Archive for December, 2017

Got Advice?

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , on December 21, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Not even 8 p.m. yet and I’ve already taken melatonin because my brain is on overload. Tough couple of days with my kid and her anger bursts. This situation with R and the shop has me waking up before the alarm even goes off in a panic, brain swirling because the man had the nerve to tell me to ‘get more business coming into the shop’. He won’t spend a dime on advertising locally and December-March are usually very dead months anyway due to Christmas sales and then tax refunds, people buy new stuff instead of fixing old stuff. And that statement from him made me feel like it’s somehow my fault that business is slower than he’d like.

I even talked to Kenny about it and he happens to agree with me. R is letting that shop get a bad rep by working two jobs and repairs taking so long. And the way he does things really irritates me. He fixes new items that net better profit over finishing the stuff that’s been sitting there since August. His only commitment is to beer and money. And I am sick of living in anxious misery. At least if I got my meds straight enough (and going back to Dr. B should be a good start, hell, he might even decide that day program might benefit me whereas the nurse never even brought it up) and at this point…I’ll figure out child care, I’ll do what I have to in order to get out of this endless cycle of having to be R’s welcome mat all in hopes of some gas money and this alleged car at the end of the rainbow.

I do apologize if it seems like I blame all my problems on him, but he is a large source of my stress and it aggravates the pre-existing condition. And the plan to stop drinking isn’t going to go well if he keeps showing up with mangoritas in hand, even when I have told him NOT to bring them. He sold me briefly on this, “That nurse doesn’t know you, I know you, and you don’t have a drinking problem.”

I probably should not be taking advice from a man who drinks 7 days a week, 365 days a year, even if he does manage to hold two jobs and make lots of money. But he’s my friend and he’s done some good things for me and I really don’t want the friendship to blow up or end. I just need to do my own thing for awhile and right now, that means getting myself straightened out and getting me and Spook into counseling because there is something wrong with the level of anger that child has and it’s always over being told ‘no’. She’s turned my home life into a living hell 5 days a week and I am sticking to my guns and not being yes mom, but she scares the hell out of me when she goes off.

Of course, R will never comprehend the importance of this. I am expected to juggle everything the way he and his uber wife and children do and it was never who I was nor who I am going to be. It’s like this vortex of suck with him, where he sucks me into what he wants and what I want is not even an afterthought. He has decided I need a different, better car-but oh, wait, it’s got to be the model he likes. I get no say in it, his mind is made up. What 44 year old woman wants someone to treat her like a child and tell her ‘this is what you’re going to drive co it’s what I like’? He’s being unreasonable and unfair. There are no boundaries anymore. Like the night his wife stormed into my home and they started bickering then cussing each other. I don’t need the stress.

So…If anyone reads this and has experience with emotionally stunted money hungry narcissists…please, please, please, tell me how to bow out gracefully and not start some sort of war. This shop thing is the closest I have to a work reference since 2002 and I do hope to get off disability soon so I kind of need to have him say good things about me. If I handle this wrong, it’s not going to end well for me.

Then again, it’s not going too well keeping the peace, either.

Seriously…The three or so people who read my posts…ANY ADVICE? Help. Please.

Emotional Balance Is The New Happy

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

20 plus years of counseling pretty much ran me into the ground, made me more confused than I already was, and taught me very little. And I know why. Because society insists we all embrace the exact same things to gain normalcy. Pursuit of happiness is a joke, and a fallacy, for a depressive mind. It’s setting yourself up to fail.

So to avoid the insanity of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome…

My new goal…forget happy.

I want to be an emotionally balanced person.
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Balance can tip a bit either way so perfection is not reqired and that is a prerequisite when dealing with bipolar disorder. Perfection will never be attained. Reaching for it will be your repeated failure. Accepting that balance may well be the best you can do-and just might be even better than the so called norm of happiness, could be just the right medicine for me.

My measure of well being will be how far the scales tilt one way or the other. Part of reaching my goal of being emotionally well balanced will be the elimination of certain stress inducers. Cutting out cancer in a body is considered part of the cure, and I think the same can be said of emotional things. Someone or something that is cancerous to me emotionally and cannot be met with a compromise needs to be excised.

The professionals can tell me I am wrong to view it this way, intolerant, incapable of acceptance, not taking responsibility for my own poor character….whatever terms they want to flog me with…it’s no longer relevant.

I went to see a qualified mental health nurse practitioner and rather than do anything to help me, she made me feel like I should go kill myself. Her fault? My fault? Bad fit? It doesn’t matter. It sparked a desire in me to change things because if I wait for these professionals to help me, I might as well drink the Kool Aid now. They don’t see me often enough to know me, and furthermore, they simply don’t care. They are doing a job same as the guy who sells me gas for my car and I don’t expect him to care that I can’t stop crying or that I am always so irate and anxious, I feel I need hospitalized to avoid ‘going off’. So why should I expect psych professionals to do more than their bare minimum? They are there to push labels and pills, not give a damn about their patients, apparently.

Counselors are pretty much the same. At least the new regime. Twenty years ago I believed in therapy and felt to an extent, it helped. Since the focus went to cognitive and the counselors seem more tough love than empathetic and supportive…I’d like to cut out the middleman.

No one can beat me up emotionally better than I can beat myself up.

If this comes off as bitter, it’s really not.

I’ve found some clarity in the last few days. I no longer want to take meds that make me nauseated or cause me to throw up. I no longer want to try to fit into some cookie cutter mold where I chase this happy thing when all I want is my brain to be more well than sick. Maybe some of us aren’t meant to be happy. Maybe some of us require the struggle and strife to make it all worthwhile. Nothing wrong with that.

Amazing what a good night’s sleep can do. And I did wake up a few times but I went right back down. No booze. Just my bedtime Xanax and 6mg melatonin on top of only getting 4 hours sleep the night before. Guess the key to feeling truly rested is to just wear myself down to nothing over a couple of days. Doesn’t sound healthy or optimal but it beats the hell out of that Vistaril the psych nurse prescribed. I don’t understand why they can’t grasp that any med that renders me too loopy to get out of bed when my kid is crying at night is a hindrance rather than help. That’s not non compliance, that is wanting to be able to be a mom.

And any professional who could make that seem like a bad thing is very bad at their job.

So…balance. I am going to find it eventually. It’s one goal I’m not going to give up on, no matter how defeated my psych professionals make me feel.

I hope for the sake of their other patients they just don’t like me because otherwise…it means they really suck at their job and should be sued for malpractice.

Two Showers In Three Days and a Dye Job? It’s a holiday miracle!

Posted in depression with tags , , on December 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

YES. TWO showers in three days. I haven’t met that high a standard since it was in the 90’s over the summer and I showered just to cool down and escape my own sweat. Guess a vegetative day or two helped motivate me. AND I finally covered that godawful green hair color with my usual jet black. (Seriously, how could a psych professional not see me with a bad dye job, of a color I can’t stand, and think that’s not a red flag?) Next up, lighten it enough for the ruby red to take, but I am only doing that on top, keeping the black on the bottom. Whether it’s done before next year, who knows. I just didn’t want green hair for Christmas in the rare rare event my idget family might actually want to take a picture of my daughter and I. Which they NEVER do.

In spite of my sleep disturbed night, which ran until 5:30 a.m. this morning and just as I started to nod off…bing bing bing, alarm goes off. And once I get her off to school after her screaming at me for making her wear a coat…the thoughts started spinning and I couldn’t fall back asleep no matter how exhausted I was or how much the rest was needed.

I did take my last few dollars and got her some Chintzy gifts that she will likely be disappointed in and break the first hour but her tablet wasn’t exactly cheap. In fact, it’s gonna make sure we have no gas in the car or cash to do anything over her break but hopefully that gift will please her for ten minutes. Not like I can compete when my mom goes out and spends $150 on a four foot tall dollhouse, then my sister buys her $30 goth dolls to play in it. One more reason I despise Christmas. Mom makes it a competition none of the rest of us can compete in because we’d rather have a roof overhead, heat, electricity, etc. Bet ten bucks by December 27th they will be crying they have no food, blame it all on spending too much for Christmas and the big meal, and NONE of us outside their house gives a rat’s ass about pricey gifts or even a big meal. But they make the same stupid choices month after month, every damned Christmas, and we’re supposed to feel bad they find food a secondary concern. If I sound bitter, it’s actually just exhaustion because nothing’s changed with my mom since I was a kid and she’d bounce checks to cover Christmas and sadly, she’s turned my sister into her, borrowing money, getting things on credit…Telling me how they had no money for a week for food, then my sister texts me a picture of her $80 new bed set.

Maybe the one correct perception R has ever had about me that has remained consistent over 20 years is when he asks, :”Are you sure you’re not adopted? You’re so much smarter than them!”

I’ve had my dumbass moments (thanks, manic episodes, the wrong meds, and credit cards, bye bye 1990’s, good riddance) but I have devoted myself to changing bad habits and ya know what helps the most? MOOD STABILIZERS. Before the bipolar 2 diagnosis, the ass trash shrink I had labeled me dysthymic and fed me handfuls of anti depressants for years, which of course, made my manic episodes worse. Not absolving my responsibility but I do look back and wonder how different my life might have been if it hadn’t taken 13-ish years to get a proper diagosis. At some point, I have to be able to say I’ve made amends best I can for my shitty past, I am doing better in so many ways, and the guilt has to stop being perpetuated. (My pschy pro lady ain’t gonna let that happen, but hey, at least her office faxed the pharmacy for my Xanax refill, for a moment I thought she might take it away to punish me for my brief affair with ritas.)

That whole doc nurse thing is devouring me and while it has been a problem for months, this last visit pushed it full tilt. Hopefully post monthly curse and holiday stress I will be more objective and not spew venom and just call it for what it is. A very very very bad fit. Anyone who could doubt my sincerity, or think that I’m not on the edge and in need of a little more than an anti histamine for sleep…Not a good fit. Of course, it’s gonna look like sour grapes, me switching back to Dr. B after that, but I can live with being called on the carpet for bad choices. I cannot abide the disrespectful keyboard clacking after I told her how it rattled me and I won’t be forced to endure a professional who makes me feel suicidal. My self esteem issues are my own, but her detachment and apathy/uber professionlism…Bad fit.

Yes, I need to let it go already but this is my process.

Still…I got some stuff done today. I made my kid an oreo no bake cake dessert, made a batch of fake snow for her to play in, we watched a movie together and didn’t fight because I realized the other day when she fussed that I said no more Mangoritas (which means no more trips to the store to get frosties and candy for her) and she said, “But mom, mangoritas keep you from being evil!” I actually found that sad and amusing but I stuck to my guns. I feel better without the booze but honestly…I’m gonna have a slip or two eventually and I cannot let it be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Getting older doesn’t mean you become perfect. I can only do my best and remember what my kid said to me. Because if ritas are the only thing that make me likeable, I have essentially become R and his beer and wow…I think I’d rather be the vampire Lestat, less of a bad influence.

Now it’s not yet 8 p.m., Spook is down, I am melatonined, and hoping for sleep soon. Decent, solid sleep. Hope springs eternal then dies a brutal death. I feel good about the things I accomplished over the break from the shop’s madness and R’s stalker-y controlling-ness.

Back down the rabbit hole but at least come Friday, I know I am out of there for two weeks at least. He treats me as so insignificant and replaceable, please please do. I don’t want the car anyway, he’d own my soul forever. Not literally but I would be expected to be at his beck and call 24-7 even for shit that has nothing to do with the shop and I am NOT a personal assistant and I am sick of being taken advantage of. Maybe a couple of weeks distance will give me some insight and clarity.

I need to get off the carousel before I start projectile vomiting very nasty insulting words toward the people stressing me out. Brain reboot. Since doc nurse didn’t even consider it as a way for me to cope better…I am prescribing it for myself. I will live with the consequences. Ohh, no new-ish car? Yeah, heard that one for six years, never happened. Dangling carrot just to keep me trotting along the track. Done.

But seriously…I’m shaky but as long as the mind cooperates, I am managing.

I just don’t think upright and managing is a ringing endorsement for my med regime, or my psych professional. Even screw ups are entitled to a chance at meds that help them feel less hopeless and have fewer side effects.

I will take my miracles and victories and try to cling to them the next four days before I am free to have my meltdown. And with Christmas and family…it’s coming. Only question is…will it be the out of hospital kind of breakdown or the lock down version?

Tragic Hate Ball says ask again later.

Got Stress?

Posted in Uncategorized on December 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

No category, no tags. This is purge.

3:54 a.m. and here I am, awake. Over an hour now. I took a melatonin and 0.5 Xanax after 45 minutes, because sleep just wasn’t happening. I woke up, no good reason, the thoughts started spinning, haunting, and taunting.

Wasn’t bad enough I took 3mg melatonin around nine-ish, following the Trintellix induced vomiting hour. I didn’t even take more Xanax, since it, too, had come up with the other stuff. An hour later, the melatonin wasn’t kicking in and every time I thought it was starting to…I was hot and sweaty. Or shivering and cold. Once I did nod off, I woke up 3 times before finally this last time, I couldn’t manage to nod off again.

How is this not frustrating? How am I not supposed to be irate, exhausted, grumpy, and lethargic during the days when this is pretty much my every night?

To make it even ickier, I’m all itchy, but no outside cause so it’s gotta be stress induced hives. My sinuses are draining and I either have a left ear infection or some sort of ear wax build up because for two weeks now, it’s been aching and sound is muffled. I want to see a doctor but I don’t have a general practitioner, and since Medicaid coverage is changing Jan 1, I don’t dare make an appointment (as if a new patient could get one in the midst of the holidays) lest that doctor be taken off the plan and I have to find another one come January.

But the loss of equilibrium and discomfort are, after a couple of weeks, becoming intolerable and probably not helping my anxiety or irrititation.

Toss in cramps…

I thought my “me-day Monday” would prove productive but since my sleep is so screwed up, I’ll either be hard pressed to get up and will snooze once Spook is off to school or I will stay awake but be too exhausted and in pain to do anything.

I reiterate….HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A SCREWED UP HOT MESS WHEN THIS IS MY LIFE EVERY BLOODY DAY AND NIGHT?

Poison Pill

Posted in anti depressant side effects with tags , , , on December 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I waited until after supper, when I had food on my tummy, to take my meds. Lamictal, Wellbutrin, Trintellix, as always.

Within 15 minutes I was hit with waves of nausea, to the point I was gagging just trying to read my kid a bedtime story.

I turned stuff off and took to my bed, determined to ride it out, determined not to throw up. Meds can’t help if you hurl them up, right?

I toughed it out forty minutes. I almost thought it was going to pass. But then the gag reflex took over and I was worshipping the porcelein throne. Over and over, I threw up, until finally…it stopped. And oddly, I felt soooo much better.

Down side, I’d also taken my bedtime Xanax shortly after the others so that was thrown up, as well, and that’s a waste of good panic stoppers and sleepy bringers. Grrr.

I have NOT been drinking, swear on the lives of my kid, cats, and every Halloween decoration I own.

No drugs, aside from generic Tylenol for cramps this morning around 9.

I ran some errands, swept, vacuumed, washed dishes, cared for my child. I braved a packed traffic accident-waiting-to-happen Aldi.

I did EVERYTHING right.

Yet once Trintellix went down the gullet…I went projectile. Thankfully my bathroom is near my bedroom.

Now, hour later, I feel way better, but I also feel like, well, damn it, now the nurse doc can say I’m not taking my meds. I take them, not my fault they don’t stay down. Lithium and Trintellix are the biggest nausea inducers I have ever been on, and while the neasea and such may dissipate for others over time…for me, it’s a daily lottery as to whether it will make my stomach hurt or make me nauseous or cause me to throw up.

I am so sick of it.

Not to mention, the way I have been snapping at my kid and the cats, for several weeks now, I can’t help but wonder if this is another case of Lexapro or Paxil where the drug itself increases my anxiety and causes a sort of irritable manic state.

But who do I try to talk to about it? It was obvious doc nurse didn’t believe much of what I said and she had little concern other than giving me some weak ass anti histamine for sleep. Which works not even as well as Benadryl does for making me sleepy.

I am not a lonely person. Never a truer statement than when I say, “I prefer being alone, I have loner interests, I seek company when I feel I need it.”

But when it comes to my current psych regime and meds…I’ve never feltĀ  more alone or helpless. And yes, I may sound like a broken record. The way I harp on things and take weeks or years to hash out a way to solve the problem-that’s a character flaw I can’t seem to counter no matter my efforts.

I just don’t think I am so wrong to want to be on medication that doesn’t result in feeling sick-or throwing up-45% of the time.

I’d send this to Dr. B if I thought he’d ever actually see it. Everyone knows the staff goes through the mail before the doctor does. That could be good or bad, but in my current mental state..I want to be face to face with Dr. B. I want him to see me, I want to look him in the eye, and I want him to see that screwed up as I am…the one thing I have in spades is sincerity and it’s not faked an iota.

And maybe rather than worry that changing my meds might make me more unstable thus harming his credibility…Maybe he will determine that I deserve better than the poison pill.

S.A.D-“I know you get depressed during the winter.”

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

That gem, from my mother, on the phone the other day, when they hadn’t heard from me in 3 days. No empathy, no compassion, no true grasp. As if saying “Rain is wet.”

Why is Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D) treated like the bastard cousin of mental health issues? Like it’s insignificant, an affectation, something minor…When in fact, it’s pretty crippling, and it’s pretty much every year of your life, 4-6 months a year. And no amount of sun or fake sun lamps or exercise or mindfulness or dancing on beach ball holding seals- truly makes it better.

Seasonal depression sneaks in late September, right as fall begins, and like a band of ninjas, you don’t see it coming. You smell burned toast, you get a chill on your neck, you get a nagging sensation in your gut and you know the seasonal has arrived. So every year you talk to your psych professional and try to get the meds increased ahead of that time in hopes of warding it off or making it tolerable…

To nurse doc’s credit, she had me nearly maxed on both antidepressants before December hit, but alas…the darkness is there and I don’t mean the kind due to lack of sunlight.

This depression is daily and sometimes, a sunny warm-ish day can make it better, but if you’re already depression-prone—it’s pretty much,simply put, your life for six months of the year. You can only try to survive it.

Just don’t expect understanding or support. It ain’t there. Thanks to the masses who experience “winter blues” but still function fully, those with the more severe form of the disorder are out of luck.

So often it takes only 2 or 3 gloomy cold days in a row to fully drag you under and sorry, you’re not coming back out til March-ish.

But hey, what I am learning, is that EVERYTHING is my fault. Never mind my disorders. Never mind my efforts. Never mind because it’s all my fault, my behaviors, and yet the doctors don’t mind charging to see me, don’t mind prescribing pills,yet at every turn I am basically told it’s all my fault and I have to change even more about myself except for the ONE thing I can never change.

I have mental health issues that contribute to my behaviors so until the professionals learn to seperate these things…

To quote Eminem, it’s “My Fault”.

I’ve never even seen psychadelic shrooms but I musta done that, too.

FML.

This seasonal and pms is really making me a nastier version of myself. I kinda like her.

Nope…not really. Being bitchy is totally my fault. I still didn’t do the shroom thing.

The Purge…blog version

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

I don’t feel like writing because my brain is a funnel cloud of thoughts, tortured emotions, and let’s not forget the pms-dysphoria that has me in physical and mental agony. Because I know the hormones are amping up my emotions but….Purge. Necessary.

Today I accomplished only two things. One was to take my kid to the Christmas party at the library. The other was to fix supper. Other than that…I’m tapped out from my week in the dish and all the R-induced stress.

It’s no longer about the shop. He’s taking blatant advantage. Making me clean microwaves, fetch phone chargers, getting mad when he shows up without calling first and is pissy that we’re out and about…Yeah, there’s not much distortion going on with that situation. The man is a psychological vampire egomaniac and he’s bleeding me dry. I’m not the only one noticing. Guess I just don’t have thick skin like others. I’m ready to burn the bridge to the ground because I am trying to get better here and when I told him that, he muttered, “Whatever.” I don’t need a different car desperately enough to be so repeatedly disrespected, and it’s clear there is no end in sight, his behavior will never change. I’m tired of being this tapped at week’s end, I don’t remember any actual real job who made me feel this exhausted and abused.(No, because for all of that I had a supportive psych doc who could tell me I needed a few days off so I didn’t snap and the bosses were either cool or sucked it up cos it’s the law.)

He’s not the entire reason for my problems but he is a very destructive faction and since he won’t hear me when I try to talk to him…Pour the gasoline, throw the match, let it all burn. Metaphorically.

Next up…Psych nurse. My last visit with her has had me reeling. She didn’t mention the outpatient day program, didn’t suggest maybe a stay in the hospital a few nights might help me regain equilibrium, she was not helpful at all and while prior to going in, I wasn’t suicidal…The way she made me feel that day, and all the appointments before, really put me in a dark place. She didn’t motivate me to stop my occasional alcohol screw ups. She made me want to drink more. I’ve been pretty good abstaining but when I think of how hopeless it all is…And the counseling thing, I am out of luck, cos that one place is my only option and it’s like gun, knife, noose, you end up dead no matter the method.

THEN I started looking into personality disorders because a former doc had scribbled “schizotypal” into my chart but never once told me about it so I had to Google it to even know what it means. Apparently,dyeing your hair pink, wearing black clothes, and talking about vampires (as in reading, writing about them, not believing they are real) are qualifiers. I’ll own some paranoia, definitely a loner and most often it is by choice because I simply like my own company, ffs, and that is not a disorder.

I moved onto the borderline personality disorder thing, since that last counselor decided after 3 sessions that I am definitely suffering from it. Never mind weeks before my other counselor, before she left for a better job, sat down with me and her diagnostic manual and we went through each symptom together and she told me she absolutely did not see me as borderline, it’s just too easy for bipolar to be confused with borderline. About my only borderline qualities involve being in relationships, it puts me on circuit overload and I’ve yet had to have a supportive partner who could grasp the bipolar and depressions let alone the monthly roller coaster of hormonal insanity….Of course, it’s gonna be an issue. Not an entire disorder. And when I am stable, it’s always very different. So….

I went back to the one I’d had slapped on me for 20 plus years-personality disorder otherwise not specified. And this one I can actually live with. Because of them all, it is the one I check off the most points on. Meaning two points from borderline, one or two from schizotypal, maybe one or two from histrionic when manic or hormonal…Am I wrong to simply want my label to fit? How can someone see me three times, change my diagnosis, after a counselor with three times the experience flatly said, no, that isn’t you.

I want some help. Someone to hear me out on occasion, maybe help me with some healthier coping mechanisms. But ones that help me, not frustrate me and bring out my resentment. (Cognitive and mindfulness, total izombie Max Rager stuff). My last DECENT counselor, whom I called the sunshine spewer, cos she was always so cheery, was required to start each session with their little worksheet where you have to rate your moods for the last week or so using happy faces and numbers. By the sixth month of me growling, “Oh, yay, time to do this useless thing again”…she gave up on doing it. Because she saw it didn’t help me, it just agitated me. And so she adapted her approach in order to help me and it meant a lot. Not hand holding. Just….consideration.

So round and round it all goes and it’s making me crazy. It won’t stop. And to an extent, that’s the pms-dysphoria thing. I’ve been in cramp agony all day and I toughed it out 4 hours before I finally broke and took some Tylenol. Does that sound like someone who waves the flag and reaches for a pill to make life easier? I suffer until I can’t take it anymore. Same goes for my mental health.

Except this time, I told her over two sessions in 3 months that I was melting down, calling crisis hotlines, feeling like I needed hospitalized even if it’s not what I want…And nothing. She was so apathetic I’ve spent the days after that dismal appointment wondering if maybe I wouldn’t be better off dead.

Then again, she didn’t see anything too disturbing about an unbathed woman reeking of last night’s alcohol, spazzing out and nearly hyperventilating in front of her. Like it was all affectation and faked on my part. Dr. B never once questioned me or made me feel there was need to. And I’d always been honest with him, too, when they asked if I drank alcohol. I told them occasionally for holidays, birthdays, or certain social situations. He never mentioned it so he didn’t spaz out like I was a waste of time.

I am bloody well lost.

But I will find my way back, somehow.

Or I’ll submit six months of my journals detailing how wrong a fit the psych nurse was for me and maybe when I finally walk in front of a train…my family can sue that place and make sure my kid never has to worry about money.

Apparently, she wouldn’t be losing much of a mom. At least, that’s how psych nurse made me feel. I wasn’t aware kicking people when they’re down is part of the therapeutic process.

When a pych pro makes my mom seem empathetic and supportive…

So doomed.