Archive for the anxiety disorders Category

Off Kilter And The Bad Thoughts Are Knocking At The Door

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 21, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

As mentioned in my previous post, due to my own inadvertent screw up, I am facing another financial set back, not to mention the entire family turning against me and even dragging my daughter into it. (Seriously, this was an adult problem between me and my sister, and she dragged even my 8 year old into it, as if I wasn’t feeling shitty enough, now my kid is going to judge me. For an honest albeit stupid mistake.) I spent last night alternating between tears of self loathing and doom and nervous throwing up. It’s bad enough when you fuck up and it creates a rift between you and another person, but now the entire family knows and I am in the hot seat. I will remain there even if I by some miracle manage to juggle some expenses and correct my fuck up. It’s like a family lynch mob with me as the lynch-ee. Maybe I deserve it. Though I fail to see why my sister had to drag everyone, including my kid into it.

Today I am on edge, unfocused, freaking out, my stomach is churning. I want my kid home but either way if they bring her home or I go fetch her, I will be facing down my lynch mob. God, I want a normal family where things aren’t used as fodder to start wars within amongst us all. And dear god, if feeling like crap had a monetarily value, I could pay off bills for the entire family. It’s gotten so bad, the Bad Thoughts are lurking in the shadows, knocking on the door. Reminding me that hey, I gave it my best shot but obviously I am never going to get everything right so why bother sticking around.’

I have to reject this. I have to toughen up, deal with my mistake and the fall out, but my prior trust issues inasmuch as my sister handling it between just the two of us are metastasized. Good people don’t drag an 8 year old into adult matters this way. And my family has always done the two face back stabbery since I was a kid so this isn’t new, I just had hope as we got older, that fucked up dynamic might change. It hasn;t and once I correct my mistake…I think it’s time to go back to my minimal contact with them policy. Because even without this fuck up, I am always on some shit list they have and I am fed up. Fighting depression and anxiety are hard enough with the people who ‘love’ me making it even worse.

I am willing to sacrifice, scrimp, cut corners, even let the internet get turned off (though it’s year long contract so I’d still owe them)…I used to dodge my responsibilities and mistakes back during the manic days but I have busted my ass and my brain becoming a better person. I thought I was getting there. I was apparently wrong but I can’t let myself give up and I cannot give power to the Bad Thoughts.

While I am willing to sacrifice and scrimp…

I am praying for a few kind people to donate to Spook’s fundraiser She deserves a birthday and the necessary stuff for the start of school. So if you have a heart at all, help Spook. I’ll try to clean up my mess and keep current on the bills, but…she shouldn’t be punished cos her mom doesn’t always get it right.

Even if you can’t donate…just a share shows you care. Spook is just a little girl about to turn 9 and enter 4th grade. Her getting some clothes, supplies, and even a half decent birthday is every bit as worthy a cause as donating to some soulless political candidate or a campaign to ban plastic straws. Show her there are some decent people out there.

I am trying to be a decent person but falling a bit short. I won’t ever stop trying, though. That little girl is the light of my life and even if my family and the rest of the world deems me to be an evil spawn of satan…All that matters is that my kid keeps seeing me as ‘a good mom.” Just need a little help right now.

Advertisements

Survival Of The Scared Shitless

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I had a couple of ‘decent’ days. Spook and I had a decent prepaid meal at the park the other day.
She managed to eat two cheesesticks before declaring that she was bored and it all sucked. I enjoyed it, but then, I’m used to boredome and everything sucking, I truly do appreciate the gift of a pizza Mr. M bestowed upon us. Made me feel kinda….ugh, hopeful, like perhaps I’m not a complete waste of space.

I had two days of being functional. I swept, mopped, did laundry, cleaned cat boxes…which is difficult for me as every part of me feels coated in dried concrete 24-7. I treasure the days I am in the mind frame-and body-to get shit done. I wish I felt that way more often. Some people are all too happy to give advice on what works for them and makes them a high functioning superhero but…sadly, it’s never worked that way for me.

Today seemed not so bad but then SPLAT. I learned that my sister got slapped with an old bill from our old address and it damaged her credit rating. I was paying on the bill (I thought) albeit slowly, only to learn…I was using the wrong account number and paying on a bill that belonged, well to The One Who Shall Not Be Named. I fucked up, big time, and I am humiliated and now on the family shit list and further in the hole. I will fix it, I made the mistake (however unintentional) because my sister was helping us by putting that bill in her name when we found ourselves abandoned and fucked on that front…My last wish was to do something to screw her over but…here we are. And of course, she will tell the entire family, so I will be persona non grata and maybe that’s what I deserve for being a screw up. I could make a dozen excuses and explanations and they’d all be valid, honest, and for real. It doesn’t change anything though. Until I fix it, I am gonna be on the ‘evil bitch’ shitlist with the entire family. And even then, I’ll remain there as her credit as impacted.

The level of embarrassment and shame are enormous. Worse, my kid is staying at their house tonight so who knows what venom they’re spewing to her about me. I’ll have to pick her up and face their wrath and since I am mid-curse, hormonal, and have to also face the donor in court Monday…It will be a miracle if I don’t end up on lockdown in hard restraints. I am just to that point where I have tried so damned hard and I still can’t get it right or be cool, calm, and collected…and I am not whining, I own my screw up, but my precarious mental state kind of goes without saying. In my family, “sorry” and “I will fix it” count for nothing. Everyone is out to tear everyone down. And it is infuriating because my sister has been married to “Beavis” for 20 years, he doesn’t work, doesn’t even mow the damned lawn, and she thinks the sun shines out of his ass.

He idolizes Hitler and Charles Manson, and in a way, that’s how I view him. He’s so charismatic, to a certain faction of gamers and wanna be bikers, he has people willing to pay for weekend white water rafting trips and they loan him $10,000 Harleys to drive but he can’t be bothered to help around the house, EVER, and while he can always wheel and deal for money to take care of their cats or get weed and Marlboros, he’s never given a damn if his kid had no milk for cereal or the whole house was starving. I have nursed my dislike and resentment for 20 years, trying to respect my sister and her ‘he’s my true love, no one else gets me him like I do” but…Honestly, what kind of dickbag has his son come home all proud that he made the honor roll and says, “So what, anyone can make the honor roll these days.” And pretty much EVERYONE in the family hates him, but his mom owns the house my sis and mom and nephew live in, so of course, all lips kiss the ass of the queen. Who enables Beavis to do nothing and yet my sister is constantly having to clean our dad;s house to earn money for food….

So yeah, I fucked up and I will fix it, and I feel positively like shit, but what about that fucking lump? No one holds him accountable, ever, and she preaches his awesomeness and he has a dozen friends who all but worship him but then, that’s his base, the fellow people who when fired from a job sign their final paycheck “fuck you”. So I wouldn’t want to really be accepted in that crowd because, well, douchebaggery isn’t cool even if it is prevalent. So’s Katy Perry and Lady Gaga on the radio, doesn’t make it right or mean I have to endure it.

I’m sure it all sounds too stupid to be true and I just sound bitter cos I fucked up and now I have to own it, but I was feeling this way long before today. Beavis dared to say something about how I don’t take good care of my cats since we had to rehome some of them due to the move and my brain about popped out of my skull. Those cats went to live on like ten acres of farm land where they are fed and watered twice a day and have tons of room to roam and catch mice. I didn’t rehome them out of choice but at least I had the decency to make sure they went to a good place where they’d be cared for. The man has homed several strays I found over the years and they’re all healthy and plump. So to have that p.o.s who doesn’t do a damned thing but play video games all night and piss into empty soda bottles kind of sent over the edge. I’m not making him a caricature like some Mike Judge cartoon, he really is just that….awful. And I hate feeling that way because I love my sister and I don’t want it to come between us, we’ve always been pretty close and on cool footing. But I can’t help but feel the way I do and I’ve felt that way for 20 years. My turning point was when they were doing meth and he actually took her dentures, put them in the toilet and pissed on them. Maybe she can forgive that shit, but man, I’d probably be in prison if he’d done that to me cos I’d have bashed his head against the toilet.

BREATHE.

I’ve never given my blog link to anyone I know in person because years ago, I made that mistake and my sister read some of my thoughts on our fucked up family and she was very hurt and didn’t speak to me for awhile. I don’t want that but bottling it up is poisoning me. Besides…her and mom were pretty smug about knowing from the get that the donor was a fake who would walk out on me and Spook. They have their judgments, same as me. Difference is, I admitted they were right when they were proven right. I’ve been proven right a hundred times about Beavis but I end up being the villain. So much for self awareness and objectivity. I don’t need to be loved that much that I would put up with that shit. If a guy wants to be a house husband and stay home to do housework and child care while the woman works to make money, cool. But a guy who makes the woman work and take care of the kid and take care of the house while he plays video games and rides motorcycles with his wanna be MC…Just writing it makes me need to vomit.

Anyway…Before this all happened…I was having mega anxiety attacks because I realized…OMFG, Spook’s 9th birthday is August 7th. Plus she needs some school clothes plus school supplies…and I can’t do it all and keep the bills paid and now I have this new thing on me….So survival of the fittest and the scared shitless. YEP, another fundraiser. But this one….Just check it out, it’s short and sweet and based on Spook’s own words. I get bogged down with her defiance and anger but the other day when her little friend was here and acting up, she tried to calm him and said, “Listen to my mom. She’s a good mom.”

It’s those little moments you live for, but if I want to keep the power on, it’s not going to get her a Minecraft cake. This one matters a lot, guys, it’s for a little girl who never asked for any of this. She just wants to have a happy birthday and go to school wearing clothes without stains and holes. With all the mindless political fundraisers going on out there..surely a 9 year old girl is worth a $5 donation. Not for me. For Spook.

Pretty please with pegacorn vomit and unicorn farts on top?

It All Just Sucks

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Honestly this is not some boo hoo woe-is-me post, I just couldn’t come up with a better title at the moment. I was too lazy to eat when I woke up so I thought, I’ll do the mood stabilizers later after I do eat but what can it hurt to take the Cymbalta now while I am thinking about it…Well, the hurt is in my gut which is now burning like a mofo, something that was never a side effect when I took the same in the past but now suddenly it is a random thing. As if my burning stress stomach aches and lowering myself to take Pepcid isn’t enough, then playing the “will the pills make me puke or not today’ lottery…Just what I bloody needed. GRRR.

You can spew all your sunshine and wave your pompoms in my face and tell me what works well for you and it’s all about a positive attitude but you know what? It doesn’t change the fact that MEDICATION SIDE EFFECTS EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE JUST PLAIN SUCKS.

In a surprise twist the other day after being assaulted by some well meaning but ’caused traumatic flashbacks’ pompom waving…I felt like a loser for a couple of hours and then I realized no one has my permission to make me feel inferior no matter my failings and hey, that includes ME. I was busy beating up on myself because I’ve not found my magic cocktail of unicorn farts, medication, and meditating on clouds made of cotton candy I forgot the most important things of all: we are all different. And I really need to get the stick out of my ass because I suck at being given advice, I take it way too personally and in doing so, I close my mind to some positives I could take away from it. I totes want my uicorn fart magical cocktail but until that happens…I’m gonna keep doing me.

And I surprised me because after the loserpalooza mental state kicked my ass long enough, I started moving around the house. Not because I wanted to but because I was pissed off, because I was sick of beating myself up, because damn it, I am fighting as hard as I can and the pegacorns aren’t barfing rainbows on me so I may as well do something. I folded 7 baskets of laundry and attempted to find a place for it all thus making the middle room look less biohazard-y. (It is very challenging to store things when YOUR IDIOTIC HOUSE HAS NO CLOSETS,FFS, whoever designed this place was a fucking moron.) I cleaned cat boxes, tried to clean floors (epic fail without a working vacuum and fans blowing dust everywhere you just swept or dusted, grrrrr.) The humidity that day was so high I had sweat running down my back, indoors, with the AC. 93 outside, 89 inside, what a joyous life. But I got shit done and it felt good. Hypomania always does, though I sure do miss my full blown mania and oh those delicious but lethal diet pills that kept me looking pretty and so energized I could run 56 hours straight but that’s a story for another (never) time.

I zonked around midnight, only to be wakened three times by the rioting cats who don’t do diurnal…I had a nightmare I jolted from at 4a.m. and could not get back to sleep. So I tried boring myself to it by watching, oh dear god, Martha Stewart glazing a ham. (The horror!) Fail. By 6 a.m. I was doing dishes, counting time til I had to take my kid to my mom’s for her sleepover and outing. Which meant by the time I got my ‘me day’ I spent most of it sleeping because I hit the hypomania wall and when I did wake up, I was up til after 2 a.m. and too tired to do anything I had planned because when planning it, I had assumed I’d be well rested instead of my cycles all fucked up.

Today I am edgy and grumpy. My kid is off to St. Louis with her cousin and his girlfriend for her first ever trip to the zoo. And selfishly, I feel pissed off about it. I want her to be happy, but I feel pissed off that my nephew doesn’t work, doesn’t pay a single bill, his girlfriend just had to resign from her job before they fired her, and still they have all this money to drive so far away and go to the zoo and feed my kid (after they took her out of town shopping last night!) and it’s just not fucking fair that I do all the sacrifice and hard work and I can’t even be included in the fun stuff she gets to do. Me, me, me, I know, but is it so wrong for a parent to want to be with their kid doing the fun stuff? It should be a memory for mom and daughter but no, I’ve got every cent tied up keeping a roof overhead so…

So I am feeling left out and petty and at this point…I’d just be happy if I could afford a damn pizza from Marco’s. Everyone takes Spook out to eat, to swim, to shop, and I am always stuck home, can’t even spring for a damn McDouble. Boo hoo, right? Well, newsflash:parents are people,too, and while we are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary for our kids to be happy…

Some of us selfish bastards would still like $13 to get a damn delicious pizza.

But knowing my mental state and how the meds are wrecking my body daily..I am glad she has others who financially able to give her what I can’t. Honestly, some of my fondest memories of childhood aren’t of amusement parks or zoos, they’re just the mundane daily things, like playing with a dog, or running through a sprinkler and having ice cream after. Of course, I’m not vapid and my kid kind of is, so her memories will involve everyone but me cos they all have money to do the fun stuff. I won’t begrudge her that. I’d probably have a mental breakdown if I was even sitting in a car in St. Louis traffic (sure would love to see the snakes though, such beautiful creatures.) I still think it’s bullshit that my cousin and his girlfriend don’t have to pay for food or a single expense by living off my mom and my sister. But then isn’t that how everyone views me, living off disability…Difference being, my money isn’t going toward happy fun ball stuff. I prioritize and my kid comes first so if her having food means no trip to the zoo and I’m a downer…so be it.

Really makes me think of everything my parents sacrificed for me and my sister when we were kids. How little they got out of life other than working to pay bills and keep us clothed and fed. Not to mention they hated each other and stayed together for our sake (not a favor) so that had to suck a lot, too. At least I am not stuck with an albatross in my home thus ours is a happier home than what I grew up in.

I still want my Marco’s pizza, though. If I can’t have pegacorn barf and unicorn farts…I just want a damned pizza. I’m shallow and demanding like that.

Pseudo Functional

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on July 3, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Been up since 7 a.m. waiting with a knotted gut and anxiety from hell because the landlord said he’d be by for his rent around 8:30 or 9:00 a.m. 2:23 p.m. and nada. Probably forgot or is waiting til the last minute which puts my plans on hold. I’d wanted to run into town for a few things today instead of waiting til tomorrow when helliday traffic will send me over the edge. I hate being beholden to other people’s idea of a ‘schedule’. It was so much easier paying the slumlord, at least he accepted debit cards and gave printed as well as book kept handwritten receipts. This new landlord tries to hit me with late fees for not paying by the first, there is gonna be hell to pay. He could’ve had his money Friday but nooo, paying early confuses him too much so he can’t keep his months and records straight. Which leaves me wasting gas trying to track him at home and calling, to no avail, only to reach him and be told he’d be by at a certain time and I put my life on hold and….GRRRR.

I know this probably doesn’t bother ‘normal’ people. But I’ve not paid my rent later than the third of the month in 10 years. It hangs over my head like an anvil. I need this done, for my peace of mind. And also, I never know when I am gonna lose the money order or the cat or kid might dump something on it. Nerve racking. Maybe my level of worry is neurotic but wanting to pay your rent on time like clockwork cannot possibly be considered a bad thing, ffs.

I was feeling decent this morning, raked the yard, picked up toys, pulled some weeds, even sat outside with my kid for bits and pieces. Which is misery due to my sinus drainage choking me to death inside and especially in the 80% humidity. Then I said screw it, the car needed gas and I needed out of the house and pacing nervously, so we went to the gas station…When we got back, I took my meds with a couple of pieces of beef jerky (it’s food!)…next thing I know, I am woozy, doubled over with stomach pains, running to the bathroom and trying not to hurl. Omg, this joy every single day in exchange for barely functioning? Yayness! Not.

I’m coming out the other side now that I’ve sat in front of the fan for awhile and let the nausea and gastro pain abate but I keep pacing, hoping to catch the landlord as he pulls up cos, yeah, that knock on the door thing freaks me out. Still salty that my plans had to be put on hold. And it’s not like we couldn’t run to town around 5 or so, stores we need are open til 9 or all night. I just need to get these lurking tasks off my plate so the anvil doesn’t remain dangling over my head.

I finally broke down and called the psych center yesterday about ya know, 5 weeks and no call telling me if I have a new doc or not. I am being shuffled to a new nurse practitioner cos the others are all booked taking on Dr. H and and Dr. B’s patient load after their departure. (Or word was I am such a pain in the ass they simply wouldn’t take me on, and I was a little relieved cos while nurse doc C was a truly sweet woman, she just missed every sign possible that my meds were what were making me act out and go stark raving mad with anxiety and panic.) Anyway, the new nurse is named Michelle but the soonest they can get me in is August 13th. Bloody hell! That’s technically only 10 weeks between appointments but I was told to come back in 4-6 weeks. It feels like I am treading water here when it could just take a 20mg increase in my Cymbalta to get me to a good place so they are robbing me of enjoying my summer with my kid with their scheduling issues.

I may look functional. That fools a lot of people. Out of bed and dressed? Feeding your kid, caring for them, paying your bills, keeping food in the fridge? Leaving the house? You’re super duper good!

Ugly truth about depression is that superficial functionality is necessary and sometimes I pull it off, sometimes I don’t. What bothers me so much is that for the doctor to consider me doing so well she didn’t change my dose…I haven’t bathed since Friday. (Yeah, disgusting, but hey, they make wet wipes and deodorant for a reason.) I have returned to my bedroom crypt, same as the trailer, because all the train noise and cars and farm machinery and lawnmowers are prevalent outside the living room windows and it was circuit overload. I need to feel safe and my dim crypt is my safe space. I’m not laying in bed all day crying, my kid is not neglected nor ignored, and I definitely laugh more now than say, 4 months ago…But this isn’t my idea of ‘fully functional.’

The misconception that depression means we’re all living in our pajamas under Fort Blankie, bawling our eyes out, 24-7, or otherwise we’re fine…Such rubbish. Depression manifests in so many different ways for all of us. For me, inability to focus on reading books or listen to music are soul killers as those are things that nourish my soul. Unfortunately, the depression demons don’t want my soul nourished, they want it underfed, puny, vulnerable, so they can keep chewing away piece by piece until I cease to exist except as a husk.

Someone noted that a lot of my posts seem very angry. And THEY TOTALLY ARE AND I TOTALLY DO NOT APOLOGIZE. If I spew all these vitriolic feelings here, then I am not at risk of going off on another person because I bottled it up til it explodes. I am bitter, I am pissed off, I am outraged about soooo many things. And by not beating down people and simply venting the venom here…I think I’ve found a healthy medium for myself to cope with all of the extreme emotions that come with bipolar disorder.

Honestly, just writing this post (and Xanax) have made me feel calmer, less knotted up inside, more lucid, and less angry. So if it works…I’m gonna stick with it.

Honestly, if I started to bottle up my venom I fear someone might try to milk me and sell it for a cure to snakebites without giving me a percentage. 😉

Swallowing Your Feelings Is Akin To Drinking Drain Cleaner

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on July 2, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Last 2 days have been stress overload. Some triggered, some…my new life in Armpit near my overly stressful dad’s faction. But I find myself forcing down my feelings to the degree it feels like I may as well be downing shots of drain cleaner and waiting to keel over. I know that anxiety and depression often lend to irrational feelings that cause an overreaction but some things kind of warrant a reaction. In my current financial position, it’s an option I don’t often get to exercise because, geesh, I owe, I owe, family, landlord, upcoming school clothes and supplies. In another crushing blow today, I found out the local center that usually helps with summer cooling bills has no funds so they won’t be doing that this year and running the AC is gonna put us under to the point of disconnect. I’ve not gotten a disconnect notice in 7 years since the donor left us high and dry so this option simply isn’t desirable.

Yesterday one of the car windows wouldn’t roll up during a torrential downpour and my dad went off on me because I rolled the window down in the first place. It was broken when he gave me the damn car, works sometimes, sometimes doesn’t. He ordered me to use the AC instead of rolling down the windows but when the car gets hot so easily, that just seems bloody ignorant. On and on he went, lecturing me like some dumbass teenager, not hearing a word I said, and because I owe them I have to bite my tongue until there are so many tooth holes in it, you could strain spaghetti. I did thank my stepmonster for fixing the window (sort of, least it went up so I don’t have to drive around with a trash bag on the window) and not yelling at me…but then she went off on my kid for rolling the window down and said she was going to ‘beat her ass right in front of your mother.’ At that point, I DID speak up and said I got no problem grounding her, standing her in a corner, taking away TV and tablet…But NO, you are NOT gonna spank my kid, you redneck sadist.

We went to town today to try and pay rent. Landlord wasn’t home, won’t return my calls, so I sit here, nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, not knowing if he’s gonna pop in at some random point or charge me a late fee or…who knows what. My kid went into gasping “I want!” and complain mode while we were in town, sticking so close to me I tripped like 5 times and was at my breaking point. Got home only to get a call within moments that dad and crew were on their way to mow the lawn. Ya know, I’d like to think it’s because they care but he reminds me EVERY time that they’d get $50 per mow from everyone else. 6 years at the trailer they never once mowed my lawn. Then again, they hadn’t vouched with their good buddy that I’d be a good tenant. They care what this landlord thinks since they did vouch for me so they only mow it so I don’t make them look bad. Sound cynical? I wish it was.

Then my dad started in on how they are gonna be so busy the 4th cos they were invited to a hog roast, then to their neighbor lady’s soiree and Spook was, too, but…not me. I did nothing to these people! And hey, hanging out with redneck strangers may not be my cup of tea but this gloating how popular they are with the locals seems a lot like reminding me that I’m an outsider. Normally, I am fine with this. BUT they’re taking my kid from me on a holiday and they robbed me of saying no by asking in front of her and she wants to go cos other kids will be there so if I say no-and we can’t afford to do anything- then I am boring, mean mommy.

I am grateful for their help, the lawnwork, but damn, they just seem hellbent on making it clear my kid would rather be with them and I am not accepted here. And I can’t fathom what sadistic father would want to do that to his own daughter but then, some of the atrocities parents have perpetrated on their kids…guess mine is a lightweight. Still pisses me off.

But our errand into town is done, the mowing and family interacting is done, and now I just gotta wait for the landlord to ninja visit or call. (Will phones ever stop making me panic????) Oh, and of course, the wild card of dad visiting and by now I’m 1.5 mg in on Xanax so I’ll probably be perceived as too calm thus on something like booze or drugs. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh. Pre-spawn, I gave zero fucks. Now that I am in the position where she could be taken away from me even on rumor or wrong assumptions…Yeah, now I kind of care but I can control medication impact no more than I can control hypomania. It happens and compared to days of old…this is child’s play. Seroquel and TRazadone had me sleeping 14 hours a day and nursing a hangover the other ten so I was loopy as fuck. This is an improvement.

So much as I don’t like doing it…I am gonna mention our fundraiser again.

At least I have the decency to not feel good about asking strangers for help.

Half the time I wake up to 3 a.m. religious infomercials where some preacher is promising to plant seeds of hope for people who donate $15 or more. Some poor woman said she couldn’t spare it that month and he bullied her by saying, “If I offered to sell you my BMW for fifteen dollars, could you get it then?” She said probably, and he said, “See, it’s just the desire to want to do it.”

Fuck you if you’re a preacher and driving a BMW while begging your parishioners to give money that might just mean they don’t get their medication or groceries for a week. These ‘Godly’ folks are frauds, they are out for themselves, and worse, they do it in God’s name. THEY are the ones who should feel ashamed, not a single disabled mom with a small child. Unfortunately, the world is such an obscene place these days (and as far as TV preachers are concerned, always has been) so I’ll be the one called a fraud out to scam people when I drive a $450 car and wear clothes with rips and tears so I can make sure my kid doesn’t. Yep. I am the devil.

Just a share. $5. Whatever it takes to get us caught up.

You may not know us and you may think it’s a scam but you have 6 and a half years of my archives you can read and you will find only inconsistency of my stability mentally. My story has never changed because that’s how the truth is.

Thought Panic

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on July 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Panic ninjas are attacking in brute force and this time, it was my own thoughts that kicked it into motion.I just realized how far in the hole I am in so many ways, facing so many stressful things-money, family, a court hearing involving my child’s donor..And bam, the ninjas come flying out of nowhere wielding their nunchuks of hyperventilation, their swords of dizziness, their throwing stars of terror…And I am as disoriented as if washing down Amibien with Jim Beam. (Which for the record, I’ve never actually done, but I imagine that’s how it would be, Ambien was bad enough just being downed with water, total mental smackdown.)

Maybe part of the feeling woozy and disoriented is mommy withdrawal. My kid’s been at her grandma’s 24 hours now and I do go into withdrawal-and that whole too attached to my kid thing- after a certain amount of time. Also, my nephew and his girlfriend are returning her, so I’m trying to accomplish some housework lest they run back and report my messiness is some sort of affront to my child’s well being. (Ever notice how judgey clean freaks are over one missed cobweb or a dusty table? Geesh.) So far the cleaning project is going very slowly because the humidity is making my choke on my sinus drainage and I can’t catch my breath.

And I endured a call with my dad last night and I was a little hypo and on my way to a melatonin induced nap to quell the mania so he assumed I was drinking. Again. (With what money? I phased out my supplier and lost 20 pounds, not going back to that shit.Though at 45, if I do want to have a fruity little yummy drink, I think my parents should fuck off.) That makes me so mad I could fricking spit nails, cos mom does it too. How ignorant are you to have two kids with two different moms diagnosed with the same disorder, on similar meds, and know NOTHING about their symptoms? Bet if we had physical ailments he’d want to gain some information but mental stuff, pfft. My brother simply has ‘problems’ with his anger and me, well, I’m apparently just a lazy useless lump even though I’m the only of his three kids to NOT live with one of the parents after my teens. So his idea of successful independence and mine are very different but this selecive ignorance about his kids having mental disabilities is just disgusting. And my mom went off yesterday saying I never talk to her about my mental stuff and meds so how is she supposed to know…yet when I do try to talk to her, she gets huffy and says her and my sister got off the pills, they’re fine, and I’m just looking for a pill to make me happy.

The sheer ignorance contained in one family is mind boggling and definitely panic inducing. All it takes is their wrong assumptions and it could interfere with me being deemed fit to care for my child. I’ve seen the system in action with too many decent parents and all it took was one ignorant or vindictive person to set off a chain of events that got the kids removed while it was all ‘investigated.’ Living in a world where you’re doing nothing wrong but having symptoms of your disorder that hey, might make me act a little whacky and as I fall asleep on melatonin, maybe my words get slurry but don’t call me at 9:30 on a kid free night expecting me to be awake and bushy tailed.

Being made to feel this way, by the people who claim to live me, plain sucks. I get little credit for what I do right and even their wrong perceptions of me doing something they don’t approve of gets run into the ground ad nauseum. It kind of feels like perpetual suspension in time as a dumb 16 year old they had to reign in and berate ‘for my own good’. I’ve managed to keep a roof over my kid’s head, the power on, food in the fridge, she’s clean and clothed and very happy-and I have done it as a single mom 7 years now, while battling my mental demons but hey, let’s focus on every bad thing I could be doing or may have once done when I was a stupid teenager or before I had a kid and grew up emotionally. I guess I’m a little sensitive to criticism but then again, if it’s constructive, I kinda learn from that. Destructive criticism just tears apart my mind. I love my family, don’t get me wrong. They have some good qualities, and I know any major crisis, like the unexpected move, they’ll be there for me…But it’s not a crisis everyday and the daily tearing me down takes a toll. I didn’t give a damn before mood stabilizers, it’s like they robbed me of my spine and gave me a triple dose of conscience and ‘want to please the family so they don’t take my kid away.’

Wow…I really got off track. But panic makes my mind race even more and it matters not if it’s irrational or downright ridiculous. It feels real to me, and the pounding heart, sweating, dizziness, and sheer terror are very very physically real. So before some well meaning person reminds me that panic attacks won’t kill me, I KNOW THIS. But they do mess up my life and my mind and my body and to me, it’s worse than death. Death is final. Panic is perpetual. And knowing what a rebellious, stubborn bitch I am in nature, it galls me that I haven’t been one of the magical pegacorns who were ‘strong enough’ to ‘beat’ their disorders.

So all I can do is remember to breathe, do my best, take them with a grain of salt, and not freak out about all the things coming up that I truly have no control over.

What I can control right now is watching a long canceled show about a gated community of vampires and witches and hopefully it distracts scumbag brain enough with fiction to put reality-and my lack of control over much of it, into perspective or at least on the back burner.

I really don’t miss the trailer park anymore, but I do miss the distance I had between me and my family. Days and weeks they’d barely call, let alone darken my phone or doorstep and now…there’s no escape. I don’t think with them on the loose, having zero repect for why I need a heads up call and why I feel so threatened and anxious by pop up visits…I don’t think I’m ever truly going to feel safe and calm here. And it’s a shame because I am managing to adapt in every other way and feeling less vitriol for Armpit every day.

Leave it to well meaning family to be the one thing I can’t escape. Just gotta keep reminding myself they are well meaning. Even though their good intentions are paving the road to hell for me.

How Rapic Cycling Screws Up Your Life

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on June 29, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

For many, many years I had a crap shrink who saw me once every 3 months and gave zero credence to what the therapists told him about how they’d witnessed me go from depressed to manic to depressed, in a week. He labeled me as “dysthymic” and shoved anti-depressants down my gullet. Which is possibly the WORST thing you can do for someone who is bipolar. He was basically treating me to a year round cycle of even more rapid cycling because with no mood stabilizer, the antidepressants made me go full on manic or hypomanic. He was a douche. It took 16 years to find a doctor who actually nailed the diagnosis of bipolar 2 because I do have more lows than highs. Once she put me on mood stabilizers, life got a little easier.

A little.

But as is typical for me during summer months, I am rapic cycling through ups and hypo manic episodes at breakneck speed. The now-departing shrink said she wasn’t worried about it because of the mood stabilizers, but hey, guess what? Rapic cycling during these months has always been my norm. They are so gung ho on their stupid cocktails they cannot be convinced it’s not a cure-all for these symptoms and cycling.

Today has been a roller coaster. I woke before 5 a.m., could not get back to sleep, so I paid some bills on line and the phone, all the while cussing my internet provider for making it too damn confusing to pay on line thus making me use the hated phone. (I love my Droid for everything BUT making calls, go figure.) I forcded myself to bathe and put on clean clothes. I woke my kid up so we could get to town to pay the power bill on time and also, to avoid the extreme temperatures we’re now having. In town, I was okay, though traffic did miff me, people drive like maniacs.

Then we got home, carried stuff in, and I took my meds. Now, I’d had food an hour or so before, so I didn’t blink. And then I got so nauseous, my head started to hurt, I was woozy and dizzy…And that crack of dawn waking thing has me dragging ass. SPLAT. So I had corndogs for lunch and that took care of the nausea but now I have heartburn and it bloody hurts. I’d take a Pepcid but it’s so damn hot, I can’t breathe in the curtained off room. Thankfully the AC and fans are keeping the other rooms bearable.

From Splat I’ve gone to spinning mind and rabid paranoia and anxiety. We had a storm last night and it blew down an enorous tree branch (miss the glass patio table by an inch!) and I of course asked my dad if they could appear at some point this weekend to haul it off and trim the branches that are growing into the power lines, messing with our electricity, making it flicker. The landlord was supposed to take care of it weeks ago, but I figure he’s not being a total dick about the rest of his security deposit so I shouldn’t be too fussy about his lack of memory, he is 78. I digress…Dad and his woman have access to a chainsaw and they have pick ups to haul away yard debris like huge ass tree limbs so asking them is painful but necessary. I did manage to detangle it from the chairs and stuff it crashed on and drag the enormous thing to the front yard where they can easily dismantle it with their power toolsy stuff. (I’m not into chainsaws, mowers, weed whackers, that shit terrifies me and as clumsy as I am..NOPE.)

Now…downside…They never call before they show up so I am on pins and needles just waiting for them to appear out of nowhere and assault my sensitivities to sound with roaring power tools. And the house is kind of a mess which they will be uber critical about, reminding me they vouched for me with the landlord, but ya know what? Unfolded laundry, unmopped floors, and the vaccuum that spits out more than it picks up aren’t high on my priority list when the humidity is so thick even inside with air I am having trouble breathing with allergies and sinus problems. It can wait til night time when it cools down. I am not risking more med nausea by doing all this stuff in the heat and humidity, which of course you’re super sensitive to on mood stabilizers and you can dehydrate and overheat and get very ill, very quickly. Especially in my “will the meds make me sick or not today” lottery lifestyle.

I despise people who refuse to give me a heads up before they darken my doorstep. Is a 30 second “on the way” call really that inconvenient? In polite society, I think it’s looked upon with fondness. But rednecks like dad and stepmonster and my brother aren’t quite polite society, their way or fuck you. Yet they gripe when people knock on their door before 8 a.m. or after 8 p.m. Hypocrite much? This anxiety makes me feel frozen in place, like if I even walk to the other room, they’re gonna coming barging into the door. And if my dad sees me hypo, he will be sniffing me for alcohol smell and ranting because he’s too damned ignorant to understand mania and bipolar. (Yet my brother’s on meds for the same and it’s ok, because his disorder manifested less as manic and more as aggressive anger tirades and god knows, society loves them some anger, way more appropriate than tears or depression or mania.)

I think it may be time to bite the bullet and go to therapy. Obviously the revolving door of shrinks at the psych center isn’t going to help me much to gain stability and learn how to manage the constant anxiety that these people cause me. But then comes that terror that I will end up with R’s daughter Ursula as a counselor and while my nephew’s fiance things Ursula is a great therapist and she likes her a lot….I used to babysit Ursula and I have witnessed how many of her own issues she has and won’t own and I’ve seen the lack of empathy she has for the mentally disabled (sanity challenged a better term?) They just assign you a counselor, you get no say in it, and you ask to change, they take that as non compliance because obviously, the therapist gave you a diagnosis you didn’t like and want to try someone who might see things your way. That is the place’s mentality. And it’s no longer counseling center, it’s ‘behavioral health’ and I loathe that term as much as I despise the overuse of stupid trendy terms like “Creating a narrative” and “Your brand could be bigger if you used social media”. Brand? Seriously? I’m a person, not tennis shoes or a can of corn.

I don’t need a counselor to agree with my every (fucked up) thought but I do need them to be supportive, non critical, and HELP me sort through the constant garbage in, garbage out cycle of mind. And I definitely need to learn some assertion skills (never used to be an issue when I wasn’t on mood stabilizers, I pretty much told people to bite me at every turn, including a boss or two.) Now I am 45 and live in terror of my father and his crew. Not cool, not normal, not healthy. I was never a daddy’s girl, I don’t much care what he thinks of me, but since they helped us out so much during the move and with furniture and such…I guess I feel beholden to keep the peace and not rock the boat. And that, too, sickens me, because that was always the donor’s mentality. Some old lady in a restaurant assumed I was pregnant again when Spook was two weeks old. Rather than be classy and say something like, “She dropped 20 pounds already, I think she looks great for just having a baby.” Nope. ‘Consider the source.” “Ignore it.” “Don’t rock the boat.” And that I have become that spineless and pathetic really makes me want to stab my eyes out with a metal Spork and let Spook beat me with a Z-Whacker. This is NOT me.

Can you tell from my rant and topic bouncing how hypomanic my mind is right now? And this is fully medicated.

Sadly, a hypo manic brain does not equal a productive mental state and the anxiety is paralyzing me. My ear itches from the fan blowing my hair and I think, ermygod, someone is talking about me!!! (Damn you, momby, for instilling such stupid superstitions in my head, even if I think they’re bogus, I still get panicky.)

Breathe, Morgue, breathe.

So walking on eggshells made out of busted Faberge knock offs it is.

Be a great time for a power nap but I can’t do that with the spawn loose and the sun reminding me it’s not sleepy time. But sleep has always been the best way to reboot my brain’s OS, so to speak, and I usually wake up in a better, or different, mind frame.

The sleep disturbance is gonna drive me mad. It’s not that I require a lot, I just don’t like seeing the hour 5a.m. unless I’ve been up all night. I can sleep from 8am to 11 am and run the whole day and night just fine. Anything before 7 a.m., I’m fairly useless.

6 hours of uninterrupted sleep has become my fantasy. That and owning a Dodge Challenger or Hellcat, and I am fairly sure neither is going to happen.

Damn rapic cycling to hell.