-Cidal

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….

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4 Responses to “-Cidal”

  1. I have similar panic when things break or don’t brake because they’re broke and so am I. And my family and people we know (see how hesitant to call them “friends?”) think I should (ahem) *just* keep putting on the smiley mask and ignore the rule of poverty that says “shit falls apart, and faster when you’re broke,” and just celebrate the good. Well, I’ve got some good and I’m gonna share, and celebrate to spite everyone and everything. No smiley face, but wait for it, love. I’m like some kind of anti-superhero, “Broken-man,” or maybe “Depression Man.” But hey, do what you can when you can for whoever you can, and trust it’ll work out. Or break, whichever. Anyway, help is on the way. Just a tiny bit of help, because I can. ~DM ❤

  2. I, too have problems when things aren’t working properly. I think it has to do with a lack of control. I can’t fix the stuff. Hubby can, and does, promptly, but it still makes me nuts.

    I have this overwhelming desire to tell your father that he, too, sounds awfully accusatory.

  3. I really enjoy your posts. I know I shouldn’t be laughing at others discomfort or pain, but it helps me feel better and you write so damn well I enjoy it. I just wish it was fiction and not your real life. I am weaning off the anxiety med now and it is worse than cymbalta. Headaches, cramps in muscles and pins and needles so far.

  4. Wanting to murder family members, hating bieng in people’s debts or at thier mercy and general self hate…. How fucked up do you have to be to find that normal

    Wait… Checking… Yep, like me i guess!

    Atleast if you break the car running over family members you can blame a cock up in the meds and mental instability, whilst the state makes sure your daughter is fed and at school on time
    Ps: Not a suggestion by the way but if you do it, don’t quote me as a co conspirator
    Folk still think i can pass for stable and i would hate to ruin all those lies and inner turmoil!!

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