Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Chicken Soup, Soul, Bad Spells

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on June 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I was gonna title this post Chicken Soup For The Soul During The Bad Times but then though, well, fuck, with copyright laws and everyone so libel and lawsuit happy, I might get sued…Plus, things haven’t been as bad, as far as the bipolar depression goes, the change in weather and Cymbalta have done sooo much good for that aspect of my disorder…so calling it ‘bad times’ is a misnomer and I try to be transparent and honest in this blog so…I went with the term ‘bad spells’.

The other day even with excess stressors and noise, I went hours and hours without even taking a smidgeon of Xanax. And it felt damned good, not hitting the pills to cope at every turn. And honestly, I personally don’t view it that way because for me, Xanax works to calm my brain and body in a purely positive way, there’s no copping a high or seeking a zone out or coma sleep. It just levels things in a good way, but thanks to a bunch of assholes who abuse the drug for purposes of getting high or avoiding reality, somehow I end up feeling like some junkie with a legal prescription, too weak and lazy to handle my anxiety on my own. And I know that’s bullshit, I am a badass, inasmuch as I do my best and try my hardest not to rely on the ‘fast fix’ of pills. But when something works, you use it. And while Tylenol helps for headaches and cramps for me and I take them IF needed, well, Xanax is the same.

Today was not a good day, anxiety wise, and I utilized my prescription and full doseage of Xanax, for the sake of sanity. It is a redunant theme in this blog, but it is my sincerest hope that by being transparent and yes, redundant about my battles on this front, that it might help one or two others experiencing the same realize…you are not alone. You’re not crazy or lazy or in this alone, at all.

Today’s major stressor that pushed me to the brink was my daughter’s little friend coming over for almost 3 hours. He’s a sweet little kid, but man, is he picky and if he so much as gets breathed on wrong, he bursts into tears and just starts sobbing I WANT MOMMY over and over. You can’t reason with him, calm him, he just goes on and on and on. And then I say, okay, well, let’s get you home to mommy, and he keeps repeating the want mommy mantra…then decides he doesn’t want to go home. And the constant hunger, inviting himself to eat then declaring what we’re having isn’t appealing to him, plus their bickering and he’s constantly getting minor booboos leading to big tears and the mommy mantra…And my kid is even more demanding and needy and MOM MOM MOM MOM MUM MOMMY MUM LOIS (yeah, she hates the Family Guy/Stewie comparison but if the animated shoe fits, prance around in it, baby) when she has a friend over… It’s so bad, I cannot get through a 21 minute show without pausing five times because she never…lets…up.

So, yeah, by the third time he got a booboo (by not listening to me when I said to calm down and not bounce on her bed), my sympathy was on life support, my nerves rubbed raw, and my tolerance maxed out. Once things returned to normal with just me and her and I managed to work up energy to cook supper…It was better but I still feel jarred and it’s like, geesh, can these people keep their kid home with them for just one bloody day? And then of course my own brain chimes in, asking what the hell kind of selfish mom monster would bar her kid from playing when there’s nothing else to do just because it exhausts me in every way…But, really, OTHER PARENTS WHO READ THIS!!! Please, please, chime in, I rarely ask for advice but on this one I could totally use some perspective and advice…How much playtime is fair for an 8 and 3/4 year old? How much time am I obligated to give her to my own detriment so I am being neither too selfish or too neurotic?

I took her to a child psychologist a couple of times over this problem and the professional’s advice when I asked her, “How much playtime is fair?” And she told me that Spook just requires a lot of stimulation and enjoys the company of others, so while she needs that, I have to draw the line where I see it as enough. And what the actual fuck, lady, when I’m basically crippled by bipolar depression, anxiety, and easily overloaded thus avoid too much social interaction? My idea of fair is playing twice a week if I am the one who always has to provide and fetch food, play referee, etc. My ENTIRE GOAL as a mom, though, is to not allow MY issues to place some sort of unhealthy limitation on her socialization and childhood. But yeah…I could use some advice if you know, someone would care enough to comment.

As for the chicken soup part…well, it’s little things. Like my freebie digital TV antenna pulling in, however briefly, a crime show channel called Escape and getting to watch the shows I love (Forensic Files, yess! Never mind that I have them all on digital file, without a desktop, I can’t run that loooong playlist, laptop overheats too easily.) And this morning, my kid gave me the chuckles when she declared a zombie virus outbreak in her dollhouse and put Giraffe in a biohazard zombie protective suit made out of a baggie…I saw a video on the news the other morning of a squirrel latched onto a spinning birdfeeder and damn, that fucker wasn’t letting go for anything until he finally went flying off. And then I get an email about a shelter pet who recovered from abuse and neglect and got their forever home…

These little things count for a lot with me, even if I seem to bitch and moan more than I mention it.

I must admit, the one ‘luxury’ soup I miss the most is being able to check books out from the library but that damn out of town resident $60 fee, it’s just not within our current budget means. I love reading. Paper and ink books are like…catnip for me. It nourishes my soul. So hell yeah, I miss it so much. Who knew the mere act of having a library card would become a luxury item by moving 8 miles out of town. One more thing living in Armpit has cost me.

Much as things have calmed down now that Spook is asleep…I have some rabid anxiety that the landlord will show up in the morning wanting his rent money. I get postal money orders using my debit card and of course, the post office here doesn’t accept debit cards and oh, it’s only open from 8-11:30 a.m. every day, and the local ATM charges me like $6 for cash withdrawals, I just prefer to go into town and do it. But since they bumped my shrink appt to 2:50 p.m. I can’t pay him before that without making two trips and I’m not gonna do that on a 90 degree day.

I’m also wary of my doc appt, who knows what mental state she will be in, considering her days there are coming to an end in JUly, she may have already mentally checked out on the patients and be non conducive to my thoughts on increasing Cymbalta…

I’ve started to ponder the whole borderline personality thing again, because as was pointed out, it does often coexist (comorbidity, is that the term?) with other disorders like bipolar. I know when it comes to relationships, I can totally go borderline but deep down, I just hate being tied down and like my alone time so it’s less true neediness and more PLEASE DO LET ME RUN YOU OFF. As for the mood swings…I’ve been doing pretty well on that front.Until the anxiety goes metastatic and then yeah, the bipolar depression is stirred. But having discussed the borderline topic with the counselor I saw for two years and her saying I have traits, but mostly bipolar symptoms…It’s not just that I want to believe her, it’s that I agree with her. Not because I want to to absolve myself of yet another negative label but because I see parallels but I also see them dissipate during stable periods, especially if I am not in a relationship juggling my emotions as well as someone else’s and their inability to handle my emotions.


At least I am willing to recognize the traits even if I don’t agree that two appointments warrant completely changing my entire 20 year diagnosis by a newbie therapist.

It’s a shame, I always found therapy helpful but that woman, and knowing who else works there and how contrary her psych views are toward bipolar people…my only option isn’t an option. Not until I feel I can trust them to do more good than harm. It’s not an unwillingness to seek help. It’s the rural area, insurance, and system telling me, ‘this is your only option’ and I opt out to protect myself from further damage.

So I vent and flood post and it helps to purge the venom and racing thoughts and maybe on occasion…someone reads it and says, “THIS! Geesh, this chick gets how I feel, I’m not so alone!”

I never started this blog with the goal of likes or followers or even really readers. I kept journals for over 30 years on paper, didn’t start blogging til 2006 and only shared the link with two friends. This blogging thing was never about being popular or feeding my ego. I just know how alone I’ve felt all my life dealing with these issues and…

The thought that my rambling could help even ONE person feel less alone…well, that is the ultimate chicken soup for the soul.


The Engima That Is Rapid Cycling Bipolar Two Disorder

Posted in bipolar depression, mood swings with tags , , , , , on May 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

As if life isn’t hellish enough going through with mental disorders and psychological baggage, what is worse is when your disorders don’t fit neatly into their Douchebagger Simpleton Manual (DSM).

When my clinical depression lifts, I am prone to rapid cycling between lows, highs, and mediums. The professionals I have seen often dispute this as not being characteristic of whatever label they have slapped on me and it is very frustrating. I know from talking to others on the wordpress mental health blog circuit that rapid cycling is actually pretty common for some of us, often in part because the very antidepressants we need to pull us out of abyss can bring about rapid cycling in early treatment.

I LURVE (thank you, Sass, for that term, love is just getting boring cos everyone on the internet loves everything) my manic and hypomanic states. “Ten feet tall and bulletproof, OMG, I am bloody well cured now, let’s not sleep cos this feeling is awesome and I don’t need to pause at the end of sentences because my lungs are filled with sweet beautiful air to spare and while I didn’t accomplish much, I jumped into a kiddie pool and splashed around with my daughter and felt sooo free!”


Two days I felt that way, just a few steps from full blown mania (yes, while not common in axis two bipolar, it DOES happen) but today…I am in medium mood territory. This is what I call ‘pre-splat’. The low is coming, I just don’t know when or how bad it will be or how long it will last. It doesn’t help that my PMDD (ten days of psm on steriods) has begun, wreaking havoc on an already wonky mental state, not to mention the physical misery. I usually let this shift send me into a tailspin but of course, my current self awareness and self help kick has forced me to take a step back and face facts: I have been here, done this, a thousand times before. It will pass. I will feel good again at some point.

This doesn’t negate the fact that it is maddening, frustrating, damaging.

But compared to where I was just 3 weeks ago pre Cymbalta- I’ll take rapid cycling. If it continues more than a couple of weeks, I will speak out at my next shrink appointment. Starting new meds is always challenging, at best, and filled with change. Not to mention just my cycle out of winter depression is often accompanied by rapid cycling (it amazes me how sensitivity to weather conditions can affect one’s mental health) so it may not be Cymbalta entirely. THIS current state is preferrable to where I was. My kid sure prefers me hypo, but then so did every man or friend I ever met, cos well, manic of most nature is happy fun ball time.

I wish I could be happy fun ball all the time. Being a depressive isn’t a life choice and it isn’t a good thing. But it is what it is. I deal. I rant, I vent, I soapbox, but acceptance has finally settled in. My disorders aren’t my identity, but they are also not something I can pretend away. Denial is not an option. So I must find a balance and fortfy myself to keep up this battle. My daughter is a good motivator. I’m not gonna do any ‘my uterus produced a kid, I am special” pompom waving but it doesn’t really matter if your motivation is your pet, your romantic partner, your family, your kid, your work. Whatever keeps you going (and that applies to non mentally disorded situations, as well) is your tether to reality, hold on to that until the rope frays and starts cutting into your flesh and you bleed. Never let that go.

So I will ride out the current medium mood, then I will roll with the low wherever it takes me, and like a phoenix, the mood will rise out of the ashes. Okay, that sounds more cheddar cheese than poetic but you get my drift.

Now instead of using that ‘f’ word involving dollar signs that seems to offend people…How about I use a “Please Read Our Story”.

I know sharing fundraisers on social media is often icky but clicking that share button costs you nothing. I’m not trying to raise thousands to buy happy fun ball stuff. I am offering up receipts. Our story may not be special and there may be way more worthy cause but…gotta try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Just think of us as a pet you’d adopt if you liked pets. But maybe you know a friend of a friend who does and you just pass on word.

On occasion, I write a decent post so view it as being a patreon.

Spook and I are grateful for any help we get, and I appreciate it even when it’s a click of the like button or a comment. Gratitude is all I have to offer at this time other than my writing.

Gratitude doesn’t buy toilet paper, though and of course, I am raising a princess who finds that sort of thing necessary.

The Bipolar Two Depression Files

Posted in bipolar depression, depression, Uncategorized with tags , , on April 13, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

After a glorious mental state yesterday when the weather relented from 7 months of fall and winter drudgery and my soul was able to come out and play…

Today’s lower temperature,gloom,and rain has me reeling. I am grasping at straws,trying to reclaim yesterday’s frame of mind but it’s proving to be an epic fail.

I find it frustrating to the nth that bipolar two and bipolar depression are viewed as ‘less severe’ than bipolar one and manic episodes. Mania may have helped me ruin my credit score and inspired poor choices but it NEVER cost me as much as the so called ‘less severe’ bipolar two depressive bouts.

Further aggravating us how few medications there are that target bipolar two depression. Aside from Latuda (bad bad experience for me,but kudos to pharmacopia making an effort at treating axis two), I don’t know of any other drug specified for axis two depression. That leaves bipolar two patients floundering on an endless diet of anti depressants NOT designed for our condition. If a med isn’t targeting the disorder you have, doesn’t it make sense that you’d experience med failures? It’s like taking a painkiller for swelling that doesn’t actually reduce that symptom.

As much as I am not a fan of her music,I do hope that Mariah Carey’s recent ‘disclosure’ about her battle with bipolar two opens some eyes and minds to the red headed stepchild of mental health disorders. So much focus is spent on axis one that axis two patients are left behind.

Personally, I think treating mania in any bipolar axis is far simpler than treating depression. There is a plethora of mood stabilizers that can be combined to control excess mood swings and mania. Now this is not me saying bipolar one is less severe,but on a whole with targeted medications with great efficacy…it’s not as much a roll of the dice as it is with anti depressants.

And while big pharma has spent thirty years churning out an anti depressant to match your every depressive outfit…They do not target those of us who spend 80% of our lives in depressive bouts.

On this one,I think all bipolar axis patients can agree. Finding the most effective ‘cocktail’ of anti depressant and mood stabilizer is frustrating and often defeating. We all have unique chemistry so who knows what med or combo will work for each of us? Trial and error becomes a way of life. And this is without factoring in how many of us are medication resistant or the meds just quit working or the side effects are so bad we simply can’t take those drugs.

I have lost so much of my life to depression. And while Lamictal has been my wonder drug toward warding off extreme mood swings and manic bouts-there are times I also think I’m too stabilized. Because to control the negative symptoms, it also mashes down creativity, sheer elation,and the ability to be spontaneous. It makes me so hyper self aware that even choosing what to eat becomes a case of ‘remember when you went manic that time and ate *this* and then spent three hundred bucks on lottery tickets then banged that guy you didn’t even like?’ Not that I have the problem of excess income anymore nor the self esteem to even put myself out there to repeat the poor choices but still…therapy made me so hyper self aware that even though my mood stabilizer works great…I am still scarred by past choices and even memory of a food eaten or a song playing at that time can paralyze me.

It sounds nutty but it is my truth.

Still…when manic I LIVED life to the fullest. On my multiple shovel fulls of fixer upper pills…I live in fear of living lest I repeat bad choices just to feel alive. Because then I’d have to admit the problem is me,my personality,my inability to make good choices. And I just don’t believe that because mood stabilizers made the truly had decisions go away. It just also makes me scared to live life on rare non depressive times.

Having said all of this,painting the good,bad,and ugly about bipolar two treatment (medications designed to keep you from suicidal thoughts yet causes more than you ever had before,very ugly)…It is high time the mental health community-doctors,therapists,patients,mental health advocates-we need to band together and shine a spotlight on bipolar two and bipolar depression. Our condition is NOT less severe to us. We matter. We deserve better targeted medication options,we are worthy of competent care even if we don’t have great insurance. WE MATTER.

Now in an effort to bolster my sagging mental state and the sadness of losing a newborn kitten 36 hours after his birth (rest well,lil Beebee)…

Spook and I watched a Jack Hannah adventure show this morning. It highlighted some venomous but gorgeous snakes…then came the awe factor. Sloths. They are so adorable. That gave me warm fuzzies during the 7 minute segment. I got clobbered with a high power bill so I am keeping the heat down much as I can…but I was still cold so I put on my fluffy soft purple hoodie. I feel warm and swaddled now.

So I can see positive things here and there in spite of my seemingly endless ‘everything sucks’ griping. It is just very difficult to see the good when enveloped by the spider web of depression.

Besides. No one wants to read a mental health blog that spews rainbows. They read to know they are not alone in their struggles so I focus on writing about my own battle and my wish to heighten awareness of bipolar depression.

It is only less severe if it isn’t happening to you.

When it ruins your life at every turn…We find that pretty severe. Time for the professionals and society recognize this.

Because we matter and no matter your diagnosis…the struggle is real.

The Help Us Keep Our Power On And Get Trash Service Fundraiser

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on March 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

It was brought to my attention that my fundraiser links weren’t working. Not exactly shocking, I’m using a stupid phone (stupid smart phone, oxymoron?) and I get everything all garbled.

Anyway…this is the working link.

Share, repost, donate- whatever help you’re willing to give…Spook and I are grateful because this situation is distressing. More distressing is the fact that the move was forced on us, otherwise we wouldn’t be in over our heads because we live within our means.


Fear And Self Loathing Not In Las Vegas

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

STILL trying to make ends meet.

It’s been almost 3 weeks since I actually used my laptop to post. I am using the hotspot feature on my phone so every minute ticks by like a cash register reminding me the time I use, the time I lose, and have to pay to replace. Grrr. Like counting every drop of water we use isn’t stressful enough. That bill, before we use a drop of water, is $65 a month. It’s hysterical in a not funny at all way that living in Armpit, USA, actually triples our monthly costs. I never wanted this. I spent nine years living within my means, never going over unless it was unexpected or pet related. Now I am behind before I even start. It’s been over 2 weeks and I still can’t afford the $63 to start trash service. I have two powerbills to pay now, cos I have to cover the old place as well as this new place. Forget internet service. Which is driving me and my kid nuts.

But I am still asking for donations. Like not being successful has ever stopped me in life. And it’s laughable, raising ten bucks in a month. I must be a really awful person if I can’t even motivate people to throw in a fiver for my kid or cats.

While asking for donations…I get a comment commiserating but asking what work I do…And the self loathing and shame kick in and ya know what? That should never happen for someone who has a legitimate disabiility. Society is the one who has deemed mental disabilities less worthy than physical ones. It also perpetuates the myth that you can only be a valid member of society if you have a job.

My goal through the entire last 7 years has been ONE measly year of medication stability so when an employer asks, “are you stable and reliable?” I could say honestly YES. It hasn’t happened and that is to my own chagrin. I have tried, pushed myself, pushed myself harder, dealt with utterly wretched people who gave zero fucks about me or my and my child’s well being…

And it means nothing to the world. I have no job, I don’t matter. And worse, I have the audacity to ask for donations, again, only for people who have jobs or physical ailments.

Maybe having no consistent internet access will be good for me. I have obviously become too invested in what others think of me, others who don’t know me, don’t know how hard I try, and don’t care. But I think I am so invested because more than anything I WANT to work. I want to be able to stand on my own and support my child and my own mind simply won’t cooperate. It hurts. And it’s why I’m not too proud to asking for donations. I tried working, I lasted 4 months with the situation with R, I pushed myself until I melted down and wanted to die. I’m not asking for handouts to buy a big plasma TV. I am asking because I have made every effort to help myself and get better, but right now…I need help. I need help not simply for myself but because I have an 8 year old counting on me and this move doubled our expenses. With child support I can eventually handle the monthly expenses but I need help getting caught up.

We have no closets, so dad bought us wardrobe cabinets. The freezer didn’t work so dad bought us one of those. My car keeled over, so he bought me a 2001 Lumina. I owe the power company $500 between the two residences. I still owe the landlord $325 toward deposit and that is something that could get us thrown out if I don’t come up with. I now use four times as much gas in the car since we have to drive 18 miles just to get ‘to town’ let alone the grocery store.

Hate my whining? You’ll never hate it as much as me.

I was content being trailer park trash because I knew I could afford it and wouldn’t get in over my head or need to beg for help. When the scumlord sold out and it became ‘buy in or get out’, I was thrust into a position I did not choose so again…asking for help ain’t easy but it’s legit. Nothing I did wrong got us here. We simply got screwed over by a very corrupt liar.

And now my new doctor…I truly do feel doomed. I had to have my lithium level done today and the lab couldn’t even decipher if it was supposed to be before my meds or 12 hours after or fasting, and I asked the doc and she said yes to fasting and 12 hours but I don’t think she was listening at all. I think the level will come back wonky and I will have to do it again and it will be because she was too busy complaining about Dr. B leaving them shortstaffed as opposed to treating me.

I keep soul searching for what I did wrong, how I am viewing it wrong but…something is more off about this woman than the doc nurse. Takes some doing. Maybe by expressing how sad I was to see Dr. B go to new doc I sealed my fate. I wonder if I had castigated him for his abrupt departure if new doc would have given me more time and listened.

We can delude ourselves all we want with the whole professional detachment thing. Shrinks are still humans, still have feelings and biases and sometimes, they just don’t like the patient or take time to even try. And I don’t give a damn if my cashier at the gas station likes me or not but then, that cashier isn’t going to be the one handling my disability claim thus necessitating some sort of knowledge and bond.

New doc is just…not connecting. Maybe if she’d spent the 30 minutes with me instead of 7 minutes cos she was running behind schedule…

But the ending of that story is always the same. I have mental issues, I am in the wrong, the professionals are always right and the truth, which lies somewhere in between, is irrelevant.

Click that picture if you can help us. Please.

Traffic Jam Of The Brain

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on January 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

“It’s a traffic jam of the brain…makes you wanna scream and shout…”
—-Scritti Politti. “Let’s Go All The Way”

It’s been days since I have written and it’s not because I don’t need a good rant or venting session. It’s because I DO have a traffic jam of the brain. Too many thoughts and utter frustration that I can’t assemble them into some facsimile of coherent prose. I swear the racing jumbled thoughts get worse by the day and all the professionals can say is “it’s anxiety” or “retrain your mind using better coping behaviors”.

To which I say…fuckest thou.

Yesterday was my birthday. Happy #45. For my birthday. I got…ten bucks from someone not even technically related to me, and she did it because even MY OWN ASS TRASH FATHER couldn’t be bothered with even a card. He did call the day before to say happy birthday and razz me about my old age, adding, “We called today because we’re just going to be too busy tomorrow.” And yep, not even a text on my actual birthday. In addition to nothing but insult and injury, our heat has been out going on 5 days and the landscum,er, lord, keeps dicking me around with the guy is gonna be there this day, then this day, no, this day…It’s fucking heat, not a dammned luxury during winter!!!!!

I managed, for the first time in A BLOODY WEEK, to shower yesterday…and promptly kitten Vex pissed on me and my nice clean, warm clothes. And that’s a statement about my entire birthday, even though my sister did bring me a card and some Halloween cupcakes cos that’s all the decorating stuff she had but it was sweet of her. Otherwise, I felt pissed on. My kid was having meltdowns about school, then declaring her hatred for all birthdays except her own cos it’s not about her, then she was on about gym class and homework….

2018 blows goats.

Jan 1-K’s suicide.

2nd week- uncle dying of bone cancer in ICU 8 straight days with the flu and additional infection they had to call in infectious disease specialist for, he’s intubated and just sleeps, mom’s been there 9 days straight. Oh and hey, here, have a new shrink for yourself, but not until March, apparently our psych nurse doesn’t find your case important enough for sooner treatment.

3rd week- no fucking heat day after day thus I am uncomfortable. Which until today was okay because it was in the fifties and I was the only one complaining, I really really have something in my body that makes me cold even when it’s not. The monthly curse arrives with agonizing cramps. I get peed on by a cat, on my birthday, essentially pissed on by my father, dicked around by the landlord, and oh, a $335 power/heating bill I cannot possibly pay and since I’ve already had an extension, I am so screwed.


I’m exhausted, obviously, why else would I be awake at 4:25 a.m. with frozen hands typing…I’ve been up every two hours for four days, truly stressed about the heating situation. How this is acceptable is beyond me. Stupid things a tiny space heater is gonna keep us warm when it’s made to warm a bathroom, not a place with 3 bedrooms and two full baths. I am holding my temper in check, barely, because I want to rant and I think this is rant worthy, but because things are so precarious with the holding company now owning the place and scumlord simply being ‘manager’, I don’t dare get too ‘stand up for myself’ lest it rock the boat.

In spite of all this…I am hanging tough. I am not melting down, at least not in a major way. So much for the professionals saying I just quit when things get too tough. (Oh maybe they didn’t say it, or didn’t put it that bluntly, but I got the gist from nurse doc,grrr, my bete noir.) Getting off Trintellix, getting away from R, and laying off booze has helped immensely. I also tossed aside Paxis and went back on leftover Pristiq, which, I checked, and this was the last working combo I had when I was seeing Dr. B before he abandoned me. (Yeah, yeah, he likely got a better job offer, not all about me, blah blah blah.) I am just gonna keep with the Pristiq/wellbutrin/Lamictal cocktail til I see the new doc in March. As long as it gets me through. I don’t see how they left me much choice. That nurse saw me crumbling and gave zero fucks and if it were within my power, I would sue her on principle for being so apathetic that it has caused me great mental anguish and contributed to me not trusting or believing in psych professionals.

Which leads me to the other traffic jam in my brain, which makes L.A. traffic snarls look tame: the whole therapy/personality disorder thing. In the attempt to be fair and take a long hard look at myself and determine how my own behavior contributes to my condition…All I’ve realized is that borderline and bipiolar disorder mimick each other so closely, it’s not a shocker the pros can’t figure it out seeing me 20 minutes every 6 weeks. I am not in denial, I do have some borderline characteristics. The difference is, I LIKE being alone, I almost want to be abandoned once the shine has gone off of relationships. And that’s just me, people bore me easily and my hobbies don’t require other people. Unless you, too, like binge watching the shows I like, watching me read the books I like, listening to the music I like…I like what I like and I am damned sick of it turning into a personality disorder.

I am too damned old for this level of confusion and the professionals are what caused it. If I could just live outside their stupid labels and just be an individual…But nope. Mental health care is getting worse now that some doctors are using computer algorithms to determine pat treatments for the top 7 mental disorders. No, I am not making that up. Google ‘mental health treatment algorithm”. I don’t even trust those things to give me relevant adds on my gmail. Dear God, I write one message about a condom joke and next I know, I’ve got ads from the top ten rubber manufacturers in the world. Fuck you, Google, and fuck you, doctors, for using an algorithm because you’re too damned lazy to treat us as individuals and WORK to help us. Honestly, if the computer algorithm is doing the work, then let’s allow everyone with a computer to become a shrink. Not like it takes special know how these days to use a computer.

I am further haunted by March’s appointment with the new doctor. I need to get her on my side, seem sincere (I can come off as insincere when I am really nervous or ‘off’), and I need to do it without a lot of rambling and going off topic. Because aside from Dr. B, none of them give a rat’s ass about getting me on track, they just say ‘get therapy’. And I would, except the only place my insurance covers, is a hot pit of incompetence and confidentiality breakers. They think I need it so bad yet not one of their therapists in office can offer me a price break? Proof they only care about the money, not the client. Makes it hard for me to take their word for anything.

Okay…I need to warm my hands under fort blankie so I will end this rant. But hey…I showered and I wrote all within a 24 hour period…I’m gonna call it a win.

Not saying a lot for 2018 that this counts as a win but I will take it.


Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on January 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My disorders, and the extreme cold thus my kid being glommed onto me due to school being cancelled, has me hanging by a thread. It takes every ounce of strength to just fix her cheese and crackers or a turkey sandwich. Vacuuming feels like futile because the thing spits out more than it sucks up and I can’t find any clogs. Dishes get washed and pile right back up. Finances took a bad bad turn so I can’t even afford to go to the laundromat, that is WHEN my car doors aren’t frozen shut.

To top it all off, after my sister’s brother in law’s suicide New Year’s Day…our uncle is in the hospital 40 miles away, with bone cancer, pneumonia, and the flu and his heart is failing, they don’t think he’s going to make it. Mom’s been living up there by his side as he is her last living sibling (of nine) and she is taking it really hard even if they barely spoke for the last 30 years.

I feel like an idget for complaining about my petty little plight, but depression gives zero fucks. I have actually taken to writing to stave off my own thought madness and finished an entire Jonathan Kellerman novel in 3 days. And now I have started a second one by him only…

All the psychology gobbledygook where the main psychologist character diagnosis everyone’s disorders…Now I am all paranoid about what my docs think of me. And what life maiming notes doc nurse put in my chart and how that will taint the new doc against me in March. Is it logical? The level of terror and paranoia (terr-anoia?) is illogical but human behavior dictates that most people, even professionals, will take the word of their colleagues in the form of session notes and possibly commit to that notion before giving a new client a chance to present.

That is my biggest fear.

The whole cognitive and mindfulness drivel is about living in the now, changing your negative thoughts and behaviors, yet if your past leads to problems in your present, it’s kind of hard not to beat yourself up.

Once I started reading about my meds and how alcohol can cause seizures with Wellbutrin…I got the message loud and clear. I fucked up by drinking. It was self medicating to dull the nerves and noise but I’d thought at worse it would make me sleepy and hells yeah, I want that. But seizures??? And the nurse didn’t even mention that even while giving me her disapproving expression. I guess what with my Google-itis before there was Google, just the desktop prescription manual, I should know every med and side effect ver batim but this one…I did not know. I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die. I mean, I don’t much want to live these days but I have a kid and even a momentary lapse in working thru my misery and trying to off myself could mean they take her away from me….Irksome as her behavior can be, she is my heart and I don’t want to hurt her, me, or die, or lose her because they deem me unfit.

Unstable, sure. Were I stable I could handle a damned job and get out of this self esteem purgatory. Maybe even live a little better than paycheck to paycheck and getting food stamps. I TRIED, the whole thing with R and helping at the shop would get me a decent car…Once I hit my breaking point, he just swept me aside. His way or no way, as always. Not a word since I said no more. Some friend. But I did try! I was even thinking differently than I had in the past, thinking that having a routine of sorts, getting out of the house, helping out, gave me purpose and self worth. This was no small feat, me walking away from a better car. It was him and his bidding or me in a rubber room and I truly believe this even if doc nurse blew it off completely.

I am trying to be different. But with my spotty psych care and crap choices for therapy, it feels hopeless. And reading books where terms like “bipolar axis 2” and “thinking disorder” and “borderlines” are thrown around wily nily…I start going ocd with the thoughts that because I have some flaws and some quirks (I don’t want cured of my quirks, wearing black and liking skulls hurts no one) that I will always be written off as some behavioral problem who needs medicated and ushered out, tough love. Which was what doc nurse seemed to be giving.

I need to let it go but I’m not there yet. Which is another point, my therapists hated my process of holding a grudge for months and maybe years until I could let some stuff go. (I still haven’t quite let go of how the donor basically ditched his daughter, even though the counselor told me 6 years I had to let it go…I ain’t fucking Elsa.) All my insecurities and neuroses and self doubt start bubbling to the surface and maybe now is not the time to be reading a book on the topic of bipolar and personality disorders because obviously it’s been a trigger. But then isn’t the new tough love therapy about facing what triggers you?

Bloody hell! I am lost. I want to do well, be better, and yet I feel doomed. And it’s not merely circumstantial depression, this is full blown seasonal wish-I-was-a-hibernating-bear depression. I mean, really, bathing twice in a week is the best I can do? My idea of hygiene is deodorant and brushing my hair? I wear the same clothes 2 days at a time sometimes…All of this seems more of a red flag than one alcohol bender but the nurse doc..doc nurse…whatever the hell she is…


And again…not letting it go. NOT ELSA.

Though in the midwest this year I am frozen.