Archive for February, 2018

Ever Feel Like Mental Disorders Put Your Life On Hold?

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on February 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Don’t stop, don’t go. Been stuck here a week now due to the living situation and it’s taking a toll. I’m running on 70 minutes of sleep and tired as hell but the anxiety is at fever pitch. I called the potential landlord at 8:15 this morning I(apparently it’s best to catch Alzheimer’s patients early in the day) and…he barely remembered me. He sounded confused. He even forgot the whole point in this having to move and being desperate is cos I have a small child who requires a home. He said the house needs the bathroom redone and it can’t be done if people are living there. I said, you told us Monday, we can wait 5 days so you can get the work done. He said he had to get his head sorted out and he’d call me sometime today.

I don’t hold out much hope. My mind is just spinning but I am on hold.

Until the lease is signed and we have the key I don’t want to move another thing. Fat chance dad and stepmonster will agree but we’ve already stuffed the shed over there and have way more to go…if this guy isn’t going to get his shit together and rent to us, what’s the point in hauling more stuff? Truth is, I am tired from lack of sleep, my body aches, my knees are puffy, even my gums are sore from teeth gnashing. Anxiety is a condition you can’t fathom until you’ve lived it. Seems so innocuous, silly even, to have your life put on hold not just by the pace of others necessary to your plan, but to have your own body on red alert as if your life is in danger…this is no way to live but it’s all i know.

I know we need to get shit moved. But there’s not much room left in that shed (even though stepmonster would stack it to the ceiling, which, for electronics and glassware is, um no.) And while I am sitting here waiting for the guy to call me back, for all i know he’s renting this place out from under us like the other place. And half our stuff is there so where the fuck would that leave us? Dad just keeps moving our stuff with no concrete plan in place, just ‘talk to the man, Niki.” I have, multiple times, and he doesn’t remember talking to me!!!! I am terrified and while mom and sis sort of get how strung out i am…dad and his clan are clueless. Of course, it’s not their asses facing homelessness.

Part of my precarious state is the fact I’ve taken down most of the curtains to be washed so there’s a surplus of light and people can see in and it’s unsettling. Throw in the incessantly barking dogs, the traffic, waiting for the phone to ring…I’m on overload. And as tired as some may be of hearing/reading one is sicker of this state of mind than i am. I wish i could just click the lil X and close the tab to avoid hearing yet another endless rant about how bad my anxiety is.

At the same time, for every idget who seems to think I am redundant and use my disorders as a crutch (which I don’t get at all, cos crutches are useful, my disorders are not)…getting a comment from someone my post resonated with makes it worth seeming redundant and possibly self pitying. It’s important people know if they’re feeling like this…they’re not alone.

I feel pretty damned alone. I am sick of being strong. I want to shatter and break and get a few days to rest and recharge. Not a vacation. Just a reboot. A solid roof over head would help immensely and i don’t mean a psych ward.

So life is on hold due to waiting on the necessary action of others to get my plan in motion. And then my life is on hold because it’s one of those sensory overload days where leaving my chair seems like something bad is going to happen.

Day time is my high stress time. Last night at least the anxious energy became hella productive. Today…all I can do is hope the phone rings, yet fear the phone ringing…I don’t want to move anything today but i know I’m not gonna get cut any slack. I’m hyper aware of the former scumlord’s snarky comment about being out the last day of the month but we’re gonna be here til Friday at least. I fear leaving lest he lock my shit up. Is it really irrational, as if it’s never happened to someone, whether they were in the wrong or not? Some people are just dicks and scumlord is their king penis.

So I am on hold in everyway, my skeleton feels like it’s trying to escape from my skin (thank god I keep a (Xanax stash cos it’s been three days and the doctor’s office still hasn’t called in my refill, ffs), and all i want is to collapse into some semblance of peace so I can stop gnashing my gums to sore moosh. Something’s gotta give.

Until it does…everything is on hold and that helpless feeling is as hobbling as a sledgehammer to the legs.

Zero Hour and Still…nerve racking anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on February 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Earlier today I was so overwhelmed knowing I had to strip apart two different beds with mattresses and box springs and move them around fucked up mobile home trailer corners…I didn’t think I would get it done, I just kept…zoning out, fretting, yet…until zero hour I hauled ass. Stepmonster and brother came and we hauled two vehicle loads over to the shed in Armpit. I was astounded by the progress the senile dude;s son had done since Sunday. I thought the place needed demolished it was so bad. The stench is gone, the junk is out, the floors are clean…only true flaws i can find with it is the bathroom floor has caved in spots (which we’ve lived with here for years), no shower, and oddly, not one single closet in the entire place. $400 a month and no shower or closets???? It’s frivolous but still…i’d rather be trailer trash if i get more space for less money than I in a house that costs more.

Spook loves the place. i even let her have dibs on the bedroom of her choice. I need a bed and a desk for my computer set up, otherwise…I don’t much care.

Problem now is…I have to contact landlord dude, and hope his Alzheimer’s isn’t causing him to be irate or incompetent long enough to get the damn lease signed and hand over at least half the money i owe him. And frankly, I don’t feel sorry for him after he stabbed us in the back with the Elm st place then refused to even fill out one single sided sheet of paper to get $100 rent voucher from Salvation Army. Can’t want money too bad if you’re too damn lazy or stubborn to fill out a sheet of paper.

I know, I am a hypocrite, the man is elderly, his mind is failing and all I ever do is ask people to cut me some slack since my brain is wonky…But under current circumstances…I NEED this man to be lucid long enough to let us sign the lease so he doesn’t go renting it to someone else due to his forgetfulness. It’s got me so nervous, here I am, still awake at 4:43 a.m.

I was ready to drop by 7 p.m. after all the running around and moving (Stepmonster took us to mcDonald’s for supper and while not crowded, it was so loud, tv on, music playing, cash registers beeping, orders being called out…omg, those poor employees deserve a medal of valor for being able to cope with that shit.)

Spook and i tore into the biohazard mess under her bed (6 trash bags of toys trapped under there, but it’s a 400 pound solid wood bunk bed so it’s not like I could move it, I had to disassemble it and partially at that cos, well, i don’t own a chainsaw. But she kept her word, I kept mine, we got bathed, then we sat down to watch the Disney movie Zombies. The corn syrupy singsong stuff made me throw up a little in my mouth but she liked it. i just prefer…Z Nation or izombie. Less teenage cheerleading football playing angst and more…brain eating or z whacking.

I have spent 7 hours working in the back room where i need to disassemble my slave computer and get the desk out of there so they can be hauled off tonight. Dad;s already on a warpath about how i have too much stuff, and the irony is…half of it is junk he got at auction then got all butt hurt when I said I didn’t need the junk so I kept it…ha ha ha. idget.

My money came in so hopefully by 9 a.m. I can reach Sir Forgetful and see about getting this thing underway. Limbo is not woring for me. Neither is this even more disrupted sleep pattern. I am running on sheer nerves and zero hour desperation, all the while living in paranoia former scumlord-prperty manager is gonna padlock the door while we’re moving shit cos it’s the last day of the month and us being out now suits him best. Well, hey, asshole, how about you give us more than a week to find a place to live if you want proper notice and a smooth moving experience?

Hating these vile landlord peoole. How hard is it to take your damn rent every month and shut up?

Grrr. Well, that’s my rant. Maybe if the sacred pegacorn smiles on me I might get a cat nap later. Or the anxiety may kick in again and send me into psychotic packing mode.

Though my money is on either this landlord dude screwing us over again or me ripping off my dad’s head and spitting down the gaping hole cos I have ‘too much stuff’. Yeah, well, a lot of what I have are keepsake gifts and pictures and artwork that I treasure so…fuck him.

I won’t ask anyone for bail money should I crack my lids. Though I have to wonder if maybe people would be more generous with bail money since they sure can’t spare a reblog or fiver when my kid and I need it the most for the basic human need of shelter.

Trying hard and being decent get you nowhere.

Which is why I’ll never be president. That and I have a conscience and a soul.

Ya know, come to think of it…having a conscience and soul leave me out of a lot of successful professions where that sort of thing is a hindrance. Still…I think I will remain unsuccessful and maintain my humanity and empathy.

Unless it’s ten days of pmdd, in which case..I go on vacation from the whole decent human thing and turn into raging crying in pain psycho hose beast. Maybe for those ten days I could be a lawyer or the president cos I’m pretty mean, hate everyone, think everything is a personal affront, and I kinda want to have a ‘my nuke button is bigger than yours’ contest with some random leader of another country.

So glad it ends after ten days. Last thing this country needs is another sociopath. Our government has met the quota and then some.

The Cute Cat Pictures Moving Fundraiser

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on February 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Since we are being forced to move thus costing money we simply do not have…We are having a fundraiser Even $5 helps buy a gallon and a half of gas for this out of town move, so don’t think it’s too small an amount to bother. It means the world to me, my daughter, and our cats.

So even if you don’t donate to people…do it for our sweet kitties. Their pictures will take you to the page where you need to be. Even a share on social media matters so do us a solid, please.

Hex says ‘please help us move.’

Godsmack says, “Life is too awful to look at right now, mommy can’t even buy us canned food!”

“Mommy calls us the terror twins but only because we’re so cute she can’t be too mad when we chew up her shoelaces.”-say the cuddling siblings Vex and Hex.

Vex likes laying on Spook’s dollhouse bed. He is going to be crushed when he keeps growing and the doll bed doesn’t!

Godsmack is perplexed as she used to fit into the doll pool perfectly. Now…if she sits, she fits, but not for much longer.

There was no room in the pool so Hex settled for poolside with Godsmackers.


As for me…my mental health is in hellish limbo, don’t stop, don’t go, and when we can go, well, I am at the mercy of others so even when we cang go it’s just a few inches which feels like accomplishing nothing. Meanwhile the clock on needing to be out of here before the backstabbing slumlord-mgmt company overlord decides to swoop om, lock the doors, and prevent us from getting all our stuff out.

My appetite is up a bit, maybe because I’m barely sleeping more than 3 or 4 hours a night and that’s interrupted with nightmares and waking in a panic, unable to slow down my mind and get back to sleep. Guess the lack of rest has to be supplemented by eating to fuel my body. I am just ready to curl up in a ball. And having my kid ask me ten times a day if we’re going to be okay is grueling… Worse is when she has one of her mood swings cos I’ve said no to something she wants so she starts screaming how I never have any money and I am going to make her be homeless.

It’s very hard to run on empty and with that weighing on me…

I fear if we ever get this move pulled off and the carousel does stop turning…I may be in a room with padded walls. The human psych can take whatever the world dishes…until it can’t. And that’s the terrifying part. People ten times tougher than me have flailed and collapsed under the weight of life’s bullshit and mental health torment. There’s nothing that makes me different or special and if sheer will and desire to fight and perservere were enough…well, there’d be no need for psychiatrists, therapies, mental hospitals, or medications.

Wing and a prayer. That’s where I am right now. And since I’m not very religious…I’m more hoping this one wing will help keep me from crashing into the ground.

Buried Alive Psychologically

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on February 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

All the ‘get out, you have to move cos we’re jerks punishing you for no reason other than being low income’ stress has been an great distraction from taking a long hard look at my mental state. And I don’t mean great as in, rah rah rah, awesome. I mean, enormous. I have been so busy trying to get blood from a stone and pulling knives from my back just so I can take care of my kid and find us a home…

Now I am starting to worry about myself. Because strong as I am…I am not made of steel and concrete. I am terrified, of this other place falling through, terrified of being considered an unfit mom cos I don’t have much money, and now…Waking at 3:30 a.m. in a full blown panic realizing how little control I have over anything in my life right now…

My mind is going to very dark places and I don’t like it. I thought maybe I’d go to the hellish counseling center today, ask to speak to an on call person, but what good would it do? They think everything is behavior- they are after all ‘a behavior center’ so I could go in vent, cry, and what…walk out feeling worse cos they’ll tell me it’s all situational or my own behavior that’s the problem…That’s just gonna push me one toe closer to the edge of the ledge.

I am buried alive in every way except the kind involving dirt and eternal peace.

Yesterday I had the audacity to say to my dad that, “I just want to start trying to get out from under it all…”

And he said, quote, “Oh, hell you’re never going to get out from under it because it takes money, you don’t have any and you won’t work.”

Excuse me???I won’t work? I have tried and tried and tried. I have pushed suicidal boundaries and staved of homicidal urges trying to overcome my own mental limitations because I do want to work, I do want to do better for my daughter.

To have my own father kick me when I am already down that way…

I just want to go to sleep and wake when this nightmare is over except it’s not a nightmare. This is my new life. Rent that’s 50% of my income, deposits I can’t pay, monthly bills that will leave me lucky to fill a tank of gas to drive to appointments and buy a bag of cat food. I am under because this move to Armpit and this senile landlord were dad’s idea cos both were supposed to save me money and give me and Spook security. Instead it’s made everything so much worse.

And I am trying to keep my chin up, dig my heels in, and say never surrender like Corey Hart but ya know what?

Psychologically, after 5 months without seeing a psych professional, let alone a competent, caring one, and all this stuff hurled at me…I feel like emotional ground beef. And I have tried to transfer it all into angry rants to avoid looking whiny or weak but…

I’ve hit my wall. My disorders are winning. I feel like I’d be better off dead. And I am shouting at that devil and I am not going gently into that good night and I am waving both middle fingers cos I am strong and this will pass but maybe that’s the thing…

The housing thing probably will straighten out and pass.

My mental state and the lack of competent psych care here…That I fear will never get better.

And I am so damned scared I may as well be the 8 year old instead of Spook but it’s the truth. She will never see my crying like I am now and I will never say anything to her except “Hey, it’s scary, but we’re gonna be fine cos we have each other.”

But I am terrified. And I am breaking. I see the new shrink like March 8th but now I don’t even know if I will have enough gas to get from Armpit to town to keep the appointment. And I don’t hold out much hope this one will be any better than the dreadful doc nurse was.

I’m buried alive but some sadistic fuck was kind enough to leave me a straw to breathe through so I can breathe, I just can’t move or escape or….do anything to help myself.

Feeling this way is a sort of death of its own. Death of the soul, last gasps of hope and spirit. And I am still not waving the white flag but I have to wonder…just how many strong intelligent people with their own mental demons refusd to wave that flag and it didn’t do a bit of good.

I know 3 people who didn’t make it out alive.

I don’t want to be one of them. Suicide kills but it’s as illegitimate a death as it is living life with these problems. When I die, I want it to be not because I broke…but because it was simply my time to go. I deserve that much dignity after a lifetime of even my own father running me down like I have no value.

Donate here if you can, please.


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms


I honestly thought things had maxed out on being as bad as they could get.

Then today my dad and stepmonster and brother all set out with vehicle loads of stuff to move into the new place…


The 78 year old landlord who can’t remember his own name rented the place out from under us AFTER showing it to us Thursday. He actually rented my Elm St property to someone else this morning and says, “I forgot about you but they had the money up front.”


So there we were, vehicles full of stuff, nowhere to take them, and the landlord’s son was encroaching on my personal space cos nice as he is, he has some mental problems stemming from motorcycle wrecks so even a polite word or half ass smile makes him think a woman wants to sleep with him…I was in tears, furious, hopeless, and here is this guy touching my shoulder and telling me to calm down and smile and no matter how far I walked away or even sat in my hunk of junk car seething, he kept coming at me….I am not a mean person and he seems like a very sweet man with good intentions but today was NOT the day considering the way his father totally screwed me and Spook over.

So the dad and stepmonster get the old man to show us his other properties, ALL of which are in worse shape than what we’ve been living in and he says he won’t rent them anyway until they are cleaned up and repaired and thatn could be weeks.

And all I could think was, “8 years I have kept a roof over Spook’s head even after the donor abandoned us and left us penniless and now this elderly fuck puts me in a position of us living on someone’s sofa like I can’t even pay rent!!!” Six of us were trying to stress upon him the urgency of my situation and ten seconds later, he forgot all about what any of us said and told us it’d be a month or two before any of the properties he showed us would be liveable thus him willing to rent them.

I punched the roof of my car and leaned my head on the steering wheel and just let some tears slip. There is no bigger failure than not being able to put a roof over your kid’s head. It’s not like we got evicted cos I was ever late on rent. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not my fault I am disabled, I do the best I can, and it sure as hell isn’t my fault that I am forced to chase the damned donor job to job for support while the law provides him 6 weeks before he has to pay a cent. My God, I can’t deny my kid food for six hours without being labeled negligent and yet the law protects deadbeat parents to the nth!

I knew dealing with anyone associated with dad would be a bad idea. And I also knew that moving to Armpit was going to end up doubling monthly expenses thus leaving us unable to even buy basic hygiene products or internet or gas for the car.

Allegedly the house he showed us ‘can be’ ready for us in a week, but I won’t hold my breath on him remembering it or getting it fixed even if his son, the touchy feeling crowding one, does the work and vowed to me that he would personally get started tomorrow and have it done for me and Spook. I have zero faith in anything or anyone now and I think it’s warranted, considering how we got screwed.

Not to mention this house is not even an 1/8 as decent as the Elm street place. The former tenants left food rotting in the fridge, sink, stove, they left dirty cat boxes and busted aquariums with rotting fish so the entire place smells like decomposition. The floors are caving in worse than what we already have here in slumlord utopia. I’m not convinced it can even be made habitable but then, I am so upset and frustrated and depressed…maybe I can’t see the sunlight even if I am faking it for my kid.

I just….this is just…unbelievable.

Which was why I started the fundraiser in the first damn place because I knew the people with the cash on hand would trump us who can barely come up with the first month’s rent and utilities. I wanted to raise the money so we could have some security, some peace of mind, to get out of this hellish nightmare I can wake from. I am a damn good mom but if I can’t even provide her with a home cos I keep getting lied to and screwed over by these landlords and such…

Maybe I should let the dinor have her since he seems to keep a roof over his head. Obviously I can’t even have a successful fundraiser for the BEST DAMNED REASON ON EARTH. for my kid. Because you don’t know what hell or heartbreak is until an 8 year old asks, “Mommy why are we gonna be homeless?”

I did NOTHING wrong to deserve being forced to move.

Yet it’s like…

I’m buried alive and there’s no way out. What’s to say in the next 24 hours this senile old man won’t decide to rent the house out from under us cos someone else comes forth with the full $800 to move in? Not to mention I had the power set to turn on at the Elm place tomorrow, now I have to try to cancel that and get it transferred and that is gonna come with fees and penalties again THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN!!!!!!

If we ever manage to get a roof overhead and get moved…I am seriously thinking it might be time for me to let Spook have a long weekend with the grandparents while I sneak off for a self committal to the psych ward. I can’t take much more, I just can’t. I am not a wimp, I am not a spoiled brat, I am just a human trying her best and getting kicked to death and damn it….

I need help.

All I wanna do now is sleep. But then come the nightmares and incessant and I thought this other place was a lock thus helping keep from flipping out but now I have to worry that the old man is gonna stab me in the back again so maybe sleep and nightmares are just as hellish as consciousness.

This isn’t woe is me. We got fucked over from every angle by multiple powers that be and we didn’t deserve any of it. And the one time in our lives when we need a successful fundraiser to help us…FAIL.

I am thankful for the kind soul who made the first donation today. It meant a great deal that you were so kind and generous.

Spook and I could use a few more people like that cos…this isn’t ‘Help pay to neuter my cats’. This is ‘help us get a roof overhead please please please before they take my kid away and I am committed indefinitely cos the human mind can only handle so much, especially when already altered by disorders…

I just…want us to have a home, be together, and start working on rebuilding things. But until the perpetual anxiety, stress, and backstabbing due to lack of funds on top of the depression is lowered from fever pitch…

I am very, very scared. People will take care of my child if I can’t but no one will take care of me, not even the psych professionals whose job it was to make sure I didn’t end up this bad off.

I’ll suck it up, swallow the tears, and be brave and badass tomorrow.

Tonight…I have every reason to feel the way I do.

I just hope it passes cos losing my kid is not an option just because I don’t have $800 laying around to be the more impressive tenant for the landlord.

And also…I hate hospitals, I really don’t want to be signed in, voluntary or otherwise.

I just need one or two things to go right, to help give me strength, to remind me I am a good mom even if I am broke and struggling mentally. Just one or two things, for the love of pegacorn.

Now I am gonna cry and get the toxicity out and hope tomorrow I will be a badass again. Or if I can’t be a badass…at least give me strength to stay afloat, because I love my daughter and she needs me, and I need her. And we need some help.

I’m Tired Of Being Kicked In The Face, Life, You Can Stop Now

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 25, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms


YEAH. The stress of it all finally hit and I am cracking up into pissy little bitch mode because over the years, I’ve had a few campaigns to raise money. For vet care for the cats, bug treatment of the house, and once, for my family who had a house fire, not a cent of which was for me. And ya know what? PEOPLE DONATED. But now that my daughter and I have been basically tossed out of our home through no fault of our own thus thrusting us into $1100 debt right out of the gate (first month and deposit rent new place, transfer of utilities, old utility bills, new utilities with deposits that were formerly rent inclusive, gas for living 18 miles out of civilizaion in Armpit, Midwest, basic household necessities, new registratioN for the car by March 31rst, car insurance-ALL AT ONCE)…Two weeks and not even a five dollar donation or seemingly even a share on social media or a reblog. Not once single act of kindness, and hell, only a couple of basic human decency ‘sorry you’re facing all this shit’. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE HUMAN RACE?

I know things are tough all over, my kid and I are not special, everyone is getting kicked by life. But seriously? Not even five bucks in two weeks? And everyone thinks it’s a mystery why I am a misanthrope. Here I am, reaching out because I HAVE to, not cos it makes me feel good, and I am saying, “Hey, humanity, I’ve pretty much given up on your decency but I am open to being surprised if you want to prove me wrong”…NOTHING.

Do you think it’s easy to do a fundraiser and ask strangers for money? Because it’s not. It is humiliating, it makes you hate yourself no matter how worthy you are and how righteous you are in asking for help. So for anyone who thinks I am trying to raise money cos it’s fun and I want to buy a big plasma TV or some shit…I am trying to keep a roof over my kid’s head so they can’t find reason to take her from me and that requires money. Had I seen any of this coming it wouldn’t be this desperate but then, I was lied to at every turn by a corrupt former landlord and a backstabbing new management company so this isn’t something I brought on myself.

Reblog, share on social media, give a fiver, leave a nice comment. DO SOMETHING TO RESTORE MY FAITH IN HUMANITY, PLEASE.

And now that I have ranted like a spoiled child having a tantrum thus confirming what a horrible person I am thus not deserving of a single donation…let’s move onto what this blog is actually about. The slippery slope of mental health issues.

I was hanging in there for awhile. Auto pilot kicked in. I was trying to be strong for Spook, trying not to lose my shit cos hey, this shit happens all the time to everyone, not exclusive to us…Life goes on, we will figure it out.

Thing is when you are bombarded with a plethora of disorders that make your brain process and react very very differently than mundane brains (not insulting, just sounds more catchy than ‘non chemically deficient brains’)…you can only exist on auto pilot for so long and then comes SPLAT. I was running on pure stress and anxiety, too worried about having my kid taken away cos I wasn’t being proactive about finding us a new home, and then…the depression waved at me, winked, and announced it would no longer be quashed just because the anxiety had a front row seat, it wants its fifteen minutes. Or has been the case with this current depressive bout, 7 months.

And then came the dark thoughts and I swear were it not for my kid…I’d pull a Marilyn Monroe and just say goodbye, cruel world, in a blaze of pill gorged lack of glory.

I am never gonna get out of this financial hole. I am never gonna get my brain to cooperate or find a doctor competent enough to help with that. I am gonna be stuck in the damned sticks forever with my dad and stepmonster in total control of my existence because I will be using their vehicle as mine won’t run over 35 mph, it’s so broken.

Maybe the dark depression is making it seem more dire than it really is, I don’t know anymore. Seems pretty bleak to me. And everyone keeps telling me to calm down, which really makes me want to hit them in the head with a shovel cos hey, if I could skip the anxiety and panic disorders, I totally would. I find it so hypocritical narcissistic of everyone around me to be entitled to their anger and their anxiety and ranting…but because I have mental disorders, somehow I am NEVER entitled to vent my feelings because they are never legitimate. CALM DOWN is one of the worst things you could ever say to me, it’s complete invalidation. You could call me a scum sucking whore who licks windows and has sex with goats and it still wouldn’t be as insulting as telling me to calm down when I have every right to not be calm. Or telling me to cheer up when I have every right to be down, or hey, because I am in a deep clinical depression thus cheer is not something I am acquainted with.

One more nail in the ‘humanity sucks’ coffin came when I called the property manager-former lying scumlord to tell him we’d be out by March 5th and he actually had the nerve to say, after NINE years never paying late and only having a week’s notice of their new ‘buy or get it’ policy…”It’d be better if you were out by the 28th.”

Are you fucking kidding me, you cocksucker motherfucker cockweasel piece of shit????? I cannot believe how shitty he is treating me whereas before he sold out and became uppity manager guy, he was all nice to my face and on how I am the ideal tenant, he wishes all were like me, and how much he’d hate it if I ever moved….How am I supposed to have any faith in humans when people are such duplicitous liars? And before anyone plays the ‘not everyone is like that card’…if it happens to you often enough…it seems like it is everyone.

I am running on fumes. Today we are gonna start moving stuff and attempt to get my car over to Armpit, which should be terrifyingly entertaining on an interstate in a car that won’t go over 35. And has a lying gas gauge cos Thursday it was just over a 1/4th and now it’s on the orange mark and I’ve gone maybe 3 miles. I don’t know if that’s enough fuel to even get to Armpit.

Now that I have purged all the poison from my mind like a teapot reaching the boil point and letting out the steam and whistle…

I apologize for my harsh words and lack of coherent thought and well, basically being me. Though if you knew me even a little, you’d know I also have a lot of great qualities. I am not just my anger and misanthropy and moods and nerves and money needy…Right now, though, those emotions are pretty much sitting in the front row waving not lighters but flame throwers and I am ducking fire here.

One last time for now…

Please, even $5 is a gallon and a half of gas toward getting around. And the thought really does count, at least with me and Spook. Or a reblog or share or kind word.

We’re just a family doing the best we can.

Homelessness Avoided…Still In Limbo

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on February 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, we went, we saw, we liked, and the guy agreed to rent us the trailer in Armpit. It’s a nice place, front yard with an awning, back yard, shed- great place for a kid. Near the bus stop for school, near the church, near a playground. The only thing not nearby is the gas station but in a town the size of a gnat even that’s not a biggie.

I survived the anxiety and panic. Afterward, stepmonster took us out to supper, at an actual sit down restaurant, not fast food. Which was a first for me and Spook in…months, maybe a year. It was nice.I wasn’t even in panic mode anymore, I guess after 4 hours of it it kind of burned itself out. Stepmonster even bought me a phone card so I’d have talk to make the necessary calls to set things in motion.

Today I have to call the power company about transferring service. Then I need to go to Salvation Army about them paying the landlord dude a hundred bucks or so towards the deposit. Oddest thing, he balked at this, and said no, then it will become a habit. Um…I’ve not once asked anyone for rent help in 9 years, this is a one and done thing cos well, scumlord screwed us. What kind of person doesn’t want to be given money as long as it’s legal? Country folk, I guess.

He still has a few things he wants to do to the place before we can move in so…in a holding pattern. Hellish limbo. My personality is, let’s get it done already…But just knowing we have a place now is a weight off my shoulders.

Apparently not too much weight, as it is 3:15 a.m and I am awake writing this instead of sleeping. I caught two hours or so, woke around 11:30 and try as though I might, even with half a melatonin and o.5 of xanax…my spinning brain won’t shut up, my heart won’t slow down. I have that ‘rooster hour’ mental haze going on and I would love to catch a few hours before I have to get the spawn up for school and face the day. Yet my body and mind won’t cooperate so I lay down, toss, turn, sit up, wait, lather,rinse, repeat.

Soo much to do to prepare to move. Yet until the place is landlord ready-he needs to check the water pipes for leaks, he wants to shampoo the rugs, etc…Limbo.

It’s not lack of gratitude or refusal to accept a win. My disorder just makes me so anxious over every tiny thing it impacts me on every level. Good or bad. That’s my litmus test when people make me ponder whether or not my disorders are legitimate. Does it just interfere with things I dislike doing? Or does it impact even the things I love? It impacts everything, thus my disorders are real and disabling.

But hey…it’s a win. Having a place to live. Hopefully it won’t cost limbs to heat or cool and we won’t marinate in sweat or freeze our spleens off. OOhhh…sunshine spewage. I must really still be tired and need sleep to regain my usual cycnical sarcasm.

Knowing how my scumbag brain works…I will nod off about a half hour before the alarm goes off.

Then be unable to get back to sleep all day. And have zero energy physically or mentally.

Same old, same old.

But hey… I was starting to check out cardboard boxes for wifi access so..this is a good thing. Even if my panic disorder sucks out all the goodness from it.