Archive for the bipolar disorder Category

Confronting Anxiety

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on October 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Day 3 in the dish. Started out lethargic but determined because yesterday my anxiety was so bad, I couldn’t even manage a trip to the grocery store. To punish myself, er, push my limits, I did let my kid have company when I got home yesterday. 4 kids, playing inside. Nerve racking, annoying, loud, icky…But since I let myself delay the shopping trip cos I was so rattled, I figured I could atone for the guilt of feeling weak by allowing my inner sanctum to be invaded. By six thirty when the church bus came, I was ready to do a fucking mamba. 7 kids playing in my yard, all of them bickering or crying, sooo much drama…When I punish myself, I do it well.

Today has me in confrontation anxiety. R has a customer who’s been waiting for 5 weeks for a repair, they’ve sent one wrong part, one never got sent at all even though ebay said it did, and the current one was supposed to have arrived today at the latest…but it’s not here. And the customer wants to take the TV back, he is mega irritated and pissed and I don’t blame him. I hope I can hold him off til tomorrow at least. This confrontation thing is a huge anxiety trigger for me and it’s not even really my damned drama. The worse part is, R is out of state the next 4 days for his youngest daughter’s wedding which means even if the customer agrees to wait til tomorrow and the board comes…Who’s gonna install it? Oh, right, ME. I’ve never done that before. I tear them down. I don’t put them together. I’m a bull in a china shop, ffs. But hey, I’ll give it a whirl and do my best. Though I’m not sure the customer will wait even 24 more hours. This is the sort of stuff that gives me pretzel gut and digestive issues, it’s so stressful. I don’t do confrontation.

What I do, however, do, is improvise when possible. R has been on me for over a week about moving a big 65 inch TV to the back, get Kenny or someone to help me…I got sick of waiting for help to be available so I dragged the fucker back by myself this morning. My sister offered to come help, but honestly…asking for help is just so not me. If I can possibly do it myself, I will. And I did, even if it wasn’t exactly ‘gentle’. Screen is still in tact. One plus of being raised by a redneck who wanted boys instead of girls…my sis and I are more hardcore than a large percentage of men. We have the truck driver/sailor on shore leave swearing to prove it, fuck yeah! Which is one more thing about my idget father that cracks me up. He swears all the time, one of the first words I remember him saying when I was a kid was “motherfucker!” when the car wouldn’t start…and it’s okay for him but my sis and I swear and he says we’d make sailors run back to the ship in horror. WTF kind of male bullshit is that? He taught us most of the words, anyway. I guess me and sis really suck at the being girly thing, wonder why…

Am I awful hoping the disgruntled guy doesn’t call? Earlier I was feeling more level ut a couple hours of noise and another ‘not fixed right’ return…My nerves are starting to fray. I had an idea that might have worked but of course, R missed a couple of repairs so I can’t even do a substitute with an abandoned set. Frustration also feeds anxiety.

That’s all my blog has come to, isn’t it? Nervous, nervous, anxiety, anxiety. I don’t like it, either, but I write it because out there might be someone struggling through it, perhaps even undiagnosed, and if they read that someone else knows what it’s like…it can be of some small comfort. It’s so easy to feel all alone with mental stuff. Kind of like having invisible leprosy and being shunted to your own island. Sucks.

Now…something cute I can’t resist posting. My kid got this ‘finger’ drumset at a yard sale then parked Mr. Brownstone at it. (Yeah, the cat is named after the G’N’R song, sue me.)

(Yes, the carpet is gross but that’s the doorway where a dozen kids stampede daily, I quit fighting it. Look at the cute kitty, damn it!)

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Faking It Is Exhausting

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on October 17, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

My week back in the dish has started with two days of interrupted sleep, one of them with my yapping child in my bed and staying in yap mode til 45 mins before alarm time and then screaming at me for 15 solid minutes about her own wardrobe choices…IDK. It lead to me feeling like I need to sign into a psych ward or something, make the world stop, make the carousel stop turning, just for a bit. And I had 3 relatively peaceful days so this feeling of lethargy yet overwhelmed anxiety is a little confusing.

Then again, it’s not. Temps have been dropping to 39 degrees at night and hello, seasonal affect is kicking my ass. See, when I get cold, I tend to shut down around 8 p.m. and only my blankies and bed and maybe a purring cat matter. The doctors carry on about the sunlight, light lamps, blah blah blah. For me, it’s being cold that truly does me in. And of course, our heat is not working AGAIN this fall season and rather than deal with the landlord I am going to ask R to take a look at the furnace (he had it fixed in under an hour whereas the ‘professional’ heating guys took 4 days) which means getting in line and hoping I am deemed worth the time. Because ya know, asking for working heat is exactly as superfluous as expecting him to drop off work at the shop an hour early to come hang out and watch Llamas with Hats.

Guess that will be lost on others. Just mean, he carries on about people bugging him for stupid shit but me and my kid having heat is not stupid shit. And yes, my landlord should take care of it, but goddamn it, my landlord should do a lot of things and that ain’t how it works. Pardon me if I’d prefer someone who knows what they are doing deals with it. And if he can’t then I will suck it up and call the slumlord.

I guess my patience is wearing thin with everyone, thanks to dish time and seasonal. I receive so little joy out of anything. I am like this robot covered in skin, doing what needs done, forcing the appropriate social niceties yet feeling none of it. I want my blankies, I want to sleep. Even though my last dream involved being a teenager again and at the mercy of my idget father’s constant judgement. Thankfully, I can wake up from that. Well, not his judgment, that is eternal but I don’t live under his roof and he doesn’t do shit for me so he can fuck off.

Everything is so jumbled. I am mad, I am sad, I am hopeless, I am tired, I am wired, up, down, all the fuck around. To my credit, I did muddle through my traditional Friday the 13th thing and wear my Jason Vorhees shirt and watch a Friday the 13th movie. Not much joy in it, just…forcing myself to do the normal in hopes I will be and feel normal. And guess what, mental healthcare professionals? It ain’t working. It’s like faking an orgasm and trying to convince yourself it actually happened.

Faking it takes too much damned energy. I feel I owe a modicum of false cheer for Spook’s sake but otherwise…the seasonal depression has me in its T-rex sized teeth and ain’t likely gonna let go til March. I can’t keep going to be at 8 p.m. only to wake around 3 a.m. but the depression just leaves me not wanting to be conscious and if my kid is already asleep, fighting it seems to be pointless…I’m not waving any white flags. I WILL figure this out. Last year it took getting the heat running before I was comfortable enough to at least last til 10 p.m.

What would save my life is if I could start writing again. But this dish thing with the stress of R’s demands and my kid acting out and all the financial stress….my brain’s not gonna quiet enough to let creativity flow. And insurance won’t pay for the ADD medication that slows my brain enough to focus so I am kind of stuck in this rut and resenting every minute of it.

If I MUST find a silver lining (likely toxic mercury) in this cloud…The cooler weather means the neighborhood brats haven’t been haunting our doorstop morning, noon, and night.

One day it’d be nice to have a big victory instead of trying to make a filling meal out of the tiny ones. I am hungry for something really positive to happen and this little victory stuff leaves me starving.

Grappling

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

I guess grappling is the best way to describe my current state. Four of our 5 kittens died (I practically begged R for the money to get some medicine but he said it had to wait til his payday three days later, so of course, they died and I am pissy as fuck with him). Losing Adelitas was grueling. I just lost Graves last month. It starts to feel like anything I love and get attached to dies. Except that’s not true, Godsmack is still alive. I managed to save him and he seems to be thriving. Still…dead kittens are a horrible thing to have to contend with first thing in the morning and first thing when returning from an anxiety riddled day in the petri dish.

I had one survivor. Cold as ice, mother rejected it, refusing to eat anything. I kept warming towels in the dryer, bottle feeding it powdered milk, bolding it against my bare skin for body heat…And the little thing is still fighting. Still refusing food even though I got the wet stuff with gravy, but this lil black kitten seems to want to live. Cold as it was, I figured for sure it was going to die. It still may. But the fact it survived the night (tucked under the neck of my shirt, lucky I sleep lightly and didn’t crush it) and was still raising hell this morning…I have hope. And if it lives, its name will be Hellraiser. HR, for the kid friendly version, and also, a nod to the departed character from The Flash.

Yesterday I protested doing fuck all at the shop. Dead kittens, especially ones who might have been saved for $14 measly bucks, do not motivate me to do kind deeds for someone who shunned me when I had need of kindness. Rather than throw a tantrum or curse R out, I just ignored anything asked of me and did nothing. And felt no guilt, either. I mean, if he can live with essentially not lifting a finger to help save my kittens, then I can live with pissing him off as a form of protest. And ya know, normally when I do this sort of stupid rebellious shit and get called out for it, I feel a little guilty…Not this time. He reprimanded me and I just shrugged and said the dead TVs will still be there to tear apart tomorrow like me kittens will still be dead tomorrow. And when he failed to even offer up a faked platitude, I called him on it and he said, well, I didn’t know how to respond. Um…No one truly knows how to respond to grief. But the social standard, for those of us with an emotional IQ over 60, is to express “I’m sorry to hear that” or “That’s so sad, sorry for your loss.” For pet lovers, this is even more true. Just making even an effort rather than ignoring it counts for something. For such an intellectually gifted man, his emotional EQ rivals that of my 8 year old.

Speaking of whom…she attacked me again yesterday. Kicked me and threw a book at my face all because I dared to tell her she had to wear a shirt with long sleeves for church since the temps are dropping. It set her off. She was growling and snarling (I have audio recording to demonstrated to the social worker that I am not doing anything remotely wrong to instigate these attaks) and I told her to go to her room to calm down and she did the unthinkable…She grabbed for one of the cats and tried to throw it. That was my line in the sand. Anyone, child or adult, who harms an animal, goes on my shit list. That’s where I stop being a scared wussy and go into mama bear (cat) protective mode. I grounded her an extra day and told her no slushies or sweets until she can go 2 days without having a fit and hitting me.

It’s so weird because prior to this summer, things had been improving. Now she’s turning feral again and I have to wonder if it’s my fault for letting her spend so much time with her feral little friends. The one who catches the church van at our house wasn’t wearing a sweater even in the cold last night, so I guess my kid thinks I’m gonna be like that girl’s mom. Nope. You can take off a sweater of you get too warm, but if you don’t have one and get cold, you can’t pull warmth out of thin air. I don’t find it an unreasonable request.

When they dropped the girl off last night, it was our house, so I walked the kid home. And we had 3 cop cars in the trailer park at two different homes and people were having their domestic spats and Spook was all curious but I was just like, let’s go before they somehow drag us into it. And I wonder what seeing shit like this does to her psyche, but then, how realistic is it even in nice neighborhoods with two parent families to expect there to never be any ugliness. Domestic disputes happen everywhere, to everyone, and I guess, in our trailerhood, they just happen a lot more often and more loudly. I’m just thankful it is all down the street and around the corner from us. I don’t do drama, it requires to much xanax to cope with.

Today I have…forced myself into a shower, fetched the canned food and set up Hellraiser in a pet taxi with warmed bedding, run some errands to pay R’s bills (yet he couldn’t help save my kittens, ffs) and I’ve been at the shop little over an hour and already stripped one TV down to the frame. That took me 36 minutes and that was even with a smoke break. Some of them come apart easily and some of them take forever,cut my hands up, and make my brain hurt trying to figure it out. Destroying things is easy and sometimes fun, but when you have to be careful to yank the working parts out without damaging them, it gets tricky.

Especially for my current brain state. It freaked me out the other day when I was watching this show and they were giving a polygraph exam to this person, and one of the control questions was what is 34 minus 19. And omg, my brain struggled round and round with it, just like it blanked out. I mean, jesus, first grade subtraction and it’s like my brain has a big swiss cheese hole in it. That was when it hit me how altered I have become. And ya know, looking at those numbers even now, it’s a big of a jumble in my brain to come up with the answer. Nice to know I’m so nuts I couldn’t even pass a control question on a polygraph test. Excellent, Smithers.

I give it a few more weeks, grappling, trying to keep up with R’s demands cos God knows I need a different car as this current one is falling to bits..but mental breakdowns aren’t really elective, never have been for me. I break my back trying to be what is demanded of me and I stay afloat until…I go under. And instead of understanding and empathy, I am surrounded by resentful people thinking I am lazy and weak. They are the reason I end up breaking down. Because they refuse to let me off the carousel when I’m saying, let me off, I’m gonna hurl..No, they just speed up the carousel ride and eventually, I fall off, throwing up and oozing emotional blood and psychological tears in torrents. (You’re welcome for that mental image.)

I guess ultimately, though, it’s my fault for having the breakdowns. I should be strong enough by now to stand up for myself and say enough, without fear of it turning into a bridge burning situation. Gotta give me points for at least caring enough to try to meet the world’s demands of me, though.

On second thought, don’t give me any points. I might not be able to do the math and could construe it as a bad thing.

The Wicked Witch Syndrome

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on October 8, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I have been alternating between functional and paranoid anxiety for weeks now. Today I realized where I truly, am, static, as far as a personal level. The mental health stuff is background noise, it is crippling…

My child. She brings me so much joy, yet so much discord, and everyday with her is like ten rounds with Tyson. She gets great grades, the teacher adores her, but she has lately taken to saying she feels like trash which of course I had to explain during P/T conferences about a band of hooligans who have been calling all the kids who live in the trailer park trailer trash. While I don’t dispute my kid may have some self esteem issues, I witnessed today how she uses them at will to worm her way out of being called out on poor behavior.

The teacher thinks it’s a great idea to put Spook with a social worker the school has on staff. Hey, any help I can get with her, any help Spook can get, bring it on.

THEN I realized my snowflake’s improper perception of everything is probably going to land the entire family under investigation. I apparently spend all my time in my room not helping her work out her issues and my sister once drove through a flooded viaduct and my kid swore she was attempting to drown her, then Spook told some lady who taught her at sunday school in my dad’s town that she was never going back because stepmonster forcefeeds coleslaw down her throat with a spoon.

Sounds pretty cruel on the surface, doesn’t it? I am terrified what tiny slight she will come up next with us. Today she told me maybe we just don’t get along and it’s because I refuse to be more like her. That’s all it’d take, for me to become 8, say yes to her every idea, and all would be well.

Meanwhile, my depression continues knocking, the anxiety gnawing at nerve endings, and now in an effort to help my child, I am petrified these local yokels with their well intentions and blindness to just how wretched children can behave are going to take her from me and string the entire family up as abusive.

As if that’s not bad enough, my kitten Adelitas is very sick and likely not going to make it, which means one more stab through my already shredded heart.

Trying so damned hard and it doesn’t even matter in the end. My kid and the system and the mental disorders are all gonna kick my ass and I’ll be lucky if I end up locked down in a state facility. Or worse, have a good day and brush my teeth thus getting kicked onto the street to live in a cardboard box.

When the depressive distortions start, they really don’t let up and they really fuck with your head.

Still…terrified what my kid is gonna tell that social worker. I’ve known too many good parents faced with a baseless accusation from a kid and it’s always guilty til proven innocent.

I’m too tired and beaten down to be pissed off. I’m just….scared.

No Discernable Reason

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on October 3, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The anxiety is flapping its wings like a thousands bats in a belfry and I barely got out the door. I was okay yesterday. Now I feel like I am losing my mind. Ninja anxiety without a trigger really pisses me off. Because I am a bit of a control freak and if I can’t discern a trigger, I can’t do anything to ward it off. How is that not maddening even to non control freaks? Something hurts, you take a painkiller or have it fixed by a doctor. Your car breaks down, you get the mechanic on it.

What the hell am I supposed to do with constant free floating anxiety that in an instant morphs into a giant cloud of paranoia and rising panic even when nothing sparked it?

This is when I an SURE that I am semi-allergic to the petri dish. Being out of my safe space hovel, in the dish, surrounded by people and noise, I seem to start melting down. Doesn’t matter if my mood is good or bad. Anxiety ninjas attack and it’s all I can do not to become some blathering tear soaked ninny. If being at home keeps the anxiety below 7, yet going out into the dish amps it to 11….The dish must be the triggering incident. But I can’t hide in my safe space constantly, I know, it’s not healthy, gotta face your fears, tough it out, suck it up.

At this point, I am sucking up so much, I could be a damned Hoover or Dyson.

That is all.

Aggro-Morgue

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on September 21, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Another lovely day in the dish. Construction going on, sirens, birds, traffic…All the things that ensure my aggravation and anxiety and I can’t escape. To top matters off, the midwest weather gods decided “almost fall? Hey, let’s crank it back to 97 with 60% humidity!” Even in air conditioning it’s pretty miserable. And I do live in a tin box with one window AC so going home is even worse than this shop. Plus, it’s dead so basically I just alternate watching Sons Of Anarchy with smoke breaks and talking to the stray cats that congregate next door.

Yesterday was going along fine…then enter R and it all went to shit. I asked for a few bucks to buy baggies to pack my kid’s lunch, gas, etc. He hands me this half shredded credit card and says it works. Only to find out at the store with several items it was declined repeatedly. The 97 degree heat and going home to a steaming hot trailer with a yapping child just amped up the aggravation. Spook starts acting out, then she’s so careless and hyper she dragged a basket of 2 week old kittens across the floor by a string and they came tumbling out. And rather than say “I’m so sorry, kitties, it was an accident!”…she starts crying because I called her out on being so careless and says I’m abusive (she’s thrown that abuse word out two days in a row now) and I don’t care for her.

I was furious, livid, disgusted. The other day she grabbed my hand, and I said ouch, cos I have those knuckles busted up from tearing down TV’s…I say ouch, she squeezes harder and starts laughing maniacally. I’m not a kid expert and maybe my anxiety and moods distort my perceptions sometimes but…there is something wrong with my child. Be it behavior or chemical, there is a problem. Maybe it’s in the early stages but her reactions are just…self serving or cruel. And she has enough friends around to give me a base idea on how others her age range react to things and even the devil kids pretend to be sorry when they do wrong. Mine doesn’t pretend, just goes defensive and it’s all poor her. Hours later she asked me why I was still upset and I asked, why am I upset, and she couldn’t come up with an answer except to launch into ‘you care more about cats than your kid!”.

I care about living creatures being injured, whether it’s accidental or on purpose. This does not mean I love her any less. But yeah, hurt feelings are trumped by four tiny little baby kitties who just got the equivalent of rolled in a car down a steep hill courtesy of Miss Rambunctious. But now, I even have to feel shitty for caring about animals because it apparently means I hurt my kid’s feelings.

I can’t breathe anymore with this kid. Love love love her, but she is like an ever tightening noose around my neck. And thing is, only a fraction of it is actually her. Most of it is just me burning the candle at both ends trying to survive and not let down a friend whose help we need. All this time in the dish, the noise, the stimuli, her obsession with her friends to the neglect of all else….It’s wearing me down. And the pms is making me downright snappy. To my credit, I’ve not even given her a swat on the butt. To my chagrin, I have said some harsh things or used a harsher than intended voice. I’ve apologized, of course, but my kid’s memory is good when it comes to being wronged. She still talks about a boy who hit her when she was 4. Daily guilt servings on top of everything else…

Feels like I am starting to unravel. I am trying to do mind over matter, stay upbeat, take a breather where I can, but…I’m basically a computer running on Windows 98 trying to function in a world running Win 7 or above. My hardware and software are incompatible and critical processes are incomplete, shutting down, frozen, overheating…

This was proven last night when R stopped by to give me a different card to use (this one mangled, too, but it worked) and the cashier had me prepay for fuel…My dumb ass drove off without even putting gas in the car! Worse, I went to Aldi, got some food, and was home 20 minutes before I even realized I hadn’t put gas in the car!!! Thank God for small towns so the cashier actually remembered me and helped make it right.

A mutual friend of mine and R’s just stopped in and started carrying on about how upset I made him when I was on the phone telling him about his customers’ complaints and wanting their deposits back…Then, per her norm, she backtracks and says she likes us both and nothing bad was said. Like I’d said something bad against him. All I am doing is relaying FACTS. People don’t want to wait six months for repairs, it’s basic common sense. Then she started in on Facebook this and that, Trump’s abolishing child support, Dollar Tree is closing…

Before panicking, I did a Google search. YES, these stories are out there. FACT TIME. They are all hoaxes from a site designed for people to generate their own news stories (react365,never trust anything stemming from it and if it’s on Facebook, triple check your facts!).

What I did find was an astounding number of Facebook pages with titles such as “child support is a joke”. And thousands of followers, all parents paying support and griping that they have to pay to support their kids. Are these people serious? If you’re paying too much, you had a shit lawyer. Have the state handle it and it stays at 20% of your income and stop your fucking whining. And all the “I pay but she won’t let me see my kid(s)” set…There are remedies for that too, so shut up.t

Just makes me remember the donor’s last girlfriend going around telling people how poor donor had to pay support and I haven’t let him see his daughter in 6 years, boo hoooo. Um…same address 8 years, he used to live there so he knows where it is. You want to see her, just show an interest. I am not one of those mom nazis who wants the money out of greed or spite. I have zero desire to keep her from her father. I have 100% desire to keep im away from me, but being an adult, I know realistically I will have to deal with him. I accept that. But I am NOT okay with false accusations. 6 years, not even a birthday card in the mail? Yeah, I’m the bad guy.

On the plus side, Nancy (the mutual friend) said I am falling apart worse than is and she said I should just take a break whether he likes it or not. So I’m not malingering, I am visibly a train wreck! Yay!

Ugh. This post went sideways fast. Oh, well. Welcome to living inside my head. It’s not pretty, is it?

$5

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

I sign a lot of petitions on line. And a significant number of them, especially anything involving politics, always asks for a donation of at least $5. And honestly, it seems like such a paltry sum that any person should have on hand at any time.

Except, I don’t. My debit card is in the negative (service fees). I gave my last 40 cents to my kid so she could get milk with her sack lunch. I literally don’t have ANY cash. So that five dollars starts seeming like a lot Especially as the car nears the E mark.I realize I have no baggies to put my kid’s school lunch in, my bowls are missing their lids, the foil is running out. Five bucks. And at 44 with a small child, I don’t even have that much. By most city laws and probably the horrid Patriot act, having no cash on hand makes me a vagrant.

It’s disheartening. Especially since the donor gets to walk away, again, and not contribute to his daughter’s well being in any way and I still can’t even get a call back from public aid to get an explanation why a near three hundred dollar loss in income doesn’t warrant a raise in food benefits…It’s frustrating, maddening, stressful.

It’s also utterly isignificant in the big picture.

My sister texted me last night to tell me that her friend Randa’s boyfriend and small child hit a 17 year old head on in the fog…and the 17 year old was fine but, the man was killed instantly and the little girl was air lifted to a hospital and there was no word on if she was even going to make it.

Kind of puts that five dollar thing in perspective, don’t you think?

Society values money. Wealth, possessions, position. I will never be anything in the eyes of people with mentality like that.

What I am thinking of is the value to that little girl of losing her father that way. If she does make it, she has to live without a dad. Has to live knowing how she lost him, that she survived when he didn’t. Not even Trump’s money piles could equate with what was lost here.

Not that society gives a damn. They make the right sympathetic noises then go buy the latest thousand dollar iphone and a ten dollar coffee hybrid sludge drink and they don’t think about it again. My curse is that along with all the mood swingy anxiety financial crap that leads to sheer panic that I won’t be able to care for my child…

At least I am here to care for her. At least she is healthy and safe. Big picture, does it matter if I can’t toss down hundreds for a fancy phone (my $29.99 phone works just fine, thank you very much) or dress her to the nines in brand names or feed her pricey organic foods so I look like uber mom…

It doesn’t fucking matter. Yeah, you gotta provice certain things for children that require you spend money…End of the day…

The biggest gift is that we have each other and love may not conquer an empty fridge, but it goes a long way in making you fight to make sure it doesn’t stay empty.

That being said…a few days from now when I go splay again and start thinking of drinking the ‘special J-town Kool-Aid….remind me of this post. Perspective tends to get lost when your brain is rioting through mood swings.