Archive for March, 2018

Kill The Drama Llama Already

Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on March 29, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

To clarify for regular readers of this blog…Yes,I often call my kid the drama llama but NO I am not talking about her in this post so no killing of the spawn is indicated nor wanted.

This time I am talking about widespread long living Drama Llama Syndrome involving my toxic family.

Since the necessitated move to Armpit,USA,where Dad and stepmonster are local ‘heroes’ with the redneck elite…there has been effort from both paternal and maternal factions to create and perpetuate drama. In fact,with all the seeming knives in my back,I feel like my voodoo man knife rack’s chest.

Dad and his crew trash mom and her faction, buy us stuff then rub it in my sister’s face, and apparently trash me behind my back. Dad does it to my face so the big offender seems to be stepmonster being nice to my face and putting me down behind my back. Recently dad misquoted my sister,making it seem she was calling me their ass kisser and such.

The flaw with that plan,though,is, my sister and I have always been cool even if I am 6 years older than her. Their attempt to turn us against each other might have worked if I weren’t so aware of the family drama and backstabbing history.

Today mom and my sis (had to take sis a snarky card for her 39th bday) felt the need to tell me all about how dad’s faction trashes me to them.

It’d be so easy to go ballistic and be overcome with anger (especially with the pmdd and monthly curse kicking my ass) but…

I am not my family. I got a job and moved out at 17 to escape the drama and doublecrosses. For over 20 years I have tried to maintain my own home and involve myself with family as rarely as possible. Which lead to a lot of accusations of being anti social,rude,hateful,thinking I am too good for or better than them…After a counselor met my dysfunctional core family she told me they were toxic emotionally so avoidance seemed a good option.

I pointed this out to mom and sis today. Since mom and dad split up 20 years ago it’s been nothing but ‘pick a side or suffer drama and grudges’. Count me out.

Just hearing how stepmonster (supposedly,but likely) trashes me to mom and sis while being nice to my face made my stomach acids start churning painfully,on top of cramps.

NOPE.

I made it clear this drama and infighting between the factions is why I have always kept to myself. Now that my kid is witnessing all the treacherous dysfunction of my core family,I want to shield,d her from the negativity. We are all her family and her feelings should be her own. Not based on old grudges or criticisms.

I hope they took it to heart. Trying to talk to dad’s faction is pointless but the sentiment is the same. I will NOT have my kid dragged into it and let it taint her feelings for any of us.

I am in my final hours before I get 5 days of a bored hyper kid for spring break. With the hormonal havoc and cramps from hell,I don’t think Easter is gonna be bunnies and candy for me.

No sooner than I escape gabapentin haze,I get monthly curse hell to top off anxiety and depression. Yay.

I am gonna make the most of it and try to forget I saw a ‘friend’ in town who commented on my weight loss and how good I look then touched my belly and told me how to get rid of it.

Maybe I am so down on people because this is the sort of thing I have to deal with daily. ‘You look great,but this is still wrong and here’s how to fix it.’

Road to hell,pavement,good intentions. If only those types had a filter or s mute button. Rude!

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Word Salad

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

Just curious…does anyone else have trouble interpreting things they hear due to some brain short circuit type ‘word salad’ snafu?

It happens to me a little too often for my comfort.

The docs have no problem admitting meds can cause tardive dyskinesia, but tell them years of taking the assortment of pills have turned your brain into a misfiring skull contained mess of cole slaw…

You may as well have sprouted foil covered horns on a second head. That’s how much credence they give my complaints,anyway.

I know I didn’t used to be this scrambled and it has nothing to do with age or lack of intelligence.

I will never be convinced that 20 plus years of the pharmacopia cocktails haven’t given me Jello salad brain.

It’s just a theory I have but fairly credible- doctors are reluctant to confirm any negative psych med side effect that hasn’t be substantiated by ten thousand patients and an FDA warning because…

Honestly,how many people would knowingly take these meds if told it could make you stupid and feeble ten,twenty years down the line?

I don’t think I would have even given the meds a second try had I known my impending status as a not so proud owner of a salad shooting brain.

I wasn’t afforded that luxury so now I have to listen to things 4,5,6 times,replay it in my head,say it aloud…and there are times it never does actually hit home and register as gobbledygook. I feel dumb as bellybutton lint on a daily basis due to salad brain.

Also a major self confidence crusher is the constant blank outs and tip-of-my-tongue words that vanish or never even appear.

Is this a big enough issue to swear off meds? If I knew the salad could be reassembled back to lettuce,tomatoes,radishes,dressing,and croutons,maybe.

Damage is done though and I know on the green moon when meds work well it’s worthwhile…so I’ll take the salad brain even though I’d rather eat squirrel than rabbit food…

Still..,your intelligence having to be sacrificed for sanity…

Is there anything mental health issues doesn’t take from us?

Second Impressions Matter More and Farewell,Gabapentin

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

After an enormous deal of ‘waiting,start,stop’ anxiety this morning due to my impending shrink appointment…

As it turns out,Dr. H is actually pretty nice and understanding. I guess our first appointment was a fluke or her too overwhelmed with staffing issues (I could entertain the notion it was all in my head,but nope…) Anyway,for all of society’s forcefeedings that first impressions are everything…

Turns out,second impressions can entirely change initial ones. Not saying she’s an awesome Dr. B but she’s not the boogeyman she seemed that first appointment.

She saw how off balance and confused I am and said STOP the gabapentin. She even seemed sorry for prescribing it since I had such a bizarre negative reaction. I don’t blame her,none of us know what will work or harm til we try it. Just glad I am gonna get out of the gauzy stoner haze,that has sucked. Driving is stressful enough without a med making me loopy.

I was honest about not knowing if the Effexor is working due to the yo gabba gabba side effects. Instead of the apathy of nurse doc or others who have made me feel like a malingerer when meds aren’t making me do cartwheels under rainbows…

She said give it a week to get gaba out of my system and let the Effexor kick in,see how I feel,then call her nurse and let them know so we can increase dose or change meds.

I can live with that.

Harder to live with is how moody,contradictory, and ‘homesick’ my daughter is. She misses town and our old trailer and she blames me for moving here (as if I had a choice,they kind of take your kids away if you have home for them). She’s ok,she’s down,she’s up,she’s bored,she’s agitated. And while the move probably heightened all these emotions for her,she’s been cycling through them for years. I want to think it’s stress related,early onset puberty moodiness…

My gut says bipolar. I know she’s only 8 and can’t really he diagnosed,nor do I want her labeled prematurely…But her erratic behavior reminds me so much of my own pre diagnosis and mood stabilizer days…you can’t help but draw parallels and wonder.

It bothers me that my usually free spirited happy kid now seems insecure,sad,and unsure of anything. And going to F’s after A pluses simply because the old school was so focused on core math,Spook doesn’t know her times tables. I wanted to teach them to hee but we were discouraged because it would confuse the kidz and interfere with the core math teaching.

Now because I listened to that place,my daughter may not progress to fourth grade if she doesn’t memorize all the tables by year’s end. New teacher holds back students who haven’t learned them. Wtf? Cut us some slack,ffs,not our fault the curriculum was different in town.

Anyway. That was my appointment. I see her again in 5 weeks but I am free to call anytime if I have problems.

Second impressions matter. I wish some people had given me that benefit of the doubt instead of assuming my bipolar mood swings are my identity.

I need to remind myself to keep an open kind. Just not so open that the scent of my brain draws a crowd of zombies.

I Wish Someone Would Write ‘How To Talk To Doctors For Dummies’

Posted in anxiety disorders, mental health, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I got my usual reminder call for my psych appt tomorrow and it triggered an hours long bout with anxiety,borderline panic,paranoia,and self doubt.

Which really irks me because I’ve done nothing wrong,I am taking the prescribed meds,I had my lab work done.

So why the heightened anxiety to see the doctor?

I guess part of it is my own social awkwardness and general terror of doctors.

A larger part,though,is 25 years of bad experiences with some pretty iffy if not downright incompetent doctors.

My first appointment with new Doc H was supposed to be a thirty minute first visit intake. I was kept waiting over a half hour and the entire thing felt rushed,almost adversarial,since she got a little irate when I mentioned missing my old shrink. I don’t think an anxiety riddled patient should have been subjected to her new doc’s agitation with staffing issues,at all. Kinda makes me wish I could record my appointments cos with mental health issues,no one ever believes a patient over a shrink. But I honestly feel her temperament really triggered my anxiety and paranoia.

It shouldn’t be an issue…except her tone first appointment in was a resigned,’I’m willing to work with you but you’ve tried this,this,that…’ Kind of hints that she’s fed up before even getting started. Then there was the whole not returning my calls when the gabapentin high dose kicked my ass so bad.

I just don’t feel hopeful about this doctor and she only has her own bedside manner to blame.

I will act on the ‘even doctors have bad days especially when staffing problems overwhelm them’ assumption. She’s only human.

Then again,so am I and her manner was soo the wrong approach with me. Guess that’s me being self centered and expecting to be dealt with in a respectful to my disorders way.

So…if you only intend to tell the truth- gabapentin makes me too loopy to not be depressed so I can’t say if Effexor is helping depressive symptoms- why do I feel like I am somehow failing this harried doc who obviously does not have time for a med resistant med sensitive basketcase like me?

Really. Someone needs to write that for dummies book on how to deal with doctors. Because I am clueless when even the truth seems like the wrong thing to say.

What a sad statement about local psych care that I don’t even feel entitled to tell the truth because by not instantly responding to new meds and improving…I am letting down the doctor and complicating their life.

Sartre Files: Hell Is Other People, Especially Ones You Are Related To

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

One of my favorite ever desktop wallpapers was something I found on Reddit, made by another user, and it was black with red and orange flames and the Jean Paul Sartre quote, “Hell is other people.” I have long maintained this opinion, not because I’m anti social or a true misanthrope, but because it has been my lifelong experience that a large part of my so called personality disorders and emotional damage stem from dealing with very rude, thoughtless, and sometimes, deliberately cruel people. If things are fairly tranquil (as much as can be with an array of wonky chemicals causing your brain to act like a squirrel on crack and meth) until you interact with others and it triggers negative emotions…well, I’d call that hellish.

Even more hellish is when the triggers are caused by well intentioned “we love you” family members. This weekend brought that fact home times a thousand.

Saturday was a wet, cold, miserable day and because I was so high strung and low, I took my daughter to her friend’s birthday party and made a hasty exit, figuring she’s going to turn 9 soon, she’s ready to go to a party alone. I figured with a town hall to run loose in and 15 kids plus a slew of growns up, she’d be well entertained and supervised. Within 35 minutes, her friend’s dad texted that she missed me and wanted me there. Back I went, to be subjected to vapid popular songs by the likes of Miley Virus sung by Kidzbop amidst shrieking children and a bunch of adults who didn’t even attempt to speak to me aside from the birthday boy’s parents. (Yeah, the whole small town people are soo friendly and nice thing-not so true.) Anyway, the noise and chaos had me about to melt down, but I smiled and laughed when the kids took swings at the Minion pinata and I tried to be a good sport and a not a mega downer just because I was so ill at ease and triggered. I was managing.

When birthday boy was opening gifts, my phone rang and I saw it was my dad but I didn’t want to interrupt the kids’ doing their kid birthday thing, so I let it go to voice mail. Not FIVE minutes later my brother was dispatched to crash the party to fetch me cos dad and them got us some furniture and it was in the rain. We had 15 minutes of party left!!! And as it turned out, all the stuff was in their SUV or in the pick up under a car port so there was ZERO reason to pull that shit. They KNEW Spook had that party that day, they knew about it for two damned weeks, and still…they dispatched brother to come interrupt and drag us away.

Am I really just being volatile and ungrateful or was that beyond the pale of rude and egomaniacal of them? Not to wait 15 minutes when they knew the party ended at 4????

I blew a gasket and was cursing and growling at my brother even if technically he’s just their puppet doing whatever he is told. And frankly from what I’ve witnessed, it ain’t my brother or stepmonster who are at fault in the rude ‘let’s disrupt Niki’s life at every turn’ thing. It’s my dad, it has always been my dad. I can remember 12 years ago at my old apartment being on line chatting with someone and they’d just show up out of the blue and disrupt my entire life no matter how many times I stressed CALL FIRST SO I DON’T FREAK OUT. Hell, I even had a doctor’s note instructing the landlord that I needed at least an hour notice before he showed to fix stuff because I do panic so severely.

Yet my own father shows no deference, gives zero fucks.

As I’ve said, with him, it’s all about the money and since I am in their debt, they are free to do as they please, never mind Spook and I have our own plans or life. I’ve tried talking to stepmonster and she says she understands but the ‘boss man’ won’t listen to her. Um, beg to differ. She has a daddy complex, for sure, how else do you explain and 43 year old woman with a 71 year old man? But when I accidentally busted her car’s windshield, during a week dad was really chewing me out for every tiny thing, she somehow talked to him and I never did get that particular screamathon. So what it amounts to is she’d like to respect my boundaries but as long as my dad is alive, at least on what they consider the little stuff, my wishes will be ignored, period.

That was driven home yesterday. Spook and I were having an okay day, we went to the park and played, we had frozen pizza and watched I Know What You Did Last Summer and Munsters together…then at six p.m., no call, they show up to deliver their old dresser for her to use. Which meant I had to empty her old one on the spot and move the heavy thing, and I was so pissed off and aggravated, I dropped the dresser on my bare foot. Then dad started in on me again (like the fifth time in two days,as if I am deaf or stupid) about how I don’t start the new car right and I am gonna tear it up like I did the old Chevy (that was 20 years ago). Then he started in on how the yard was a mess and the neighbors would complain so he and brother were picking it up. For fuck’s sake, we just had two solid days of rain, wind, and some snow, pardon me for not picking up fallen limbs and stuff within an hour! Oh and those evil empty cardboard boxes my kid had just put out like when they got here, unannounced, to make space in her room for their old dresser. GRRRRR.

I know this blog gets repetetive, especially with neither Spook nor I all that thrilled with living in this town, but if anyone finds my family’s behavior acceptable and not worthy of a rant and some pissed off indignation…well then you’re probably a rabid narcissist like them and should die in a fire anyway.

Towards bedtime, as the next schood day neared, Spook started complaining of not feeling good. Every. Sunday. Night. She really dislikes this new school.I know their curriculum is different than the old school, way more advanced (especially for a hick place that boasts ‘cornfield olympics’ as a school event) but every day I ask how her day was and she’ll usually say pretty well, good, or great. It breaks my heart seeing her get F’s here whereas she was basically an A plus student in town. They are already on things here that they had never even broached at her old school. I thought the new school would contact me about maybe special learning tools to get her up to date or tutoring or something. Instead, they are letting her flounder. And that’s how it was for me when I was forced to move.

I realize in my old age that my parents were between a rock and a hard place when we were forced to move to a place even more Armpi-ty than this one, but I never did forgive them. And now I think it may be the case with my kid. Difference with me, though, is- if she doesn’t adapt by the time the lease here is up, I can and WILL sell all our stuff and we’ll go live on my mom’s couch for six months if we have to and save for a place in town. I guess I should have done that instead of moving here but the pressure and anxiety were so immense, all I could think was, “screw your own small town scars, your kid has to have a home.” She always told me how much she liked coming here to stay a few days with dad and them. I guess that’s why I thought she’d be okay with this move. She may just need more time. She did finally say Saturday night that this house is starting to feel more like her home. School though, when a smart kid is thrust into a situation with unfamiliar lessons and of course the system doesn’t take that into consideration or slow things down for them to catch up (as it was for me)…it can be the beginning of the end. That’s without her being bullied. God forbid if that piles on.

So this morning when she said she still didn’t ‘feel good’ I gave the fake smile and fake pep talk, because this school has even stricter rules than the old one absences (oh, and if your kid has lice more than twice in one school year, they turn you in social services,wtf???) so now I am walking on eggshells worried about truancy problems…It’s not because I don’t understand the ‘can’t do this, don’t want to go to that place’ anxiety. I understand too well. But they are also doing these scholastic multi tests right now and that’s stressing her out,too, apparently the old school didn’t do 9 day long multi part tests, so…am I being a monster making her go to school or being a responsible parent? Fuck if I know.

I see the new doc tomorrow. To say I am dreading it is an understatement. Not to mention the terror because I have NO idea if there’s enough gas in the car to get there and back. Math and guessing games are not my strong suit. But if I cancel then the insurance gets billed anyway for less than 24 hours notice and the doc, who already seems fed up with me, will decide I am non compliant…so I guess I just have to risk running out of gas on the interstate. FUCK.

One thing I am sure of-gabapentin is a no go. I appreciate everyone’s input but after two weeks at high and low dose and I still feel like utterly stoned shit without a single positive benefit…this ain’t the one for me. Wish it was. Looking forward to telling her that about as much one is thrilled to have a root canal.

So maybe I will write a positive post one day, but this is not the day. And I do NOT believe for a moment that by throwing out negativity I am bringing negativity on myself, as someone’s post recently opined (not in personal reference to me, their own belief, I just don’t share it.) I think sometimes life is just shitty to you whether you deserve it or not and venting about it isn’t whining or inviting more bad stuff to happen to you. Sometimes things just suck.

It is what it is.

And if you don’t believe that…hell, is indeed, other people.

Party Hearty…Not

Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 24, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My daughter is still at my dad’s house but each passing hour my anxiety rises. Why? What awful thing is impending?

My kid was invited to the neighbor boy’s 5th birthday party today from 2-4 p.m.

Now why on Earth would taking my kid to a birthday party make me anxiety ridden and panicky?

Event crowded with people I don’t really know, outside my safe zone, lots of unknown factors (like the year we were paid to leave a birthday party cos Spook was upstaging the birthday girl), rainy cold day making my depression worse…

Panicpalooza.

My heartrate is up,I feel sweaty, even a little woozy. This is why I personally rarely go out to public events or even private ones if more than 3 people will be present.

The physical effects of anxiety and panic are disturbing and it takes a long while to restore equilibrium. While professionals may classify this aversion to events avoidance behavior…I have become wise enough to view it for what it is: the opportunity to make the choice to not become overwhelmed,discombobulated,and physically ill.

It’s half amusing how people with known food allergies are condemned if they go ahead and eat something that hurts their stomach or results in unpleasant bodily responses. ‘You know you can’t properly digest peppers,idiot,why’d you eat them?’

BUT if your condition is on the mental health spectrum and you avoid things known to impact your physical health negatively…then it’s avoidance and unhealthy behavior. You won’t try hard enough or push yourself hard enough.

WTF kind of double standard is that?

For myself,I can opt out 95% of the time and only feel moderately self loathing.

For my kid, I aim to barrel through the anxiety and panic so at least one of us has a happy life. Even if it means I will spend two days sick,trying to calm down and recover,I try for her sake.

I hate to admit how many times I have failed her in spite of trying my best.

This is where depression makes anxiety worse. If I weren’t clouded under a depressive bout, my anxiety would probably not be so metastasized over a kids’ birthday party. The disorders just feed on and off of each other,round and round it goes. The carousel never stops turning.

If my anxiety is as bad as any food sensitivity and even hinders my ability to go out and have a good time…

How dare anyone call it a benign condition.

It’s My Life…And I’d Like To Make A Return

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, Uncategorized with tags , , on March 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Today started out in a lovely way. And by lovely,I mean, shitty.

I went to do dishes for the first time since Sunday (as I said,the gabapentin has me lethargic and constantly feeling exhausted) and water came flooding out from under the sink. The fitting keeping the plastic pipes connected had come loose and not being a plumber…my instant reaction,following the shouted obscenities, was to panic at the mere thought of having to call the landlord for repairs.

After mopping up the flood, I inspected the pipes,put them back together,and tightened the connecter piece. Yay! It worked,no need to make a loathsome call and hope the elderly landlord remembers he even rents to me. Relief.

I next washed a load of laundry in our new used (oxymoron?) washer and had to rewash it as my scent crystals didn’t dissolve. Not a huge trauma,but definitely one more thing to heighten anxiety if my monthly water bill is $65 before we use a drop of water. (If only my brain could be ocd about cleaning the way it is with panicking over every tiny thing.)

I worsened this anxiety by bothering to bathe,how many gallons of the precious gold Armpit,USA calls water service does a bath use? But grungy hair ain’t working for me these days. Guess that’s a first nod to seasonal depression sloooowly starting to lift,no longer able to go through 5,6 days without bathing.

Following this,I cooked myself eggs and bacon and won the lottery. For once,eating breakfast didn’t upset my stomach.

I went to hang dry the laundry washed and the rolling rack collapsed for the tenth time,shattering a vase so I had to stop that chore to clean up glass and put the rack back together.

9/10 of that done,the rack collapsed again,this time with all the wet laundry on it,into a shelf full of glass chotchkeys…more cursing echoed off the walls but I put Humpty Dumpty back together again and finished hanging wet clothes.

It was only 11:30.

It’s very hard not to get discouraged, pessimistic,and downright tired when day after day your life is filled with a never ending chain of mishaps that hinder accomplishments. I think isolated incidents would be a little less destructive to my mental state but since 2018 began,it’s just been catastrophe after catastrophe.

On top of the depression and anxiety,it makes it difficult to be a shiny happy person.

The fact I am still upright and functioning,even on limited capacity days,should be indicative of my tenacity. I’m not one to simply shatter after a series of trying events. I may regroup but I do not quit.

That being said…my kid is staying the night with the paternal faction so I am gonna take the blessed million-question-free golden time to regroup.

And try not to have panic attacks knowing my brother will be driving her to some hick activity tonight after dark.

Why panic attacks when your brother is 22 years old?

He has…how to put this politely…a learning disability not to mention he’s pretty much half blind during the day and night blind,plus such an iffy driver,dad and stepmom wouldn’t let him drive to and from town last year when he was a tax service costume greeter. These days he does 2 hours Mon-Fri putting a 4 year old on the bus and taking him off the bus. Said 4 year old pulled the fire alarm at school last week and my brother called stepmonster to ask if he could go pick the kid up per his mok’s request cos that is part of babysitting…and he was forbidden from doing so,in broad daylight,cos she didn’t trust him driving the 4 year old. Wtf?

I broached the topic with both of them expressing concern about him driving MY kid after dark and they got all pissy like I was being rude. I am terrified for my kid,not cos I think my brother will purposely hurt her but because he is so blind,such an iffy driver, and has less attention span than a gnat.

Still my concerns were swatted away and as I owe them so much money cos of the move,it’s been made clear I no longer have a voice or true say over my kid.

Hell is owing family.

This is my life and it no longer feels comfy like a well worn pair of houseslippers. It doesn’t fit me. I have been sucked into living their life and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Until I repay them every cent which could take years…

I am stuck wearing toe pinching foot torturing shoes.

This is my life. It no longer fits and I want a return.