Archive for October, 2017

Put through The Ringer

Posted in seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , on October 31, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Forgive any ‘more-than-usual-typos-, my keyboard is being a dick today.

So yeah, put thru the ringer…My kid came home from school after her tooth being pulled, fair enough. Next day she was horsing around in the grass by the bus stop and that is where people walk their dogs so I got a call to bring her new clothes as she has poop on hers. (Worse, she told them it came from inside our house, but I looked all over and there was nothing) then Friday I got a call to come get her cause horsing around at the bus stop resulted in some boy shoving her down and the nurse ‘feared’ her wrist might be broken. No, the school fears liability issues. So I listened to her bitch and moan about going to the doctor except promptcare won’t take her insurance and I spent a half hour on hold just TRYING to get a hold of the nurse practitioner…Finally said fuck it, she’ll live.

One wrist support and some McDonald’s later, she was pitching fries at the cats outside like a pro baseball player-with the injured wrist. I don’t doubt it was mildly sprained, but her level of drama was ridiculous. And I finally pried it out of her…she really wanted to see the doctor so they could give her a note out of gym class. (Oh, she is so my kid.) She says push ups are too hard and boring and her friend had a wrist sling and got to sit it out, so she thought she could, too. Hey, I get it, I broke three toes two seperatime times in junior high and it was blissful to be sent to the library for six weeks during gym class. I didn’t do it purposely and I didn’t milk it, either.

By Friday, after having her at the shop, at home, even now sleeping in my bed again due to nightmares…I dropped her off at my mom’s, went home, and was asleep by nine p.m. I was wiped the fuck out. I didn’t even entertain taking her to the school Halloween event. How can you call it family night when you separate the kids and parents so we can take classes in parenting (spend more time together as a family!!!!) while the kids get to see a magician??? I did it two other years, but after it all last week…my mental state just wasn’t amenable. And it doesn’t make me feel good, either. I also told her Saturday night we’d drive around to look at Halloween lights…IF she brought home her book log, which is worth ten points. She forgot it again so I showed her there was a consequence. Now she just sees me as a sickly promise breaker.

Three days straight she had tirades and yesterday was a full out tantrum because she forgot the book log again and I said, nope, no trick or treating two nights in a row, we had a deal. Wrong thing today. She became very violent, attacked me physically, started snarling, climbing furniture, touching my stuff, aiming a pen in a stabbing motion…She bawled, called me names, told me she hates me…It was worse than Saturday’s fit when she declared she wanted a tsunami to eat her up because she’s done such bad things like writing sex notes in church and lying and hitting people…Yeah, her guilt really ran deep, it lasted a day or so. I recorded the whole episode last night, though, she went insane. And started hurting herself and screaming that I was doing it. I was so terrified of that child, but I didn’t back down, didn’t give in. After she hit me the 7th time and kept coming, I grabbed the phone and told her I would call 911 if I had to. She tried to knock the phone out of my hand.

So I started ignoring her. And she stomped off to her room and ten minutes later was bringing me an apology note asking me to forgive her for hitting me. By which point, of course, I forgive, but I can’t forget, especially when these fits are becoming more frequent. And violent. She just drains me, I have nothing left to give. By 7 p.m. I am begging to just go to sleep…And now that she has stopped sleeping thru again due to return of the night terrors, even my bed and sleep are taken over by her. I don’t know how much more I am supposed to take. The teacher was supposed to hook her up with a social worker so she could work out with a professional whatever is going on here,but so far they’ve met one time in a group. Big help. Like church. My kid lies more than any kid I know. Blatant, guilt free lying, then she lies some more, then she will say, okay, here’s the truth…which later, isn’t the truth at all…

I am already going under from the seasonal shift. I thought my nurse doc might find it a red signal when I said, “I feel like the only way to escape the anxiety of my life is to be locked in a psych ward in a straight jacket and have these people around me who are making demands SEE I am broken down!”But, no, I’d answered no to the suicide or harming others question, I am apparently fine. And it sucks. And I still haven’t made the call to see about switching back to the Dr. B and I think more than fearing social etiquette and nurse doc reflecting it in my file for switching back like I did it because she didn’t give me the answers I wanted…I fear he is so booked I won’t be able to get in til next year. Oh, and I hate phones, making calls gives me anxiety.

My weekend was filled with other anxieties, too. The neighbor girl asked me to keep an eye on her trailer while she was out, so I did…and it turned into this big drama where some dude was pounding on the door for ten minutes right next to my kid’s bedroom so I went out and told him the neighbor’s not home…And get sucked into their drama of texting back and forth and then he texts someone who calls my phone and I have barely any talk time left…And then to say thank you, he told me he’d pop by someday and not forget me being kind. PLEASE DO FORGET. I don’t have anything left to give to anyone, let alone new people.

Sunday I was stalked by K, this trailer park lady who seems very nice, and hey, if she wants to bum a smoke, whatever. But my daughter essentially gave this woman my number to arrange ‘playdates’ because Spook thinks I need friends. Now the woman is becoming a pain I don’t need and of course, when I say I don’t feel like talking or visiting because I don’t feel well…I’m not lying. I’m hanging by a fucking thread here, I don’t have mental reserves for new friends. I don’t have reserves for existing family and friends unless they want to email or text me. I am having a total meltdown in social skills and I have zero desire to change it. It’s called depression and it’s like a flu of the mind that lasts six months. Not that anyone gets it and one more reason to just avoid people. Get sick of explaining it and them running off only to reappear when I am doing better. Fuck you, I’d rather have no friends than spineless people who can’t handle me at my worst.

Today I am at the shop and frankly…it’s mostly cos I needed to use the dryer. I am getting to the point of saying fuck it all. That is what happens when I am pushed so far over my limits. I meltdown, shut everyone out, and just try to survive til the cycle passes. Pushing myself isn’t making me a more successful person. It sure as hell ain’t making me calmer or happier. I need to stop the world for a bit.

One plus is I didn’t have to see or hear from R for 4 days…and in those four days, I didn’t read a single political email or article, I didn’t sign a politcal whatever they are called cos my brained blacked it out…I shut out Trump and republicans and dems and all that bullshit and frankly…even if it makes me a sheeple who deserves to be sent to a concentration camp for being poor and mentally deficient…it makes my life more valuable to me. So fuck political shit, not worth it.

I think I am done. For now.

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Warmth

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on October 26, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s just one of those givens in life that we take for granted. Until something necessary breaks and then you realize…HEATING IS NOT OPTIONAL. My mood and will to live and comfort level skyrocketed last night when R got our heat working. It had two seperate issues but he took 45 minutes, took measurements, fixed some loose connections, banged the blower motor into submission, and voila…my daughter and I woke up to warmth this morning instead of an ice palace.

Gratitude is immense.

Hell, I may just bite the bullet and start nodding mindlessly during his political tirades. I’ve never given a damn before and I really don’t give a damn now, it’s just that natural rebel instinct that kicks in when someone tries to tell me their opinion is the ONLY legit one. I don’t think they could put Scooby Doo into office without me finding something to disagree on, like, I am totally not eating Scooby snacks to honor you, dude…It’s all become so clearly ridiculous to me. Leave me out of politics. My personal beliefs have nothing to do with their agendas, they’re just the ones fucking with my rights to those personal beliefs and the right to practice them. Aside from that…I’m out. Let Prez Trump do his thing and hope for ‘the best. I’m done getting ulcer-like stomach aches about a topic that truly bores me to death. I think I can mindlessly nod and pretend to agree or be interested during R’s tirades. God knows I do it often enough for my child’s tirades on everything from My Little Pony to Pokemon to ‘you’re the worst mom ever because you won’t let me change my outfit for the sixth time today!” At some point…you just gotta let the children have their tantrums and disengage as much as you can.

Children…Yeah, even with the seasonal depression coming on due to the lack of sunlight and the cold temps…I can’t fucking wait. REALLY. Her friends being at my house day in and day out, and even when I send them away they still play out in our yard which gets her all wound up…Bring on the 5 p.m. darkness and cold so these brats will go indoors. I let S stay at our house to catch the church van last night and come 8:30 when they got back…she couldn’t find her mom. House was dark and locked, I got no message or call-who the fuck does that???? Wasn’t til after 9 when the mom finally drove up looking for her kid. WTF? And this was all while R was trying to fix the furnace so I am sure the stampeding shrieking kids helped him focus. I was gonna tell Spook no more of this girl catching the bus at our house but apparently, it’s not an issue cos that whole family is moving next weekend. And much as I don’t like to see my kid’s heart broken…Buh-bye. The only thing the trailer hood retains and replaces more than bugs and cop cars driving through are people moving in with oodles of kids she can play with next spring.

I’m kind of a monster, I guess. Oh, well. It’s life.

Actually, I only have monstrous tendencies when pushed to my limits. And I’d say her dentist appointment, me seeing the nurse doc, going without heat several cold days, losing all our kittens, the dryer breaking down…Yeah, the monster is peaking out because damn…too damn much going wrong too or being demanded of me when I am running on E. I’m doing my best. Even if those around me seem to want me to feel otherwise. Fuck ’em.

I took doc nurse’s advice about upping my melatonin at night so maybe I can stay asleep. Well..I woke a couple of times but went back to sleep…but come alarm time, I was so groggy I could barely sit up and help my kid zip her coat. So until they create a sleep helper that doesn’t leave me that impaired come morning…I’m just gonna have to live with interrupted sleep and never being fully rested.

The more I think back to my visit with nurse doc yesterday, the more convinced I am that for whatever reasons…I really want to go back to Dr. B. I can’t explain it, I just….feel like she is skeptical of everything I say. She finally stoppd the perpetual clacking on the computer while I talk but there’s still…something unsettling there. I can’t get true help from someone I feel is…well, not team Morgue. Dr. B always made it clear he was pulling for me and he recognized my intelligence and potential and he empathized openly with what I am going through…Maybe it’s her fresh out of the box master’s degree but I’m not getting what I need from my appointments with her. And as society as trained me because, hey, I am mental, I keep bullying myself to suck it up, they’re just glorified pill pushers anyway, does it matter who writes the script? To me…I guess it kind of does matter yet here I am, months later with the same feelings and still invalidating myself because it’s what I’ve been programmed to do.

I’ll leave the deep thought for another time. For today…we have heat at home, food in the fridge, we are physically healthy, our cats are good…There are things to be grateful for.

I think depression may be the greatest magician of all time the way it presents me with its grand illusions of impending doom. Of course, when that’s basically 7 months of your life every single year…the illusion is the reality even if the doom isn’t real. My feelings are real. And if depression were a person, I’d totally tell them to fuck off and just avoid them or make a voodoo doll of them.

Unfortunately, I can’t walk away from my own brain and its trickery. Ain’t that the big problem. No escaping me.

Put Your Life Mask On

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on October 25, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So my beloved Wednesday 13 has a song called “Put Your Death Mask On”…and it’s a kick ass song but after my appointment with my nurse doc today…it occurred to me, death masks are final. What I wear every day is a life mask. Pretending to find joy where I really don’t. Living in fear of the other shoe dropping. Smiling when I want to snarl and Z whack non zombie skulls just because I am so damned frustrated with it all…

In my blog I am the real me. Mouthy, uncertain, stubborn, insecure, grouchy, fuck off if you don’t like it. I mean, I pour my heart and soul into my posts and I’m lucky if it resonates for the same 6 people. Meanwhile someone writes a post about faith in God or changing your diet and they get three thousand likes. Tells me all I need to know about the world and my feelings about the world when the mask is off. I just dislike humanity on a whole. Its vapid mindless hive thinking processes. And more than I loathe all of that, I loathe myself for even wanting to get a single like or comment because it means, I, too, have fallen victim to hive mindedness and that is unforgiveable.

Unless I remind myself I’ve never been of Borg ilk or my life would have been very different. I don’t necessarily want to be liked. Hell, I don’t mind being disagreed with, at all, long as one can make an educated argument against my own. I think it’s more validation that I crave than it is “love me love me love me or my soul will wither and die”. Still…needing validation at all make me feel weak and hate myself. Damn this being human thing.

Life keeps throwing punches. For weeks I have been sweating every unknown call on the phone, expecting it to be the mobile dentist office calling to find out if I got my kid into a specialist for that bad tooth. Because if I don’t, I am neglectful, but because I live in small town hell and my kid has Medicaid, the doctors aren’t lining up to take it all on…I found a pegacorn, however, with a generic Dentaquest card in my mail box the other day. I went to the website, picked a name, and hot damn, she got my kid in the very next day. She was amazing with Spook. And they did X rays and the bad tooth was a baby tooth, not a permanent tooth like mobile dentist guy said, so while there was screaming and moderate thrashing…Dr. K managed to pull that bad tooth with only novacaine and now my kid’s dental health is all caught up and I didn’t have to drive out of town or sell an organ to cover it.

That was a win.

Then came the losses. Hey, our heat is still out and suddenly, it’s in the thirties. YAY. Oh, and that load of laundry that isn’t getting dry…well, surprise, your dryer is throwing out zero heat. OMG, winner winner, salmonella infested dinner! I can’t catch a fucking break here. I will never get out from under it all. And there’s no way that dryer’s coming out, not with the floor caving in the way it is. I’ve come to terms with leaving pretty much everything I can’t carry myself behind because it will all be bug infested anyway. But I had hoped the washer and dryer would hold up a little longer. Like til…zombie apocalypse when we’re too worried about survival to care if our laundry is April fresh…It sent me into a meltdown, of course, and my kid was in pain from the tooth extraction but still making constant demands and I was just trying to figure out what the hell we’re going to do…

The wheels nearly came flying off. I took a double Xanax. So when R popped by to get a cd he asked me to burn, he wanted me to drive across town to fetch his gadget so he could do measurements on the furnace. I explained after that much Xanax….driving is not the thing for me to do. One mg, fine. But two mg, after getting very little sleep due to a dentist-fearing child keeping me up…That would have been impaired driving. He got pissed off. I said fuck it, we’ll freeze waiting for ass trash landlord to send some incompetent fool to look at it.

The plan is for him to take a peak tonight, he doesn’t think it’s anything too major aside from some unsoldered wires. Which the landlord’s guys would see and say, no, just order another $200 board because we’re too fucking stupid to take some readings and use a soldering iron.

This was all after The Ultimate Insult, of course. He went on his politics tirade, I keep saying agree to disagree, and he told me if I don’t get on board with republicans and Trump, they will put Hillary in office and she wants to send all people on public aid of any kind, inc disability, to an internment camp. Hmm, pretty sure the republicans do too, so what’s the difference? He essentially told me I am blind and moronic and I said you need to go before this becomes a real fight. I mean, cut it loose, already. I don’t agree on Trump being better than Hillary or vice versa. I hate politics. It’s ruining relationships because everyone is so sure they are right but we’re all probably wrong anyway. But basically having a friend tell you “get a job cos you’re going to an internment camp otherwise”…just wow. Like my brain needs help with suicidal ideation.

Of course, I didn’t mention the ‘s’ word to nurse doc. I’m not quite ready for the butterfly net yet. I did confide in her about how I am helping R out for that promised car and I mentioned his reference to internment camps and even she seemed stunned why a friend would say something so cruel. She should meet my family if she wants a real lesson in how cruel “loved” ones can be. She seemed mostly concerned about my not sleeping solidly, suggested I double or triple the melatonin. Not a bad idea unless it renders me unable to get up with my child in the morning. She raised the Trintellix to 20mg daily and printed me a flyer for a twice monthly support group. I am betting she’s making her copious notes about what a nutbar I am because she mentioned therapy and I said, quote, “I’d love to go to therapy if there were any other place in town my insurance covers aside from the one that broke my confidentiality twice.” Doc nurse seems skeptical of everything I say and maybe to a point, I am off kilter. But those medical confidentiality laws are there for a reason and when someone betrays them-and you-more than once…who would want to go back to that level of incompetence, not to mention out and out cruelty?

So…I am trying to pick up the pieces. I brought the wet clothes to the shop because for some reason there’s a dryer here and R said to knock myself out and use it. So for now, I guess that’s how our laundry will be getting dried even though it’s such a hassel. It’s a temporary solution. Next on the list is the heat, of course. Wearing gloves indoors is not optimal.

Which is weird because I have to fight my kid to bundle up during the cold mornings, she says she’s overheated, but indoors, she wants to wear gloves. Anything to amp up the drama. She fell and skinned her knees the other day and had two adults packing her home and one of them hollaring that she got hurt and I was thinking she was gushing blood…Nope. Standard issue kid skinned knees, not a drop of blood. She was even smiling as they were babying her and carrying her toward me. I want to be a caring parent but feeding that manipulative drama streak…ain’t happening. I patched her up and ten minutes later she took the band aids off and declared herself ready to go play again. After all that drama…

She’s 8. I have to keep reminding myself.

In fact I keep making excuses for everyone’s jerk behavior all the while flogging myself to the point my stomach hurts all the time. Until the break in the mold when I don’t have to contend with this shop and R. Or K randomly telling me I’m good with old people, I should get a job in home health care. WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE SO CONCERNED WITH ME HAVING A JOB? They don’t get that able bodied does not mean able minded. I am hanging by a fucking thread, getting zero joy out of life aside from sleep, and faking pretty much every damn action I take except maybe hugging my kid or cats. But yeah, I have all these people up in my business when I’m not asking them for stuff (well, I did ask R for help with the furnace, but him offering to buy me a car, nope, I’m happy with ugly beaters, he’s the one who thinks a car needs to also look good, and it’s his money but i did NOT ask)…

GRRRR. The cracks in the mask are appearing at random intervals. Like when the devil girls got banned from playing with my kid because I dared to tell some mouthy teenager she could kiss my big fat butt. I snapped. I should be more mature, but I have a breaking point and it seems to happen in spurts of inappropriate behavior like that. God knows what is next. Worst thing for me right now is being around R because he won’t stop the political bullshit, we will never agree, and it’s destroying our friendship. He refuses to see it, but he’s right and I’m wrong and democrats or progressives or well, everyone but republicans are evil.

But we need heat so I will suck it up tonight, feign the niceties, hell, I will lie my ass off and claim I was all wrong, Trump-ublicans are the second coming….IF it means working heat. Once I get heat, I’ll rescind my status as a sell out. This is survival, not the time for pride and ethics and standing my ground.

Besides, with fake news and social media and government manipulations…I’m not convinced I have true facts that form any of my opinions. All I can rely on is what I heard in the past, from Mr.Trump’s own words, and his current Tweetstorms. And I don’t think he’d blink any more than Hillary would to toss the “undesirables” into camps or mass graves.

The country has come to the point where Gattaca is around the corner. Anything less than perfect or uber productive is on the chopping block.

Is my paranoia showing?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I really hope I am wrong and there are decent people out there in the government who mean well.

Yeah. Try saying that aloud with smirking.

Back to wearing my life mask. My kid gets out of school early today which means two hours of her here at the shop bored out of her mind and making me suffer for it. Because nothing I do for her is ever good enough and trying is sucking the life out of me.

Sometimes, I think the mask is the only thing that gets me through. If I were to ever let loose with how mentally shattered I really am…Let’s just say there’d be a need for a lot of white coated people with very large butterfly nets.

Swallowing Pride…In The Name Of Love

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on October 20, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

First….this post has nothing to do with U2. I really am not into that band. For me, they rank up with Rush-ughhh. (sorry,Mr. M!)…but their song did remind me of what tonight was like for me. (***Disclaimer…I recognize the contribution both of those bands have made to the music world over the years, it’s still not the poison I’d pick.)

By some miracle I staved off the disgruntled shop customer to not take their business elsewhere til Monday (fuck you, asshole postal service,don’t tell me it’s delayed without an explanation!) Like, literally, 20 minutes before I left, all the while wishing they wouldn’t call and ask and me have to deliver bad news, again…But I guess by being sincerely obsequious (is it an oxymoron? Because, yes, I gushed gratitude for their understanding but it wasn’t at all insincere), I bought a day or two for ASS TRASH POSTAL SERVICE to do their damned job properly…(After I sent a pissy email to the ebay seller, oops, what a bitch I am!). Stress makes me panic and panic makes me an enormous bitch beast. Anyway, I miraculously held off that dragon.

Tonight my plan was to have my kid inside, bathed, and fed by 5:30 p.m.

Man makes plans, God, sacred pegacorn, and the flying spaghetti monster laugh.

I kept wondering why neighbor kids were showing up to play in their Halloween costumes..only to be informed there some ‘safe trick or treat’ shindig tonight. Which I had no notice of prior to 20 minutes before it began. And one of Spook’s friends asked if she could go and I said, yeah, long as I talk to an adult for approval. Well, that mom said no. Never mind all I do for these kids and me having them all here giving their parents a break…no, they can’t do fuck all to reciprocate. Then my kid started in. And I don’t do ‘on the spot’. In theory, spontaneous is amazing. In practice with mood swings and panic disorders….it’s terrifying and threatening.

I told her I’d research the local paper on line for details and consider it. THEN I found the article and it said last years between 5p.m. and 8 p.m OVER 1000 KIDS ATTENDERD. Which means at least 1/4 at least had 2 parents with them thus raising th crowd number…And I freaked. I told myself, noooooooooooooooo, you’re gonna end up in the rubber room.

Then my kid raised the ante and asked if her two devil girl friends could come with us. And I felt shitty cos I know (assholes they are) their parents have only one car and the mom had it at work so going with us was their only chance to attend…I said okay. Then wondered why I said okay.

I took 2mg Xanax (No, it doesn’t make me sleepy or impair me, not after 25 years) and the kids costumed up and I took them…Relieved to find a parking space I could easily escape, and also, the line was only 30 people long. I was anxious, I was terrified of losing one of 3 kids, but I was also giggling and taking pics of the Halloween displays…I overheated, nearly choked on a beloved fruit flavored Tootsie Roll, and could have done cartwheels when we finally ‘escaped’…But it wasn’t all terrible. It was stressful to an extent but I tried to bolster myself with the 3 girls’ enthusiasm.

I even let them play in the yard an hour after we got back so they could check out and swap their candy.

Then I had a generic ‘rita to steady my nerves and help me sleep because, dammit, I earned it. I have been so damned strong, so determined…I will pay eventually, but right now…I put my kid ahead of my own needs or likes, I even managed to conquer my own terror and panic for her enjoyment…No resentment. Just…

WOW! I fucking did this!!!!! Not just with my kid, but with two extras in tow! How awesome am I?

I recognize this for what it is. An aberrant manic-mixed episode where I amaze myself with my uber functionality and think WOO HOO I AM BLOODY WELL CURED!!!!

But I’m not. I am dancing on a razor’s edge. Not pessimistic. Realistic.

But, for once….I was tough enough to put my kid’s needs first and just.do.it. I will pay the price this weekend and probably be unable to stumble out of bed beyond going pee and feeding my kid but…for tonight…

I felt like Wonderwoman. It was a good feeling. I just wish mental illness gave a damn and would let it stick the landing.

(Creepy pix to follow…at some point)

Confronting Anxiety

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on October 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Day 3 in the dish. Started out lethargic but determined because yesterday my anxiety was so bad, I couldn’t even manage a trip to the grocery store. To punish myself, er, push my limits, I did let my kid have company when I got home yesterday. 4 kids, playing inside. Nerve racking, annoying, loud, icky…But since I let myself delay the shopping trip cos I was so rattled, I figured I could atone for the guilt of feeling weak by allowing my inner sanctum to be invaded. By six thirty when the church bus came, I was ready to do a fucking mamba. 7 kids playing in my yard, all of them bickering or crying, sooo much drama…When I punish myself, I do it well.

Today has me in confrontation anxiety. R has a customer who’s been waiting for 5 weeks for a repair, they’ve sent one wrong part, one never got sent at all even though ebay said it did, and the current one was supposed to have arrived today at the latest…but it’s not here. And the customer wants to take the TV back, he is mega irritated and pissed and I don’t blame him. I hope I can hold him off til tomorrow at least. This confrontation thing is a huge anxiety trigger for me and it’s not even really my damned drama. The worse part is, R is out of state the next 4 days for his youngest daughter’s wedding which means even if the customer agrees to wait til tomorrow and the board comes…Who’s gonna install it? Oh, right, ME. I’ve never done that before. I tear them down. I don’t put them together. I’m a bull in a china shop, ffs. But hey, I’ll give it a whirl and do my best. Though I’m not sure the customer will wait even 24 more hours. This is the sort of stuff that gives me pretzel gut and digestive issues, it’s so stressful. I don’t do confrontation.

What I do, however, do, is improvise when possible. R has been on me for over a week about moving a big 65 inch TV to the back, get Kenny or someone to help me…I got sick of waiting for help to be available so I dragged the fucker back by myself this morning. My sister offered to come help, but honestly…asking for help is just so not me. If I can possibly do it myself, I will. And I did, even if it wasn’t exactly ‘gentle’. Screen is still in tact. One plus of being raised by a redneck who wanted boys instead of girls…my sis and I are more hardcore than a large percentage of men. We have the truck driver/sailor on shore leave swearing to prove it, fuck yeah! Which is one more thing about my idget father that cracks me up. He swears all the time, one of the first words I remember him saying when I was a kid was “motherfucker!” when the car wouldn’t start…and it’s okay for him but my sis and I swear and he says we’d make sailors run back to the ship in horror. WTF kind of male bullshit is that? He taught us most of the words, anyway. I guess me and sis really suck at the being girly thing, wonder why…

Am I awful hoping the disgruntled guy doesn’t call? Earlier I was feeling more level ut a couple hours of noise and another ‘not fixed right’ return…My nerves are starting to fray. I had an idea that might have worked but of course, R missed a couple of repairs so I can’t even do a substitute with an abandoned set. Frustration also feeds anxiety.

That’s all my blog has come to, isn’t it? Nervous, nervous, anxiety, anxiety. I don’t like it, either, but I write it because out there might be someone struggling through it, perhaps even undiagnosed, and if they read that someone else knows what it’s like…it can be of some small comfort. It’s so easy to feel all alone with mental stuff. Kind of like having invisible leprosy and being shunted to your own island. Sucks.

Now…something cute I can’t resist posting. My kid got this ‘finger’ drumset at a yard sale then parked Mr. Brownstone at it. (Yeah, the cat is named after the G’N’R song, sue me.)

(Yes, the carpet is gross but that’s the doorway where a dozen kids stampede daily, I quit fighting it. Look at the cute kitty, damn it!)

Unnatural Sounds

Posted in depression with tags , , , on October 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Much as I loathe living in a small town, it has become increasingly clear to me that me low noise th reshold would never allow me to live in a large city. Today alone the street sweepers have every nerve ending n fire and as if that’s not enough, someone across the street is using a chainsaw. Incessantly. So even indoors there is no escape from all these unnatural sounds. Of course, I get my panties in a bunch over the totally natural sound of chirping birds so it’s apparently just incessant loud noise, period, that sets off my panic receptors. Living in constant fight or flight mode, with pretzel gut, is pretty unpleasant.

Unpleasant. Hmmph. There I go, sugar coating it, lest my true feelings cause someone to call me a whiner. Guess what? Living with anxiety disorders SUCKS. It’s not merely unpleasant. It is 24-7 with no break, especially when even your dreams are so vivid you can recall feeling anxious while asleep. This is not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. If saying it sucks makes me a whiner, then pass me the cheese and a glass to pour the whine into.

Day two in the dish. I am running on empty. My nerves are practically deep fried, my will to fight exists only out of sheer spite and stubbornness. Can’t fail my kid, can’t fail R, never mind the damage it’s doing to me. Shamble on, zombie mode, don’t stop to eat brains, that might give me joy. IF I were capable of feeling joy anymore. Seasonal depression has quickly sucked away every last vestige of that spiel. Everything is bad, there is no hope, I am imprisoned, I can’t get warm, I just want my blankies…Depression lies, reminds me of the donor, cos not a word uttered is true. Still, I become prisoner to its lies, wanting to defy, yet too weakened to put up much struggle. For me, getting out the door with clothes on is The Victory. And if that’s someone’s idea of high functioning, they need slapped with a rotting fish. This is existence. And I try to take the small joys where I can- a good episode of The Flash, a purring kitten, my kid saying, “My cat didn’t throw up on the floor, he has an alibi!” (Seriously, how can you not get a giggle out of an 8 year old who knows what alibi means???)

Sadly, depression makes the little things seem smaller and smaller til they’re no longer visible in the rearview mirror. You know your brain chemicals are altered and lying to you, but clinical depression isn’t something you ‘snap out of’. Best you can do is shamble on and hope you make it to the next ‘break in the mold’, which is what I am now calling blocks of time when I am not expected to perform like a trained seal. Because my performance is the mold and when I don’t have to dance, monkey, dance, it’s a break in the mold. (Hopefully Funeral For A Friend doesn’t sue me for using the line from their song ‘Red Is The New Black’, no disrespect, looove that song.)

Oh another unnatural hellish sound. Pick up trucks with diesel engines. Roaring by all the time. This is why I like my hovel across town in the trailer park. Sure, it can get noisy there, especially when police and paramedics show up two, three times weekly for various resident issues… But mostly, it feels like my own corner of the world where the dish can’t really intrude too much. That’s why I discourage visitors. I don’t like my inner sanctum violated. I need the place that makes me feel safe. Safe from what, you may ask. Well, join the club, because I’d like to know, too. It’s not normal to feel threatened and scared at all times. I never knew anxiety could get this bad, but I’m living it now and I reiterate…it fucking sucks.

Another thing that sucks, and I mention this out of irritation…My sister happened to go to the new place where the donor is working and I guess the 53 year old man child was caught off guard and started stammering to her-in front of another customer- about “Tell Niki I’ve been unemployed, I will pay her the child support I owe her…” My sister asked for a pack of e-cig catridges and he blurts all that out. WTF?

And it just proves every point I’ve made since he walked out six years ago. He couldn’t be bothered to ask about his daughter. He didn’t use her name. Just mentioned owing me money. NO. He owes our child money. And that he can’t get it through his thick skull even after 3 kids is infuriating. HELLO, DONOR, IF YOU READ THIS: You and I are grown ups, things didn’t work out, it’s done. But don’t go thinking about what you owe your 3 baby mama’s. Think about your children E, C, and B and what you owe them. It was never about me or you. It has always been about doing right by the kids.

Sorry, had to be vented. Just…wtf, why mention our personal shit to my sister, anyway, while he’s at work and another person is in line and she never said a word about any of it…I guess I should expect it. He did strongarm my stepmonster into “try to talk some sense into Niki so she’ll sign the papers.” Yeah, well, I talked to a lawyer who said DIY paperwork involving child custody doesn’t fly so I was using my sense. Dragging someone else into it is his thing, I guess. Maybe because he knows how infuriated it makes me to have my family up in my business. Anything to stir the pot.

Except this time…I refuse to take the bait. He’s under court order to pay support by the state so whether he likes it or not, Spook will get that money even if they have to take his entire tax refund next year. It ain’t about me. It’s about her. And whatever emotional issue makes him, and other ‘parents’, fail to grasp that concept, makes me pity them.

Whatever my damage is, it ain’t as bad as theirs. Kids come first. The grown ups can fend for themselves. You don’t owe me shit. You owe a beautiful, smart, funny 8 year old girl.

Tirade over. Xanax needed. I really hate chainsaws. Given a choice between Justin Bieber or a chainsaw sound…I’d throw myself into the chainsaw and drag Bieber with me. Kill two birds, one chainsaw.

Yes, that was an attempt at macabre humor. Don’t judge me.

Faking It Is Exhausting

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on October 17, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

My week back in the dish has started with two days of interrupted sleep, one of them with my yapping child in my bed and staying in yap mode til 45 mins before alarm time and then screaming at me for 15 solid minutes about her own wardrobe choices…IDK. It lead to me feeling like I need to sign into a psych ward or something, make the world stop, make the carousel stop turning, just for a bit. And I had 3 relatively peaceful days so this feeling of lethargy yet overwhelmed anxiety is a little confusing.

Then again, it’s not. Temps have been dropping to 39 degrees at night and hello, seasonal affect is kicking my ass. See, when I get cold, I tend to shut down around 8 p.m. and only my blankies and bed and maybe a purring cat matter. The doctors carry on about the sunlight, light lamps, blah blah blah. For me, it’s being cold that truly does me in. And of course, our heat is not working AGAIN this fall season and rather than deal with the landlord I am going to ask R to take a look at the furnace (he had it fixed in under an hour whereas the ‘professional’ heating guys took 4 days) which means getting in line and hoping I am deemed worth the time. Because ya know, asking for working heat is exactly as superfluous as expecting him to drop off work at the shop an hour early to come hang out and watch Llamas with Hats.

Guess that will be lost on others. Just mean, he carries on about people bugging him for stupid shit but me and my kid having heat is not stupid shit. And yes, my landlord should take care of it, but goddamn it, my landlord should do a lot of things and that ain’t how it works. Pardon me if I’d prefer someone who knows what they are doing deals with it. And if he can’t then I will suck it up and call the slumlord.

I guess my patience is wearing thin with everyone, thanks to dish time and seasonal. I receive so little joy out of anything. I am like this robot covered in skin, doing what needs done, forcing the appropriate social niceties yet feeling none of it. I want my blankies, I want to sleep. Even though my last dream involved being a teenager again and at the mercy of my idget father’s constant judgement. Thankfully, I can wake up from that. Well, not his judgment, that is eternal but I don’t live under his roof and he doesn’t do shit for me so he can fuck off.

Everything is so jumbled. I am mad, I am sad, I am hopeless, I am tired, I am wired, up, down, all the fuck around. To my credit, I did muddle through my traditional Friday the 13th thing and wear my Jason Vorhees shirt and watch a Friday the 13th movie. Not much joy in it, just…forcing myself to do the normal in hopes I will be and feel normal. And guess what, mental healthcare professionals? It ain’t working. It’s like faking an orgasm and trying to convince yourself it actually happened.

Faking it takes too much damned energy. I feel I owe a modicum of false cheer for Spook’s sake but otherwise…the seasonal depression has me in its T-rex sized teeth and ain’t likely gonna let go til March. I can’t keep going to be at 8 p.m. only to wake around 3 a.m. but the depression just leaves me not wanting to be conscious and if my kid is already asleep, fighting it seems to be pointless…I’m not waving any white flags. I WILL figure this out. Last year it took getting the heat running before I was comfortable enough to at least last til 10 p.m.

What would save my life is if I could start writing again. But this dish thing with the stress of R’s demands and my kid acting out and all the financial stress….my brain’s not gonna quiet enough to let creativity flow. And insurance won’t pay for the ADD medication that slows my brain enough to focus so I am kind of stuck in this rut and resenting every minute of it.

If I MUST find a silver lining (likely toxic mercury) in this cloud…The cooler weather means the neighborhood brats haven’t been haunting our doorstop morning, noon, and night.

One day it’d be nice to have a big victory instead of trying to make a filling meal out of the tiny ones. I am hungry for something really positive to happen and this little victory stuff leaves me starving.