for time to move faster because my brain was not on board with this “outside the safety net” thing.

Leaving is anything but sweet sorrow.

Coming home is akin to having life breathed back into you.

Since then, of course, my kid has mouthed off. Had company. One of the devil girls actually told me I should kill myself.

Yeah. Apparently, my kid told them I didn’t like them so they were being nasty to me.

I like ’em fine.

BUT I called my kid “the spawn” long before I ever actually had a kid and I WILL continue to call ungrateful, rude children “devils”. IF you ask for food constantly when I can’t afford it and have already given you something…YOU are being a devil child.

I’m not a coddler.

Also, I talked to Kenny at the shop today and he told me he used to spank his son so hard that it hurt to sit down then he’d MAKE the boy sit on the couch.

Yeah, I think that’s abusive more than disciplining. Not gonna do that.

R’s two cents was that he “rarely” had to discipline his girls because they knew they’d have to live with their mom who was physically abusive.

None of this helps me. I am gonna have to find my own way.

I’m not sure what that entails. I am frankly not sure of anything between cramps and hormones and barking dogs MAKING ME WANT TO STICK BBQ SKEWERS INTO MY EARS SO I DON’T HAVE TO HEAR IT.

What I do know is…

My kid has church tonight so I will at least have a ninety minute respite to ponder what I actually know. Cos with six kids in my yard, all of them yelling and bickering right outside the window as I write this…

I just want Z-Whackers to be legalized.

 

 

 

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5 Responses to “Mental Health Issues AKA The Albatross”

  1. 2 days until Z Nation. 2 days until Z Nation.

    Fucking albatrosses of mental upheaval. And fucking R-Sole. And fucking devil children. And Spook…you are on your way to a long term stay at The Rubber Ramada. With a hugging jacket and safety hat.

    I will make you a Z Whacker and personally hand deliver it so that you may whack away on idiocy. Then they can see unreasonable. Getting booze, rations and ammo ready for the bunker. ❤
    (Really though, sending you some peace and zen in the firm of ether, to use on yourself or whomever.)

  2. I am glad to be past the mommy stage. I am a grandmother and that is more than enough for me. ❤

  3. Spanglish Jill Says:

    Not easy raising kids with an albatross hanging off your neck. Physical discipline aka child abuse does no one any favours. I always find myself squinting or grimacing in horror at people who say they’re glad their dad beat them because it taught them a, b, c and d. Like, fear, respect for their elders.

    I just had a mom tell me I shouldn’t homeschool my kids because life isn’t fair and if my son’s teacher tells him not to question her then he needs to learn how to deal with difficult people. That i should just encourage him so he can be strong.

    She even said that many university students are having mental health problems because their family didn’t give them a proper upbringing to make them strong.

    I knew that saying anything about my mental health struggle would not have changed her opinion, so I just kept my mouth shut.

    Parents who think that their kids will never have a mental health crisis because they raised them ‘well’ will have a rude awakening when it happens.

    • I am, to some extent, a “suck it up, shake it off” mom. I do want to teach my kid strength so that every little booboo life deals won’t cripple her.
      But I decided long ago if she ever has the kind of trouble at school like I did with being bullied or struggling with the work and getting no help from the teachers…I will homeschool her, critics be damned.
      Maybe being bullied made me tougher but it also made me damaged. I’d like to find a better balance for her than I had, ya know?

      • Spanglish Jill Says:

        Exactly! A balance. It’s hard to balance oneself and steer one’s kids to a sense of balance too…Being sensitive sucks ass. That’s one thing that meds did for me, it numbed the sensitivity.
        I know exactly how my son feels, because I was the same way–sensitive and everything hurt my feelings. Such a fucked up way to live.
        It’s funny because I had a convo with my cousin this morning. She was offended by something I wrote on a blog post. I wanted to say who’s the one with mental problems? Me or you?
        She was looking into my words too much and thought I was referring to her. That’s fucked up, but something I also do, read too much into things.
        It felt weird to have to apologize to her for something I didn’t do, but if it meant keeping the peace, then that was worth it to me.
        Sorry for being so hypo here. I guess I landed here on a “talkative” day.

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