Archive for the anxiety disorders Category

Mommy Sneerest and YMCA

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My mom was in prime form today. Her dementia has gotten worse and with the potential cancer lump lurking, she was locked and loaded for nastiness. All of it aimed my way, geared toward putting me down for ‘having that disorder’ and ‘taking too many pills’. It’s almost like my being bipolar and taking medication threatens her, otherwise, why would she take it personally? Just because she decided depression is normal life and chose not to do therapy or meds, the rest of us should do so as well and if we don’t…hell hath no fury like Morgue’s Mom. Who over the years earned nicknames like Hateful McNasty, Bearilla, and Pit Viper. Because she is mean just to be mean and it’s only gotten worse with the dementia. Then she forgets she was mean and everyone is lying about her or exaggerating. I honestly don’t know how my sister deals with living with her, I’d already be in jail for trying to throttle her. I don’t have patience, it’s a curse.

The wedding was beautiful, if a little haphazardly put together. It did NOT rain. I actually did tear up which with two mood stabilizers, I did not think was possible and yet…I maintain I must be hormonal because honestly, it is the only time I truly tear up, I truly am THAT medicated. There were no fights, no drama, the wedding went off without a hitch. I was accused of being dressed for a funeral, which isn’t shocking. I don’t know why people think black is only for funerals but it happens to be 98% of what I own. I wore a light gray shirt the other day and all it did was draw attention to my middle where I carry most of my weight so I like the way black hides my not so sexy curves. Fat-o-flage, I call it.

The whole time we were there, I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t stop thinking about when are these mandatory dances going to be over, when are they gonna get that cake served, when will they finally open the bloody gifts…I sometimes wonder if my constant need to be home is more a combination of anxiety and A.D.D. Because I just can’t get absorbed in things. I become restless, distracted, and my mind just wants to go home. Not because anything is waiting at home but because here I do have things to help me be half focused.

My kid danced up a storm. I did not. Without some darkness and a drink or two, especially with a bunch of prissy people I don’t know, yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. But I was helping her change from her flower girl dress in the bathroom when they plated “YMCA” and I couldn’t help myself…I started singing “It’s fun to kill S-T-A-N…” from the movie Stan Helsing. Awesome parody. May have been the only true smile I had on my face all day. Not that I wasn’t happy for my nephew, it is just…me trying to fit into a world I simply can’t connect with does not nourish my soul. Stan Helsing and that rendition of YMCA nourish my soul and tickle my funny bone. It starts at 46 seconds.

My dad did buy me a sandwich afterward because they always go out to eat and I just happened to be riding with them. Woohoo, a sammich I didn’t have to cook. Very nourishing.

Some pics I took, it wasn’t very sunny out so the lighting is crap.

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Pre-wedding jitters.

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on May 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It is not lost on me how narcissistic it seems to make someone else’s wedding day about my neuroses. But I am venting here,not aloud to anyone. I will plaster on my smile and perform like the trained seal I have become when it comes to trying to deny my disorders and fit into the cookie cutter world.

Heart is pounding, pits are sweating, stomach is wonky. I am up and dressed, I even fed myself, put on make up and jewelry. I was going to aim for wearing a bright blouse with black leggings but turns out, all that stuff my dad bitched at me til it got hauled off…had all my nice dress blouses in it so I have nothing but black, blue, and gray left and most are t-shirts or tank tops. So a shoulder cut out black dress with black leggings it is. I think it looks nice but no doubt the mundanes will consider it outlandish. Fuck ’em, not like I am getting anything out of this adventure in panic misery.

Yeah, I am selfish sometimes. Me, me, me, I, me, I, me. Because no one else has to live with the sweating and wonky stomach and trembling and pounding heart. Only I do. So yeah, I cop an attitude toward that which triggers these physical responses and it doesn’t matter if it’s something I don’t want to do, like go to a wedding, or something I would love to do, like go to a concert. This is my reality and I fight my disorders with all my might but…reality is what it is.

Soon my dad and stepmonster will be here so I can ride into town with them. Me, at the mercy of who ever is driving so I can’t escape on my own terms…my inability to drive in town without terror has become extreme. I wonder what the worst of the seasonal affect is gonna be like with the 75% reduced Xanax dose. Will I even be able to leave the house? Hopefully by then they at least get their telepsychiatry thing up and running and those docs aren’t under the benzo nazi’s purvue.

Okay, I am started to hyperventilate. I don’t know what’s more panic inducing, being around my dad and stepmonster or attending a wedding with dozens of people i don’t know. Both are equally horrific, I think.

Sleep Is The New Orgasm

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Inappropriate title, you say? Meh.

I sent my kid off to her grandmother’s around 4:30 today and shortly after, I zonked out. I slept until 8:40 p.m. I was exhausted because in spite of the phones being at my bedside…I didn’t hear either of them ring when my dad called. It makes sense, though, since I’ve been running at a sleep deficit for so long. Sometimes, if I know Spook is safe and I am ‘off mom duty’, I can sleep quite well. It’s still usually in 3-5 hour increments but I sleep hard and well, for the most part. It doesn’t keep me down, I’m still a joke in a box but…

I needed the sleep after 3 nights straight of mostly being awake and only cat napping.

The sad fact is, at 46 and with a dating pool I would need a hazmat suit to venture into, my libido is quashed by meds and sheer lack of intellectual stimulation.

So getting good sleep is my new orgasm and I want multiples.

Tomorrow is my nephew’s wedding. I guess my stepmonster already made a scene and pissed everyone off at the rehearsal dinner tonight. The bride to be’s ‘nana’ is a wealthy uppity type and we are, well, hillbilly-ish white trash with some class. Mostly, we tell it like it is and a lot of fussbudgety people do not like that. I just want to go and get it over with. I wish my nephew and his bride the best, truly but if it stresses me out, I need it to be done with.

And make no mistake how much it stresses me out. I know where the shindig and all is going to be, but I can’t handle traffic in town anymore and so I asked to ride with my dad and stepmonster. THAT is how fucking far down I’ve sank since the benzo nazis took my Xanax. While buspar seems to dull the generalized constant anxiety a bit, the panic attacks I’ve had since they cut my Xanax dose 75%, I can barely bring myself to leave the house beyond Armpitopia’s minimart. Driving in town is harrowing and fills me with terror. Forget socializing. If I can’t drink and I have no sane pills in the strength I need…Funny how the edict of ONE person who has never met me has fucked up my functionality so drastically. I don’t know how she sleeps at night.

Final note- Rest In Peace, Grumpy Cat. 7 years is far too short a time for the joy you brought many of us.

However…
I nominate my Godsmack to be the new internet cat meme. She lives in a dollhouse, bathes her human, plays fetch, and is utterly an It Girl Kitty.

The Stench Of Terror And Rejection In The Morning

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My heart is still shooting around my chest like a shiny metal ball in a pin ball machine. Oh, panic attacks. I got a call from a temp service I refistered for on line and got ten minutes in and by the second time he asked if I gave notice, I realized…I’d failed to give notice to my last ten jobs cos I usually went manic and saw no consequences or went down the rabbit hole and saw no consequences cos I saw no future. It does sound bad and it reflects badly on me, but I can rewrite history. I can only do my best not to repeat it. But in all fairness, I didn’t give notice to R when I ditched his ‘friendship’ and his shop wench helper monkey thing. Once I hit my breaking point, fight or flight.

Then I was told that they won’t assist anyone without at least a current reference within the last 4 months.

My heart was pounding so loud the whole time, and I felt so much guilt and shame for not giving notice so many times. No wonder my name is literally mud, with employers. I always had this immature notion that because I was a good worker, that would somehow negate my bad judgment toward the end when my disability caused me to crash and burn. You can’t live down your past in some cases. In my case, I fucked everything up so bad from so many angles, legal, professional, skillswise…If I ever get hired again it will truly be a miracle. I’ve said until I had a year of medication stability under my belt, even I wouldn’t hire myself because I don’t think a two or three month stretch of ‘decent mental space’ means the seasonal affective won’t come along and kick my ass and make me flake out all over again.

Had to put my legs up, they are trembling so bad coming off the panic attack I about dropped the computer. Damn, I hate panic attacks. Phone calls should not make you feel this terrified but it does, for me.

It is all snowballing. The home health aide rejections, the fast food rejections (my brother even gave me a direct verbal reference to the hiring manager and I can’t get an interview to sling fries!), now temp services won’t touch me. I am toxic. I never set out to be. I don’t know how to fix it except find a way to work for myself where the meltdown cycles don’t cause income to come to a screeching halt. I don’t feel like I have many other options. I got an update about a hotel maid job and there are 56 other applicants for the same position. I have zero experience in that field so I am pretty much out of the running. I still haven’t heard from the day camp and I am wondering if they ran my background and I’m out for that, too.

It is very frustrating and disheartening. I honestly though by now I’d at least have found something ten hours a week, housekeeping or something. Now my water is going to be turned off and that means the hundred dollar deposit my dad coughed up gets kept by municipal utilities…But I had to pay power and rent and buy food and gas and…

I don’t understand why people are so hard on me, yet no one is rioting at the donor’s door. No one is terrorizing him for not working and not supporting our kid. It’s all on me and it isn’t right since i am the only parent making an effort. I don’t expect an award but it’d be nice to be seen as finally doing the right thing by taking care of my kid. I could have come unglued and blamed my disorders and just let someone else raise her while I drowned in my depressive sorrows. I have changed for the better even if I am not cured but no one gives a damn.

I just gotta keep pushing ahead, there’s no other options. But I really find it insulting to be looked down on for having fundraisers when I am putting every cent of my monthly $835 into the household- $400 rent, $220 power and heat, $70 water, $47 car insurance…if someone wants to add all that up then include feeding and littering the cats, two tanks of gas for the month, plus toiletries and extra food when needed and explain to me how to get blood from the proverbial stone…I am listening. What sickens me most, I think, is the fact my kid hasn’t received a single cent for her fundraising project for the summer. That’s bloody cold. But it’s my fault for not utilizing social media. I feel bad for using my blog for personal needs that way but…it was a follower who told me I should raise funds when needed….

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I’m pretty dejected now and already in a state of half panic so I guess it’s time to make a trip out into the petri dish. Fuck a fancy bag. I didn’t get back to sleep til 5 a.m. so I’m having one of those endless days/nights for a second day and it’s really got me space casing. Hopefully I can focus enough to drive and get groceries.

Then once my kid has left for grandma’s I can assume the fetal position, and sob uncontrollably because everything is such a mess. I have only myself to blame. Though I blame bipolar and anxiety and that isn’t too negate my own responsibility. I just maintain that my behavior stems from the information my brain is sending out so at the times I fucked up and flaked out….I was just doing what the firing impulses in my melon told me to do.

I fucked up my life and now my kid is suffering for it and I can’t get anyone to give me a chance to prove how much I have changed. The one thing I never had when I was bouncing job to job was mood stabilizers. They have made such a difference in my life, I would like the chance to prove it. But I understand why no one wants to take a chance on me.

I probably wouldn’t put my money on me, either, if I had any.

Cremated Uncured Bacon, A Bath, And A Literal Cat Nap

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I despise burned bacon. I do not even like it crisp. So starting my Thursday with a wasted package of bacon turned blackened dog chew toy tough sucked. Plus side, uncured bacon does not taste that much different than other bacon. I managed to feed myself before night time, that’s a rarity. I was disappointed, though, because I watched it closely and checked it every 5 minutes but still, my ass trash ‘too old to even have numerical thermostat’ oven ruined it. Even the cats rejected it.

I bathed, that time of the week, ha ha ha. I am actually bathing 2, 3 times a week now since Abilify/season changes. It’s still not ideal but it’s improvement. Though the sense of accomplishment was accompanied by the thought, “Ugh, fuck, I’m just gonna have to do this again Saturday before the wedding debacle.”

I suffered through restless mind syndrome some more, too tired to even get properly sleepy. Then I did get properly sleepy so I curled up in bed and before I knew it, I’d nodded off with two kittens on either side of me and one asleep on my leg. The literal and proverbial cat nap. Waking up and trying not to roll onto them and get up without crushing them was like a geriatric game of Twister.

I even got a bit of a giggle out of the day when putting the spawn into the bath. She wanted to shave her legs since she is wearing a dress as flower girl for the wedding Saturday without tights. As I supervised her, she asked me, “Do you have to comb your leg hair if you don’t shave and it grows long?” Ermagod, that made me laugh, hard. She is so bloody funny without meaning to be. Those are the mom moments that balance out all the hellish battles, the tantrums, the mood swings, the fussing, the hypochondria…She then asked me why men don’t shave under their arms and shave their legs and I told her because society is misogynostic on such matters though some men, like cyclists and swimmers, do shave their body hair. Personally, I think all men should shave to an extent but there are some women who dig the Yetti thing. Eww.
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2:11 a.m. Friday 5/17

I’ve been up since 11 p.m. I’m just doing catnaps now, it seems, so my days feel like they are neverending. But until I am good and sleepy and relaxed, trying to force it stresses me out worse and makes it more impossible. I would love 7 solid hours of sleep. I should have gotten it as I took 10 mg melatonin, 0.5 xanax, 50 mg Atarax and 100 Benadryl. If that doesn’t put you down and keep you down, well, it certainly attests to it being a sleep disorder as opposed to some personality issue. And when I get soooo tired and sooo sleepy that I nod off without meaning to…

That is a beautiful headspace. Beautiful also is waking up and feeling slightly recharged rather than like I’m only a third way through the marathon.

Today is grocery day. Aside from Jonesing for a fountain Dr. Pepper and take and bake pizza, I have no major enthusiasm for a trip to town. My kid will be spending the night in town with my sister so they can gussy her up for the murder, er, wedding, Sat morning.

I’ve been wondering if everyone’s been yapping about, “Oh, I hope Niki doesn’t wear anything to weird.” Because yes, a t-shirt and leggings is totally weird. I do love being underestimated, though. If they assume I am not bright enough to discern appropriate clothing then they’ve earned the disdain with which I view them. I even printed out a mantra for my wall reminding me they have the self awareness of an empty chair and I need to stop giving them permission to make me feel inferior. I’ll let you know if it cures me, kinda like when god gives you lemons but…

I saw that on a t-shirt before my mom’s bad mammogram came back but it still applies. Optimism does not cure illness.

I am gonna try to pawn some DVDs today so I can buy a bag of cat food. There’s only one shop though and he pays like a quarter a disc so even my 16 disc Forenisc Files set won’t get me too far IF he’d even buy it. My dad asked me why I don’t sell my electronics. Hmm, well, because they’re so old and outdated, they are literally worth more to keep than try and get a dollar value out of.

I’d like to ask why I can’t manage a successful fundraiser to get my kid her vacation and get my own ebay storefront going, using all the loot I find secondhand. I think I could rock that casbah but they don’t give small business loans for it and they wouldn’t give me a loan anyway as my credit score more resembles a euphamism for the daily time to get high. The more I think about it, though, the more the ebay thing appeals to me. I’m running into walls and bleeding out trying to fit into society’s cookie cutter system and that one mistake keeps fucking me over…Being my own boss would be about perfect. I have the retail skills. I know I could make a go of it if I could keep the monthly bills paid and focus solely on the business. That is my dream, people. To sell shit on ebay.

You say pathetic, I say desperate not to be a cog in a wheel that does not even want me…

It’s 2:30 a.m., I took another slow cocktail of antihistamine and melatonin but my mind is not slowing down an iota and sleep seems like a far away mirage. However, the cats napping on my bed are very real. Someone may as well lay in it and sleep.

I sure as hell ain’t able to do it.

Hey, Dude, Where’s My Motivation?

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

Was up three times between 9 p.m. and 4 a.m. After waking at 4, I could not get back to sleep so I’ve been running since then. I tried to nap with melatonin assistance but that has been a bucket of fail and it’s frustrating me. I’ve lightened my hair to prep for the red rinse I’m using for the wedding (I am amazed at the things I find in the bathroom cupboard that I forgot I bought long ago). My hair is still wet 3 hours later and I don’t wanna drag out the hair dryer plus it already looks fried. I did managed to cook some bacon and eggs and feed myself. Other than that…I’ve just been stewing in my own impotence, unable to work up the energy to do anything because my brain is still yearning for ‘the rest of’ the sleep it needs.

This is where your nights run into your days and it sets your entire equilibrium off balance. On top of that, I am watching a show that claims many of us become ‘addicted’ to our mental illnesses because it frees us of responsibility for our lives turning out shitty or whatever. I don’t see that in myself because I am still fighting so hard to get back on my feet and get my disorders stabilized. I WANT a full, happy life. But is living in denial of the huge impact my disorders have on my daily functioning any better than being ‘addicted to’ the disorder?

And the crazy thing is, accepting you have these disorders is not the same as clinging to them and it does NOT spare you an iota of responsibility. If anything, it makes you take on more than your fair share because you know you are the primary problem and no one can fix that, not even you. Your behavior can change, but the patterns and symptoms of the disorders are always going to be the same, you can only crank down the volume on them at times.

I get bent when I see serious disorders being trivialized that way.

I can’t focus for shit today and I swear it’s ADD, no bloody joke. Only two out of my stable of shrinks have agreed that I have it, but the proof for me was when I was on Focalin and the symtoms went away and I became calmer, laser focused, and could finish reading a book or other task without forgetting or getting off track by multiple distractions. My kingdom to read a damn book again. I have tried but…

This is truly me.

I just want a hour long power nap but my brain is on hyperdrive. Nothing productive or even pleasant, just round and round about all the problems I am facing and it’s got me wanting a Xanax the size of a semi truck hubcap.

I think I officially qualify now to join social media. I took a picture of food I cooked last night.

Boboli crust, dollar pizza sauce, cheddar and mozarella, pepperoni and pineapple chunks layered on. It would have been more awesome if my ancient -does not even have a temperature setting’ oven didn’t overcook everthing no matter how much I keep an eye on it.

And check out Spook’s youtube channel, please. Give her a like or comment, she needs a win. Be the decent human beings I know you can be if everyone takes a break from snapping pictures of their food and feeding their virtual pegacorns virtual candy.

My channel is here. Like me or don’t, I am apathetic.

Interrupted Consciousness, Bridezillas, and SPLAT!

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

I am just burning up the DSM today coming up with new disorders. Restless mind syndrome, now as opposed to interrupted sleep, I have decided sleep is my normal default so technically, it’s the waking up over and over that is the disorder.

Splat started earlier after I learned of my mom’s bad mammogram and the waiting period they stuck her with. I thought my own father might be able to work up an iota of empathy as he was married to her 28 years and no one deserves cancer even if they were a bankrupting spouse. Nope. Then his gf got involved and said oh, three weeks isn’t time for it to spread to the lymph nodes, she has plenty of time, she will be okay…Now lets talk about my low iron and how I have to get an upper GI series and a colonoscopy…SERIOUSLY? You want to put that up against potential breast cancer in a 70 year old woman whose entire family died from cancer?????? How narcissistic can one woman be?

So splat imploded then exploded and now I am back to feeling truly demoralized, defeated, depleted, and wait, because it’s only 10 p.m.

I got Bridezilla texting me and saying I gotta get my kid white or purple dress shoes by Saturday for HER wedding. I told her I have NO money. None. Zero. I just got hit with another power bill that was 45% of my income and my rent was the other 50% so now my water is gonna get turned off. So yeah, shoe money, sure, let me pull that out of my ass. I will be so glad when this fucking wedding is over. I knew it would end up being my financial problem, that was only ever the reason I didn’t want Spook involved in the fiasco. “But they’re just twenty dollars at Wal-Mart” says the 20 something with no kids of her own whose rent is only $80 a month. Twenty bucks is a LOT for me. I need cat food, I will need even more gas now since I have to make 3 trips to town over this stupid wedding, then next week Spook has a doc appointment, then I have to go back for a job interview.

I feel like my brain is trying to claw its way out of my head.

Anyone want to buy a 16 disc collection of the best of Forensic Files? Right now, it’s about the only thing I have worth around $40 on ebay. Discs are in great shape, bought new, barely used, cos I switched to digital files.

I.want.to.scream.and.smash.things.

But I am too tired and my stomach is rioting from stress and my back is hurting from sitting up to write for so long. Scumbag brain is on hyperdrive, and not in a good way. This is a perfect storm brewing and I am terrified someone is going to say the wrong thing come wedding day and I am gonna burn a dozen bridges when I snap.

This is SPLAT. This is what follows a brief hypomanic bout. Irritation, anger, defeat, zero motivation, hopelessness, and right back down the rabbit hole. We’re all mad here, said the cat.

It’s a ‘I wanna drink bleach’ kind of night and I don’t even have any bleach.

Ass Trash.