Archive for February, 2019

Sun And Moon And Stars Aligned…I am victorious

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

After this morning’s lil meltdown where I was stricken with terror and panic over my upcoming psych nurse appointment…The sun, moon, and stars aligned for the first time in months and…I got shit done. I’m still not sure where the energy or motivation or follow through comes from. It wasn’t my mood as my check failed to deposit early as it sometimes does so that was a bummer. I shall now question the mental health lottery gods. I feel very good about all that I have accomplished in this one day. I can sleep tonight knowing I kicked ass and took names. This is very important after months of inertia and inability to organize my thoughts and accomplish much beyond bare minimum.

Today I stripped the stove apart, soaked the knobs, used baking soda to scrub the top and turns out, it is white, not grease yellow! Who knew? I sent my sis a pic to tell her how well the baking soda worked over all that pricey stuff she reccommended and she thought I got a new stove, that’s how drastic the change was. I worked my ass off. I put in elbow grease and bone marrow.

I folded tne baskets of laundry. I swept, I mopped, I cleaned the bathroom, I moved litter boxes around, I used the hell machine to vacuum, I portioned out our meat for the week into baggies and froze it instead of letting it fester in the fridge til it became questionable…I even did the few dishes I had, wiped the counters and the table. All this AND I put on clean clothes. Oh, and put away all those clothes I folded. Man, poor people should not have that many clothes. Of course, it’s been piled up since November and I just wash it, dry it, and let it fester unfolded for…eons.

I am proud of myself. That won’t last long because now I am aware of the middle room being a mess since I have no closets and everything is just kind of piled up like Jenga blocks the cats knock over.

People will ask why I couldn’t just ‘snap out of it’ and get off my ass and do all this before today.

Those are the ignorant people who cannot grasp who debilitating depression is. Were it that easy, I’d never take meds or subject myself to another inept psych nurse or shrink again. All I know is today, it all aligned and I got shit done and now I am ready for the coming snow and rain and gloom and icy weather to once again suck me under the seasonal affective depression. Least now we can find our clothes without digging through ten different baskets.

I am…victorious.

For today, anyway.

The shift is coming, though. This snafu of my check not depositing early like it almost always does has me in a bit of a panic at the discos! state thinking oh no, something went wrong digitally or they took my money away and didn’t tell me or my bank went out of business and didn’t tell me…I fucking hate panic so much. If I could just unplug that part of my brain I think I might be more functional. My worst enemy is panic, that is usually when I have a knee jerk terrfied reaction and burn bridges. So how about we correct what ever causes this and move along, docs?

That would be them helping, what am I saying.

Advertisements

Is It Paranoid Personality Disorder If People ARE Out to Get You?

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on February 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been awake an hour and 15 minutes and already, I’ve had a ‘bolt-of-panic-and-terror-deer-in-the-headlights’ moment. Why? I thought about my appointment with the psych nurse Thursday. Out of nowhere, the panic and paranoia ninjas attacked. For all their ‘it won’t kill you’ lecturing, that bolt of pure terror in your heart that accompanies panic…it starts to feel like a chronic, metastatic heart problem. No one should feel that much terror over a simple office visit with a doctor or nurse. Yet there it is…This woman has caused me so much stress in 5 months, it makes the others look Dr. Warm and Fuzzy Feelgood. I want to let it go, just go in and get my meds, be compliant, and pray to the sacred pegacorn that at some point I have the option of a different doc, an actual doctor. My OCD brain won’t let it go, though. How can it when the mere thought makes me feel as terrified as if a man wielding a machete was chasing me?

This brings me to a common issue I’ve had with my psych care. Being labeled ‘paranoid’ when in fact, I am just panic stricken and super sensitive when it comes to destructive criticism. I’ve lived my life under a microscope of critical, cruel people, most of them in my own family, and I still can’t escape them. And I may be the one with a mood disorder, but they are every bit as mercurial as I am. One week my dad is tearing into everything I’ve done wrong since I was 12 the next week he’s being half civilized. However, the moment I let my guard down and think he’s a human being…He will revert form, dregde up any mistake he finds relevant, even if it wasn’t something that bothered me, and we’re office to the races again.

Is it paranoia if people are really out to ‘get’ you with their cricisms and shitty behavior?

How many times do you have to be proven right, to your own detriment, til it ceases to be paranoia and becomes a logical response to the erratic behavior of others?

I guess I just got a glimpse of my own hypocrisy there cos I am constantly telling my kid to ‘suck it up’ when people are rude to her. But when I tell her to give ’em hell and stand up for herself, she cowers and says she’s too scared she might get yelled at. I guess I inadvertently passed this on to her? Maybe that’s why I want to build her up so she can stand up for herself so she doesn’t end up like me. But when it comes to some stuff, like the music I like, the way I dress- I have zero problem telling people to go to hell. On those things I am SURE of who I am, I am sure that my tastes hurt no one, so I can stand for that with ultimate conviction. Throw in my emotional state, though, and I start to teeter totter. And people are more than happy to take advantage of any weakness to gaslight you. And if you say they are gaslighting you, it makes you look more paranoid, no matter how correct you may be. I won’t go so far as to a full on persecution complex like my kid seems to have, but I am wary enough to expct the worst and pray for the best.

Is it a disorder? I don’t think so. They program you to learn from your mistakes or else you’re contributing to your own personality disorder. But when you learn the lessons too well, you are labeled paranoid and have a disorder.

These catch 22’s the world has placed on the mentally disordered are driving me mad. I was so much happier before I knew about personality disorders and chemical imbalances. It was much more clear to just dismiss people as assholes instead of constantly living in shades of gray and thinking they mean well, even if their good intentions gut you as a human being. Where do you draw the line between accepting people as flawed and letting their flaws consume who you are? I don’t see a win here other than disengaging and keeping to myself. Which is apparently a whole other disorder.

It is laughable that half of us with ‘mental problems’ are actually more self aware and balanced than those without the label. We’re painfully aware of our flaws, our fuck ups, our patterns of negative behavior. The rest of the world goes through life in ignorant bliss, their own flaws and disorders tainting those around them yet only the truly self aware recognize that their flaws are metastatic and emotionally vampiric.

If that’s the standard of normal, I am glad to be abnormal.

Also, professionals, before you go writing labels in a chart, maybe you could ask the patiet to elaborate on what their words mean Some of us don’t know how to explain to mundanes what mental illness feels like so when I say people are out to get me…I don’t mean literally, I mean, they are out to criticize me in a brutal way and that is a whole other ballgame than standard issue paranoia.

Those Damn Mental Health Ninjas

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 25, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I think one of the most frustrating things about my struggle with mental health issues has always been the professionals’ insistence that there must ALWAYS be some sort of stressor or trigger that brings about a shift in mental state. There so often is NOTHING that precipitates the mood shift. It is like a band of ninjas swooping in from seemingly out of nowhere and they are pissed off. My mood sinks, my anxiety skyrocks, my paranoia rises, and I can’t shake off the ‘bad juju’ that is deep in my bones telling me something bad is about to happen.

I understand where the professionals are coming from. It truly is much easier to ‘manage’ mental health issues if you can identify what triggers this ninja attack.At least if there is a trigger or stressor, I can start from there on how to proceed to cope. When it comes from out of nowhere for no reason, I got nowhere to start. You can’t fight an unseen enemy, no matter how much the CBT mindfulness zealots want you to think you can. The only wisdom I have for the ninjas is ‘it is what it is.’ Trying to disagree with it and force it to be something it’s not only makes me miserable.

Also, by the time my day hits 5:30, I’ve burned up my daily 1mg Xanax and am left to twist in the wind. It bothers me more that they have no empathy over the matter as opposed to the policy itself. Lots of doctors refuse to prescribe benzos. They are dead wrong as these meds are no more harmful than antibiotics when used responsibly. It’s clearly discrimination against a whole class of drug for no reason other than they don’t want to be sued and are covering their own asses. At the sake of my quality of life. How do you not take umbrage at this? Yes, I am beating a very dead horse on this topic but I’ve never been a shrinking violet who slinks away and follows the party line.

I am just aggro over it all. The money problems courtesy of a deadbeat parent. The useless lawyer from hell. The psych nurse who cares less than the cashier at the gas station. Being stuck living in Armpit. I tried to make the best of it all but we are facing having the electricity cut off, during the winter, and it all just sucks. No wonder I am anxious. It doesn’t help when my kid pretty much yells at me daily for not having the money for this or that but she doesn’t complain about her father doing NOTHING. I’m trying my best but it doesn’t seem to be good enough for anyone. And to add insult to injury, my dad and stepmom got their tax refund and took Spook out shopping for some new dresses and a haircut and they had lunch at a steak house. I can’t even afford to buy my kid a $6 of the right sized underwear, for fuck’s sake. But every cent I’ve got goes into this damn hell house. No one will hire me (as of yet) even as a bloody part time dishwasher.

Hmm, now I think I know why I am so depressed and stressed out. It’s always there, bubbling beneath the surface, even when I’ve cleared my mind and mindfulness-ed myself to death. You can’t mindful away reality, for fuck’s sake.

Some day I will write a post and stay on topic but it ain’t gonna be today.

Borderline-y And Stuff

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on February 25, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I completely reject the notion that I have borderline personality disorder. Which is pretty much what someone with the disorder would say. I have been doing research and reflecting on patterns of my own behavior that are labeled ‘borderline’. All I can surmise is, my parents were my only example of a romantic relationship and hated each other. Me, my sister and my mom lived for when he would go back on the road and we had our house back. He was just too rigid, too egocentric, too…stifling. So I guess it makes sense that all my life I’ve been getting into relationships and having this love/hate cycle. It is rather idiotic to get into a relationship, then spend all your time wishing they’d go to work, or just go, so you can have your space back. But I don’t think this qualifies as a whole disorder. It’s just what happened in my formative years added to my natural loner status. If I had been true to myself instead of in a hurry to fit some societal ‘norm’ none of these failed relationships would have happened. The one thing I will always know better than any professional is me. I don’t have much use for relationships of the romantic sort. It’s a fun trip for a few months but once it becomes ‘who didn’t take the trash out and who has to pay the electric bill’…I’m out. I can do all that stuff on my own with a lot less stress.

It amazes me that being honest this way results in being saddled with a label. The doctor who put it in my chart was one of my favorite doctors, ever, but I was chagrined when this diagnosis suddenly started appearing on my paperwork. It stemmed from me complaining to him that a noob counselor seeing me 3 times and labeling me borderline based on some paperwork as opposed to her studying my behavior or history. The thing with paperwork is, if you are constantly cycling through bipolar disorder, your feelings and actions are likely to look bipolar. Then they subside only to come back and some well meaning albeit ignorant person decides this constitutes a personality disorder. I was infuriated that she did it to me after only 3 sessions. I was more pissed when he decided she was right and put it in my file. Nothing I can do to ever get that stain removed. And the thing is, I don’t deny my personality is disordered but then, by normal standards, I was a pretty freaky 5 year old so I was never gonna fit the norm. I can own being a mixtureo of borderline, paranoid, narcissistic, et al. I am not consistent enough to be any one thing.

I do, however, now see certain behaviors that have been repeated over the years that might be considered borderline-y. I do tend to ‘throw people out’ when their quirks stress me out too much, that started around age 12. But if someone truly harms you mentally, is it so ludicrous to walk away from that terrible situation? I don’t expect people to be perfect but if they are hateful or racist or homophobic and persist in shoving these things down my throat as part of our friendship in spite of my protest…they aren’t worth my time. I also realize that the sheer repetive nature of this ‘throw away’ action does not reflect well on me. Yet I live in a rural area and minds are pretty narrow here. My own father and mother in law offend me as much as anyone else does cos they are racist and homophobic and completely in love with themselves while dissing everyone who dares to not be like them. I can think of only ONE time I’ve burned bridges in a relationship and regretted it because I totally lost it. And I guess it wasn’t over anything important and now I miss my best friend but no amount of apologizing has swayed her. We occasionally speak but it is nothing like it used to be. 12 years of friendship gone and for what? She was sneaky and did something behind my back rather than telling me straight up. I went ballistic. What I did not do, however, was take into account that she wasn’t doing anything outside her normal character. She was always submissive and sneaky and more likely to tell you what you wanted to hear than be honest. I guess I expected her to suddenly change and become more like me. I was very wrong. I regret that, daily, to this day. On the other hand, what do I need with someone so unforgiving in my life? It’s not a good lesson to teach my kid, cling for dear life even when they are using an umbrella to bash in your skull. I had to let go. I will forever live with the consequences of my behavior.

Does any of this sound like a borderline person who can’t admit fault, who is terrified of being abandoned and alone? Am I not seeing things in shades of gray? Am I not admitting to my worst flaws? Dear God, I have done more to counsel myself in the last couple of years than therapy ever did for me.Doing paperwork on what my current mood is on the happy face chart and being told to be mindful for 50 minutes is not helpful to me. I am painfully aware and mindful of every tiny thing. Every mistake, every wrong choice, every overreaction I’ve ever had. Do I struggle with interpersonal relationships? Yes. Do I have trouble accepting people who are flawed? Yes, but only after they’ve somehow offended me or completely ignored my feelings. Standing up for yourself and avoiding toxic entanglements should not be a disorder.

So I got a lifelong label from a man who didn’t personally diagnose me, by a counselor who saw me three times, AFTER a counselor I’d seen weekly for two years adamantly declared she did not believe I was borderline because there was just too much overlap with the bipolar. Now what do we learn from that equation, children?

Never ever mention anything to a shrink about personality disorders or any confusion you may have about it. You could end up wrongly labeled for life. I am borderline-y, but I’m also half a dozen other things that have nothing to do with those symptoms so pardon me if I prefer ‘disorder not otherwise specified’. I think it’s more accurate but of course, disputing the diagnosis just feeds into their being convinced they must be right. Amazing how I can dispute if a shoe is the wrong size and it’s legit but if I dispute my mental health care, I am somehow proving them right. Your mental health is a hell of a lot more important and serious than a shoe size, you should have EVERY right to question their assessment.

And if it’s not even their personal assessment but based on what someone else saw…you gotta question their professional integrity. Doctors would never diagnose a disease by phone, sight unseen. Yet shrinks have no problem labeling you based on secondhand information that may or may not be accurate. You don’t get the benefit of the doubt. It’s just easier for them to go by what someone else said as opposed to forming their own opinion which takes time and effort.

My disillusionment with the mental health field continues to metastasize like a black festering cancer. It really sucks because I used to have so much faith in these people. Being proven wrong for feelng that way really stings.

Weekly Bath-Check

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on February 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yep, I bathed, I feel victorious. Sort of. And to my credit, it was my second bath in 7 days. I forced myself to bathe when I was sick because two days of sweating through clothing leaves you looking and feeling like a member in a 90’s grunge band. I wish I could be more on top of the basic hygiene 101 thing, I really do. I just don’t see it happening, not with a sucky bath tub. As if depression isn’t bad enough, being forced to take baths adds insult to injury. I think the whole time we lived at the trailer I had maybe 2 baths. I much prefer showers. Unfortunately, the likelihood of this place ever having even a make shift shower in unlikely. It’s not tiled or sealed up enough, even with a curtain, water would go everywhere and the floor is already caving in. I can’t seem to escape the cycle of busted floors and wonky furnaces. Not by choice, that is for sure.

Now that I have properly bored everyone with my rambling…

I felt so good Friday because I accomplished a lot. Since then, I’ve done very little and I can honestly think of no better excuse than my body feels like a lead weight. It’s like moving a big rig through sludgey mud. At some point, more damage is done than progress is made so unless you wanna strip the gears and trash the engine, it’s wisest to just sit idle for awhile. I know, the professionals say this is wrong and yet, it was one of the most useful things a therapist ever taught me. Of course, that was the in the 90’s before therapy became behavioral health and this ‘tough love’ stance became commonplace.Allowing myself to just feel depressed has become quite useful. If I stop pressuring myself and guilting myself, occasionally the productivity will simply happen. It’s not looking good today but I am still being chewed up and spit out by seasonal affective disorder so it makes sense. This warmer colder extreme is mopping the floor with me. People think S.A.D is this mopey “I’ve got the blues” thing and it’s really a metastatic disorder that few people can conquer, til the seasons shift and change. Cold weather saps my strength.

Also proving to be a hindrance is the bright sunlight triggering my anxiety. I took a hydroxyz ‘for the anxiety’ but it does not do a damn thing for anxiety. It doesn’t make me sleepy. It stops my general all over itchiness, that is about it. But I have to be very careful with what little Xanax they’ve left me with. I’ve got this sick feeling come Thursday, it will be cut again. I am going to riot. Vilifying a legit medication infuriates me. Also infuriating is that by being outraged, I am basically feeding into their wrong impression of someone hooked on Xanax and acting out because it’s being removed from my cocktail. What I have to ask myself is,would I have this strong a reaction if removed from a non benzo medication that works as well. I would be infuriated. If something works, you don’t rock the boat. This isn’t about being hooked on Xanax, it is about how effective it is whereas no other med ever has been. If licking a hallucinogenic toad was effective and they suddenly banned toad licking, I’d feel the same way. I just want what works, I don;t much care what brand or class of drug it is. Only the psych profession could make you feel bad for having very pure and legit emotions for a highly effective med.

I am still feeling unamused with all this mental health stuff. I look back and there were times I was in a worse situation or worse mental state yet found some joy in life and actually liked myself and had some fun…Now anhedonia is my default state and the nurse doesn’t seem to care. That is my perception, which I won’t go so far as to say I’m always right, but also, I’m not always wrong. Much like a patient can dislike a doctor or nurse, they,too, can dislike a patient. I get that vibe from her. And I feel so foolish having declared that I liked her after one appointment with my awesome doctor sitting in. She really put on a show that day and I despise people who do that. I judged her based on 10 minutes and her wardrobe and the fact she was very pretty and young and I was thinking, sweet, new blood, she might have new ideas! Now it looks like I am fickle but I swear she pretended to care at the very first appointment. Like it’s uncommon for people to put on a show for a supervisor or superior then revert to a less stellar position. I just feel so much self loathing and embassment that I made such a quick snap to judgement based on someone’s appearance. That isn’t like me at all, I am actually pretty bored with fashion and beauty. The pretty people are so often very hideous inside. Man, I feel like an idget.Just gotta keep telling myself there is nothing wrong with wanting to see the best in someone and no shame in being wrong about them.

Though it does lend credibility to my whole ‘trust no one, like no one’ policy. If you expect the worst, there’s nowhere to go but up. If you expect the best and it turns into a shit show…You’re kind of screwed.

My Psychiatric Care Is Driving Me Crazier

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on February 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My brain is at a rapid boil today. Maddening repetetive thoughts pounding away at my cerebral cortex, hour after hour. Every concern very legitimate, but I know the intensity with which I am bothered by it is product of of the PMDD. Every month I get these mental states where certain thoughts grow in my brain like a parasite and it boils under my skin and through my veins like an out of control fever. I am quite proud of myself for progressing to the point of being able to recognize this pattern in my own mental state and behavior. Not that I am ever given credit for my progress. Good thing I am fairly confident in myself and recognizing my own positive behavior. I don’t require others to validate my existence.

The area of my life where I do require-demand- validation is when it comes to my psych care. I’ll take a C rate doc with a great beside manner over a tyrannical or apathetic A rater. At the moment I feel like I have an A rater who could not possibly care less about my feelings or problems due to her detacted professional manner. For all I know she does care, she just shows it differently. But I can’t help how I am feeling. The more I try to talk myself out of those feelings, the more I feel them. No doctor or nurse should ever put you in the position of invalidating your own feelings, be it with words, silence, a chilly demeanor, an angry demeanor, or in my case, the ‘go get your hand held by a counselor, it’s not my job’ apathy I feel I am facing. (See what I did there? Therapy taught me to use “I feel” statements because it allegedly prevents people from taking offense. And it is only alleged, in my experience, if anything, having psychobabble techniques introduced into their narrow worlds actually angers them more than if you just called them names. I find that disconverting and weird as hell.

The thoughts today have centered entirely around how the quality of my life has decreased over the years since getting in to the therapy/meds game, and has basically boiled to a head of futility today. I used to be a happy-few-months-of-the-year person. Probably cos I was manic before mood stabilizers but still…I was a fun person. I had focus, I had ideas, I had energy. I had SELF CONFIDENCE. Now meds and therapy are supposed to help me stabilize and work on the patterns of behavior that cause me repeated issues. What it has done, instead, is make me doubt myself on every level. I am SO CONFUSED BY PSYCHOLOGY THAT IT ADDS TO MY MISERY AND MADNESS. And they think this is healthy for me in some way. Aside from venting my frustrations and possibly a couple of quirks I’d like to learn to work around or obliterate..therapy isn’t gonna solve my problems.Round and round the thoughts go like OCD hand washing or lock checking. I am miserable with all this stuff in my consciousness.

By their unreasonable standards, my entire personality is a disorder. That makes me mad. Because most of the things that make me, well me, are considered abnormal psychology and yet…I can look back to being 5 years old, long before I ever had any true trauam, and I loved vampires and horror movies and Fangoria magazine and spending hours alone dancing round and round to my records. (These large black vinyl disc thingies that had music on them. Yeah, I’m a smart ass but I also have a tech ridden 9 year old who doesn’t understand what records are, so it’s kind of relevant.) I was so much happier, at least some months of the year, when I wasn’t slapped with labels and told my personality is disordered and needs fixed. Because rather than view the true problems they wanted to focus on things that are NOT problems, FOR ME. Liking coffins and wearing black and writing about vampires…None of that is some fatal personality flaw. It may make me out of the mainstream but these are all things that were forged in my earliest years. There was no affectation or trauma involved. I liked what I liked, and my mom gave me that luxury (dad bitched and moaned, but that’s who he is, unfortunately.)

I want to go back to just being eccentric. Quirky. Kooky. Strange. Weird. I was way happier without a diagnosis, on a whole. Basically having your entire identity classified as some sort of disorder really does you no good. My big issues are interpersonal relationships. I DO go a bit borderline-y. What I’ve grown to realize, however, is my biggest mistake was trying to do the normal relationship thing in the first place. I never wanted the marriage and kids and picket fence. I was told this was expected of me and I tried to conform as I figured it must work if everyone else is so content with life. But everyone is not me and just because it suits them didn’t make it a shoe of my size. I was immersing myself in something I didn’t even want deep down so it was doomed to fail from the go. On some subconscious level, I may have even been trying to make sure they failed because I DON’T BELIEVE MONOGAMY IS REALISTIC. I’m just not like everyone else and I’ve actually always taken pride in that. I don’t like the boring masses and their vapid mentalities that are more tied to the bible than any logic. Yeah, it’s just my opinion, and it’s not a popular one, but I am as entitled to it as everyone else is to theirs.

Therapy would have you believe otherwise. If you fail to conform, it is made clear that you are non complient, don’t want to improve yourself, like being unhappy. Seldom have I gotten an ‘atta girl’ for having principles and standing up for what I believe in. This is where labels are dangerous. “Disordered personality” invalidates you in everyone’s eyes, possibly even including doctors and therapists. Which is insane as they go into this field supposedly to help us with mental issues.

I’m ready to wash my hands of the whole sordid system. Smoke dope, drink booze, get some CBD oil, and just tough it out that way. Let me be my weird self as long as I am not hurting anyone. That, sadly, is never going to be part of therapy. The first thing they do is slap a label on you, a label that follows you for life whether it’s accurate or not. I wanna go back to being quirky and funny and walk in the rain or snow while blaring metal music or throw my plates into the trash can just to hear them break and avoid washing them. I LIKE being eccentric. I wish my daughter could have known me back before all this therapy and psychiatry basically drove me to kill off so many of the fun qualities I had.

No medicine/field should make you feel worse about yourself and actually rob you of joy. It shouldn’t drive you to stuff like cbd oil and valerian root because some doctor has a dictatorial complex and won’t let the staff do their damn jobs and prescribe effective meds with no side effects. As one with mental issues, I have been brainwashed into questioning my every emotion, my every motivation, because they question me that way. I am disordered, after all. Much like everything else in my life, which is probably another new personality disorder, once something stops working for me, I am ready to move on.

One more appointment with the nurse before I decide whether or not to throw in the towel. I am humble enough to admit I may not be giving her the benefit of the doubt, apparently with all records now digitized, the clacking keyboard thing is common in appointments. My other shrinks didn’t do it, but I guess the noobs do. If I still get the indifferent vibe and do not walk out feeling validated and hopeful…

May just be time to get the hell out of there before they do any more damage to my psyche.

I rue the day I went into counseling. It was supposed to be a one time months long deal to help me cope with overwhelming emotions and mood surges. It never should have become a 20 year long saga and drama of multiple doctors, diagnoses, counselor-go-round, and worsening self esteem due to the confusion it all creates.

This psych center should be sued for worsening my mental state, no place should ever do that to a mentally disordered patient. But unlike with physical ailments and at least getting the doctor reprimanded…my experience has been that any complaints I have fall on deaf ears and are dismissed as ‘ravings from a mentally ill individual.’

They should learn that even a broken clock is right twice a day. It happens. Discounting patients is bad medicine. And not the good Bon Jovi kind.

Randomonium

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My brain is on hyperdrive today so there is zero chance of me writing a topic centric post today. And what I learned during 5 days of sickness and not even opening the computer, let alone posting, no one really noticed I was gone. When I did return, it was barely acknowledged. (I was hoping for a parade so I could rain on it and blow up the floats!) So I’m just gonna go all random and create written pandamonium to amuse myself.

A friend posted how much she loved the Lady Gaga/what’s his face song “Shallow” so after a year of not even being curious, I checked it out. I made it about 2 minutes. Then I closed the tab quick. NOT my cup of tea, too slow, too…depressing. The only thing that pleased me was to find out Gaga has a vocal range, which isn’t very apparent on most of her pop drivel songs. (Nope, not a Gaga monster, nothing against the woman, she seems cool, I just don’t ‘feel’ it.) I am deeply disturbed by artists who waste their talent on pop drivel and as it happens, some of them don’t even have any talent. One of the biggest revelations for me was hearing Fergie sing on Slash’s “Beautiful Dangerous’. Whoa! That chick can wail! Can’t stand anything Black Eyed Peas but her collab with Slash and “Big Girls Don’t Cry’, they showcase what range she has and it is just wasted on idiotic (yet wildly popular, what does that say about humanity) shit like lady humps and lumps. Gross.

I got out of Armpit today, first time in ten days. With the racing thoughts I am having today, it was a harrowing trip because I just kept ‘going away’ while driving. Then wondering if I used a turn signal or cut someone off cos…no memory of it. (Pretty sure that blank out comes from trazadone as it has amped up times ten since since I took that garbage.) I was even having issues putting the car into right gear (indicator doesn’t work, gotta count the clicks) and had it in reverse when I wanted to go forward. Damn lucky no one was there or I’d have smashed into them. It is unnerving to feel this out of sorts in a place where I lived for 20 years and didn’t have so much trouble with. Then again, I was there everyday, not rotting in Armpit where a traffic jam consists of two cars, a tractor, and a combine on the same steet. This place is making me withdraw even more into myself and it’s not healthy. What little functionality I had in town has been wiped out by this hell hole. And I feel bad for saying that cos honestly, it’s a nice enough little town. But little is the operative word. I grew up in a place with population 144 and I busted my ass at 17 to move out on my own and get out of there. This feels like such a step backwards, I can’t help but feel resentful. It wouldn’t matter if it was any other town with less than 10,000 people, I just don’t like tiny rural towns. Not to mention, this place is fucking noisy as hell with all the semi trucks and farm machinary and OCD lawn mowing maniacs. The worst is, my kid hates the school in this area and seeing her so unhappy makes me pretty fucking unhappy.

Sae a sign in town that said “we now sell cbd”. I wasn’t quite sure what that was so I Googled it when I got home and…Since the demons at the psych center have decreased my quality of life so much by taking away my higher dose of Xanax, I am thinking…This CBD oil could be a legit option for slowing my mind, relaxing my body, and help with the anxiety. It apparently does not make you high at all, it lacks THC or whatever, which is why it’s legal. Only problem might be the cost, I haven’t researched that yet. Man, that is just fucking batshit insane for them to push me this far with their cruel policies on benzos and drive me to explore an option I never would have otherwise. And knowing myself, chances are I’d be one of the few it doesn’t do anything for. I mean, this Atarax I am on is this mega antihistamine that is supposed to relax me and calm me and it does none of that, at all. Probably because I’ve been on antihistamines since I was 7, at this point, my body is immune. They help with my general itchiness but…nada on treating anxiety or helping sleep.

I am happy to say my kid is back to normal aside form a lingering cough. Last night she was laughing and ‘mum mom mommying’ me to irritation and it was wonderful. Well, ok, being irritated by incessant loud chatter isn’t wonderful, but seeing her come back to life after a week of sickness…that was a beautiful thing.

Since I got home from town, I’ve managed to carry in all the groceries. That wasn’t easy cos I couldn’t afford bags at Aldi(for once I actually had a quarter to rent a cart, yay) so I just had to stick it all in the trunk then come home and get a trash bag to carry it inside. Took like 7 trips and I was dodging mud puddles the whole time. Annoying. I have run the hell machine vacuum, washed dishes, and started two loads of laundry. That’s more than I’ve done in two weeks and it felt pretty good. Now when I zone out for the rest of the day, I can do so without a cloud of shame and guilt lingering overhead.

Plus side, I raided every piggy bank and coin dish inside and in the car and scrounged up just enough in coins to buy my Atarax and get a bottle of melatonin at Dollar Tree. I am looking forward to the easy way it leads me to sleep. The trazadone is maddening cos it takes forever to kick in and the way it kicks in is like just blacking out. I hate it. Not to mention I’ve been doubling the dose to 100 mg but she said we could do that if we needed to. I think I was supposed to call her after a week and tell her. Hmm, I couldn’t even get to town and get my script for a week cos of the bad weather, then the insurance company put a hold on a med, and…it’s all been a clusterfuckery.

I want to say that at least I am better this year than I was at this time last year. Unfortunately, with the donor going on $4000 behind on support, I’ve run out of juggling options toward paying $930 worth of bills on $835, plus getting cat supplies, gas in the car, etc. I keep hoping, praying, wishing that they’d just take his damn income tax refund and let him get caught up that way. But I do recall when we both lived with a roommate in CA, he didn’t file taxes for 3 years cos he didn’t want her getting a penny of his money. That’s the kind of person he is and he doesn’t discriminate. He doesn’t see it as providing for his child, he sees it as ‘vaginamony’ and it infuriates me. What a fucking loser. I gave it the benefit of the doubt for years, took all the responsibilty for the relationship failing, I tried to see the good in him…There just isn’t any. I have tom cats who are better baby daddies than that fucktard. Anyway, I’m not really any better than last year even if at least we’re not mid-move right now. Soon we may have no heat (you tell me how to pay $750 on the bill out of $835 while keeping the $400 rent paid). It sucks counting on someone doing the right thing in order to properly care for your kid. And yes, I have tried to find at least part time work (my God, if we lose our internet, I will fucking implode…not that it will matter without electricity.) GRRR. NOT better than last year, about the same.

End of rant.

Randomly yours,
Morgue