Archive for the bipolar depression Category

Glitter, Slime, and Mental Chaos

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , on August 8, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My kid had a good birthday yesterday. The aftermath, however, is not good. The slime making kits are a pain in the ass. There is glitter everywhere on the living room floor. My vacuum is about as useful as a loud paper weight. IF I even had the energy and wherewithal to stand using the hell machine. I am so sensitive to loud noise these days that something as basic as using the vacuum has become a challenge. That and I hate housework.

But the biohazard status of the place is starting to bother even my low standards. The problem is, the depression has seemed to worsen since I started the Zoloft and began weaning off the Wellbutrin. I can’t discern if it’s just a functionality hangover where it takes me days, sometimes weeks, to recover from high functionality and being on the go and facing stressful panic inducing situations…or if it’s the usual transition with the meds, or god forbid, is the Zoloft actually making me feel more depressed? One thing I can say about it, and again, this could be the exhaustion of the last week or so’s go,go,go, but I am sleeping better and not waking up as many times during the night. Which kind of was the goal of asking to try Zoloft, because I remember it always helped with sleep. It’s not as sedating as it once was so it’s not helping with the anxiety or panic or distorted thoughts.

I don’t think the professionals understand that while the medications stay the same, our minds and bodies and metabolism and hormones are constantly changing, shifting, waning, ebbing- and this all bears significant weight on whether we respond positivel or negatively to medications. And I am painfully aware of how many meds and combos I have tried over the years, though they seem hell bent on pointing it out every appointment as if to make it seem like a Goldilocks/Princess and the Pea thing. I’d do cartwheels with bells on my feet if I could find a med/combo that helped. I don’t like changing meds. I always feel like I am letting the doctors down when meds fail to make me feel better. The fact that I have been on Lamictal for over ten years and it works fine should tell them, if it works, I don’t fix what ain’t broken.

How many topic changes was that? The mental chaos has reached fever pitch. I have laundry piling up, dishes piling up, and of course, I have stress stomach aches, headaches, and that distorted sense that if I move from my safe crypt space, bad things will happen. I KNOW it’s distortion. I just don’t know what to do about it. I’ve even wondered if maybe my conditions have morphed into an extreme situation where perhaps I need an anti psychotic. Those have been poison for me, though, even the newer ones with supposedly fewer side effects. Going down that path terrifies me, but it may realistically be something I have to face.

Anyway, I see all this stuff that needs done and I can’t even get clothes on this morning. I was up til 11″30 last night (it was the kid’s birthday, so I let her stay up late, and I felt proud of myself because usually if I am not in bed by 9, my entire routine is thrown off.) I woke at 5:50 a.m., to my disgust. I tried to go back to sleep but once it is light out, that becomes an impossibility. And a half hour ago when I saw it was 9 a.m. my first thought was, nine hours til calm time nearing bedtime. I don’t think it gets more depressed, anxious, or distorted than that. And I poured it all out for the support nurse and the NP and the nurse was very sympathetic and noticed from my heightened blood pressure and sweaty hand wringing that I was not in good shape. The NP on the other hand, well, she made the right noises and said the right words, but I don’t think she puts much stock in what I say. That could be my own distortion and paranoia, but it’s how I feel. I will say this. I was brave that day and I sat in a chair right near her desk so she was forced to look at me. I realized I could have done that the whole time but because I get so panicky and need to be near an exit, I was always sitting by the door and she didn’t have much choice but to not face me. One thing she still does that drives me bonkers is clack on the computer the whole time. That is unnerving. Especially when I am willing to consent to recording the session so she could make notes later. It’s not that I don’t want anything entered on my record, I’d just prefer it not be while I am sitting there, so sensitive to noise, and becoming more unnerved and stressed.

This topic changing and rambling is what I call mental chaos. I can’t make the most basic decision, like getting dressed, feeding myself, doing laundry, dishes, sweeping, using the hell machine on the carpet…I keep hoping once the Zoloft dose goes up this weekend, soon I will notice positive changes in my mind set. It’s always tough coming off one med and started another and that’s not the NP’s fault. It’s just a sucky reality of psych meds. I can’t make sense of anything in my mind. It’s just too cluttered and I am so confused and I feel so weak and vulnerable and I keep going back to the improvements I felt on Abilify but I absolutely could not handle the side effects. Some trade off.

Maybe I need to stop beating up on myself, set my small goal for each day, accomplish that, and hope the landlord doesn’t do some pop inspection and see how chaotic the house is. He hasn’t done a single inspection but now his son in law is handling things so that could change and I live in fear of it…Yet my brain screams FIX IT ALREADY AND YOU WON’T BE SO PARANOID AND FEARFUL. That does not work with mental illness. All I can do is hold out hope that my mental state will soon change. Spook starts school next Thursday so we will have a routine and perhaps that will help me get a little clarity and motivation. I HOPE. I even thought about asking my sister and her friend to come over and help me since they are both excellent house cleaners, but no doubt they will too busy, as in the past when I was begging for help, even offered to pay for their time, and they were too busy. I literally have no one to help me here. And I know at 46 I should put on the big girl panties and do it myself but the depressive abyss has me so scattered and things have piled up so much…I feel like I need help, and that is not an easy thing for me to admit.

One thing at a time. Today I need to do dishes, at least one load of laundry to hang dry, and see to Spook’s needs. Oh and gather up the trash from my yard since my dad was on my ass about it last night when they brought her bday gifts by. That man is not happy if he isn’t bitching and putting me down. I will say this for him, he called yesterday at 7:50 a.m. from his work to wish Spook a happy birthday. For him to do something so thoughtful was impressive. He can’t even remember what day my birthday is on.

Okay, wrapping it up. I hope I start feeling better soon. It seems I am losing followers and no one is reading because obviously I have become a repetitive “I feel so shitty” Debbie Downer so…I want my regulars back, all 9 of them. Of course, people are busy and my posts are long rambles, so maybe it isn’t about me at all. I have no clarity so…I have no idea. It’s just confusing and chaotic in my mind right now and honestly…it’s scary as hell.



Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, bipolar disorder, disability with tags , , , , , , , on July 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve only had my disability claimed reviewed like 3 times.(Probaby be up for it soon.) Which is stressful to the max. But the ONE part that always gets me is when they ask how does your condition impact your daily life to the point it disablws you?

Well, let’s see. There is this from yesterday, a simple trip to Wal-Mart.

My kid has a doctor appointment today and I AM THE ONE WITH ANXIETY, on pins and needles.

My every day starts out with one hour of consciousness before I am counting the hours til bedtime because I can’t stand living in this hopeless dark space.

I no longer feel safe, even in my own home, so I am never calm or reassured.

I have unchecked paranoia born of this anxiety, convinced even the cats are sometimes out to ‘get me’.

It’s omly (nearly) August and I am already in dread and meltdown mode of the upcoming seasonal affective disorder and its crippling months long depression. Which considering I haven’t even managed to conquer the depression during the summer months, normally my happy time, I am PETRIFIED of the darkness I may be facing.

I don’t date. I don’t socialize. I don’t really enjoy much in life. Everything is a fake out, plastering on the smiles and forced conversation so others don’t feel uneasy and don’t think I am an unfit mother.

I am STUCK with a psych nurse who is so inept she can’t even make eye contact with me and does not listen to me, at all. That is disabling in and of itself because that is the ONE person whose responsibility it is to make you feel better, not worse.

See, it’s not any one thing. It’s the whole mish mash combination of situational depression and anxiety on top of the disorders that do hinder my progression in life.

For anyone who does not think this is a disability is ignorant.

How does it impact my life…

Easier question would be, how does it not muck up my life. It’d be a very short list because I can’t even be trusted to practice proper hygiene when I am in these mental states. I already feel emotionally naked, so I guess the thought of being truly naked and bathing and being vulnerable is too terrifying, not to mention exhausting.

My kid has the appointment, I am breaking out in hives.

I am going swimming Friday with her day camp as it is the final day and picnic and they are paying. I will have my curse by then but I will buy the necessary product and I found a swimsuit in the closet that fits and I am terrified of the public but I promised my daughter because it means a lot to her. It will take a lot out of me but..failing her in big ways is not an option. I fail her daily in so many little ways. Like not being happy happy joy joy mom. By always being so jumpy and nervou that she can’t even play a ‘boo’ joke because she knows it sends me into panic meltdown.

Next Sunday is her bday party at the pool, which took some tooth pulling to get that date. My mom was hell bent on it being the Saturday before her bday but my sister is the organizer and we both agreed we don’t want to go on a busy Saturday where Spook might not have much fun with it so packed. I consider it a victory that my sis and I agreed and vetoed my mom. Not like mom will swim, so I don’t know why it matters if she sits at a picnic table on the outside looking in.

Returning to this pool for the first time since I was 13 is going to be tough. They were the idiots who wouldn’t let me in because my legs were covered in flea bites, I had a doctor note saying so, and they said I was contagious. I was humiliated and never never went back. But hey, I’m damn near fifty years old, time to suck it up and let it go. Unless they do it again, I do have a few bites on my ankles but mostly because I am very allergic to flea bites. My kid gets a bite, she has one mark. I get a bite, I get all over red spots that itch so I dig in with my nails and…You get the gist.

Anyway…How does it impact my life?

I think this diatribe says it all. Some people just won’t listen because it would require them to open their minds and let go of longheld biases.

My family being the worst of that lot.

Yes, doubters and haters, mental health disability is a legitimate problem and until you’ve walked around with distorted thoughts and felt utterly black inside for no discernable reason and are convinced you are unsafe even in your own home…

Your input is pointless and unwanted.

Meltdown At The Self Checkout

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yes, I had the JOYOUS (NOT!!!) experience of going to Hellmart and struggling through the self check out lane with SIX measly items. The lady next to me was having no trouble and she had a small kid in tow. Which didn’t stop me from meeting my frustration peak and growling, ” I hate this shit!” Ooops, my bad. But I was struggling with just those few items, trying to remember what I scanned, what I hadn’t, what went in the bag or had yet to be scanned…It was bloody confusing and stressful and I melted down. As I do EVERY time I have to use their stupid self check out. With someone as terrified of people and as misanthropic as me, you’d think self check out would be a dream come true. It is not. I will purposely walk to one end of the store, far from where I parked, if it means getting a real person to check me out. Today I didn’t have the energy and in addition to my meltdown, I also overheated in spite of it being a cool rainy day and got woozy and sweaty. A half hour out of my life and it set the tone (further) for an utterly shitty day.

It started with waking at 4 a.m. I tried to go back to sleep. I gave up at 5 a.m. But an hour or so of my greasy itchy scalp drove me to take a bath around six just so I could wash my hair. How fucking dysfunctional is that? I don’t care if I smell bad but damn it, my scalp is itchy so I will bathe for the first time in 3 days!

How a COMPETENT Psych nurse or doctor can consider bathing twice a week ‘stable and well’ is beyond me.

I got so sleepy after the bath I hit snooze just as the alarm went off. I hit it three times, trying to drown out the light with a pillow over my head. Finally sat up and shut off the alarm and knew it was gonna be a long bloody day. Getting my sloth of a child in gear took more of my spoons.

Now I am home, hungry, but I don’t know if I have the energy to bother feeding myself. At least not til it gets dire and I start feeling dizzy and sweaty and nauseated. HOW HARD IS IT TO FEED YOURSELF, FFS? With depression and anxiety, it’s pretty damned difficult.

Yesterday was a crushing anxiety mash that I didn’t think I was gonna survive. I started thinking about bedtime before it was even noon, trying to think of ways to tire my kid out so she’d be on board with an early bedtime. She was unamused (yet griped today that she was still tired, so maybe mother does know best.) It was just grueling every step of the way. Anxiety, paranoia, panic, that bad juju feeling, terror at the prospect of leaving the house…

The only time I left was to run to the mini mart and spend $1.08 to MAKE SURE me renewed debit card actually worked. Because I’ve been traumatized before with a card that didn’t activate properly. Thankfully it worked. Glad they didn’t have a mandatory purchase amount for debit, cos I had like a buck and 86 cents in change on there. I had that damn card for a week before I had the guts to activate it and change whether it would work or not. That is the kind of stuff that keeps me awake at night. No, I don’t care how irrational it is, or how ridiculous I look.

I only look that way to people who don’t know what depression and panic are like and they’re just not people I want to know.

My paranoia has reached such a point that I labeled a pingback as Spam today because I just wasn’t in the mood to see who it traced back to and if they were talking trash.

I am exhausted. Tomorrow my kid sees the benzo nazi, who I am sure will say she’s a normal kid because if she won’t give benzos to people who TRULY need them, then a squirmy overly emotional kid isn’t gonna sway her much.

I am having such trouble with concentration I actually wasted money on Focus Factor. Guess what? It doesn’t do a damn thing to help me focus. But I’ve heard it helps some people. Maybe those of us who truly are ADD/ADHD only respond to actual stimulants which of course is harder to get than a fucking opiate and insurance would rather shell out for an organ transplant than pay for a medication.

Okay, back to the ‘do I have the energy to feed myself?’ and ‘do I even deserve to eat since I can’t even hold a job?” debate.

My daughter told me this morning she had a nightmare that I worked full time and she never got to see me and grandpa was still griping at her because I wasn’t working enough hours or making enough money and she should grow up and get over needing to see her mom.

That man and his faction have no boundaries to the damage they do and they just aren’t bright enough to care.

It’s so easy to say cut ’em out of my life, move away, et al.

Like head lice, my family NEVER truly goes away for long and as for moving away…Even if I had the money, my dad already told me they won’t help us move if we leave Armpit, EVER, and I don’t know anyone with a truck and I don’t have a credit card to rent a moving truck so….

The easy answers aren’t gonna work in this case.

I am not, however, opposed to being adopted and just ditching everything so Spook and I can save ourselves from this toxic environment and toxic people. Just need a place to go, a way to stay afloat, and a little seed money. If I had all of that…

I’d declare my family dead to me and move the fuck on before they cost me what few strands of sanity I have left. Then and the psych nurse are tapping me the hell out.


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

3:10 a.m. and I am awake, been awake an hour now. I didn’t go to sleep until midnight. Woke up needing to pee and was in so much pain, it took 3 tries to get myself up out of bed and on my feet. For all the jokes about PMS, it’s no joke for those of us who have premenstrual dysphoric disorder. (P.M.D.D) Ten to fourteen days every month of bloating, cramps, backache, headache, irritability, unexpecting tears and knee jerk emotional reactions that make no sense…So in addition to being bipolar, I am also a hormonal wreck. This leaves me 15 days a month free of pain, with what could be considered lucid thought, but if my disorders aren’t nailed down with proper meds, rest, and a low home stress level…

I cannot regain equilibrium.

I get put through the ringer by my own mind, then my body, then the people around me with all the emotional intelligence of bellybutton lint and the tact and empathy of an empty chair chime in and tell me what a grouch I am or what a big whiny baby I am.

There is nothing about P.M.D.D that is affectation. This is not some excuse to be bitchy or erratic. It, for me, is a lot like when I was pregnant and the hormones soared and I had no idea why I was crying or why I was pissed off or why everything seem so hopeless and hurt so bad. It’s a very real disorder that isn’t mainstream enough for people to have a basic understanding. And what people do when they can’t make sense of something and it makes them uneasy…they lash out against what they don’t understand. That ends up being me.

I don’t relish discussing the topic or harping on it every month but it is a huge part of my life, like it or not, and it has an immense impact on my physical and mental functionality. I discuss it because it is relevant and because maybe by being open about the topic, others who suffer the monthly dysphoria will realize…they are not alone.It is not all in your head, you are not lazy or whiny or weak. This is the real deal, debillitating and cruel. Every monthly cycle survived feels like scaling a mountain and you plant your flag at the top…only to wake up 15 days later at the bottom of that mountain holding a new flag and you gotta climb back up again. And there is no ‘let’s get this over with’ where you can just buckle down, rip off the bandage, and move on. You’re pretty much at the mercy of the hormones until they cycle back to some semblance of normal.

I also discuss this because I am told if I am to get a job, it is likely to trigger an automatic disability review. I want documented records of my mental states through each month, especially during the P.M.D.D because I may HAVE to work for money but I am still VERY much struggling with a disability. I am not cured, I am not stable. I am just up against it all and I have to risk another bad reference IF I ever can get hired even, because that’s what you do for your kids. I won’t be quoted or have it mistakenly assume that my love for my child and desire to keep a roof over her head meaning I am some malingerer or that I am all cured.

I am far from cured, far from stable. Even if the meds are working better, two weeks a month they cease to have any real impact on the hormones.

It is, truly, a horror show, that I must live month after month. I am going to keep mentioning it and discussing it until my damn psych providers start listening and work with a Primary doc on a way that would help me balance this monthly horror show. I am sick of both factions individually shrugging me off. One says to talk to the psych, psych says talk to the primary, and I am just in the middle of it all, getting NO real help from either of them.

Now I am going to lay back down even though I’m hurting too bad for sleep to come too easily. My back is sore from sitting up, though. I just wanted to jot this down while it’s happening and fresh in my mind and I have a modicum of lucidity to put it into words. It is high time ‘women’s problems’ stop being some ‘icky’ or ‘shameful’ topic we simply don’t discuss in polite society. When a condition-for a man or woman-impairs your monthly functionality this much-on top of already being disabled- it’s time to start having open honest discussions. It;s time for all our docs to get on board and work together to help us, not make us feel pawned off and ignored.

It is time women’s health issues got at least a quarter of the attention and discussion that men’s little blue pills get. Because we are not the lesser gender and we are tired of our problems being little more than a punchline while men get all this sympathy due to their sexual gratification being impaired.

Health issues need to be treated as equally serious regardless of gender. Hormones are nothing to mess with. They literally dictate the operating systems of our bodies so when they are imbalanced hormonally…we are imbalanced, period. Male or female. Let’s start an honest discussion about that. Because hormones do play a big role in mental health, as well. Time for psych docs and GPs and GYNs to get on board with how much of an impact it has for many of us.

Interrupted Consciousness, Bridezillas, and SPLAT!

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am just burning up the DSM today coming up with new disorders. Restless mind syndrome, now as opposed to interrupted sleep, I have decided sleep is my normal default so technically, it’s the waking up over and over that is the disorder.

Splat started earlier after I learned of my mom’s bad mammogram and the waiting period they stuck her with. I thought my own father might be able to work up an iota of empathy as he was married to her 28 years and no one deserves cancer even if they were a bankrupting spouse. Nope. Then his gf got involved and said oh, three weeks isn’t time for it to spread to the lymph nodes, she has plenty of time, she will be okay…Now lets talk about my low iron and how I have to get an upper GI series and a colonoscopy…SERIOUSLY? You want to put that up against potential breast cancer in a 70 year old woman whose entire family died from cancer?????? How narcissistic can one woman be?

So splat imploded then exploded and now I am back to feeling truly demoralized, defeated, depleted, and wait, because it’s only 10 p.m.

I got Bridezilla texting me and saying I gotta get my kid white or purple dress shoes by Saturday for HER wedding. I told her I have NO money. None. Zero. I just got hit with another power bill that was 45% of my income and my rent was the other 50% so now my water is gonna get turned off. So yeah, shoe money, sure, let me pull that out of my ass. I will be so glad when this fucking wedding is over. I knew it would end up being my financial problem, that was only ever the reason I didn’t want Spook involved in the fiasco. “But they’re just twenty dollars at Wal-Mart” says the 20 something with no kids of her own whose rent is only $80 a month. Twenty bucks is a LOT for me. I need cat food, I will need even more gas now since I have to make 3 trips to town over this stupid wedding, then next week Spook has a doc appointment, then I have to go back for a job interview.

I feel like my brain is trying to claw its way out of my head.

Anyone want to buy a 16 disc collection of the best of Forensic Files? Right now, it’s about the only thing I have worth around $40 on ebay. Discs are in great shape, bought new, barely used, cos I switched to digital files.

But I am too tired and my stomach is rioting from stress and my back is hurting from sitting up to write for so long. Scumbag brain is on hyperdrive, and not in a good way. This is a perfect storm brewing and I am terrified someone is going to say the wrong thing come wedding day and I am gonna burn a dozen bridges when I snap.

This is SPLAT. This is what follows a brief hypomanic bout. Irritation, anger, defeat, zero motivation, hopelessness, and right back down the rabbit hole. We’re all mad here, said the cat.

It’s a ‘I wanna drink bleach’ kind of night and I don’t even have any bleach.

Ass Trash.


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on March 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My slowpoke child fights me every morning when I remind her of the time, saying I am ‘pressuring her’ and it makes her scream at me. I say bullshit. She knows this is going to happen and still she piddle pokes and alternates between “I can read the clock” and “I don’t know how to tell time!” She is exasperating to the nth. Every. Single. Morning. You’d think if even cats and dogs can be trained through repetition a 9 year old could learn, too. Nope. She is stubborn as hell. Her parting gift to me today was to not tell me she loved me and scream at the top of her lungs because the bus was two minutes out and I dared remind her to hustle. It’s almost like living with the donor again, where he told me to remind him cos he forgets, then screamed that I was picking on him by reminding him. WTF, Canada? Is this inbreeding, tying the hands together so every situation is a no win? And I don’t even expect a win, just coopration and civility…

I did not post yesterday because I started the day out in a bad mental space. I took a melatonin, thinking I could sleep through it. It took 4 hours to kick in. Thankfully I set my alarm for 3:15 because I never know if my kid’s Tuesday after school church thing is going on or not so I make sure I am here. (The lady that runs it will text or call my dad’s house and tell them, but not me, wtf rednecktopia?) Good thing, cos she decided not to go as she had a headache.

We actually had a good evening. She offered to help with some housework and mopped the kitchen then did dishes. The downside was it didn’t free me up any or lower my stress level as she kept overfilling the sink and sloshing water everywhere on the floor which highlighted the areas that the mop didn’t really clean. So in a way, her helping makes three times the work for me, but I can’t bitch that she won’t help if I don’t give her the opportunity. She got a bath while I cooked supper, we ate together at the table (a rare thing since she almost never eats what I do) then we watched some Mash and Frasier together. I was amused by the look on her face when I explained the draft to her to explain why the doctors on Mash were in Korea. She was like, did they make girls do it? That may be the only plus of being considered the lesser gender, they underestimate us so they discount us out of good and the bad. Which enables women to be ninjas and the patriarchs never see it coming. I LOVE being the lesser gender.

I put her to bed at 8:30 then tucked myself in. For the third night in a row since getting the melatonin with B6, I slept the entire night, waking only once or twice. And I couldn’t be bothered to get up, even for a drink or to use the bathroom. Come alarm time, I only hit snooze twice and was up reading email at 6:50. I guess that’s a sign that the seasonal depression is starting to (oh so sloooowly) lift. The ensuing screaming match, which I didn’t scream, I just used my low channeling satan voice, so it was her screaming, really didn’t set my day off in a good space. I guess I am going to have to start getting her up earlier, which punishes me. I can get dressed, brush my hair, feed the cats, and out the door in 20 minutes, tops. That is how much of a morning person I am not. Anything to get that extra push of snooze.

In my email was the usual Wednesday Psych Central newsletter. I open this every time with trepidation, wondering if something I read will result in my demoralization. Occasionally useful information is there, but today was not one of those days. Instead I get “Little Things That Can Get You Through Depression.” Oh what a simplistic world this writer must live in. And while she may be telling her story, it is not everyone’s story. If anything, I found her article belittling to those of us who endure months long clinical depression.

Do any of us want to go out in public looking like something the cat horked up? No. There are just days when putting on clean clothes and running a brush through the hair takes up all your spoons/sporks. The ability to hold a job with any stability is something I admire and wish I could pull off but no matter how many times I try, it takes more spoons and sporks than I have to spare. If my mental state were static, this might not be the case. But I rapid cycle so no sooner than the mania comes on, the depression sets in and I am no longer myself but a husk, unable to enjoy the simplest things. I haven’t watched my favorite shows in weeks because I cannot focus or get interested and rather than taint them with my distorted depressive views, I just say, another time. Depression without wonderful people surrounding you? What a fucking joke. Bottom line is, some of us don’t have a support system and sitting in a coffee shop or going to smile at the cashier simply isn’t in our current skillset. Self isolation isn’t always a symptom of the depression, but a choice to not spread the misery. Key word, being ‘choice’ and studies are now saying choosing isolation (in teens, anyway) is very different than the depression/angst devouring you.

I did agree with the having a pet to care aspect. In my case, I have a child and pets and I function for them alone some days.

I am, however, infuriated by the thought this will be read by people in a truly crippling depression and lead them to feelings of self loathing and despair because their experience is not her experience. (Just tied some hands there, didn’t I, you have the right to speak but if I disagree, it’s dangerous..How…Trump of me…ewww.) But for those in a similar state it could be a beacon of hope. Wtf, sunshine spewing counselor, how do I not see everything in shades of gray? I’m so busy trying not to invalidate others than I never validate myself.

Well, the hose in the basement snapped and I have no idea what it goes to. I don’t dare call the landlord or my family lest they see just how cluttered the place truly is. I need to figure out a self fix and figure out where the water is coming from. We haven’t had snow or rain. There are no things upstairs leaking water so it has to be some sort of drain and aside from bathtub and washer, I can think of nothing that would still be draining the next day…Ugh, I hate this fucking place. It’s too much for me to manage on my own. I have a football field of a yard that I have to first detwig before I can even think of mowing this summer. It’s all overwhelming and I miss our little trailer that was overwhelming, too, but on a different level. This is my dad giving me a reference and me fucking it up. Which should be all the motivation I need for getting the landlord in to fix this leak but the sump thingie is helping it from flooding and it just looks like a repair to a plastic hose. Though why anyone would have a flimsy hose to drain things that hold gallons of water is beyond me…

I hit on an idea last night. A place to go where the seasons wouldn’t be so grueling, the job market is more open, and it’s just big and small enough to suit our needs. I have a friend of 20 years who lives there, he might be willing to provide reference or what not, though not likely. He was more interested in talking music and sex than anything of substance. Nothing bad about him, he’s a great guy, just a little single minded and I’ve evolved into what I am- a 46 year old woman with fluctuating hormones and a ton of libido killing meds. Still, it’s not a bad thought. It’s far far from my family. I’ve never spent more than a couple of months somewhere else and always due to money, not me giving up and wanting to come back to this hell hole. If I were to do things right and go there with a job and place to live already lined up, with plenty of money on hand (ha ha ha as if that will ever happen) but…just the notion, for the first time ever, of where we could go, seems like a light at the end of the tunnel. My kid wants California but that is just too expensive no matter where you go. And that Earthquake thing. Ha, says the woman living in tornado country.

But yeah, I am back to wanting to just primal SCREAM in a therapeutic way and I’ve given myself permission to sleep through this lingering winter depression if that is what it takes to get me through. No guilt, no shame. I have tried toughing it out conscious, but some of my worst depressions were worked through with excess sleep. That I still get up and care for the kid and cats and do minimal housework and bill paying and such, that’s what matters. Not how I deal with the depression, just that I find a way to deal. Right or wrong, survival is the name of the game. Everyone has a method, this is mine right now. Next cycle, it could be my old standby of refusing myself the privilege of much sleep.

I see the NP tomorrow. Not looking forward to it. You have to have someone willing to meet you halfway for compromise to work and this woman ain’t giving an inch. I am going to push them on the anxiety issue. Surely they don’t deem Buspar an evil as it takes weeks to truly kick in. But it would be better than antihistamines that do fuck all to quell anxiety. I am trying to compromise my own standards and quality of life to be compliant. I hate every minute of it, of course, but I am fucking trying.

Okay, busted hoses. Ugh, can’t I just go back to sleep? Oh, wait, I gave myself permission so I guess it’s an option. Though after several nights of decent sleep, the melatonin is due to stall out. All meds do, even supplements. I find it so curious that 10 mg pills without B6 do nothing to put me to sleep yet 3 mg, with B6, helps me sleep quite well for awhile. My system is ten kinds of fucked up in how it processes stuff. If I am that sensitive to an herbal, this professional impatience when I don’t respond typically to their pharmacopia is easily explained.

I just know I need this winter/spring combo weather to stop. I am sick of being cold all the damn time when my kid is running around in a tank top and shorts. I am sick of sixty during the day, 29 at night, so I can’t even turn off the heat and anticipate lower costs. Though in a week or two it isn’t gonna matter but I am not gonna prattle about that shit. Today, anyway.

Okay, xanax time. Never a good sign when you need it right out of the gate but that’s what it’s there. Because it is needed, not because it gets me high. It calms me to mellow so it’s the opposite of a high. Too bad I have such ignorant psych care.