Archive for the depression Category

Unnatural Sounds

Posted in depression with tags , , , on October 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Much as I loathe living in a small town, it has become increasingly clear to me that me low noise th reshold would never allow me to live in a large city. Today alone the street sweepers have every nerve ending n fire and as if that’s not enough, someone across the street is using a chainsaw. Incessantly. So even indoors there is no escape from all these unnatural sounds. Of course, I get my panties in a bunch over the totally natural sound of chirping birds so it’s apparently just incessant loud noise, period, that sets off my panic receptors. Living in constant fight or flight mode, with pretzel gut, is pretty unpleasant.

Unpleasant. Hmmph. There I go, sugar coating it, lest my true feelings cause someone to call me a whiner. Guess what? Living with anxiety disorders SUCKS. It’s not merely unpleasant. It is 24-7 with no break, especially when even your dreams are so vivid you can recall feeling anxious while asleep. This is not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. If saying it sucks makes me a whiner, then pass me the cheese and a glass to pour the whine into.

Day two in the dish. I am running on empty. My nerves are practically deep fried, my will to fight exists only out of sheer spite and stubbornness. Can’t fail my kid, can’t fail R, never mind the damage it’s doing to me. Shamble on, zombie mode, don’t stop to eat brains, that might give me joy. IF I were capable of feeling joy anymore. Seasonal depression has quickly sucked away every last vestige of that spiel. Everything is bad, there is no hope, I am imprisoned, I can’t get warm, I just want my blankies…Depression lies, reminds me of the donor, cos not a word uttered is true. Still, I become prisoner to its lies, wanting to defy, yet too weakened to put up much struggle. For me, getting out the door with clothes on is The Victory. And if that’s someone’s idea of high functioning, they need slapped with a rotting fish. This is existence. And I try to take the small joys where I can- a good episode of The Flash, a purring kitten, my kid saying, “My cat didn’t throw up on the floor, he has an alibi!” (Seriously, how can you not get a giggle out of an 8 year old who knows what alibi means???)

Sadly, depression makes the little things seem smaller and smaller til they’re no longer visible in the rearview mirror. You know your brain chemicals are altered and lying to you, but clinical depression isn’t something you ‘snap out of’. Best you can do is shamble on and hope you make it to the next ‘break in the mold’, which is what I am now calling blocks of time when I am not expected to perform like a trained seal. Because my performance is the mold and when I don’t have to dance, monkey, dance, it’s a break in the mold. (Hopefully Funeral For A Friend doesn’t sue me for using the line from their song ‘Red Is The New Black’, no disrespect, looove that song.)

Oh another unnatural hellish sound. Pick up trucks with diesel engines. Roaring by all the time. This is why I like my hovel across town in the trailer park. Sure, it can get noisy there, especially when police and paramedics show up two, three times weekly for various resident issues… But mostly, it feels like my own corner of the world where the dish can’t really intrude too much. That’s why I discourage visitors. I don’t like my inner sanctum violated. I need the place that makes me feel safe. Safe from what, you may ask. Well, join the club, because I’d like to know, too. It’s not normal to feel threatened and scared at all times. I never knew anxiety could get this bad, but I’m living it now and I reiterate…it fucking sucks.

Another thing that sucks, and I mention this out of irritation…My sister happened to go to the new place where the donor is working and I guess the 53 year old man child was caught off guard and started stammering to her-in front of another customer- about “Tell Niki I’ve been unemployed, I will pay her the child support I owe her…” My sister asked for a pack of e-cig catridges and he blurts all that out. WTF?

And it just proves every point I’ve made since he walked out six years ago. He couldn’t be bothered to ask about his daughter. He didn’t use her name. Just mentioned owing me money. NO. He owes our child money. And that he can’t get it through his thick skull even after 3 kids is infuriating. HELLO, DONOR, IF YOU READ THIS: You and I are grown ups, things didn’t work out, it’s done. But don’t go thinking about what you owe your 3 baby mama’s. Think about your children E, C, and B and what you owe them. It was never about me or you. It has always been about doing right by the kids.

Sorry, had to be vented. Just…wtf, why mention our personal shit to my sister, anyway, while he’s at work and another person is in line and she never said a word about any of it…I guess I should expect it. He did strongarm my stepmonster into “try to talk some sense into Niki so she’ll sign the papers.” Yeah, well, I talked to a lawyer who said DIY paperwork involving child custody doesn’t fly so I was using my sense. Dragging someone else into it is his thing, I guess. Maybe because he knows how infuriated it makes me to have my family up in my business. Anything to stir the pot.

Except this time…I refuse to take the bait. He’s under court order to pay support by the state so whether he likes it or not, Spook will get that money even if they have to take his entire tax refund next year. It ain’t about me. It’s about her. And whatever emotional issue makes him, and other ‘parents’, fail to grasp that concept, makes me pity them.

Whatever my damage is, it ain’t as bad as theirs. Kids come first. The grown ups can fend for themselves. You don’t owe me shit. You owe a beautiful, smart, funny 8 year old girl.

Tirade over. Xanax needed. I really hate chainsaws. Given a choice between Justin Bieber or a chainsaw sound…I’d throw myself into the chainsaw and drag Bieber with me. Kill two birds, one chainsaw.

Yes, that was an attempt at macabre humor. Don’t judge me.


Please Don’t Wake Me When It’s Over

Posted in depression with tags , , , on October 10, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m down the rabbit hole once again. Our summer drought has ended and turned in to day after day of gloomy Autumn rainstorms, most of which don’t last long, just enoygh to create a muddy mess. Today’s has been a torrential downpour and I’m debating whether to pick my kid up at the us stop or let her walk home with her new kitty/doggy umbrella I got her. I am walking on shards of glass with her these days.

Yesterday I told her that her skirt was too short, she needed pants or shorts. She ordered me to help her find some, which translated, means do it for her and I refused. She balled up her fist and punched me in the stomach 4 times, then whacked me with a hairbrush. I crumbled into tears after sending her to her room and telling her she’s grounded 2 weeks. I was…astonished…

It’s not the first time she’s hit me. It is certainly the first time she has hit me with her fist repeatedly and it was damned scary. Here she is the one the teacher is worried about cos of self esteem issues, but I’m the one living in terror of my own child. She’s already latched onto the social worker thing and every time I so much as say no to having pudding, she threatens to tell the social worker, the teacher, and she tacks on stuff that happened years ago (like when she knocked my glasses off my face hitting me during a tantrum, and hell yeah, I have her a swat on the butt).

And after a 20 minute woe is me tantrum in her bedroom, she came out with an apology letter and acted like a totally different person. And that was when the true terror hit me. I’ve seen that behavior before. In myself. Prior to proper bipolar diagnosis, I would go off on tirades and scream and cry and blame everyone for everything and I would sometimes hit or throw stuff…And then once it passed,…I would be apologetic, filled with shame, desperate to make amends. Not quite sure what had come over me or why it was so hard for people to forgive me.

There is no way they will diagnose her bipolar before her teen years. Which means for at least 5 years I am living with the very source of my torment and anxiety, locked in an endless cycle where it’s all my fault when all they need to do is realize…kids can be bipolar. It’s not a disorder that cares how old you are.

There is no woe is me. She is my daughter and has so many great qualities and I love her and will never give up on her.

At the same time, I am battling my own demons, and I mean, the seasonal depression, which already has me going to bed at 8 p.m. just to escape my own distorted hopeless thoughts as well as recover from whatever screaming calamity she’s had for the day. (Just had 4 straight days of it, I am beyond exhausted.) But going to bed early means not sleeping through which means at 2 a.m. I am awake and wishing I wasn’t and painfully aware my kittens are probably gonna die cos their ass trash cat mom won’t feed them and they won’t eat solids and then I gotta face the shop and R’s demands, the housework that never ends, the anxiety that devours me, and guessing if my child is going to love me or physically attack me and tell the authorities what a monster I am so they take her away.

Society has the right idea to protect children but in doing so they have given they way too much power and taken away a parent’s right to discipline. And I’m not talking spankings, I am talking good old fashioned grounded in your room no fun activities grounding. And even that is considered too harsh.

I guess I have good reason to be depressed, anxious, hopeless, and terrified.

Society paints it as one direction only, only children are abused.

I wish someone cared that some parents get abused by the children. And thanks to well meaning laws…we are powerless to defend ourselvesm protect ourselves, or even choose what discipline to use. It’s humiliating to be a grown up yet have an 8 year old beating on me with her fists. I feel helpless. And no one else ever sees it, so it’s just…me.

It’s to the point I want to put video cameras in every room running 24-7 because I am NOT making this up. I am NOT the crazy person here. I am a concerned mother with legit fears who doesn’t want her child taken away yet also, I don’ think my life should feel like a fear inducing prison where the word ‘no’ results in a physical attack.

I know bipolar when I see it. I live it. And 8 years old or not, my daughter has the beginnings of it which might explain why they don’t think she is ADD. That’s often a secondary from the bipolar and if they refuse to entertain a child so young could have such an imbalance…

Let’s hope love and devotion are enough to keep her from harming someone before the establishment will smarten up.

The Crash

Posted in depression with tags , , , on October 1, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Does not matter how many times it happens or how it is the norm.

I always get a little arrogant when surprised with a functional day in spite of being drained by the week. Yesterday was that day for me. I thought, hey, maybe I am adapting, getting stronger. I started making to do lists and…


Since my kid left for church I’ve done nothing but lay in bed. My stomach churns. I’m sleepy but not enough to fall asleep. My body aches. I feel bruised head to toe. The simplest things feel like insurmountable tasks.

This is the crash. This is the cycle with the depression. This is splat.

I hate splat. I want to do my lists and be uber functional woman and…Yeah, it ain’t happening today. And so I’ll reboot my brain and let my body rest and of course, i will feel shitty about it and guilt trip myself, probably indulge in some self loathing for not being able to ‘snap out of it’.

It’s okay. I’ll set the one small goal, accomplish it, and allow myself to simply be tapped out and recuperate what the week drained out of me. That was about the only piece of advice from counseling that every truly helped.

One goal. Get it done. Allow yourself to breathe, rest, and feel exhausted, depressed, etc.

Now ain’t that a sad statement after 20 some odd years of counseling. I come out with one decent piece of advice that I can actually use.

I’m thinking the counselors here must just be really shitty at their jobs.

(And there’s that tiny voice telling me, no, I am the problem, because they are educated, trained professionals, and I am nothing but a basketcase of mental disorders so I have no valid opinions or feelings.)

Crash, splat, and self loathing. What a wonderful way to start the day.

When Your Self Esteem Goes Ten Rounds With Tyson

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so obviously, I don’t know Mike Tyson nor do I know much about the boxing world. From all accounts though, Tyson’s a hell of a boxer who punishes his opponents in the ring.

R has become my version of Tyson, only instead of fists in a boxing ring and a somewhat fair fight…He barrages me with his political certainties, dismissal of my ever having a salient opinion, and also, he uses on line videos to highlight his personal views of women in general, and especially, women who don’t work or use the court system to go after men for alimony or child support.

Last night I was treated to a ten plus minute youtube diatribe from some chick he finds smashing in her opinionated posts. This one, of course, was “I don’t need a man” and hell no, I am not providing a link to it because I’m not lifting a finger to give her more viewers. She wants to be all girl power and shit, but essentially she is saying the world is still run by men and they are hunting and gathering and chest thumping to protect us female snowflakes who are too weak and lazy to do it ourselves.

Given, when I am menstrual and in physical pain, not to mention the pummeling I got from my child calling me dumb and stupid for three straight hours (because of the ‘no’ word, of course), maybe this inane video just hit me harder than it normally would.

Or maybe as a woman on disability, who does get state aid, who did go to ask the court to butt in and get child support from the donor…Maybe this chick’s words felt not like slaps across the face, but having a box cutter swung aross my self esteem repeatedly. Thankfully I was a little numbed with Mangorita (the only thing positive R brings to the table anymore) so I didn’t go what he calls “feminaze”. I calmly allowed “She makes some salient points, but on the child support issue…I don’t care if it’s a mom or dad who walked out and won’t support their kid, the custodial parent should have every right to go to court and use legal means to pursue the deadbeat for support for the child.”

Which he made about himself, too, because he had full custody of his three kids and a 5 year battle in court with their mother and she didn’t start paying child support until after the final hearing. But he didn’t go whining to the state, he just made do because apparently, youtube chick is right, men are the hunter gatherers and we, the females, are simply the cooks and cleaners and occasional orifice for their baser needs.

It’s amazing I didn’t punch him. Really, it is. He sits there so proud of this youtube chick spouting off, shredding so called feminists, and essentially, shredding ME, and he denies the parallels. Because I was doing ok without child support for 5 years until he and my dad bullied me into using the state and the courts to pursue child support. So here I am being lambasted for doing what HE pummeled me to do for years.

I also tried to bow out gracefully from his shop deal. He’s taking in too many items, spending too little time working on it because the other place is working him over and sending him out of state again next week, and I am the one left to explain to people why it’s taking 4 months to get a damned repair done. The stress and anxiety this puts on me is immense, but trying to talk to him about it is pointless. He doesn’t hear, won’t hear. He says everyone’s stuff will get fixed, but he fails to grasp when it takes months for an item to be repaired and we can’t even blame the slow delivery from China when the parts have already been sitting here for weeks now…Everyone tells me to cut him slack, he’s exhausted, so I appealed to him on that angle. He got snappish and said he’s not exhausted, he just needs time and it will all get done.

Denial is bordering on delusional.

So I am telling him about my limitations and pointing out it wouldn’t do any harm to let the shop be closed a week or so, let him get caught up, let me catch my breath…And nope, he still wouldn’t give an inch.

So between the forced second hand video pummeling of the chick I shall now refer to as youtube Satan, and his utter dismissal of my cries for mercy…I went to bed feeling pretty damned beaten down, ignored, and hurt.

I wasn’t real stunned when this morning, I woke up in so much pain from cramps and backache, I got my kid off to the bus stop and went back to sleep. Fuck it. He won’t listen to me, all I can do is try to take breathers here and there to avoid the crash and burn. I wandered into the shop around 9:45 and I don’t feel the least bit crappy for it. When someone gives a cry for help and says they need a break…and you ignore them…you’re lucky to get anything out of them, considering that cruel treatment.

He can call me a snowflake all he wants. He can thump his chest about what a great worker he his doing two jobs and how he single handledly raised 3 kids by himself. He also had an ex who saw the kids one evening a week and every other weekend so he did occasionally get breaks. I don’t. He always had some sort of inheritance or savings to fall back on with his kids. I do not. He drinks himself into a stupor nightly for 30 years, so even if he depression or anger he wouldn’t feel it. All I’ve got are an endless string of meds that work, half work, or don’t work. I’m not a fucking snowflake.

And a call just came in for a guaranteed $250 from a warranty repair and because he is so busy, they’re going to take it elsewhere.

He’s right, I’m wrong. Period.

And let’s not forget this one dumbass who has called 45 times in two days. I’ve talked to him four times, R talked to him 3 times, and no matter what you tell him, he keeps calling back and he doesn’t hear you and repeats himself. If I hated ringing phones before, now I view them as ticking bombs out to cause my central nervous system to implode.

Maybe I should just send my kid to my mom’s for the weekend and have the psych nurse doc lady sign me into the mental ward for a couple of days.

Fuck, it’s sad when you have to think in such extremes all to avoid ruining a friendship. Seems to me were R truly my friend, he’d have some concern for my feelings. But then, me asking for a man to be concerned about my feelings makes me a snowflake.

There are days I wish North Korea would just nuke us already. (I hope that’s the menstrual dysphoria talking.)


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on September 19, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I was sailing along in neutral space (aside from the looming Reaper of Anxiety that borders on panic)…And from out of nowhere I went SPLAT. Total despair, depression, feeling hopeless. Nothing precipitated it. There was no trigger.

It’s the cycle.

Bipolar two is a special kind of evil. Insidious. Cruel. Unrelenting.

My anxiety increases with the sudden change in mental state (this is far more than a ‘low mood’, scumbag brain is sending out some pretty negative messages and I feel too weak to tune them out). A sense of foreboding lurks. Every sound seems amplified. Every tiny thing feels insurmountable.

And then I think of R working 2 jobs, and my dad rattling on about how he worked 80 hours last week and he’s 70 years old…

I feel like such a wimp. So pathetic. I know it’s the depression and anxiety filling my head with wrong messages. Maybe things are pretty rough right now, but things that didn’t register on my radar last week are suddenly running forefront this week as viable threats, potential threats, imminate threats…

I doubt the pms dysphoria is helping the situation.

You’d think as often as Splat happens, I’d be innoculated to how abruptly it comes on. Yet still, I am floored by how fast this hit me, from out of nowhere. I feel terrified and I am not sure of what. Maybe it was my kid asking if we were going to be homeless without child support. Maybe it’s because public aid still hasn’t called back about why my benefits didn’t increase when my income dropped nearly three hundred bucks due to missing child support. Perhaps it was even worsened when my sister texted me about their own dire situation, 2 weeks of nothing to eat but ramen. Dad and stepmonster refused to help them. I get when things are tough you take care of your own, and it’s asinine when my sister asks them to buy pricey cat supplies or household items. But for a father to not even offer up a package of meat to help feed his daughter and grandson…

I tossed them a four pound back of hamburger. I didn’t have it to spare, really, but family helps family. I will not become my father, stockpiling for my own sake, while my mom and sis and nephew go hungry. No matter how wigged out my brain is, I have kindness in my heart. I like to think (even naively) that karma comes around and one day when I or Spook need a hand, my sis and them will be willing to return the favor if they can. No way could I not do something, minor as it was. Not who I am.

Right now, who I am, is a woman feeling like emotional doomsday has arrived and every nerve ending is in flames and the Grim Reaper is at my door…It’s the disorders, but at the moment..

The disorders are kind of in control. It’s terrifying and yet it’s my reality. Lather, rinse, repeat.

“You’re fine.” says R.

“How are mood swings a disability?” said someone on a tv show.

“Deadbeats on food stamps and disability are taking all my money in taxes.” This, from my wonderful father.

I WANT to be fine.

But no amount of their guilt, denial, put downs- is going to change the fact that my brain is off kilter and it is disabling.

It’s scary times for those of us who have disabling disorders and need our disability income, our Medicare, our Medicaid, our prescription plans…Scary, hell, it’s horrifying. Maybe some of my anxiety and panic is warranted.

Does not explain how I went from feeling semi decent to suddenly feeling hopeless so abruptly. That’s all bipolar. The gift that keeps on taking. Like a vulture feasting on roadkill, this disorder is going to pick my bones clean one day.

Dark Hellhole

Posted in depression with tags , , , on August 23, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

My father has forever griped about how every home I’ve had (since the brain baking Nardil incident of 2000) has been a dark crypt. Fair enough. When bright light gives you massive headaches and agitates your anxiety, you do what what have to in order to survive semi comfortably.

Yesterday, during a lash out tantrum, Spook screamed at me, “I want out of this dark hellhole!”

During a tantrum with her, there is no reasoning, the truth has no bearing. I have white and polka dot curtains in the living room, lace sheers in the hall, and gave her the choice to put whatever she likes in her room. A few weeks ago it was a light Shopkins curtain then the neighor’s forever on porch light in her window started to suddenly bother her so I gave her a darker curtain, told her it wouldabsorb light and she should pull it aside during the day. I do NOT force my need for dim light and ‘crypt calm’ anywhere but in my own bedroom, my safe space, my sanctuary.

As for hellhole…We can agree on that, albeit for different reasons. The place is falling apart, bugs, et al, fine, that sucks. But for the first time in 8 years I have finally reached the point of being ashamed to live in this trailer park and it’s because the landlord is just letting white trash and assorted others move in with their brat ass kids and there’s garbage everywhere, someone even stole my kid’s bike and one of our cats, one nice man put a nice swing set and a bunch of nice plastic houses and stuff down at ‘the little park’ for all the kids…and in under 2 months it’s all been destroyed. The park is basically a trash can and I told my kid to start cleaning it up and of course, she didn’t do any pof it, it’s unfair, blah blah blah. No, it’s not fair, but since she picks shitty friends who one minute hit her with a stick, the next minute she’s screaming that I won’t let her play with them because they are being bullied and she needs to protect them…

Meanwhile we have the white trash parents who won’t let their kids hang out with mine because oh, right, I told a 13 year ld to kiss my big fat butt after she threatened to kick it, and my kid was present when some boys started a fire so she’s the pyro (I can guarantee she lacks manual dexterity to have used the roller Bic lighter that started the fire)…I am so ashamed to live here, I told R if Kenny ever leaves the shop’s back room, put in a shower and I’ll pay him damn near twice what K pays. I’ll find my cats homes or foster homes. I am at wits’ end. And the bitch of it is, I’m blacklisted with section 8 (low cost) housing due to a bad landlord reference I got before my kid was ever born, so yeah, karma. (Fucking bipolar depression, actually, but the world doesn’t care.) I can honestly say this has been the worst summer I can remember because used to, she had maybe 3 kids to play with. Then comes the onslaught of shitty parents who let their 4 year old loose before 8 am and she’s still wandering at 9:30 p.m. so I walk her home and get a door slammed in my face for disturbing the parents.

WHITE TRASH. I may be trashy inasmuch as being a lousy housekeeper but I always know where my kid is, she is polite to everyone but me, I don’t have trash piled up inside or out, I am TRYING to treat the bugs, I am TRYING to keep food in the fridge so my kid doesn’t go begging others for food as I respect how difficult it is to afford to feed your own let alone 7 other kids. My reward?

The kids found three abandoned newborn kittens and brought them all to me, stampeding into my home, EIGHT of them, uninvited by anyone but my kid, then they start going through my fridge, whining because I have Dr. Pepper instead of Mt. Dew and I asked them nicely four times to go play outside and they just sat inside on my couch asking for food then wanting to manhandle dying kittens. And one did die and I have to bury another, and I have two that are holding on because I keep checking every hour, (even during the night) and feeding them vitagel and warm milk with a vet’s syringe, trying to keep them alive even though it is futile, they are too small to survive without a momma cat. And for all I know, the mama is looking for them because these trailer park kids are liars and just found the kittens alone and decided the say the mother was dead. And don’t think I am dumping on other people’s kids alone because mine is as much a culprit as them, just maybe to a lesser degree. Her extreme abuse is saved for me alone.

She had six tantrums yesterday and nothing I did worked to curtail them.Often it is that way. I record the exchange so the professionals can hear me trying to deal calmly and her just screaming and threatening to hurt herself or kill me or “tell grandma you won’t let me do X”. Since school started, there was only ONE tantrum free day. And it’s wearing me down. I am hanging by a thread. And to my shame, I have allowed her to get to me and started raising my voice but I refuse to spank her or even touch her on the arm to get her attention. Because this is a kid who gets scratched by your fingernail and tells people you cut her. Yes, I am afraid of my own child getting me arrested for assault because by the time the truth comes out (if it does, because he system often doesn’t accept that kids lie) it’s too late.

Yes, I know. I am weak. She’s a shark and my anxiety and fear are blood in the water and she moves in for the kill. I try so hard to keep a lid on it. And it makes her scream more when I am calm. Guess it’s less stressful to just scream back (yeah, immature and bad parenting, but I last a hell of a lot longer before I snap than even R without an anxiety disorder, this is TRYING child). Of course, I end up feeling shitty for raising my voice and not keeping my cool and the guilt is crushing. I apologize and tell her mommy earned ‘bad points’ for not following my own rule about not raising my voice as I tell her to not to do.

Last night I hit the wall. I cut off access to her friends after the third invasion of food demanding brats and her playing the “S won’t be my friend anymore if you don’t give her my shoes and this shirt!” R stopped by to give me a part number he needed ASAP and Spook decided that was a great time to demand a tea party and when I politely explained I needed to find this part as the customer is a cancer patient with months to live and she needs her TV fixed but if she’d give me a half hour of peace to look for the part, we would have our tea party.

She didn’t give me two minutes of peace. She got the newborn kittens meowing which is shrill noise that makes me anxious and unable to focus. We had to run out and I told her no to something four different times and she just ignored me and did it anyway and informed me for the thousandth time I am not the boss of her or her body and I just want her to be a robot. FFS. No means no. So her consequence was no tea party with me as it was nearly bedtime before she stopped with the tantrum and finally said “I’m sorry, I love you,Mommy.” And I asked her what she was sorry for and she said, being bad. I said, no, not being bad, what did you do to lose the tea party? And she had nothing. Just that I am the worst mother and don’t are about me kid because I am trying to instill consequences and conscience. Which she then used against me to say they are big words and she doesn’t understand so I broke it down to very small words even my idget family could understand as could a first grader and she still pretended not to get it yet she gets it fine at school.

Hellhole indeed. This is my life. Every damned day, this is my life. And all the experts say it’s my short comings and not my kid’s fault. It takes two to tango, sure, but this kids bare no responsibility is bullshit. Schools expect a certain level of good behavior and give consequences if the child can’t abide. But parents are supposed to take all responsibility, never lose their temper, never feel like running away from home or hiding in the closet to escape what is essentially a pint sized bully…

I love her so much. It cuts like a knife (Bryan Adams, anyone?) when she screams that I don’t care about her simply because I won’t let her do as she pleases. She has so many good qualities…

Much like her mother, though, the bad starts to outweigh the good and people have limits, they hit the ceiling and just caN’t do it anymore.All my relationships go like that no matter how much I change my thinking and behavior because, bipolar. Not all shitty behavior is that but consideirng who I used to be, outside of the bipolar, as a person…I have become a damned saint. None of it seems to matter.

I won’t give up on my daughter. Too many have given up on me because, yeah, the bad is awful and it is soul sucking and makes you want to run screaming into the night no matter how much love is involved. You just can’t let someone else drag you down. (Sorry, donor, was never my intention but then, you abandoned three children so fuck you.)

I’m not bitter, just filled with saccharine known to cause cancer in labratory rats. (How odd that is the one thing I remember from my childhood when I used to get a diet 7-up and saw that on the label.)

Okay. Rant over. But I think the gist was,I am trying to be a good mother in a very difficult situation with a very volatile child. Frustrating but I survivd 7 years of daily bullying and being spit on by the redneck elite…I won’t be taken down by a child. I will get to the end of my rope and then I will tie a knot in it, and then when that frays, I will tie another knot. And if I have to, I will tie knots in my nerve endings to keep holding on because she is worth it.Junk DNA, chemical imbalance, or just “I’m a shitty parent who fucked her up”…

I will be better than those who walked out on me.

Gloom Mongered

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on August 16, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Slept 4 and a half hours then woke, terrified I’d miss the alarm for my kid’s first day back to school cos, hello, smart phone, dumb Morgue…That anxiety ate away at me so I took .25mg of Xanax and right as the hamster wheel started to slow down…Spook-in-the-box pops up and can’t get back to sleep because she was nervous and excited about school. Which meant neither of us got back to sleep, she had her new clothes on and hair done by 5 a.m. I’d hoped even for a power nap but it didn’t happen then. I was relieved to drop her at school because her enthusiasm was killing me. Hypo and depression both HATE enthusiasm so it’s hard to know which cycle I am actually in.

The texting chihua got called back to his ‘real ‘ job, after working three days last week, then off two days, now he’s back and he was on me about the shop. And all I wanted was my first true kid free day in months and I texted back a little snarky, plus the bug treatment has me sweeping up corpses constantly before the cats can eat them and be poisoned…But because I do need his expertise with automobiles and of course, my heat will need fixed again come winter…I sucked it up and agreed to do four hours even though it pissed me off but the guilt was worse. I mean, he’s working two jobs and I’m gonna whine about a few hours of essentially sitting on my ass and occasionally helping hoist a TV in or out?

Guilt fucking sucks ass.

This morning I went home, feeling absolutely shitty from lack of sleep and finally when I got in the power nap…it lasted 20 minutes before my gloom spewing father called. And so my self esteem went further down the septic tank, my guilt skyrocketed, and my anxiety turned into an acid burning stomach ache. YAY. I dared defend the ONE good part of the ACA regarding pre-existing conditions and he launched into how he’s retired and still works and they take all his money to cover people who don’t pay taxes and (gee, who could he be pointing that finger at?) and he was up on his soapbox thumping his chest like the gloom mongering ass trash he is.

It isn’t that he doesn’t have a point. The system is broken and things need fixed. No one should shell out 70% of monthly income to have health insurance (which they can’t even use because it covers such a small percentage)…But hey, no soapbox here, my stomach is still churning from my dad’s preaching and guilting.

To add to it, new family drama. After the ugly split with my nephew and his fiance, I guess my sister moved in her stoner friends and the girl’s mother and they are all boo hooing over losing Medicaid cos my nephew turned 19 and isn’t in school and of course, the girl living with them is such a stoner she packs around selling weight and I don’t want my kid anywhere near it but then that starts war with my mom because hey, I drink alcohol, so it’s totally the same. Not to mention the sickly stoner’s mom is living in the living room with a porta potty right there so where is my kid supposed to play? With the porta potty or upstairs with the people holding pot or down in the basement smoking it?

So sick of the fucking drama. If I could just move far far away it wouldn’t be an issue. If I could just shake this fucking bipolar monkey and get a damned job and if my brain would just fucking behave and if, if, if…

Nothing like a good chat with dear old dad to bring the bad thoughts to the surface and remind me, apparently, even my own father considers me useless and I should just kill myself rather than his tax dollars pay for my disability because obviously there is nothing wrong with me EXCEPT I HAVE THE BRAIN FUNCTION OF A CARROT HALF THE TIME AND EITHER BURST INTO TEARS OR SARCASTIC ANGER OVER THE STUPIDEST SHIT! All a choice, of course, we all choose to feel this way. Because it’s fun and makes you feel good about yourself.

Bloody hell.

So in addition to being at the shop with a burning stomach ache, I can feel myself going down the rabbit hole which was tugging but thanks to dad, it’s yanking me downward.

I really want the mouse pad that is a target that says “bang head here.”