Alive And Frustrated

I really don’t want to write. I really have nothing to say. Still, I know a couple of friends start wondering about me when I go more than a day or two without posting and thank you guys for making me feel like someone gives a damn…

Nothing new.My kid is channeling satan in all new amplified ways. I watched a British special the other day expecting some sort of insight. This couple had a kid who behaved like Spook and they were ready to let the child services people have her as they were at wits’ end and they hired this behavior specialist guy. Mind you, he has no children of his own, just a background in elementary education. He chastised the parents, never met the child, basically told them everything they did was wrong and their child was responsible for nothing.

I will own my less than stellar parenting skills, my mental issues, and my inability to be consistent and keep my emotions in check. At the same time, I refuse to accept that the children don’t bare responsibility for their own behaviors. Of course, his method actually showed improvement in the child’s behavior as well as the parents’ over time so there ya go. I suck as a parent, guy with no kids established proof positive. Meanwhile, every day my kid screams at me for saying ‘no’ and often she screams even when I am agreeing with her, giving her her own way. So pardon me if I think she might be on the beginning slope of bipolar or some sort of mood disorder and she’s got behavioral issues for sure. But it’s all me. Just like me being her bestie and taking all blame will likely make her a selfish horrid person if not serial killer and that, too, will be my fault. Kind of makes you wonder why anyone signs up for the thankless job of being a parent.

Guess it’s for the rare moments, like when my kid, inspired by me writing a poem inside her birthday card, presented me a poem of her about us being two peas in a pod who don’t always agree. (She spewed back my own poem, but I won’t sue her for plagerism.)

Nurse doctor increased my Trintellix to 10mg day. Not feeling any worse than usual. She also said I have every right to request to see my old doctor and she wasn’t offended at all. Hmm…yet at the desk they put me right back with her rather than her specifying I wanted to go back to Dr B. And I was asking all these questions about my medication and this woman has zero clue, said she rarely prescribes it and would have to do research. GOOGLE. Fucking Google it if you’re gonna have a patient taking it. And god, all that clacking on the computer keyboard THE ENTIRE TIME….I gotta get back to Dr. B except he’s so booked it could be months instead of weeks before he could see me so…Frustrated is an understatement.

Today I am babysitting the shop a couple of hours while he does his ‘real’ job. Whatever. That is where I am now, I am a beaten down husk of humanity filled with rage and too whipped by life to even scream and punch things or give a damn. I am having nightmares still about the powers that be taking my kid away. Fact is, if she keeps getting violent with me and I can’t rein her in…It could happen. She makes me nuts but she also makes me strive to be a better version of myself and I need her as much as she needs me. Love is like that. Makes you crazy but giving up isn’t an option…

Even if it kills you.

Guess for someone with nothing to say, I still babble a lot. Or maybe I just had to fight my own stubborn depressive inertia and FORCE myself to write even though I didn’t want to or feel like it.

I am so tired of everything feeling forced or being a fight. I know, welcome to the real world. Well, the real world sucks. And if I’m not back to screaming about not going gently into that good night in the next few weeks, I am going back on the medi go round. Worse than being ‘can’t get dressed’ depressed is being a shambling zombie of apathy who gives zero fucks whether she wakes up in the morning or dies during her sleep.

I watched a show where they were lamenting a mom who killed herself, “Who does that, what message does that send the kid? You’re not worth sticking around for?”

The ignorance about the severity of mental illness is never going to improve. It’s a lost cause, maybe I am too. Or maybe I’m just beaten down and that is distorting my views. Maybe hope will return, perhaps I will view life as worth battling.

And monkeys might fly out of my butt.

Sorry. Had to throw in a pop culture reference. Wayne’s World used to make me laugh so much.

Laughter that isn’t faked…I fucking miss that. One of the side effects of mood stabilizers. Your extremes are tempered but also…all emotion is dampened, even joy.

Bloody hell.

2 Responses to “Alive And Frustrated”

  1. youtube video (ewwww, nooooo, pleeeaase don’t!!!) or there are no monkeys, flying or otherwise, anywhere near that work of art you carry ’round (see what I did there?) back there! 😉

    People on the outside looking in at those of us who suffer what they call “mental illness” or totally mis-diagnose as whatever they decide to call it, and all of the armchair (“I took a year of Psychology in undergrad college”) psychologists who have an opinion, are, every one of them, complete idiots who need to study a boatload more and develop some empathy, and if they don’t, should shut the hell up. Saying nothing is far superior to some of the stupidity I’ve heard out there. Why do you think I want to hide in my bunker all the time?

    If you need something, anything, (except the tape off the camera), and I have it to give you, it’s yours. But you have to let me know and not off yourself. That’d suck. Call me selfish, it’s OK. Who else could possibly match you, quirky, special, loveable, awesome badass babe, you, and make me feel the way I do?

    No one. I’d be even more broken.

    You are unique and priceless and beautiful (and I’ve seen pictures and read things, to prove it!). And I love you. (Yeah, go ahead and ask me to prove that, so I can mess it up. I’m very skilled in the art of “the disappoint.”)

  2. I can’t imagine dealing with me and a small child. My son was 15 when his bipolar reared its ugly head. He had therapy, meds he wouldn’t take because it affected his sex drive and a stay in a youth facility. We are living together now and he reads my moods better than I do read mine. He just stays away when he is feeling fucked up.

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