Follow Me Down The Rabbit Hole

Actually, I really don’t want anyone to follow me down the rabbit hole. Truth be told, I wouldn’t wish depression on my worst enemy. It’s awful and another harsh truth…standard issue people, and especially the ‘Tom Cruise mental illness isn’t real’ faction wouldn’t last a week in my shoes during the black periods. No one deserves that.

After Monday’s whirlwind kick ass of accomplishment…I crashed into ‘out of bed and hating every minute of it’ land. Two days, mostly kid free, and I accomplished nothing but binge watching more of The Originals. Then yesterday my depression and anxiety hit fever pitch and I had to switch from that show (oh, so much anxiety inducing drama) and move to Special Victims Unit. Which used to depress me after an episode or two, because, jebus, ruining sex is just despicable, thank you human race. That has to tell you how far the rabbit hole I went down.

Tuesday’s appt with the psych nurse wasn’t too awful except I did that nervous talking too much inappropriate humor thing. She probably thinks I am a malingerer. Only saving grace is she was a nurse there for 6 years before getting whatever alphabet soup degree to be a psych nurse. She’s familiar with my history, I doubt she’s going to contradict an MD, let alone a series of them who all agree that I am indeed, ill. Still…I reflect on my words and behavior and cringe. I admitted to the suicidal thoughts, though I was appalled when asked if I had a plan. No. If I had a plan, I wouldn’t talk about it, I’d just do it. Speaking up was my way of saying ‘this has gone on too long, I recognize this as depression, I need help.”

Of course, much as I like the psych nurse cos she really is a sweetie…I couldn’t help but remember, 2 years ago she was preggo and going to school and managing a marriage and what have I accomplished? Nada. So why can people like her manage it all yet I start melting down at the slightest provocation and sometimes without that much? Doesn’t do much for my self esteem. Nor did being asked about therapy because of course, now they’re gonna deem me non compliant simply because I have trust issues due to therapists who broke my trust and damaged my further…Oh and as a new psych nurse, she was being extra thorough so now I have to have a lithium level drawn which means…actually taking the lithium and not forgetting doses so the levels are accurate.

To be honest…I’m not doing so well with the med compliance and it’s not unwillingness. It’s either forgetfulness or the sleepiness or nausea and by the time I remember, it’s time for another dose which would mess up all levels…It’s frustrating because I try to be med compliant. I believe in the meds when they work. And today, one of my first actions was to go to the pharmacy to get the Cymbalta she agreed to prescribe after hearing me out. 30mg for a week, then up to 60 for 4 weeks, and see them again. I guess the doc is so busy I am seeing the nurse now and if that fucks up a disability review, I am gonna be furious. Their lack of staffing should not endanger the very thing that keeps homelessness at bay. Paranoia? Maybe. But with the Trumpire on a rampage…Loss of benefits is a real thing, and it’s terrifying. It’s not some “I’ve been flying high and functional a year but I just don’t want to work” thing.

My father finally returned my child last night 40 minutes before she was to leave on the church van. To her credit, she seemed happy to see me. She claimed she wanted to come home sooner but they wouldn’t let her and they also wouldn’t allow her to even call me. I can believe it, they’re assholes. And so overbearing my hatred boils over. “They mean well” has become more appalling than “sociopath without conscience”. They choose to be jerks and try to usurp my parental authority. They have her maybe a week total a year, go buy her all these clothes, and won’t send a thing home with her. They brag about taking her out to eat, and buying this and that…Even my sister said when she was there the other day (dad pays her to clean their house when stepmonster only works 16 hours a week but no, she can’t have the time to do the work herself) that stepmonster was yelling at my kid and trying to take my place, telling Spook to get over missing her mom. Um, four day, I should think a 7 year old missing their mom is quite normal, you stupid twonk.

What I learned while my kid was gone is…One day of me time is enough. I miss the life she brings to the place. I feel bad for not taking care of her because I chose to have her. I wanted her home where she belongs. Selfish? Maybe. But this is her home and where she belongs.

And that was when it really hit me. My parents always worked, kept us fed and clothed, yada yada but the ONE thing I have done for my child that they never did for me and my sister…My child came home to this place, hovel or not, when she 2 days old and she’s lived here every day since. 8 years I’ve maintained a roof over her head, not any roof, not a revolving roof, the same stable roof. By the time I was 13, my parents had moved us nine times. Their fault or not…My kid has had a stable home. That’s ME, doing my best, to give her stability and a home. Not fancy, everything’s falling apart, but she hasn’t had the displeasure of moving repeatedly and go to new schools. Not much, but it’s something. Not that my parents would ever admit it.

Yesterday was horrible because I decided I should take my meds. Ha. First I got sleepy and started nodding off. Then I got a headache, then I started to feel like I was gonna throw up. At one point I felt so sick, I even hoped they’d keep her an extra night. But I was so relieved they didn’t, having her back made the place come alive and my will to live returned. Being depressed without even a kid to take care of…Dark territory. Shallow? Maybe. IDK.

Today’s been stressful/peaceful/relief. She had a friend here before 10 a.m. and he wouldn’t stay outside even when I told him four times to go play outside. I tried to have patience, but not my strong suit. Then we ran errands, even took my kid out to lunch. Came home and bam. Devil girls. One of them took of my kid’s new bike and Spook told her to bring it back but she just kept riding away…So the bike got chained up and I decided to go pay rent. Not an easy task because the car is running hinky and I put gas treatment in but scumbag brain keeps telling me something is Very Wrong. And if the car keels over…I’m screwed. And breaking down…Horrific. So I limited our outings. Now my brain is OCD about the new girl at the landlord office not writing down that my rent was paid as due and me getting some notice about $70 late fees. I kept my Visa receipt, but those people are so unorganized…

Ha, me throwing stones when I can’t even write a post that stays on topic. Oh, well, my whiplash typo ridden posts are simply me. The Real Deal. The Ugly Truth.

And the kids are back in my yard. Blissful summer break. NOT.

Today is better than yesterday, I guess that is something. Hopefully the Cymblotto helps my brain start working better. I am so tired of everything I say sounding so hateful. I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want to be chemically imbalanced, period. But want and reality are two different beasts.

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