Archive for May, 2018

Multi Directional Meltdown

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on May 31, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday pushed me to the edge and today feels like an anxiety hangover. My mood is low, my energy is nil (and I slept pretty well, interrupted, as usual, but still, I got a few solid hours), and the free floating anxiety and paranoia are rampant. This is nothing unusual, following an uber triggering day. Some people thrive on high stress and pressure whereas it does me in and I need to take a beat and recover. Probably why I self isolate so much. Sensory overload messes with my mood stability and I do need to step back and ‘opt out’ of further stressors. Sometimes I am able to do this, and this morning has indicated this to be one of those times. But it’s only 11 a.m. so lots of hours left for the day to turn into another trigger.

All things considered, I’ve had a few decent mental days lately so this is a hiccup, or well, an annoying hours long bout of hiccups.

Yesterday started with my bank deposit MIA which threw off the plans I’d made beforehand. It turned out to be a blessing, of sorts, because my dad was wanting me and stepmonster to go to town together to save on fuel and honestly…riding with other people is just one of those things I.don’t.like.to.do. And considering how much I like saving on gas money and avoid driving in traffic, you know my aversion to riding with others is enormous. It has nothing to do with their driving ability. It’s that feeling of being at their mercy, trapped, forced to endure social niceties and my own errands plus theirs and no control of the ‘opt out’ where I can flee homeward when circuits overload. It sounds like a silly thing and it’s to my own detriment in some ways, but it is what it is.

My money eventually deposited, but by then Spook was playing with her little friend and of course, complaining about everything C was doing being wrong or annoying her, so that noise (literal and metaphoric) set me on edge. On edge is not the mental state to be in when driving to town. Living in tiny Armpit has turned my driving paranoia and anxiety into some metastatic thing so I need to be in the right mindset to brave it. (Again, wouldn’t carpooling be nice, ya know, if it didn’t make the anxiety even worse.) Waited a couple of hours and then the kid bickering just got to be too much, had to load her up and flee my own home for an escape. I thought out of the trailer park I might get my life back and not run a free daycare and food dispensary every day. My social child has maintained the status quo and I gotta say…it’s annoying because her little friend is picky as hell and always.bloody.hungry. If they didn’t occasionally reciprocate by having her over and giving her a popsicle or water, I’d probably be in bitchbeast mode. Everyone blamed the trailer park for every bad thing (me, too, my bad) but really…it’s just a kid thing. Kids are needy, ungrateful, rude no matter who raises them or where. And I hate being the ‘no’ monster, always chastising, saying no, being the downer. Adulting sucks.

Anyway, we finally went to town yesterday and ran errands (waiting to pay the landlord til June 1rst because if I get the money order on the 30th or 31rst, it confuses him as to what month it is, wtf, bitching about being paid early, on what planet is this a bad thing???). Paid a couple of bills by phone just to save myself aggravation of traffic and stops cos towing an incessantly talking uncooperative child along is the definition of a trigger, the stops we had to make were grueling enough. Thing I hate about paying on line are their ‘processing fees’. They don’t provide physical locations to pay, I don’t have excess money to mail payment a week beforehand, and it’s all just annoying.

By our sixth stop in town, my kid had talked me to exhaustion. The car was starting to overheat, I should have checked the coolant since it’s been in the 90’s but of course, swiss cheese brain forgets these things. I had no coolant in the trunk, left it behind at the trailer,ffs, shit ain’t cheap. I bought a gallon of water, then had to kneel in the parking lot and try to figure out the confusing hood latch…And Spook kept talking and questioning and it was hot and the temp gauge went down but the damn ‘low coolant’ light kept flashing on and off. That damn dashboard is gonna drive me to drink, nothing reads accurately so it can’t be trusted which means driving is a guessing game of what could go wrong this time…I love that car, don’t get me wrong, but working gauges is kind of something I like. Unfortunately, it’s a wiring problem and that shit…costs a lot of money and time in the shop.

I just prayed the whole way home that the car would get us there and that I wasn’t tearing it up by driving it with that damn flashing light. I was torn between calling my dad and asking if I should drive it or have them come to town and check it out. I erred on the side of self reliance and chance because if you call my dad and it ain’t an emergency, you’re in the for a ‘dumbass’ lecture. My mood was not conducive. God, I wish I’d taken auto shop in school, relying on others cos I am car dumb is stressful…Oh, wait, my bumfuck school didn’t even offer auto shop and I barely passed the required wood shop project…

God, I can’t stay on topic and get this rant over with cos my kid keeps interrupting with various complaints (bored is a common theme) and the doctor’s office called again to reschedule my shrink appt to tomorrow afternoon which throws off my entire day (I like to pay rent in the morning in hopes of avoiding the landlord knocking at the door, which is comedic, thinking he’d remember til a week later, shoot me if I get senile)…We got home, I chilled out, and eventually we ate leftovers and I bathed my kid and went to bed.

Gah…I hate these rambling posts but I must exorcise the demons so that they don’t consume me.

My stomach is rioting today, stress aftermath. That and never knowing when dad and crew are gonna bug me. I wish I had a better outlook on socialization but it just overloads me, and no amount of self pep talks and others guilting me for being ‘anti social’ changes this. I seek company when I feel able to cope, it’s good enough for me.

Well, the pre appointment anxiety is kicking in. I’m hoping I can sway the shrink to up my Cymbalta to 80 mg, it will likely be a hard sell but with a graduating dose, I think it will be fine now that I am off a secondary anti depressant. I’d like to get my mental state leveled out so I can get some minor enjoyment out of our summer. And a level mental state makes the meltdowns lessen because my coping skills improve. It’s just all around good deal for me, just gotta sell the doctor on it. Then my next appt will be back to nurse doc, ugh. And it sucks because she really IS super nice, and I hate questioning her aptitude because we’ve all been new at something and experience doesn’t happen overnight…But her by the book questioning and seeming indifference while clacking away on the computer keyboard just don’t sit well with me. If your doctor appointments trigger you, something is very wrong. But alas, since this place can’t keep doctors, it looks like I have no choice. And it goes to that devil you know thing cos a new doctor could be worse….

Gah. That is the word of today, kids. GAH! See, this rambling rant is what becomes of me when I bottle a needed post for whatever random reason. I gotta vent then I can write half ass coherent stuff.

Now I am going to breathe and hope the tummy goblins die down.

If being high strung was an Olympic sport, man, I’d win the gold big time.

Living Triggers

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

Right now there a three mowers cutting down the grass and my kid has her friend over so they are inside bickering, as usual. My frayed nerves take this sensory assault very personally. The noise alone does me in but that it’s my dad and his crew mowing because they deemed my lawncare subpar after only a week without a mowing…Guess my inferiority complex is as triggered as my nerves. Just….being in their proximity sets me off whether a word is said or not. Because undoubtedly words are going to be said. One on one, I can handle dad, stepmonster, and my brother. The three of them combined, yelling and cussing each other and everyone else…sends me over the edge.

These are the times I think, “I need a hubcap size of Xanax.”

That (not hubcap sized, of course, insurance is too cheap to pay for that doseage) Xanax door is my last option, I really do try hard to tolerate my triggers and live with them. No pill is going to make them go away and you don’t learn coping mechanisms just popping a pill every time your circuits are overloaded. So I do battle and try and try harder and try some more.

Sometimes, I succeed. Sometimes, I fail miserably. I keep trying, that’s gotta count for something. And sometimes what I need most when experiencing overload, like yesterday with my brother here all day on the internet and my kid having her pouting fit cos she didn’t get her outing the neighbor promised, then bickering with her friend the whole day cos she was just in a foul mood…I had not slept much, was exhausted, overloaded, and yet…they invited her to play at their house and miraculously…just a little space and some peace from the child turmoil and noise…I managed to calm down, and I even did a week’s worth of dishes in spite of the kitchen feeling like a sauna. Instead of falling face first into bed at 8 p.m., I was awake til nearly midnight. Because just the break, short as it was, was enough to help me regain equilibrium. Doesn’t always work that way, but sometimes it does, and I love when that happens.

Of course, I didn’t sleep well again, and kept waking up per usual, which means without the school alarm now, I am sleeping til 8:30 or 9:30 a.m. My kid loves guilting me about it, like it’s all I ever do, yet she’s always at school on time, church on time, et al, so…I remember as a kid my parents would sleep an extra hour or so on weekends and we were expected to get our own bowl of cereal and just watch TV for awhile. That was when I was 5. My kid is almost 9, so I’m not really feeling the guilt of leaving my little one on her own for an hour in the morning. She’s trying to make me feel it but meh…If I slept ten hours a night and still wanted to sleep in, then I’d feel lazy and guilty. But if you’re averaging 4 hours of sleep every night and the longest stretch is 90 minutes…exhaustion’s natural, not sloth.

And the noise keeps on coming. C hasn’t been here a half hour and she’s already started yelling at him because how dare he expect her to share her toys. Sometimes, she has really unlikeable traits. Like when she says we are all here FOR HER and we all have to pay attention to her or go away. I’m voting for nature over nurture here, because while I certainly do want to be left alone, I do NOT treat people like my entertainment playthings I can snap my fingers at to summon and dismiss. That’s arrogant and frankly, an asshole move. All I can do is accept she is her own person, doesn’t mean I am a bad mom, and try to teach her better. I may as well go talk to a brick fricking wall.

Yes, my mood was level but the triggers bring it down and I get testy and pissed off and it reflects in a low mood and negative attitude. When the triggers dissipate and calm returns, I will pipe down. I try not to get bent but hey, apparently, getting bent is what I do best. Mom always said stick to what you’re good at. I still try to do better because getting bent hurts me and usually leads me to stick both feet, socks, and shoes in my mouth but hey, self improvement is a slow grueling process.

And the noise is halved, now I just have to contend with my kid’s bad attitude toward her friend.

About that hubcap sized Xanax….I’m gonna need that if I am to survive the summer with her tirades.

Just sayin’, back up plan is a good thing to have in case my self improvement thing falters.

What Defines A Golden Day

Posted in depression with tags , , , on May 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I no longer classify days as ‘good’, that is just some therapy induced bullshit that tries to diminish whatever demons you’re battling in your mind at any given time. “Oh, I won five bucks at a scratch off I found on the ground, it was a good day.” Pfft. Mental health disorders give zero fucks about good things happening to you. That’s the hallmark of a mental disorder, anyway, when good things happen and you still feel like curling up into a ball and ceasing to exist. So forget ‘good days’ or ‘good’, period. Because in mental chaos, even the ‘bad’ days can end up feeling like a win for whatever reason. The dictionary is out the bloody window when your mind is in perpetual chaos.

Yesterday, for me, was a golden day. Nothing good happened. If anything, my kid returned from her weekend stay at her grandma’s and spent three hours playing outside with her friend (NOISE), read a book, played on the tablet, and declared, after being out of school three days, “Ugh, how much longer til summer is over, Mom? I’M BORED!” The stress of a bored child is bad enough but a hyperactive child who can’t be interested in anything more than five minutes…on a 95 degree day with only a window unit attempting to cool the place…if anything yesterday was miserable. I’m allergic to the PH in my own sweat so short of sitting in front of a fan or AC the entire time awake, I am constantly itchy and uncomfortable.

Yet I didn’t even realize until 11 p.m…19 hours after my last dose…I hadn’t taken a single smidgeon of Xanax. In spite of the discomfort and anxiety and stress…I was just plugging along, managing to live life despite its discomfort and sensory overload, and I wasn’t hating anything or anyone. I was…living.

THAT is what defines a golden day for me.

I spend so much time feeling like I have to justify my existence because, yes, I am on disability for my mental conditions, and not a moment passes I don’t feel like shit for not working, and barely a moment passes my family doesn’t make me feel like a freeloading pile of horse dung for it as well. So I am in a constant battle, doubting myself, questioning myself, wondering if I am just lazy or neurotic or hey, maybe that one therapist was right, maybe I’m totally borderline instead of bipolar and I managed a long con of ten different doctors all in agreement that my condition is disabling…

Times like that are when I have to do some deep soul searching and reflection.

Because I see people working the disability con game. The ones who can’t work yet they constantly post on social media about going out to eat, or a concert, or taking a vacation, or a road trip, or they finished reading some great American novel that was 15,000 pages long…

I can’t do any of that stuff no matter how much I might want to. Because even my golden days are tainted by my disorders. It’s not a matter of simply not wanting to do icky or difficult things. I am often crippled from doing the very things that nourish my soul and fuel my heart to want to keep fighting this bullshit battle with my own mind.

And let me save any “I got over it, you can, too! pep talks anyone might want to give. Because I hate them, and I hate people who give them. If you got over it, then you weren’t disabled by it. I may be able to learn to cope better, but I will never simply get over it. It’s not some tumor I can have removed, or some psychic wound I can get counseled beyond. The very chemicals in my brain that are supposed to tell me to be happy or be sad or feel scared or feel excited in a good way- they don’t cooperate, they don’t work the way they should, they simply don’t give a damn if I want them to get with the fucking program so I can live life to the fullest.

My proof may not appear in any blood test or on a microscopic slide, but the proof is in the fact that just two months ago, I was in a suicidal space. No plan, not intention to act, but seriously thinking it was all so bad that it was my only out other than accepting the miserable darkness.

Going into week 4 on Cymbalta…my whole outlook has changed. My energy may not be up and my housework may be approaching biohazard level, but the fact that I no longer see death as a logical solution, that I can see good things in the bad stuff, the fact that I went all those hours without a Xanax in spite of the anxiety and stress I was feeling…

Golden. Day.

I am getting one or two of those a week, so I get a little giddy thinking about my next doc appointment and the possibility of maxing the dose to 80 mg. If 40 got me this far, even dropping off the secondary antidepressant, well, 80 might just put me in a place where I get more golden days than dark ones.

And that’s something to hope for, to get fucking excited about!

It’s no cure, and I am medication resistant so I won’t be thinking this is my lifelong antidote but after months and months of misery and blackness…this is light at the end of the tunnel and my brain ISN’T telling me it’s an oncoming train for once.

This is fucking golden!

I’m still edgy, uncertain, easily taxed out and over sensitive to noise so I won’t be doing that dining out or concerts or amusement park thing any time soon even if OMG, I miss the occasional dinner out, hearing a live band, and riding a damned roller coaster sooo much…

Right now, I am living life, I am being a mom, a better one, at that, now that I am mentally present in her life…so I’m gonna wrap it up with a bow and call it golden.

Not good. Not bad.

But coping in spite of it all and my brain behaving itself? Damn near worthy of platinum.

Confessions Of A Mental Health Blog Snob and Why I Avoid The Beautiful People

Posted in mental health, mental health blog with tags , , , on May 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

So let’s just say growing up as bullied kid for a plethora of reasons that made me stand out in my rural population 144 town, such as too tall. grew boobs too soon, didn’t like country music, didn’t wear denim, liked spray in hair dye, wore lots of make up and jewelry, refused to cave in to conformity no matter how much they tortured me…

I will admit to my bias again those I consider ‘the beautiful people’.

For me, this isn’t merely about looks or wealth or success.

True confession- I check out every blogger who clicks like on my posts or follows me. Sometimes, their writing resonates and I instantly want to read more. And sometimes…I see people with dozens of likes and a hundred comments and honestly didn’t find their writing to be my cut of tea…so I move along, guilt free. The beautiful people don’t need lil ole me to join their fan club. But if you are one of those popular bloggers and I follow you and chime in occasionally…it means your writing is damned good and that’s an uber compliment from me.

I suppose I should feel shitty for such ‘elitist’ bullshit, allowing my old baggage to impact my adult life but ya know what? I just don’t.

I am the same with bands, comedy videos, tv shows, movies, fashions. If I don’t personally find it to resonate through a stack of amps…I move along. And people with that many likes and comments aren’t going to miss me so there’s nothoing to really feel bad about. Something speaks to your soul or it doesn’t. At least I give people the benefit of the doubt before the opt out due to overpopularity.

That will never be an issue with my blog. It says I have over 900 followers. On a good day, I get 4 likes. If people are in a good mood, that may double. And of course, my fragile creative writer soul bleeds a little any time I post something I am particularly proud of and it gets completely ignored. I’m not looking for my existence to be validated. I would just occasionally like to know that I wrote a post that was at least as scintillating as that Facebook picture someone took of their salad with a Narwhal shaped crouton on it.

Needy bitch much, Morgue? Hells yeah.

But my entire identity has always been tied to the ‘little guy’, the people like me who are overlooked, underestimated, dismissed, criticized, insulted. So I guess it’s all about ‘the little blog that could’ for me. No, having thousands of followers and likes and comments doesn’t make anyone evil. It just means they are on solid ground so my efforts to bond with others are better spent on the lesser noticed blogs like my own.

Don’t get me wrong. I am under no illusions that my blog is anything special. At best, it’s a clusterfuck to follow some posts, and at others, it’s like depression could be considered infectious.

What I take pride in is the honesty in which I display in my writing here. No filters, no sunshine spewed up your pant legs, none of this “this worked for me, I am all cured, it will work for you too!” I curse, I leave my typos, I wander topic to topic and it is confusing and irritating and ya know what?

THIS IS JUST WHO I AM. Verbally or written…I’m a hot mess of quirk, dysfunction, dark humor, proud sarcasm, and if you can’t handle me in writing…we’d definitely need a couple of Z-Whackers to battle it out in person.

And after having confess my blog bias and coming off looking all shallow and grudge holding…I won’t be shocked to lose dozens of followers (who never read my posts anyway, so whatever) and maybe even some dressing down comments on what a bitch I am.

That bitch thing, is one more facet of my personality I am crystal clear on. My best friend in high school gifted me with a “Bitch Goddess” keychain I carry to this day and taught me not to take it as an insult, but rather as a word people fling about but when women piss them off in whatever inane way. So color me bitchy cos I am always going to piss people off with inane things, with off color things, with an inability to focus or often make sense…

This is who I am.

Some days like today when my mood is low due to lack of slep and absolutely exhaustion…I’m not real fond of being me.

Other days, when my dark sarcastic humor cracks people up and they tell me how funny I am, how good my writing is, how awesome it is that I’m still fighting to just be who I am instead of deciding “oh, I’m 45 and have a kid, time to change everything about myself and conform’.

And those rare occasions when someone comments on a blog post and tells me they like the portraits my words paint, or they totally get where I am coming from and it’s helped put a smile on their face or helped them gain enough perspective to fight another day…

THAT is why I blog, why I write, why I shun the popular blogs and beautiful people.

While a Trek Fan, I’ve never gotten on board with that whole ‘needs of the many outweight the needs of the few’ thing.

I will gladly take one comment a month from someone telling me I made them laugh or my words helped paint a picture they can relate to.

Because if I had hundreds of those, I could never have the time to reply or really interact and attempt to engage and show…misanthropal tendenancies aside…I do care.

I just reserve that energy for caring for those who don’t have a village of adorers. Maybe it’s my loss but I’ve had some experiences with the popular beautiful people and frankly…Opt out.

Bad judgey snobby Morgue.

Shamelessly, unapologetically so.

Only beautiful people I wanna hear about is when the Marilyn Manson song plays.

Toss. Turn. Sleep. Wake. Toss. Turn. Sleep. Wake. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Posted in sleep disorders with tags , , , , , on May 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My first kid free weekend in who knows how long. After a tumultuous year of unexpected change after change, a crippling months long depression, and overloaded anxiety circuits…I should be fast asleep at 4:19 a.m. Instead, I am sitting up watching Major Crimes, drowning in sinus drainage, thoroghly disgusted by just how extreme my disrupted sleep pattern has become.

I fell asleep sometime before 11 p.m….And I woke at 12:30, then 1:30, and again a little after 2 a.m. So I got up for a bit, turned on some news thing on PBS about foreign news stories and I moved to lay at the foot of the bed. More toss and turn, more racing mind and thudding heart in spite of a second 6 mg dose of melatonin, so in went more Xanax. And I nodded off.

Only to wake at ten til 4, wide awake, misrable in my drainage, and said, oh screw this.

I’ve always had sleep disorders-insomnia, somnolence, trouble falling asleep, oversleeping, not sleeping enough…But this disrupted cycle since my child was born 9 years ago…it’s insane. It’s exhausting. And everything I am hearing and reading says that this lack of rejuvenating rest could be making my depression and anxiety worse. Oddly, it’s the aspect of my disorders the professionals seem least concerned with. Probably because I refuse to take their old school sleeping pills like Trazadone because hey, I have a kid and need to be alert, not bombed out, and I can’t sleep 12 hours a day and spent two hours shaking off the damn headache hangover those sleeping pills give me.

So I try the ‘lights out, calming sounds only’method. Counting backwards, visualizing the STOP signing, deep breathing, relaxation techniques, no food or caffeinated drinks after 7 p.m. take my Xanax to calm my brain an hour before my melatonin…I am getting more exercise, more fresh air, more sunlight. I AM DOING EVERYTHING TO HELP MYSELF EXCEPT TAKING THEIR DAMN COMA PILLS and nothing helps, nothing works.

I tried the hypnotic sleep med route back when I had a decent doc who gave me samples. I’d wake up on the bathroom floor with no memory of walking there so thankfully, insurance wouldn’t pay for that crap and the samples ran out.

I tried their weak ass Vistaril and Restoril hoping if nothing else it’d help with my plethora of allergies and rioting histamines. Both took forever to kick in and didn’t keep me asleep but did give me headaches.

I’ve had a golden day or two this week. The days where nothing great happens but my mind feels steadier and even when something sucky does happen, my steady mind is able to cope with a modicum of lucidity and dignity. Golden days.

The nights, though, the start and stop sleep, over and over and over…Is is any wonder I am always on edge, always tired, never feel revived enough to leap out of bed, happy to face the day?

If you told someone your phone only charges to 40% and goes dead after a couple hours of use, they’d say buy a new battery so it’d charge fully and work better.

But if you’re a lowly person who can never recharge properly to work optimally…meh, no biggie. Your fault for not wanting to take pills that make you bombed out and hungover.

And by the way, even with those coma drugs and sleeping 12 hours a day, I was still always tired because even taking them for years, that morning hangover never would lessen or go away. That’s no way to live any more than this sleep/wake cycle.

I am frustrated. I should be elated, I have another entire day and night knowing my kid is safe and having fun with her grandma and aunt. My time. I was going to do this and that around the house, and hey, if I can’t sleep, I can day nap without a kid to watch. Except dad and stepmonster are going out of town and my brother is staying home to babysit their neighor’s dog…and dad and stepmonster, assholes they are, said, “Your brother is going to be home alone with (husky pup) so he’s probably going to bring him over to your house so you can help out.”

My brother turns 23 in July. How hard is it to go without mommy and daddy for 3 or 4 hours and take care of a damned puppy? Infringing on me quiet time without regard to my feelings is one more reason I have so much resentment for them. They give zero fucks about what I might have planned. Or even I have no plans, hey, I’d like ONE bloody day without another living soul aside from my cats in my proximity.

But hey, I’m 45, paying to live here without their help, and apparently, I’m still a child whom they can inform has to hang around to help her little brother. With a dog. And hey, that dog is awesome, but 15 days in a row those people have been in my face…enough is fucking enough. I say so, they laugh, snort, and ignore me. Were I a wealthy sociopath, I’d hire someone to kneecap them just so they couldn’t get around as easily and bug the fuck out of me.

I am disappointed in myself sometimes for not being a sociopath. Those are some of the happiest most successful people on the planet. Damn having a soul and conscience all to hell.

That concludes my early morning rant. MAYBE if I were ever able to sleep for more than 3 solid hours I wouldn’t be so rant-y. Don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to mythbust that one since it’s more likely I’ll win Publisher’s Clearing House money than get 6 solid hours sleep in my lifetime.

The Perception Misconception

Posted in mental health, mental illness with tags , , , , on May 25, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve long said there’s very little truth, only personal perception. The problem with personal perception is, often, there is no malicious intent. We are all human, prone to bias based on our own experiences, so often our truth is very different from what is scientific fact, or fact proven with evidence. Now this could launch me into a political tirade but instead…

If I say, “I remember you doing this, and I said that…” Well, that is my personal memory and perception of the matter.

You can say, “No, you took it out of context, you didn’t hear me correctly…” And that would be your truth, your perception.

But if a video camera captured that same exchange and showed either you, I, or both were wrong and it unfolded differently…that’s fact. That’s proveable truth, not fallible human perception.

So short of every moment of your existence being video taped, there are going to be many, many times when perception on either side of the fence is simply wrong or a misunderstanding or breakdown in communication. And it’s okay because, hey, only human, we make mistakes, blah blah blah.

The ONE time when I do, however, find different perceptions to be very dangerous is when you have a legitimately diagnosed mental disorder, but those around you don’t mere debunk it but flat out refuse to believe it could possibly be for real. This is when perceptions can become harbingers of doom.

My family, AKA THE ORIGINAL harbingers of doom, perpetually doubt, question, dismiss, debunk, scoff- any negative reaction to mental illness one can have, my entire family practices. No matter the long mental disorder history on both sides, or the fact that my mom, me, my sister, my brother, my great grandmother-all spent time in treatment or in a psych hospital for the disorders-changes perception. Hell, even my mom and sister declared themselves cured and only weak people need medication, I need to get over myself.

Battling this daily- perception ceases to be benign and becomes a malignancy. Frankly, it beats the hell out of your self esteem because these are the very people who are supposed to love and accept you, as you are, no matter what and yet they make you feel as rejected and dejected as the masses. It takes a strong psyche to face this daily battle and not lose your mind or be overwhelmed with self doubt and self hatred.

It may hurt a little less but facing the same sort of invalidation from friends and romantic partners never gets easier. You warn them, this is my condition(s), this is how it can get bad, they swear they are strong enough and care enough to weather it out…then time after time, abandon ship because they had no idea you were so difficult.

Much as the rejection stings, I can’t help but laugh derisively. Wussies. They get to walk away cos it’s too tough. I don’t get that luxury. Furthermore, I basically slap myself with a ‘toxic’ skull and crossbones as well as a ‘biohazard’ label as warnings and still..the cockroaches scurry off. Oh, wait. That’s MY PERCEPTION, not fact. They’re not really bugs and they have every right to flee and not be dragged down by whatever shit I have going on. But I perceive their abandonment less as them trying to spare themselves and more as persecuting me for that which isn’t in my control. And they perceive my disorders as some sort of personal affront on them, as if they bring out the worst in me or I hate them so I’m moody or high strung. (Again, when greeted with a skull and crossbones and biohazard symbol, take a beat and THINK.)

And there’s the rub. Perception deception.

While everyone perceives me as negative and pessimistic, I truly do tend to view most negative views towards those with mental diagnoses as simple ignorance, rather than something evil or personal. People get scared of what they don’t know or understand and they lash out or tense up. Ignorance, however, can be resolved with some information and communication. I’d like to think *most* are willing to be educated and learn more facts before a final judgment. But the bottom line is, there will always be those who simply will never come around. And while they may judge me as crazy, I feel pity for them. Some are born not very bright and due to educational lacking or some sort of impairment, they can’t really become the next Einstein.

Ignorance, however- that is a choice. And if you are presented with facts and personal experiences and still choose to be ignorant and hold ignorant views…you are to be pitied. Nothing sadder than choosing to be dumb when the information is right in front of you.

But, hey, again…perception deception. Maybe the masses that are asses (gotta love L7 for that title) have it right and my perception is all wrong.

Maybe pegacorns are real, politicians aren’t corrupt, and body odor smells pleasant.

Not fucking likely.

But I am humble enough to entertain the merest possibility that my perception could be wrong. If so…

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE PEGACORNS BE REAL.

Gas is up to $3.15 a gallon and I can’t handle being in Armpit, I need transportation. 😉

Bad Synapses

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

I eventually recovered from yesterday’s panic ninjas and near public meltdown. Even made another trip to town to get something I forgot that my kid needed for end of school, some party they’re having. The difference between trip one’s freak out versus trip two when I was totally in control of my mental state. I even got a little more sleep than usual and honestly, I think it’s because I’ve burned out on watching Ion (they’re repeating episodes of shows they just showed two weeks ago, wth?) and I braved running the laptop all night so I could fall asleep to Forensic Files.

I woke up a few times, of course, but went right back to sleep. That narrator’s voice (he passed away, may he rest in peace) is just soothing even if the topics of the show aren’t what one would consider comforting during sleep. It works for me. I have GOT to get the $60 to get a used computer tower so I can return to my old routine of falling asleep to shows of my choice that lull me. I love my laptop for streaming and surfing and email, but these things aren’t made to run 18 hours a day and after watching an episode of 9-1-1 where a lady’s laptop caught on fire…My fear and paranoia of running the laptop too hard have metastasized.

Today started out with hitting snooze six times and eventually dragging myself out of bed. My kid was up on her own and dressed and in good spirits. Oh, the end of school, I remember it well, it made me so happy, I too, was up and ready to get it over with.

Almost immediately, the anxiety and panic set in, though. Tomorrow is the last day of school. Three months of my kid and me 24-7 and even with a tablet, TV, dvds, vhs tapes, books, art supplies, outdoor toys…The kid can’t stay focused and interested more than 15 minutes then we launch into hours of “I’m bored!” Toss in how often her little neighbor friend will probably be over, and of course, he’s only 5 and a handful so she wants me outside watching them and with my allergies and nervous hives- three months of being outside does not sound like a good time. Just three minutes waiting for the bus the other day resulted in me getting four bug bites, which turned into raised itchy welts all over my legs.

So the anxiety induced hives have kicked in today. I don’t know why I am suddenly freaking out, it’s not my first summer with the ADHD bored bunny. But it is our first summer in Armpit and there are no activities in town for the kids and I can’t afford the drive to town for programs there so…Enter churning stomach ache from nerves. Maybe I can take a Pepcid to calm the stomach acid, whether it works is always a toss up.

I’m just sick of living with bad brain synapses. There is something wrong with my brain and body for the anxiety to impact me so randomly yet so extremely. Most anxiety disorders, people hyperventilate, feel woozy, but breathing exercises bring them out of it over time. For me, it’s hours after the onset of an anxiety attack to recover and regain equilibrium. The stomach aches, trips to the bathroom, nausea, dizzness, sweating…My synapses just seem determined to keep me fight or flight mode and do it randomly, not just with usual triggers.

So once again, anyone have any information on the use of beta blockers to treat the physical symptoms of anxiety disorder? REALLY curious.

So I updated the fundraiser site and as promised, I included receipts accounting for every cent. I am going to keep it going because, well, the move put us under financially but the expenses, usual and extra, keep coming.

Care and share, donate, whatever way you can help. A huge thanks to those who donated, it’s a kindness that helped us immensely and we will never forget it.

And for today’s ‘aww’ moment…my stepmonster got me a couple of silicon baking pans at a yard sale and of course, I am not Bettry Crocker, in no rush to bake so I left them on the desk…And Hex curled up inside them. Why bother buying cat beds when cookwear works just as well?