Archive for January, 2019

People Make My Skin Crawl…With Anxiety

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on January 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

They had school today, even though yesterday they dismissed early due to extreme temps. I fail to see how 21 is worthy of early dismissal yet 4 degrees is fine school weather but whatever…I’ve already a call from my father and it’s set me on edge to the nth degree. He said he’d bring some corn by for the squirrel my kid calls Nutty and we feed him by the tree. Just this simple act of expecting someone to pierce the veil of safety I’ve constructed for myself here at home is enough to make my skin crawl. I have tried to retrain my brain so this is viewed as normal behavior, not some threat to my psyche, but alas, it’s been an epic fail. Some stuff is just a trigger.

I have cramps, as well as skin crawling anxiety, and this upcoming polar blast thing facing the midwest has me edgy as hell. I won’t get my money til after it’s in the deep throes of negative 15 temps and my dad has already appointed himself my protector and insisted if I must go to town in this cold, one of them will drive me cos they have better vehicles. Now, NORMAL people, especially girls, I guess, would see this as a caring fatherly gesture.

How do I see it? His big cowboy boy stomping on my independence. I cannot imaging a worse fate than being trapped in a vehicle with them on a day I need to make multiple stops to pay bills and fetch groceries. I can barely stomach it with my kid in tow and she’s at my mercy. I am just a loner, always have been. So his act of caring, in my warped mind, feels like an act of oppression, like infantalizing me when I’m nearing fifty freaking years old. Rather than my norm of taking it out on him cos I am a trainwreck, though, I am just keeping my mouth shut and staying home til I have my nurse doc appointment Thursday. It’s early enough that I might make it out of town without that cowboy boot on my throat. (He once kicked me in the thigh wearing those shit kickers cos I got a speeding ticket, so I have EVERY reason to view them as threatening.) Temps are still gonna be in the negatives when I need to get to that appt. but I didn’t tell him what time, just that it’d be during the day when it warmed up. Yeah, yeah, sin of ommission, not a lie. Is it so wrong that I want to take care of myself in whatever ways I am capable of because so much of my disability means counting on others for certain things? Instead of my independence being a good thing to him, though, he seems to think I am a kamikaze. Gah. The whole family’s a trainwreck.

I’m pondering going to the gas station and talking to the manager about giving me some credit towards a few things that way if the car won’t start in the cold, we have what we need. I just don’t like using ‘credit’ even though I’ve always paid him every cent owed. It seems a wise preemptive strike. I can’t ask my family for a ride to the gas station without them lecturing me on every item I purchase being unnecessary, frivolous, overpriced…FFS, leave me be, I’m a grown ass woman. Idk, I’ll wait til one o’clock or so. Then again they might dismiss early today, for all I know. The weather policies in this area, in town, too, have always boggled my mind.

At the moment my focus is on simple survival and not getting a potato peeler and removing my own skin. (That’s an exaggeration, fyi, I am a pain wuss, I would never do that.) Though the news informed me this morning that there’s a potential bill in the state that will allow the powers that be to scrub all your social media in the vetting process before allowing you to get a firearms card or gun. Dear God, if I hadn’t been disqualified already by my stay in the rubber ramada (due to a med interaction, not like I even had the luxury of a batshit meltdown!), I guess all my nail gun and Z Whacker statements would doom me. But I know me better than anyone, I am the chick who puts grass hoppers outside rather than kill them. I prefer live traps for mice. I once threw a fit cos a possum got loose in the stairwell of our apartment building and the owner wanted to shoot it,so I called animal control to bring a humane trap so it could just be rehomed elsewhere. I have an active imagination and would love to Z Whack some zombies, for sure, but I’m actually a softie when not in a bipolar or hormonal state. It’s the quiet ones like my brother in law who constantly say shit like, “I’m gonna blow your head off if you piss me off” and have a fucking arsenal and ammo to make the threat realistic. Hell, I don’t even have staples for my staple gun.

I honestly thought as I got older, I would grow to trust people more, view socialization as a good thing, but the opposite has happened. I think much of it is because I’m just spent from caring for a hyper child and juggling my disorders and neverending money problems…I just don’t have the energy to socialize in a positive way. But hey, I spent 25 years thinking hair metal was the only metal music, now I can barely stomach the bubblegummy sweetness of it, I need harsh, angry music and by 46, you’re supposed to be listening to like Doobie Brothers or Yanni or some shit. I’m just a hot mess.

And because it was hysterical and I saw no usual readers seemed to see it (possibly because I forgot tags and category, then went in to fix it after the fact) but I can’t not share it again. A reblog just isn’t doing it justice.

So, I’d be the last person on Earth to claim to like musicals. Yet my friend Bex visited in 2014 and she introduced us to Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango”, it quickly became a fave for me and Spook even after she had left. While she was here, she taped this.

Yesterday I stumbled on this parody and laughed so hard I thought I broke a rib. I’ve watched it like six times, it’s so damn hystericasl. Unless you’re a Trump fan, then you probably won’t think so. My kid and I have wicked sense of humors, though, which is why we can love even that which bashes what we love, not just loathe. She is, after all, half Canadian, and she still thinks Weird Al’s “Canadian Idiot” is hilarious. People just get too damn bent over stuff that is supposed to be funny. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have, and am.

And if that doesn’t make you smile, try this.

I ❤ alpacas.

Woo hoo, I Bathed Today, Let’s Celebrate WITH THE FUNNIEST THING I HAVE SEEN IN WEEKS

Posted in humor, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on January 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesss. I conquered my own mental issues today enough to let my kid have company over for three hours, then I managed to take a bath and now…I want to share, gleefully, something that made me laugh sooo loud and so hard I thought I might break a rib. But first, the reason why this made me laugh so hard stems from when Bex was here in 2014 and made this video of Spook dancing to Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango.” It quickly became a fave for all of us to jam to in the car.



Today whilst reading multiple news sources, as always in an effort to make sure I am not simply getting one sided accounts, I came across this diamond. I don’t care if you’re a Trump fan, this is just funny. But hey, my kid is half Canadian and me and her still think Weird Al’s “Candian Idiot” is hilarious so we can poke fun at that which we love and loathe. Enjoy this, don’t, but I am telling you if current events have you feeling disgusted with the U.S.’s current political regime…You’re gonna find this funny as hell.


And if you don’t find it funny, well, you probably shouldn’t be on this blog. Gallows humor and parody are a religion here.

Indentifible Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on January 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I knew bad weather was coming but I had not anticipated it coming so abruptly or making me so anxiety ridden. The winds whistling and gusting outside my window have driven the point home, in combination with the fact that they are letting school out 2 hours early to combat a 15 degree drop over a 4 hour span. The water puddles are going to become sheer ice so I understand them wanting to get the kids home safely before that happens. Negative temps as a high is what we are going to be facing and I am nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Not only do I have an appointment in town later this week on a day where it’s going to be negative two at the time I need to be on the road, but these high winds make the furnace blower start acting wonky. It’s already started blowing cold air, indicating one of the necessary moving parts is stuck open.

One thing about living in the trailer with a constantly malfunctioning furnace is I learned a few short cuts for this sort of thing. Of course, I got dizzy with panic thinking what if this doesn’t do the trick, my landlord is stubborn and senile so he’d want to look at it himself then he’d call a repair guy but this is the season where you can wait days to get someone who is available…It’s easy for the panic to whallop you and your own thoughts carry you away.

Thankfully, I got it blowing warm air again without even having to go down to the nasty crawlspace basement. Living in trailer park skid row taught me a few tricks. It’s no replacement for the fact that the furnace here hasn’t been properly serviced in at least 2 years, if not longer, and the people before us had cats, dogs, kids, et al, so no doubt it is clogged and that is why some of our vents have such low pressure of warmth blowing through them. I am just praying we can get through this winter without needing to have it repaired professionally. The landlord might remember I didn’t pay full deposit and evict us if I bug him too much. Then again, for all I know, he may choose to terminate the lease when it expires March 31rst. I don’t know if that makes me more nervous than the prospect that at his age, with failing faculties, his kids could take over and toss us out anyway without just cause. One thing they can’t throw me out for is late rent, I’ve paid in full every month since we moved in.

Scarier still, sometimes the depression and anxiety of living here, combined with my kid’s misery at this school district, I wonder if maybe subconsciously I wouldn’t be less than offended if they did choose to evict us. We’d have no place to go but back to town on my mom’s sofa, IF her very sick roommate who owns the house would allow it. I just don’t think moving back that district is going to solve the issues my kid is having. She got spoiled in that trailer park where she had half a dozen friends over on any given day cos they all lived there. Returning to town would not mean a return to trailer park life where she has all these minions at her fingertips to entertain her and make her feel popular and complete. I keep trying to get her to explain how they are mean to her here but the best she can come up with is, “They know I pick my nose and they don’t like me.” Well, I tried to break of her that habit and warned and warned her so..she kind of brought it on herself. However, when she says she’s really not into how country they all are, well, that I can relate to. One of the teenage girls yelled at her this morning and I went outside and yelled back, reminding them who the boss of my kid really is. Of course it’s one of the local brats my stepmom and dad dote on but I don’t give a fuck. My kid, my rules. And if you’re country-ness means you’re being a domineering narrowminded bossypants, you have earned our disdain as opposed to if you’d just back off and shut up and mind your own business.

So, see, there, I have identified clearly two major forms of stress causing my anxiety to metastasize. It always helps when you can identify why you are feeling so shaky, anxious, paranoia, panicky. The times when it just comes in like a band of ninjas without a prelude, those are the truly hellish times. If you can ID the causes, you can take steps to learn to cope with them better. If you can’t ID the causes, though, that makes anxiety an invisible attacker you can’t battle.

So I accept that 1.), the impending bad weather and wonky furnace make me very wary and sort of terrified, and 2.) the intrustion of these locals who don’t know me but think just cos they know my dad’s crew they somehow have say over my child, that causes angry anxiety.

Living here, clearly, has not been mentally healthy for either of us. However, I don’t see any other answer except trying to hang on cos living on someone’s sofa in the middle of a break up could be constituted as me being an unfit parent whereas if we have our own home, it is evidence that I am providing her with a home of her own. I worry about these things, mainly because I’ve seen so many people go through ugly breakups and custody entanglements and people will use every dirty misleading trick in the book to avoid paying child support, getting custody out of spite, et al.

Earlier, I had the ugliest thought-but it also came attached to a sense of clarity. As I have no attachment to my brother or stepmom, once my dad is gone…we can leave this place forever, guilt free, and stepmonster can’t do a fucking thing about it. Guilt tripping me only works when it’s coming from my own blood. How awful is it, though, to be bullied into living somewhere indefinitely to avoid the anger of your father, blatantly expressed anger in the form of ‘if you leave this town, we won’t help you move.’ How controlling, how manipulative, how assholey of him. But again, it is exclusive to blood relatives so without him holding us under his thumb…Well, that and the fact I have no money in which to move but we had to move Febrary of last year and I had no money. But I did start getting child support once I found out where the donor was working and turned him in. I can’t wrap my brain around how small an area this is, where even the cashier selling me gas and a can of Mangorita, manages to relay word back to my dad about my purchases…how the hell can no one find the donor’s work place????? And that obnoxious stepmonster who told me months ago, “Mom has her ways, I’ll find him for you”…she’s two years younger than me and calls herself my mom, sooo idiotic and insulting to my real mom.

Ha! 3.) I learned from this post that in spite of my best efforts to adapt and acclimate, the town isn’t the problem. The family I can’t seem to shake is the problem. Their good intentions are gonna drive me and my kid into adjoining rubber rooms.

But this is progress, being able to identify the things that spark the crippling anxiety, make me paranoid and fearful, and seem to be oppressing my daughter and I both. Now, I just gotta survive this cold snap and the psych nurse from hell (not fair to her, but it makes me smile to put it that way), make it to spring, and the clouds will start to lift and I will once again feel strong and back to my hell raising ‘fuck em all’ self.

That’s the worst part of depression and anxiety, identifiable or not. It alters who you are to such a degree, badass bitches like me become meek little mice. I don’t fucking like it.

But I do accept it, identify the causes, and know that I can only hunker down for now and wait it out. I will be back, more badassery than before.

I have to believe that cos me living as a mousy meek spineless wuss makes me want to drink Drano. This ain’t me, this is mental illness.

That veered off track but…it’s honest. It’s all I have to offer.

I Was In A Good Mental State Til I Choked Down Articles On Therapy

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on January 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

You all came sooo close to me gushing about a brief period of positive emotion when my hormones went all wonky and filled me with love for my cats…Then I read my email. Usually it is the news and political stuff that puts me in rage mode. Not today. No, I subscribed to a new blog, which I should not have done, based on one decent post. Subsequent posts have read like operational manuals, only less interesting. I will fix this problem later. Right now, I want to rant about all these methods of therapy, talk, cognitive, dialectic, et al. If this stuff works for you personally, disregard. However, if you’ve tried them all and they do more harm than good, then this post might resonate with you.

I haven’t been back to therapy in six or so years. They changed counselors on me, stuck me with some noob, who after two appointments, slapped me with a borderline label and this was after I’d spent two years with ‘sunshine spewer’ and we had discussed, at length, that while I had borderline traits, I did not have the entire disorder. Period. I was incensed that this noob labeled me so quickly. Further incensed that she was also my half brother’s therapist and for some reason, she thought it was okay to discuss my case with my family but I had not given permission for this lapse in confidentiality. Did she reveal anything earth shattering? No. But this small town mentality where ‘oh, they are related, so I can send messages about appointments back and forth through the family’ really pissed me off. Then R’s emotional Hitler daughter got a job there as a psychologist and she was constantly talking smack about her clients and breaking privilege on those she knew and I just…No. Going back to that sort of thing isn’t going to help someone like me with major trust issues.

Furthmore, the sunshine spewer was getting pretty frustrated with me toward the end, and it’s not the first time I’ve exhausted a counselor to the point they’ve kind of bounced me and said come back during a real crisis. I DO mull things over ad nauseum. I DO view things as black and white when it comes to relationships with friends because I just fail to see the point of a gray friendship, you’re either my friend, or you’re not. Wanting that kind of clarity isn’t a disorder, it’s logic. I harp on the same subjects for months, but this is how I figure things out. They want a rush job and that’s not my style. And of course, I tend to make do best I can until one too many crises, then I crumble and slither into therapy.Well, that pattern of behavior got old. They can’t do a thing about my bipolar, my depressions, my PMDD, my anxiety, my money problems…So what is the point of insurance shelling out hundreds of dollars for someone to listen to me, tell me I’m being unreasonable one minute, then tell the next minute I am doing okay, confusing me more than when I walked in?

So I started reading on various topics of mental health disorders, coping mechanisms, ways to view things differently. I completely overhauled myself with very little stemming from 30 years of therapy playing into it. I did it myself. I learned to distinguish between feeling clinically depressed or rightfully feeling depressed because things aren’t going well personally. I learned that the anxiety won’t kill me, but if I don’t retreat and calm myself, bridges get burned to the ground. I learned that accepting my depression and anxiety is a hell of a lot easier than trying to cognitively convince myself I don’t feel that way. I have learned to recognize when I am simply being rebellious or having a knee jerk ‘tantrum’ reaction to things that displease me. I have learned when on emotional overload, step back, avoid certain situations, and work through these emotions on my own rather than take them out on others. I am not addicted to self blame and shame. I take responsiblity for bad behaviors that aided in a breakdown of friendship or personal relationship but I also know, and accept, that I cannot take on the responsibility for the actions of others with free will. I know the breathing exercises, the visualization exercises, I know how to self soothe, I know how to ‘be mindful’ of what is situational versus clinical. I know not everything is ‘all bad’ or ‘all good’, there’s a rainbow of shades of gray, so to speak. I KNOW ALL THIS GARBAGE BECAUSE 30 YEARS OF BEING FED IT SANK IN AND I LEARNED TO UTILIZE IT OUTSIDE A 50 MINUTE OFFICE APPOINTMENT EVERY OTHER WEEK.

So unless a counselor can tell me how to get the donor to start paying support again, get that useless man loving lawyer to just get things done, and prescribe a painkiller to take ten days a month to alleviate all my menstrual agony,oh, and change the season…They have nothing new to offer me. Of course, the psych docs always ask about therapy but they’ve not been too pushy about it when I explain the situation about only one place being covered by insurance and my reasons for not going back there. It’s these nurse practitioners who shove therapy down my throat and have all the empathy of a toad, telling me ‘go through the yellow pages.’ I have. I can’t make a rural area have more therapists or make them accept my insurance. And again, the psych center has therapists but they won’t take my insurance so how important is therapy, really? I mean, if you, as a provider, deem it crucial, then, as a provider, shouldn’t you take some responsibility in helping a patient find not just a therapist to accept their insurance but one that might actually put them at ease and be helpful?

One of the biggest hypocrisies of mental health treatment is that they push us to take responsibility for our issues and behaviors, even if we’re under the influence of brain chemicals gone haywire, yet they themselves take no responsibility beyond doing the bare minimum yet expecting the maximum from us.

I have not ruled therapy out, mind you. I like to keep an open mind. But at this time, my problems are of a nature that a counselor can’t help and whatever they could offer, is stuff I already do on my own. I’m not claiming to know it all or have it figured out, I am a hot mess half the time. But also, if I am already practicing what they’re teaching and it simply doesn’t apply to my major personal stressors, how is them dredging it all up going to help me? The past is done, I’ve buried it and kissed it goodnight. From time to time harp on it or mention it for context but otherwise..I accept it, period.

Right now, my biggest issues are monetary, legal, and menstrual. I’ll work through it, as I always do, but in the meantime if I need to primal scream about it and drive it into the ground until I find clarity on how to handle it…Last thing I need is a frustrated counselor pointing out that my method of coping is redundant. Critical and incompetent counselors do as much harm as inexperienced myopic psych nurses.

So…back to that mooshy lovey feeling. We’re about to get a freeze over, like negative 20’s as a high temp, so neighborhood cats have been coming here to eat and stay in the doghouse or under the porch and I must admit…I can’t afford extra mouths to feed but I smile every time I look out there and see the same strays coming back. They know who’s good people. I only wish I could get such warm fuzzies from people but alas…it’s not who I ever was or will be. I’m fine with that, I don’t need to explore the cause. I know it. Animals have blind acceptance and love for you. People are judgmental, rejecting, and cruel. I’ve met more kind animals than people so of course, I prefer the company of the kind, furry or scaly as they might be. Does not take a rocket scientist.

My one goal for today is to take a bath. It’s been a week. This bathtub thing is a huge dealbreaker for me. I need a fucking shower. Even depressed, as long as I had a shower, I’d bathe 3 times a week. Now it’s such a task of discomfort and cold and ick, I can’t seem to find the good in it. So hey, build me a shower if my lack of bathing offends you. Otherwise…fuck off.

Yeah, okay, I can see why that attitude might offend people and put them off me.

The people I’d get along with, though, are the ones who snicker and say, “Hell yeah” to my moody sweariness. Easily offended people…become my exes. 🙂

Slipping Away

Posted in depression with tags , , on January 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so apparently, shorter posts are in demand. I will TRY, but no promises.

This post is about how depression causes you to lose grasp on the tiniest things, things both stressful and joyful.

I waited all holiday break for my normal shows to return. Now I’m 3,4 episodes behind on shows that just 8 weeks ago I was addicted to. But that is depression, it sucks the joy out of normally pleasureful things, and if it’s something bad, well, it makes it seem like a fatal wound.

I am in PMDD pain with cramps and my kid says I am ‘yelling’ too much, but I think ‘yelling’ is her being dramatic, I even recorded a conversation in which she accused me of yelling. No, I was correcting her disrespectful behavior and to her, that is the same as yelling and she turns on the tears and does the lip quivering thing. She’s been doing it since she was 3. I took her to a child psychologist after she had a tantrum and hit me so hard she broke my glasses and the lady told me my kid was fine, I was the problem, transfering my anxieties onto her and viewing her behavior as manipulative which made me view her negatively. Um…AND? I don’t practice bullshit, I call it like I see it, and if the word ‘manipulate’ is somehow abusive to her psyche, well, she should stop being manipulative. It blows my mind how many similar behaviors I see in her that were present in the donor, and as he’s been gone 8 years, it must be genetic coding cos he has had no opportunity to infect her. (His choice, for the record.)

Having read an article this morning written by someone who grew up in a home where the father was a hoarder and how someone else’s issue left such an indent on this adult child’s psyche, I must admit I am scared that I am going to damage my kid. Though it will more likely come from me calling her behavior ‘ditzy’ and collecting dust bunnies as opposed to any actual abuse or neglect. Before she left for church, I made sure to hug her, kiss her, and tell her ‘we are a family and we may not always agree on stuff, but we still love each other.’ I think that’s a positive message, though it really doesn’t do much for her losing precious time because her mom is in a black depression and fevered anxiety state. I don’t know how to fix that, but I am trying to survive, I am doing my best to make sure she knows she is loved and that I care. And I even apologized ‘if you felt my tone was hurtful, I am truly sorry’, so it’s not like I’m being a hypocrite.

I need a bath, my hair feels gunky. But I am in serious pain, in spite of painkiller, and the prospect of playing Twister to get into the bathtub and wash my hair and ugh, it’s just too demanding at this time. So my previous good hygiene and girly love for make up and stuff slips away thanks to the depression…

It’s all just slipping away.

And btw, when I post something in the form of a question here as in yesterday’s post, I really AM seeking some interaction and advice. I can’t believe 9 people clicked like but not one single person tried to give me advice on how to handle this nurse doc situation with grace. I am ASKING. And I don’t bite, if that’s what you’re scared of. If my stubborn hormonal mood swingy ass is asking for advice it is because I genuinely NEED input. But I guess it’s too deep a topic to be bothered. If I wanted to know if anyone liked my selfie of me eating my lunch, I’d probably be overwhelmed with replies.

Argh, the world’s priorities and attention span or lack thereof, boggle the mind.

Was this post short and concise enough? Never mind, that, too, is too deep a question.

I found this post extremely stilted and dull because it wasn’t me letting the words flow, it was me trying to force the words into a brief piece of gobbledygook that would placate ADHD minds. I don’t think I’ll do another one like this, it just feels phony.

Fuck a fancy bag.

Broken Cycle

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on January 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In a dark place mentally and not sure why. Nothing catastrophic happened, though the laundry list of problems and stressors that simply are weighs heavy on my mind…I can’t find comfort in TV shows as a distraction. I look at the housework that has snowballed and I just don’t know where to begin. Also battling cramps and those ‘burning fever’ hormonal thoughts. Right now, I am in such a bad space, I don’t think I’d choose to turn down alcohol if it were offered. Rather than feel ashamed or disgusted with myself, I view it the way it is. Things have to get pretty bad for me to go *there* and right now, I’m hitting the anxiety/depression/hormonal misery trifecta. Of course, booze solves nothing. You know what it does do, though? It dulls the screaming nerve endings that send panic through your entire body for zero logical reason. It (in moderation) calms you enough to think more clearly (ironic, yes) and breathe more deeply. Sometimes it even, temporarily, takes you to a different, better mental space. It also dulls the agony of backache and crampapalooza. But alas, I burned my bridge the other day by turning free drinks down but at that time, I wasn’t in this mental space. I have no funds to buy my own so…I just look forward to bed, except, oh, about out of melatonin so sleep may not even happen…

Sleep has become its own hell. I was awake so many times during the night I was getting pissed off. Then at 5 a.m. my brain decided it wanted to be awake but toward sunrise when my kid would be getting up, then it decided it was drowsy and I went back to sleep. I am so sick of the broken sleep cycle. I am sick of doing things ‘right’ but never getting ‘right’ results. I am dreading my appointment with the psych nurse, to the point I am having panic inducing dreams about being there and trying to speak to her only to literally be dismissed by deaf ears. Man, your psych care shouldn’t be one of the things that cause you so much depression and anxiety, ever! But it does. She really failed by not even having a secretary call me back and say, “We can’t adjust your medication right now, are you going to be okay> THAT is pretty much all that was needed, though it would have been nice if newbie had given enough of a damn to say, “I’ll authorize extra doses of your antihistamine to take the edge off the Prozac withdrawal.” No doubt these psych nurses all consider this sort of thing to be ‘hand holding’ and we’re intended to only ask that from the counselors.

Except the counselors can’t do a damn thing about our meds and no one is comparing notes in a way that might benefit me better because none of them seem to think physical,mental, hormonal, and emotional health are connected. The shrinks know better but these practitioners are clueless. Which makes me feel pretty hopeless and yeah, angry.

But I’m not having a tantrum, I am TRYING, against every possible mark against my own mental well being, to be logical and civilized when frankly, I should be allowed some unbrage. This is unacceptable psychiatric care. And the prospect of one more person telling me “you don’t have withdrawal from Prozac if you start another antidepressant immediately’ makes me feel pretty Z-Whacky. I LIVE it, and have lived it, repeatedly. And this cold turkey thing seems to come from the nurse practitioner staff exclusively, because the doctors used to taper me for at least three days so it wouldn’t be as drastic. How these women got master’s degrees when they obviously know so little in practice is beyond me.

Yeah, the hormonal anger surgers are really kicking my ass here. Competing with the ‘just wanna sleep’ depression and the ‘not sleeping well’ anxiety.

Believe me, this mental breakdown is one cycle I’d love to see broken in a dozen shards, the shards doused in gasoline, then set on fire, then an exorcism performed over the ashes and concete poured over them. Living this way is awful. I feel time slipping away from me, I am losing my daughter’s childhood, and my chance to further bond with her before she becomes a mean teen and I have very lackluster care for all that ails me. I’d had high hopes for this new nurse since she wasn’t from this area and would have maybe new ideas or experiences that could help. But if she’s not even permitted to determine what Xanax/benzo dose is best for her patients, well, she’s really not gonna help much because she doesn’t have the power.

I look forward to these hormonal surges dying down, I feel like I am burning up inside with this impotent rage and anger. I can’t find a cogent manner to proceed that might change the situation positively because all I wanna do is yell at everyone who has contributed to making me feel this rage-monstery.

Anyone have any advice on how to address this problem with the nurse practitioner in a constructive manner? I got nothing but a yen to use a Z-whacker to play whack-a-mole with a bunch of people who are making my life more difficult. Somehow, becoming violent when I never really have been doesn’t seem a productive direction to go with this so…anyone?

Primal Scream Rant

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on January 25, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I have this dream, and in it, something eats you…Oh, wait. I mean, I have this dream about writing a wonderful, coherent piece about how the new terminology ‘behavioral health’ is cruel, ineffectual, and will likely prevent very ill people from seeking psych care. Unfortunately, my brain is on ADD hyperdrive so I will save the topic for a later time when I am likely going to make more sense. What I need right now is a good RANT.

Yesterday was a mixed bag. My stepmom warned me she was going to come over to get a battery they needed for their glucose meter, so for two and a half hours, I was on red alert with anxiety. I don’t like people invading my safe space, I don’t like noise, I don’t like…well, people. She finally showed up with my brother and they both proceeded to talk to me at exactly the same time about two different topics. I didn’t know who to look at it or which topic to follow. It made my brain hurt and I swear it takes everything in me not to scream TAKE TURNS TALKING, YOU RUDE IMBECILS! Oddly, once they’d left and I knew my day was finally mine,all mine, I found some clarity. I did dishes (my kid yelled at me 2 days ago to ‘wash some dishes, we’re out of spoons!in my defense, we only own 6 spoons, for some reason my family does not hear this and has given us butter knives and forks out the wazoo and no spoons.) I started putting through multiple loads of laundry, in an effort to get ahead of the upcoming below 0 zero temps possibly freezing our water pipes…I made my bed. I swept a little. It felt natural and level and good.

My kid came home and I told her she could play with her friend the next day, she needed to clean her room and I needed to maintain my stable mood. She agreed, grudgiungly. Much like a man, she failed to notice that I did do all the dishes. How is it people only bitch when something is negative yet can’t be bothered to also notice something positive?

As the evening wore on, I dug out the lawyer’s email address and was about to fire off a very irate, ill advised tirade when it hit me like a ton of bricks…I was burning alive inside and trying to burn down everything on the outside courtesy of raging hormones. It’s like a raging fever inside me, the flood of emotion impacting hormones each month. It’s like they’re in control of me and too often I forget the need to self police and well, it has created a lot of unnecessary drama and turmoil and broken relationships. (Usually because I tell people, hey, I’m pmsing, back off, and they just keep coming at me and boohoo when I snap.) Because a week from now all this stuff burning me up right now will dissipate and I’ll be clueless as to why it seemed so damn important. Over and over this happens, over and over I tell the doc office, and they completely discount it having any impact on my mental health state. So damn frustrating.

But hey, I policed myself fast, did not click send, and retreated, knowing cooler heads might not prevail but would likely get a better response. Though he’s not known for returning email or calls very quickly. He’s pretty much useless and should be representing the donor, not me and Spook. I mean, on what planet is it ethical for a laywer for the petitioner to go out of his way and reccomend the respodent have his support amount lowered, have multiple chances to be served with legal papers, multiple chances to blow off court with no judgement, and also remind the deadbeat parent by email to send his kid a birthday gift????? This man is as close to incompetent as you can get without being in flagrant violation of ethics and law.(And how is this 4 year debacle on the judge’s desk NOT drawing red flags from the judge????There’s nothing being contested, no property, it’s all very clean cut, so what the fuck???)

Much as I policed myself last night, I find I am back to doing it again this morning, as something swirls inside me, causing physical pain and cognitive dissonance. I want to scream, kick, stomp, cuss, I want someone to pay attention and give me some damn answers!!! I feel so betrayed and angry. Thankfully (I guess, not fond of pain) today I am hurting from cramps so much it has dampened my fast and furious emotional roller coaster ride from hell. I’m still mystified that they canceled school the other day when it was in the 20’s but today was 0 degrees and they had the kids being transported to school. WTF? I guess I am too hormonal and anxious to draw proper conclusions about why they do or do not have school. It’s kind of like this ‘joke’ Spook has been running for awhile and to me it makes no sense but I guess it is a fitting statement for my live. 2 plus 2 equals fish. HUH????? Yeah.

I am gonna touch briefly here on this ‘behavioral health’ thing simply to make it clear to myself, and anyone who reads this…I was offered free booze yesterday. I didn’t even falter, I simply said no. A year ago, I probably would not have made that choice so easily. I am quite proud of my own progress in recognizing what truly is behavioral-like choosing to drink to self medicate the anxiety, and what is simply not in my control-the hormonal surges, the bipolar brain chemistry, the perpetual fight or flight sensations my brain sends..None of that is behavioral. For the new regime to say it is is just insulting, cruel, and completely detached from any semblance of true acceptance or understanding of legit psych disorders. None of us ever wakes up and decides, “Oh, I am gonna feel suicidal today and be very sad cos it’s fun.” Wtf, medical community?

I’m quite proud of how much progress I have made. In my twenties I did not have the ability to identify what was situational versus organic, and maybe outside influences impacted my mood and functionality. But now that I have learned so much and grown so much, I do know the difference, sometimes better than the professionals. That isn’t hubris, it is just fact. They spend 20 minutes with me every 4-12 weeks, calling them an expert on me is ridiculous. Me, I live here in this mind, so I am an expert on me.

Okay, venting is helping defuse the time bomb of hormonal rage. I think sometimes the days I don’t post are to my own detriment as it allows things to snowball so instead of a brief concise post I bottle it up til it becomes…this mess. But like I said, I was so topsy turvy yesterday with the initial anxiety, then the big functionality, then the erosion into hormonal rage emotions…I can’t really write in that state and have it make sense. (And this does, ha ha, I know.)

Okay. I’ve done primal scream therapy by ranting and emptying out my mind of all this garbage. Now I am gonna take some Midol and hope at some point it doesn’t feel like my spine is about to snap and my abdomen is about to explode. Those ovary oompa loompas are vicious motherfuckers during the PMDD. Not that I’d expect anyone to understand, even my doctors don’t.

I need to find my dammit doll and bash its head on some concrete or something to vent some anger and frustration. If that doesn’t do the trick, I guess I dig out the knitting needles to stab it…Oh, am I scarying anyone? I admit my coping mechanisms can be unorthodox and a little ghoulish but I’ve yet to assault anything but the doll so…

I’ma call this coping mechanism a success, ghoulish or not.