Archive for the anxiety disorders Category


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on February 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My child came home from school yesterday complaining she did not feel well but the school had checked her and she had no fever so they did not let her leave or give her medication. She came in, took to her bed, and kept crying out because she had a headache. Today, she pepped up for a bit after some Tylenol but that respite was brief. She’s flushed bright red and I am doing what I can to get the fever to break and make her comfortable. This is where being a parent with mental health issues becomes very dicey and very terrifying. Because if you run them to the doctor or hospital over every fever, sniffle, or barfmaster episode, you will quickly get labeled with Munchausen by proxy. Yet if you don’t stay vigilant and worry enough, you run the risk of waiting too long to get them to a doctor so they label you neglectful. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. And it’s like this for all parents, parenting kid’s in today’s bubblewrapped snowflake climate is scary, period. Yet when your brain costantly sounds the red alert bells, conjuring up the worst case scenario and putting you in fight or flight mode…It’s like until your kid feels better and is on the mend, you yourself are on a terrifying, paranoiad ride of illness, too.

I’d be a liar if I said her illness doesn’t have me freaking out. My kid is never sick (or she never used to be, she’s been sick more in the year we have been in Armpit than she was in 9 years in town at the trailer park) and that she is so warm, so flushed, and so sluggish…I am concerned. Do I take her to outpatient? Do I wait it out? Am I panicking because I do tend to do that but at the same time, what if I’m discounted my own mom instincts too much and my kid will suffer for it? Round and round it goes and it will not stop til her fever breaks and she is back to being her bubbly self. I don’t have a fever but I still feel as if I am covered in a cold sweat. Nerves manifest physically far more than is given credit, especially when some jackass psych center cuts your Xanax dose 75%.

Prior to this worry, however, I surprised myself yesterday. No I did not bathe, no I did not do housework. I did however run the hell machine called a vacuum and finished a project in my bedroom that I’ve been putting off for months because it was too physically taxing. I got it done, yayness! It left me spent, of course, and it was really just a simple thing most people could have done in a half hour, swapping out coffee tables. It felt like I had climbed a mountain.

Today has been iffy. Much to my chagrin, we’ve been dragged out twice into the cold to walk the dogs at my dad’s house. Nope, they give zero fucks about dragging a sick child out, all that matters is that their plans weren’t disrupted by piddling dogs inside. I could have, should have, told him to kiss my ass, after the way he was so cruel the other night. But what the psych central site is helping me realize is, I cannot change these people as their base personality is narcissism and they don’t think anyone is better than them so there is nothing to change. What I CAN change, however, is my reaction to their bad behavior. Just because they are thoughtless, mean spirited jerks does not mean I have to become one, too. My mom and sister call this ‘kissing his ass’. I call it, being true to who I am. I have nothing against the dogs and they had to go potty. Saying no would have been mean to them and besides, I think for the brief period we were outside, Spook actually felt a little better with the fresh air. No, I cannot change the people who are assholes to me. I can only change how I react to that and I will not betray myself to avoid my mom and sis calling me an ass kisser. I’m just not a confrontational mean spirited person. I am, however, reserving my right to call people on their bullshit over something truly major. Like them forcing my kid into hideous green cowboy boots to accommodate their redneck-i-ness when her style is totally different. Oh, and this school not letting her come home when she was so sick she skipped recess…I’m gonna have to read them the riot act, too, though I will temper my, well, tamper, cos I know all too well that Spook is always complaining about something and the cry wolf bit has kind of bitten her on the butt when it comes to actually being sick. Still, I wasn’t cool with the school I went to as a kid keeping us there short of fever or puking, and I’m not gonna accept it from this school.

Even though I was up repeatedly last night checking on Spook, making sure her forehead had a cool cloth and she had water by her bed…I actually slept pretty well. Not hard, not in long spurts, but I slept well. I was in a fuzzy melatonin space where I was sleeping but not dead to the world like I am with Seroquel and Trazadone. I had fucked up dreams as usual but that’s just my cross to bear, I guess, to remain alert for my child even though the psych nurse gives zero fucks, I am just ‘non compliant.” Hate that fucking term. I am non-conforming, there’s a difference. Give me a medicine that doesn’t render me a drooling brain dead zombie with a headache, I will conform and comply. (Really, the rebel in my find it painful to use words like comply.)

Hopefully she will feel better soon. If not by Monday (no school) I will definitely take her to outpatient but I’ve learned how quick I am to panic and try to rush things so I am not so stressed out (sick kid, and it’s all about me, me, me…except without me who is gonna take care of her, kinda got a legit reason to want to be calm myself) so I get anxious if she runs hot 12 hours. It hasn’t even been 24 yet but when she takes to her bed and doesn’t want to play…She’s ill. And until she’s better, I am ill, too, as in worried sick. Because we with anxiety disorder do get physically ill from worry and stress.

One thing about it…I’ve not thought much about how depressed I have been.

Maybe once she is better, I will hit my writing stride again. I hope I hope I hope. Just the simple act of writing 5 pages made me so happy, I felt like a soaring eagle. Okay, that is a little lame, but it felt good, okay? Can’t blame me for wanting to feel like that again, especially since it was a totally natural high.

Back to being Florence Nightinghoul to the spawn.


So I Took A Personality Test On Line Today…

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My friend Jen introduced me a newsletter she sometimes reads at Psych Central. I signed up and I am 3 issues in and while I usually find psychology asinine due to their insistence on discount psychiatric illness…I actually find some of the stuff on that site useful.

So this ‘personality’ test was multiple choice, Jungien, and basically a ‘gotcha’ repeating the same questions with a couple of words changed to catch you answering differently to the same question (ha ha, saw it coming). I’m not sure what saying “I prefer tests that are multiple choice” has to do with my personality, nor am I certain what bearing it is that 70% of my answers were ‘somewhat’ versus agree or disagree. I was being honest. Is it easy for me to yell at people? Hmm. Am I in the middle of PMDD? Did they cross a line that set me off? Is my anxiety skyrocketing? So many variables involved that I cannot give anything but shades of gray answers on some things. (So much for the therapists who said I can’t see shades of gray, just proved you all wrong, I apparently see it a lot more than black or white.”

These were my results (and allow me to perpetuate the site disclaimer *for entertainment or self improvement purposes only, not intented as a diagnostic tool.)

All in all, pretty damn accurate. I am introverted, I do ‘feel’ things more than I probably should. Nowhere however does it say that I am some sort psychopath or that anything is particularly wrong with me. I am just different than some. Different is not a bad thing. One of my fave quotes is, “You laugh at me for being diffrent. I laugh at you for being the same.”

In addition to this, there are a couple other things from the psych centra site worth drawing attention to. One topic I want to do a whole post around at a later date. For your consideration should you be curious: Being kind to yourself during times of anxiety, as well as ‘things that will likely ruin your relationship if you say them’. I am guilty on all charges here. Way too harsh on myself, and occasionally known to boil over with emotion and utter no-no phrases like, “You never…You always…I’m sorry, BUT…” Yeah, need to stop doing that stuff.

Today has not been an awful day, if you discount the guy across the street fixing up his empty rental property and treating me to hours long pounding of hammers.From Psych Centra, I looked up a lot of things as far as managing stress and anxiety and frankly, I’d prefer to forced to gargle with Drano that hear more about meditation and EMRD and the like. Do you know when these things are actually useful? When you’re not in the middle of a vicious panic attack. Driving down the interstate, trapped in city traffic, in the middle of your kid’s playdate, in a crowded store- none of these are places where you have the luxury to stop, drop, and assume yoga poses and focus on breathing techniques. I am not trying to disparage, just pointing out facts. At night in bed when I am feeling myself get too wound up, yes, I can often lay back and do my odd number count backward from a 1000 thing and calming breathing. As of yet, I have not figured out how to get an emploter, friend, or date to be put on hole so I can go off and self soothe at that very moment.

Like many things, though, you just gotta walk away with what works for you personally and leave the rest behind and not put yourself down for it if ‘one size fits all’ isn’t fitting you. There could be a thousand others who find that method useful and ya know what? YAY! We are so much luckier in this day and age versus those who came before us decades ago and were given such shoddy, often barbaric, mental health care. We have options they did not, and we even have civil rights against the barbaric methods being forced upon us, so really…we’re pretty fortune. Ya know, if you’re wacky enough to equate any form of mental illness as being fortunate.

My biggest problems are being in such a limited resource rurual area and having insurance that won’t pay for pretty much anything but talk therapy and medication. Forget magnet therapy, the pulse therapy, the eye movement thing, not covered by insurance. Light therapy? Expensive and ineffective, for me, so I get slapped with a ‘non complient’ mark in my chart. FOR BEING TOO POOR TO AFFORD THESE ALTERNATE METHODS. Seriously, I get punished for being too broke. I am compliant as long as it doesn’t mean starving my kid for six months to afford therapy de jour. Talk about unfair and totally ridiculous.

On a more positive note…I found some funny macabre Valentine’s images and I’d like to share them with my followers and let you all know that even if I can’t buy you Godiva chocolate and Cristal…I still love you all oodles.

XOXOXO, sporks and Z-whackers,

Another Round With Me And Trazzy-D

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday’s trip to town was unpleasant but productive, I got stuff done, including finally getting my Trazadone that had been sitting at the pharmacy over a week. These igets at the psych office and insurance company won’t even make an attempt to coordinate so I am left having to get my scripts filled willy nilly at the cost of a 22 mile trip to town and back so it’s about $4.50 in gas, not to mention time and aggravation, oh and then them saying they understand but I still have to be compliant and take my medications as prescribed. Seriously? Here’s a thought: Let me sign up to have them sent in the mail, the only real controlled substance that would be an issue is Xanax, and insurance won’t cover but the bare minimum so no danger of too many pills. But these psych nurses simply don’t give more than 4 weeks of refills at a time even on antidepressants. And those two week refills ’til next appointment’ end up costing me twice because insurance won’t refill until my final two week fill is done, and there’s another $4.50 into town that I can’t afford. THIS IS WHAT I MEAN, THIS PSYCH CENTER HAS ME SO STRESSED OUT OVER SIMPLE SHIT AS WELL AS THE MAJOR STUFF, THIS IS NOT GOOD FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH!

But to the nurse’s credit, some of the miscommunications have been my own inability to comprehend and keep track of the right words so I will have to apologize for that. I won’t, however, apologize for being ticked off about their other ineptitudes, and I think for my own benefit, I will start recording each session on my phone. That way I can reference the conversation to know I truly didn’t get it as opposed to she misspoke but blamed me. And that sounds paranoid and daffy as fuck but gaslighting has become a constant thing because people do use my mental health issues as a reason to absolve their own shitty communcation or behavior. “She’s nuts, who’s gonna believe her anyway? Definitely can make her think it’s her fault.” If so many hadn’t done it to me (and I took to recording conversations those times, too, to prove to myself I wasn’t so nuts) I wouldn’t have such an issue of paranoia.

I digress. We went to 7 different stores yesterday and that is exhausting, but I am to the point where if I don’t stop at multiple places to get the best deal on items, then we’re not gonna have toilet paper, cat food, and also people food. It’s a delicate juggling/balancing act. It helped that the weather wasn’t so awful yesterday, just very very cold. Today I woke to 2 inches of snow and was relieved I got stuff done yesterday. If I were doing the same thing in this weather, I’d probably get everything at one store, blow my budget entirely, then be pissed at myself for short cutting it to avoid, well, stores and people and the elements.

Spook is still at her grandma’s in town, they are supposed to bring her back this afternoon. I gotta say, after six weeks of her being home every single day, I kind of needed a break but..I was a little lost within a couple of hours. You get used to even annoying stuff like hearing “Mom, I’m hungry!” every 15 minutes. Kind of like how used I was to that dog at mom’s house and being there now with Chelsea dead, it seems so quiet and lonely there. That goofy dog and her incessant barking and desperate need to love on people is really missed.

Me and Trazzy D…Last script I had for this stuff was in 2008. Once she came along, I couldn’t deal with 14 hour black out sleeps followed by two hours to wake up and shake off the headache hangover. So for 9 years I’ve basically lived on sleeping in 90 minute spurts and it is exhausting. I broke down and asked if we could try Trazzy-D again. Just starting at 50 mg (pretty minor if you consider my old dose was 400 every night) but daunting enough that I waited til a night my kid wouldn’t be home and I wouldn’t be required to be constantly alert or get up early and function. I took it at 6:45 last night, figuring that would give it time to kick in. I was still awake at 9 p.m. and pissed as hell. My own fault, I guess, trying to do with less pills. I took my usual slow cocktail of melatonin and antihistamines and last I looked it was after 11:30 and I was zonked. I got up only once during the night and got right back to sleep. Then came the alarm at 9:15 a.m. Ugh, bad flashbacks. I had to pee, I was thirsty as hell, the cats were stomping my head in a plea to be fed…and I still didn’t manage to drag ass out of bed til after 11 a.m. I was awake, but not alert, not motivated. HUNGOVER. And these hangovers are much worse than any booze hangover.

What has surprised me, though…I actually feel rested and calm. Whaaat? Of course, I also feel like my limbs way a hundred pounds and someone cracked me over the head with a Z-whacker but…Maybe this Trazadone thing is gonna be a good thing for me. Though I’m gonna have to set the alarm for 3 a.m. to accommodate the inability to come to and jump at it quickly enough to make her schedule. But…it is nice for once to not feel exhausted and…I am not even grinding my teeth today! Woohoo, yes, Virginia, there is Santa and a Sandman.

I feel pretty shitty that I have done nothing around the house. I was supposed to kick ass and take names on all this housework but ya know, 9 years of never sleeping more than 4 hours in a row…I guess I have earned some down time. The Trazadone side effects will lessen in a week or so once my system adjusts and if I don’t go bonkers on the high doses…It could be a good thing. Just gonna let myself breathe today. Though I am a bit embarrassed that my sister is gonna come inside and see how the place has gone to hell. She’s a clean freak and I can just imagine how she will report to mom who will then have a powwow with my dad over how awful it is that Spook has to live this way. (Last I checked, unfolded baskets of clothes weren’t a form of abuse or neglect, they are clean, just…not organizd.) I wish it didn’t bother me. It really used to didn’t but once Spook came along and they started throwing out the ‘they’ll take your kid away if you don’t become a domestic goddess’ (that was my interpretation, not their words, close enough) now even when things are great and caught up…I still don’t want people invading my safe space with their judgments and unfair expectations. If it’s so bad, how come none of them offer to help me out?

Because this family lives to growl and bitch and judge others while doing nothing positive to help. I’ve accepted this as who they are, I just don’t want it near me.

I hope the next week passes quickly and that the Trazadone headaches do fade cos…I ain’t liking the headache hangover thing. If I am gonna feel this way, I want it to be because I went on a bender and had some fun first.

I am grateful for the sleep, though, so very grateful, even if it took over 7 pills to get it done. And mind you, that is because the nurse gives me antihistamines for sleep but because of my allergies, I would require 12 benadryl just to get to yawn territory, let alone sleep. I’ve been on Benadryl since I was 7, ffs. If it don’t help, it’s superfluous, but it does help with my anxious itchiness so I stay on it. Just tried to make it clear to her that it does not help with sleep at all, not that she cares.

Okay, I am done being a ball of sunshine spewing pleasantness now. Maybe I didn’t inherit my family’s penchant for tidiness but they taught me how to bitch, moan, and criticize like a boss.

Daily Grind

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 9, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I have noticed a return to former coping mechanisms and actions I am not even aware I am doing, since they lowered my Xanax to 1 mg for the whole day. Teeth grinding. I try to be mindful of it and not do it but the next thing I know…I’m doing it and my gums are aching. I tried bite plates once upon a time, to no avail, I still found a way to inadvertently tighten my jaw and ‘gnash’ the plate. I also have this off and on thing where I rub my fingers together in a circular motion though that could actually be a facet of tardive dyskenesia from years on Seroquel. My awesome shrink said he noticed all sorts of involuntary twitches in me and was going to see about getting me on a med to correct the damage…then he left and since then, not one of their professionals have mentioned noticing the behavior, let alone treating it. I have tried to bring it up but they say they don’t see it, end of story. Being shut down like that is really on my last nerve, it’s like they refuse to entertain even the possibility the other doctor was right and they are just too inexperienced or oblivious to see it. Yet they have zero problem sticking diagnoses on me from previous doctors without even trying to assess me themselves.

I must be MINDFUL (I hate that fucking word) that at least I have access to insurance covered care which is more than a lot of people have. Maybe the care is lacking but I need to show gratitude for what I do have that others do not. It’s difficult, however, to be grateful for what I perceive as poor mental health care based on the insurance that I do have and my status as disabled. If I had private insurance, I’d likely have more access to better care. Again, though, I have to be thankful for what I do have when so many don’t even have this much.

I have been searching my soul, trying to discern if my dissatisfaction with this second nurse practitioner is some bratty reaction to having my Xanax cut even lower than it was when I was pregnant (because even the ob-gyn could see I was suffering and he deemed it more harmful to my unborn child to have a mom so strung out on anxiety). I am definitely salty about it, but I think if they had prepared me ahead of time and said, “due to the opiod crisis, we are going to be tapering everyone on the benzos”, my reaction would have been less…explosive. I don’t like surprises, I like a heads up so I have time to acclimate to new things and major changes. The old regime doctors were pretty good about accommodating my aversion to surprise and change. It has only been the current regime and psych nurses who are apathetic to it. They view it as handholding which we are supposed to get from counselors and I just can’t fathom this mentality when even my least favorite doctor was a nice enough man who made me feel like he was team Morgue. My needs just aren’t being met under this new regime and of course, if you are unhappy with something, it weighs heavily on your mind. I admit I could have handled it better than snapping and cursing but again…if I’d been given warning, I wouldn’t have been caught unaware and likely my reaction would have been more rational.

I am so unsettled by this new regime that I even broke my own edict about the local counseling place and called to see what I need to do to get back into therapy. I don’t really want to, I don’t think their behavioral based mentality, is going to be helpful to me but this nurse doc situation has me feeling really alone and ignored. I was hoping they still offered shrink services there so I could just combine the two at one location but alas, they discontinued that program.I find that so fucked up since they merged with one of the biggest hospitals in the region thus giving access more easily to a psych staff nut…Change. It’s icky.

I am not grinding my teeth now. Now, I am chewing my tongue. I woke up today and in spite of a decent enough sleep, I just felt…wired with anxiety. And I am supposed to take my kid to town for her shindig at grandma’s and damn it, she hasn’t seen them in weeks cos of the ass trash weather and us being trapped in Armpit, she totally deserves time with her family but…it’s got me feeling pretty rattled. She makes me nuts with her incessant chatter but she is my heart and if my heart isn’t here with me, I just feel…off. Yet during the summer it didn’t bother me in the least so I am not sure what this current clinginess is about.

My mood seems to be hovering in a tolerable place. Not happy, not sad, but the anxiety sure does make that level mental space shaky. I’m not looking forward to a trip to town. I’m already 1 mg into my Xanax cos it seems to help with the jaw and teeth grind. A trip to town may require a break in to the stash, which I must use sparingly now that the benzo nazis are in charge. Man, if licking toads made me calm down and gain clarity like Xanax does, I’d do that instead. I just use what works best and having that slowly taken away from me is a slap in the face, they don’t trust me to police my own use. (Thank you addicts for fucking up everything for the rest of us who use the meds properly.)

Wish me luck, the trips to town are becoming more and more daunting because well, people think their car is a phone booth thus I have to drive for myself and for them to avoid bumper car incidents. Jerks.

One thing about it, I am glad I am not a vampire. Grinding fangs would turn my mouth into a bloody mess.

Yeah, yeah, bad joke, but accurate.

The Clock Is Cruel

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on February 9, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I swear I have looked at the clock a hundred times today since waking at 6:50 after hitting snooze twice in hopes of finishing my bizarre, yet better than reality, dreams. (Yes, oddly, being charged with murder is better than my reality. A lawyer and jury might help me escape that fate, no escaping depression.) It was a high anxiety day right out of the gate as it was the first dry, sunny day in, well, days, and while that is better for my mood…it does make me wind up like a clock about to bust its springs. I try to talk myself out of it yet the anxiety is like crawling bugs all over my skin. AWESOME TIME TO CUT MY ANXIETY MED 3/4, ASS TRASH PSYCH NURSE! Oh, I am not supposed to be bitter and childish by calling names? Fuckitol. I took a liberal dose of it today cos I am really just over trying to make people be interested in my writing or interested in my battles with mental health and bad life circumstances.I get it, no one cares. Fuck you. Unless you relate to my posts and they give you a laugh or a “Hey, I feel like that sometimes, too!”

I’ve looked at the clock no fewer than 2 dozen times since 7:30, and I keep double, triple checking the time in case the wall clock is wrong due to failure or dead battery…Yet that is not the case, the clocks are fine. It is just my perception of time, in my current mental state, that feels like the days are neverending. And it has been like that since day one here in Armpit. I never felt the days were this long and grueling in town, at the trailer. As it happens, I actually miss being so called ‘trailer trash’ cos I was much happier there and then than I am here. No, it doesn’t matter that we now live in a ‘classier’ house. It costs twice as much to live here as it did in town at Cedarbroke (brook, but prior to being bought out, broke really was fitting.)

My kid and I have spent the evening looking for metal versions of her fave pop songs on youtube so I can choke them down, and amazingly we found much common ground. That makes me happy. Mind you, there were a couple that were what I call ‘channeling satan’ death metal growling snarling vocals which even I was like um, NO…but I am 46 and my kid is 9. If we agree on music, pop or rock…it’s a good thing. But again, I was clock watching and it was going so slowly, I checked multiple clocks over a 15 minute period cos I was convinced I HAD to be perceiving the time wrong, no way could it go that slowly. But…it does.

Now it is 8:35 and I am loaded up on melatonin and antihistmines and hoping the day’s frustrating activities don’t keep me aggravated and awake all night. The donor owes Spook $3500 in support but they still have no record of him being employed. Yet he still has a roof overhead, electricity, a car…What the actual fuck, Illinois? Don’t tell me you take child support seriously and put the kids first when in fact, the non custodial parents seem to get every benefit of the doubt, every break, and take zero responsibility. If I did that, I’d be in prison for child abandonment. It is not right that deadbeat parents get to walk out, not contribute, not see the child, and yet maintain the same rights as the parent who stuck around. I ain’t looking for an award for doing what is right. However, I AM looking for the man who made it clear when I was battling pregnancy minus my meds, “It’s your pregnancy, but WE ARE HAVING A BABY.” We? For 8 years now, it’s just been me. And Spook has said she doesn’t understand why me and the donor can’t just get along, which is logical but totally unfair. He walked out. He keeps losing jobs and ignoring court ordered support. He has had no interest in seeing her in 8 years even though he tells everyone I won’t let him see her. He won’t even talk to the lawyer to fill out the visitation forms to file with the court, which was due by Sept. 28th…but because I can’t afford a process server and the donor avoids me and the lawyer..the court lets him good away with avoidance and gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several years ago when I was harping on all this the counselor told me I needed to let it go cos obviously the donor just needed ‘more time’ to get his act together. So I gave him 8 years and he still can’t be arsed yet I’ve been here all along, in spite of money issues, in spite of mental illness…and no one gives me the benefit of the doubt. And I ain’t saying this is exclusive to custodial moms, it goes for dads, too. Custodial parents are often taken for granted and mistreated and the child is who suffers and it’s like the courts are saying grown adults have the right to abandon their kids as long as they leave them with a responsible party. Not sure that will ever make sense to me.

It is 8:44 now. Spook is in bed. Tomrrow she sleeps at her grandma’s in town and I am already in mom withdrawal. Seriously, I get a 2 hour break and I am like ;now what, I am a mom with no kid, wtf? If I were in a good mental state I would be writing, reading, or at the least, be interested in watching my fave shows. But at this time…Nope.

So bring on the two hour coma sleep and if I do wake, as usual, let me get back to sleep quickly. I have used the red stop sign visualization, the breathing, and the counting backwards thing to the nth,sometimes it works, other times, it just makes time pass more slowly and I am left with a rapid heartbeat and knowledge that I can’t take a Xanax that would slow things down and make it so much better. They have even lowered my antihistamine, ffs, which is supposed to be for sleep and anxiety but they lowered it. How is anyone supposed to find this helpful? They are doing more harm than good yet refuse to see it for what it is.

I doubt this rant made a lot of sense but I tried writing two other times earlier and just drafted it cos it was mental gruel. I just wanted to vent about the irony of sunny days helping my mood yet making my anxiety unbearable. Fuck a fancy bag.

Here’s my kid headbanging to a metal version of Baby Shark. She bloody well rocks! (Metal version by Leo M from youtube)

And The Shit Show Gets Shittier

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 4, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was having trouble getting my mind to slow down last night in spite of antihistamines and melatonin and now that my Xanax has been cut to 1 mg for the entire day and night…it was miserable. Round and round my thoughts went. I heard a text come in and ignored it, knowing if I so much as looked at the time, I’d be drawn out of ‘mental prep’ for sleep and back to the rat race…After a half hour of toss and turn and stewing anger at this doctor who has never met me yet has robbed me of the only peace of mind I’ve ever gotten from these craptastic meds…I sat up in frustration and looked at my phone.

My heart sank. My brain cried NO NO NO, LET THIS BE A BAD SICK JOKE, NO NO NO.

The dog that my daughter loves so much at her grandma’s house got hit by a car. 😦

Chelsea did not make it, in spite of beating a year long battle with diabetes and sugar levels nearing the comatose point…she got loose and a car speeding down the street just..ran her down. It was going to happen sooner or later, they had that dog 2 years before I even had my kid, so Chelsea was an old pup. And dumb as dirt. But my daughter loves her so much. We just saw her the other day and she was cheerful and playing with Spook and my kid spent more time gushing over that dog than her grandmother. A few days before, my sister was being a goof and dressed all the animals up. This is our last pic of Chelsea rocking a punk rock outfit.

I was sick the rest of the night and had to take more melatonin, more benadryl, more Vistaril. Whereas a single 1 mg Xanax would have likely combined with the melatonin and gotten me out of my panic stupor…I’ve been elevated to taking even more pills than I was before. Now that kids have figured out how to get high on Benadryl, no doubt they will soon take that off the shelves and I’ll be in some skanky alley trying to score heroin cos that is way less dangerous than prescribed benzos…Dogressing.

I did not wake Spook. I did not tell her this morning. When I tucked her in, she was actually happy and looking forward to school today. They do this 100th day of school celebration and she hates this place so much, I could not crush her with this heart breaking news, not when she finally found a little moment of hope and happiness. Spook’s pretty detached when it comes to people or cats dying, but she had a very special bond with this dog. I fear how hard she is going to take it when I am forced to break her heart and tell her that her best friend is…gone forever. I am not looking forward to that conversation. I weighed it heavily, for hours, since I could not get my mind to quiet last night, and as much as I try to respect her with the ugly trust and not exclude her even from the sucky parts of life…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her and deal with the fall out. Let her have her fun day at school. One thing life makes plenty of time for is suffering.

I should be in town paying the rent. Once again, I find myself addled with cramps and a low mood but nerves so jumpy it’s like my own brain has a taser it keeps poking me with. Let the landlord come to the door, let him evict us. I am just so damned exhausted. I am not up to a trip to town. Maybe tomorrow. Which is what I’ve said for three days. Would have been much easier if I could have paid it Thursday when we were in town but noo, paying a day early confuses the landlord on the dates and it becomes this whole debacle so I try to only pay on the first, never before. Unfortunately, battling my current shaky mental state, this often leads to me not paying til the 4th or 5th. He’s not said anything nor does he charge more than a buck a day after the tenth, but it bothers me. I was always on time or early with the trailer park slumlord. (He apparently says NONE of us there paid rent on time, which how can people not wonder why we were allowed to remain there for ten years if we didn’t pay???Idiot negates his own argument.)

I started some laundry, emptied some trash, refilled ice cube trays, put on clean clothes. Still not worked my way to a bath. More than being dirty, it’s having greasy gross hair and scalp that really bugs me. I can use Irish Spring and wet wipes and lotions and perfumes to smell nice but the hair…ugh, that’s always the thing that breaks me. Even that is taking longer and longer than these days.
Cripes, every sound makes me jump. I feel like if I leave this safe spot in my bedroom something bad will happen. I know it’s not rational but it’s very real for me. Why don’t the professionals give a damn about quality of life? And I was thinking, these people don’t give a damn about the patients getting hooked on drugs or suffering withdrawal. If that were legit, that doctor would have taken note of me being yanked off Prozac cold turkey after being on 60 mgs for months. They don’t care that I suffered through that, they just want to cover their asses legally over ‘addictive’ substances. It need not be addictive to alter your brain enough to cause withdrawal. I swear these people got their degrees from a Cracker Jack Box.

I know, I need to stop harping on it and either accept it as my doomed fate or try to find a new office..Again, though, it goes back to crap insurance no one accepts, plus transportation since the only other psych docs are a 110 mile round trip from my house…and I’m driving on two tires showing belts so…

GAH. My kid is the only thing that is saving me from myself these days. I blame this osych center and their good intentions. Well intentioned people are the bane of my existence cos their good intentions are usually for their own self interests and it means I suffer for it.

I guess today is just gonna be spent in mourning over a family member lost (we love our animals that much) and ponder how best to tell Spook and comfort her broken little heart. The rest of this stuff is static, noise, and it may push me over the edge in the end which is why I am going to harp the hell on the topic. The system failed my sister’s brother in law, hospitalizing him for a couple days, sending him home with nothing more than a script that he couldn’t afford to fill and he hung himself two days later yet they were never held accountable…I got some mega issues with the psych pro community and they’re just getting worse.

What I know from experience, though, is that these medication zealots come and go and if I can just hunker down and survive a few months, chances are I will either get a better doc or even go with telepsychiatry. It may change nothing as far as the benzos go but if I walk out of that appointment feeling supported, hopeful, and worthwhile, that would be a wonderful upgrade from what I am dealing with at this time. It is truly upsetting because I’ve read so many blogs where people have these great psych nurses and counselors and doctors and I WANT THAT.

The midwest is all 9 circles of hell. Dante’s Inferno indeed.

R.I.P Chelsea pup. You were and are loved and I am so sorry your life ended this way.

Such a shit show.


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The clarity of earlier experienced when the hormonal dam sort of broke has abandoned me. I have tried to distract myself with piddly tasks, like putting on clean clothes, feeding the cats, etc. But nothing can remove from me the feelings of abject hopeless despair.

I know I have to ‘get over it’. I am the only one who can help me. I’m taking the meds, making the appointments, avoiding bad behaviors and negative people. Yet it changes nothing.

Now that mental health has been reclassified under the heading of Behavioral Health, I feel more than ever that I am doomed. Because were this simply bad behavior on my part, I’d have conquered it by now. I’ve done everything asked of me and beyond, including having my chakras aligned. Over and over I am told I need medication, I have legit illnesses, but then the tides turn in that field and suddenly it’s a personality disorder or just behavioral.

I cannot fathom a planet on which anyone, least of all me, would choose to feel this confused, this muddled, this dark, this hopeless, if our minds were sending the right chemical messages. By laying it at the feet of ‘behavioral health’, I think the medical community has doomed many of us, some of whom will never even attempt to seek help as ‘it’s all my behavior.’The rest of us will likely just give up entirely because you can only bang your head against the wall for so long til you cave your skull in.

I want out of this depression. I don’t want to feel my skin crawling with anxiety, I don’t want to fear loud sounds or other people. I don’t want my brain to be so disorganized that my only true solace is in sleep.

They’ve started practicing their own version of ‘magical thinking’, if you ask me, slapping an even worse label than mentally ill upon us. Now we’re not even ill, it’s all just our poor or bad behavior. So if it is that simplistic, why are psychiatrists still allowed to exist and prescribe meds? I mean, obviously, it’s a form of malpractice to medicate behavior as opposed to disorder and disease.

I curse the day I let them convince me that I was indeed mentally disordered. Life was much better when I just accepted myself as quirky, moody, high strung, and occasionally a manic flake. What good did embracing their diagnosis do me here at this stage of my life? I’ve never felt more inclined to self harm and worse because NO ONE IS LISTENING. I’m being mistreated with one size fits all medicine and it’s damaging my spirit. I need my spirit in tact to help me garner strength to keep fighting!

I am normally not an evil person but at this juncture in time…I truly wish there was a way to transfer my consciousness to the minds of these doctors and nurses who can afford to be so detached, narrow minded, and frosty. Let them feel the true suffering that stems from depression and anxiety and feeling like the very people there to help you…are actually helping throw shovel fulls of dirt over your still breathing corpse.

Dramatic? Sure. No less true, though.

Maybe I just need off all their meds and if I end up in prison or hospitalized and they take my kid away, well, no one will fucking care anyway cos it’s just behavioral health.

I’ve got no fight left in me today, just instinct for survival.

But I am going to fight tooth and nail so this new regime doesn’t prove to be my undoing. Let them find fault with my rebellious behavior when it actually results in something positive. That one size fits all medicine is whack. Oh, wait, you don’t medicate bad behavior and poor choices, so again…why do we need shrinks and meds at all if we’re just poorly behaved?

I’ll be waiting for an answer in my crypt, the only place I truly feel safe now that they’ve robbed me of my safety net. Turning someone into an agoraphobic to address the opiod crisis seems about as insane as it gets, to me. And hey, I’m not longer crazy, it’s just my bad behavioral health, they say so!

I just wamt to feel better, calmer, and lead a content and occasionally happy life. How is that so off base as to be a disorder? You know you’ve hit the bottom of the barrel treatment wise when your professionals are actually causing you more depression and anxiety as opposed to less.

I need witness relocation or something to get away from this backwoods Deliverance place. Seasonal extremes are what cause me the most problems, so relocating to a better climate seems plain logical.

I’ve mentioned it to the professionals before. They laugh at me or scoff and point out it’s not realistic since I am broke.

Yet no one understands why I have anger issues, trust issues, and feel too exhausted to keep up this farce. Their behavior is too apathetic for my tastes, maybe they need some behavioral health treatment themselves.