Archive for March, 2017

The Agony Of Psychiatric Medications

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , on March 31, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

YES. I am on another rant about the shitty side effects of lithium. Yesterday was absolute misery and it  only became that way after I took my medication. Now Lamictal does not induce nausea. Wellbutrin does not induce nausea.

It is ALWAYS the fucking lithium.

Which brings us to the proverbial catch 22 situation. As far as mood stabilizers go, lithium is the gold, silver, and platinum standard. It JUST WORKS.

Unfortunately, it has horrid side effects, which are why many times, I have decided Lamictal alone would suffice rather than spend my time in a nauseated groggy stupor.

My shrink switched me from 300mg capsules 3 times a day because I complained about the nausea. Honestly, the 450mg twice daily tablets have been tolerated way better. I know not to take it on an empty stomach.

Sadly, sometimes, like yesterday, even though I ate before taking my lithium…I still spent five plus hours nauseated and groggy, hating the medication that basically allowed me to have my life back.

Well, actually, Lamictal (lamatrogine) works very well during the seasonal affect months since I am so clinically depressed (very little mania to combat). Come spring, when that lifts and I tend to go manic…Lithium saves the day (in combination with Lamictal).

I just wish to pegacorn it came with fewer nasty side effects. Or at least side effects that are consistent. I don’t eat, I get nausea. I do eat, I get nausea. I take it in the mornings, I get sleep. I take it at night, I don’t get sleep. Seriously, wtf?

Yesterday only improved around 5 p.m. when I cooked supper for me and the spawn and got a full stomach.

It makes me wonder if, for whatever reasons, lithium requires a certain calorie amount on the stomach to ward off the nasty assed nausea.

It’s maddening because I have been taking lithium since 2006. It’s actually the drug that changed everything. Years of misdiagnosis and anti-depressants feeding the bipolar when I wasn’t in seasonal affect depression…thwarted by one medication. I found myself, learned that my disorder was the cause of much of my bad behavior and poor choices.

I don’t give a damn what the Douchebag Shithead Manual says…Much of the behavior bipolar patients exhibit…is NOT our personality, it’s not who we are, it’s a cluster of symptoms we do not control.  To say otherwise is akin to saying someone who’s been Roofie’d cannot claim rape. There’s no consent in being drugged and there is no control nor consent when your brain chemicals are running riot.

It does not absolve us of responsibility, but it does indicate diminished capacity. Not that society will ever see it that way.

I watched a show just yesterday that made me see red because a character was on paroxetine (Paxil) and they (the crime scene analysts) ignorantly called it a mood enhancer. Like it’s an illicit drug that makes you high as opposed to correcting an imbalance. And more maddening is that same show (and many, many others), referred to Valium as an anti-depressant. SERIOUSLY? Even fucking Wikipedia can get the drug class right!!!!

Okay, so maybe I get too bent about this stuff but if you’re gonna get all the science right…This is fucking child’s play. FUCKING GOOGLE IT. Otherwise, your paid “advisors” are making your entire show look like a douchebag.

In other news…

I did not take my meds today before I had to go spend 7 hours in the dish. I’ve never been a breakfast person so I resent having to eat before I take the cocktail. I just do it at a later time even if it’s breaking the “same time every day” rule. After yesterday’s hours long  nausea…I was just not going there.

I had to drop the spawn at my mom’s. Then I had to go to the ATM for cash, go to the DMV, spend $102 for a sticker (and show I.D., seriously, are there people offering up a hundred bucks for a sticker not to their own car??????), then I went to the shop. (R asked on Monday since he had a doctor’s appt out of town and I agreed cos frankly, I needed smokes and I also needed to not hear my darling daughter’s incessant chatter for a bit.)

For the sixth day in a row…it rained cats, dogs, and armadillos. It’s like fucking monsoon season in the midwest. I wonder if it will even dry out enough to put the new sticker on the car. I sure as fuck don’t wanna risk a hundred dollar sticker not sticking, ffs. Bitch of it is, R can drive around for months on an expired sticker but I bet I wouldn’t make it a day before being ticketed. I am not possessing the Lucky Charms shamrocks like him.

Still…in spite of the gloom dragging me down…I went. I functioned. I even fixed Kenny’s computer as he got a spam popup and actually called the number and they hijacked his computer remotely (How do people still fall for that dead horse???).

It wasn’t a bad day. My kid declared she wanted to stay the night at mom’s. I said sure. After my servitude at the shop, I got a ten dollar pizza from Pizza Hut (I’ve been craving and wanting for 2 weeks but had no money) and came home to binge watch tv shows. My biggest anxiety today, thank pegacorn, was being a little nervous driving Aubrey. Everyone HATES my car simply because the paint job is so worn. I dislike my car because it hates wet weather and idles all crazy, chugga chugga lugga lug. Nerve wracking. Let it dry out and she runs smoothly even if begging for a muffler. (I’m gonna try, Aubrey, baby, I swear!)

Plus side, I ran 2 weeks and filling the car up only took $15. HELLS YEAH! My previous cars, V-8, V-4, took twice that! Cos they were kinda fucked up. Aubrey may not be pretty (and neither am I because the world focuses on weight rather than actual beauty or intelligence) but she or he (I can’t commit to a gender for the car, sue me!) gets the job done in a way that benefits me and the spawn. So why would I worry about the fucking paint job when I FINALLY have a car I am comfy driving? Especially getting this gas mileage.

Maybe I’ m not the crazy one.

So now…I am gonna have a Mangorita, smoke a Marlboro Smooth (thanks, R) and maybe later I will write. Or maybe not.

Today I am not sweating it.

Today I am okay, even if the shitty monsoon weather doesn’t inspire an *up* mood.

I has kittens. They are 6 days old and their eyes are not open yet. But they are healthy lil butterballs and…I could huff kittens and get higher than any drug.

I didn’t say I was in my right mind.

Just functioning. It’s something.


Ambient Noise

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on March 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Day 5 of my kid being home for spring break. I’m ready to rip out my eardrums. She never shuts up. The.Noise.Never.Stops. I am not equipped for days on end of a barrage of constant babble, questions, and demands. Am I the worst mother ever? Could be. I just don’t see why ANYONE needs to fill every moment with chatter. And no matter how many talks I have with her about giving me a few minutes quiet…It does no good. Trying to write with her home, at least before she finally goes to sleep around 10, has proven damn near impossible. I can’t watch a 22 minute TV show without ten interruptions, let alone focus enough to write.

And I try to include her because we have certain shows we both like. Big Bang Theory, The Middle, Superstore. 20 minute shows (if that) and she says she wants to watch but still…Constant jabbering. In her room alone with the droid? Still, constant noise. There is not a single place I can go where I can’t hear her noise. And throw in the neighor’s “put out 5 times daily” barking dog that sounds like something the band Goatwhore would put out…


I try to give my kid some leeway because it’s not her fault her mom’s super sensitive to noise. But there comes a time when even the most patient adult would beg for ten seconds of silence.

It hasn’t helped that it’s been gray, cold, and rainy all week. Can’t have her play outside, can’t take her to the park to run off the hyperactivity…just trapped indoors. And the weather has made my mood pretty low even if I have managed to do a little writing and housework. I just feel embalmed, and my demanding needy child makes it worse.

I am sure I sound monstrous. I don’t care. I want the world to grasp what life as a single parent with a chemical imbalance is like. If you want well rested shiny happy “children are the future, worship at the alter of the snowflakes” you’re screwed. And if other parents, even chemically balanced ones, were willing to be honest, they’d probably admit…They too get worn down by the noise and demands and never getting any credit or thanks. And sometimes even downright derision.

Earlier when I asked my kid why she constantly makes noise for me  but the school says she is so quiet…And she said, “Well, they’re working, they need me to be quiet.”

Low blow from a 7 year old and not the first time she’s made reference to me not working.

Like I don’t feel shitty enough.

Earlier I was thinking, 5 more days and she will go back to school. Except they have spring break this week and in two weeks, they will have 4 days’ Easter break. I’m really not getting much of a break prior to school getting out.

It pisses me off because my writing cycles have ALWAYS gone from fall to spring. Now I am just starting in spring which means I could write all summer except I will have interrupting cow home 7 days a week. (No, I am not calling my child a cow, I just like the old kid’s joke.)

“Why have a child if all you do is complain about the noise?” I am sure some will ask.

Honestly, I never saw myself ending up with such an extroverted talkative child. I mean, hello? If genetics don’t count, what about nurture? I thought if nothing else she’d learn to converse only when necessary by nurture.

I love my child. I am happy she is nothing like me because as comfy as I get in my little bubble…It can be a lonely place at times. And not lonely in the sense I want a crowd around me, but lonely because I’m not even equipped to reach out to one person when I need to lean on someone.  I did it in the past only to land on my face and now, I can’t do it at all. I was cripple by those face plants.

It’s good my kid is nothing like me to an extent.

Sometimes, I wish she had a better mother who would delight in the noise.

Of course, it cuts both ways cos I could, at times, stand a child to be introverted and quiet.

We don’t get what we want or what we can handle. It is what it is.

Complaining about your kid is not the worst you can do.

Abandoning them to make your life simpler is the worst you can do.

Equilbrium, shattered.

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , on March 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday came the splat. Gray damp day. Zero motivation to do any writing. I took my crappy meds toward afternoon and suddenly got so sleepy I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The more I fought to stake awake, the worse my eye strain headache got so I decided to kill the lights and just lay in the dark. But then suddenly I got so cold and began shivering so violently, I went  back to Fort Blankie for the first time in 8 days.

And I nearly nodded off, even though I swear I was still awake because I was aware of my show in the background. Nodding off while kid is home, uncool. Stupid meds, why do they make me sleepy sometimes but not all the time? Then as if my mood wasn’t depressed enough, my dad stopped by. They took Spook out to lunch which was fine by me. I got to nod off without feeling guilty. I slept almost two hours, then got up and tried to shake off the the lethargy.

Epic fail. The only thing I accomplished yesterday was following through with my plans to cook spaghetti.  Not that it tasted all that good. Since quitting the Pristiq NOTHING has a good flavor or texture and I am forever stuck with the proverbial “bad taste” in my mouth. It’s nasty. Nothing I do changes it, I could scrub down to my esophagus with a baby bottle brush and this nasty taste won’t go away.

Since I was feeling defeated and shitty and hadn’t even tried to proof my writing from the prior day…I told R sure, I’ll take some company. I mean, what are bad moods for except for people to hang around. I’ll save my good moods for writing thank you very much.

He gave me his credit card so I  can get some smokes. (I am so sick of asking for loans, March has been endless and I can’t figure out where all the money went except, logically, I can, I just get infuriated thinking I lost seventy bucks a month a child support and  food stamps only increased 8 bucks, what the fuck is that, core math???) In return Spook and I are gonna visit at the shop with him for a bit. Whatever  cos guess what…

It’s fucking gray and pouring rain and chilly today too! See why the mood shifts suck? It’s so tied to the damned weather and until that changes, I am swimming against the tides. Forecast says rain for 5 more days. Seven motherfucking days before my mood may lift?

I hate splat. Fucking hate it. I feared it would come, I just thought I had a few more good days before it did.

The one thing I remember about both my stays in California was….Zero real depressive bouts. Because the weather was static, day in  and out, sunny and warm, cool enough at night without being cold. Had it not been so fucking expensive there I wouldn’t have left either time.

Weather is the bane of my existence. I don’t like sweating my pancreas off but now that I realize how delicately balanced my equilirbium is when the weather is concerned…Yeah, I need a family in California to adopt me and Spook for purposes of my sanity.

I just hate this so much. I could not feel more tired and beaten down today. And I slept the whole night. Splat is a lot like being embalmed while alive.

God,  being trapped in the weather fickle midwest when your mental well being is tied to the weather…I apparently pissed in someone’s Cheerios in a previous life to be reincarnated here this way.

And before any sunshine spewer chimes in about “snapping out of it, don’t let it get you down”…Fuck you. Shaking off depression is like pretending you don’t have the flu. Puke is still gonna fly. Only instead of puke, I have chunks of sanity flying about.

The absolute worst thing about it all is getting several days’ worth of how amazing it feels to be doing well, feeling well, almost start feeling hope again…Only to have it yanked out of from under you and return back to feeling lousy. Sometimes it hurts more to lose something you know than to simply never had had it at all.

Equilibrium, Fragile

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , on March 25, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

A lot has happened since my last post. No, I don’t mean in my life, I mean in my mental state. Last weekend my kid spent Saturday night at my mom’s and for whatever unknown reason…I kicked into super high gear and got a ton of housework done, even catching up on some long depression delayed thing around the house. Ans thing was…It was boring, of course, cos I hate housework,  but I wasn’t weighted down so much that it felt grueling. And I actually felt the sense of accomplishment afterward.

And bubbling beneath the surface the terror of when I’d go “splat”.

No one can fathom what life is like when equilibrium is so delicate. You feel fine, until you don’t. You feel good…until you don’t. Tiny little things can undo what was so hard fought for.

But going into Monday, I did not go splat.

I started writing again for the first time in 2 years. And that too was fragile, waiting for the block to happen, terrified all the little hassles of life would throw my off balance.

But I wrote 15 pages Monday. I wrote again on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Over 100 pages in under a week. Not my best work because I am in the hellish withdrawal state from Pristiq and I’m bobbing between being half manic and feeling half conscious. It’s hard to explain what anti depressant withdrawal feels like. I can say that sometimes I feel like I am in moving car when in fact I not moving at all. The tension headaches in the muscles of my eyes are awful. I find myself grasping for basic words and can’t be sure if that is withdrawal or the condition itself or artifact from all the meds I am on to treat it. Even the flavor and texture of food has become gross.

But I quit the weaning doses last week and have been toughing out all the wonkiness. No point in going back because it’s just gonna be the same way. Rip off the bandage.

What is weirdest though is how solid I felt all week. Not happy. And oh, dear, not lacking anxiety even though this week R didn’t hound me to be at the shop except for Friday so I was getting my anxiety freak outs from my neighbor’s barking dog and my kid bickering with her devil friends. And you don’t want that when dealing with creativity or mental disorder because the tiniest bit of upheaval can bring it all crashing down.

It was a nice respite, not being pulled in ten different directions by R, not having money thus not having to endure the dish…Able to lose myself in my writing, yet still lucid and functional enough to deal with being a mom and taking care of the house and cats. It was a little like someone just “lifted” a heavy layer of gauze off my brain. I don’t confuse stability with happiness, I still think the Welbutrin needs increased, but wow. What a difference a season makes. I honestly think my bipolar is tied more to seasons and temperature than it is light. Not that a shrink will ever admit that. They’d have to pay homage to circadian rhythms. (Cripes, I had to look up how to spell  rhythms cos my brain just keeps blacking out on certain words, grr.) Ya know, rather than worship at the altar of big pharma and “it’s all your fault so go pay for someone to tell you how screwed up you are.”

This week alone, even with the season change, I found out just how sensitive I am to temperature extremes and shifts. Monday it was damn near 80 degrees and 87 percent humidity, we were melting like the wicked witch. Tuesday and Wednesday cool to the sixties but remained sunny. Thursday it dropped way down and rained, no sun til afternoon, and by then it was so cold when I went to pick my kid up, I was actually shivering in my hoodie. And then bam, Friday we are back to warm warm warm and I didn’t feel so lethargic or compelled to curl up under a blanket.

I don’t know that I will ever truly be helped by a doctor because they don’t want to admit the importance of these things. Even when carrying on about seasonal affect disorder, they lay it all on lack of sunlight which for me is maybe an eighth of  it. The neverending temperature extremes are my bete noire. Short of physically relocating, I think I am doomed to the depressive cycles.

I got off track somewhere…Oh, well.

Bottom line is, it was a better week than I’ve had in some time. And woo hoo, to be writing again…It’s like I was unplugged and now I am plugged in.

I do wonder how much is related to the season change, or going off Pristiq or going back on lithium. Who knows. I’d like to figure out the winning formula. I’d also like to be 25 again and have my boobs where they used to be so…

Aside from the improvement in my mental state (functional is better than crippling depression, even if it’s not quite happy) the only other news from my crypt is our cat Pantera had 4 kittens yesterday. I named 3. Wrath, Venom, Slash. Healthy little buggers, The 4th one I promised I’d let the spawn name. Last night she called and said she wanted to name it Rose. Or maybe Random. God knows what it will be today. This name changing shit was how we got a cat named Feet, I got irked and said “Change the cat’s name on more time and I am just gonna call it Feet.” And  she did and so I did. Queen Neferfeeti.

I swear before I have a cat named Rose I will call it Gargamel Gay Gray Socks. I can’t stand boring names.


Don’t Try This At Home, KIds

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on March 17, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So first off, I wanted to throw in this ****disclaimer**** lest some net troll accuse me of “giving bad advice/setting bad example” bullshit. As previously mentioned in yesterday’s post, I have, for two weeks, been trying to wean myself off  Pristiq, and no, not with my doctor’s approval.

The reason for discontinuing Pristiq, which worked okay for awhile, is that when combined with the Wellbutrin that has done so well for my focus…I end up convinced I have bugs crawling in my hair. The itching scalp thing is just a deal breaker. And considering it didn’t start til the two meds were mixed together and I did make sure it wasn’t Wellbutrin alone doing it…NOPE.

As for coming off without the doctor rigamarole…My shrink’s practice is so busy I can barely get in every 3 months, even after med changes. And he is uber conservative which means we only stop one drug at a time or start one at a time, there’s no expediting the matter with him. Love the doc, but his caution and booked schedule mean my life becomes a bigger living hell with side effects or whatever. I am weaning off carefully, not cold turkey. It’s no different than doing it with doc approval. I’ve been at this shit for so long I probably know more about proper tapering off than the doctor does. I mean, I was one of the first test cases in the 90’s, when they did not acknowledge that anti-depressants cause withdrawal symptoms and my sage shrink told me I could quit Effexor cold turkey. Two weeks of auditory hallucinations, paranoia, and sleeping with a knife under my pillow.

So no more cold turkey, ever. Not stupid. But I did prove my belief yesterday when after a million brain zaps I broke down and took a Pristiq…Next thing I know my previously normal scalp and hair start itching relentlessly. PROVEN.

Just…I am not setting examples, giving advice, just…this is my situation. This is what I am doing. Don’t try this at home kids. Disclaimer enough?

Today is my first day in 3 of not being forced into the dish. And of course I am so psychologically bruised from my time in the dish, I’ve done nothing today. Oh, well, I did fix myself some eggs, and I knew better but I was hungry and thus…gastric agony and dating the bathroom ensued.

I just feel aching and bruised and it’s not having done anything physically taxing. It’s the mental cost that is so expensive and I don’t think people realize that.

I wanted to go get groceries and such today while my kid is at school. Instead the gray day and bruised psyche and gastric hell have me too damned beaten down to do anything.

I guess I can be thankful as I took my meds and for once they didn’t make me nauseous or make me zonk out.

I fear I may have inadvertently put myself into the family war by trying to extricate myself from the anxiety inducing out of town dog sitting gig. I talked to my mom and sis to see if they were still pissed at dad for not cosigning and I offered to PAY them to keep doing the dog sitting thing so I don’t have to. Extra stress I do not need. So mom says no, she isn’t too mad, the dog is welcome. Now I guess I have to tell my dad what I did trying to smooth things over and he will be pissed.

I wanna be an orphan.

Now, back to doing nothing and feeling guilty for doing nothing yet working on accepting the fact that I am emotionally exhausted and it’s manifested physically and grocery stores will still be there tomorrow as will the laundry and dishes. The world will not end simply because I need a breather.

(Now watch the world end, ffs.)

My new decal for the car, just for a giggle.

E.T.Rex lighter- Spook spotted it and insisted I get it. Pretty funny, no?

The Truth About Mental Health Treatment, Meds, And Memory

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on March 16, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The last few days have been a challenge, to say the least. Shark week arrived early (likely due to all the stress from the car problems and such) and while it explains my gamut of emotions, including the white hot rage at being forced into a holding pattern for car repairs, followed by my idiot father reducing me tears after a phone call…It’s still one more bitter pill to swallow. Not only am I mentally off kilter, but once a month I become emotionally off kilter to the nth degree. And honestly, when I am in the grips of the monthly dysphoria, I can tell you to fuck off and really mean it, without guilt. Give me a few days, I’ll apologize when our regularly scheduled amount of crazy resumes.

What I have found this week is that…my intelligence has really suffered, be it age, that infamous Nardil incident that nearly killed me and resulted in some brain damage, or if it’s side effects from the plethora of meds I am taking trying to fix myself up into some semblance of…functional…Fact is, in addition to the limitations of mental imbalance, I am also experiencing limitation from the meds to treat it.

I spent 3 days in a row at the shop, repaying R for all the time and effort he put into getting my car fixed…It has been brutal because A,) shark week pain and dysphoria, B.) Week two of trying to wean myself from Pristiq and the ensuing brain zaps and fog of withdrawal (driving me to take a 50mg every third day because damn it, those brain zaps and the fog are making me feel whacked out) and C.) because of my meds/ memory limitations and not being able to meet the expectations R has of me.

He has been trying for 5 years to teach me to read electronic schematics. Well, that’s a joke because my memory of numbers lasts about 2 seconds and me asking what was it again, annoys the fuck out of me. Like I am doing it purposely to annoy when in fact, it frustrates me to hell and back, too. Then he was trying to get me to comprehend PNP vs NPN resistors and such on the schematic and frankly…what he sees so clearly as an arrow pointing up or down…to my disheveled mind, it was like looking at a foreign language. I couldn’t tell for sure which was pointing up or down. How pathetic is that? And it really pissed him off and humiliated me because I am trying my best and scumbag brain just doesn’t get it.

The other day I even forgot how to count in fives and fucked up some change he gave me. Just…wasn’t there. Memory bank was blank.

So in addition to all the crap going on with my hormones and my meds and my very existence…I am supposed to hold my head up high when I can’t even interpret which direction a fucking arrow is pointing.

I was supposed to be paying him back by helping but instead I just got him more mixed up. Yay.

So while six different people this week have taken shots at me for not having a job..I have to come to terms with the fact that I may NEVER be able to hold any job I worked in in the past because my basic grasp of things is so fubar. Can’t keep numbers straight? Nope, no cashiering in my future. Can’t remember two seconds after what was asked of me? Guess even stocking shelves would be out. Hey, how about going back to school and learning a trade? Wait, I can’t do numbers, I can’t tell what way an arrow points, and I can’t carry out basic tasks because I forget them two seconds after being asked.

My future is not so bright I gotta wear shades. Fact is, short of working for myself or finding some uber understanding human to employee me, flaws, disabilities, and med side effects..even if the shrink says I am ready to work…I am screwed. I mean, seriously, so altered I can’t tell what way an arrow is pointing???? And I mean, I was in gifted classes in school so I am  not stupid but for whatever reason, my brain is failing at the most menial simple tasks.

I am not giving up on being well enough to work. It’s just not at this moment and I guess my cross to bear is listening to all these assholes around me tell me I seem perfectly fit for work to them if I would “snap out” of my moods.

It’s a barb wire cross to bear because here we are, taking these meds to get well, yet the meds make us have side effects as hindering as the original illness if not worse.

On another front, war has erupted in my family. My sis found her dream car and asked dad to cosign. He refused as the car cost more than blue book, needs tires, etc. Well, somehow, my sis got the loan and got her dream car. Now they are all pissed off at him and I am trying to remain neutral and be happy for my sister (mom thinks I am jealous cos it’s a shiny black car but really, I LIKE what I drive, why can’t anyone get that thru their thick skull????). So my dad called today and wants a dog sitter as usually my mom does it but since he refused to cosign the loan and dared call the car for the piece of crap it is outside the shiny paint job…Now he wants me to dog sit. Which involves a 25 mile round trip to their armpit town for 8 hours so they can run around and get haircuts and shit and he rubbed it in “your brother has to work.” Because the message isn’t clear enough already.

They offered to pay me.

I don’t need the money or anxiety of being outside my safe space that bad. In fact, I’d rather peel my flesh off with a paring knife than go babysit the dog. I am not a dog person. I like the dog, mind you, sweet dog, but dogs are so needy what with having to walk them and all the barking and slobbering and wanting  to play. Ugh.

It’s pathetic they’ve spoiled the dog so much they even need a sitter because if left alone, ever, he will  bark incessantly til the neighbors call the cops. And this man is judging me???

GRRR. I have spent all week at the shop pretty  much. My weekend should be mine. But since there’s war on all sides, if I turn down the “job” then I will be dragged further into it all. Mom and them will get all nasty about “they usually pay ME to watch the dog.)

Just a big bag of family shit drama I don’t fucking need.

Is it wrong to pray for an abrupt case of Flubola before Saturday?

So…that’s been my week.  Amazing I remember so much but hey, the embarrassing failures always stick. Too bad the rare instances of when I do well slide off like I am coated in Teflon.


Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on March 13, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The last couple of weeks have bestowed upon me so much anxiety provoking stress that I’ve run the gamut from patricidal, homicidal, suicidal…To say I don’t process the normal stress of life gracefully is an understatement. But it’s classified as a DISORDER for a reason, ffs.

One night a couple weeks back R showed up at my door with his friend J in tow. I like J fine, he’s cool,if  a little persnickety in that military way. What threw me for a loop was being surprised. Just…showing up. And my house is of course biohazard four.  Feeling like a cornered animal, I guess I was less than hospitable. Then R complains how cold it is inside and oh…the furnace went out again, YAY. He spent another two hours working on it even though I told him not to bother, this broken shit thing is defeating me on every front. But he fixed it and it’s been wondermous having heat.

Not so wondermous being called a jerk for, well, maybe being a bit of a jerk, but ANXIETY DISORDER. I don’t like people in my inner sanctum, especially clean freaks who judge me and gossip (oh and they do, trust me, well meaning or not, yet none of them are offering to buy me a week of maid service to help me get caught up). I don’t like being caught off guard. I go feral. I don’t want to be that way, but…No amount of Xanax and therapy have managed to break that fight or flight response to deviation and invasion of my space.

Then the brakes on the car failing…Oh, more fun. R tried to fix them Sat night, waiting until it got dark, of course, figuring it’d be quick and easy as he’s done so many brake replacements over the years. Well my beloved bucket of bolts, Aubrey, just had to be difficult and it took an hour to get the tire off only to discover…the rotor was pretty much rotted to nothing. MORE MONEY, yay! But he didn’t have the right tools so it was “drive home slowly and hope the brakes work a time or two more.”

Talk about living on a prayer!

Let me just say this…I am neurotic to the nth degree when things I need are broken, be it car, internet, heat…My entire focus becomes the one thing that isn’t working and I  literally cannot think of anything else. I feel hobbled, panicked, and until it is fixed…I am just stuck in an endless panic loop. Cranky, depressed, anxious, snappish. I try to fight those impulses but being put in the position of helplessness, as in not being able to keep my kid warm or get her to school…I freak.

It’s the cornered animal factor. Brings out the feral in me.

Not to mention how nerve racking it was to basically not be able to go anywhere (didn’t even have bread to make my kid sammiches cos the stupid cats got in the cabinet and ate my bread, fuckwads) for 3 days. Waiting for R to contact me about fixing the car, scared to take a shower lest he beckon, unwilling to risk starting to cook a meal lest he call, just…my entire being was on hold. And of course, he’s so obsessed with the shop he was there all weekend and sent me a text about needing some fuses for an amp and charming beast I am, I texted back: :”Coincidence, I need a car with working brakes.”

When it’s his needs, do it now. When it’s my needs…whenever he gets to it. That is the bitch of having people do you favors, being at their mercy and not even having the right to say, hey, I have a life, too that is being hindered…

And three days being hindered made me a very depressed nasty person.

The patricidal urge came after a ten minute call from my father informing me I have no right to ever complain about the car because I got it for free and it was only $400 and I’ve gotten a year out of it. Um…I can never say “this is broken and it sucks”. Nooo, not with my saintly asshole father. He says everything I say is accusatory to him, even my floors caving in. Um…how is asking for a few boards to put on some soft spots accusing him of being at fault?

Then he started in on how they just bought a new pick up at auction for $1600, bringing their vehicle total to 5. But he won’t loan me a car because he says I don’t brake properly thus the failed brakes on Aubrey were my fault and I don’t do this or that right and…

Oh the knife twisted further when he tossed out, “At least I’ve never expected handouts, I’ve worked for everything I have.”

That could not have been more below the belt had he physically kicked me in the shin. He damn well knows it, too. Me and my nitwit pension, humiliating him. He has to mention “well-farers” every time he speaks to me.

By the time the call ended, I wanted to utilize a Wednesday 13 verse on him: “I want a car, to run over your head, I wanna kill you, dig you up, and do it again…”

Oh but noooo. Instead I go all pathetic teenage girl chewed out by daddy and start tearing up and thinking I probably should just kill myself since my own father thinks so little of me.

But I let a few tears escape, then I told myself NO, you will NOT give him the power to do this shit anymore. Took a Xanax, rubbed on some mood lifting oil, and…it was better. I’ve decided not to take his calls unless forced to. And furthermore, he only ever sees me drive when he is at moms and I pull up or leave so what the fuck does he know about my “bad driving”? He’s a senile cockweasel who is only ever happy putting others down.

And it occurred to me I might be more like him than I want to admit as it seems I am always on Spook, don’t do this, stop that, you won’t listen..,.I try to praise her when it is warranted, let her know I love her, but damn.,..I’ve become the gloom mongering “no” (meaning you can’t do anything right) momster. But then if I don’t teach her right from wrong…I will be a failure as a parent, too.

My  brain is about to implode.

Alas, the car was taken to R’s son in law’s last night where the right tools were and it took them 90 minutes to swap out the one bad rotor and put on the two front brake pads. Thank the sacred pegacorn. R said I was damned lucky because one more trip on the bad brakes and likely it would not have stopped until it crashed.

Not being hobbled anymore really helped my mood and lowered my anxiety.

And not a day too soon cos we got 2 inches of snow last night, can’t fathom driving those old brakes on snow.

It was still dark when we had to get up this morning, wtf is that since we got the extra hour of daylight? Or is it just the gray gloom? I don’t like it.

This weather sucks. Two weeks ago, I went to my first yard sale of the season as it was in the sixties. Now we hit the 20’s and snow a week before spring begins. WTF, midwest?

Every time I think the seasonal depression might be nearing an end, this mother nature weather crap has to kick me in the shin.

I can only hope now that the car is fixed (muffler can wait, too many bills right now, to worry about it sounding pretty) my anxiety will quiet down a bit. I mean, when the xanax isn’t even helping at max dose to ward off the feral fight or flight responses…you’ve pretty much reached the end of your rope.

What galls me most, perhaps makes me feel homicidal, is just how ignorant everyone around me is. They don’t want to see the patterns, see the disorders, recognize that maybe dealing with me differently would get a better result. My idget dad says I sound accusatory so I say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I will work on that.”

Yet he gets to remain the same heartless rude bastard he;’s always been, he never has to improve or apologize.

Am I just too emotional and high strung or are most people emotionally wired like sociopaths????

If my own family can’t work around my disabilities…I have little hope an employer ever will.

Guess it’s time to start looking into that home fetish porn site thing again. Let Daddy go brag how his daughter’s not on a nitwit pension anymore, she’s on the internet sloshing her feet in cream corn for some fetish site.

That makes me smile. He makes me miserable and I want to take him along for the ride.

And ya know, throw him under the bus, run over him,  put in in reverse, and do it again…

I know, I am terrible but Wednesday 13 is just such an amazing poet….