I Never Gave My Brain Permission To Feel Depressed

One of the worst things about being bipolar two is that even when you’re not in a deep depression, you’re still cycling through the mood swings. There is this misconception that because the swings are ‘less severe’ than sheer mania of bipolar one, that this somehow makes it less difficult to cope and lead a meaningful life. That is crap. I’d give my internal organs to be straight up bipolar one. I respond well to mood stabilizers like lithium and lamictal so mania is not an issue for me.

The depressions, on the other hand, are just as severe as bipolar one yet because I am axis two, my depressions are summarily dismissed as weak character, situational, ‘not wanting’ to be happy.

First off, I NEVER gave my brain permission to be depressed, ever. I look back through my life and there were times when life was way worse situationally due to money or being stranded as a teenger in Podunk or bickering parents who couldn’t even keep us fed and clothed properly. I survived and was often happy, not in spite of it, but because my brain was telling me to be happy for no reason. Mania. Hypo or not, it was a respite from the depressions that just come on even when things are going well.

I think the biggest disservice done to the mental health community of sufferers is cognitive behavioral therapy and mindfulness. I don’t dispute their usefulness for *some* people. For me, they have been nothing but more bullshit I have to do battle with because it makes it seem like we choose to be depressed. There is no why so often with bipolar two. You just feel the way you feel and maybe it doesn’t last as long as bipolar one depressions (mine does, but that is just me) but it’s debilitating anyway. I am mindful that right now, things are not that awful for us.Yet my mind is very dark and I don’t get very much joy out of what used to be a good time. I can see no real future for myself beyond raising my child. No amount of talking myself out of this is going to change a damn thing. CBT is cognitive bullshit therapy, as far as my situation is concerned.

It’s angering because it has helped so many but one has to ask…were these people really in a clinical depression for months on end? Because clinical depression doesn’t just lift because you’ve decided to be a shiny happy people. In a way, it’s clinically approved denial. I don’t have that luxury. If I convince myself this is my new depressive norm and I just have to stop thinking I can feel better and accept this current state…I may as well eat arsenic right now. I reject the way I am feeling because I KNOW what it feels like to be hopeful and get full pleasaure out of things. This is not it.

So keep barfing sunshine and rainbows on your pile of emoji pooh but don’t pretend it doesn’t still smell like pooh.

I am wearing pants and sitting upright today. Some days this is as good as it gets. I don’t like it, but I accept it. I am surviving. Which brings me to the new Rob Thomas song. There’s a line that resonates.

I see my life like a train with a one-way track
I’ve made mistakes, and I couldn’t take ’em back
And I’ve been runnin’ ’round in circles ’til I’m dizzy, I can’t lie
But every night I go to sleep’s a day that I survive

Yes, I like Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 and Nickelback. Nothing wrong with good songwriting even if it’s not as obnoxiously metal as I’d prefer.

Now I am NOT gonna barf sunshine and pretend this computer screen isn’t about to fail and leave me fucked with a hard drive full of stuff and no HDNI monitor to use it. FML

Filled with cognitive dissonance but sincerely yours,
Miss Ann Thrope
AKA
Ann Hedonia

No need to defend cognitive behavioral therapy if it’s your thing. You won’t sway me. I’ve been in therapy longer than half the internet bloggers have been alive. And I reserve the right to call what does not work for me bullshit. CBT. Cognitive. Bullshit. Therapy.

If it works for you, yay.

Eww, I spewed a wee bit of sunshine there for ya. CLEAN UP ON BLOG AISLE SIX!

Physical Trainwreck

Rough morning so far. My ovaries have developed a pulse of their own so they are throbbing like a beating heart being alternately squeezed in a fist. I am halfway through a box of tissues from horking up sinus drainage and allergy symptoms. I can barely breathe. I am a jumpy bunny cos I never know when my dad’s crew is gonna show up with their weirdo lawn mowing fetish and demand I jump into the fray. Well, I do NOT work well under screaming criticizing pressure, it gives me stomach aches and sets off panic attacks. I am already an emotional livewire thanks to pms, I don’t need them in my face.

Simple thing would be to mow the lawn myself. But until it dries from yesterday’s 3 hour rainpour, it is a futile effort, it just clogs the mower with wet grass and mud. I am not magical like the lawn nazies who can mow at any hour with optimal results.

I’d hoped today would be better cos yesterday was kind of a black hole mood day. My mood isn’t as low but I am having trouble breathing, leaking like a faucet, and my entire abdomen feels like oompa loopmas are stomping on it. Maybe one day I will feel good mentally and physically. This ain’t that day.

A ghoul can dream.

Sweat And Panxiety

Well, it’s been 99 in the shade, with humidity. This morning I was gone an hour to take Spook to camp and came home drenched in sweat even though it was only 77 degrees out. That humidity just drains the life out of you. I can’t fathom people who choose to live in such climates. I remember California and how the heat was dry so even at 95, you barely broke a sweat in front of a fan. Not here. Had I not been born here and kept here by few finances, I would bid this hellmouth good riddance. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, and nary a happy medium at any time. With seasonal affective disorder, all these extremes in the weather mean I never really get my feet underneath me, yet I am still expected to be cured by all their pharma candies.

It’s frustrating and a little insulting. If society truly was about helping the disabled become more independent, they would help us relocate if it would benefit our disorders, help us find jobs within our capabilities, and not punish us by deeming minimum wage jobs as too much income to qualify for state insurance yet you don’t earn enough for paying for your own. They tie your hands at every turn, bitch that you don’t try hard enough to make changes, and you’re just walking in a perpetual catch 22 hellish state. Right now without insurance even through state Medicaid, I could not afford to get my med checks even every six months. My meds are all generic and yet it would still be close to $100 out of pocket. So I go work for minimum wage, lose my coverage, can’t see a doc or get my meds, and they wonder why every single time I crash and burn. Disability isn’t just ‘the cushy life’. It’s murder on your self esteem but you have to gauge what is most important. For someone with mental health issues, keeping your insurance so you can get your meds and doctor care is crucial. The system just does not leave you loopholes or leeway. I can’t seem to impress upon my dad that risking my insurance for minimum wage would be very dangerous for my mental health. I can’t seem to impress it upon anyone other than my sister, who has seen firsthand how the system punishes you for trying to work yet yanks the very health coverage you need to be well.

Forgive me, I am very scattered.

So, yeah, a trip to town, during which I was marinating in sweat, my hair turned into a sweat sponge, and the necessary errands were hellish by the heat and my terror of the car overheating. I am terrified of the car breaking down, terrified if I hit the panic button and nothing is wrong, I look stupid. Scared if I blow it off it will be a problem that ruins the entire engine…It’s stressful, driving, since we moved to Armpit. And I’ve been to town 8 trips this week so Spook got to take part in all the fun outings at camp and frankly…I am trafficked out, peopled out. The next 4 days I am staying my ass at home unless I CHOOSE to leave. That is why I ran errands to stock up on things. But now that I am home, I am just waiting for my dad’s faction to darken the door step to mow the lawn and scream at me in the process. So I am trying to work up energy to start it at least by myself but then again, last time, they redid everything I had done so you gotta wonder why bother trying when it’s never up to their standards.

I woke up this morning at 4 a.m. in a random PMS induced rage about my brother not chipping in for gas. He buys my kid fries or ice cream but it’s my car, my gas, my driving, and we have to stay in town an extra hour in the heat to help him out and he doesn’t give a dime for gas cos that bitch of a stepmonster told him he only needs to feed my kid occasionally. That is coming to an end today, I am gonna tell him, ten bucks a week for three rides isn’t asking too much. Since he is so cheap, he will likely opt for them to start picking him up cos they don’t even make him pay for gas. Yet my dad thinks I am spoiled???? Little Lord Redneck Fauntleroy is in for a rude awakening from me. Might start a family war but oh, well. I can’t keep stewing over this shit and it’s just not fair or right. It wouldn’t mattered if you carpooled and the person had to be in town anyway, they’d still want you to chip in for gas. Yet family thinks it does not apply. NOPE.

It boggles the mind how much their idiotic behavior is responsible for some of my mental stress.

To the point of paranoid anxiety because they can’t simply be civilized, not scream, and not be monstrously critical.

If you want a lighter read, check out my last couple of random blog posts.

Wednesday Thoughts

Friday Thoughts

Moody Blues

I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have static moods. Moods impacted only by bad things or life’s irritations. Unfortunately, I will never know that because I got the gift that keeps on taking. Bipolar depression. More lows than ups and even the ups or just hypomanic bursts that come and go. Two months ago, I was starting to feel better. One sudden reduction in my antidepressant and a plethora of miserable side effects from another med, and I am circling the drain again. The PMS cycle can’t be helping.

I was ok earlier this morning. Now I feel low. And I have no idea why. I’m not doing anything to facilitate the mood swings. I don’t want to feel low. It just…is.

My dad is on my ass again about a job, this time at a gaming parlor. That would be terrific if they’d have me, but the last place they want someone with a theft conviction is in a place where you have to make change for hundred dollar bills every five minutes. He thinks because it happened almost 20 years ago people are forgiving. HA HA HA. People talk a good game about people changing and being rehabilitated but the bottom line is, if you don’t have an unblemished record, you’re kind of out of luck. He seems to think I might have a chance because his boss’s wife manages the place but even managers have rules they have to follow. Like background checks. My dad does not get this. Guess even though all I really want to do is curl up in a ball, I could go fill out an application. Whats one more rejection to my already beaten self esteem. And trust me, I’d like to be optimistic but that got me nowhere but reminded of my past fuck up. I can’t escape it. I should have committed a violent felony, then I’d be forgiven by now.

And that is how fucked up society is. They will forgive you for having a felony assault charge but not a misdemeanor theft charge.

I’m not feeling too ‘work ready’ right now and haven’t been since I started the damn Abilify. I am constantly bouncing, twisting, rocking, even at the low dose. All I can say good about 5 mg is at least I don’t feel like I have bugs under my skin.

Bugs. Oh, there’s been a lice outbreak at day camp, and my kid is a notorious lice magnet, so joy, joy.

I need a few things from the dollar store but I have less than zero desire to go in there if the donor is working. He apparently got insurance through them but didn’t let me or my lawyer know and I haven’t received a card or paperwork, so I am getting hit with bills from May that the state insurance won’t pay for cos she allegedly has third party coverage. I don’t care if we just email or text but as custodial parent, full custodial, even if he is required by the state to put her on his policy, I need to be notified in a timely fashion so I don’t get these bills where they seem to think I am being devious and purposely not listing her primary insurance. It’s driving me nuts, I already have nearly $200 not covered for her glasses, plus she had a dentist appointment, a well kid check up, now the series of scoliosis xrays and next month, the shrink appointment.

Geesh. On the plus side, her spine curve is only 6 degrees and they just want to watch it, they don’t intervene unless it reaches 25 degrees. That’s a relief. I don’t wanna see that bill. They only needed two views, but she kept squirming so they ended up taking six. Egad. He sure as hell isn’t paying enough child support for me to afford those kind of expenses. And I still hate him for not notifying me, geesh, he could email, snail mail, go through the lawyer, have someone else contact me. He could make an effort to communicate instead of being a fucking coward.

Which is kind of what I am being by avoiding a store I need to go, huh. But only cos I am scared the lunatic will have me banned as some stalker. Women getting his money, never mind if it’s for the kid, turns him venomous. He’s really got a case of arrested emotional development.

But hey, so do I. I still have rock posters on my bedroom walls and I like Furbies and Hatchimals. None of which prevemts me from being a competent parent in every way, so it’s not really a true problem. Pretending you don’t have a kid who needs you, that is a problem.

Ya know, now that I think about it, that fucking lawyer hasn’t returned my call in almost 2 months. What a fucking loser.

LOL @ my cat Godsmack. I gave her a chunk of leftover chicken but Miss Priss brought it to my bedroom, dropped it on me bed, and kept yowling til I tore it into smaller bite size pieces for her.

I was up 4 times during the night so maybe not being well rested is some of why my mood feels low. I took Spook to camp today when I normally don’t on Thursdays so she could go on her first trip to the skating rink. Tomorrow they are going to the zoo or a playland. I envy her a little, but mostly cos she gets to go swimming. I LOVE to swim but haven’t been in a real pool since California 11 years ago. Public pools freak me out and I am not close to anyone with a home pool. I suppose I can take her to the public pool, it’d be $7 for us both to get in, but what worries me more is her incessant hunger for sweets. That shit runs into money.

Oh, god, me in a bathing suit, in public, how horrifying a thought.

My lawn needs mowed and I would love to get it done before the family darkens my door with their screaming and criticism but it’s too wet right now. And it’s been in the 90’s with over 60 percent humidity and I can’t breathe due to my sinus issues in that crap.

I’ve become a wussy in my old age.

Just a reminder….This blog is meant to be INTERACTIVE. So please, comment, interact. I don’t bite, I don’t cuss people out for no reason, and I am really not that scary. But hey, if you got nothing to say but a like, I get it. I feel that way a lot of the time myself. Just saying…Feel free to chime in, any time.

Unless you’re gonna defend the donor, in which case, keep your silence. Anyone who defends his ass trash behavior towards his innocent children is not a person I would like.

Any other topic…go nuts. Ask me anything, give me advice, tell me I am bonkers. INTERACT. If someone can get 20 comments just posting a quote from their Alexa, then original honest content should get a third of that.

I’m feeling needy, sue me.

Solace of Sleep

I am frustrated.

Prior to that nurse screwing with my meds, decreasing Webbutrin by half, and upping my Abilify to 15 mg, I was starting to not spend every moment of the day looking forward only to bedtime and the nothingness of sleep.

Now I am right back to it.

If she LISTENED at all, she never would have made such a drastic change. I can’t help but think it was having that NP student there and deferring to her.

Each hour feels like ten hours.

I want to sleep.

I want to dream, even if nightmares, because I can wake up from that.

This mental state, there is no escape.

I am angry that she made such abrupt changes in one appointment when the student was there, but this appointment, she said she wouldn’t make so many changes at once. WTF?

She wouldn’t even listen to me on going to 5mg Abilify but it did the trick and I had to do it on my own because she doesn’t listen and isn’t supportive. I know these doctors think being kind and supportive and listening are only left to counselors and docs are only there for med check but it’s all related.

My depression has worsened since I started seeing this nurse and it is because she simply does not have a style that works for me.

Which makes me feel very sorry for people less assertive than me and more impaired because she is probably shredding them.

Now I’ve been told not to hold my breath that the main doctor will be any different and actually help me, I can’t help but feel doomed. It is NOT normal for your every thought to be about bedtime. This is depression and it doesn’t really matter if it’s med failure or situational. All that matters is the person who is supposed to be helping me…has only made the problem worse, when it was starting tom slowly improve.

My daughter deserves better than a mother counting the hours, every single day, until bedtime. I mean, I am trying, we play UNo, we ‘roast’ each other, we run errands and occasionally go to the park or whatever. But it’s always with the lure of bedtime in the background. Waking up feels like a letdown.

I don’t know on what planet this means I should go six weeks without seeing someone when obviously the high dose Abilify gives too many side effects and the low Wellbrutin isn;t working. This seems like malpractice to me, or at the very least, ineptitude with bipolar two, treatment resistant patients.

I am screaming and no one is listening.

Back to the drawing board. You’d think after 3 weeks I’d have found a shrink in the capitol but crappy insurance no one wants to accept is a hindrance.

And I feel guilty bitching but it’s the fact.

Is it bedtime yet?

Side Boob, The Drive Thru Parking Lot, and One Shoe

In a stellar example of why I am going to win mother of the year (not) my daughter got dressed and came to me and asked if the shirt was okay or does it show side boob. Yes, she got that from me. But she wears a lot of handmedowns and they don’t always fit properly on the side, so I do worry about sending her out in public ‘indecent’. The school would make me bring her different clothes costing me gas money and I am cheap. So NO SIDE BOOB ZONE.

Yesterday I had to stop by my ‘new’ pharmacy to get my scripts. Except the drive thru had 5 cars waiting and it was a parking lot. My car overheats easily so I said fuck it, I will go in. I didn’t get out of the car before my secondhand sandal snapped and left me one shoed. I was not amused because these were heavy soled, like literally weighted platform heels so there was no way to fix it and I hobbled into the pharmacy, trying to at least keep my feet covered. I looked ridiculous. Thankfully I didn’t have too long a wait by going inside. Unfortunately, I had to spring for some cheap flip flops just so I could finish errands (no shoes, no service, plus hot pavement). I hate being forced to spend money that way. See…I am cheap.

We had cheesy bread and pizza last night. My shitty old oven that has no temp setting, just ‘bake, t bake, broil and clean’ burned my pizza crust cremains on bottom and I only cooked it half the time the instructions said. Oh, well, at least I got pizza toppings. Her cheese bread was fine but I cut its cook time by 70%. Damn stove came with the house, wish I had a better one but since I don’t think we’re gonna be here much longer, I’m not going to bother replacing it even with a used model.

The reason I don’t think we’ll be here much longer isn’t because I plan to move. I am barely managing after last year’s abrupt move. But considering how bad my landlord’s dementia has gotten, I have a feeling the adult kids taking over are gonna start tossing people out and sell the properties. He has like 15 in this town alone. No one wants to fuck with it, can’t say I blame them. But yeah, his health isn’t good, so if he passes…we’re probably gonna have to haul ass out of here therefore replacing stuff and getting more crap to move would be unwise. Much as I dislike Armpit, I can’t say I welcome another move. It’s just too traumatic for someone whose entire equilbrium revoles around having a static safe space. I am not a nomad.

Today I am feeling nervous as hell and the powers that be would likely demand to know why and insist there is a reason. There isn’t when it’s generalized anxiety and panic disorder. Sometimes I just feel nervous.

I got some baddish news about Spook. Not only does she need a scoliosis back X Ray, the counselor referred her to my psych center to be seen for ADHD. Man, I was hoping it was just me being intolerant of extroverted fidgety people. Once they start shoving the pills and labels, it plays hell on your self esteem. And she is seeing the actual benzo nazi and I guess she’s a piece of work because the receptionist told me to ‘keep a VERY open mind when you talk to her.” Egad. So much for my own appointment with her.

I did something different today, and the nurse didn’t sign off but I cut my Abilify to 5mg and guess what…no akathisia. No bad side effects at all. I may be onto something. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just cut it to 5 in the first place. Seems to me she has to be right and dismissive of my concerns as a means of control and asserting her superiority. Then again, I could be full of shit.

And final note…for those who find me intolerant and a bit evil/bitchy because of how I talk about the donor…Fuck you. J/k Seriously, I thought I was being quite generous and mature by not calling him filthy names. But this is one person who has earned my disdain. When I was pregnant and unmedicated and struggling, he said, “This is your pregnancy, but WE are having a baby.” Then he walked out two years later and hasn’t opted to be in Spook’s life for 8 years. He abandoned two other kids. So yeah, don’t think me too harsh unless you understand my true reasons for disdain. It’s not about being flawed. It’s about being flawed yet dismissing that others are entitled to be flawed, too. That and you just don’t ditch your kids, a 56 year old man should not need to be told this.

And that’s all I’ve got. Like me, hate me, but never say I am anything but true to myself.

I am pondering the purchase of a t-shirt that says, “Hey, trainwreck, this is not your station.”

Because I am a crazy beautiful random trainwreck, and I don’t know if I’d have it any other way. There’s beauty in the flaws as long as you admit there are indeed flaws.

And try to work on them. Which I am doing, by not jumping into relationships I don’t even want. Social pressure to be a couple is toxic. I am alone so I can focus on fixing me.

Then I will worry about fixing them. JOKING. Geesh.

Clarified

Prior to taking a 1mg Xanax, I was lethargic, jittery, and had no motivation.

I took 1 mg and suddenly found clarity and energy. I accomplished some piddly things, some froufrou things like make up (though in this humidity, it seems futile) and I don’t feel the least bit tired.

Everyone I’ve talked to says they opted for Klonopin or whatever because Xanax made them too sleepy.

It does not make me sleepy.

It calms my mind enough so that I can stop spinning my wheels and advance to a better mental space. Especially at the higher dose. This is why I call them my sane makers. Prior to this, I was shaky and low and paranoid and a little…scared. Of what, I don’t know, but that’s what makes panic disorder a bitch. You panic for no apparent reason thus it is a disorder.

One little pill and I get a refreshed outlook on everything.

Even my previously 404 missing will to live has suddenly been replaced with a little zest to get through the day in a better frame of mind and without my sole focus being sleep.

I don’t know how any reputatable, intelligent doctor could villify such an amazing medication that boosts quality of life so drastically. It seems rather than protecting me by cutting my dose to very little, they have done me more harm than good. I wish I knew how to make them see this.

But that would require them to stop with the one size fits all treatment mentality and treat us like individuals.

Sad statement about mental health care when your desire to be treated as the individual you are is as unlikely as pigs flying.