Archive for the bipolar disorder Category

Junk DNA: When Your Kid Goes On The Medi-go-round

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , , on July 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

So the benzo nazi doctor saw my kid yesterday and…Spook has now been labeled ADHD and given Concerta. I was so hoping she would escape the labels and pills and just be a really energetic flaky kid. In the short time the doctor witnessed her behavior, though, she quickly steered away from waiting til the teacher could fill out the paperwork in six weeks and said, we’re starting her on it right away.

I always knew, of course. If you have the disorder, or version of it yourself, you sense a kindred spirit.

I have ADD, no hyperactivity, but my thoughts race and bounce around too fast for me to focus so I am frustrated all the time with all the things I am supposed to do simultaneously.

Spook is hyper, can’t sit still, has too many thoughts to organize, and wow, she checks off 85% of the criterion.

I suppose it’s not a big deal, considering how many kids are shoved onto the medi go round and given these meds because god forbid kids be disruptive and hyper.

My kid, however, can only benefit since she meets so many of the criterion. I hope it helps her, she struggles so hard with school work and focusing on one thing at a time. I really hope it’s her magic bullet and it’s the only pill she needs to improve her functionality and decrease her frustration and low self esteem because she ‘can’t keep up’ with the other kids.

My big fear is that as she gets older, they will steer away from ADHD and start labeling her bipolar, depressive, borderline, et al. It is what they do, after all. Once you hit 18, suddenly you’re cured of ADD/ADHD and the doctors won’t prescribe it and insurance won’t even cover a third of the cost. This makes NO sense to me.

It also makes no sense for one doctor to say I have ADD comorbid with my other disorders while another nurse doc says, no it’s just because of the anxiety and depression, it will go away when we fix that.

They can’t agree on anything and my kid is now on the medi go round and it’s terrifying. I know how it impacts your self esteem once they start slapping on the labels and handing out the pills.

Time will tell. If it helps her, then we will ride that medi go round til it stops spinning. If it doesn’t help her or there are too many side effects, then we’re done. I’ve heard horror stories about these stimulants actually turning vibrant kids into zombies. I’ve also seen ADHD kids miss a dose of their meds and turn into aggressive monstrosities. It’s just a balancing act.

She is at day camp on their last field trip so I told her she can start the pills this weekend. Last thing I want is her having side effects 100 miles from home, getting sick, and wanting her mom.

The weird thing is, she was scared for me to tell her aunt cos she might call her weird…Yet she couldn’t wait to go tell her little friends who are also ADHD that now she is one of ‘them’. Like taking pills is cool or something.

I just about choked trying to take all mine (doesn’t help the lamictal is hubcap size and powdery) and there is nothing cool about it. It’s just necessity and survival.

On an amusing (sad) note….the doctor didn’t even remember seeing me July 1rst. She thought yesterday was her first time meeting me. I know they see a lot of patients, but even my damn gas station cashier remembers me on occasion. Somehow there is no comfort, for me or my kid, in this drive through medicine factory where they don’t even know your name without a file being shoved in front of them. Which is one more reason I miss the ‘good’ doctors. They not only remembered me, they didn’t need crib notes to remind them. Is it so bad to want your provider to remember you a few weeks later?

If the ‘decent’ doc doesn’t remember me after 4 weeks, my apathetic psych nurse probably doesn’t remember me at all til the nurse gives her my file. Too many psych patients, not enough competent providers. Welcome to mental healthcare in the rural midwest. And now my beautiful creative smart child has entered the fray and I can’t help but feel it’s because I cursed her with junk DNA.I hope she doesn’t come to resent me for it because I always wanted it to go the other way and for her to skip the genetic curse on both sides of my family.

You just never know which way the junk dna is gonna go.

Disability

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.

Otiose Ramblings From A Life Anhedoniac

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

otiose-pointless
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.

HUH?

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 WENT 26 HOURS WITHOUT A DOSE OF BUSPAR OR XANAX.

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

VISIT SPOOK’S PAGE AND CLICK LIKE, FOR THE LOVE OF PEGACORN, SHE NEEDS A WIN OR TWO

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.