Archive for the bipolar disorder Category

Otiose Ramblings From A Life Anhedoniac

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

anhedoniac-one who does not receive pleasure from normally enjoyed things

My daughter was horrified when she looked over my shoulder and saw ‘word of the day’ in my email inbox. She asked why anyone would want to have that. As if learning new words is as horrific as a man wielding a chainsaw while demanding you eat brussel sprouts. Sadly. this is an attitude I have faced my whole life. Any attempt to better myself outside a formal classroom setting is viewed with distaste, horror, and of course, the inevitable accusation that I use big words to make those around me feel dumb. I learn new words because it interests me, aids in making my writing less repetetive, and learning isn’t contagious so they can piss off.

I was watching the show “Instinct” and the lead male character informed his female cop partner that she was a ‘music anhedoniac’ because music did not light up the pleasure centers in her brain therefore she did not receive pleasure from it.

That was when it hit me that I have become a life anhendoniac. Most likely the depression but also the sheer monotany of trying my best and always coming up short. Things that should make me feel good, should light up my brain’s pleasaure centers simply does not. It all feels like a big chore, a draining task that is joyless and misery inducing. Am I the walking posterchild for depression or what?

I woke at 1 a.m. For no good reason. I was still awake at 5:30 despite throwing Xanax, melatonin, Benadryl at it. My Brain would not slow down and shut up. I was screaming into my pillow at one point. Night after night this happens and by the time the alarm goes off, I feel like a walking dead girl. I stressed out all that time knowing I needed to recharge so I would have the energy to get my daughter to day camp…only she informed me her “Boyfriend” isn’t there on Mondays so she didn’t want to go today. Seriously? Last night she was set to go. GAH! Not that I got to sleep in even a little between her yakking and my cat bathing my face incessantly.

I was gonna mow the lawn today. I don’t have the energy and it’s still so wet from early morning rain, it’d just clog the damn mower. Oh, and we had that windstorm last week so before mowing, we have to gather up all the twigs and branches…And the yard is half a football field so doing it with a push mower by myself is exhausting. Last year I’d started doing it simply because my dad’s ‘help’ stressed me out so much. This year I am so overwhelmed and worn down, I accept the help even though it truly isn’t worth the mental price. I wish I had the money to pay someone else to do it but the standard for a yard this size is $50. I ain’t got that kind of money. Besides, my neighbor across the street hasn’t mowed either, so if they say something to me, they damn sure best be on her case, too.

I saw the weirdest commercial on TV plus. It had this GWAR looking dude warbling heavy metal satan channeling lyrics about the evils of ecigarettes. And I was offended and amused at the same time. (If you don’t know who GWAR is, Google it, they are scary hilarious.) So now cigarettes and ecigs and vaping are all evil, but almost every state is adding some legal use of pot on the books. I’ve never really considered weed a hardcore drug, but I have looked down on stoners because seeing them stoned and minus many iQ points depressed me. Now everyone down to pre school teachers are entitled to light a doobie, get wacky, and it’s all good, long as you don’t smoke cigarettes or use an vape.


I can’t wait til 20 years from now when they discover that pot causes penile cancer or some shit. The self righteous have really crossed some lines.

I am all for occasional use if it’s your thing. I am definitely all for it for people with illnesses that truly are helped by it.

But GWAR-ing me as if a heavy metal backtrack is gonna make me abstain from tobacco or nicotine is HYSTERICAL.

All this pot legalization also opens my already confused mind to questions like, “does this mean all the people charged with minor pot possession charges get their records wiped?” “What if everyone is playing bumper cars cos they are stoned?” “What if an employer bans the use yet the law says it is legal>” Total fucking quagmires. (Oh, dear, there goes that word of the day knowledge, how dare I!) Though my very old chatroom nickname was Kwee Quagmire. Partially after Scully’s dog from X Files and partly because mental illness is the definition of a quagmire.

I have washed dishes, refilled ice cube trays and water dispensers, washed aload of clothes, taken out trash. Now I feel drained. I still need to hang dry the entire load of laundry. Broken dryers suck. But I don’t dare spend the money to fix it because every two weeks I am just waiting for the child support to not be there because the donor just disposes of girlfriends and jobs like Kleenex. And sometimes, I swear he does it just to fuck with me and hope I have some sort of psychotic break. Of course, that would be giving him too much credit. For all his “I have a 187′ IQ bullshit, I seriously doubt he’d have the brain power necessary to play any real mind games. Then again, I have underestimated his penchant to be cruel and immature and maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his potential to play mind fuck games. Because in his head, it’s all about me getting his money, he doesn’t even think about his child. To say he has woman issues is underfuckingstatement of the year. I don’t think it’s mathmatically possible that every woman he has been involved with/related to has been some sort of soul sucking mentally abusive monster. The odds are just too astronimical.

My kid starts evening church camp this week. 6-8 p.m. My brother is going to take her. I still don’t understand why they’re okay with a 24 year old man hanging out with a bunch of kids. Kind of creepy pervy. I guess their thinking is he’s willing to help and mentally he’s about their age anyway.

The Focus Factor is NOT working, is it? I am all over the place here.

Well, you guys choose to read this, you get to walk away, so winner winner chicken dinner.

Except my chicken has salmonella.

Ray of fucking sunshine, ain’t I?


26 Hours

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on July 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was literally two blocks from being home and free from the day’s petri dish activities…and then it hit me. The car’s heat gauge was creeping upward. The tire was making a funny sound. My brother’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. We came home into the cool AC and still…this sense of panic creeping up on me, alarm bells going off in my head. I couldn’t understand it, I thought I’ve done well with the forced functioning and fake smiles and camradarie (pretending I really want to hang out with people when I WOULD RATHER GOUGE OUT MY OWN EYEBALLS BECAUSE, WELL, DEPRESSION!)…Hell, there were points I even forgot I was faking it, until there was mention of them invading my home, at which point…alarm bells. Yes, because it needs cleaned but also, because it is my ONLY true safe space and meets our needs, fuck everyone else’s standards. Except when you have a kid people hold you to pretty uppity standards so it’s just easier not to let them invade and judge and interfere and realize, hey, she’s not doing so good…

But even being home the dread metastasized. I ran some water, it wasn’t getting warm fast enough. OH, NO BROKE WATER HEATER. I put aload of wash in, oh no, that is not a normal sound the washer is making, it’s broke…on and on, every tiny thing upsetting me and making me freak out and want to find a closet (this house has none!) and curl up with a blankie and just assume the fetal position because no one should have to occupy this mental space…

And that was when it hit me. Yes, I am exhausted by all the petri dish activity. Yes, I had a rough night and did not sleep well. Yes, I am tired of faking it and pretending to be okay because otherwise people shun me….But what was really going on…


I hate to disappoint the benzo nazis at my psych place but I am an awful benzo addict. 26 hours and it didn’t occur to me once to take a pill. Because I truly don’t reach for a pill unless I am too my breaking point. I don’t use them constantly instead of braving my fears and toughing it out. I use them when I become overwhelmed with the sensory input and the panxiety and distorted thoughts set in.

Now I have 1 mg Xanax on board and am slowly starting to feel logical again. There’s still an unsettled fearful feeling but it’s quieter.

Now before anyone goes and plays devil’s advocate and says I was in withdrawal because it is so addictive…Well, then the same can be said about Tylenol or melatonin. I take it when I am overwhelmed and feel the need for it. That’s no addict behavior. 26 hours without even thinking of taking a pill is pretty damn good by my estimation. I’d be better if I had my optimal dose so the days I don’t take the allotted dose I could feel victorious, that just isn’t feasible at such a low dose because of course I am gonna need the full mg. Duh. But the days when I knew I could take up to 3 mg and I got by on .25 mg some days…I truly felt that I was making progress on my coping skills but I had my safety net. No safety net is not a good place to exist.

I think I may be calm and rational enough to go check the washer and maybe run some water to do the dishes. It’s gonna be in the 90s for the next week so the kitchen will be an unbearable hell, I need to get it done. Except it’s only 6 p.m. which means people can still call and text and pop in unannounced and I really don’t totally relax til dark when I know I am truly safe from these intrusions. Sometimes I think I’d make a great cave hermit as long as I had wifi. That’s sad but true. People are just too stressful and while I am making strides to adapt and function, it is just never going to be my wheelhouse. I am an introvert who likes to be in control of her safe space and people just don’t fit into that.

Now on my computer if I talk to you, I am choosing to do so and inviting you to be part of my world. That is my CHOICE. No one barges in through my wifi and critiques my appearance of house or tells me my kid is too loud and talkative. No smartasses like my dad who when I told him about my anxiety told me, “Well, go take a nerve pill.” I don’t think he could have said it in a more snide manner, his disdain was so clear. People like him are what I am battling and I just…don’t have enough resources most days. And what resources I do have, I am saving for my kid, my cats, and the people I choose to interact with in my comfy zone.

If I stop bathing, live in the same pajamas for two weeks, and my kid is dirty and hungry and does not go to school, THEN the dish dwellers can judge me. Until then…fuck off and let me be. And let me CHOOSE when I am in a mentally healthy enough state to invite you into my world or join you in yours.

But yeah, 26 hours and I didn’t even think of taking a pill. It’s happened before, of course, many times, but since they cut my dose, it’s just a neverending state of panic and terror. So I am learning to cope and tough it out, but it’s like giving a 300 pound man 25 mg of Tylenol and wondering why he’s still in pain. The dose has to be therapeutic for the individual circumstance. One size fits all is just bad medicine.

Restless Mind Syndrome And Pink Cacti

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I haven’t accomplished fuck all today aside from making some youtube video clips and refilling ice cube trays. My motivation is on the side of a milk carton back in the ’80’s. I went into the kitchen to do one thing, got distracted by two other things, then the beeping microwave reminded me why I had come in there in the first place. Damn lucky Jen gave us the microwave with a working timer, had I gone blank distracted like that with the old one, the house could have caught on fire.

My mind keeps spinning and churning so fast and so much, I’ve decided to call it Restless Mind Syndrome. I had the Restless Leg thing when I was preggo and it was disconcerting as hell, like your legs moving without input from your brain. It was quite terrifying at first and thank pegacorn it went away once she was formally evicted from my uterus….But now it’s my mind that is restless and it’s not connected to my limbs which is why I can’t seem to accomplish anything. Start, stop, forget. Oh, the forgetting, I am so sick of them blaming the depression. I have brain damage from that interaction years ago which is why I forget things literally 3 seconds later, that is organic, not some branch of my disorders or meds. I am DAMAGED IN THE BRAIN. I’m the only one who seems to accept this as a fact. What I want and what is are two different things, though. And while those Shriner kids are adorable and I am so happy for them for banishing the word ‘disability’ and doing amazing things in spite of it…That isn’t me. My brain is my CPU and OS and it ain’t running right and it is no longer supported for updates. I am compromised. I hate it, I wish I could deny it, but…it is what it is.

I got some bad news. My mom had a mammogram yesterday and they told her that the results were bad. She had a benign fatty lump removed 2 years ago and now it’s back, bigger and more suspicious looking than before so the doctor is worried. Not worried enough to get her in before June 6th, though, ffs. That gives it 3 weeks to spread if it’s malignant, wtf, the healthcare here is a fucking joke and they are fucking malpractice mavens. My mom is 70 and while I know the reality of losing your parents is coming my way…I hope not too soon, my daughter isn’t ready to lose her grandparents even if I wish I could take them to Six Flags and lose them in the crowds. Ha ha ha ha. That happened to me and my cousin when I was 8, we went there so mom could see Eddie Rabbitt and we got split up and it was dark and closing time before they finally used the PA system to tell us where to find our adults.

I think today is just gonna be a wash. My night fucked up my day again since I woke up and then couldn’t get back to sleep. And scumbag brain is busy dabbing and not giving me a properly ordered list of what I should be doing right now in which order.

Curious about the pink cacti? Make your way to the bottom of the page.

Pink cacti, my ‘put on fast shoes to run outside’ shoes. Hideous but functional and only a buck.

Wish me luck, I am going to call that place about the job interview possibility later on today to follow up my email. I will either seem overly aggressive or sincerely interested. I’ll roll the dice, I really want this gig.

Done in 70 Seconds Or Less

Posted in bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms


It costs maybe two minutes of your time to cheer up a little girl struggling with life right now.

Please and thank you.

I posted a couple of mindless chatter videos of my own cos, well, hypomania.

Check it out, it’s like driving by a car wreck and trying to look away but you can’t and it sickens you but still…you look cos it’s not something you see every day. Neither is me looking non haggish and sounding optimistic and SMILING WITH GENUINE AUTHENTICITY. Smelling salts may be needed afterward.

Brain Drain

Posted in sleep disorders with tags , , , , , on May 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I woke up almost 2 hours ago and haven’t been able to get back to sleep. I guess that power ninja nap (I didn’t see it coming, the melatonin kicked in so fast) for 90 minutes recharged me enough to be awake. I shouldn’t be surprised that I zonked the way I did. Time in the petri dish, a child with extreme ups and downs, dealing with my own abject failure as a potential employee than going to war with my father…It was all one big brain drain. Though I can’t help but wonder if I’d have stayed asleep had I not had multiple kittens playing feline death match with my legs as the arena. Claw marks are not conducive to sleep.

I kicked them out of my room because I couldn’t even eat my microwave popcorn in peace.They burgle fruit, veggies, ice cream, popcorn. The only foods I have found they absolutely won’t eat are baked beans, stuffing, and the cheap ass food I’ve been buying them. They are so adorable yet so distracting. Even now one of them is clawing at my door.

It’s raining out, I can hear it clink clink clink on the broken window AC unit. Normally I find rain a calming sound. Tonight it just reminds me I’m kind of cold. My kingdom for a 5 day stretch with sunshine and temps in the 70’s so my mood can gain some ground.

The insomnia/sleep disturbance is driving me bonkers. I keep replaying my mom jumping down my throat earlier for daring to mention being spaced out due to lack of sleep. Not liking either of my parents much right now after their treatment of me yesterday. And it’s not like it was anything new, they’re always on my case, running me down, it’s all they have ever done, all the while insisting this is normal family behavior and the way to express love and concern. That’s why when my dad came at me, I said, “A NORMAL PERSON WOULD HAVE SAID (THIS).” I know my family is not normal or remotely mentally healthy. And that was confirmed by every counselor who ever met them when my sister and I were going through major episodes and the family counseling thing was brought up. Dad appeared once, then said no more so it was the three of us, and the counselors all said, “Wow, Niki, you really are the normal one.” THAT has to tell you how FUBAR my family ties are.

I’m not particularly tired, my brain is actually starting to rapid cycle. I could use some buspar but then I’d have to open my bedroom door and the cats would stampede in and it took me long enough to herd them out.Scumbag brain keeps reminding me that 6:45 a.m. comes way too soon so I should be sleeping. But tomorrow nothing is on the agenda except puttering about the house and hoping I can get my shit together enough to do a little more chiseling at that slab of stone known as my hoarder-esque dining room. I guess that is the biggest reason I always feel so rushed to get to sleep. Because if I wake up several more times as usual and can’t get back to sleep, then I’m right back to night fucking up my day. It causes me anxiety which causes worse insomnia, round and round we go.

And there is that whole hell spawn thing, and neither of us being morning people, so mornings here can get pretty contentious. No rush for that. But it’s only 6 more days then summer break. Where the contention will simmer and stew for 3 months while she screams I’M BORED, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, MOM, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. Oh, summertime.

Maybe I’ll start getting some quality uninterrupted sleep once the rigid daily routine is off the table. Maybe pegacorns will rescue me from Armpitopia. Anything is possible, I suppose.

From Hypomanic To Splat In 20 Seconds Flat

Posted in bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , on May 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was reduced to going to a wordpress forum trying to figure out this new editor v the old one and I got lots of ideas. None of them worked. So I just searched my own blog ‘not sucky old editor’ and damned if my prior issues come up along with the solution. Blah may be gone, but she is still helping me. Miss ya, lady.
Chiseling. It’s not just for sculpture art. When you’re stuck between depression and hypomania and being flat out exhausted from lack of sleep and strung out on unexplained anxiety…you start doing little chores that have snowballed over days or weeks or months. And for each spot you chisel, you look up and realize…this is gonna be a long project, definitely not done in a few hours or a day.
So I just chisel away at the stuff and try not to be too harsh on myself. I’ve had the place looking spotless and still people griped about something so I may as well go at my own pace. Others disagree and tell me i just need to rip off the bandage and get it done with now. Well, for me, that energy has been depleted by my hours of chiseling during the morning after getting less than 4 hours of sleep.
It will get done. Eventually. Since I have no one offering to help, this is what it is. Chiseling away at the stone snowballs the size of VWs that were born of winter depression and inertia.
Splat is coming at me like a speeding train.
I am to the point where my chisel hand is exhausted and I just need to rest. Like, sleep. I got so little I find myself looping off for a moment then wondering why I’m in the dining room…except I’m not in the dining room, i just lost track of time. Like micronaps, I suppose. I don’t like it. But the plus side to Splat following a hypomanic bout is that I should sleep fairly well tonight even without melatonin or benadryl.
I won’t hold my breath, however. Sleep disorders don’t just get cured cos you’re tired as fuck.
A friend…
send me some Pepcid since I’ve been having so much trouble with reflux and my stomach. That was just a kind as hell gesture. It means a lot to me, when people listen to me. My sister heard me griping that my feet hurt cos the insoles in my shoes had come out and I was griping about my sleep mask coming off during the night, so she got insoles and a snug fitting sleep mask. That means the world to me, when people give the ‘little things’ credence.
Just like my first husband. He picked out a $1000 diamond ring but I told him I wouldn’t be caught dead in it, too gawdy. The one i liked had a heart shape and three small stones and only cost $499. He surprised me by buying me that one and it meant so much to me. I’m used to people deciding their tastes should be mine. So when someone listens to me and respects that I know what I like and want…It gives me warm fuzzies.
Is fresh hell. I despise this shit, just did dishes yesterday, now got another sink full. I should have at least enjoyed the meal I cooked to dirty all the dishes but I didn’t and I fed the leftovers to the cats cos the baked chicken was bone dry and gross.
Then I don’t need to make decisions, worry about dishes, and be nagged about not being stick person thin.
I fucked up earlier…
Because I am just so tired and such a space case, I posted my random blog to my mental health blog. I’m too lazy to remove it, though, even if people scurry away cos for whatever reason, they prefer my pissed off woe is me rants about being a head case.
I am giving up on trying to figure out people, it’s pointless, like trying to figure out what tags make people read your posts. It’s so fucking random every damn day, I…I just quit.
I am soooo
thankful it’s half sunny and sixty and dry out today. That cold wet gloom was driving back into the rabbit hole. Least today I’ve been up and about, around the house, anyway. I’ve been blogging, I put in a job app (and pray to god they don’t view it as some sort of affront, I couldn’t remember if they said my app would be on tile 6 months or a year. My thinks it’s the 60’s where pestering people with apps and pop in visits actually makes them want to hire you. Sometimes that level of aggression is actually frowned upon, not that he will ever accept that reality.)
My brother finished my lawn for me. I burned him 2 cds so he kind of owed me. I did 3/4 of it. Him helping with that has enabled me to do a few things inside that I’ve been wanting to do but just couldn’t push that particular boulder up the hill. Today I did some stuff, not as much as I had wanted, but considering how tired and spacey I am, it’s amazing I got anything done. I could have just gone back to sleep after Spook went to school. But trying to sleep when hypomanic is like banging your head against a wall. It hurts and it only hurts you so just stop. Eventually exhaustion takes over and you’ll nod off, on purpose or by accident. This morning I got that last extra 90 minutes after taking a double dose of Buspar with some benadryl. I just faded away…It was quite lovely. Until the godawful alarm went off.
And I like that Icon For Hire song that is the alarm tone. I just fucking hate mornings.
Chiseling some more…
I just remembered that one of the big jokes the kids made at my expense in school was that I needed a chisel to remove all my make-up. (To which I told them it wouldn’t do any good, I sealed it in polyurathane.)
Here I am, washed out, no make up, chisel in hand, each hour a slab of granite for me to chip away at never to create anything, just to survive.
I’m hella bleak. Cool.
Ignore the typos…

I am going to, I wrote it on wordpad then pasted it once I got my precious (said like Golem) back then pasted it. I don’t have the energy to correct it. I am a human typo, deal with it.
Oh and the title…
is a misnomer as the hypomania has lasted over 24 hours so I didn’t splat in 20 seconds, I just thought it sounded cool. Peace, out.

Spooky Sockhands could use your help, Guys. Just a click of a button or mouse….

Manic Monday, Chapter Two

Posted in bipolar disorder, depression, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms


Bedtime at 11 ish. Up at 1 a.m. Awake til 4:45 a.m. Up with alarm before 7 a.m. This has become my new despised normal but this week…it’s not grueling and I am not exhausted because…hypomania. My dad called first thing, then came over to gripe about my yard needing this and that done to it, and I didn’t even get panicked when he decided to come inside and use my bathroom then insult my housekeeping.

I think this is a point most people don’t touch on much. Bipolar people have pretty strong psyches. It’s not like we’re shrinking violets who submit because someone says we have to and we don’t want to displease them. Half the time we are in such a fragile state, we will do whatever it takes to avoid the paranoia and panic attacks that make us feel more vulnerable and weak. But when we are ‘up’, everything changes, right down to, yes, perception of things that usually make us fall apart so fast emotional shrapnel flies. Today I feel strong and solid mentally and so I cope better. I know this is part of the manic depression cycle so it will come and go but I do love when it visits.

It also kept me from throttling him when he started in on my about getting a job at McDonald’s. No, not a job, but  THE SAME SHIFT AND SAME DAYS MY BROTHER WORKS SO THEY DON’T HAVE TO DRIVE HIM AND HE CAN RIDE WITH ME. I told him I want overnights. They only run drive thru after 11 and I think two nights from 8 to 10 pm ish I could deal and Spook would only need a sitter for when she was sleeping. I don’t worry about when I will sleep. I haven’t been working the last 2 and a half years and I still don’t get decent sleep so catnaps work for me. What I do NOT want is working 5,6 days a week for 3 hours a day. With my anxiety, it is best if I go in and get the work week over with so I can breathe and regain equilibrium. I am just so fucking sick of him telling me what to do when I am damn near 50 years old. But I am also feeling pretty shitty cos half the people I know who got jobs ended up getting fired or quitting, and already even with a bad current reference, they are getting hired for new jobs within a couple of weeks and I am getting nothing.

Thing is, even if they hired me tomorrow, it won’t help me right now. The cats are running low on supplies, the water bill is due, the car needs gas…Not like my dad will help me on any of that even if I paint their shed or whatever to earn it. That’s why I post our paypal link, in hopes some kind soul will help out with five or ten buckets to help keep us afloat. I know it annoys people and it makes me look like a money grubber scam artist but I am pretty much an open book. I mean, 9 years of blog archives so my story is consistent. Facts always are. I post my disconnect notices, my account numbers (I was hoping since I did that someone would have helped with Spook;s school pics since they could have just ordered them and not need to give a penny in cash). I am transparent as I can be. (And I also accept directly sent stuff, so I’d suck as a scammer unless cat litter was currency.)

I did this video last night because muggles have asked me what mania is like. Now this was hypomania, not full blown, but same idea. Ten feet tall and bulletproof except with hypomania you’re too scattered to remember where you put your Kevlar so eventually you’ll take a hit and it will likely be mortal to your hypomanic good mood.

And no, I am not giving up, I am gonna keep supporting my kid’s dreams of a vacation and all I beg of you is, just share it on social media. Help this kid get something she wants out of a life.

Mania is wearing off, I am gonna be one tired little ghoul here soon. But the ride was good while it lasted. Think it means my Abilify needs increased, though, dual mood stabilizers usually murder the hypomania if they’re working right.

Have a great Monday. Play me off… (And for the love of pegacorn, could someone do a METAL version of this song THAT DOES NOT SUCK?)