4 Days

4 days. That’s how long I went without showering. Until today and I only forced myself to do it because the humidity was stifling and causing my pancreas to sweat. These little ‘normal’ things that ‘normal’ people do, like bathing, brushing teeth, folding laundry, attending a concert….

These are the uphill battles for bipolar depression. Such small things, seemingly simple and innocuous, but so…damned…difficult. 4 days without a shower. Nasty, right? Though I did wash my hair Saturday with the shower sprayer because no amount of deodorant can make your grubby hair and itchy scalp let up.

Do I admit any of this with pride? No. It’s humiliating. But a recent comment on how refreshing (or shocking or gross, something to that ilk) my blatantly honest take on depression is reminded me…I don’t blog so people find me funny or pretty or a genius. I blog because THIS IS THE REALITY. It’s ugly and nasty and embarrassing, but this is my truth, and it is the truth for millions of us who battle the ugly beast called depression. Many people can’t find their voice or don’t have the courage to open up about how awful it is.

It is for them, as much as myself, that I speak out on these ugly things.

And while mired in ugly petty depression that makes me a shitty person raining on parades and blowing up floats…I will also be fair and include the small triumphs.

Yesterday, the park was offering free ferris wheel rides and my kid begged me to take her. I was terrified. But I sucked it up and I took her and ya know what? It wasn’t the greatest fun because, eww, other people, agoraphobia, uneasy…But it wasn’t traumatic. And she got to ride with her mom, with her church friend, with the neighbor girls…and she didn’t puke or freak.And I was reminded how much I always LOVED amusement park rides. And contrary to what my ass trash stepmonster said, my ass DID fit in the seat.

Tomorrow I have to have her an allotted spot at 9:30 a.m. so she can march in the church parade and throw candy. That makes me nervous but I spoke with the pastor (who seems like such an amazing lady, I almost wish I was religious) and they said if picking her up was too much stress for me, they could bring her home. And I am so grateful. Then tomorrow night the church is having a cookout (I declined, cos crowds) and I am dropping Spook off and they are gonna take the kids to see fireworks at the park where I haven’t been able to go in 20 years because last time I went I threw up, the traffic and people were too much for my panic disorder.

I am so glad she gets to participate and selfishly glad that I have an escape route. I am not mean or selfish, but I am neurotic and with all meds failing (aside from lamictal and xanax) I am just not to the point where I can deal right now. I haven’t given up, though. The right cocktail could be out there and next year, I might be able to handle all the crowds and noise and traffic. It could happen.

Least this year I don’t have to feel like a monster for my neuroses. My kid gets to go be a kid and have fun and that’s great. Maybe my lazy butt will dye my hair or something that lame depressed people put off because, well, they are depressed. I don’t know. I am happy my kid and I got to do something together and now she gets to celebrate a holiday I really have no interest in. Loud fireworks may be pretty but the noise…NOPE.

Today was the trauma of paying bills and realizing how little money I have what with her birthday and school clothes and shoes and supplies coming up next month. It makes me lose my breath. But we will manage, even if she has 2 new outfits for school and we have to do mix and match. Or I may have to seek out a charity to help with supplies because the school is never good enough with dollar store stuff, they need certain pencil brands and notebooks and blah fucking yada bite me.

For today, though…Bills are paid, kid has food (I’ll be living on eggs, baloney, and nacho chips for the next month) and my car, which is running like crap and acting like it’s about to give up and drop in the road…got us home from errands. Small victories, right?

SEE? I can toss in some positive with all the negative. But the anxiety and panic and depression simply are what they are and if someone wants to deem me a gloom monger for speaking the truth…

Go stab yourself with a rusty spork for lacking empathy.

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6 Responses to “4 Days”

  1. Thank God my kids are old enough to decide to go on “amusement” park rides by themselves if they want to go. I might go on a ferris wheel if I have watched and the operator doesn’t do too much of the swinging thing, which might make me vomit, but I will NEVER go on another fast ride like a spinning or upside down or roller coaster. Because I don’t want to puke on myself or other riders, I want to puke on the carney running the machine AND the person who designed it. I don’t find those kinds of rides “amusing.” And mostly I don’t want to break any teeth from grinding them in stress while my eyes are shut trying to not get motion sick.

    Fireworks? Fuck that. My charming dog and I went for a walk today and there was some sort of snappy thing left on the sidewalk, and of course, I stepped on the damned thing and didn’t even see it. My shoe absorbed most of the sound thank God, and I haven’t looked for the burn mark on the sole, I didn’t feel it, but I still heard it. Poor dog is traumatized with thunder and rain and wants to run home tail-twixt-legs and hide under the house whenever he hears gunfire, fireworks or any booming shit. And I’m not far behind him. Except, our house doesn’t have a basement to hide in. He doesn’t even like me to watch TV some, depending on the content. Pretty soon I’ll be watching Teletubbies and Mr. Rogers and other non-threatening shows exclusively. Which will make Mr Mumple a cranky-crank. Wait, he already is. He’ll be MORE cranky. People have no sympathy for PTSD sufferers, they’re ignorant shitheads!

    Last night Scruffy sat on the couch with me and cringed whenever he heard stuff, and tonight he’ll probably have to sleep with me. Mrs M is visiting family and young gentleman Mumple is at Boy Scout camp and little Miss Mumple is with her mum.

    That’s right, poor me: So very alone!! The horror! (so much more happy in some ways…)

    Grab the bad things and choke the living shit out of them!! And grab the good things and ride them until they can’t take any more! …um, I don’t think that last part came out quite right, maybe….nevermind! 😛
    ❤ DM

    • No basement in the bunker? I am SO not watching Teletubbies with you, dude! And btw, Tinky Winky is MINE! I need a new purse. I mean magic bag, wink wink.

      On Mon, Jul 3, 2017 at 4:46 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

      • Damn it, *I* don’t want to watch fucking TELETUBBIES!!! Although, Mr Rogers IS soothing. I want a magic bag that’s full of cash, if we’re getting magic bags for our birthdays. There, that’s my birthday wish. It’s not my birthday, but I wanted it out there for the consideration of the universe.

  2. It’s great that you found a way for her to go have a great time and not make yourself worse in the process.

    Does your Paypal work yet?

    • Oh, Paypal…Remember when it wouldn’t work for weeks and so I kept screaming at them comparing their intellect to that of belly button lint? Turns out, I misspelled my own name so of course they couldn’t do the proper checks required by law. YEP. Spelled my own last name wrong. Hahrdwick instead of Hardwick. And it took me months to notice. My IQ aspires to be as genius as belly button lint.

      So yeah, it works now that I’ve taken Kindergarten again ,lol.

      On Wed, Jul 5, 2017 at 9:15 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

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