Archive for March, 2019

Buspar Blues

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , on March 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was awake until 1:30 a.m. in spite of 6mg melatonin. I took my second dose Buspar around 7 p.m, then my heartrate sped up to the point I swore I could hear my heartbeat in my head. Rather than calm me down, it seemed to speed up my thoughts. I know this med, especially at 7.5mg twice a day and that it takes up to six weeks for full effect, is not going to work overnight. I also know many side effects pass after a week or two. But for something that is supposed to make me less anxious it’s failing. The pharmacist warned me it could make me sleepy. I freaking wish. Like I need help being more hopped up on anxiety and panic attacks.

I woke several times during the night.It is so weird without Spook here. I may be too attached to my spawn. But honestly,we’re all we really have. Sure, she has grandparents and an aunt and uncle but our daily lives (partly due to my self imposed choice to control my environment and stressors) are pretty much spent just me and her.I often get all the socialization I need online or by text. They want to label this a disorder, say I am avoiding dealing with my issues, but it’s a choice made of my own free will. I can’t juggle other people’s emotions and bullshit when I am barely keeping my own in check. I keep being teased for going 8 years without any serious relationships and people assume it’s because the donor damaged me so much. He left his indentations but I tried dating a couple of times. FAIl. One was a drunken pill popper, one was a sexting pervert, one was weedhead who only came around for booty calls. Just…no. Being alone is a choice.

I just took my breakfast, er, morning meds, and my heart feels like it is being a little too fast but not as bad as yesterday. I will probably call the NP’s office if it persists and they need to be made aware of her authorizing refills of a third antidepressant that I cannot safely take. Furthermore, because she messed up my Xanax last month and I had to wait 4 days to get the refill, I have to make an extra trip to town since insurance won’t approve it til two days before you run out. So frustrating trying to get them to grasp that gas costs money and I have none.

I woke at 6:50 a.m. and really just wanted to go back to sleep. I get very few days I can sleep in. Of course, scumbag brain won’t cooperate. I don’t know when my sis is bringing my kid home today. I half expect my lummox of a brother to be tramping to the door any minute to drop off some apple juice they got for Spook. I probably wouldn’t be so hard on him if he wasn’t a raging racist like our father. They know it bothers me so they do it even more. But I’m of the school that all it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing, so protesting their bullshit seems to be something I am compelled to do.

Even though I am supporting a child on $835 a month and about to get my power and internet shut off…My dad offered my sister fifty bucks to come clean their house. (Stepmonster doesn’t even work part time, wtf?) My sister lives in a house with four people with incomes totaling over $6500 a month and they offer her the chance because “your sister just does a better job.” That stings. I ain’t saying it isn’t true but my sister is an OCD clean freak so I could never compete on that front. I could whoop her ass on a spelling test but that doesn’t make money. It just bugs me that she has all those other incomes helping with the expenses, and I have no one yet they can’t even take pity on me and Spook and give us an opportunity? That is fucking cold. And stepmonster is delusional because I used to clean house for Mrs. R and she was uber clean freak but said I did a good job. Different standards, I guess.

My kid sent me a cat meme the other night that also stung. It said, “We can haz job?” My God, do people not grasp that you can’t make people hire you? Especially with my checkered and unstable history in employment and being out of the game for so long. I am trying, damn it. A little support and encouragement would go further than all this negative reinforcement and bullying.

Wow. I think this Buspar actually makes me more alert. Maybe because the wellbutrin does, too, I suppose I could try not taking them together and see. It’s just so hard to remember all the pills, if I take them all at once, I don’t miss doses. More flustration. Not a typo, hybrid word. Frustration and flustered.

On the good side, my kid’s best friend will be moving back here soon. They just won’t be next door. But I think the parents will be cool with playdates. I mean, they could have moved back without even telling me but they sent a text to let me know they found a house to rent from my landlord. Considering his adult kids are trying to get power of attorney, all of us renters may be screwed soon. But I didn’t want to be a wet blanket and say that to C’s dad, they are happy to be coming back here. And we just want out. But like I told my sister, if it wasn’t the dadandstepmonsterville I might have a better attitude. They nag me more about my yard not being up to their standards more than my actual landlord does, geesh. Mind your own fucking business.

I am giving myself permission to just zone out today. The sun is out and it ain’t raining but it’s only 40 degrees so I can’t get warm. And other than laundry, and the cluttered middle room, I think the place is passable. Except for clean freaks, then it’s probably biohazard 5 because,ermagod, I don’t dust the baseboards. Pfft. Sorry, Marie Kondo, I am not joining your ‘your possessions are sad to be left dirty’ cult. My possessions can just be depressed like me.

The Panxiety Monster Strikes Again

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on March 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Another cold wet day in Armpitopia. I am sans spawn for the night as she is staying in town with my mom and sister. I can’t get warm and my motivation is nil. I started Buspar today and after taking it, I noticed my heart was beating quite erratically. And of course, no one is at the office on weekends and the pharmacy was closed so I’m like, how the fuck do I report this if I can’t talk to anyone? So screw it, I am gonna keep taking it and hope its a passing side effect. It’s not as bad gabapentin was, that shit about killed me. Never felt such cognitive dissonance as I did on that stuff because it jacked my blood pressure up and made my heart race, yet made my mind feel foggy like I was stoned.

I just noticed that the doorknob on the backdoor is rather loose and I have no memory of it being that way. Not that I pay attention to detail but my first thought was, geesh, did the landlord come break in while we were in town? He doesn’t have the front door key because he was supposed to fix that and never did so stepmonster put the lock on it. He said the back door key was ‘somewhere’ but if he couldn’t find it, would he damage his own property breaking in? My own lack of logic is blowing my mind. But my dad said the landlord’s kids are trying to get power of attorney over him due to his decompensating mental state. That could mean yet another forced move for me and Spook because I don’t see those 4 kids agreeing on anything, let alone continuing the rental properties. And of course, my dad is like, I don’t mean to scare you…It’s not like it hasn’t been lurking in the back of my mind since we moved in here and he got so confused over me paying rent early and tried to tell me I was late. He’s 78 and apparently has been spotted driving in ditches and I guess maybe it is time for them to intercede for his safety and that of others on the road. But yeah, the panxiety monster has me in its gaping maw with its foot long fangs piercing everything but my vital organs so it’s just bloody and painful, no end in sight.

I was sludge this morning. I knew I had to get into before noon to the DMV to get the sticker for the car to keep it road legal then get to the pharmacy by noon, too, and drop Spook at my mom’s. So I procrastinated and watched Rescue Heroes and The Great Doctor Scott. My kid kept poking me the invisible stick. “It’s 8:30,Mom. It’s 8:45, Mom. We have to go.” Bleh. We were out the door a little after ten and on the road doing our verbal banter over her shitty taste in music. (That damn Panic At The Disco song ‘High hopes’ irritates the hell out of me.) I blew her mind when she caught me singing along to Taylor Swift’s “Delicate”. Eh, I liked it before I knew who it was by and good music is good music.

Did battle in town with the maddening traffic and my own wandering attention span. DMV was freaking packed. The NP screwed up my meds again, six months in a row, didn’t renew my xanax but renewed the Trazadone which would be a third antidepressant and could cause serotonin syndrome. She’s preached it from the word go yet keeps doing this shit. I don’t get it, does she want to kill me? Or just fuck things up every time so I get off her service? In spite of my positive appointment the other day, I still fully intend to ask to be put into the telepsychiatry waiting list. Maybe they can get my meds right. Maybe they will be worse than her. BUT they also may not be under the purvue of the benzo dictator so maybe I can get my xanax dose back up. I can barely handle a trip to town these days, my mind races so fast and panic attacks hit randomly.

I am really freaked out about that back doorknob. I don’t recall it being that loose, that would come from someone forcefully pulling on it. And I didn’t pay any mind to see if anything had been disturbed or muddy foot prints or…Okay, my own insanity is driving me insaner. Insaner. Yep, tis a new word. Along with flustrating. Frustrated and flustered simultaneously.

And I will leave you with an article near and dear to me, not because of chronic pain or need for narcotics, but because this ‘opiod epidemic’ that resulted in my Xanax being slashed 75% has some pretty far reaching consequences for patients in pain who have tried everything else. They just want access to what works. I would be on board with routine drug testing to monitor my Xanax levels if I had been given the option. It’s like our voices cannot be heard and our rights are being trampled. Those who throw the baby out with the dirty bathwater are running riot and it needs to end.

Urge To Purge

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

Today is off to a gloomy wet start. I wasn’t cold when I got up, but I am now. I didn’t realize how much warmer I am one sunny days, even indoors.

Got my kid off to school without fireworks, getting her up a half hour earlier is doing wonders. Though she told me about a ‘meltdown’ she had at school and the teacher asked her if something was going on at home to bring about her blow ups…I felt compelled to email the teacher and explain Spook’s inability to adapt to this town and the school because she was so much more popular in town and here, she is a bit of an outcast. This is not to defend her inappropriate behavior, she does need to start using some of the therapy methods we’ve discussed for anxiety and anger. But nothing has changed here at home. Aside from the morning battles and occasional mouthiness, we get along better here than we did in town. Hopefully I can teach through repetition. Not that I am an expert on managing extreme emotion but I’ve gotten better at it and no longer throw things. That could just be mood stabilizers, though. I think I have changed for the better in many ways.

I wrote a nice post yesterday for those who may have missed it. It was very positive and you don’t see that from me often so it’s worth a read. And it really IS okay to give yourself permission to just feel depressed.

It’s where I am today, but between the crap weather, being cold, and battling child support enforcement this morning, it makes sense to feel so drained. I am so sick of doing battle with the donor, doing battle with the bills, doing battle with enforcement, with the ass trash lawyer who I can’t even fire because I’d need ten bucks to send some sort of registered letter and with no replacement lined up, the judge could refuse to allow me to fire this idget…It’s bloody exhausting.

I doubt much will be accomplished today but hey, I had a good day last week, a good day this week. Things are on an upswing, just not as quickly as I’d like. And every day, I both fear and look forward to the phone ringing, thinking maybe just maybe some kind employer is willing to give me a chance and work around my disabilities. So everyone can get off my case, I can pay the bills, and regain some self esteem. What I can’t do, however, is look anyone in the eye and tell them I am recharged and stable. It’s just not true. But waiting for stability isn’t an option. Yet you can’t force them to give you a job. It’s a catch 22 from hell.

We have aliens living with us. My kid was feeling dejected last night over school and kids asking her why she doesn’t have a dad, so while we were snuggle buggling, she zerberted my belly and I said…nooo, the alien creature is gonna burst out of my chest…arghhhhh. So now we have Meh, Doh, Derpina, and Zoit living with us. They eat intestines and bone marrow and wear skirts on their heads. It makes her laugh so hard. And if looking like a delusional idiot is the price to pay for cheering her up out of her funk with some silliness, so be it. I told her to take the aliens to school and just pretend when the kids are rude, the aliens are eating the meanness right out of them. She retired her imaginary friend Melissa from Kindergarten, whom she only talked to while on the toilet (wtf, right?) so Meh the alien and his siblings seem to work to lighten her mood. And her not feeling shitty makes me not feel as shitty.

Anyone out there have a peoplefinder subscription to help me find the deadbeat? Anyone a private investigator willing to work on payments once they find the deadbeat and he starts paying again? Any lawyers willing to take on a case pro bono so my kid and I aren’t being screwed over by a woman hating hick? Any thoughts on agencies that help when your power is about to be shut off? I’m not joking, I am asking for help. And that’s okay. We need it. The system is not working for us and nothing we do seems to make a difference. Meanwhile the donor gets away scot free on three kids in two counties and 2 states and they don’t even take his license away. I think someone needs to teach him a lesson. But it’s such a small town if he even spotted me walking in his neighborhood (if he still lives there) he’d call the cops and report me as a stalker. And as he pointed out even when we were together, all the cops knew him from when he worked at the convenience store so they’d be on his side, they were his buddies.

I don’t like to hate any one person. I prefer to hate on behaviors and icky beliefs like racism and homophobia. But some people are just so vile, the temptation to hate, truly hate, can make you waver in your own beliefs.

Purge completed.

It’s Okay To Give Yourself Permission To Feel Depressed, Anxious, etc.

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

There are tons of posts out there that will beat you to a pulp with their ‘pep up and cheer up, fight it’ b.s.

What I see very few of, however, are posts that encourage giving yourself the permission to just…feel your feelings instead of fighting them.

It may not be a method that works for some. For others, it can actually be life saving, in ways. It was the one good lesson I learned in counseling, being told to set one tiny goal for the day, complete it, then give myself permission to feel depressed or anxious or both. It helped me not beat up on myself, not set myself up for failure, and it helped me gain some self esteem.

Today, following my surprisingly successful psych nurse appointment I gave myself permission to accept the way I was feeling. Kind of low but anxious as hell in the aftermath of the trip to town, problems with my car’s gauges, and the surprising turnabout in how the NP handled the appointment…I was feeling the pressure to ‘do something’. I resisted even self bullying because it does very little good.

I truly believe by giving myself permission to accept these feelings and know at least I made it to my appointment so one goal had been met…is what enabled me to shake off the depressive inertia and paranoid anxiety later in the day. I cleaned cat boxes, I did dishes, I washed a load of laundry, I took out trash, I even got out the hell machine called a vacuum for the first time in two weeks. I accomplished stuff. Even made my kid some pudding and cooked us a nice spaghetti dinner.

I don’t think any of this would have been accomplished if I’d ‘pushed’ and flogged myself instead of just accepting my feelings. There are days you can push yourself and get shit done. There are many where this makes it all worse. Knowing which day is a day to push your limits or accept your feelings without a self push, that’s kind of ‘play it by ear’.

I feel good about today.

So don’t let the party line convince you that you’re committing some sin of non compliance by not doing battle with yourself on your worst anxiety or depression days. It’s okay to just breathe, accept how you feel, and go from there. If you get nothing else done aside from the tiny initial goal, so be it. If, like me, you get a second wind and get stuff done…That’s a win. And you don’t have to spend the day licking the wounds you imflicted on yourself with all of that self flogging and beating up on yourself for ‘not feeling good’ mentally.

It. Is. Okay.

Brain Scumbaggery

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

In keeping with my pronouncement bright and early of “Scumbaggery” in reference to a deadbeat dad who went fifty years without paying. Poetic justice is, he now owes her $130,000 and has to pay it. Ha ha ha. Then we saw on TV where some trucker tried to pass a school bus that was parked letting kids off and he smashed into the bus. Total scumbaggery.

I saw the psych nurse.

I was wound for sound. My blood pressure hit 166 which I don’t believe it’s ever been that high before. But I have preappointment anxiety and especially with this provider, plus the low coolant light was on in my car and as I had a dream that I was on the highway and it went over the half mark and I kept driving…Well, enter panic from the word go. I checked the fluids, they are fine, just another gauge that doesn’t work properly.

I was stunned. The nurse paid attention, interacted, asked questions. Wow, who knew speaking up could have such a positive impact! And she doesn’t even know it was me who spoke up. But I walked out feeling I had been heard, my issues properly addressed, and I did not feel dismissed. That is a huge step in the right direction. She’s starting me on Buspar, which takes awhile to kick in, but if it helps overall general anxiety, hells yeah. Though I had to sacrifice the Vistaril and that shit worked like gangbusters for all my skin allergies and sinus problems. Back to buying OTC crap, oh well.

I highlighted everything I am doing to help myself get better. She said she thinks counseling will be ‘good’ for me. Ha. Not if I am stuck with another 3 sessions and you have a new disorder type. If they spend several months with me and propose a new diagnoses, fine. But three sessions is barely enough time to take a full history, let alone label someone for life. That angered me. I think maybe counseling will help by maybe helping organize my thoughts and maybe find resources that might help in us relocating. But paying people to listen to you bitch and moan then telling you this is wrong, this is wrong with you, that is wrong with you…I have my dad invalidating me at every turn, more negativity is not going to be good. But I guess that is me being pessimistic and not giving it a chance. I just wish they understood that to attend counseling, I have to have gas in the car which costs money I don’t have. That’s not unwillingness, that is financial inability.

I guess I feel good about the appointment. The day…jury is still out. At least getting my kid up a half hour earlier resulted in her not screaming at me. If it’s still kosher in a week, I will consider a worthwhile sacrifice of snooze button time. But knowing Spook, it will be cool for a day or two then she will be screaming that mom doesn’t let her get enough rest and gets her up too early. I know my kid. I am happy if she surprises me, though.

I purposely did not take anything for my preappointment anxiety because last time I went in I was half sedated on Vistaril and Xanax so it gave the impression I was calm and the anxiety was under control. NOPE. I also went in with slobby clothes and pants I slept in because it only takes one appointment looking decent and they declare you cured. I don’t think a lot of people realize that their own vanity may be hurting them when it comes to seeking care for depression. Honestly, if you have the energy to not just care about your appearance but actually gussy it up…Your depression is very different from mine. Just running a brush through my hair this morning was an afterthought and a pain in the ass.

Maybe since I got so wound up it impacted my blood pressure (and got the anxious body sweat/smell going on) I will just take a breather for now. Take a xanax, breathe, zone out. See if that recharges me. If I get too busy trying to be superwoman I will crash and burn. It’s a marathon with depression, not a race.

And it’s a triathalon with anxiety and panic. I had bolts of terror and panic shoot through me when I walked out of the dr office and some big ass SUV was blocking my line of sight to my car. My first thought was, oh, fuck, they towed me for parking outside the white lines. While panic attacks may not kill you, they sure as hell mimick true terror and the physical response to it, logic be damned. That feels like a death of its own on a daily basis.

Employment Wanted:Help me help myself!!!!

Posted in employment, mental disability with tags , , , , , , , on March 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The day was passing without too much trauma. Then out of the blue my dad calls and informs me-does not ask, INFORMS ME, that he is sending my brother over to get me and Spook’s bikes to air up the tires and we are to come with and ride them home. It wasn’t that it was a big inconvenience, but with my dad, even puking with the flu, you are expected to drop everything on his schedule, so the ONLY excuse he ever forgives is if you have a job. Single disabled mom doing her best to raise a kid alone on limited income…nothing I do is right, nothing I do will ever be enough. If you don’t work 60 hours a week at age 72, you are beneath him.

And so he blew up on the phone and said, “YOU DO THIS STUFF WHEN YOU HAVE TIME WHEN YOU HAVE A DAMN JOB, YOU HAVE TO SCHEDULE THINGS AROUND YOUR JOB!” Well, I never asked him to bother with the bikes so why this was so imperative to him is beyond me. I tried to say no but was bulldozed, as usual. Until I am able to repay them every cent I owe them, it is never gonna end unless I move far, far away or my dad croaks. And that isn’t being callous, it’s the truth. It’s like the man bought and paid for me with every thing he has given me as a gift or ‘help’ when we needed it. It is maddening and crippling to my self esteem when I AM TRYING TO GET WORK BUT I CANNOT MAKE PEOPLE HIRE ME.

I guess since my 23 year old man child learning disabled brother got on with McDonald’s then me not getting hired is somehow a lack of effort. Or a gun to hold to their heads. And my brother, omg, he’s worked 16 hours in the last 9 days, 2-3 hour shifts each day, no more, and he is gushing how much he loves it and it’s money money in his pocket and it’s easy (yet when I pointed out my kid can take out trash and wipe tables, he said, no it’s more complicated than that). Not to mention he is so ‘not right in the head’ they won’t let him drive anywhere but in this rural area so 6 days a week for this 16 hours they are toting him into town at $4 a day for gas. I don’t think he comprehends after taxes how little sixteen hours a week is. But then if all he has to do is reimburse mommy for gas, I guess he will have quite a bit excess to spend on video games. They won’t charge him rent or food or make him pay license his truck or insure it….So he has the luxury of being so arrogant as if he is really accomplishing so much. He won’t even feed my kid when he has her with him at their house, he’s so attached to the video game system. Yet he works so he’s above me now.

I am so sick of them, and their shit. My kid was about in tears when we finally left, after being pulled inside and essentially bullied into eating even though we had both just eaten and weren’t hungry but again, they wouldn’t take no for an answer. They kept taunting her for not feeling well Monday, for having a headache yesterday, saying does the baby need a bottle then telling her she’s worse than a 75 year old man and she needs to get over it. They are fucking monsters. Socially acceptable ones, which I can’t see as they are such raging racists and classists but whatever, rules are different in Armpit.

So yet again…ANYONE KNOW OF WORK FROM HOME EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES? I don’t care how mundane, I’ll write technical manuals, I’ll man a porn fetish chat group. I will do ANYTHING WITH MY DISABILITY LIMITATIONS. And please don’t assume the ability to raise a kid and string sentences together means I am not disabled mentally. It’s got NOTHING to do with intelligence.

At least I can say we rode the bikes home and I kept up fine, if anything, I sped ahead of my kid. Impressive for a 46 year old large woman who hasn’t ridden one since last summer. At least winter depression and inertia didn’t cause my muscles to atrophy. That being said, now I have an earache, as I usually do walking or riding, even when allegedly warm out. It’s like BBQ skewers in my ears, that cool wind and breeze. I don’t know many people who get jazzed about doing something that may be healthy, but ends up placing them in serious pain. Earaches hurt like mofo.

So…internet. Prove yourself useful. Bring us a guardian angel to help me help myself and thus help my kid. And by all means, if you hate narrow minded redneck bullies as much as I do, there is the added bonus of not just helping a disabled mom and her kid, but a big middle finger to the racist brigade.

I am tired of being put down instead of being encouraged and supported by my own family.

It’s time for some sunshine spewing pegacorns.

Did I mention I’d even do balloon porn? I REALLY do want to work but the only way I am going to succeed in the long term is to accept my disability limitation. There is no shame in that and if my disability were physical instead of mental, no one would think twice about accommodating my limits.

So much for the disability act meant to protect the disabled. It does very little for those of us whose minds send the wrong impulse and chemicals and distory our entire view of things. If anything, I should think your own brain not sending the right messages would be the ultimate disability. You can’t excel and wow people to hire you if your brain is telling you life is pointless, you are worthless, and you can do nothing right.

Work from home ooportunities? Internet jobs? Any ideas? Help us relocate and I will come to you and work my ass off…I have to escape this toxicity known as my family. And I am prepared to help myself but…I can’t find myself right now. Can anyone help? Can you just point me in the right direction? Please…


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on March 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My slowpoke child fights me every morning when I remind her of the time, saying I am ‘pressuring her’ and it makes her scream at me. I say bullshit. She knows this is going to happen and still she piddle pokes and alternates between “I can read the clock” and “I don’t know how to tell time!” She is exasperating to the nth. Every. Single. Morning. You’d think if even cats and dogs can be trained through repetition a 9 year old could learn, too. Nope. She is stubborn as hell. Her parting gift to me today was to not tell me she loved me and scream at the top of her lungs because the bus was two minutes out and I dared remind her to hustle. It’s almost like living with the donor again, where he told me to remind him cos he forgets, then screamed that I was picking on him by reminding him. WTF, Canada? Is this inbreeding, tying the hands together so every situation is a no win? And I don’t even expect a win, just coopration and civility…

I did not post yesterday because I started the day out in a bad mental space. I took a melatonin, thinking I could sleep through it. It took 4 hours to kick in. Thankfully I set my alarm for 3:15 because I never know if my kid’s Tuesday after school church thing is going on or not so I make sure I am here. (The lady that runs it will text or call my dad’s house and tell them, but not me, wtf rednecktopia?) Good thing, cos she decided not to go as she had a headache.

We actually had a good evening. She offered to help with some housework and mopped the kitchen then did dishes. The downside was it didn’t free me up any or lower my stress level as she kept overfilling the sink and sloshing water everywhere on the floor which highlighted the areas that the mop didn’t really clean. So in a way, her helping makes three times the work for me, but I can’t bitch that she won’t help if I don’t give her the opportunity. She got a bath while I cooked supper, we ate together at the table (a rare thing since she almost never eats what I do) then we watched some Mash and Frasier together. I was amused by the look on her face when I explained the draft to her to explain why the doctors on Mash were in Korea. She was like, did they make girls do it? That may be the only plus of being considered the lesser gender, they underestimate us so they discount us out of good and the bad. Which enables women to be ninjas and the patriarchs never see it coming. I LOVE being the lesser gender.

I put her to bed at 8:30 then tucked myself in. For the third night in a row since getting the melatonin with B6, I slept the entire night, waking only once or twice. And I couldn’t be bothered to get up, even for a drink or to use the bathroom. Come alarm time, I only hit snooze twice and was up reading email at 6:50. I guess that’s a sign that the seasonal depression is starting to (oh so sloooowly) lift. The ensuing screaming match, which I didn’t scream, I just used my low channeling satan voice, so it was her screaming, really didn’t set my day off in a good space. I guess I am going to have to start getting her up earlier, which punishes me. I can get dressed, brush my hair, feed the cats, and out the door in 20 minutes, tops. That is how much of a morning person I am not. Anything to get that extra push of snooze.

In my email was the usual Wednesday Psych Central newsletter. I open this every time with trepidation, wondering if something I read will result in my demoralization. Occasionally useful information is there, but today was not one of those days. Instead I get “Little Things That Can Get You Through Depression.” Oh what a simplistic world this writer must live in. And while she may be telling her story, it is not everyone’s story. If anything, I found her article belittling to those of us who endure months long clinical depression.

Do any of us want to go out in public looking like something the cat horked up? No. There are just days when putting on clean clothes and running a brush through the hair takes up all your spoons/sporks. The ability to hold a job with any stability is something I admire and wish I could pull off but no matter how many times I try, it takes more spoons and sporks than I have to spare. If my mental state were static, this might not be the case. But I rapid cycle so no sooner than the mania comes on, the depression sets in and I am no longer myself but a husk, unable to enjoy the simplest things. I haven’t watched my favorite shows in weeks because I cannot focus or get interested and rather than taint them with my distorted depressive views, I just say, another time. Depression without wonderful people surrounding you? What a fucking joke. Bottom line is, some of us don’t have a support system and sitting in a coffee shop or going to smile at the cashier simply isn’t in our current skillset. Self isolation isn’t always a symptom of the depression, but a choice to not spread the misery. Key word, being ‘choice’ and studies are now saying choosing isolation (in teens, anyway) is very different than the depression/angst devouring you.

I did agree with the having a pet to care aspect. In my case, I have a child and pets and I function for them alone some days.

I am, however, infuriated by the thought this will be read by people in a truly crippling depression and lead them to feelings of self loathing and despair because their experience is not her experience. (Just tied some hands there, didn’t I, you have the right to speak but if I disagree, it’s dangerous..How…Trump of me…ewww.) But for those in a similar state it could be a beacon of hope. Wtf, sunshine spewing counselor, how do I not see everything in shades of gray? I’m so busy trying not to invalidate others than I never validate myself.

Well, the hose in the basement snapped and I have no idea what it goes to. I don’t dare call the landlord or my family lest they see just how cluttered the place truly is. I need to figure out a self fix and figure out where the water is coming from. We haven’t had snow or rain. There are no things upstairs leaking water so it has to be some sort of drain and aside from bathtub and washer, I can think of nothing that would still be draining the next day…Ugh, I hate this fucking place. It’s too much for me to manage on my own. I have a football field of a yard that I have to first detwig before I can even think of mowing this summer. It’s all overwhelming and I miss our little trailer that was overwhelming, too, but on a different level. This is my dad giving me a reference and me fucking it up. Which should be all the motivation I need for getting the landlord in to fix this leak but the sump thingie is helping it from flooding and it just looks like a repair to a plastic hose. Though why anyone would have a flimsy hose to drain things that hold gallons of water is beyond me…

I hit on an idea last night. A place to go where the seasons wouldn’t be so grueling, the job market is more open, and it’s just big and small enough to suit our needs. I have a friend of 20 years who lives there, he might be willing to provide reference or what not, though not likely. He was more interested in talking music and sex than anything of substance. Nothing bad about him, he’s a great guy, just a little single minded and I’ve evolved into what I am- a 46 year old woman with fluctuating hormones and a ton of libido killing meds. Still, it’s not a bad thought. It’s far far from my family. I’ve never spent more than a couple of months somewhere else and always due to money, not me giving up and wanting to come back to this hell hole. If I were to do things right and go there with a job and place to live already lined up, with plenty of money on hand (ha ha ha as if that will ever happen) but…just the notion, for the first time ever, of where we could go, seems like a light at the end of the tunnel. My kid wants California but that is just too expensive no matter where you go. And that Earthquake thing. Ha, says the woman living in tornado country.

But yeah, I am back to wanting to just primal SCREAM in a therapeutic way and I’ve given myself permission to sleep through this lingering winter depression if that is what it takes to get me through. No guilt, no shame. I have tried toughing it out conscious, but some of my worst depressions were worked through with excess sleep. That I still get up and care for the kid and cats and do minimal housework and bill paying and such, that’s what matters. Not how I deal with the depression, just that I find a way to deal. Right or wrong, survival is the name of the game. Everyone has a method, this is mine right now. Next cycle, it could be my old standby of refusing myself the privilege of much sleep.

I see the NP tomorrow. Not looking forward to it. You have to have someone willing to meet you halfway for compromise to work and this woman ain’t giving an inch. I am going to push them on the anxiety issue. Surely they don’t deem Buspar an evil as it takes weeks to truly kick in. But it would be better than antihistamines that do fuck all to quell anxiety. I am trying to compromise my own standards and quality of life to be compliant. I hate every minute of it, of course, but I am fucking trying.

Okay, busted hoses. Ugh, can’t I just go back to sleep? Oh, wait, I gave myself permission so I guess it’s an option. Though after several nights of decent sleep, the melatonin is due to stall out. All meds do, even supplements. I find it so curious that 10 mg pills without B6 do nothing to put me to sleep yet 3 mg, with B6, helps me sleep quite well for awhile. My system is ten kinds of fucked up in how it processes stuff. If I am that sensitive to an herbal, this professional impatience when I don’t respond typically to their pharmacopia is easily explained.

I just know I need this winter/spring combo weather to stop. I am sick of being cold all the damn time when my kid is running around in a tank top and shorts. I am sick of sixty during the day, 29 at night, so I can’t even turn off the heat and anticipate lower costs. Though in a week or two it isn’t gonna matter but I am not gonna prattle about that shit. Today, anyway.

Okay, xanax time. Never a good sign when you need it right out of the gate but that’s what it’s there. Because it is needed, not because it gets me high. It calms me to mellow so it’s the opposite of a high. Too bad I have such ignorant psych care.