Kicking Ass, Taking Names, And Dreading The Aftermath

Well last night’s meltdown into mental chaos resulting in a total cease and fetalize under Forth Blankie to recharge and regroup…I woke to a freezing house as it got down to 30 degrees overnight and our heat isn’t working. Last night I anticipated my dad gnawing on my ankle first thing in the morning so I purposely put the home phone in the other room and slept fairly well. And was pleasantly surprised when radio silence all morning and so far this afternoon. Of course, they are fetching my kid from her grandmother’s and Spook is PISSED as hell at me for that but they offered and I did have a lot to do…Then my mom got pissed at me, “She begged you NOT to let them pick her up, damn it!” She goes to their house, willingly, every week, so she is just having one of her fits. Plus, she has a tummy ache and they are very annoying and insulting but..I had to suck up FOUR calls from that asshole sperm donor of mine yesterday so she can suck up a half hour ride home. After all the candy wrappers and papers and shit I found stuffed into my sofa courtesy of her, I am not feeling too warm and fuzzy. How lazy are you if you can’t walk to a trash can? Even I can manage that and I can barely bathe more than once a week…

Anyway…I was out of bed before 8 a.m. even though I was frozen. I kept waiting with dread for the phone to ring from the gloom monger donor but every minute it didn’t…the better I felt. And the more I accomplished. I won’t say it’s spic and span or even close to done but…I am amazed how much I did accomplish. I even hauled a car load up to the dumpster already. I cleaned the living room, half of the dining room, did the dishes, wiped stuff down, cleaned up the yard…I am seriously kicking ass, even if my inner critic sees what is not done and thinks, of for fuck’s sake, SERIOUSLY? I am sweating my ass off (or I was til I sat down and now I can’t feel my feet despite warm socks and shoes)-or well, working my ass off, and it still does not feel ‘good enough’. Because all the idiots called my family are inside my head constantly, screeching that nothing I do is good enough. Part of why when I do go down the depressive rabbit hole and the house goes biohazard. It seems pointless when my best still isn’t good enough to please those dicks. Then I face palm and remind myself I am 46 years old, I pay all my bills, I rely on them for very little, so why do I let them burrow under my skin like toxic parasites? Is my character really that weak?

It didn’t bother me too much when we lived in town at the trailer. That was OUR domain. But since we moved here to Armpit to THEIR domaine, and they did help intro me to the landlord, and they did help me move and replace my car…I feel constantly indebted and obligated. There is never any even steven with them. I am always indebted. Always. I could give the man a kidney and he’d still be talking about the $1200 hospital bill he for in 1973 for my birth. There just is NO pleasing them, no chance of every being on even ground or earning respect or even fucking space. The man has been up in my grill for 30 fucking years. My mom is always asking why he is always pissed at me and putting me down. Like I fucking know. But the feelings are mutual, I can assure them both. I don’t know what happened to me over the last 20 years. There was brief time after my first divorce that I actually lived with dad and stepmonster and earned my keep by babysitting my brother and doing housework. It was uncomfortable and the second I got a bf, I kind of moved myself into his house without even asking if I was invited, cos I had to get OUT of Armpit and its reigning king and queen redneck idget but I don’t remember them being so harsh on me back then. I also don’t remember giving a fuck.

Then Spook was born and suddenly things changed. I got more of a conscience. I grew up. And so 35 years of manic episodes and rock bottom depressions and taking off out of state with people I barely knew and just abandoning everything…I started to feel bad for being such a flake. I started wanting to be a better version of myself and prove my parents wrong when they had that secret debate about whether I was ‘stable enough’ to be having a baby. Yeah, rather than talk to me about it, they discussed it behind my back and my sister told me about it. I was 35 years old, ffs, they could have easily broached the topic with me and gotten an idea where I was coming from. But NOPE, we don’t talk in this family, and surely not about emotions. Just yelling, cussing, critiquing, name calling…All the things I do not want my daughter to grow up surrounded by. Not that I haven’t occasionally told her to stop acting like a twonk or nitwit, but no one is perfect. I am trying to be better than my parents were and still are. And I guess that whole debate over whether I could parent in my shaky mental state is why I suddenly care about all this shit that never bothered me before. Lest they ever have some reason to swoop in and deem me unfit and take Spook away. Or try to. They’d have a fight on their hands. And yes, I do think my parents would do that simply because I don’t share their standards and beliefs. Not being able to trust your own parents, that’s something to go through life with, always waiting for the next put down or show of lack of faith. Next knife in the back.

I am also smart enoug to know that I am not at all weak. I’ve been a single mom for 8 years and managed to keep my kid sheltered, fed, clothed, healthy, and happy. But the depression and anxiety and panic, they all have a way of wearing you down and making you vulnerable to all those nagging doubting voices. It makes everything stick to your surface. Whereas when manic or stable, you have a Teflon coating nothing sticks to. So, no, I know I am not weak even if I have been feeling that way lately. Just what I have managed to do the last few days towards clawing my way out of my rabbit hole is enough to make me proud. Of course, my standards on what is tidy and clean often don’t match up with others so I am still leery of the landlord and his bunch tromping through, seeing a dust bunny or smudge on the wall I missed. I’ve been there before, a prissy landlord who threw me out for not keeping the place tidy even though an independent living advisor had come in and declared the place cluttered but well organized. (I think it may have been mainly me keeping a cat secretyly, thus breaking the lease, but he actually tossed me out for unfit housekeeping even though I was never late on rent once in 5 years.) So my paranoia about this sort of thing has been earned, it’s not just some depressive distortion.

Was kind of why I was hoping my sister could bring Spook home today and she could take a look at the house. If my sister, who spazzes at the sight of toast crumbs or cobwebs, doesn’t spaz, then I should be okay. But no, dad told me last night-though he offered it up as a barter for me taking the man child to work tomorrow should they have to work- to fetch Spook and I flat out told him, she begged me not to have you pick her up. That lead to him telling me we both need to suck it up and get over it. Yep, cos not wanting to be around someone who calls you an idiot is a fucking terrible character flaw. Can’t blame the kid, but by the time she called they were already on their way into town so I couldn’t have gotten there before them even if I could have gotten them on the phone. Had she called earlier I’d have flown into town to get her, I know how it is to not feel good and just want to go home. And the added bonus of mom going off on me for them coming to get Spook, oh, joy. But she wasn’t wrong in her tirade about how they butt into everything and about how they never just do something nice, it always has to be a case of them doing this, and me owing them that. It’s true.

All things considered, my current mental space-aside from the anxiety of dealing with them when they bring her home then him starting in on how I didn’t do enough work on the shed- well…I feel good about all I have accomplished. Ways to go but…Compared to what the place did look like…I don’t even think it’s biohazard one now. Or won’t be once I clean the floors. I should be able to feel good aout this. And now I won’t be so weird about Spook’s friends coming inside because the place looks better. The mild clutter and disorganization, well, deal with it, the place has no closets so storage space is non existent. I do what I can.

What worries me now is the aftermath. There is always a big price to pay in mental status when I manage to be super productive and feel good about it. But it will come or it won’t so maybe I’ll just take it one step at a time, as I have been doing, allow myself to rest and breathe a bit, and…if I get more done, great. If not…I didn’t slack off, I did kick ass, and I feel good about it. Even if it isn’t good enough for that idiot genetic material donor called my father.

I really really just want heat that works. I feel shitty that I had six months of spring and summer to get this shit done but waited til it dropped to freezing then went into frantic mode to deal with it all. Sometimes, that is the only thing that works with depressive inertia. You wait til the last minute and it’s do or die, no choice, and you kick into gear. There’s a price of course, but…

Oh and you wanna know the miraculous thing about all of this? I have only been taking 200mg Lamictal and my anxiety meds. I swore off Zoloft when the suicidal thoughts started. The prozac wasn’t helping. And that extra 100mg of Lamictal was just one extra pill to take with no benefit so…Yeah, the telepsych probably isn;t going to think much of me managing my own care this way but…I told that nurse. I TOLD her the Zoloft was making me worse at the higher dose so..she highered it more. Wtf? Hopefully this guy will be…more reasonable. Maybe have the ink dry on his diploma, that’d be a plus. The noobs know fuck all outside of books and their treatment shows it. With my history, I need a shrink with six degrees and 50 years experience.

For this moment in time…I feel good about my accomplishments. I am not happy or calm or ‘over’ the depression by any means…I am still struggling but…I am going to savor this rare moment of not being filled with self loathing and hatred and feeling like maybe, just maybe…that badass metalhead chick is still in here somewhere clawing her way out. Debbie Downer may be in the lead most days but…the old me is in there somewhere. And I am going to get back all the parts of myself the shitty nurse practitioner care left me stuck with by not listening and not being open to changing or thinking outside the book and box.

Tomorrow…Who knows. For now…There is hope. I will take what I can get, even if it is fleeting. I am putting in the hard work, being ‘mindful’ (how I hate that fucking term!), and taking it one step at a time. And when overwhelmed, like last night, I am taking a step back to recharge. It works more often than not so…I may be on the right track. Or at least a track that doesn’t lead to the oncoming lights of another train about to smash into me. You take the wins where you can find them.

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