Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Mental Health Ninjas

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on October 5, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I got cocky yesterday. I was swimming along, going with the flow, had things managed and anxiety to a dull roar. (I was actually able to make phone calls, which should have been made Tuesday but that day, I was borderline psychotic with anxiety.) Nothing catastrophic happened. i was feeling okay.

Then I got home and that damned band of anxiety ninjas launched a full scale assault on my senses. I literally felt like my bones were trying to pry their way out of my skin. There was no trigger. I was in my safe space. I was drinking water all day, so not caffeine to set it off. No sweets. Just…ninja attack. I took a Xanax. It did nothing. So I took another, knowing that’d make my bedtime dose short but hey, what’s a couple of hours trying to nod off compared to anxiety so bad you even feel like your child is a threat and it sets off fight or flight impulses.

Eventually, the spell passed, but it took almost 4 hours to regain equilibrium and by then, I was so stressed, my stomch was hurting. Frustrating.

Today is another wet and gloomy one, three in a row. We need the rain, even if all we get is short bursts. I only mowed my lawn twice the entire spring and summer, that’s how dry it has been. But much as I love the sound of rain and not having sunlight piercing my corneas…It does impact my energy and mood so gloomy days are a bit rocky for me.

This one started on a somber note. Spook’s kitten, Sachel, passed away. The mama refused to feed him, he refused to eat even kitten chow or milk, and I guess even with me using a kitty syringe to feed him nutrigel and mooshy food, it wasn’t enough to sustain him. Now I am terrified Adelitas is going to go the same way, though he is at least warming a bit to the idea of powdered milk and he will drink some water. Any day that starts out with having to tell your 8 year old her kitten died is not a good day. I buried him after she left and put a flower on his grave so she can have her own ceremony later.

Ran some errands before coming to the shop. Frankly, I am amazed how much I remembered to do, even some of it before I left home because hey, I have internet, I can submit an invoice from there…But of course there’s one thing I can’t remember so I had to send R a text and he will undoubtedly give me shit for not remembering that one thing. I remembered everything else. Give me some credit for that. With the holes in my memory these days, I’m lucky if I remember to put on pants. (I wish that was a joke.)

I kinda spruced myself up today with a pretty shirt, some eyeliner and earrings, a bracelet. Think it’s my way of saying, “Look, you selfish bitch, that poor kitten is dead and you’re alive, so show some damned signs of life and be thankful you have one.”

Back to making the donuts. Which means sitting here watching TV shows and firing off a message to an ebay seller about a defective product. Woohoo, I am a whirlwind. I guess compared to others, I am a sloth but the functionality I manage, lackluster as it can be…I take a little satisfaction in it.

A little. Too much and then people will think I am all cured if my exterior is all shiny. If only they could spend some time in the darkness hidden by that exterior they might learn some empathy.

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Whirlwind

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on October 2, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I have stunned myself today with how productive I have been today. Oh, not around the house, the place is still Biohazard level 5. No. But I had to pay the internet bill, the power bill, and the rent and I had that all done before 10 a.m.

Then I got a voucher from Salvation Army for clothes at their store because what money I had left goes for car insurance and gas and the kid has no fall/winter clothes. I didn’t find any pants, but I got her six shirts, all very cute and in great condition. While doing that, I got a message that someone wanted to bring a TV into the shop. Well, Monday is MY day where I get to be selfish, sans kid, and regain equilibrium, but I still went and opened the shop and took in the TV. It’s a warranty so guaranteed money which means more for him to put towards buying me the car he’s promised for 2 years! (I think me driving a heap of ugly junk bothers him more than me, but then, it is all about appearances and others being impressed.)

After that, I got my meds (my Trintellix costs insurance $512 a month, pharma companies are satan!!!), I got some Halloween stuff (yeah, yeah, what a waste of six bucks) and came home. I decorated. Six years straight Mr. Vorhees has occupied my bedroom window.

Neighbors have told me driving by at night when their headlights hit my window, it scares the hell out of them. Ha ha ha ha. That’s the point of Halloween, ain’t it?

I haven’t taken a pic yet but I even decorated my drought barren rose bush with black roses and skulls. Poor Monster has barely had two dozen blooms all summer cos of lack of rain. Otherwise, she is a monstrously huge bush of hot pink roses. (Yeah, yeah, Morgue, hot pink? My stepmom bought the rose bush for me as a Mother’s Day gift from my kid and planted it, it was labeled as yellow but either the store fucked up or all the stray cats peeing on it changed the color with their urine’s PH.)

Aside from the usual Trintellix induced stomach ache and some anxiety induced trembling of my hands…not been a bad day. Which means the rest of the week when I have to be in the dish, I am probably going to be a hot mess and start freaking out.

Such is the cycle.

On a funny note..I got a comment today on my “Dear Blahpolar…in memory of…” post. Pure Spam or Net Troll. Told me my last few posts have been boring and I need to get back on track. HUH? Okay, that post was about Ulla, not me, in memory of the anniversary of her death. And if that tribute bores you, go fuck yourself with a barbwire dildo. I laughed it off. My posts are pretty consisten in being rambling diatribes about my necessary nemesis, R, and my defiant child and my battles against depression, bipolar, and anxiety, and the never ending money problems. Newsflash, Troll/Spamzilla: my blog has never been anything but boring. Because my life is boring. I am boring. So there will be no changes made. Go read one of the scintillating (BORING) three sentence long blogs talking about what someone ate for the day or insulting someone based on their looks. That’s about your speed, anyway.

Okay. I guess that’s my diatribe for the day. Stay tuned for more boring posts!

Actually stayed tuned for more pictures of my awesome Halloween decor. That’s actually interesting.

Dear Blahpolar…In Memory Of

Posted in bipolar depression, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on September 12, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I could prattle on about my baggage but…That’s for another day.

This post is not about me, even if it does revolve around the bipolar/depression theme.

Around a year ago, our wordpress tribe lost the person who was essentially, our ‘leader’. And not in an alien “Take me to your leader” way. She really was the heart and soul that brought us all together.

Ulla, AKA Blahpolar bravely and relentlessly fought the battle against bipolar and depression but alas, even after subjecting herself to shock treatments…she took her own life to escape the torment.

Most of us in this wordpress mental health tribe were devastated by the loss. Blah was smart and funny and kind and compassionate and she had so much good going on, it should have been enough to drown out the misery brought by bipolar depression.

We are only human and she hit her wall. There is no judgment here. Only empathy, compassion, empathy and grief for the loss of our friend.

Blah, aka Ulla… We hope you are in a better place, with your mom, minus the turmoil and suffering brought on my a misfiring brain and emotional scars. We hope you found true peace. We miss you more than words can say.

Yesterday was suicide prevention day. I failed to post on that subject.

Today I am speaking up, speaking out. If anyone reads this and feels they might be hitting their wall…I may be a virtual stranger but if you need someone to talk to via text, someone to talk you off the ledge or just listen or remind you that YOU MATTER…

Shoot me a text at 217-320-3369. Day or not. I will reply when I can whether I know you or not. I have lost too many friends to suicide caused by the never ending battle with mental health issues. Maybe talking is not a cure all but on occasion…Just one other person saying you matter and reminding you that you have value…is enough to ward off the Bad Thoughts.

This post is in loving memory of our treasured Blah, taken from us way too soon. I offer my number to any who might need it, whether I know you or not. I’ve been there, on that ledge, thinking I am useless, hopeless, worthless. Depression lies. Don’t buy the lies. Reach out for the truth.

We love you Ulla/Blahpolar. You left a legacy for us and you will remain in our hearts forever. ❤

570

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on September 6, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Why 570? It’s the name of Motionless In White song I was just rocking out to. Because their music epitomizes what I feel, some days all snarly and demonic, some days I just want to sing out for someone to LISTEN, and most days I alternate between both extremes. Thus their music is my new anthem. I won’t subject you to it because it is pretty harsh for most, even me at first, but then…Youtube it if you’re even curious. Spork of fortitide if you survive a minute in. Much love if you actually like it (bet you don’t, I’m seriously rocking the harsh metal in my old age.)

I had another meltdown yesterday. Not at the shop, no I managed a few juggling acts with the mess idget left me to deal with and I was hanging by a thread but hanging. Nope. It was going home. I talked to my child about why she had been grounded. For once, she managed more than “I was bad” or “I don’t know.” I thought, wow, she’s learning. So I let her play. Big mistake. One friend, fine. Then come the older kids trying to divide and conquer so Spook doesn’t play with the littlest girl, N, who they insist has head lice yet she’s in school so I am inclined to think with the school doing head checks this week they might have noticed…

At one point all the noise outside just made me snap. I made Spook come in for supper and not five minutes in, all three of those older girls burst in our door without a knock screaming that Spook’s cat was dead. Well, the cat being mentioned was swirling on the floor at my feet yet they still got Spook all riled up and I just leaned against the kitchen sink and closed my eyes and gnashed my teeth, taking deep breaths until I could manage, in a less demonic tone, to tell those girls, “Just go home.” I was so furious. I felt so violated. I mean, just the day before I had shown these girls-all of them 11 and up- a sheet of my rules. I only have six rules and one of them is DO NOT BARGE IN UNINVITED. Yet they just continue to do it. I shouldn’t have to have my door on lockdown at 5 p.m. over some rude brats.

After that, I just felt…emotionally raped. Yeah, it is the right term, because if someone violates you in any fashion, it is an assault, sexual or physical or mental. I got her to finish eating, got her cleaned up, in bed clothes, and she read me a book, then I melatonin-ed her and by 7:45 she was ready for bed. (This is pretty normal even without melatonin,now that the temps have dropped and it gets dark sooner, my kid has always adapted bedtime by season that way.) Finally I could just hole up in my bedroom with the drone of Unsolved Mysteries, a fluffy kitty, and texting my sister about how shitty out lives are. By nine, I was over and out. Done. But then after tossing and turning 45 minutes with the hamster wheel in my brain turning, I was reduced to melatonin. Still slept like shit, kept waking up. It got so cold I went to make sure my kid’s fan was off and window closed and she had enough blankets. This is late October cold, not early September cooling off. No wonder I am circling the drain, it’s been so abrupt.

And so comes the seasonal affective disorder. Ya know, what the masses call “winter blues” and what all the psych professionals will be improved by a pricey sunlight lamp WHICH DOES NOTHING TO MAKE IT WARMER THUS MY MOOD IS STILL IN THE GUTTER. This is my double edged sword. Cold weather means the feral brats will be kept inside, but it also means a trip down the rabbit hole for me. Less anxiety, deeper depression. Then come March-ish when it starts to warm up, I will rise from the ashes of SAD and likely go hypo then either stabilize briefly or go into another depressive cycle. I could be a damned textbook case of this shit and these doctors still wouldn’t have a bloody clue.

I told my kid she’s not playing today, at all, and I am not backing down. See, between the stress of the shop and her and her friends yesterday, I got so anxious and freaked, I threw up all my supper. I mean, all of it. Nerves. This has to stop. And while it feels unfair ‘punishing’ her by not letting her play, she can’t seem to make it a day without a drama with those kids and it’s unfair that I am the only parent who ever has to put up with it in their yard and house. But if the stress is manifesting in vomiting and stomach aches…something’s gotta give, even if it means my kid hates me. I will try to give her playtime, but I am taking a break from her friends for today at least.

Adding insult to injury I texted R last night and asked if he could just at least leave me some lunch money as I can’t even afford a baloney sandwich and he said yep…This morning…Not a cent left. And I didn’t pack anything. FFS. Is it too much to ask to be minutely considerate? He’s the one choosing to do the two job thing and frankly, I put together that little outside contracted job pretty well,all he had to do was show up and box up some televisions, I did the calls, the emails, the paperwork (which needs Faxed and again, he didn’t leave money for that either)…Not even a few bucks for a burger. And of course, it will be all “I was exhausted, I forgot” and he will make me feel guilty for further taxing him with my piss any problem of ya know, not even having $1.08 to my name for a damn frozen burger at Dollar TRee. Because I totally knew the donor was gonna lose his job and screw me and Spook over financially. I totally saw it coming and went on a buying binge, what with that luxurious gas in the car thing and oh, donations to help with the bug infestation, and that big filet mignon we’re eating…oh, wait, we eat pork chops, chicken, and Hamburger Helper while he spends $20 on a jar of fucking Saffron to accent his chef-y cooking.

Wouldn’t hurt me in the least if he ended up on the street. He’s done it several times before and survived. Come the big blast, he and the cockroaches will be the only things left alive. Possibly, Trump, cos evil just doesn’t fucking quit.

Okay, I went off on a tirade but you get my drift. I am melting down and cracking up and it goes beyond just money. I have mental disorders that are being drastically worsened by outside circumstances and while I used to crumble and cry, now I just get ranty and pissed off and start thinking of how a Z-whacker to a skull would sound…

But it would have to be a zombie apocalypse for me to go that extreme. I found a winged bug inside yesterday that the cats had maimed, but I still lifted it gently and set it outside so it could at least crawl off and die instead of the cat devouring it or kids stomping on it. I mean, God’s creature and all. Only roaches, donors, and Trumps escape that classification.

Not that I have any strong opinions.

And I still want Kentucky fried chicken for lunch.

Twisted

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on September 1, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Yeah, okay, my humor is twisted but today…I am talking about a different kind of twisted. The anxiety induced kind.

My stomach is in pretzels and they’re doing this whole gymnastics routine that is both incovenient and painful. My brain is racing between “it’s not so bad” and “omg, the fucking sky IS falling.”

Good- social security approved my request for a new card. Yeah, it’s stupid to sweat something so basic but it’s what I do, I sweat the big stuff, little stuff, it’s called being high strung with a massive anxiety disorder.

Bad-still no child support. Now this perhaps makes me look like some money grubber but when you live hand to mouth, budgeting is crucial so if The Donor (hmm, giving him a title with capital letters seems too generous) has quit his job, switched jobs, become unemployed, gotten sick, or (please please) fled the country or died…I need to know. If I’m not getting child support, then my income status changes and I have to report it to public aid for the food stamps and healthcare thing. And if he has switched jobs that would render his old insurance on her useless and yeah, as the mom, I kinda need to know this shit. So it goes beyond simply “show me the money”. It’s logic. Unfortunately, I wasted an hour on the phone with two different departments of the state that handle the payments and enforcement and no one can tell me a damn thing except when the last payment was made. Which, duh, I know, cos I look at my debit card statements.

I suppose I could call where he is supposed to be working and ask for him, and if they say he’s no longer employed…But no, that causes more stomach acrobatics and panic and last time I called and did get him on the phone to simply inquire if his insurance covered her dental care…He was all rigid with that simpery but hate twinged voice making it clear I am a quasi stalker for calling his job. Which has happened once in what 9 years? But that’s his mentality, he ditches a woman, she can’t even try to bring his stuff to him or he reports her as a stalker. As if I care enough to flatter him or any other man for that matter.

There was more trailerhood drama last night. Found out two sex offender list dudes are living there and they favor small children. Like my paranoia wasn’t high enough. I am gonna have to put my kid in a Zorb ball til she’s flipping 18. Then S’s mom explained to me that S has ADHD, she’s on the autism spectrum, and she has an anxiety disorder so sometimes she goes off and says things she doesn’t mean…Hello, bipolar panic ridden chick here, I get it.

Unfortunately, Spook did not when S said something mean to her and came home bawling. I tried to explain it to her but she’s 8, she barely comprehends others have feelings except for herself so explaining mental disorders is like talking to a head of lettuce. Then I agreed to watch S while her mom ran out and I swear, I saw them at the patio table playing nicely and the next thing I know I’ve got this angry woman in my yard ranting at me that S tried to kick her daughter R and she witnessed herself. Like I am supposed to discipline another person’s child? I mean, I saw the girls went to the edge of the yard but I didn’t hear any bickering or crying or see any kicking. But if S was being honest and had missed a dose of meds, I could see her totally going off and kicking someone. So the angry mom (who is actually the girl’s aunt, like I should know this shit) tells me to have S’s mom come talk to her the minute she got home. Which meant me texting S’s mom and having to explain this all happened on my watch.

Got no reply. Guess my supervision will no longer be requested. Wasn’t my kid kicking people, though. Guess I gotta watch the 10 year old even more closely than my 8 year old. WTF, I don’t need all this drama.

Now I sit at the shop and can’t decide whether to risk getting lunch because I am hungry but my stomach is already so upset, good could make it worse. And with child support in the air and the car running funky and all the other expenses coming up…Keeping on R’s good side by helping here seems pretty damned wise. And besides…way that other outfit works him for a few weeks then doesn’t…Maybe I can stand being out of my safe space a few days a week. Hell, I managed almost 8 hours yesterday, including running errands after being gone all day. Normally I rush home to make sure the house hasn’t burned or been burgled or the cats haven’t gone nuts and eaten each other….Yesterday because of the child support not being there, I was all calculator brain and it seemed to save on gas and mileage on the car to just pay net and rent while already out rather than go home then have to run 6 miles one way, then 6 miles the other turning it into a 24 mile trip when doing it as I did made it only 11 miles.

My brain is hypo, I am all over the place rambling. Maybe I need a fundraiser so I can afford Focalin, it’s the only thing that keeps scumbag brain from ping ponging around in my skull those turning me into a rambling incoherent ass clown.

So, yeah, I am all twisted in knots today and actually, it’s pretty much been that way for the entire summer sans the blessed days she was grounded and he wasn’t telling me that I am fine. I WANT to be fine. But deep down I know that I am far from it. And it’s nobody’s fault really, it’s just the disorders I have that make coping with daily aggravations like noise and kid drama so stress inducing that it impacts me physically. Living with that is never going to make me fine.

But hey, I’ve survived 44 years,so…wing and a prayer.

‘Till I Collapse

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on August 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

As of late, I’ve been occasionally working song titles into my post titles. Bon Jovi, Papa Roach, Motionless in White…Today, I am going with Eminem. He’s funny as hell but his message is awesome, I admire my fellow “Fuck You” brigade members. And this song of his is how I am feeling today or at least how I want to feel. Because with mental glitches, no amount of stubborn will to keep going can ward off the meltdowns.

‘Cause sometimes you just feel tired, feel weak
And when you feel weak
You feel like you wanna just give up
But you gotta search within you
And gotta find that inner strength
And just pull that shit out of you
And get that motivation to not give up
And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall
Flat on your face and collapse

I’m at the shop again, as a favor to R, and it is quiet but my cramps are not, nor is my nervous stomach. And I’m feeling a little woozy which is weird because I ate a few bites of cereal, haven’t taken my meds yet, and have had a little soda so my blood sugar shouldn’t have dropped or jumped enough to cause wooziness.

Maybe it’s because we lost another kitten. Yeah, Cleo ninja dropped 4 preemies the other day and now I have to bury a kitten who lived less than 24 hours.After burying my beloved Graves and the others last week. Death doesn’t bother me in general but when it’s an animal or someone I am truly bonded with…I take it pretty hard. Yeah, I come off as all uncaring and cold but that’s emotional battle armor.

I am in that dangerous place. I know I’ve pushed myself way too hard and that if I don’t step back soon and give myself a brain reboot, I WILL go splat. It’s not a question of if,it’s just when. Because that is the price of being uber functional for me. I am a badass who just keeps going like the battery bunny from hell…until I simply can’t. I hit the wall and essentially drop out of life. Beyond my kid and cats, everything ceases to matter. Friendships, family, trying to be functional and fake it til I make it out of the depression or anxiety…It all goes away and I collapse and it’s more my mind’s way of throwing a safety switch than anything. Because if life won’t slow down and allow me the break I need when I need it and I have to keep going…SPLAT happens.

And no matter how many times it happens everyone around me still scratches their head and wonders why I crashed and burned. Because hey, I don’t work, I have the easy life,blah blah fuck off and die in a fire. You don’t go far if your car’s gas tank is on E and the same is true for me when my mental reserves are on E. I wish I were tougher but it is what it is

But ’till I collapse and splat…I’m here, burying my dead, pretended my stomach’s not tied into pretzels, my ovary oompa loompas don’t exist, and lying to myself by saying, “I’ve got this, I can do this.”

I want to do it.

And I also want to be a unicorn because this being an adult thing sucks.

See? Still not a unicorn, desire be damned.

Mental Popcorn Recipe

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on August 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Take 1 bipolar axis 2 med resistant patien
Add propensity for paranoia and panic due to anxiety disorder
Toss in 8 month long depressions with 4 month long stable-ish bouts or hypomania
Combine with 300mg Wellbutrin and 10mg Trintellix
=

Mental popcorn.

See, I don’t know how to better describe the side effects I get from my dual anti depressant therapy. I have allergies to pretty much everything so being itchy has just been part of my life since childhood as is tossing back anti-histamines. The mood stabilizers and anti anxiety pills do not cause itchiness, I have mythbusted this numerous times.

Rare occasions, a single anti depressant/anti psychotic like Abilify or Lexapro resulted in the sensation of itchiness and bugs crawling all over my skin. No hallucinations that bugs are there, just all over body itchiness.

My current regime of Wellbutrin and Trintellix, though…The itchiness is head to toe and it’s like…popcorn popping. Think more old school hot air popcorn maker where you can hear and watch as the kernels pop and fall into a bowl. Now place that sensation on every inch of your skin and hair. Pop, pop,pop,pop, constantl. On your skin, under your skin, in your brain, scalp, EVERYWHERE EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY.

Mental popcorn.

The alternative is to stop one or both drugs and go back on the medi go round, thus sacrificing what little progress the meds have given me. It’s not a choice where you really win because, hey, mental popcorn itself is maddening as bipolar and depression and anxiety attacks.

And don’t tell your mental healthcare pro you have mental popcorn unless you have a mega potentially fatal rash to back it up. They look at you like you have sprouted two heads and a third eye. Just because the pharma company didn’t list it or perhaps trial patients didn’t know how to describe it but for “itchiness”…does not mean it’s not real.

I can occasionally quell the popcorn sensations or lessen them with an anti-histamine. Right now, I am forced outside my crypt into the dish and have no access to said medication and…I really like eating popcorn but feeling like it’s bugs popping on my skin 24-7 is making me rethink my snack choices.