Archive for the bipolar depression Category

2+2 equals fish

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on June 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I know, I know. WTF is with that title? Just one of those quirky things that happen when you have a small kid. I tried to explain to Spook how it is more cost effective to get 20 cookies for a dollar versus 4 tiny candy bars for a dollar. And she said, “Two plus two equals fish.” And it just hit me as being really funny. Not that I had a laugh or anything. NOPE.

Because pms week has arrived and I am crampy and my emotions are out of whack and like the grown up I am, I am practicing avoidance behavior concerning R. I cannot deal with someone that broken right now. And yeah, he has the successful life and dozens of friends and nice cars and blah blah blah…But the fact he can’t be supportive and he can’t allow me to have emotions without treating me like I am suffering from ebola…He is the broken one. Not the devil but also…Not bringing much positive to the table.

The depression still has a stranglehold, but at least it’s no longer the suicidal depression. MY lawn needs mowed and I can’t seem to get off my ass and do it. But at least my house is only biohazard 2, mostly because, ha ha ha, I broke the vacuum again.

The anxiety and exhaustion are at fever pitch, courtesy of my uber popular kid and all her friends being in my face (even if from a distance) 24-7…MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM. And the kids always asking for our food when I can barely afford to feed my own kid and then I gotta feel like a stingy monster for saying no, I can’t feed 5 different kids every single day.

I still haven’t had my lithium level drawn and checked. I am gonna ask to be taken off of it. Lamictal does fine as long as I’m not on mania overlord…as for the Cymbalta…I think it’s curtains. Maybe the nurse practitioner can suggest a newer one. SOMETHING has got to get me out of the abyss. Like the start of school and oh, R getting called back to his work so I can be free of parts this, parts that, do this, do that. What can I say, I feel indebted and on a good day, ordering shit from home isn’t too taxing. On the bad days, the demands, the expectations…it’s too fucking much and I melt down. And when I am all hormonal and feeling every emotion to the nth degree but I can’t even speak to the man because he will make it all about him being right and me being lazy or too emotional or whatever excuse that makes him not responsible for anything.

But that could be the pms talking. THough after 6 years…I am doubting it. The feelings have remained the same, only the intensity changes. I’ll own that. I will NEVER be okay with people who refuse to accept me, moods and feelings and all, while expecting me to accept their shitty qualities.

Sad to say, the ones guiltiest of this…are my own family.

So…Much…Noise

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on June 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Two posts, one day, what a flood poster I am. Oh, well, venting is needed.

Since my kid smashed the tablet and has continually lied, she’s been grounded. Throw in the head lice, and I am STILL finding nits, which means another treatment and all bedding washed and floors vacuumed…

She never ever stops talking. MOM MOM MOMMY MUM MUM MORGUE MOM MOM MUM MUM. She’s a non cartoon version of Family Guy’s Stewie. And much as I love her and hard as I try…I can’t change who I am, who I was before she was born.

Too much noise, especially incessant noise, is a trigger. It sets off the worst of my anxiety and panic, it upsets my equilibrium, and I get headaches and my patience is nil. It would be better if the child would ever listen to me and mind. I’ve explained my noise sensitivity over and over, explained that mom asking for ten or twenty minutes of peace and quiet is not neglect or abuse…She just doesn’t get it. Unless it’s someone else bugging her while she is watching a show or playing with friends, then it’s a national tragedy.

It’s not been a month yet school has been out and even without her revolving door of friends…I feel like my brain is climbing out of my skull, desperate to flee the scene of all the noise. Mind you, it’s not exclusive to her. I have this issue with traffic, crowded stores, even cookouts with more than 5 people present. Noise just lands me face down in the anxiety gutter. I’ve tried to explain it to her, to my family, to friends…No one gets it. And I’ve read enough of others’ blogs to know that I am not alone in my noise sensitivity. It’s hellish to not be able to handle standard issue white noise life delivers. The McMuggles think I am a wimp, putting on an act, being a crybaby.

Oddly, these are the same people with their own triggers. For R it’s heights and he avoids them but for whatever reason, that’s okay. My sister is scared of storms and hordes up in the basement with her cats every time there’s thunder or lightning. My stepmonster hates snakes and fears them. My kid has a phobia of being alone and not having friends, it scares her. WE ALL HAVE OUR ISSUES.

My question is….WHY IS IT OKAY FOR THEM TO CLING TO THEIR ISSUES/PHOBIAS WHICH REALLY DON’T AFFECT THEM LIVING A NORMAL LIFE…Yet I have physical reactions to my triggers but I am supposed to suck it up, snap out of it, get over it, grow up. ???WTF is that?

So, yeah, her never ending chatter and refusal to even give me ten minutes’ peace has me on edge. I think it’s legitimate and well explained. Though 9 more weeks of it is daunting. Still, after the tablet smash and all the lies (she kept lying to me today about stupid shit)…I am sticking to her grounding even if it punishes me as much as it attempts to discipline her. Her added lies earned her 2 more days grounding and if she keeps it up…it will keep adding up. She claims to be “scared” to tell the truth. I haven’t so much as swatted her butt in a year. I may raise my voice after telling her to do/not do something multiple times and being ignored…I may ground her from her bike or friends…But I am not abusive. She is manipulative. And it stems from the way my stepmonster basically yells at her but no amount of trying to reason with that woman works. So I end up looking like the monster. Yay.

Dad asked Spook today if she wants to come stay 4 days with them in July for their church’s summer camp and the minute he said ‘you can play with other kids’ she was all about it. Which has to make you wonder just how scared she is of her step grandma if she wants to spend 4 days there with them. My kid is a conundrum. Then, aren’t we all.

Aside from the rampaging nerve ending devouring anxiety due to too much noise…My mood held up pretty well today. I spent hours texting my sister. Of course, since I am normally introverted and don’t text, no doubt her and mom will think I am drunk. Dumbasses can’t grasp bipolar to save their lives. Some days…most days…I am stuck inside my own head thanks to the depression. Occasionally I have a good day where I kind of want to talk to others, even if by text. Nature of the bipolar beast.

Okay, that’s all she wrote. Feel free to leave feedback in the comments, let me know how excessive or loud noise impacts your life and mental health. I know I’m not alone, but occasionally, it’s nice to have it confirmed. And even if noise isn’t your trigger…feel free to chime in, too.

Love hearing from anyone who cares enough to comment. No, it’s not ego or being a ‘like button’ whore. I just like knowing my writing resonates. If it didn’t, during my black depressions, I’d probably kill this blog and delete it. It’s YOU guys who keep me writing when you let me know my writing has struck a chord.

Two sporks of fortitude for anyone who read this entire post. I do babble but it comes from a good place..Ok, nothing good about depression or anxiety but it comes from a genuine place. Being real and telling the truth about myself are all I have to offer.

That and wicked sarcasm.

Limited Time Only

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on June 4, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

With bipolar axis two (I can’t speak for bipolar axis one), functionality comes and goes. When the energy is *there* you use it for all its worth. When it *goes MIA*, it’s like someone swinging an axe and cutting off an extremity only to leave you to bleed out. Of course, others who are ignorant of the disorder will consider this dramatic and theatric but it’s the real deal.

Five days I was under the surface, functioning at minimal, seeing the sink of dishes, feeling shitty about it, but totally incapable of dealing with it.

Today, again, I woke before 6 a.m. cos it was light outside. Stayed in bed til 7:30 when the spawn rose. It was church day. Thankfully, they didn’t forget to pick her up like they did last Sunday. Once up and she was out, I washed rugs, then a load of clothes, I did three sinkloads of dishes (I have to do them that way, everything in small increments), I cleaned all the cat boxes then put in clean litter and hauled out the bad stuff. I went Aldi for some fresh veggies, went to the dollar store for anti stick spray (I think the proper term is anti perspirant deodorant but with my anxiety which induces sweat even on the coldest day…it’s not always effective. Yeah, gross, whatever.) I DID shower first before going out into the dish. Humidity’s so high, just the cat litter dust was clinging to my moist skin. Nasty.

Since Spook got home from church…PEACE, no friends. I appreciate the respite.

Then my dad calls to darken my doorstep because I dared to tell him I was eating leftover pizza and he demanded how did I afford carry out and I said, ten dollar any deal at pizza hut and it’s made a meal for two days now….That man may mean well, but he is a dick. Maybe even a cockweasel, the way he carries on about my stepmom working 16 hours a week (my mom worked 48 swing shift while raising us when he was on the road 6 days a week) and oh, my brother who is almost 22 and got a legit high school diploma even though he has the emotional IQ of a 9 year old…

Everyone thinks it’s ego or jealousy making me bitter. Nope. I just don’t like dickbags.

I even mowed the lawn today even if my allergies were in full force due to the thick humidity. I kicked ass. Forgot to take names. Because frankly, the meds make me forget my own name sometimes. Actually, I know my name but there are times I struggle for my or my kid’s birthdate and I blame the meds for delayed access to that particular memory file. It’s like I’m running Windows ME and it is indeed migraine edition.

Now…I am thinking a second shower because two fans in 85 degrees with 69% humidity means Spook and I probably have more cat hair sticking to us than to the cats. Two fans ain’t cutting it, the central air don’t work, and the window unit makes the circuit blow. (Landlord finds that, my broken oven, and my caving floors of zero priority.)

At least, even if limited time only, I got stuff accomplished before going down the rabbit hole again.

Tomorrow, I think I am gonna rant about how even the professionals can’t tell bipolar and borderline personality disorder apart. The THINK they can, but they often cannot. Since having that label tossed at me a few years back (FIRST time in 25 years, from a therapist younger than my diagnosis)…I’ve been soul searching, researching, looking long and hard at myself, for better or worse.

A show I watched today, fictional as it is, sparked something inside me that further convinces me Yoyo counselor was dead wrong and the shrink lumping bipolar patients in with a borderline support group is plain negligent.

Borderlines always feel like a victim.

Bipolar sometimes make us feel ten feet tall and bulletproof, thus not a victim.

Then again, I may be in tears and begging the flying spaghetti monster to smite me tomorrow.

As I said, functionality, limited time only. Same goes for lucidity.

Shake And Break

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on June 3, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Tuesday through Friday were a total wash, write off days. The ones where you’re so far under the depressive abyss you function minimally even if you want more than anything to ‘snap out of it’. Didn’t happen, desire to do so be damned. Often, this is the price I pay for uber functional days like Monday. I kicked ass that day, accomplished a ton and then…four days of nothing but shambling like a zombie. Last night was telling as I allowed my kid to sleep with me. Always a mistake because even in a full size bed she sleeps with one knee out and no matter which way I turned, it was in my gut or my back. So I didn’t sleep well, was up a couple of times, and that bummed me out because I wanted to get up and go to a few yard sales, see if it picked up my spirits. Not getting decent sleep is a big intention killer for me. I don’t need a lot, just a few hours not popping up like a demented jack in the box.

To my chagrin, I woke when it was light outside…and it wasn’t even 6 a.m. So I snoozed until 7:30 then bladder and child dictated I get out of bed. I wasn’t feeling the ‘let’s get going’ vibe. It was all I could do to FORCE myself into a shower after 4 days and I only did that because my scalp was so itchy and my hair so nasty, I couldn’t handle it anymore. Then came the horror of choosing clothes and actually getting my kid out the door.

First yard sale…BAM. Found a Vellux blanket, perfect condition, one dollar. And that sent my mood into the stratosphere because I have been trying to find a Vellux for years, they are so soft and warm…And ONE DOLLAR? Hells, yea! So that lifted my mood and we went to several more but my good friend (and by that, I mean, mortal enemy) anxiety peeked in and screamed BOO. All the roadwork around town had me convinced I had a flat tire and panxiety started chewing on me because I can’t change a flat and I’m not sure I even have a spare and…and…and… Ya know, anxiety making me its bitch, the usual.

Kept going, though. Even stopped by the shop to see R. The new job laid him off after 5 weeks of work, he is livid because the shop can’t bring in enough money to feed my cats some months, he needs a ‘real job’. I feel for him, I really do. For all of my bitching and moaning, I realize…he was putting me in a situation that stressed me out with all the ‘find this part and find that part’. He’s kind of a twonk at times, but most of my ranting…is on me. Because I can’t handle being put under pressure and having expectations put on me. I have the legit condition to explain it, too, it’s not selective anxiety, but nonetheless…I own it. And I do feel empathy for him. Here he thought he has a great new job, perhaps paying less than he wants, but he was working his ass off for them and one day they say, layoffs are coming, the next, the boss says no, we have more work for you, then that guy gets sick and the next guy waits until end of shift Friday to tell him he’s laid off for a week or two…Guess even the so called beautiful people get shanked on occasion.

So…we finished yard sales, then we went to get household supplies, came home, and now the spawn is running with her posse. I had to take her bike away from her. She wasn’t focusing yesterday and ran into a car bumper and fell into some grass. Grateful she wasn’t hurt but she should never ever have been close to a car on her bicycle and she knows that. If she won’t listen to me and obey the bicycle rules presented to her…I can’t trust her not to hurt herself. And having encountered bicycling children myself who pay no attention and ride right toward my moving car…I can’t fathom the guilt of a driver who hit a kid on a bike even if it was the kid’s fault. Spook doesn’t seem to care as long as she gets to play. I’d like to call her resilient but she just has no sense of conscience.

Though at the store I spent fifty bucks (food, cat supplies, cleaning stuff) and the cashier said something about “your mom had to work three hours to spend fifteen minutes at the store.” And of course, the instant shame of being on disability comes, but I also know I help at the shop so it’s not like I’m sitting home on X Box and smoking weed. Might as well be. My kid basically yelled, “My mom doesn’t work, she doesn’t have a job.” I was livid, especially because I’ve heard this manager/cashier go off about people on disability/food stamps/even told me once I was too lenient on my kid. Well, I wasn’t today, no meant no, and for that…my kid made me feel half an inch tall, like everything is handed to me and I pay nothing, it costs me nothing.

I told her to get in the car and said not a word for ten minutes. To her credit, she didn’t say a word until I told her she could speak. Maybe it’s more my own shame for not working than it was a 7 year old’s big mouth but she needs to learn not to mouth, to show some respect, and not every aspect of our lives have to be discussed with random people in public.

Anyway…that’s been my day so far. The joy of yard sales replaced with the panxiety of a brain telling me the car has a flat. The public humiliation at the hands of my own child.

I’m not down the rabbit hole, though. Only been 3 days on Cymbalta but today I took it first thing rather than take all meds at once. I’ve moved the lithium to bedtime in case it makes me sleepy and I always eat supper so I shouldn’t get nausea. The Wellbutrin and Lamictal I can work in around that.

But hey, I got up, got out, and accomplished stuff. It’s an improvement after four days of inertia and wanting to cease to exist. Then again, even a toothache is better than that.

Disturbed and Perturbed

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

I fed six shrieking kids last night. Fortunately they sat outside at the picnic table so I didn’t have to do more than cook mac and cheese and provide paper plates and forks. I don’t know why I agreed to it, maybe I was just that glad to have my kid home even though the noise of constant kids is already breaking me down.

Then came drama. My kid opted to play with the older kids two doors down so the devil girls mouthed the older kids then their mouthy loud mother got into it with the devil girl’s father in MY yard and he told me his girls are not allowed to play with those older kids. Fine, but my kid was getting along fine with them prior to his kids showing up. To make matters worse is the race issue, only made an issue by HIS mouthy kids who seem to think skin color is indicative of superiority. Hmm, where did they learn that from?

The shocker was when devil dad invited all four of the posse (I’d call them a gang, but that’s a bad term, too, I guess) plus his own two to sleep over at their house. Not once in 5 years have those parents offered to do ANYTHING, they won’t even let kids in their house supposedly due to a bite-y dog. I was relieved to finally have my kid back but I wasn’t feeling too great (the meds, guess Cymbalta and Wellbutrin together are to blame for my newfound sleepiness and nausea) and my kid’s almost 8 and never slept over anywhere but grandma’s, grandpa’s, and R’s. So I cut the apron strings, in spite of my own anxiety. Their trailer is right behind ours, can see their front door from my step, so it wasn’t like she was miles away. Still…it was a big step for me. Alone time with the dark thoughts is not good right now but I put her needs ahead of my own.

She returned home today at the time I specified and I gave her a shower while she said she stayed up all night and she cried for me, and the other girls made her clean up all their messes but it was okay because they had McDonald’s (why did I feed them all mac and cheese again????). I bathed her and gave her breakfast, within 30 minutes another kid was knocking for her. I tried to play My Little Pony Shopkins with her but the child is so bossy she doesn’t allow free thought. ‘Do this” “Pretend this” “say this”. She needs to learn that if she’s got the story all plotted out and doesn’t want to include others then she can play alone. Awful of me? Maybe. Still. I let her play with Riley and wasn’t five minutes they were asking for food. I hate seeming stingy by saying no but my God, I can’t afford to feed her and me, let alone 6 other kids, day in and day out. And before I get any comments on how I am the adult. duh! I know this. And I realized earlier I would never allow any man or woman to treat me the way that child does. Guess I’m just wishy washy during these deep depressions and she’s likely learned to use that to her advantage. No do-overs here, just cleaning up the mess that’s been made. And in our situation, with limited funds, a crap ass down with zero activities, there’s not much for any of these kids to do during summer but play together. I just don’t know why it has to be my yard. Guess the picnic table replaced the swing set they destroyed as a beacon.

So…Oh what would it be like to write coherently and stay on topic? So I went to sleep-ish at 7 thirty last night…And I say ish because I was up several times but I was so tired (fuck you, meds) I didn’t have the will to stay up. This morning I took my meds and spent two hours trying to stay awake and feeling comatose. Last time I was on Cymbalta, I got hypomanic for a couple of hours afterward. But then I wasn’t on Wellbutrin back then. Guess this mix is just sleep inducing.Which is one of my deal breaker side effects. May be mythbusting time, take away Wellbutrin temporarily and see if the grogginess sticks. Bad Morgue? Yes. But I’m a professional at this shit. Gotta be when your doctor is too busy to be bothered with you.

We ventured out to Dollar Tree. By then all the sunlight and road work and traffic had me so rattled I barely remembered why we went out there. And doing anything with the “I want” monster is hellish. Then a fire truck, cop, and ambulance all appeared in the square, sirens blazing and my first thought, as always, was, “Least it’s not at my house.” That set me off further so I scrapped other errands to come home to safety and try to get my brain on track.

I have a sink full of dishes I am avoiding. Monday I kicked so much ass and now I simply have nothing left. I will try to tackle it all later but Tragic Hate Ball says not to hold your breath.

I just seem to get worse by the day and I don’t even know why. Public outings and noise have always been a trigger but since I had my daughter…it’s like I have dry socket of my central nervous system. Everything is a trigger and my nerves are raw and throbbing when even a breeze blows. It was never this bad before. I don’t blame my kid. It was my old shrink who said the entire pregnancy/birth process could shock my brain better or it could get worse.
I lost that roll of the dice.

I’m not giving up. I read this Hollywood Reporter interview with the lawyer defending Kathy Griffin for the whole bloody Trumpire head picture thing…And she’s getting death threats same as Griffin. She was quoted (and I repeat this loosely), “Yesterday, the devil whispered in my ear that I am not strong enough to survive the storm.”

“Today I told him…I AM THE STORM.”

I like that. I didn’t think a lawyer could say anything that would resonate with me. Who knew.

Follow Me Down The Rabbit Hole

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

Actually, I really don’t want anyone to follow me down the rabbit hole. Truth be told, I wouldn’t wish depression on my worst enemy. It’s awful and another harsh truth…standard issue people, and especially the ‘Tom Cruise mental illness isn’t real’ faction wouldn’t last a week in my shoes during the black periods. No one deserves that.

After Monday’s whirlwind kick ass of accomplishment…I crashed into ‘out of bed and hating every minute of it’ land. Two days, mostly kid free, and I accomplished nothing but binge watching more of The Originals. Then yesterday my depression and anxiety hit fever pitch and I had to switch from that show (oh, so much anxiety inducing drama) and move to Special Victims Unit. Which used to depress me after an episode or two, because, jebus, ruining sex is just despicable, thank you human race. That has to tell you how far the rabbit hole I went down.

Tuesday’s appt with the psych nurse wasn’t too awful except I did that nervous talking too much inappropriate humor thing. She probably thinks I am a malingerer. Only saving grace is she was a nurse there for 6 years before getting whatever alphabet soup degree to be a psych nurse. She’s familiar with my history, I doubt she’s going to contradict an MD, let alone a series of them who all agree that I am indeed, ill. Still…I reflect on my words and behavior and cringe. I admitted to the suicidal thoughts, though I was appalled when asked if I had a plan. No. If I had a plan, I wouldn’t talk about it, I’d just do it. Speaking up was my way of saying ‘this has gone on too long, I recognize this as depression, I need help.”

Of course, much as I like the psych nurse cos she really is a sweetie…I couldn’t help but remember, 2 years ago she was preggo and going to school and managing a marriage and what have I accomplished? Nada. So why can people like her manage it all yet I start melting down at the slightest provocation and sometimes without that much? Doesn’t do much for my self esteem. Nor did being asked about therapy because of course, now they’re gonna deem me non compliant simply because I have trust issues due to therapists who broke my trust and damaged my further…Oh and as a new psych nurse, she was being extra thorough so now I have to have a lithium level drawn which means…actually taking the lithium and not forgetting doses so the levels are accurate.

To be honest…I’m not doing so well with the med compliance and it’s not unwillingness. It’s either forgetfulness or the sleepiness or nausea and by the time I remember, it’s time for another dose which would mess up all levels…It’s frustrating because I try to be med compliant. I believe in the meds when they work. And today, one of my first actions was to go to the pharmacy to get the Cymbalta she agreed to prescribe after hearing me out. 30mg for a week, then up to 60 for 4 weeks, and see them again. I guess the doc is so busy I am seeing the nurse now and if that fucks up a disability review, I am gonna be furious. Their lack of staffing should not endanger the very thing that keeps homelessness at bay. Paranoia? Maybe. But with the Trumpire on a rampage…Loss of benefits is a real thing, and it’s terrifying. It’s not some “I’ve been flying high and functional a year but I just don’t want to work” thing.

My father finally returned my child last night 40 minutes before she was to leave on the church van. To her credit, she seemed happy to see me. She claimed she wanted to come home sooner but they wouldn’t let her and they also wouldn’t allow her to even call me. I can believe it, they’re assholes. And so overbearing my hatred boils over. “They mean well” has become more appalling than “sociopath without conscience”. They choose to be jerks and try to usurp my parental authority. They have her maybe a week total a year, go buy her all these clothes, and won’t send a thing home with her. They brag about taking her out to eat, and buying this and that…Even my sister said when she was there the other day (dad pays her to clean their house when stepmonster only works 16 hours a week but no, she can’t have the time to do the work herself) that stepmonster was yelling at my kid and trying to take my place, telling Spook to get over missing her mom. Um, four day, I should think a 7 year old missing their mom is quite normal, you stupid twonk.

What I learned while my kid was gone is…One day of me time is enough. I miss the life she brings to the place. I feel bad for not taking care of her because I chose to have her. I wanted her home where she belongs. Selfish? Maybe. But this is her home and where she belongs.

And that was when it really hit me. My parents always worked, kept us fed and clothed, yada yada but the ONE thing I have done for my child that they never did for me and my sister…My child came home to this place, hovel or not, when she 2 days old and she’s lived here every day since. 8 years I’ve maintained a roof over her head, not any roof, not a revolving roof, the same stable roof. By the time I was 13, my parents had moved us nine times. Their fault or not…My kid has had a stable home. That’s ME, doing my best, to give her stability and a home. Not fancy, everything’s falling apart, but she hasn’t had the displeasure of moving repeatedly and go to new schools. Not much, but it’s something. Not that my parents would ever admit it.

Yesterday was horrible because I decided I should take my meds. Ha. First I got sleepy and started nodding off. Then I got a headache, then I started to feel like I was gonna throw up. At one point I felt so sick, I even hoped they’d keep her an extra night. But I was so relieved they didn’t, having her back made the place come alive and my will to live returned. Being depressed without even a kid to take care of…Dark territory. Shallow? Maybe. IDK.

Today’s been stressful/peaceful/relief. She had a friend here before 10 a.m. and he wouldn’t stay outside even when I told him four times to go play outside. I tried to have patience, but not my strong suit. Then we ran errands, even took my kid out to lunch. Came home and bam. Devil girls. One of them took of my kid’s new bike and Spook told her to bring it back but she just kept riding away…So the bike got chained up and I decided to go pay rent. Not an easy task because the car is running hinky and I put gas treatment in but scumbag brain keeps telling me something is Very Wrong. And if the car keels over…I’m screwed. And breaking down…Horrific. So I limited our outings. Now my brain is OCD about the new girl at the landlord office not writing down that my rent was paid as due and me getting some notice about $70 late fees. I kept my Visa receipt, but those people are so unorganized…

Ha, me throwing stones when I can’t even write a post that stays on topic. Oh, well, my whiplash typo ridden posts are simply me. The Real Deal. The Ugly Truth.

And the kids are back in my yard. Blissful summer break. NOT.

Today is better than yesterday, I guess that is something. Hopefully the Cymblotto helps my brain start working better. I am so tired of everything I say sounding so hateful. I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want to be chemically imbalanced, period. But want and reality are two different beasts.

Depressive Demon Are Doing Their Jumping Jack

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on May 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Since I am not religious and my demon are psychological…they cannot be exorcised. But oh how they love to get their exercise. Jumping jacks, sit ups, pull ups, squat thrusts, sprints, long distance runs…And my fractured mind is their gym.

My kid has been at my dad’s for two days. I didn’t mind until the jackass who donated genetic material to assist in my creation called to inform me they’d be keeping her a second day because she is having fun and wants to stay. If it had been left at that…Me time isn’t awful. But nooo, he and his redneck pseudo wife started prattling on about how they did this with her and took her out to eat and bought her this and they took her here and oh, they bought her better clothes and had her haircut so it’s all even now. Then that idiot woman of dad’s was in the background prattling about how Spook is playing with toy barns and becoming a little redneck….(I’d be less offended to learn she’d aligned with satan.) One thing after the other with those fuckers, pointing out every thing I cannot give her, right down to not having a dog for her.

To say I hate them violently is an understatement. Much as I despise the donor and the other faction of my life family is no better…I do believe (in a testament to my depressive altered state) I’d rather she end up with her father than ANY of my fucked up family (except my sister but then my kid would become a stoner like her uncle in law so sorry, sis, no.) I am just so sick of being insulted and run down by these people. Least the donor has rights to Spook, whether I like it or not. His hatred of me while petty is at least half deserved and his pattern of hating everyone who wrongs him is own drama. For those who allegedly love me to make me think I should kill myself for my kid’s benefit??? These people are monsters and short of killing them, the only escape would be to move far far away. And oh, that takes money and the demons in my gym aren’t paying membership dues.

Day started out crappy. I haven’t written anything decent in days, it’s all gruel and I am blocked and the depression is just crippling..So in spite of how shitty I felt I attacked the mountain of garbage (not literal trash, just hoarder type stacks of various things) that had been in the kitchen for two years now. The more I sweat and worked and got shit done, the less tortured I felt about not being able to write and not being good enough for my kid even by my own ‘loved ones’ standards. And to my surprise, I kicked so much ass today. SO much. All laundry done, even pillows washed and fluff dried, hoarder mess stashed in the spare room instead of piled across the living room and kitchen. I cleaned the floors. I tossed out dozens of bags of stuff just to lift some of the weight from my plate.

Now I have to hope the holiday didn’t delay trash pick up tomorrow because I am pretty sure even slumlord is gonna have a problem with two full trash cans and a dozen bags piled out front. Oh, well.

I even managed a trip to Aldi for a couple of things.

I watched 9 episodes of The Originals.

I painted my nails and toe nails.

I tried to write. Tried to simply proof what was already written. TRIED but only 39 chapters and 7 weeks in and the wall has been hit.

Now my body aches from all the work I did but my brain has started to spin because tomorrow afternoon is my appt with the psych nurse. I am wishing on a thousand stars it’s not a case of her having to wait for the doctor to come back to town before I can get a fricking script. I need to start Cymbalta now before the depressive demons allow my batshit evil ass family to kill myself.

Last week my mom was carrying on about how she’s lost 22 pounds then she looked at me (because I am so no aware of my grotesque weight gain in spite of living on fricking water) and commented how ‘the meds must be making you bigger.” This after stepmonster and dad’s comments about my fat ass.

The only saving grace the last few days was an old friend with benefits surprised me with a visit from out of the blue and while I really don’t like sharing a bed and I am far too downtrodden with depression and self esteem issues to be truly…interested that way…It was needed. He didn’t insult me. He actually made me feel decent about myself, reminding me what monsters my family are and that I am beautiful the way I am. I know it was a booty call but it was what was needed at the time. Now he’s in the ether again and I can’t even play poor “I’ve been used” because only once my space was mine again did I breathe again.

I am that broken.

On a sad note, I had to bury another kitten today. Oreo. He only lived 4 weeks. His sister MyMichelle (yeah, after the G’N’R song) is doing okay, for now. I am fighting hard for these kittens with the meds and vitamins and shit. Maybe because my kid is better off without me, I am filled with so much self loathing for simply not murdering my family (ok, not that dramatic, just disowning them and shunning them)…The kitties are something I can try to help, to care for, to save and do battle for. Because right now, no one is battling for me. Some of the thoughts I’ve been having, I don’t even know I am fighting for myself right now.

Let us hope the psych nurse has 5 minutes to hear me out and will actually do something to help. Now, not when the doc returns two blood moons from now. I need help.

God knows all I get from my family is more reasons to let the depression kill me.

I’m just grateful the rebellious streak at least keeps me too pissed off to give an inch. They’ll get my kid over my festering dead corpse and they aren’t gonna be the ones to turn me into one. For all the “they mean well” bullshit…They are not worth it. They are evil in the worst way. The way that claims “we care about you” yet makes me feel more alone than I have even at my loneliest. Takes a gift of evil to make someone you claim to love feel more alone around you than when they are hiding in a closet sobbing with depressive agony.

Is it any wonder I cling to supernatural shows and books? The obvious monsters still have more humanity than that which I call family.

Ok, self pity and rant are exiting the building. Unfortunately a bunch of depressive demons are having a spin class in my head so time to do battle against them in an effort to sleep.

I worked my ass off today. I earned some rest.