Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Psychological Flatline

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

It’s been coming for weeks and for weeks, I tried to tell R that I was hitting my usual where the anxiety stress, and depression culminate in me crashing and burning. I won’t say I am down and out but for the first time in 3 months…I didn’t go to the shop like I am supposed to. I stayed home, accomplished nothing, but in all honesty…removing the guilt and all- it was precisely the sort of rebellious reboot my overwhelmed mind needed. I just flat lined. I had every intention of going to the shop…but more time passed, the more my psychological demons hovered and moved in for the kill. I knew going outside my safe space was as ill advised as trying to operate heavy machinery while on narcotics.

Of course, I will let R know I didn’t go in…when I get around to it. He was supposed to be en route home today but they’ve delayed him again out of state where he may not even be leaving by Friday. I just was not in a strong enough mental frame to go to that damned shop with all the pissed off people wanting their shit fixed or their diagnostic fee returned. Because we did bank deposit before he left and I have no access to cash or bank accounts to refund money, nor authority to do so. All these people are pissed off and while he’s pissy about the real job keeping him gone over two weeks…he isn’t the who has to listen to angry customers and try to explain why the hell a business would take their money and say they’ll do a timely repair when the damned owner and tech can’t even get his ass back to state to do the bloody work…

Tomorrow, I am determined (and praying to the sacred pegacorn) that I don’t flat line again but he’s so far behind there’s nothing for me to do but get yelled at by angry people demanding their money back. Would any sane person want to take on the stress of someone else overestimating their own abilities? He says he’s got it all handled, he can do both jobs, but if Job A sends you out of state for two plus weeks meanwhile new items keep coming in, on top of the old stuff that’ss not been fixed…He has placed me in an impossible situation, and the toll it is taking on my mental health is enormous.

So today I flaked out and flat lined but maybe tomorrow I will feel stronger. And if I don’t well, I guess he won’t be helping me get my kid’s Christmas or getting my heat fixed or helping me with a differemt car and it’s ok. I don’t owe this man my sanity. Spook and I are pretty good at being poor and doing without. It’s no longer worthwhile. It’s harmful to me, in fact. He chose to do the doctor lawyer nobel laureate multi tasking work thing. I got dragged in by necessity and him guilt tripping me.

I want out. I need out. I just need a way to do it gracefully without bridges burning and I don’t know how to do that because sledgehammer honesty doesn’t work with him. He doesn’t hear me. So I guess that leaves me holding gasoline and a match. What today taught me is…NOTHING is worth your sanity and also, NOTHING can be done about depressive and anxiety breaks except to let yourself break and try to put back the pieces together.


Mental Disorders-Perception Versus Reality

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

Today was a weird one, mentally, and I chalk it up to excess stress and of course, my own fuck up of missing several doses of anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. (Which, occasionally IS my memory failure, but also can be attributed to the doc/nurse office not replying to refill requests in a timely manner, the pharmacy failing to fax for refills, and many times with Trintellex, not having the dose on hand thus resulting in a couple days’ without meds, and let us not forget lack of copay money as well as insurance script plans not allowing refills more than 4 or 5 days in advance.) Not absolving myself, I screwed up missing doses, no matter the reason, and I am the one paying for it. Today was a roller coaster of inertia, desire to function, crash landing to depressive abyss, followed by a lift into hypomania. I OWN my screw up.

What has me spiraling today, though, is PERCEPTION VERSUS REALITY. And this is NOT a thing limited to those with mood disorders or the assortment of other mental imbalances…There is my truth, your truth, facts, perceptions and it is all confusing no matter the stability of your brain chemicals. With a series of legit imbalances, though, it is more difficult and confusing, even when your self awareness is uber precise.

Points in question…My ‘friendship’ with R. Earlier I hit a rock bottom abyss where I could barely hold back tears (and the monthly curse is over so it’s less likely hormonal) and all I could think was, “Thanks for the friendship, your demands broke me.” Is it fair? Maybe. Maybe not. Is it a distortion? Maybe partially because I can’t expect Mr. Spock to correlate with my “even the needs of the few are equal to the needs of the many” emotional stance. Still…I find it an imbalanced ‘friendship’ and I use the quotations marks because this is a man making demands of me and while I am not without necessary benefits when me and my child need them…This man doesn’t even send a Christmas or birthday text, treats my kid like an annoyance, and when I told him awhile back I had a sick cat I needed to be home with, he said, :Well, then I should think you’d rather be here”….

His emotional IQ is so low except for his own progeny and grand-progeny, we are never ever gonna be on the same page. I REQUIRE money to keep my fed sheltered and clothed and the car running. I require his expertise when my furnace goes out or my computer hardware fails. But when it comes to my emotional needs, I am left feeling starved, denied, abused. Even if he means well, my feelings are no less valid.

Yet any time I voice them he has this Mr. Spock method of making me feel weak and subpar and like I am screwing him over as opposed to vice versa. He was diagnosed 20 years ago as a narcissist so it’s not a newsflash that his needs come first and my needs are crap unless he can write a check or make a repair but I keep thinking of all the times I have hobbled in on my last physical and mental leg to be a good friend, to atone for my pre-mood stabilizer behavior…and if I fail him even once, I get a nasty lecture about being intolerable and now I have to stand on my own two feet cos he’s tired of ‘taking care’ of me.

Yet he can fail me dozen of times, leave me with a car about to keel over because he hasn’t had time in 18 months-even while laid off from the second job-to take a peek-see and help…I just feel…a little abused, a lot neglected, and frankly, emotionally starved. I recognize the difference in our mentality, personalities, histories, and me being…well, psychologically disorganized, which amounts to us never seeing eye to eye but…

Am I really so demanding to want him to listen and HEAR me when I am willing to do the same for him? Is it fair of him to blow me off with ‘different car and needed cash/items’ so I do his bidding?

Perception versus reality. It’s a thing, mental chaos or not.

I’ve had so much counseling (whereas he repeatedly rejected the notion anything could be wrong with him) I am fairly self aware, outside my 2 week menstrual dysphoria. I know my weaknesses, am trying to find my strengths, I recognize my imperfections, my dastardly behaviors and deeds…Yet I am surrounded with people who can’t even determine that calling me a bitch (thank you, mommy) is saying more about their lack of emotional maturity than it is me.

What can I do?

I am just gonna keep putting one foot in front of the other even though every day feels like my soul has died another death, my emotional well being is in famine mode, and my insecurities are causing me to doubt even my ability to breathe without screwing it up.

There IS beauty out there. I am not prepared to give up on it yet.

Whether my psyche holds up to my hopes and desires is a whole other story yet to be determined.

I just think a ‘friendship’ where you’ve pushed yourself beyond the breaking point and the other person still expects more…it’s a bit toxic. And it means R hasn’t changed an iota in 20 years because, hey, he was the one who dumped me because of my mood swings. He didn’t care I had a shit doctor who misdiagnosed, wrongly medicated me and nearly killed me and I couldn’t afford better. He shunned me because I was too stressful yet now I am feeling the same since he expects me to become Mr. Spock like him…

Play fair in the sandbox or I am taking my toys and going home.

It’s a concept most children can comprehend yet is lost on a fifty four year old man.

Narcissists are a special breed I guess.

I may have selfish/self centered qualities but I lack the confidence to be a narcissist or even compete with one.

Bridges may be burning soon. Don’t bother with the fire extingishers.

At this point, I have realized-doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is insanity.

R’s standards will never lower and my stability will never meet his standards. Stalemate or bridge incineration…I can’t kill myself for this person and a TRUE friend wouldn’t expect, or want, me to.

Skewed perception or reality? Let me know, guys. I can’t buy a vowel or a clue, I am so broke.

What Condiment Shall I Have With My Bipolar Depression Sandwich?

Posted in bipolar depression, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on November 20, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So, wtf is with that bizarr-o title, you may ask. Well, being the antagonistic world mocking troll that I am I took note recently that two of my posts that included the word “bipolar” in the title got twice the views as my less specific titled ones. Is that because they were better written? No. It’s because we live in a trend-obsessed society of people who surf tags and titles for content as opposed to simply reading something before deciding it’s crap and of no interest to them. This hurts all TWO Of my feelings. I will never grasp a world so vapid that a post about what condiments one put on their sub sandwich for lunch that day can garner 2000 likes and yet I can write a heartfelt ode to a fallen friend and get trolling comments about how boring my writing is. So here’s your fucking condiment post with a specific topic that I probably will not stick to because….I like to troll and antagonize mindless sheeple.

(And for the record, I’m having no condiments today because I am eating leftover chicken seasoned so well, it needs nothing else for flavor,tyvm.)

Another long depression filled weekend complete with agonizing cramps and backaches and the never ending interrupted sleep cycle. We took in new kittens, and the timing is awful, but I’d agreed weeks ago when things weren’t going well and to learn they were being half mauled by the owner’s pit bull…Vex and Hex are now our family. Unfortunately, Vex is having trouble with mommy cat seperation anxiety and for three days straight has opted to wake me at 3 a.m. with crying and attempts to eat my face. Literally, gnawing on my face and nose. And this is with Godsmack doing his usual mouth nomming all during the night. One would think I could close the door, solve it, right? Oh, noooo. There is a second door that leads to the bathroom and the kid’s ripped it off the hinges years ago. It has only a curtain and since the bathroom’s main door has a 10 inch gap at the bottom, not even closing it keeps them out.

And me even thinking about turning away my kitties should tell you how exhausted, irritated, and frustrated I truly am. Normally they are a comfort but right now, everything is just piling up and there is no comfort.

Except that’s not entirely true, Godsmack seems to be liking his new role as big kitten on campus, he is patient with those adoring noobs as any mama cat. It makes him less lonely and that is good. Let him bathe their flesh raw and leave mine alone.

My kid, as ever, is a joy. And by that, I mean, she won’t cooperate on the tiniest things, fights me at every turn, refuses to eat real food but calls me a starver for denying it her 5 ice cream bars in one day. She wants to watch TV with me, but she talks through every word of it. I can’t make a call and she’s talking through, that, too. She reads my email and texts over my shoulder. I can’t sit without her being so close our elbows are touching and if I move abruptly and accidentally jar her, she calls me an abuser. And before any well meaning entity tells me ‘stop letting her get away with it’…you come spend some time with this kid and be the one who has to constantly tell her no. There is no letting her get away with it. I hang tough and it just makes the fights go on and on and still, I don’t back down and still, she keeps fighting me. I may not be at my finest now and I may not have much to give but she takes and takes and takes without returning much most days so I end up feeling like roadkill and she’s the vulture picking meat off my carcass. Not warm and fuzzy mommy enough for you?

At 3:49 a.m. today she gave me a heart attack, so to speak, by ninja creeping into my room to tell me she couldn’t get comfortable. I told her to go back to her own bed, but instead she brought the kittens in and they got to making noise and I was in pain from cramps and exhausted and I just wanted to go back to sleep cos I was supposed to make up for turkey day at the shop by being there Monday morning….I eventually had to lure the cats away with food and order her back to her bed, raging under my breath that I was either going to give away kid and cats or run away myself, anything to get more than 3 hours of bloody solid sleep a night….

I am not a monster. I am, however, being ground down to dust and it is taking a toll. During summer it wasn’t as awful because at least it wasn’t dark at 5 p.m. thus signaling even my child that it’s bedtime. Bad enough my seasonal depression makes me want to go to bed that early. Now every night once it hits 5:30 pm. she starts rioting when I refuse to tuck her in. This seasonal shit has fucked up every goddamn aspect of every goddamn thing and yes, from my overuse of swearing, you can tell I am goddamn stressed out and pissed off.

But I made it to the shop. After she went to school I went back to sleep. Wandered in here a little after eleven. Fuck it. He’s out of state indefinitely, what’s he gonna do? Yell at me on the phone? This is generally the point for the history of my life where jobs and relationships fall apart because I am falling apart and I am becoming unreliable, unfocused, screwing up little things, hating even minor social niceties for taking even more from me than I have to give.

But hey there’s a bright side. 5 days from now the curse will be over, the pain will subside, and my hormones will level out so that my insanity level will crank down a few notches. YAY. So I can handle Fangsgiving festivities which even with no drama still seem to be more stressful than heart warming good fun. Depression has really robbed me of everything joyful and good.

I know much of it is depression and hormones because a couple weeks back I took a picture of the ground covered in leaves and thought, so this is why it’s called fall, the leaves all fall and make this pretty patchwork on the ground….Now does that sound like a thought from someone who simply has a bad personality and negative attitude? Or is what I truly am inside when not being pummeled by hormones, bipolar, seasonal depression, stress, and anxiety?

I’d sure like to know if that leaf admiring girl could come out and play more often. I kind of liked her. And that, my friends, is what depression does to you. It makes your best traits seem like a whole other person you wish you could hang out with all the while dooming you to being the one trapped in darkness and hopelessness.

That is a sandwich no amount of condiments on earth could make taste better.

Mental Health Ninjas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such is the cycle.

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

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

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

Dear Blahpolar…In Memory Of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that I have any strong opinions.

And I still want Kentucky fried chicken for lunch.