Archive for August, 2017

I’m Fine…Keep Telling Yourself That, Dude

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on August 31, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

After a conversation with R last night in which I propose a compromise where I can somewhat help him keep the shop open without it impacting me financially or emotionally…the positional asphyxia has lessened but only slightly. I am going to try a few hours every other weekday, and we’re going to keep doing the barter thing. I help him out, he hands over the credit card so I can buy gas or cat food or whatnot. And of course, auto repairs.

He was not exactly happy about this arrangement. He kept pointing out that it would cost him potential business, working that whole guilt trip thing but I didn’t back down. I pointed out my last uber meltdown trying to keep up with what he expects me to be, the one where we didn’t speak for 5 months cos I had to remove myself from a situation that was crushing me during a crushing depression.

His mantra? “You’re fine.” He said it over, and over, because he is convinced mental issues are b.s. and that by repeating himself enough he can convince me I am indeed fine. Ha ha ha. Guess what? I’m really not.

Prior to him showing up, I was in fact, about to go ballistic on a yard full of screeching kids. God, the two and a half days Spook was grounded were so peaceful, we didn’t find, the noise was minimal…But she was good and I let her off the hook as planned only to be thrust right back into the drama and demands and the older kids are flocking together and ditching her and she wants me to go tell them they HAVE to include her. Sorry, baby girl, it doesn’t work that way. And she is still harping on those fucking devil girls. Yeah, the ones who can’t play with my kid cos they told their dad I yelled for them to kiss my big fatt butt. No, I was not talking to them, I told them I was not talking to them, but they still went and told daddy and he banned them from having contact with my kid supposedly until I apologize.

Doesn’t work that way, McDouchey “I send my kids to your house in negative 16 degree weather to use your phone to call and demand their grandpa bring me cigarettes”. Not to mention his oldest angel spent one church night in the office cos she kept saying “motherfucker” on the church bus. And this guy wants to make me look like some sort of monster for mouthing back to a teeny bopper that had nothing to do with him or his kids? Nope. Besides, the drama went down 30 points since they got banned from our house and selishly, I like it that way.

Point being, any time my kid plays,it turns into drama and bickering and noise and my nerves start fraying and the nervous stomach ache that has become a constant companion begins churning like cola poured on battery posts. I AM NOT FINE. I am hanging by a bloody thread, whether your itty bitty brain can grasp it. Grrr, the non believers when it comes to mental illness really make me want to grab a shovel and start whacking skulls. (Z whacker is needed now!)

“You’re fine.”

He just kept saying it while trying to talk me into doing it his way. And every part of me wants to declare myself cured and say pushing myself will be good for me, but I’ve lived it long enough to know that’s not how it works for me. I am standing my ground on this one even if it comes served with daily guilt provoking comments from him. Besides, the way this other place works him a few weeks then lays him off then he goes back, lather, rinse, repeat…it’s not worth upending my entire world and shaky equilibrium only to be told, oh, now I don’t need any help so you’re on your own for gas money or whatever.

I am NOT fine. And you are delusional for thinking I am. I am managing and I use that term very loosely. I told my mom the other day that my life has been reduced to nothing but kid drama and lice treatments. And it’s true. I have got to find some peace, find something for myself, something that nourishes my soul and gives me emotional strength. Generally that comes from writing but if I am busy helping him during the hours she is at school and then I can’t get any peace to focus until after she goes to bed by which time I am so beaten down I could be a corpse…

“You’re fine.”

Yep. Totally. That’s why when the fire truck sirens went off awhile ago my first thought was, “Hope they’re not going to my house!” And I actually breathed a sigh of relief to see it go in the opposite direction. This is not normal anxiety, this is not rational thought. Daily stomach aches aren’t just part of life. I have legitimate disabilities and limitations and no one resents it more than I do but it is what it is. And I warned him should I melt down because it happens every winter…You don’t get to to play the ‘how could you let me down’ card.

In other news, I was supposed to have a child support check today. No check. WTF? First thought is, “Donor quit his job and absconded”. Second cheerier thought (yeah, I’m going to hell, whatver) “Hey, maybe he died!” Seriously though, aside from holidays the deposits have been like clockwork so a little panic is warranted. Then again it could be something as simple as his employer’s pay period not fitting the normal schedule and it could be there tomorrow. IDK.

I still haven’t heard back from social security about whether I ‘qualify’ for my request for a new social security card from the on line application. That makes me nervous but we all know the governt moves at the speed of snail unless it’s the IRS then they’re cheetahs.

So many things making me uneasy. Worry leads to worse anxiety which leads to physical symptoms which worsens the depressive feelings…

I’m not fine.

Positional Asphyxiation

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on August 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

What would you do if a friend threw a curveball at you and placed you in an impossible situation? Where helping them could totally scew you over in numerous ways, but by not helping, you are considered a lazy unsupportive traitor? What would YOU do?

I find myself in a position that has me feeling like I am suffering from loss of oxygen…If I help my friend, it places me in a spot I can’t handle and am in no shape to say I can, but he doesn’t listen or care, he just wants me to cooperate with his agenda or I am being a lazy traitor.

At the same time, he is requesting of me stability and strength I simply don’t possess at this time. Not with seasonal affective disorder looming and me already coming undone in small ways. (I found I couldn’t even remember what clothes my kids wore to school, I entered the same part number 30 times today and still had to refer to an email to remember it, fairly sure bugs are living on my skin and they are invisble-not good!!!)

Then come financial issues because hey, you want someone to basically work part time yet can’t pay even minimum wage and that all has to be documented and reported and I lose benefits yet it’s not increasing money for my kid, it’s actually going to take away. Not to mention even if I could pull off 24 hours a week…well, bam, I am obviously cured so disability goes away but I’m still too much of a wreck for the doctor to sign off even if the government cuts me off and no one will hire me because, HEY, UNSTABLE CHICK WALKING.

I WANT desperately to help my friend, I so do. But he wants an indefinite commitment that will harm my precarious financial situation as opposed to help and it escapes him how this is possible because, hey he’s never had to work with the damned system.

I am NOT lazy. I am NOT wallowing. I am NOT ‘giving in’ to my mental demons. But they are pounding on the door and it’s just a matter of time before they bust it down.

My solution, of cpourse, was snark first, then point out negatives for both of us (his other job doesn’t pay enough for him to pay me minumum, hello???) but he just kept poking, like I am being some sort of backstabber who wants to sabotage instead of help. My loyalty first and foremost is to my child and myself, our situation. If helping him actually costs us, then I’m sorry, it’s not worth it. And here I am saying, I’m prolly gonna go down the rabbit hole soon anyway, cos seasonal is a disorder, after all, but…deaf dears.

I said come talk to me, maybe we can arrange something. Ya know, like people call to make an appointment, I go open the shop, help them haul in or out their item, write a ticket up… I am in zero shape to spend my only sane hours-while my kid is at school- out in the petri dish where my anxiety and paranoia rampage and rape my mind. FFS, if I were *there*, I’d be groveling around town for a dishwasher job or toilet cleaner, whatever at least pays minimum. I think I am doing a service admitting my limitations and yet I am treated like disloyal lazy scum.

What would YOU do in this position?

Positional. Asphyxiation. Keep friend and lose sanity and stability or burn bridges and get blacklisted?

Can’t. Fucking. Breathe.

I Think THIS Mom’s Gone Crazy

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on August 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

In keeping with my Eminem theme from earlier…Only it’s not “My dad’s gone crazy”…I think it is ME who has gone crazy.

It started early afternoon, the looming anxiety, panic, the paranoia…Bad juju, I call it, when I have all these foreboding emotions I can’t explain with hard facts or situations that explain why I feel that way.

Over the last few hours, the panxiety (paranoia/anxiety hybrid, MY term, and YES, it is a thing) has become stifling. We were at the store and some chick was wandering around with her phone held out. For all I know she was trying for a better signal, trying for a pic of something that has nothing to do with me…But scumbag brain’s go to is instant paranoia and freak out anxiety. OMG THE DONOR HAS SOMEONE TRACKING ME, SEEING HOW I SPEND MONEY! And then I talk myself off that ludicrous ledge and…

Scumbag brain offers up an Encore (I can’t stop with the Eminem references!) and says, no, it’s the government tracking you. Because you applied for a replacement social security card on line and you still haven’t heard if you’ve been ‘approved’ and they said they’d check your credit report and they probably see all your debts and they’re reading your blog and having people follow you with a cell phone camera, OMG THEY ARE WATCHING YOU IN AN EFFORT TO PROVE YOU’RE NOT DISABLED.

Crazy? Perhaps.

But then I get to thinking about the world we live in these days. Used to, you filled out paperwork, if you forgot to cross a T or dot an I, they cut you some slack. Now in the digital age, some missed typo could land you in some sort of ‘you committed fraud’ situation. I checked and rechecked before I clicked the electronic signature but now that I haven’t heard yay or nay on simply getting a replacement card (I’m me, I was born here, you have my driver’s license number,ffs with my picture!)…panxiety is rioting. I am itching, my stomach is back in knots which had subsided once I escaped the dish and returned to my sanctuary…

The Donor used to say the only people who feared loss of privacy or doing legal paperwork was someone who had something to hide. I still say bullshit. Because I know how things get lost in the mail or misconstrued (kinda like those outstanding bills I ended up paying but was penalized for being late cos hey, I never got anything in the mail and I ALWAYS did the change of address thing, always, but it was still on me.)


It’s really not far fetched. And my bad juju is often as right as it is wrong. Under the current regime of government, anything short of missing 4 limbs is likely not considered a disability and oh,well, if you are disabled, you don’t contribute so bring out the poor disabled person concentration camps.

I’ve gone stark raving mad, right?

I hope I have. It’d be better than being right about some of this stuff coming to fruition.

Personally, I think someone who abruptly starts thinking random people with camera phones and random requests for needed documents are out to get them…is probably a bit on the loopy not reliable side. I’m not bats-in-belfry just yet but I am getting there. Which technically means I am sicker now than when my disability was originally granted.

Now back to my irregularly schedules itching and hives while I await scumbag brain’s next attempt to drive me over the edge.

‘Till I Collapse

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on August 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

As of late, I’ve been occasionally working song titles into my post titles. Bon Jovi, Papa Roach, Motionless in White…Today, I am going with Eminem. He’s funny as hell but his message is awesome, I admire my fellow “Fuck You” brigade members. And this song of his is how I am feeling today or at least how I want to feel. Because with mental glitches, no amount of stubborn will to keep going can ward off the meltdowns.

‘Cause sometimes you just feel tired, feel weak
And when you feel weak
You feel like you wanna just give up
But you gotta search within you
And gotta find that inner strength
And just pull that shit out of you
And get that motivation to not give up
And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall
Flat on your face and collapse

I’m at the shop again, as a favor to R, and it is quiet but my cramps are not, nor is my nervous stomach. And I’m feeling a little woozy which is weird because I ate a few bites of cereal, haven’t taken my meds yet, and have had a little soda so my blood sugar shouldn’t have dropped or jumped enough to cause wooziness.

Maybe it’s because we lost another kitten. Yeah, Cleo ninja dropped 4 preemies the other day and now I have to bury a kitten who lived less than 24 hours.After burying my beloved Graves and the others last week. Death doesn’t bother me in general but when it’s an animal or someone I am truly bonded with…I take it pretty hard. Yeah, I come off as all uncaring and cold but that’s emotional battle armor.

I am in that dangerous place. I know I’ve pushed myself way too hard and that if I don’t step back soon and give myself a brain reboot, I WILL go splat. It’s not a question of if,it’s just when. Because that is the price of being uber functional for me. I am a badass who just keeps going like the battery bunny from hell…until I simply can’t. I hit the wall and essentially drop out of life. Beyond my kid and cats, everything ceases to matter. Friendships, family, trying to be functional and fake it til I make it out of the depression or anxiety…It all goes away and I collapse and it’s more my mind’s way of throwing a safety switch than anything. Because if life won’t slow down and allow me the break I need when I need it and I have to keep going…SPLAT happens.

And no matter how many times it happens everyone around me still scratches their head and wonders why I crashed and burned. Because hey, I don’t work, I have the easy life,blah blah fuck off and die in a fire. You don’t go far if your car’s gas tank is on E and the same is true for me when my mental reserves are on E. I wish I were tougher but it is what it is

But ’till I collapse and splat…I’m here, burying my dead, pretended my stomach’s not tied into pretzels, my ovary oompa loompas don’t exist, and lying to myself by saying, “I’ve got this, I can do this.”

I want to do it.

And I also want to be a unicorn because this being an adult thing sucks.

See? Still not a unicorn, desire be damned.

Mental Popcorn Recipe

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on August 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Take 1 bipolar axis 2 med resistant patien
Add propensity for paranoia and panic due to anxiety disorder
Toss in 8 month long depressions with 4 month long stable-ish bouts or hypomania
Combine with 300mg Wellbutrin and 10mg Trintellix

Mental popcorn.

See, I don’t know how to better describe the side effects I get from my dual anti depressant therapy. I have allergies to pretty much everything so being itchy has just been part of my life since childhood as is tossing back anti-histamines. The mood stabilizers and anti anxiety pills do not cause itchiness, I have mythbusted this numerous times.

Rare occasions, a single anti depressant/anti psychotic like Abilify or Lexapro resulted in the sensation of itchiness and bugs crawling all over my skin. No hallucinations that bugs are there, just all over body itchiness.

My current regime of Wellbutrin and Trintellix, though…The itchiness is head to toe and it’s like…popcorn popping. Think more old school hot air popcorn maker where you can hear and watch as the kernels pop and fall into a bowl. Now place that sensation on every inch of your skin and hair. Pop, pop,pop,pop, constantl. On your skin, under your skin, in your brain, scalp, EVERYWHERE EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY.

Mental popcorn.

The alternative is to stop one or both drugs and go back on the medi go round, thus sacrificing what little progress the meds have given me. It’s not a choice where you really win because, hey, mental popcorn itself is maddening as bipolar and depression and anxiety attacks.

And don’t tell your mental healthcare pro you have mental popcorn unless you have a mega potentially fatal rash to back it up. They look at you like you have sprouted two heads and a third eye. Just because the pharma company didn’t list it or perhaps trial patients didn’t know how to describe it but for “itchiness”…does not mean it’s not real.

I can occasionally quell the popcorn sensations or lessen them with an anti-histamine. Right now, I am forced outside my crypt into the dish and have no access to said medication and…I really like eating popcorn but feeling like it’s bugs popping on my skin 24-7 is making me rethink my snack choices.

Mama Roach’s Last Resort

Posted in bipolar disorder, gofundme campaign with tags , , , , on August 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So…In a hypo-manic state after burying my dead cats, washing dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, washing laundry, folding and putting away laundry (kid is at church, very productive time)…I revamped my fundraiser page.

You can click that pic and it will take you there. I cut back on the long winded ‘my story’ part. I tossed in some heavy metal flavored humor. I posted the pic from last night and then thought, oh, god, people will see that and say, ‘no wonder she has bugs.” Fact is, the ceilings were that discolored when we moved in 8 years ago and if the landlord considers fixing your heat a hindrance, your ceiling color isn’t getting fixed.

Still, you can see the bugs are just moving into new corners as soon as the efficacy of the spray wears off. I knew something was up when we moved in and I noticed all the corners had big pieces of scotch tape on them. I of course took it down…But the previous tenants had done that in an effort to seal off the bugs’ entrance. Which means the bug problem is this particular lot/court, not each individual.

Anyway…Click it, don’t click it, you may get a laugh even if you can’t donate or you can pass it on. Now my hypomania is fading fast because soon my kid will be home, and soon, the next battle will begin. This morning it was 20 minutes of her lamenting that I wouldn’t put mascara on her because she suddenly decided her lashes make her look ugly. I don’t know what’s coming next, with her, or with me. That I haven’t gone homicidal kinda makes me think I deserve a kick ass superhero name. Snarkasma is cool and all, but perhaps…When I am being really bad ass in spite of everything being shit…


No? Meh.

HELK! Going under in every way…

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on August 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Three kittens died this week. It doesn’t matter they weren’t mine, I am supposed to be the cat whisperer. THEN my beloved kitty Graves went down the tubes and died because he apparently got into the trash and devoured tiny remnants of roach killer from the tubes. (That or the mama cat has a genetic flaw, even the kitty I gave my sister’s brood from that litter has been sick, so assuming it’s environmental and my fault doesn’t quite gel.)

THEN instead of a peaceful to day to grieve for my baby and nurse mega pms cramps…One of Spook’s friends mom texted me asking if the girls could sleep over here and go to church tomorrow. I finally let down my guard and an hour in, this girl was digging at her scalp and I found nymphs and nits. So I texted her mom who had taken off and got no reply and I found a nit in my kid’s hair so once the S’s mom got back, I had to treat my kid my kid and commense with the laundry and vacuuming (which kinda works better when the vac doesn’t spit everything back at you)…

I didn’t get to grieve for my kitty Graves at all except for some pre-menstrual tears I couldn’t ward off. Those evil friends of hers even ASKED to see my dead baby’s corpse! How I loathe such cold hearts, kids or adults.

Now I find out the bug killing campaign didn’t net enough to truly treat the nest, they ones who don’t die simply migrate to other rooms and I am so damned demoralized and frustrated I could stick my head in a oven. But fear not. My oven doesn’t work cos the landlord won’t pay to fix anything…Including all those leaks in the ceiling that have discolored everything.

Yeah, those little asshole black spots up top…are roaches. AFTER being hosed down in ten different ways. So if I am asking for help…it’s not a scampaign or drama. This is just ridiculous.

Not to mention the MIA parents who ditched their lice infested kid with me meant me spending the only cash I had left on the lice killing shampoo ($7 a bottle, generic) so now I amk am having panic attacks because I have no money for gas in the car to get her to school, Gauge is on orange which likely won’t cut it. R can’t help, my mom and sis are broke, my dad refuses even three bucks for a gallon of gas…I am likley gonna have to try to pawn this laptop just to get $3 for a gallon of gas as money won’t come in til Thursday.

I am so tired. Exhausted. Beaten down. I am a single mon with mental disabilities doing her best abd I can’t catch a break. Depression disorder plus depressive life situations…Not good,at all.

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF PEGACORN KIND….donate to our gofundme campaign. Give a virtual gift card for a gas station. Send a stash of lice shampoo. If you have ever been down the rabbit hole where it all hurts so much you just want a needle of novacaine to numb your breaking heart and fraying nerves…PLEASE. Pass it on, help if you can. If I can’t raise the money for the bug guys’ next visit, it’s just gonna get worse. I NEED to make something work and I need help. (Or as Spook called it for years, HELK!).

Now it is quiet and I am depleted in every way and I may well cry myself to sleepm in honor of my beloved deceased Graves.

RIP little man.