Archive for January, 2020

Blogger Community

Posted in Uncategorized on January 31, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

PLEASE read and get involved. We need this community and we need to come together to make it happen and prosper. Even if you have limited time, a brief perusal just might make you curious enough to check it out.

Randomness Inked

Hello.Ooo everyone…!
I have an announcement to make.

For quite some time, I had been thinking of ways how I could engage with more and more of you. Not just by reading your posts and replying in the comments sections. I wanted to make a platform that would help us share and explore, a place where we could talk about our blogging journeys, our blogging hacks, anything and everything, somewhere we could ask our questions and share tips with others.

Start a meet and greet kinda event on Randomness Inked! Sounds simple?

I thought of doing that. But I could not. It would hinder my own blogging. It would not allow me to be myself. Then I thought of making a new blog. But then doing that would be a huge task. Do I have the time to take out time to manage a new blog? Life seems more busy…

View original post 170 more words

Extremes

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on January 31, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday I was in level low mood. Then my kid came home and spazzed and my stepmonster insulted me and my mood went to fucking ‘kill me now’. Today I woke (that Restoril isn’t keeping me down but damn, it must get me to true deep sleep because no hangover, and I don’t feel as sluggish) and all I wanted after six snooze cycles was to make sure my kid had on clothes, ate something, and was safely on the bus to be someone else’s responsibility for a few hours. I curled back under the covers and was freezing cold. After a half hour of this with my mind racing a thousand miles a minute, I said fuck it, got up, and decided to venture to town for cat food and to get our meds, which insurance FINALLY fucking approved. Now I am home and instead of freezing, my sweatshirt is making my neck so sweaty it is driving me nuts. But if I take it off and just wear my thin long sleeved shirt, I will resort to being cold again. It’s just one extreme after another with me and it is not helping my mental state.

I’d like to take a sec to thank a friend for loaning me money to get the cat food, she will be repaid Monday and she showed more compassion and kindness than any of my family or so called IRL friends. And also, to my credit, I have been posting on Ko-fi in an effort to make a little donation money to show appreciate my writing but, ha, surprise, my writing apparently is only good to me. Not a shocker, but I didn’t think it was so awful it’d go ignored. Not even follows? It’s free to follow, ffs. I guess that is my ego talking but I am making the effort, at least. TRYING to do something to help us financially.

Which is more than the donor does. $101 in 4 months then nothing yet again??? He used to brag about being such a great employee they begged him to stay rather than leave for a better job. Now he can’t keep a job? I know he was conceited, and manipulated but I think he has outdone my expectations. He works just long enough for the employer to have 30 days to turn his social sec number in, then once it starts coming out of his check…He up and leaves the job. Then it takes more months to find him and lather, rinse, repeat. I knew when I let others talk me into going after him for child support that it wasn’t gonna benefit us as much as it would prove to be a stressful aggravation.And he proved me right again.

It’s kind of like the job search. People think I have stopped but the truth is, the 50th rejection even to be a dishwasher in a dive just…makes you so wary, you don’t want to mention applying, let alone getting an interview, then still being passed over. And that is why I normally wait 6 weeks before saying, ‘oh,hey, the donor is paying again’. Because he usually stops within 4-5 months. This time, it was a 3 week period. I started thinking I might be able to buy my kids some summer clothes and underwear and such and well, nope. The law doesn’t penalize him, either, they just tack an extra ten dollars a week on top of his normal 20% (after taxes) is repaying being months behind. The fact is, he hasn’t been caught up on child support in 4 years. He doesn’t see her, won’t return her email, stops paying whenever it suits him, and the law does nothing.

If I decided to flake out and ‘go find myself’ for a few weeks and left her with family…I’d be charged with child abandonment.

I would never do that, of course, just saying. The law is in favor of the deadbeat parents and I’ve known some who are women so it’s not gender specific. And what I have witnessed is when these kids who were basically abandoned, mistreated, not supported by the absentee parent…they reach their teens and decide they want to go live with absentee parent. You put your blood, sweat, tears and souls into it…and that happens. I’d have called bullshit if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes. Kids are not loyal sometimes. They could have just as easily stayed with their primary parent but asked for more visits with mom to nurture the relationship. Instead, they turned on their dad, lied and reported him for being a child perv (he got them back cos it was all lies), and then they bail to go live with their mom who ditched them all in their single digit ages.

As mercurial as my kid is…I have nightmares about it.

Especially now that she comes home and immediately jumps on the tablet in her bedroom and doesn’t want anything to do with me.

But she does not want to see her grandparents or aunt, either, so…prepubescent phase, I suppose. I can’t go taking it all personally cos no doubt, I did the same to my parents. What I saw as being independent and just wanting to listen to music in my room alone, they likely too as an ungrateful rejection.

I feel clearer today, but it’s still the extremes bothering me. And that could well be the increase in Cymbalta, it needs time to level out, it can play hell on mood stabilizer effectiveness.

Now I could face the biohazard that is my home or I can just try to ride out whatever garbage my brain is spewing.

The goal for the weekend shall be…taking down the Christmas tree.

I bathed yesterday so woo hoo, one bath in a week, winner winner, chicken dinner, with a serving of salmonella.

I. Am. Scared. And it is okay to admit that.

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 30, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m pretty open about my struggles with bipolar, depression, anxiety,single parenting, never enough money, et al.

What I’ve failed to hit on as much is the tumultuous relationship I am having with my daughter right now. In a matter of weeks she has become sneaky, does not want me in her room, won’t bring her dirty laundry out, flies off the handle over nothing, then starts screaming and crying that I won’t help her with her emotions. Two days straight now she has melted down at school and been sent to the hall by the teacher for having a ‘fit’ over being paired up to work with some boy she does not like. I sided with the teacher because we all get stuck with dealing with people don’t like, even as adults, so on this one, melt the snowflake routine and just deal with it. Oh, I know, I am not supposed to belittle anyone with the use of the word snowflake, but honestly, my dad always called me ‘lazy ass’ and I’d glad have preferred snowflake, whatever. Kids are too damn sheltered these days.

I mean, I mention Spook and stuff, but…I don’t think I’ve ever depicted how hard some days are for me. Juggling my mental disorders and hormones, then her piling on, and if I weren’t so overly medicated, I’d probably cry and go hide in a closet (if we had any) from the child monster. But I was one day shy of 11 when I got my period and I’d started shaving my legs and stuff way before that so if genetics weigh in, it is likely just the hellish start of puberty she is experiencing. We’ve all been there, too. Hell, 15 days a month, I am still there, battling hormonal ups and downs.

What gets me down the most is being screamed at when I am talking calmly-legit- and she just keeps getting louder and louder then come the anger and tears and, “You never help me with my emotions!”

She has two counselors, a psychiatrist, medication, and I talk to her all the time about whatever she might be feeling. HWAT THE HELL ELSE CAN I DO? I AM NOT MOMMY FREAKING POTTER WITH A MAGIC WAND OR SOME SHIT!

So I turned to possibly the only person who scares my child-my stepmonster, and that woman YELLS in your face. My kid stood there, not sassing, not rolling her eyes, replying softly when asked a question. I can only draw the conclusion that by not using violence or threats of violence as a means to discpline my kid through fear, I have created a manipulative monster who plays me like a fiddle.

Oh, but that wasn’t the kicker.

That bitch stepmonster had the fucking nerve to point at me and say, “That woman is more likely to have a heart attack and die than I am, then all you’re gonna have is me and your grandpa!”

I’m 47, she is 45. I have no physical health issues other than hormones, ovarian cysts, and being too fluffy.

She is overweight, low iron, diabetic, always at the doctor for something new, always eating food she says she ‘can’t have due to her diabetes’.

But the arrogance of saying that when there is only a 2 year difference in our ages and my health–physically is better than hers, not to mention making the assumption I’d leave custody to a woman not even genetically related to me or even married into the family..She’s fucking bonkers.

I was looking for some back up in getting my kid to calm down and be less combative and instead, I was basically told I am gonna die any day now because I am two years older than the hypochondria queen.

Look, I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t feeling in over my head here. I am scared. I am also feeling karma’s bear trap bite on my ass cheek cos I guess this is how everyone has always felt about dealing with me. Tiptoeing around, never sure if you’ll be dealing with a monster or an angel. The fact the donor paid for two weeks- $101 total- now is not paying and we’re back on that miserable merry go round…The stepmonster just got a job cos she took CDL classes which officially makes me literally the ONLY person in my family without a job. My new writing project on Ko-fi is going nowhere and I honestly thought at least a few of my regular like button clickers might mosey over and ‘buy’ me a cup of coffee, especially since I added new content. But no…Another bucket of fail. Meds not working great. Dark thoughts looming at the gates, whispering maybe I’d be better off dead…

I AM FUCKING TERRIFIED!

I feel no shame admitting that. It does not make me a bad mom. It does not make me a weak person.

But for 9 years I’ve taken on all the responsibility with very little outside care, like ya know, family who offer to take your kid to the park so you can get a break instead of accusing you of trying to get rid of the child. I don’t get people bringing me soup or 7-Up when I am sick and also taking care of a sick child. No one came over during the hellish lice years and helped me treat her and myself and the house. I have no shoulder to cry on because no one wants to hear about mental problems, they are not real.

It takes a toll even when you’re made of cast iron.

I will stumble on and keep going and do my best because it’s all I’ve ever done and it is all I know to do. I will not chastize my kid for puberty but I will certainly punish her for the slime she spilled on the carpet and allowed to dry so now nothing will remove it. Bye bye security deposit, thank you very much slime makers and lying hiding sneaky child who was told NO SLIME in her bedroom.

I will keep going and doing my best and I will inevitably make mistakes and maybe have a few wins. This is parenting.

A terrifying minefield of shrapnel filled pipe bombs meant to cause the most damage but not put you out of your misery.

It is okay to be a grown up and be scared.

People would have much better mental health if society just accepted that sometimes, negative feelings and fear are how we are feeling it validating it isn’t enabling us to be wimps.

It’s called being kind, encouraging, and supportive. I encourage more people to practice random acts of decency like that far more often.

Mom And Pop Strip Shop

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 30, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

THIS POST HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH STRIPPING, STRIPPERS, OR NUDITY, SO MOVE ALONG, PERVS.

I was ‘en route’ to bedtime with Restoril on board last night but, ermagod, AGAIN! I got sidetracked by “Not Safe, with Nikki Glaser” on pluto tv comedy. So they were talking about strip clubs and her male friend said he didn’t like the big fancy Vegas joints, he liked the smaller less perfect clubs and somehow “Mom and pop strip club, you mean?” came up and…Well, if my brain retains information over 6 start and stop sleep hours, and then another 5 hours…It’s a keeper. But it is also kinda how my brain works, cos I’d rather support ‘mom and pop’ stores over megabillion dollar chains that suck the oxygen out the air so they are the only store left standing. Sadly, not even your so called “Mom and Pop Toy Shops” are locally owned. I mean, sure, they have locals who mold and make the sex toys, but it’s part of a big impotent corporation…

What? My effort to be sarcastically funny failed?

Fuckest thou. Seriously, I know a guy in town who does blown glass dildos and travels round to trade shows selling them and makes good money. One day I will find the picture I took of his ‘wares’ and show y’all…Though unlike Nikki Glaser, I WILL NOT do an expose’ on blue and ivory blown glass ‘butt plugs”. And yes, apparently, even the Bible thumping midwest has a market for such things. Then again, when I was 6 or so I’d ride my bike to yardsales around town and come home with pretty vases and leaf bracelets only to later find out I owned a bong and pro-weed bangle…HEY SOME BONGS LOOK LIKE FLOWER VASES AND SOMETIMES A LEAF ON A BRACELET IS JUST A PRETTY LEAF. Geesh, 40 years have passed but the midwest would rather legalize smoking dope to be stupid than admit its propensity for colorful glass orifice aides.

Now that I have lost all but my hardcore followers…

The Restoril-still not approved by insurance tho I am operating on an old stash- isn’t knocking me out or keeping me out at night BUT the sleep I do get leaves me feeling somewhat rested. I’m not a zombie. Still like a demented jack in the box, cos I keep waking up, but I don’t stay up for too long so..I will call that a plus.

Can’t say the Cymbalta increase is doing much but it’s been like, two days. And I doubt E or meth could make me feel good during these seasonal depressions. 29 degrees, crunchy snow underfoot, and the sun is like an internet troll rumor…

I have been participating more on other blogs and this interaction thing, even on line, is TOUGH. You don’t know if you’re contributing to the topic with your own experiences, or coming off as narcissistic, or conceited, or self pitying….And it gets you stressed because you don’t want to rain on others’ parades and blow up their floats but you kinda do wanna interact with others who kinda get where your mental state is coming from. So rather than feeling it is you being brave and reaching out to others and participating…you feel like this insecure 12 year old wondering if you just told one of the popular kids your weakness they mock and exploit or if you have befriended someone who will stand by you through thick or thin…

It takes guts, it really does. Especially for anti-social butterflies like me.

And I don’t mean anti social in the clinical sense. For years, the mental health regime, much like changing it from mental health to ‘behavioral health’, want us to consider being a loner some sort of mental-/personality disorder. Anti social. “Serial Killer In The Making:. Just because you are not an attention seeking whore who gets dressed up to go out only to spend the night with six flesh and blood friends but your fingers and eyeballs are attached to your phone the whole night.

How is that not the very definition of anti social???

But noo, that has become the norm so if you are the lone person with your phone put away who is trying to make eye contact and conversation-omfg, how dare, you monster!!!!!!

Not that I need to worry about that social shit right now. I wait every night for the phone to ring or a text to come so someone can darken my mental space in some way. And every hour of it is grueling. Come 9 p.m. when most civilized humans wouldn’t send or call idly…I get hit over the head with a ‘people are thoughtless and rude’ bat. Then I have to contend with my own thoughts, which, honestly, sometimes border on OCD..The same thing will get stuck in my head and I won’t be able to let it go for hours and hours. Even when I think I am ‘in the clear’, my brain won’t rest because it *could* still happen.

Try to relax and sleep when every fiber of your being is on perpetual red alert. Waiting…Dreading…Hoping it does not come to fruition…

So yesterday I added a bunch of NEW STUFF TO MY KO-FI PAGE.

Blog posts, poetry, pics, short stories. I did a lot of copying and pasting, man. TRYING to get someone to give a damn. Not because I am great but because I honestly believe my voice as a writer…needs to be paid a bit of attention. I am not all depression and swear words and fundraising (because yet again, the donor flaked on child support, but it’s okay, he’s paid $101 in 4 months, he’s a great dude)…

JUST FUCKING READ, DUDES. Yes, it may take some time. It will not rob you of your soul or hack your bank account. And if you hate it, you just move on.But please do be aware that I am more than my niche mental health blog.

I think a lot of people would be surprised to find out I can be funny or my opinions are simply inoffensive non snowflake views of the world from my standpoint.

I’m gonna go eat more celery and peanut butter.

No, that isn’t the sad part. Sad part is even though I am eating celery and peanut butter, my cats still climb me and attack like I am eating fucking filet mignon.

Which for the record was nothing special for me the one time I ate it.

I would have preferred a burger and fries.

Low rent does not have to be a bad thing, people.

Categories, Tags, Duplicates, Oh, Fuck It, Let This Blog Die In Obscurity

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, mental health with tags , , , , , , , , on January 29, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Because I am a flagrant self promoting garbage churning blogger and writer (https://ko-fi.com/morgueticiaatoms) (https://crypticverse.wordpress.com/) (https://crazybeautifulrandom.wordpress.com/)…WHO DOES NOT USE ANY FORM OF SOCIAL MEDIA, THEREFORE IS ROTTING IN SELF IMPOSED OBSCURITY BUT I HAVE MY PRINCIPLES…I thought, hey, let me Google up things I can do to improve traffic to my writing and hey, I dunno, maybe get people to interact with me cos honestly…The like button is validating somewhat but are you even reading what you’re allegedly liking?

Google vomited dozens upon dozens of suggestions for how to make my blogs one of the popular kids that search engines will ask to prom. And like every other time I have thought, hey, more readers would probably not be a bad thing…so I go in search of this wellspring of Google knowledge from the pretty popular blogger kids.. Couple paragraphs in, I lost interest. BORING. Obviously, self promotion is not my thing even when I put forth a half ass effort. So be it. Never set out for anyone other than a couple of friends to read my dumpster fire drivel anyway. And bam, without any trying, it says I have over a thousand followers. Which likely means about 20 who occasionally read my blog and 3 people who ever comment and yeah, lack of interaction is a bummer. I love swapping comments and being introduced to new blogs (as long as they read like a technical manual from Ikea) but…

The fact is am just too damn lazy to strive for any form of ‘social media mogul’ or ‘influencer’ status. I kinda like hanging back here in my shadows, smoking a cigarette on school grounds, drinking some grape Mad Dog and blaring some Slipknot while the preppy kids scowl in disapproval of what a freak I am. I worked long and hard at just being myself and if I am a freak…I am letting that freak flag fly freely in the wind.

So…Back to our regularly scheduled rant about how much mental health disorders suck.

First off, insurance companies BLOW GOATS AND IT DOESN’T EVEN GIVE THE GOATS PLEASURE. They are fighting my doctor’s prescription for generic fucking Temazapam, ffs. If my kid and I weren’t already in penny pinching territory, I’d swear I’d be better off using that Goodrx app than dealing with my ass trash insurance. Thankfully, I hoard my failed med because, meh, too lazy to go to the safe disposal thingie…So I took 30 mg Temazepam last night and…The doctor said to take it 20 minutes before bedtime, cool dark room, blah blah blah. Then Nikki Glaser’s Not Safe came on and it was like, oh, well she’s funny enough to stay up for. So I missed that precious window he spoke of where-fuck it, the brand name is easier to spell, Restoril, would kick in. I tossed down a melatonin and a benadryl and by midnight, I was asleep. Fortunately every time I woke up during the night I was able to get back to sleep and I felt half ass rested. For about 20 minutes then I just felt groggy and like going back to sleep. Oh, well, no med is perfect. Just hope insurance puts it through at some point. Not like I am trying to get $16 a pill Viagra, for fuck’s sake. (And I only know that figure from late night infomercials for cheaper alternatives to limp biscuit issues.)

So far I am groggy, accomplishing nothing, and I have a stress stomach ache because the cats are almost out of food and I won’t get my check til Monday. Bloody hell. I have $1.15 on my card and about 80 cents in coins. I fucked up by buying them brand name food and the pigs went through 22 pounds in 3 weeks, half of which has resulted in me muttering, “Oh, great, cat puke on the floor, now they’re gonna need treatment for bulimia.” I don’t dare ask my dad cos he called last night to tell me they are down from 4 cars to 2 cos his pick up needs repair and this weekend I will be ‘on call’ to haul their man child to and from his job. This is why I say I want nothing from my family, it always comes with lifelong strings. All I ever get to hear about is how at least my brother works. He’s 24 years old with a vehicle and a license but can’t drive in town, how is their fuck up in raising a man child MY responsibility? And even if they throw a ten dollar bill at me, that’s only two trips to town so what the fuck am I supposed to do in town for 3 hours during winter with my kid and no money?

I know, family is supposed to help family, but after a year…It’s high time they make him grow the fuck up, even if it means them taking him driving in town 7 days a week until he can get it through his thick fucking skull. All they ever talk about is me being on my ‘nitwit pension’ while he can hold a job. I’m managing a household, raising a child by myself, caring for pets, a huge lawn, insuring and licensing a car, rent, power, heat, water, phone/internet. NONE of which the man child can do. I wish there was such thing as adult adoption so someone well of family far from this hell hole could adopt me and Spook and get us the fuck away from this hell pit. And it’s not even the town of Armpit, anymore, Spook and I have grudgingly adapted. It’s my damn family. And to make them even more charming, I referenced how the donor is apparently working because we’ve received $100 in child support for the month and my dad defended the donor, saying he needed money to live on, too. Not my fucking point. I want to fire the lawyer, drop the filing in court, and for that, I need an address where he can be notified. Since he switches jobs and addresses so much and never tells the court, it’s my responsibility to find his useless ass. Yes, I am glad he is being held to his responsibilities. And I am so fucking sorry my sense of humor, mean as it may be, offended daddy racist.

I said something about, “This is like a 1/4th of what he was paying, he is either working part time hours or he became a commissioned male prostitute and isn’t very good at it.”

R thought it was funny, cos he only met the donor once and even perceived him as being conceited. And frankly when you go around calling people window lickers and boasting you have a 187 IQ but you’re not bright enough to raise or support any of your 3 kids…The term delusional comes to mind.

So I was just being my smart ass self, and also, I DO want to get an address on the fucker so I can fire the animal abusing pseudo lawyer, drop the filing, and start fresh even with legal aid. But my dad, defending that deadbeat? And honestly, that $60 one week still couldn’t cover our water bill, and the $40 the next week wouldn’t even put gas in the car so I could get my kid some underwear and pants. (Yes, she got clothes for Christmas, but when I tell her to clean her room, her idea is to grab a trash bag and stuff eveyrthing in it, dirty clothes included, stash it somewhere in the shed, then bitch at me that she has no clothes cos we’re so poor. Ermagod, I am surrounded by people who are gonna make my brain explode!)

First world problems, I know, but ranting here keeps me from ya know, Z Whacking pretty much everything cos it is all pissing me off. And this time, I can’t blame hormones, it is just frustration. With the family, the donor, the kid, the cats, the fucking world. And this fucking weather, omg, I can’t wait til summer so I can take off 15 layers of clothing and have warm feet again. And sunshine more than 1 day a week. Which with the size of our lawn and me having to mow it all by myself with a push mower which I hate-me rushing toward mowing season has GOT to say something about how harsh winter is on me mentally and physically.

So I don’t have any fucking answers. I just needed a good rant. What others consider a long rambling incoherent post is what I call therapy. And after seeing what my psych center charges for 45 minutes with their therapists ($267), I’d say I’ve made a financially prudent decision to go this route.

Do something different. Elect a freak for prom queen.Now follow my blogs, buy me coffees, and gimme my damn prom queen tiara. It would look lovely with my carving knife earrings and bullet studded wrist band.

Shrink Rap and Hellmart Tuesday

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on January 28, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

My night went like this:
Fall aslep around 9 p.m.
Wake up at 9:30 p.m.
Sleep then wake at 11:30 p.m.
Sleep then wake at 1 a.m.
Spend four hours with the deafening tick of the clock reminding me I’d need to be up soon and as I had a 9:30 appointment, I would not have the luxury of going back to sleep. I was ready to start yanking out tufts of my hair, I was so frustrated. I WANT sleep, for fuck’s sake. Not my fault the brain isn’t cooperating no matter how much benadryl and melatonin I take.
5:45 a.m.- curl up in corner under blanket with purring cat and nod off
6:30 a.m. Alarm goes off, hit snooze three times
7:00 a.m. Force my ass out of bed because the bladder was not gonna wait any longer. To stay awake I turned on Sirius and with my new soundbar rig, it shook the cobwebs out of my head. Especially “Popular Monster” by Falling In Reverse. LOVE that band.
7:45 a.m see kid off to the bus
8:00 a.m. Need toothpicks to keep eyes open so I set the alarm for 9 a.m.
9:00 a.m. Bolted up, glad I got dressed earlier, because I was supposed to be there at the doc office for check in by 9:15.

So yeah, that is pretty much my sleep cycle every single night.

Appointment went well, though I could see the perplexed look on his face every time he asked about have you tried this, or this, or that. Um, yes, yes, no, insurance won’t pay, too many side effects, too much weight gain, made me suicidal, gave me akathesia, made me nauseous…I am not trying to be difficult, honestly, but I am very sensitive as well as med resistant. That 0001% in the pharma manual about rare side effects seems to apply solely to me. But he heard me out and we’re gonna try 30mg Temazepam for sleep and max out Cymbalta at 120. He wanted to see me in two weeks but soonest they could fit me in is a month from now.

Now that the center has been swallowed up by a big hospital I am terrified I am gonna lose my awesome shrink. They say the clinicians we see now will remain the same but when the suits come in and start making changes and hiring new people…It does not bode well because I REALLY like Dr. R. The thought I could end up back with a crapass NP like the two I had before terrifies me. I know more about the fucking meds and side effects than they do. Even the nurse today commented on how my knowledge is so extensive I should be working there counseling people about what to expect. Some may find this some sort of hypervigilance or hypochondriac thing, but I bought the big pill book back in the 90’s when I was stuck with the shrink who diagnosed me as dysthymic, pumped me full of antidepressants thus setting off the mania, and he wouldn’t even look at the notes the counselors made so…Yeah, I got interested in researching and educating myself. I couldn’t very well trust that quack.

After that, I stopped by my mom’s to get my veggie soup my sister paid for. Their driveway is like an ice rink, that was fun. Not.

I was gonna go to Aldi but honestly…I decided to just hit Hellmart on my way out of town since some of the stuff we needed could only be bought there anyway. I hate that place. I hate the self scan checkouts. I hate the way it gobbles up every business around until it is the only option left. Sam Walton is likely turning in his grave. But I survived it, came home, unpacked groceries, then snuggled under the blankie with a purring cat and thought…I’ll nap a bit before Spook gets home.

An nour of that not happening, I said fuck it and just got up. Not that I feel like doing shit even though all my hard work from October is quickly coming undone and turning the place into biohazard three. Too bad shame doesn’t cure depression. I know at some point I will get it all done. I usually get at least one starburst of energy every week. But running on so little sleep, I doubt it will be today.

So there’s a nice ranty negative post that should get several likes. God knows when I try to do a positive post, it gathers cobwebs for the most part. And this Ko-fi project I started has become downright depressing, like a big bucket of fail. Trying to demonstrate that I am able to write coherently and about more than just mental health misery. A friend really thought it would work but then again, she also pointed out things only go viral on social media and I don’t do that shit so I guess I am screwed.

BUT in the unlikely event anyone gives a damn, I am gonna post links to the original posts I have put on Ko-fi and ask you to follow me and hey, buy me a cup of coffee. Still need those quarters to dry laundry.

https://ko-fi.com/post/Tinfoil-Hat-Time-F1F31CV0N

https://www.ko-fi.com/post/Toxic-Family-Tree-S6S31D02C

https://ko-fi.com/post/Redefining-The-Word-Poor-D1D21D6KD

https://www.ko-fi.com/post/When-Comedy-Leads-To-Deep-Thought-C0C21DTDE

I suppose it’s like finding out your favorite rapper has a side career as a country singer and no one wants that shit but I swear, the writing style is the all me. Just more topic centric and structured and about stuff other than being a psychological dumpster fire. Try it, you might like it. Maybe you don’t.

Either way, just the effort of a read or follow is golden to me. ❤

Dabbing Unicorns

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 27, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I challenged myself in yesterday’s post to write something ‘positive-ish’. So how about a pic of my kid wearing her dabbing unicorn sweatshirt a friend bought her?

When she came home a couple years ago talking about ‘dabbing’ I had no clue so I googled it. It came up as a reference to using pot and I was horrified. Then my out of touch ass realized it is a dance. DERP. Fucking Google, which stoner group paid to get their weed propaganda at the top of the list?

I, too, got an awesome sweatshirt from that same friend and I am gonna wear it to my shrink appointment tomorrow.

Motionless In White is one of my favorite metal bands. Not far behind them is Falling In Reverse. Which kind of describes my music taste, I am supposed to be mellowing out as I age yet my musical tastes just keep getting harsher. It makes me happy. Yes, dark angry music makes me happy. But I still think Hanson’s MMM Bop is a happy dancy song and I will not feel shame or apologize. I do, however, feel great shame that I allowed my daughter to plant the ear worm “Sucker” by Jonas Brothers in my head. It just feels so….dirty and lame. And they still kinda sound like chicks.

I finally got around to tearing into birthday gift from R. Thought I was gonna need a chainsaw to get into the packaging.

I had to kinda rewire my whole bedroom and make some changes to fit the rig in, but man, music sounds sooooo good now.

Then I shot myself in the foot by trying to connect Pluto TV to my phone and I was ready to start smashing things cos I did it last month with no problem yet an hour trying today and nothing. Only to find out somewhere in the middle of their troubleshooting page that oh, yeah, pairing and activation have been removed while we ‘tweak’ pluto tv to make your viewing experience better. OH GO FUCK YOURSELF, COULDN’T YOU PUT THAT AT THE TOP OF THE BLOODY PAGE?

I truly do love Pluto TV. Totally free, runs on your wifi, phone, computer, smart TV, tablet. Lots of crime shows, comedy, reality (barf) shows. My favorites are of course Unsolved Mysteries, Forensic Files, The New Detectives, and Cold Case Files. Bonus is the Comedy Centra channel. I spent 4 hours watching Roast battles yesterday and I laughed, like a lot. Unlike when I see a promo for this idget Tosh.0, he’s a one man Jackass channel. And perhaps the biggest plus from Pluto is the radio station The Strip. Nothing but 80’s hair metal, early 90’s hair metal. I listened to like 20 songs in a row the other day without one of the sucking and making me turn it off or change the station. That is good radio. Least I will have it when my Sirius XM free trial is up, though their Hair Nation is cool and I do like Octane, a lot.

I had a shitty night sleeping, kept waking up. Bad dreams. As usual. Hit snooze four times, dragged ass out of bed, and all I had to drink was like 1/3 cup of pink Kool Aid. My brain runs on caffeine so as soon as Spook was on the bus, I went back to bed. Which came with the usual ‘you’re so lazy’ guilt but I slept off and on. Then a spam call woke me around 11 and I flew out the door to go to the gas station for a cheap 2 litter of cola. I even refilled ice cube trays. Oh, and yesterday, I cleaned cat boxes and took a bath. Even fed myself at some point, leftover spaghetti stepmonster sent over.

I am hungry again yet can’t make myself fix something. Eating is work and guilt and rarely feels like ‘fuel for mind and body’. What has the world and the depression done to me for me to feel guilty if I eat twice in less than 36 hours?

Good side, I have not been bothered by another living soul since yesterday morning aside from my kid and cats and well, this is their home, so they’re not a bother. Though I went full on hulk earlier when the kittens decided they’d wrestle on the back of my neck and their hypodermic claws drew blood. NOPE, bad kitties. I see manicures in their future.

I still haven’t done dishes, swept, mopped, or vaccumed or gotten caught up on laundry. Of course, it makes me feel lazy and shitty. Yet this morning the last thing I thought myself capable of was tracing down which cord in my bedroom had failed thus cutting off power to half the room, then figuring out all the wiring on the sound bar…But I did it. No problems til I tried the whole Pluto thing. Mostly I connected it all cos I know R will be wanting to know how I like it and I wanted to be able to say love it as opposed to, “dunno, haven’t opened the box yet.” Which honetly, I do a lot, especially during winter depressions. I buy stuff, or get stuff, and it will be week before I open it. Months, sometimes. It is not some hoarding thing, it is artifact of depression.

Which on this cold gloomy day is being well fed.

Okay, that was my idea of a ‘positive’ post.

But that was me digging deep for positive stuff cos honestly, I am still wearing the clothes I slept in, I am cold yet sweaty, have cramps (fucking ovarian cysts) and my kid will be home in 27 minutes so I need to dig even deeper and plaster on ‘normal not depressive mommy’ mask.

Though she spends so much time on the tablet, she barely notices I am around unless the wifi goes down or she is hungry. SHE REALLY IS MY KID!!!!!!

Hopefully tomorrow’s shrink appt goes well. I don’t know if I can handle hearing ‘we’ll increase the cymalta more” Because it’s been months without much progress and the next dose is 120mg and then…it’s gonna be back on the medi go round which frustrates the doctors who seem to think I get some perverse high out of these garbage meds with their dumpster fire side effects. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t fucking work. But scumbag brain dig it, one more reason to feel guilty and shitty about myself. Because obviously the med failures are my fault, I must not want to feel better.

I want to feel happy so bad…I see people at these comedy shows and they are laughing and smiling and having a good time and…I wanna be one of them.

Now to get the brain on board with that…that is another story.