7th Day Is A Charm

*Disclaimer-not for the faint of heart or easily offended*

I went 7 straight days without washing my hair or bathing. (You’d be amazed what some dry shampoo and Irish Spring on wet wipes can do to not attract attention to your basic lack of hygiene.) I tried self pep talks, bullying, rewarding myself for doing ‘the task’…I felt disgusting and disgusted. I felt ashamed and lazy and possibly like a non human.

Almost made it to day 8 but tonight I just caved. I mean, it seemed stupid that I washed all our bedding and I’d be putting my skankiness on clean sheets that smell better than I do. Since we only have a bath and the windows let cold air in like an AC, bathing has become a true task of discomfort when it’s not warm out. I feel a lot better now but I am still giving myself the pats on the back because…depression’s not some silly game people play when they’re ill or uncomfortable. This is a condition that kills people even if by law they call it suicide. Any victory over depression deserves a pat on the back and a high high five, as well. I’m done with all the guilt trips and shame and feeling worthless. I am fightng for my life here and seems to me people are in denial or want to shrug it off. I wish it were that simple.

I am having a tough week with my child’s mood swings. At the trailer park, she never wanted alone time, there had to be a kid or six there every single day. Now she only has the one friend who lives close and suddenly she needs alone time and I am forcing her to play with him and it’s just become this whole dramatic whiplash thing. The kid doesn’t much bother me when he visits or I babysit him. He hugged my leg today, kissed my cheek, and told me he loved me and would see me tomorrow. So it isn’t him that’s stressing me out. I play T-Rex puppet with the kid and he giggles and has a blast. It’s MY OWN CHILD I can’t seem to relate to or get along with. She’s showing not just a flair for drama, but blatant lying. Everything I speak, even when it is whispered, is ‘yelling at her’. If I don’t let her gorge herself on food, I am a starver. If I let her gorge then I am the reason she has a tummy ache and is in pain. Put her to bed too early, I am mean. Don’t make her go to bed so she gets enough sleep, then she is tired because of me. She throws blame all around except her own direction.

Guess this is what it’s like to live with me. I don’t know since I can’t ever be on the other side. I’m stuck here, with myself, awful as I apparently am. I don’t have the luxury of standing on the outside, looking in, and saying ‘hey, dick move, don’t be that way!” when I am making dick moves. The biggest differences between me and my child are that I can, and do, point out when I am wrong (assuming I can see it or am told) and I own it. Man, I’ve done some shitty things in the past that probably earned the shabby treatment I received but it wasn’t til the last few years that actually began to sink into my brain. Not everything is everyone else. Sometimes it’s me.

But the other difference between my child and I is that I have huge conscience issues. She can lie to your face or hit you and she never feels bad unless called on it, then it’s crocodile tears. Only for herself, though. She has no empathy, a trait I fear may be embedded in the genetic code she got from the donor. Or maybe again, it’s me, and 9 year olds are supposed to make you think “what a psychopath!” ten times a day. I remember how much crap the donor gave me about my heavy conscience and “Jewish guilt”, as he called it, all the while I was constantly wondering why nothing ever really made him seem to truly feel bad and if it did, it wasn’t for long and somehow it was never his own fault. On this count, I am praying I just don’t have proper gasp of what a 9 year old’s emotions should be and not that my child will be a footnote in some book about childhood psychopathy due to bad genetics. I really really want to be wrong.

Hm,…other things. I did night 1 with Seroqel. Was supposed to take 25mg but I had no clue where the splitter was and these things don’t easily break in two so I downed it. I was still awake almost 3 hours later and then…it was like a ninja came in and knocked me out. I woke once during the night, and was so loopy I dumped my water on the floor trying to stumble out of bed to the bathroom..But aside from that, I slept pretty well til my kid woke me at 8 a.m. Technically, I didn’t get out of bed til 9:30 cos I was so grogged out, but I was awake and fighting my best to shake off the seroquel. I’ve been on drunken benders and still managed to get to a bathroom without dumping water and bumping tables so I’m not sold on their pills being a better way to get to sleep over alcohol. I just can’t afford booze anymore.

I didn’t do much of anything today aside from the bedding and referee between my child and her little friend. Then my sister sent me numerous texts how all their cats have to be tested and vaccinated against feline lukemia and they have ten cats and even though there’s a combined monthly income of around $8000 in that one fucking house…poor them, they can’t afford it, they’re such bad pet owners. So what does that make me? I’m fostering 5 cats not because I can afford it but because I was given a 30 pound bag of food to house them so they didn’t go straight to the pound’s death chamber….Idk, talking to my sister used to make me feel happy. Now it’s just, how the fuck can one house bring in so much money every month and have even more to complain about that the pittance Spook and I survive on…

I made the mistake a couple weeks ago of saying I’d go to this Halloween thing with my dad and them, some sort of haunted house in a farm building and they have a bonfire and games for the kids…and at that time, my mental state was, “I’m tired of just being the candy chauffeur, I want to do something for Halloween!” And now that it’s tomorrow and the curse fucked up all my hormones and chemicals….I don’t want to go, at all. And I tried to tell my dad on the phone that I just need a break from my kid, and frankly, from people and noise. He just talked over me, said, “No, you can come, she’ll be playing with some of her classmates, you’ll get your break.” Dear God, I did almost 3 hours yesterday of social interaction with his woman, then I have the kids daily, and cats everywhere and I…want to be alone. Like, really, really alone, for an hour or two. I am allowed to change my mind and he’s being a fucking bully. Normally I might think, hey, I need the kick in the ass, but this just isn’t one of those times. My skin is crawling with anxiety, just thinking about it. I did my major act of depression defiance by taking a proper bath.

I’m drained. And it’s not sad or pathetic or lazy or wimpy or any of that societal bullshit to admit when depression’s gotten you worn down to little or nothing.

It’s truth.

Probably the only thing that can’t be considered fake news-speaking your own truth.

I’m gonna count this day a win and worry about tomorrow when it comes. But if I am turning down free food, a free ride to the place, and a free haunted house…

It means the ends of my rope are pretty frayed and I should stop pulling at them. Non depressive people will never grasp that concept.

2 Responses to “7th Day Is A Charm”

  1. Hugs. Well done you. I know bathing can be an awful hassle when depression hits. I hear ya on that. Really feel for you, but you are so honest, I just love your realness and honesty about saying how it actually is when your depressed. Serequel is a shit med. I am allergic to it so can never take it, but I’ve seen what it does to people, esp the grogginess and going loopy and doing crazy things while on it. Xox

    • Yeah, I’ve long wondered if I just had a bad attitude toward Seroquel cos it made me gain weight but I didn’t take it last night and I am actually out of bed and dressed today with no hangover so…It’s definitely got some shitty side effects.

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