The Bramble Shamble

I won’t be making much sense today so it’s definitely gonna be a brambling post that just shambles along from whatever random thought is currently stalking my brain…

I see the psych nurse in less than 2 hours. I am not enthusiastic. I HATE the way she spends the whole appointment with her back turned to me. If her memory is so bad that she can’t save the computer notes til the final ten minutes, maybe she needs psych help. It’s unprofessional and rude and…

I am a broken record, no wonder I get so few views. And here’s a kicker- I get more views than I get likes and I almost never get comments so one has to wonder why I bother blogging…Except it’s my therapy and a labor of love. Prior to that idiotic like button I wrote for the joy of it, the purity of putting emotions into words. I wanted others with mental issues to stumble upon a post that resonates and know they aren’t alone…Now it’s become a popularity contest I can’t win because I don’t know how to manipulate and work social media and tags and all of that garbage. It’s insulting to have some well written posts barely read yet I ramble on about little of substance and title it pink cacti and it’s gets two dozen likes…

I got a good night’s sleep, but after a week of barely getting 3 hours a day, it was a crash and burn situation. I got up at 6:15 in a decent enough mood. Then I got the message reminding me of my appt and my kid was her usual jackass morning self and it all started going to shit. Not to mention the house is biohazard ten but I still don’t have the mmmph to make it look better. The shame feeds the guilt and vice versa. This is the ONE thing I need help with, and it is the one thing I cannot get help with. I hate people touching my stuff, so if I am willing to say I need help…it’s got to tell you something. If I had a better family, my sister would remove her nose from her husband’s ass a few hours and come over to help me. But if it isn’t him, it’s her friend the horseface interloper who insinunates herself into every aspect of our family yet has no ties to any of us… She cleans for a living so if they’d come help me even once a year…But no, I don’t have family and friends like that.

Not to mention their gossipy judginess, they’d have it all over ten towns about what a disgusting pigsty I keep.

I can’t believe how quickly my mental state went to shit.Dealing with your psych professional and your child should not leave you this distressed.

Yet here I am, it does, and this is my reality.
I put on deodorant and washed my nasty hair. That is my contribution to hygiene. I will throw on a t-shirt and leggings toward time to leave. I just don’t have the energy I thought I’d have after getting ten hours of sleep. Maybe it has something to do with my anxiety level shooting so high my heart is pounding and I feel paranoid and panicked. I have got to locate my spine and voice and speak up today and ask if they are getting their telepsychiatry set up. It’s no longer just about a low xanax dose, this is about how much this provider stresses me out every single appointment. And I turned her in and it didn’t do any good. I have to get away from her for my own sanity but damn my parents for programming me not to rock the boat and ‘be a good girl’. Because God knows standing up for yourself makes a bad girl, can’t have that.

I hope I don’t screw my kid up to that extent.
That new pediatrician is on top of everything, she’s already got my kid in with a counselor June 4th. Guess when the state went with managed care for the medical card it brought half competent care and coverage with it. Though it has me spinning out a little because it costs gas to get to town and god knows what Spook will tell them cos she’s got a drama llama issue, if not an outright pathological lying problem. She has flat out said that by moving her to this ‘awful’ place I am abusing her. That will go over well with a kiddie counselor, I am sure.
You’d think you could count on them being bright enough to not get snowed by children but our prior experience with a kid psychologist proves otherwise.
I washed my hair but I didn;t get the soap out, or more likely, the shampoo I used didn’t lather so the roots are still gross. The faucet was making a funny sound and since it erupted like a volcano thanks to hurrican Spook breaking it, I don’t want to tempt the fates by using it too much. I do not think it will matter much longer.The landlord’s son in law is gonna be taking over the rental properties and that’s gonna get us thrown out simply because we have more than one cat. I try to keep them out but they tear the screens to get in.ld f
Oh, well. It’s like my brain is bent on pointing out all the reasons I should feel fragile and panicked right this minute. Not that the psych nurse gives a flying fuck. She is really awful at her job. But I guess I am the only one who thinks so I must just be awful as a patient. I wonder how she’d feel if I stood in the corner with my back to her mumbling where she couldn’t hear me. Cos it’s what she does to me.


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