Archive for February, 2017

Shake And Break

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on February 24, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Two posts in one day??? How dare I! But ya know, so very often during depression the words are not there so when they come to you, even in a flood, you gotta get it out of your system. No one’s got a gun to your head, don’t read it if you don’t want to.

This week has sucked ass. There is no nicer way to put it. I’m battling menstrual dysphoria (which if you are unfamiliar means my hormones are soaring like those of a pregnant woman, one minute pouring tears, the next unbridled anger for unknown reasons) and depressive inertia, crippling anxiety…

It took 36 hours to get the slumlord’s guys to fix the shower. I NEVER want to hear running water again. Which sucks cos I used to find the sound of babbling brooks, rainstorms, ocean waves, soothing. But a shower you can’t shut off for two days right next to your bedroom….Maddening. And it was only with R’s assistance I got the ass trashers here. The landlord tends to treat me like an hysterical drama llama (and sometimes I can be, especially during monthly dysphoric bouts) but I rarely ever ask for repairs so if I am calling…It means something is very wrong.

Frankly, the bigger issues were my own sensitivity to all sound but considering not once in 8 years have I paid rent late or had cops called or caused any problem at all…yet my rare requests for repairs are completely ignored and it feels disrespectful. He pays the water bill, so letting the problem go for two days, I hope his water bill is the same amount as it costs to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. (Which, coincidentally, was what R said to goad the repairmen to get over here as he had tried to fix it and even he couldn’t figure it out.)

That debacle had me a nervous wreck as I sat home an entire day waiting for them to show as promised and they never did. A day R wanted me at the shop and was going to buy me cigarettes but no, the slumlord screwed me over on that so I was left without smokes and breaking out in hives from anxiety.

Then 4 out 5 mornings have been war with my child. Over hair brushing. Over eating breakfast. Over her accusing me of making her late for school when it was only 7:15 and the school doors weren’t even opened yet. A month ago, she said she didn’t want to be there early for the leadership meetings. Now apparently, they play “good music” to pep the kids up and she wants to be there earlier. Did she tell me this up front? No, she just went off on a screaming tissy.

And by day four of her tantrums and my hormonal coping mechanisms being subpar (and possibly part of the problem, bitter as that pill is too swallow) I ended up at the shop begging R to intercede with the landlord to get the water thing shut off and fixed and I was in tears. Again. And I try to shut them off, I do the breathing exercises, I bully myself mentally…Hormones give zero fucks.

Week from hell.

And being so off kilter in every way, I was thrown for a loop when my nephew and his gf popped by for a surprise visit the other night. And all I can think is, how bad does the place smell since I can’t afford cat litter…Is he gonna run back to my evil mother and tell her how my clutter is unfit for my kid to live in? And no, it’s not paranoia, that is how my family operates. They are treacherous and judgmental. Never mind my nephew grew up in a house where they made meth for a while, or where even today pot sales go down. My sister keeps it spotless thus it is a fit home whereas unfolded laundry, clutter, and dust make me satan.

My mom has said as much to my face.

She forgets how we grew up, in a house with bare wood floors sinking in, no sink in the bathroom to wash hands or brush our teeth, rooms disconnected from the heating so we had to get dressed under blankets in the living room by the kerosene heater…How occasionally the power got cut or the phone cos she bounced checks…She likes to rewrite history. I don’t know if she is even aware she does it. Most people do it and likely don’t know they are doing it.

I don’t think I rewrite history for if I did…I would cut out all the shit parts and make it more bucolic instead of facing just how imperfect my childhood and my parents were.

Even now…I have R saying shit like, “How can a useless piece of shit like (his ex gf who is on disability but has no kids) afford a nice house and you live like “this”?”

Do I wish the place would be repaired properly? Sure. But the fact is, I LIKE it here. This is my home, it is the only home my kid has ever known. I am comfortable and feel safe here. Why does everyone seem to consider this irrelevant? Sure, a nice house with a landlord who makes timely repairs would be awesome. But on limited income, a 3 bedroom two full bath trailer where I can have my cats and afford it…Well, it is what it is and I wish people would stop pointing out the flaws and appreciate that finally…I have found a place where I feel safe. Most places I’ve lived I’ve always felt threatened in some way. Here…I don’t.

Even though the thieving meth dealing ass trashers next door were outside hollering the other day about “how that bitch next door has a gazillion cats but my dog isn’t allowed to bark.”

Hmm, my cats don’t bark right next to your bedroom window for hours on end like your dog does next to my kid’s bedroom. Every other person out here has a dog and NONE of them spend their entire time outdoors barking endlessly for no reason. So yeah, I yell for the dog to shut up and ya know, they do the same damned thing themselves. I guess dog people living next to a cat person is toxic.

Or they could just have trained their dog better instead of letting it turn into a feral bark box that terrifies the kids who have to walk by to go play.

Now I live in fear the mouthy bitch is gonna kill my cats or slit my tires or turn me into DCF…Panxiety knows no logic. And face it…people often do equal shit, tis not just a Slipknot song.

So now the shower is fixed, we have a weekend to not wake at the crack of ass, and maybe I can breathe as the hormones return to normal balance.

I did strip a TV down for R because I needed smoke money and cat litter and paper towels so he gave me his credit card to get stuff. Instead, it all went to get my kid a new pair of shoes as she destroyed two pairs of sixty dollar Twinkle Toes a beloved (and much missed) friend bought her back in August. I will punch anyone who dares say I don’t put my kid first.

Less interesting to most, yet I find it quite educational and also a pathetic statement about the companies that manufacture LCD and LED TV’s…I wanted to show you what those much loved flat panels are basically made of inside. And it took me two hours and multiple screwdrivers and sixty plus screws to strip it down to the three parts R could actually use off it. So if you have a flat panel LCD or LED TV…This is what you paid for on the inside.

tv

Yep. Three to a thousand bucks for a few flimsy sheets of plastic, paper, screen, and maybe six actual parts that make it fire up.  Boring perhaps, but since I started hanging out with R and doing these strip jobs of televisions to get what I need for my kid and such…I find it quite educational. As in, my god people are fucking stupid to pay so much for such pieces of poorly made crap.

Anyway…I have reached the end of my rant. If you held on this long…Spork of fortitude for you. I just needed the mental purge.

 

New Diagnosis For The DSM: Trumpxiety

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on February 24, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Trumpxiety: terror and paranoia inducing anxiety at the prospect of being at the mercy of a president with zero compassion for anyone not of his financial and social ilk.

It’s true, and it’s not just me. Many people are petrified of this man, this new leader that we are essentially a prisoner to. I find him a hateful, judgmental  being with zero compassion and considering that is common with sociopaths, as is great financial and career success…It’s akin to the country being lead by Charles Manson.

Just this morning I woke to a email about President Trump having a press conference of some sort “urging Americans to get off Welfare”.

Because most of us love receiving food stamps and disability, it is a great boon for our mental health and self esteem. We definitely do it on purpose and don’t want to do better, be better versions of ourselves.

There is no way a man of such limited emotional quotient will grasp that. He wants to do away with social security for the elder people, which means for those of us who are truly disabled due to bad coded brains…Our futures are at best,murky, and at worse…doomsday.

Now, I know for one reader this is a triggering topic and if they read this, I am truly sorry if it heightens what anxiety you are already feeling.

But this is a thing, whether we like it or not.

I search my logical side, trying to figure out if I have my own agenda or bias that keeps me from seeing Mr. Trump for his good qualities as opposed to him simply having views I disagree with. I will give him credit for his accomplishments. I salute him wanting to bring jobs back to the U.S.

But then I read an interview about how he thinks “women expect you to grab them by the pussy” when you’re rich and famous…And I am flabbergasted someone so crude and misogynistic could become president. Sure, we all have our views that are less than popular but to put it out there as if it’s some point of pride…Disgusting.

And no doubt it only applies to young and thin pretty women, for we all know his diatribes against Rosie ‘O Donnel, based not on her being loud or opinionated, but attacked for her weight and looks.

Again, how did this man become President? It’s like electing the school bully as a peer counselor.

And the people he has chosen for his cabinet, including an alleged white supremacist linked Bannon, boggles the mind of even the most limited of intelligence. The vice president Pence is less progressive than cavemen and would just as soon women were relegated to making babies and serving men supper for we are lesser beings.

I could be wrong.

I don’t think I am.

Trump promised the truth about 9/11, he promised more investigation into the potentially corrupt activities of the Clintons…

Yet what does he do?

Turns transgender bathrooms into the topic de jour and undoes the progress Obama did manage to make (little as it was.) Are we really such a myopic and ignorant nation that what genitalia you possess and what bathroom you are legall entitled to use outweigh the great sum of way more important issues that need to be addressed?

The vapidity of this makes me ashamed to be American, ashamed to be human.

Now, if you follow me at all, you are aware that my close friend R is a Trump Crumpet and I am constantly subject to his pompom waving about the man’s greatness and how I am too ignorant to “get it” and I am falling for the “fake news”. I actually do research multiple sources and news sites to ensure I am being fed consistent information. I base my opinions on that.

Some people are just too stubborn to admit perhaps they backed a lame horse.

It is my true hope that Mr. Trump, our president, can bring back what made this country beautiful in the first place. But with that comes keeping the rights and certain laws that were fought for year after year, including the right to choose whether to have an abortion. Progress is far more convincing for me than sliding backwards to times of sixty years ago. There’s this underlying fear I have that he might even be segregation back, only instead of it being limited to races he finds inferior, he will throw in people under a certain income, or anyone who takes anti depressants.

Is this illogical? Only time will tell. I just know bias and prejudice run deep in a person of his age and his immense financial means. He has zero compassion or empathy for what mentally disabled people have to suffer through just to exist.

Thus Trumpxiety is truly a condition that needs to be added to the DSM, even if under a different term.

Mentally disabled people are not lazy. We are not “content” to “be on the dole”. We are just trying to survive best we can. Scarier than any depression, manic binge, or anxiety attack…is a leader who looks down on pretty much every segment that is not of his ilk.

He is not a President for the people of this country.

He is a threat to the values of this country that he claims to want to bring back.

That scares me shitless. Let the haters comment. Let the tin foil hate wearing comments come.

I want President Trump to prove me very wrong.

Unfortunately…It’s not looking like that will happen.

Thread

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on February 22, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I am hanging by a thread today. War with my kid first thing this morning. She ordered me to cut a chunk of her hair out cos it was sticky with bbq sauce from lunch yesterday. I told her it was her own fault because she was showered last night and told to wash her own hair when she demanded I get out and give her privacy. I even pointed it out when wrapping her in a towel and telling her we needed to rewash it right. That set her off last night and I was in hell with period pain so I let it go. She makes choices, let her live with them.

So this morning she just started yelling at me, mouthing off to every single thing I said. And being all hormonal I went from being angry to being weepy hurt to wanting to send her to live with her father because I CANNOT HANDLE MUCH MORE OF LIVING WITH THIS CHAMELEON FROM HELL. So goody goody to everyone else, a goddamn demonic presence to me.

I’d be the first to say if I felt I was in any way distorting this due to hormones or mental bad code. But this has been going on for years, R has seen it, Mrs R has seen it, Bex saw it when she was here. Spook is just awful to me, plain and simple. And it always revolves around being told “no” or some other thing I must do as a parent. I feel like my hands are tied, cement blocks are around my ankles, and I’ve been pushed into nasty murky water. I am drowning and nothing can save me.

It’s weird because yesterday was just typical day one of shark week, immense pain and an inability to stay awake so I napped most of the morning. I was too pain ridden and bone weary to have true feelings.

Except for when my kid said she told her friends I only shower her once a week. That made me furious. She had 4 showers last week, ffs, and during winter, the pediatrician said provided she’s not covered in mud, every other day is fine. But I guess some super parents bathe their kids 7 days a week, and probably have cooperative kids who don’t scream and growl at them like a rabid animal. Mine is a wild card. I never know when I am going to say “time to shower” and find her agreeable or feral.

I’m sick of her pathological lying, sick of the growling, sick of her crap, period. Now if you follow me at all, you know I live for that child. But I am hanging by a damned thread here and I’ve got no help, no support. I have never felt so alone and scared  before in my life.

So easy peasy, right, just get her into counseling, maybe they refer her to a child psych. Or lock me up cos it really is just me and I’m a bad mom.

Not so easy. Because I got a medical bill and turns out, her donor’s insurance doesn’t kick in til you’ve met a $4000 yearly out of pocket. Will public aide cover some of it? I have no idea. But that is utterly useless insurance. I can’t pay a $400 doctor bill on what is coming in. He won’t help because as far as he, and the law, are concerned, him having insurance and his support pittance are all he is responsible for. And thing is, that was just ONE bill from back in December. I’ve got THREE more coming and one of them was that seven hour ER trip with all the labwork and X Rays.

Last thing I need now is to try and get therapy if his insurance won’t cover it and some services aren’t covered by public aid if primary won’t pay.

I fucking hate that I ever listened to all these assholes around me who insisted getting him involved just for child support money would improve our lives. We’ve never been so poor and I’ve never had this kind of debt coming in.

I wish that was all that was wearing me threadbare. The shower faucet decided to go FUBAR last night and the cold water won’t turn off. All night it’s been running and so now i have to call the useless landlord for one of his useless people to come fix it. Maybe since he pays the water bills he will be motivated to get it fixed right away. The sound is driving me nuts, because it’s not the relaxing sound of a shower, it’s that high pitched sound of water almost turned off but still on. All.fucking.night.

Why can’t I catch a break at all?

Is this my karma? Am I really being punished for being bipolar and “getting mine” in the form of a kid that treats me the way I’ve treated others in the past even though there was no ill intent, just badly treated mental code?

Am I just feeling sorry for myself?

Topping it all off, R wants me to come to the shop today and I am in pain, still tearing up at the drop of a hat, and gotta get this damned faucet thing fixed.

Hanging by cheaply made thread that is going to snap if someone so much as breathes on it.

If life is a gift, I got the gag fake dog poop.

Venom Zero

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on February 20, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

And all of yesterday’s menstrual dysphoria induced venom has receded for another 3 weeks.

Today I am battling inertia and panxiety. The neighbors took my kid to the park (she went with another friend yesterday) and while I do need the break and the beautiful (for February) weather is great for the kids…I experience a huge amount of anxiety when my kid is “out there”.

Irrational or helicopter mom, I don’t know.

Two Xanax have taken an edge off, but not much.

I did force myself up to do dishes and wash a couple loads of laundry. The  unfolded mountain remains on the sofa and I give zero fucks. Annoying but hardly earth shattering.

I even made myself some iced tea, after days of not even having the energy to do that.

At odds with my kid again. She’s being the follower/chameleon and driving me bonkers. Yesterday we sat together and ate celery with peanut butter. Today she asks for some with lunch, I give it to her, the devil girls show up, declare they don’t like it, and suddenly my kid finds it disgusting and must throw it away.

I get wanting to fit in, to an extent, but, really? Guess that’s why popular people are popular, they are willing to be what others want and need whereas I am surly and stubborn and true to myself. Sorry, veggie heads, I love animals, but if you think I am turning down a cheeseburger just to appease your standards and be your friend…Nope.

I was going to apologize for yesterday’s really nasty rant but I don’t think I will. There is so much more idiocy on the net to be offended by rather than my menstrual  I HATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING vent. I never set out to offend anyone and in hindsight…I could just unsubscribe or close a tab when faced with technical manual three sentence posts rather than rail like an asshole.

If only the Twitter mentality weren’t in my face on every damned webpage.

I even braved a Twitter feed for my favorite  comic, The Oatmeal, and  dear god…the things people say, the critiquing, the bickering…I am so glad not to participate in such infantile behavior. Why follow a feed if your only goal is to demean their work and bicker with others? The world has become like a giant hellish high school full of bullies.

Only ever on wordpress do I truly feel safe and occasionally, a troll or two invade that. Least I don’t get bent as I used to. Learning to use categories and tags helped weed out the nasty trolls.

Ha ha, yes, pot, kettle, black, me calling someone else nasty after yesterday’s rant.

My venom was spewed only on my blog, not shared on social media, no promoted, and full of self awareness “I am an asshole” statements.

True nasty trolls do it just because putting others down makes them feel good.

In other words…Bullies.

But yeah…Zero true venom today except for those truly deserving, like bullies of all ages.

I am starting to wonder if my meds are conking out again. Normally being on 12 pills a day takes the edge off the PMS and anxiety. Now I am like raging either way. No no no, not the medi go round again. NOOOOOOOO.

Anyway, that is where things are in Morgueland today.

Now I think the wind just ripped my front door off the hinges so I must go fetch it. One more thing that won’t be fixed, just like the furnace going out again.

Even without PMS and mental illness, don’t I at some point get valid feelings of frustration because so little ever goes right?

Ha, Validation. Put on my PJ’s, I am dreaming. Life is about invalidation. My own family taught me that and thank pegacorn I have internet trolls to remind me how right they were.

 

Self Hater

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on February 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Courtesy of montly hormones…the rage monster has emerged and it seriously hates everyone. Including me.

Prior to the process of pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum, I had ZERO concept of menstrual dysphoria, especially when mixed with bipolar depression. I always had painful grumpy shark weeks but after all the changes of spawning occurred…It has become a living hell every three weeks of my life. Thought distortion even bipolar can’t top.

In the last 4 days I have experienced pure undulterated rage, overflowing tear ducts no amount of self control can rein in, self pity, self loathing, loathing of others, paranoia, mistrust, and this morning an actual suicidal ideation because it hit me…I could win the lottery and be cured of bipolar tomorrow, get all my parts yanked and let the hormones settle down…But I am still going to hate what life in general has become.

Trump. NSA. Drones. Misogyny. Hatred.War. Famine. Mindless internet people who think stringing together three sentences concerning their diet and posting six times a day makes them a writer. (Yes, I am a nasty human being and I should die in a fire but I won’t because that would be merciful and I don’t deserve mercy.)

On a good day, a lot of that stuff slides off me like I have Teflon coating. May hate it.  But I can cope.

Today my mind is in such dire straights with the hormonal distortions and cramps…I feel like death would be a relief. I deserve it for having such bad thoughts about otherwise good people. I mean, rage monstering just because I’ve spent almost 40 years cultivating my writing ability to a place where it’s almost passable only to be surpassed by either self important, needy, desperate, or otherwise interesting-as-watching-paint-dry people whose writing reads as rote as a technical manual?

Ah, and with rage monster comes the “I work my ass off to write and all these assholes get ten thousand followers by commenting on the shape of a turd they left in the toilet and posted on line thus making them writers of interest!” green eyed monster!

To say I am a loathsome human right now would be an understatement. In a day or two I won’t even remember half the shit pissing me off (except for inane three sentence posts that read like technical manuals, that shit irks me 24-7.)

I find I am even disconcerted with my child. She is a follower. She is a chameleon whose personality changes based on what people she is around. I bust my butt, get bullied and spit on, verbally abused, just fighting to be true to who I am…And I end up with a child who can’t really be anyone. She has no sense of true self. Am I a reliable judge right now? Hell no. But when something’s been gnawing at your mind for years…Likely it is how you feel, even if amplified and distorted.

And why it bothers me so much is…It’s like I don’t even know my own child, the way others describe her behavior around them. It makes me look and feel like I am not paying enough attention and simply don’t know her when I damn well DO know her. I just can’t control how she adapts to fit with whatever fold she is in at the time. I’ve never done that, never wanted to, and it leaves me at a loss.

Maybe in time she will find herself. I worry because I don’t think her donor ever did. He was constantly turning into a chameleon, trying to be what he thought was needed to keep the peace, all the while deluding himself into thinking he had a personality of his own.

Oh, judgmental bitch mode is in the house, YAY.

What do you do when you can’t stand yourself?

And what do you do when you realize that some of your friendships you thought were real have actually outgrown you, moved on, and left you holding onto the past, looking pathetic? Only because someone without the balls to tell you they’ve moved on won’t speak up. And you’re supposed to be all accepting and everyone is perfect just the way they are but their chickenshit behavior and secret keeping makes you feel hurt and spiteful and DO YOU REALLY DESERVE TO FEEL THAT WAY IN THE NAME OF A FRIENDSHIP THAT HAS JUST REALLY…MORPHED INTO…less than what it was, and certainly of less importance to another than it is to you.

Oh, self doubt walked in, LURRVE you…NOT, you cockweasel.

I’ve been at this bipolar/hormonal thing long enough to know when I just need to ride it out and tune it out ( even though all the bad thoughts are coming at me through stacks of Marshall amps). The feelings, distorted or amplified, are just as real as any other emotion any other time. Whether it sticks around like an unwanted vagrant after the hormonal storm is the only question.

I want my half solid self back. The non teary non wimpy “zero fucks are given” self.

Put a man on the moon, give limp noodles an erection, create a microchip the size of a zit that holds a terabyte of data…

But no real treatment for life crippling menstrual dysphoria.

Now go click the unsubsribe button, gossip about what a horrible human I am, but just remember at the end of the day…At least I have the balls to be honest about who I truly am, even when I myself think I should just die already. That takes a courage few people will ever know.

Hormonal Meltdown Hangover

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on February 17, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I knew it was coming. The ten days prior to shark week where I get a steroidal enhanced Terminator case of premenstrual dysphoria. Last week I punched a car stereo. Yesterday I went rage monster of stupid shit and then spent my entire evening bawling…and not knowing why or able to stop the tears. The spigot handle was broken and out they came and of course, R popped over cos our furnace went out again and there I am, tears pouring down my face as I have a humiliating meltdown, again…

To his credit he was actually pretty kind and supportive rather than his usual “get me the hell away from this bundle of emotional messiness”. And he did get the heat going, tho no idea how long that will last.

It took me two hours after he left to calm down. My kid was no help. Five hours of constant babble and no matter how softly, kindly, firmly I asked her to give me some space as I was feeling bad…She just kept coming at me. Even R lost patience and told her to be quiet, which sent her to sit against her  bedroom door sobbing and pouting. Because yea, she’s the victim. Ten polite warnings before an adult finally draws the line is unfair.

Today I woke and was irked I even woke. Cramps. General lack of energy, moodiness, feeling raw and hungover from last night’s tear-a-palooza. Feeling ashamed and humiliated.

I got four hours of her and the devil girls playing outside, running in and out and my panxiety was devouring me yet again but I TRIED to keep my cool…I was relieved (shamefully so) when my mom said to bring her by for a sleepover there. Then I went to drop her off and I didn’t like the dismissive way or tone my kid spoke to me so I corrected her and mom went ballistic. I tried to explain, I am PMSing maybe I took it wrong, but but but…Nope. My mom thinks even menstrual dysphoria is my own fault because she never had it. (Sis and I inherited it from paternal grandmother.) Never can I visit my mom even 5 minutes without her making me feel like a monster.

And I know she is full of crap and venom.

Menstrual dysphoria mixed in with rampaging anxiety and a depression that’s lingering overhead…it all gives zero fucks about logic. FEELINGS are all that count and right now I am so super sensitive I feel hurt for feeling hurt.

This is not something anyone can understand unless they suffer it every month or have gone through pregnancy and or menopause. This out of control, can’t turn off anger or tears feeling…

Makes me want to drink Drano.

I did okay earlier this week. I was being a rock for R to lean on.

And because my uterus has to shed its lining every month, now I am a blubbering mess filled with shake and humiliation, which will eventually pass….only to relive it next month again.

Well, here it is Friday night, I am kid free, and the chihuahua is texting me to look up a part. Drano looks more and more appealing.

Ask me next week and I will swear you are lying about me being this hormonal tearful illogical mess.

I suddenly feel sorry for people who suffer demonic possession. Or is that just a synonym for mental health disorders and menstrual dysphoria?

Refer me to an exorcist, please.

Bad Code

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on February 16, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

When I watched Person Of Interest (awesome show, fuck you, CBS, for cancelling it), the character Root used to refer to people as “bad code”, like corrupted system files on a computer. In a way, while crude, it is pretty accurate. Our genetic code is not something we are ever in any way responsible for or in control of. We inherit halfsies from each parental unit and if you’ve got bad code…It is what it is.

This week,my bad code has been really pushing my buttons. Throw in some PMS rage monster reactions (I punched my car stereo because it wouldn’t play a CD, now it’s in multiple pieces and won’t play at all,  way to go, dumbass.) More than the depressive inertia and being the supportive “living in the dish” friend to R (about 13 hours spent in the dish this week and for me…that’s draining an already dead cell.) exhausting me…

The anxiety is eating me alive.I picture it like a Bergen from Trolls, gnawing on me and saying YUMMY, now I will be happy forever as long as I drain the soul from this chick…Xanax isn’t touching it a whole lot this week and maybe it’s all the dish time, maybe potential change and upheaval coming. New stressors.

I just know that my bad code is pissing me off.

This morning I went to check my bank account. Child support went in, but oh guess what…It’s been lowered sixty bucks a month probably cos ass trash donor got a demotion or chose a demotion, whatever. THEN I got a letter informing me my food stamp  benefits are cut because MY INCOME HAS INCREASED. What the actual fuck? So that woke the PMS rage monster bright and early today,oh as did,  THE FURNACE QUIT WORKING AGAIN.

Could I catch a break that doesn’t suck?

First world problems, boo  hoo, I know all that (and yes, I want swiss cheese with my whine, damn it.) Still, rage monster hormones don’t care about logic or seeming greedy or entitled.

And the anxiety does not like being thrown curve balls and left out of the loop and having to clean up after the fact.

Filthy word, CHANGE. Deviation is eeevil. To a poorly coded brain.

To my credit, in spite of feeling like my skeleton is trying  to escape my skin…I managed to function highly (not gracefully, driving has almost become too much input for my brain to process quickly and safely.)

  1. Took kid to school.
  2. Put gas in the car.
  3.  Grabbed some stuff at Dollar Tree.
  4. Grabbed stuff at Family Dollar.
  5. Stopped by smoke shop.
  6. Stopped by my moms.
  7. Went to pick up tacos and lunched with Kenny and R at the shop.
  8. Picked up my prescriptions.
  9. Fetched my child.
  10. Took my child to book fair again so she could get a cheapo eraser.
  11. Another stop at the gas station for drinks.

So…I am wiped. And yes, I know many of you do way more every single day despite your mental hurdles but I’m not you. This is all very draining and I pay a very steep price. I will likely need 4 days to recover from all this dish time and “functionality”.

All this because my parents hooked up and I got embedded with bad code.

And there’s no reprogramming or patches or updates to fix that.

Mind you, I do NOT consider myself bad or define my entire self worth because of my multitude of DSM diagnoses. I have legit illnesses/disorders and it is a battle most people would have ended with a bullet a long time ago. I am aware that I have many awesome qualities.

Unfortunately…I tend to forget that when rage monster hormones surge or the depression/anxiety take too much of a toll. Then yeah, my self esteem plummets and what some may take for self pity…really is just the bad code in my brain telling me lies. But believable lies, especially when my coding is improper.

So anyone out there who feels the same way…You’re not alone, you’re not weird. We just got a few lines of bad code but in no way does it detract from all the lines of good code that make us empathetic, kind, generous, smart, creative, funny.

The bad code just basically makes the normal struggle of life a lot like trying to jump hurdles after being hobbled ala Kathy Bates did in Misery.

And on that note…I leave you with a pic of my baby girl wearing her new bifocal glasses. She is unamused, I practically had to Z Whack her to get her to stop growling and smile for this.

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