Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Help For The Holidays

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on November 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve posted a list of items my kid wants and items we need for the home in the event someone would like to help us directly rather than through the fundraiser.

This has become necessity as every cent I have will be required to cover December’s bills. I really could use a little help providing my kid with a semi decent Christmas. If you don’t do fundraisers, you can mail things to our home. Gas cards are a very good and necessary thing since we live 25 miles out of town and need to make at least a dozen trips during the month for appointments and groceries and such.

Even if you can send one five dollar item or donate ten bucks…we would be very grateful. This is only until the state does its damn job and finds the donor and forces him to pay the court ordered support we are due. (He is hundreds in arrears because he keeps getting fired from jobs, leaving us high and dry.)

I’m happy with a social media share. If I could even manage to get a hundred or so, I could buy her some cheap gifts and I could probably also try to sell some of the crafts I’ve made and sold in the past. But it takes money for supplies and postage so…

Consider helping us out. A 9 year old fatherless kid and a disabled single mom are just as worthy as any political fundraiser. Thanks.

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7th Day Is A Charm

Posted in bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , on October 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

*Disclaimer-not for the faint of heart or easily offended*

I went 7 straight days without washing my hair or bathing. (You’d be amazed what some dry shampoo and Irish Spring on wet wipes can do to not attract attention to your basic lack of hygiene.) I tried self pep talks, bullying, rewarding myself for doing ‘the task’…I felt disgusting and disgusted. I felt ashamed and lazy and possibly like a non human.

Almost made it to day 8 but tonight I just caved. I mean, it seemed stupid that I washed all our bedding and I’d be putting my skankiness on clean sheets that smell better than I do. Since we only have a bath and the windows let cold air in like an AC, bathing has become a true task of discomfort when it’s not warm out. I feel a lot better now but I am still giving myself the pats on the back because…depression’s not some silly game people play when they’re ill or uncomfortable. This is a condition that kills people even if by law they call it suicide. Any victory over depression deserves a pat on the back and a high high five, as well. I’m done with all the guilt trips and shame and feeling worthless. I am fightng for my life here and seems to me people are in denial or want to shrug it off. I wish it were that simple.

I am having a tough week with my child’s mood swings. At the trailer park, she never wanted alone time, there had to be a kid or six there every single day. Now she only has the one friend who lives close and suddenly she needs alone time and I am forcing her to play with him and it’s just become this whole dramatic whiplash thing. The kid doesn’t much bother me when he visits or I babysit him. He hugged my leg today, kissed my cheek, and told me he loved me and would see me tomorrow. So it isn’t him that’s stressing me out. I play T-Rex puppet with the kid and he giggles and has a blast. It’s MY OWN CHILD I can’t seem to relate to or get along with. She’s showing not just a flair for drama, but blatant lying. Everything I speak, even when it is whispered, is ‘yelling at her’. If I don’t let her gorge herself on food, I am a starver. If I let her gorge then I am the reason she has a tummy ache and is in pain. Put her to bed too early, I am mean. Don’t make her go to bed so she gets enough sleep, then she is tired because of me. She throws blame all around except her own direction.

Guess this is what it’s like to live with me. I don’t know since I can’t ever be on the other side. I’m stuck here, with myself, awful as I apparently am. I don’t have the luxury of standing on the outside, looking in, and saying ‘hey, dick move, don’t be that way!” when I am making dick moves. The biggest differences between me and my child are that I can, and do, point out when I am wrong (assuming I can see it or am told) and I own it. Man, I’ve done some shitty things in the past that probably earned the shabby treatment I received but it wasn’t til the last few years that actually began to sink into my brain. Not everything is everyone else. Sometimes it’s me.

But the other difference between my child and I is that I have huge conscience issues. She can lie to your face or hit you and she never feels bad unless called on it, then it’s crocodile tears. Only for herself, though. She has no empathy, a trait I fear may be embedded in the genetic code she got from the donor. Or maybe again, it’s me, and 9 year olds are supposed to make you think “what a psychopath!” ten times a day. I remember how much crap the donor gave me about my heavy conscience and “Jewish guilt”, as he called it, all the while I was constantly wondering why nothing ever really made him seem to truly feel bad and if it did, it wasn’t for long and somehow it was never his own fault. On this count, I am praying I just don’t have proper gasp of what a 9 year old’s emotions should be and not that my child will be a footnote in some book about childhood psychopathy due to bad genetics. I really really want to be wrong.

Hm,…other things. I did night 1 with Seroqel. Was supposed to take 25mg but I had no clue where the splitter was and these things don’t easily break in two so I downed it. I was still awake almost 3 hours later and then…it was like a ninja came in and knocked me out. I woke once during the night, and was so loopy I dumped my water on the floor trying to stumble out of bed to the bathroom..But aside from that, I slept pretty well til my kid woke me at 8 a.m. Technically, I didn’t get out of bed til 9:30 cos I was so grogged out, but I was awake and fighting my best to shake off the seroquel. I’ve been on drunken benders and still managed to get to a bathroom without dumping water and bumping tables so I’m not sold on their pills being a better way to get to sleep over alcohol. I just can’t afford booze anymore.

I didn’t do much of anything today aside from the bedding and referee between my child and her little friend. Then my sister sent me numerous texts how all their cats have to be tested and vaccinated against feline lukemia and they have ten cats and even though there’s a combined monthly income of around $8000 in that one fucking house…poor them, they can’t afford it, they’re such bad pet owners. So what does that make me? I’m fostering 5 cats not because I can afford it but because I was given a 30 pound bag of food to house them so they didn’t go straight to the pound’s death chamber….Idk, talking to my sister used to make me feel happy. Now it’s just, how the fuck can one house bring in so much money every month and have even more to complain about that the pittance Spook and I survive on…

I made the mistake a couple weeks ago of saying I’d go to this Halloween thing with my dad and them, some sort of haunted house in a farm building and they have a bonfire and games for the kids…and at that time, my mental state was, “I’m tired of just being the candy chauffeur, I want to do something for Halloween!” And now that it’s tomorrow and the curse fucked up all my hormones and chemicals….I don’t want to go, at all. And I tried to tell my dad on the phone that I just need a break from my kid, and frankly, from people and noise. He just talked over me, said, “No, you can come, she’ll be playing with some of her classmates, you’ll get your break.” Dear God, I did almost 3 hours yesterday of social interaction with his woman, then I have the kids daily, and cats everywhere and I…want to be alone. Like, really, really alone, for an hour or two. I am allowed to change my mind and he’s being a fucking bully. Normally I might think, hey, I need the kick in the ass, but this just isn’t one of those times. My skin is crawling with anxiety, just thinking about it. I did my major act of depression defiance by taking a proper bath.

I’m drained. And it’s not sad or pathetic or lazy or wimpy or any of that societal bullshit to admit when depression’s gotten you worn down to little or nothing.

It’s truth.

Probably the only thing that can’t be considered fake news-speaking your own truth.

I’m gonna count this day a win and worry about tomorrow when it comes. But if I am turning down free food, a free ride to the place, and a free haunted house…

It means the ends of my rope are pretty frayed and I should stop pulling at them. Non depressive people will never grasp that concept.

Under Siege by Consciousness

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on October 8, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

2:46 a.m. I am awake for the third time since I first zonked out between the last episode of Munsters, so it was before 9 p.m. but I was up again at 10:30, then midnight, and again at 1:30. Since I did not do my entire cocktail I am not finding it easy to get back to, and stay, asleep, but my kid is off school today so I can’t really risk over sedation and being unable to wake up. But as this is annoying, I just took another 6mg melatonin, 50 mg Atrax, and 1mg Xanax. Because I spent all of Sunday, spent and watching the clock til bedtime, and I am pissed off that I can’t just stay asleep and wake up rested.

I have another Matchbox 20 song stuck in my head, which is pretty common when I am awake at this hour, nearing 3 a.m. “It’s 3 a.m., I must be lonely.”

Except I’m not lonely. I have cats galore grooming me with face licking and Freddy Krueger facial claw massages. Those are the calm ones not knocking shit over as they pillage and plunder. They are all feeling the change in season and weather and acting like psychos to a degree. I bet the vet would take a line out of my shrinks’ book and advise I spend a hundred bucks on a sun light to aid the cats with their seasonal issues. Pfft.

I endured a little NCIS: New Orleans but I couldn’t determine what were simply bad accents, bad acting, or my ignorance of New Orleans culture so I didn’t enjoy it, it just annoyed me. Then came the realization that there is nothing on free TV channels this late so I put an old Favorite in the VCR. Under Siege. It’s really the only Seagal movie I like but I credit a lot of that to Tommy Lee Jones, one my fave ever actors, he’s awesome in everything even as bad guys. Hopefully I can drift back to sleep with the movie as my soundtrack, I find comfort in bombarding myself at bedtime with stuff I’ve watched ad nauseum, so it becomes soothing as opposed to stimulating.

In trying not to end up over sedated and skipping that Atrax earlier, I am paying for it as my histamines are in an uproar and my skin itches in a thousand spots, which is maddening.

This goes back to the happy medium dream that I can never seem to acchieve and it is not lack of desire or lack of trying.

We’re alternating between warm and cold, dry, rainy, sunny, and gloomy weather now and it’s messing with my head, big time. I want gloom and get sunlight scorching my retinas. I need sunlight to boost my mood and get blackened day skies with torrential downpours and cold.

And now I have become preoccupied with my future plans but am finding my desire hampered by frustration that I cannot, alone, bring that dream to fruition. But it is what I want to do. And I’d be damn good at it. My stepmonster took me to our Armpit ‘antique/indoor sale’ the other day and bought me a few things in an effort to cheer my up since everyone buys so much for Spook but I do without even though I love yard sales cos I put my kid first. And it was a walk down memory lane, as my grandmother owned a similar consignment shop up til I was 11 or so. Some of my happiest memories were wandering that old shop and piling on old costume jewelry and bright scarves and letting my imagination run wild with fantasies of being a famous actress or whatever. (My dad called me Gypsy Rose Lee, which I later came to realize isn’t all that appropriate a nickname for a 9,10 year old.) But I commented aloud, “I wish I could own a place like this and do this for the rest of my life.” One of the owners pointed out that the building was for sale and my stepmonster said, “If I had that kind of money, I’d buy it in a heartbeat and put Niki in charge.”

My family believes in me, sort of, they just aren’t well off enough to help. Still, them recognizing that I’d be good at acquiring goods and could run a successful business…it counts for something.

Short of being a roadie for Motionless In White (with my kid and cats in tow), I think the resell gig would be my dream job. Though I;d be content with working from home via computer doing whatever pays the bills and keeps my kid in what she needs. Unfortunately, no one is knocking down doors offering opportunities to do such work.

3:04 a.m. Sorry, Rob Thomas, and Matchbox 20. I’m still not lonely. Hungry, yes, but far too lazy to bother to feed myself. I will just watch Seagal kick some terrorist ass and wait for the combo to kick in and let me sleep a little longer. Oh, and is it arrested development or just staunch fashion taste that makes me still totally want that studded leather jacket bad guy Tommy Lee Jones wore in this movie?

Fashion taste. Leather and studs are timeless. WANT. That. Jacket.

Hopefully when I do go back to sleep I won’t be plagued with more vivid dreams. Such bizarre dreams that feel so real. Like driving a big rig (I can’t even drive a stick shift car) but my eyes won’t open, as if glued shut, and I can’t see the road and…BREATHE. Man, nightmares are bad, but sometimes it’s the dreams that are realistic that get you worst. I doubt I will sink to the bottom in a Titanic-esque boat but not being able to see while driving…that could totally happen.

Think I like the drowning scenario better. Least Titanic went down with lots of interesting scenery in tact.

Yeah, I know. My brain ain’t right. But you gotta love its quirkiness. It’s like one of those water rides underground where you don’t know what’s coming up in the darkness. Could be killer clowns, could be an adorable animatronic tiger cub…

Welcome to my nightmare. (Yep, had to throw in Alice Cooper lest I get saddled with a light rock label just cos I like some Matchbox 20.)

That’d be awful, like being labeled Republican or Democrat or, egad, a Juggalo.

Where the F%#* is My Happy Medium?

Posted in bipolar depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , , , , on October 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Yeah, yeah, I’m like The Princess and The Pea and Goldilocks rolled into one mentally fucked up package. Nothing is ever ‘just right’. But is it so awful to want a happy mental medium space?

Much as I enjoy the sleep-and needed it, even though last night was another stop, toss, turn, wake, repeat in spite of the cocktail (pills)…I do not like the morning after grog. I hit snooze six times. I snapped at my kid and didn’t pack her lunch cos she pissed me off and I was just sooo groggy…My check didn’t deposit. I’m groggy, did I mention that? And I don’t like trying to function from within the grog. This was supposed to be my happy day to start decorating outside for Halloween. Instead I am binge watching the first season of Last Man Standing and trying not to lay down cos I am just soo weighted down with The Grog.

On top of the grog is the whirlwhind of crap coming at me this week. I opened my stupid mouth that I might have a yard sale for “city wide” this weekend (420 people is a city, really???) and my dad hijacked it, so I have to get everything ready then haul it to their house and motherfucker, I don’t even have anything that will amount to more than some quarters so it will be more hassle and work than it’s worth. Except for the fact he’s got some stuff to sell and he offered to let me and my brother split whatever sales and I got a kid to feed so…But I can’t do shit until my check comes so I can buy a dollar roll of masking tape to price stuff so I am stuck on hold. I’m always up in arms when my check is late cos I like when it comes on the last day of the month and I can actually say I paid bills ahead of time. Every other month it deposits the 30th31rst,or 1rst. Here it is the first and I got nothing. Which means more effort trying to convince my self it will come in, the sky is not falling…

I guess since I flew a little high mood and energy wise over the weekend this is my ‘splat’. Focused on the bad, unable to pick out the good things, drained, feeling hungover from the sleep cocktail when in fact it was likely the anxiety causing the sleep and wake interruptions that has me so tired…

A happy medium is just what I want. No extremes (which between bipolar disorder and a moody 9 year old, ha ha, who am I kidding). But…this is my reality.And the high could be all the medication changes and withdrawals cos I couldn’t get refills and it could be a precursor to seasonal affective depression kicking my ass…I have no balance, no equilibrium, no clarity. It’s maddening. But I am gonna try to stay positive.If I can keep my eyes open and stop being pissed off that sleepy as I am, I can’t seem to nod off again. My brain sucks.

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Hey, Bipolar Anxiety- You’re A Nag

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

Had a good mental health day, accomplished some stuff, didn’t feel like drinking bleach or putting my kid in a dog kennel…

But now she’s asleep and it’s only 7:36 at night but my stupid brain has started nagging me. It’s the bipolar anxiety. Reminding me I have to be up early with her in the morning. My check should come but then again, nothing is going right. What if I take my little sleepy combo and it knocks me out too fast? I’d like to bathe while I have the energy and half ass motivation…But then again, what if I wait to take it and then I have a hard time getting up with her come daylight cos it takes so long to kick in? It’s almost 8 p.m. oh no I should be asleep by now or at least in bed watching TV….

Round and round scumbag brain goes with thoughts I try to squash down yet they…just stomp my ass instead. So, scumbag thoughts caused by mental health impairments…this song’s for you.

And don’t forget (please) to visit our fundraiser page and share it with others. Christmas is coming up and this loss of income through someone else’s actions really puts us in a tough spot. Oh, and Spook informed me she wants to be a Minecraft character for Halloween and the costume is $20 so…just a share is great, a donation is awesome. And again, read past posts since I put this blog up in 2011 when the donor abandoned us. We’re not scam artists, our story never deviates from facts. If you’re in a giving spirit, we’re a pretty decent cause.

We took in a pregnant cat so she wouldn’t be condemned to the pound (before the loss of income) so honestly, we’re not bad people. We like to pay it forward in whatever way we can. Please think about it, at least.

I’ll send you a plastic spork as a door prize. 😉

Politically (IN)Correct Thoughts

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on September 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

***Potentially triggering topics and unpopular opinions with politically incorrect views, avoid if you’re not wearing your big person underpants, author is not responsible for any wedgies this post may cause.****

This post *will* include its mainstay mental health topics but first…some personal ranting on topics near and dear to me.

I try to avoid spouting off on hot button issues like religion and politics. Frankly, none of these things have a place in my corner of my world. I am not democrat, republican, Baptist, Catholic.I am just…me. Labels bore me and the world’s obsession with labeling everything bores me even more. Suffice it to say, spouting off on topics that are triggering might land me stuck with more icky labels but I’ve been repressing what some might consider ‘controversial’ topics to avoid such grotesqueness. We are the land of free speech so I am disgusted by how easily someone can type out a string of text meant to be sarcastic/joking/thoughtless that suddenly becomes hateful and basically costs them their career and turns them into a pariah. Which in this day and age is viable on any topic at any moment, even something as asinine as feeding your kids box mac and cheese cos omg, the toxic artificial dyes…Kill too slowly if you’re a dumbass. Oops, there goes my TV deal for I have been offensive with my insensitive humor.

Yes, I am talking about Roseanne, and I don’t need to like the woman to have enjoyed her show, original and reboot, and I recently binged it all and ya know what? It’s like we have de-evolved since the late 80’s-early 90’s run of Roseanne, because that show was rude at times, offensive, it tackled hot button topics (in which the characters eventually opened their minds and evolved) and made fun of itself constantly and PEOPLE LOVED IT…But hey, one idiotic Tweet from the star and bam, the world goes bonkers, she’s a raging racist, she’s the devil, she must be banished completely. OVER A FUCKING IDIOTIC TWEET. Please understand, I do not know Roseanne Barr. Her newfound politics are at odds with my own beliefs, and I do think based on her own self presentation, she’s kind of unlikeable and Ambien or not, intentional or not, probably did throw out that cruel Tweet that started the melee based on some ignorant personal bias. Perhaps she got what she deserved. Yet our own commander in chief hourly hurls insults at everyone and everything and yet…he still his job. Politically correct or incorrect, it’s too stupid to even comprehend. Not like Roseanne had the launch codes to nuke city thus posing imminent threat to all. But the one who can access that and is renowed for whiplash mood swings and knee jerk behavior has access and still has his job.

How are people not thinking about this logically?

I’m the first to admit with my bipolar depression and crippling anxiety that logic is not always a friend by my side. I can have knee jerk reactions, overreact, I get flustered and fight or flight kicks in so I lash out with sarcasm, macabre humor, and more vitriole than is called for. I am this about myself, which is why a few years back, I put myself in ‘time out’ on matters that get me riled. My general rule is if it’s still bothering me 48 hours later after I have calmed down and the mood tides have changed…then it’s a legit problem to be handled. If it’s vanished from my mental space or seems pfft, what was the big deal…Then I can differentiate between being overreactive and being properly reactive. It’s been a good system for me. Which is why I have dozens of draft posts saved because I am pretty passionate to begin with, before my wonky brain chemicals chime in. I think I have only ever ‘reanimated’ 3 out of dozens of drafts because once I gave myself the cooling off period…I could see more clearly. The problem with that is that real life rarely gives you the option for self imposed time out to cool your jets so sometimes, bipolar people are slapped with nasty labels they really didn’t deserve.

Don’t get me started on the impact political correctness has made on our ability to use humor, or even slang, as a coping mecahnism. Or yeah, let’s do get me started on that. That and how in our collective lack of wisdom as a people we have started to taint and villify words that have multiple definitions but for whatever reason, only the bad ones are deemed relevant therefore use of these words is insensitive, rude, politically incorrect, etc.I won’t link to the post that kind of sparked that one for me because the writer is very fair with valid views and a wonderful way of expressing those views. But learning that by my occasional use of words like ‘retarded’ or ‘stalking’, I am no longer using the dictionary properly and I am being insensitive and well, a dick. I disagree with this, but I guess that’s the sort of thing of an insensitive dick-ish person would do. Still, and YES, I did consult the dictionary for the multiple definitions and usages of the suddenly offensive words, and there’s no legal precedent in a dictionary declaring using these words is politically incorrect or offensive. But we are no longer a society who deals in truths, facts, or ponders intent before we start black balling people and getting our ruffles feathered. All I can say is, I TRY to be sensitive and I do not take things such a crimes of stalking or cruelty of calling developmentally delayed people retared as jokes. So the next time I am outside with my kid and our cats are slithering through the long blades of grass chasing bugs or whatever and I do my ‘wild kingdom’ voiceover that makes me kid laugh…I am still probably going to say, “The striped feline lies in wait as its prey approaches, closer, then moves away and the feline stalks along behind….”

It’s not so much as get a joke. It’s more like ‘use a dictionary and learn the multiple uses of these words that are not always deragatory nor criminal therefore people who use them are not always insensitive louts making fun of very serious topics’. Tyvm.

Politics…I started Binge watching an old one season run “Commander In Chief” with Geena Davis and aligned with my prior viewership of Scandal and Madame Secretary…What TV is teaching me (my meds rotted my brain already, pfft, tv has now power over my swiss cheese gelatinous brain dwelling organ) and….If I do decide to break a 25 year streak of avoiding voting booths and vote this year…I find I relate more to independents than to R or D. Politicians are just vile self serving creatures with no scruples and zero conscience. And it’s this inability to side with those with decent values and a conscience is a stumbling block for me. I don’t need to agree 100% with their views but I often find myself in 99% disagreement with both sides (even if my current views lean left, that’s cos they labeled it, I didn’t.)

In memorium of 9/11…

I have memory troubles. I don’t remember much beyond my child’s birth or when I got to go see Skid Row and Pantera when I was a teenager.ONE THING I have never forgotten, though, is where I was when the planes hit the twin towers. I was supposed to go to a crappy part time cleaning job that day and I suck at cleaning so I was about to be fired anyway…But I turned on the news and I saw what was happening and I remainded glued there for hours and hours. I knew none of those people. Never been to New York. But I cried, and I cried, and I cried. Then I cried some more. I felt such agony and empathy. Wished I could do something, anything, to offer comfort to those waiting to hear if their loved ones made it out alive. I couldn’t take a phone call or answer my door, I was far too shaken and couldn’t stop crying. I was profoundly affected and my last thoughts were of terrorists or the economy. My every thought was with those lost in the tragedy, those who so bravely went into to find and recover victims, the families of those waiting to hear one way or another…all those husbands and wives and parents and children, friends…I didn’t know them. I had no real reason to go so overboard with my feelings. Except it was how I truly felt.

Yesterday, in an act of questioning myself and my current feelings, I listened to a call in Donald Trump did to a TV show back on 9/11. He may as well have been discussing his golf game, his tone was so flat, casual. Actually, his golf game would have gotten him more emotional. He wanted to talk about losing hundreds of friends that day (zero 9/11 funerals he attended) and oh, bummer, they shut down the wall street nasdaq bullshit but oh, hey, now with the twin towers gone, my building is the tallest…No emotion. Words mimicked to feign humanity and humility yet so false it was nauseating. A day that should have been about the victims, their families, our country…and he made it all about him.

17 years ago, before he was commander in chief.

So if my distaste for this man’s personality has lasted 30 years even long before he became president…I’m not being politically correct or incorrect. I am being honest.

And honestly, he’s in good company. I watched my daughter playing with her neighbor friend the other night and caught her bossing him around, yelling at him, the defying me and telling him what lie they were going to tell me about it…And she was just so mean and sounded so nasty and so selfish…all I could think is, “Thank God I don’t have to be her playmate.”

Some personalities rub you the wrong way and that’s not political.

So maybe sometimes I can’t trust my mood swing to operate safely and properly so I make poor choices or say dumb things.

On something that has plagued me nearly 2 years now, though, I finally have found clarity by looking back long before ‘fake news’ was a thing and hearing it from the horse’s mouth himself. Politics aren’t even relevant to this one. I just don’t like arrogant, narcissistic money whores whose ego are so massive they’d have to call in to a show on a devastating day in U.S. history to talk about himself.

17 years later I still remember sitting home in front of my tv with tears streaming down my face at the loss of life and all the broken families and broken hearts and absolute destruction…I don’t even always like people and i managed to have empathy and show sadness not for photo op or credit but because…

It’s the decent thing to do as a member of the human race.

And it comes naturally to you if you are decent. If not, well, you call in to a TV show and talk about yourself then get elected president, and live sleazily ever after while insulting your citizens daily and meanwhile, a woman who I might fight repugnant on some levels, actually found a way to make me laugh during the current climate..and YOU’RE FIRED.

I am not defending her, her words were awful, but seriously. If we’re going to hold an actress that accountable then our president should be in the unemployment line right along side of her. It’s not like she met with a military widow in mourning and said, “Your husband knew what he was signing up for.” No that act of offensive cruelty was done by….

If your eyes are open and you have a brain, you know what I am saying, incorrect as it might be.

For all those lost on 9/11…you are not forgotten. For the families and friends who lost you…you are not alone. You will forever be in the thoughts and prayers of those of us who have also not forgotten and never will. Time passes and life goes on…but memories are forever and American’s with good hearts also have long, good memories.

Tweet that. Wait, no, that’s kind of heartfelt and kind, that’d never fly.

Go see what the Kardashian West crew is doing, that’s about all the intellectual stimulation Twitter can handle.

<<<<<<<politically incorrect rude nasty woman says 'sorry not sorry'.

Hell Is Living With Depression and Incompetent Mental Health Care

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on August 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Another night and not yet 7:45 p.m. and all I can think about is going to sleep. My mind has been a clusterfuck of activity today. I found out my brother in law, the not-worked-in-20-years-and-not-even-disabled stoner guy, had a friend use his influence to get him a high paying job at a factory. To Beavis’s credit (long story on that nickname) he did give up smoking dope for several months to pass the hair strand test but man…20 years without working, last job you did hold you got fired from and signed your final check ‘fuck you’, and somehow he gets in the door when there are hundreds of better candidates? His friend must have some pull. And I’m not jealous, I worked in that factory (until my disorders made me miss too much work and they let me go and will never rehire me), it’s mind numbingly dull work and a miserable place thanks to new owners. But when even the laziest (he won’t even mow the lawn, makes my sister do that) most unpleasant person can get a job like this…Let’s say it’s not doing my self esteem any favors. My nephew also just got hired at an oil change place, so I am officially the one non working person in the family thus…

What I keep reminding myself of is…I’m in no shape to work, no matter how much I may want to.

I was supposed to have an appointment Monday with the new practitioner. They called to cancel and tell me she can’t start til October and they have no one available til then. I made it clear I am NOT doing well but with no staff they can’t do anything about it. I was further horrified to learn my former shrink, my least favorite one, has taken over their inpatient program so even if I hit rock bottom and do have to go there…I will have to contend with a man who doesn’t think any medication beyond Zoloft, Lithium, and Klonopin belong on the psych drug formulary. They are all the same to him. He wouldn’t even take me off Zoloft when I became suicidal, him leaving made me happy. And he wasn’t a dick or anything, he was kind and seemed to care, he was just very narrow in his views and set in his ways.

So…by October, it will be 5 months without a doc or nurse or med change. Here I am ready for bed at before it’s dark out because consciousness is just too awful and…they can’t help me.

So of course everything is triggering me but since I went back on lithium in anticipation of lab work being ordered next week…I feel stuff but it’s like your teeth as Novacaine is wearing off. Distant, foggy, weird. I’m not happier. I’m just not screaming over every tiny thing. Because I am so damned numb and feel so far away I may as well be inside a hamster ball. Hate lithium. It has its use and its time, like during PMDD or when I am facing emotional triggers like court with the donor. But as a daily med…it makes me miserable.

Yesterday I decided to get ahead of dad darkening my door and mow the lawn myself. But I flooded the gas mower, could not get it to start. And I was in no mood for their insults about how I am too dumb to even work a mower so I used my old reel push mower. The property is enormous and I had to work in increments and it doesn’t cut as short as a gas mower but..I did the whole damn thing, even in the heat, getting dizzy and shaky because hey, that’s what happens on mood stabilizers when you’re overheating and sweating it all out. It was a little scary but I wanted to accomplish something, to be able to tell my dad no, you don’t need to bring your attitude, I did it…And those reel mowers take strength in arms and legs to push them, I worked my ass off, so much for their assessment that I am lazy. And ya know what? They saw and said, “I thought you said you mowed.”

Guess it’s good I’m in the lithium hamster ball or else I might have taken my kid’s baseball bat to their fucking skulls. I can’t win no matter how hard I try.

Today it’s been a chore just to refill ice cube trays. My mind is blank. Then it’s overfilled. The anxiety is manageable. Then it’s rioting. I’m lost. And furthermore, pissed off with myself because we’re almost out of food and I can’t do a damn thing about it til Tuesday. Kid is sick of ramen already. It’s been a battle feeding her all summer when usually she eats at school and isn’t here to snack all of the time. I thought I budgeted well but I didn’t take into account how much I spent on fresh fruits for her and how fast she ate them all. Now one would think my family might toss a couple bucks or even a $10 Walmart ecard my way for a few things like bread or whatever. Nope. “Come pick up a few things here, we have plenty.” Nope. And what was my biggest sin? Spluring on the fresh fruits so she’d eat that instead of cookies. Thankfully, only one more week til school starts so things will improve….Provided she doesn’t go around telling people she’s starving simply because the supply is low. We have turkey slices, tons of boxed mac and cheese, powdered milk, ramen…But scumbag brain is feeling sadistic today so it’s gonna keep reminding me there should be berries or melon in the fridge, a good mom would have budgeted better….I tried the food pantry but you can only go once every 3 months and I’m 3 weeks from meeting that. I suck, I suck, I suck.

I think that’s why I’m so disturbed by my family and their judgments. No one can be harder on me than I am on myself. I even feel guilty that I had to put the cats on Dollar store food they won’t eat and use that clay litter that doesn’t clump.

But we were worse off when the donor left and I didn’t feel this absolute desolation so whatever the Cymbalta was doing well…it stopped. And that was my fear all along, that and their staffing issues. I just had a feeling something like this was going to happen.

9 docs now since 2006. I have more consistency in the cashier who sells me gas for the car. That’s not even a joke, literally have more consistency with gas station employees. How can you ever learn to trust a professional if you’re always being shoved through a revolving door of them? They tell you stability and routine are important to managing bipolar, depression, and anxiety, but when your care is the most unstable thing in your life…where does that leave you?

And I can’t help but wonder how different life for me might be, just as far as focus goes, if the ass trash insurance company would pay for Focalin…I might be able to read a book or watch a movie with my kid without getting up ten times to wander and hell, I might be able to organize my clutter so the house looks better. I won’t know, though, since they won’t pay. My old psych center (now behavioral health) at least went out on a limb for us back in the 90’s before common meds like Prozac became generic and you had no insurance. They’d hook you up with the manufacturer, the meds would be sent to the center, and every month you’d go in for your supply. I didn’t appreciate how much they helped until, well, it ceased to be that place I knew and merged with another place and morphed into…whatever it is now. A behavioral health center. My behavior isn’t the problem, it’s my ass trash family that’s the biggest problem, so why am I the one always getting the counseling?

Anyway…that’s my mental vomit for today. Ten after eight, woo hoo, bedtime will be soon!!!!! A few hours without depression and self loathing, yayness! Man, nightmares trump your waking hours…It’s time for a shrink’s intervention. Yeah, yeah, put on my PJ’s, I am dreaming.

And as always….Spook’s school clothes fundraiser page.