Archive for the depression Category

25.5

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on February 21, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

25.5 is how many hours I was awake Monday to Tuesday due to anxiety. I finally crashed around 9 a.m. yesterday and slept an hour and a half. Normally, I’d be concerned about the timing of this ‘up all night’ incident as a precursor to a pre-spring hypo/full manic episode. The fact that I took a melatonin and tried to sleep and wanted nothing but to sleep and yet still could not no matter how tortuous consciousness was…That’s anxiety, not mania, not hypo mania. When it’s any form of mania, for me, I don’t want to sleep, I don’t try to sleep, and I either go full on creative or full on hyperactive. This time, I was not creative and I got nothing done, I was just awake hour after hour agonizing about our living situation.

Last night I zonked before ten p.m. and I did sleep, but I woke often, and I woke early, because there was ice and school had a two hour late start so I was getting notifications. Of course on any day I can sleep in I wake early, it’s life’s little ‘fuck you’ joke. Like weekends with a kid who can’t be dragged out of bed for school without a crane yet come Saturday they’re awake with the bloody roosters.

My anxiety has skyrocketed today as days count down to us needing to be out of here. We have a line on a place in dad’s armpit town, he talked to the guy and stepmonster is gonna come get us tomorrow to go look at it (ya know, since it’s 16 miles round trip and my death trap won’t run over 30mph without a death gasp). I am not wild about this, at all. But I am also sick of not eating or sleeping and feeling like my skeleton is crawling out of my skin. We have to do something and it’s not my job to think of myself right now. My damage from growing up in a small town has to take a backseat to making sure Spook has a roof overhead and I am just gonna have to put on the big girl panties and deal with it. I’m not committing to a 20 year contract to live there. This could be a six month or year long thing, or hell, it may turn out to not suck so much.

I hate myself for thinking that or writing it.

I think mostly I fear my sister and mom might be right and dad and stepmonster may be making a power play to take over my daughter and turn her into a mini redneck version of themselves. And without a reliable car and depending on them to provide me with transportation…I am going to be in no position whatsoever to defend my right as her mother or my independence. That is the worst position (aside from living in a cardboard box with no wifi connection-just sayin’).

To demonstrate how redneck and ignorant my dad is…he thinks because the rent for this place in his town is fifty dollars less than what I pay here, it is going to save me money. Except I will have to pay water there ($25 monthly), trash ($45 every three months), and of course, ten bucks gas every time I need to run into town for groceries or appointments. Moving there may be necessity, but it is not one bit cheaper and it is not at all convenient, so this is how I know that my dad only sees things from his perspective. Saving fifty bucks on rent isn’t saving a penny if I’ll be spending another hundred between water, trash, and travel money.

Again, though…this looks to be our only feasible opportunity and it is a two bedroom so at least I wouldn’t get stuck sharing a room with Ms. Snores A Lot. (Love her to pieces, but man, she could suck down tile ceilings with that snore.) It’s not even a lock, the guy just agreed to let us look at the place and he’s going by what they have told him about my situation. I don’t take anything as a given anymore because…well 2018 has been a dick so far and as far as the former landlord-now-property-manager giving a good reference…I’ve seen the man out and out lie to my face repeatedly so…not breathing easily there, either. There’s also the matter of doing laundry, I don’t know if Armpit (so shall the town in question be known here on out) still has their laundromat, which would cost even more money. I don’t even know if they have mail service, everyone seems to have a post office box, which again, MORE FUCKING MONEY. They have a restaurant open 8 hours a day, a gas station open til 7 p.m. and of course, said post office. That is it. I might go brain dead from boredom, especially if stuck with no gas to escape to town.

At the same time…I wonder if this isolation might be what I need. Get in the slow lane, keep to myself, maybe be able to focus on my writing when Spook is asleep because being so isolated might lower my anxiety and allow me to focus better. God, slap me with a rotting mackerel already for spewing this limited sunshine. Gross. I am likely gonna hate it because it will bring back every traumatic memory from my adolescence and teens where the small town redneck bullies made me want to die daily. But I am 45 now and it’s time to move on, blah blah blah. Some things you move on from but their imprint is a scar that flares up whether you want it to or not.

And this is where standard issue people start rolling their eyes and call me narcisstic and tell me it’s about my kid, not me, and how self centered I am and all I talk about is me me me and I am a horrible person always playing the victim…

Oh, wait, that was what the heroin using shrink said to Analiese on How To Get Away With Murder thus my paranoid brain instantly jumped to, “Oh fuck, is that why nurse doc didn’t help me or believe a word I said? Did she think I was a narcissist playing victim????” And this is where mental healthcare/shrinks/counselors totally confuse and baffle me. If I am supposed to go in and talk, isn’t it supposed to be about myself and how I am feeling and what I am going through? The very definition of narcissism, acceptable not even in my supposed care and management and cure? It is all these self doubt causing questions that have caused me to give up on therapy. The doc nurse and abandonment by Dr. B have made me seriously question if I will ever get the proper professional to actually do more good than harm. But then it goes right back to my own brain rolling its eyes at me and snarking, “Victim much?”

Grrrrr. It’s maddening. And certainly doesn’t help the depression. I have been running on sheer anxiety for weeks and the depressive abyss days certainly take precedence even if I rant more about the anxiety…But it’s come to my attention just how depressed I have been yet scared to admit the sevetrity lesy some well meaning genius professional decide it means I’m an unfit mom. The only person being neglected here is me. I don’t watch my super fave shows like The Flash or Supernatural. I can’t focus on the shows I do try to watch. I am glad to be awake only about two hours of the day, long enough to get a caffeine burst and an acceptable nicotine level. The rest of the time all I do is count down hours til I can go to sleep. And as we’re out of melatonin and the script sleepers damn near kill me…I am going to be spending a lot of time awake, breaking out in nervous hives, twisting stomach aches, and spinning thoughts.

I don’t know where to begin packing. I am frozen, like a deer in headlights with a car speeding at me at 120 mph. And I can’t seem to move. It terrifies me. I should be packing, my kid reminds me constantly. Well, first we need boxes, then we need to have a place to go, and I have to determine the space we will have going from a 3 bedroom two bath to a two bedroom one bath, no outside storage shed. I am trapped in don’t stop, don’t go mode.

Still…I am plastering on the brave face and validating my kid’s ‘nervous-cited- state (thank you, my little pony, nervous-cited is almost a cool way to describe it) while assuring her the move could be a great thing for us, who knows. I mean, I was once stuck in such a depression I thought our world would crumble if the donor left. And ya know what? He handled it like the cowardly cockweasel he is, sneaking his shit out and announcing he wanted out via a 30 second phone call but…within a couple of weeks I was on the mend, realizing how much better I felt without him. I just didn’t have the guts to risk change by admitting it when he was here. And Spook was only two and he wasn’t all that interactive with her so she didn’t even notice his absence. It was something I thought would be catastrophic yet it turned out better than it was, so I often beat myself up for my inability to overome my fear of change and extricate myself from unhealthy situations.

Maybe being forced at metaphoric gunpoint to make a change is what I need. Or it may be push me over the edge, God knows I have been hit from all angles this year with devastation and bad luck. I’d like to at least keep the door cracked open on things being okay, minus any sunshine spewing. Sunshine helps my mood, but it just makes me feel like a traitor to myself if I trade in my hard earned cynicism to blow rainbows up my own skirt. If I wore skirts.

So…depressed. Anxious to the nth. Terrified. Feeling helpless and hopeless.

Still alive and kicking and doing what has to be done for my kid.

If this makes my diagnosis narcisstic, then again…the mental health, er behavioral health, community is guilty of bad behavior.

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My Name Is Sludge

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on February 18, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Sludgey. That is how I feel today. Like my body is made of lead and any sort of movement is exhausting, painful, and perhaps even dangerous. I loathe these mental spaces where the idea of moving around sets off alarm bells in my head, it’s irrational, idiotic, frustrating. As icing on the suckage cupcake, my anxiety is off the charts and that, too, irks me, because Sundays are supposed to be my peaceful day. Ya know, no mail, usually no calls, just…vegetative time.

Instead the hamster wheel in my skull is churning furiously and needs WD-40 desperately. The churning thoughts and terror replay in an endless loop, making every sound seem overwhelming, every action seem terrifying. My head actually hurts from thinking too much and nothing I do makes it slow down. I am holding the panic at bay, barely, by remindng myself that panicking won’t do a thing to help our situation but…I almost believe it is possible for the human skeleton to try to escape from inside just to escape the barrage of overactive nerve endings threatening to drive me stark raving mad.

Since you can’t really accomplish anything business-ish, ya know, like looking for a different place to live, on Sundays, I figured today would be my freebie day, one day free of freaking out and feeling like a cornered animal. But no, anxiety disorder says NOPE, FAIL. So my heart continues to beat rapidly, my head aches more and more with every passing hour, and I can’t seem to shake it off. Which is the norm, of course, but occasionally a burst of hypomania pops up.

Not today. This is useless, harmful energy of the sludgey variety. I am counting down the hours til bedtime. Just getting my kid bathed and fed and tucked in seems like scaling a mountain sans gear. And I despise feeling this way, this is NOT how I want to feel and I am fighting so damned hard and getting nowhere and that frustration adds to my anxiety which adds to my physical symptoms and if I could make it stop, I would…But that’s the big difference between society’s newfound labeling of ‘behavioral’ health versus mental disorder. Behavior you can change over time, you can choose to act and react differently.

When the problem is the very organ in your body required to behave appropriately so you can do the same…it isn’t a behavior disorder, it is a chemical disorder and calling it otherwise is insulting, misleading, and likely going to cause a lot of suicides because people won’t want to get help now that wonky brain chemicals are considered behavioral health problems.

Am I taking this whole label change too personally? Maybe. Mental illness never really dazzled me but calling all mental health issues behavioral health related- it’s infuriating. And it’s not the least bit helpful except to make me feel like there’s zero hope anything will ever get better because my legitimate chemical imbalances are now viewed by the entire medical establishment as something cured by behavior modification therapy.

I do not have enough middle fingers to express my feelings toward this change of labeling.

I do, however, have enough moxie and desperation to keep posting about our fundraiser even though not a cent has been donated in almost a week. I am fighting for a roof over my kid’s head so I will feel ashamed and prideful later for daring to ask for perfect strangers to help us. But we’re as worthy as any cause and none of this happened through any fault of our own. So click on the pic of our lovely Godsmack lounging in the dollhouse pool and visit the page, pass along the link.

876

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

876. That is allegedly the number of followers I have, though I suspect 90% are just too busy to unsubscribe, let alone read my rants. Still, even if the 10% who do read and occasionally click like or comment were to donate $1-$5 to our campaign…My daughter and I might well have enough to at least cover a security deposit on a new place. Believe me, this is humiliating, stressful, and not something I like doing but for all my “humanity sucks” frustration…I still believe in the ultimate good of some people. And as I’ve said before, even just a share on social media can have a great impact.

Please help if you can so Rosemary’s Baby Mama and Gothic Witch Kid don’t end up living on the street. I wish I were being overly dramatic but this is our reality. 12 days to come up with a place to live and the money to secure it. And this came as a shock to every one of us here when we were informed of the new ownership or out policy on Valentine’s Day, so this is not the case of me waiting around knowing it was coming and blowing all my money. This is the very definition of an emergency.

And now that I’ve done my beggar bit and probably offended what few people do read this…

Today has been a battle. With my own mind. I started out terrified to make phone calls, but I managed to fight through it and made two, then three, then five, then seven. And two out of them were wayyy out of my affordability range, three had nothing available, one of them said I didn’t make enough money to live there, and I am waiting for a response on another though there’s been none since 8:47 a.m. so it’s not looking hopeful. And finding a place to allow even one cat is proving a challenge as well.

I feel so defeated and yet my nerves are crawling with anxiety. I barely ate anything today. I went pee a gazillion times because when I am nervous, I drink lots of water which of course means peeing a lot. I put anti perspirant on 4 times because I kept sweating through my armpits. Not to mention the knots in my belly. None of which is remotely glamorous and yet I am supposed to believe it’s my behavior that’s a problem, not the fact that my stupid brain is running on Windows ME and dial up.

The frustration is only slightly lesser than the mounting panic. I can’t believe how hard it is for me to make phone calls, it’s asinine and yet very real. Before my kid was born, there was a time I simply could not use a phone, period, I had to have my sister call around to find me a replacement shrink because I was in such bad shape under the crappy one I had, the crazy one who thought Seroquel was better than Xanax for anxiety disorder thus I became an agoraphobic paranoiac for half a year. (Yeah, I’ve not had great luck with competent psych docs, welcome to rural midwest ninth circle of hell.)

I can’t even start packing because I have nothing to wrap glasswear in, only a few boxes, and even if I start packing, we still need space to get through this place and oh, yeah, a place to take the stuff. It’s like don’t stop, don’t go, and I am just lost, going wtf?

To top it all off, when I brought my kid home from my mom’s she started having her spaz out tantrums and swung a back of coins at my head, after screaming at me for ten solid minutes then slamming her bedroom door four times hard enough to rattle things on the living room wall. I passed it off as her not getting her own way and not getting enough sleep at mom’s…but then napped and started right back in because I wouldn’t give her my uber nice adult coloring book that was a gift from a reader…then she started saying I was lying about the teacher saying good things about her schoolwork, then she launched into how I let her down and we are going to be homeless and it’s all my fault…

And I am just like…I mean, here I am, teetering on the edge of a breakdown with all that’s been thrown at me in less than 2 months, and I am forcing myself to view this as a potentially positive thing once we manage to work it out…I am trying to reassure her, comfort her, make sure she knows this is my responsibility and I will figure it out somehow…but it doesn’t deter her, she just goes on tangent after tangent.

I’d like to say it’s exclusive to this current predicament but it’s not. My kid goes off on these neverending tangents over various inane things several times a day, several times a week, and trying to reason with her is pointless.

Now I have 3 straight days of dealing with her behavior, as well as processing my own precarious mental state, worrying if anyone will rent to us since we won’t have a cent til the day we are due to be thrown out of this place…I’m not eating, I’m terrified of the phone, I’m panicking that I can’t get all this stuff packed, that we are going to be in a shelter and honestly I’m not even sure there is a homeless shelter here….And yeah, it’s pretty sad when you have family but they’d send you to a shelter rather than let you live with them for more than a few days due to space constraints. Like I’d wanna live on a sofa with everyone traipsing through at all hours, but just knowing the option was there would be there would be nice. My mom doesn’t own the place though, her roommate does, so her rules apply. As for my dad…he’s already made it clear I’m not even welcome to their sofa even though they’d take Spook for awhile.

Um…NO. Hell no! WTF is that shit, anyway? Proof you can’t pick your family cos I would have chosen a supportive one that actually likes me. Or at least doesn’t think less of me for being disabled and not being able to work reliably.

FAIL.

On the plus side..I’ve had 3 showers in the last 8 days. That’s an accomplishment, especially considering how cold the place is even with the heat blasting and costing me all my internal organs and external limbs. I figure if I am going to be meeting with teachers or potential landlords, the least I can do is not reek and wear clean clothes. And it’s bloody exhausting. Which pains me because I used to be one of those frilly ‘don’t leave home without cute clothes and make up’ types, at least during the manic bouts.

Now if I remember deodorant and scrub my fangs, I consider it a win.

The spawn has zonked, it’s almost ten p.m., so I think it’s time I reward myself by preparing to go to bed. I need a break from my own brain. Hopefully I won’t have nightmares again about running out of trash bags and toilet paper. That melatonin gives me fucked up dreams. I guess running out of that stuff is better than the one where I was sinking to the bottom of the ocean on the Titanic…

It just goes to show that even in my sleep I am haunted by my waking problems.

Why Am I Awake?

Posted in depression with tags , , , on February 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My kid’s not even home and yet, I woke at 6:30 with no sunlight or alarm to rouse me. Immediately my brain went into hyperdrive with all the worries I have on my plate on top of my mental baggage and while I ducked under the covers and vegetated in bed a few more minutes…between Godsmack pawing at my door telling me she wants attention and noms and my own racing brain and thudding heart…Eff it, I’m awake now. DAMNIT.

Only good thing I can say is I did go to bed before 9 p.m. last night and once I went to sleep…I slept. I kept waking up, thinking I heard my kid calling mommy, but I went back to sleep. Which I suppose is a good thing but then, going to bed so early, I had hoped maybe I’d wake around 1 a.m. with a little energy and maybe do some housework or something. The entire situation-including the mental baggage-has me worn to a frazzle, I guess what my mind and body needed more than anything was rest and a break from the hell of consciousness.

And make no mistake…the last four months of my life consciousness has amounted to hell.

Since I cannot rely on my mental health professionals to keep doctors, let alone employ competent ones, the best I can do is keep writing these journal entries in hopes they speak volumes should I come up for review.

Believe me, if I were on the mend, I’d be the first to say so. Last year, I had hope for a few weeks that I’d found my magic bullet med combo. Then came the seasonal depression and the overload of demands and the extra anxiety the Trintellix caused and I went right back down the rabbit hole. I ALMOST HAD MY FEET UNDER ME!!! To have that happen repeatedly disgusts me to no end and used to, I could take solace in what every doctor and counselor had told me: you have a medical condition and it limits your functionality, at least you try your hardest, cut yourself some slack occasionally.

These days it’s all ‘behavior’ related so no slack can be cut, no empathy can be shown. It’s all “change your own behavior, problem solved.” That makes me so furious I can’t even find words. I have changed so much of my behavior I am barely myself anymore and little of those changes has done a bit of good toward my mental issues.

So here I go facing a 4 day weekend with my kid, feeling beaten down and bloodied, not a cent to my name, and I’m supposed to what…do jumping jacks until my feelings change because my problems are behavioral?

Then do tell why I pump all these poison pills into my system if the powers that be can just magically verbally bully me into ‘behaving’ myself.

I’d wave the white flag on it all if I didn’t know, from repeated personal experience, that 80% of my problems are related to my mental disorders and CAN be helped with medication. I sure don’t keep going to doctors who make me feel worse and taking pills that often make me feel much worse to benefit their bank accounts and big pharma. I know the right medication combo can mean the difference between feeling dead but alive or feeling like there’s much worth living for.

And if aiming for the latter is a behavioral problem…our mental healthcare system is guilty of behaving badly.

I Wore A Bra Today, Now Can I Go To Bed?

Posted in depression with tags , , , on February 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s not even 7 p.m., I am kid free, and honestly…I am ready to go to bed. The depression is like being encased in concrete and even when I have a day or few hours where I can chisel out enough to be upright and function…it feels exhausting, taxing, not worth my while.

At least I EARNED this sticker today.

I know, it’s such a silly thing, basic female fashion necessity and yet…When I wear bras, I feel like I am being constricted and my skin is being bruised and honestly, it makes me freak out to feel ‘bound’. No 50 Shades Of Grey here unless my sweater puppies get to be Freed. (Argh, the movies are so awful, it makes me never want my writing to be published lest it become that…icky.) Anyway…bras suck. Dudes, be thankful you don’t have to deal with ’em.

The car continued to give me problems when I went out for more errands. I got stuck in my mom’s muddy driveway. The damn machine died ten times before I got to the school. I was relieved, at least, that the teacher is a relative noob so she didn’t realize two p/t conferences weren’t mandatory. As it turns out…my kid is reading at a 5th grade comprehension and very, very bright. She has a lack of confidence in her mathwork and hates gym to the point of creating ailments every single day but otherwise…the teacher is amazed how smart Spook is. YAY! So I haven’t screwed her up scholastically, and the teacher was understanding about our current anxiety inducing circumstances maybe causing Spook to be high maintenance. Point is…MY KID IS FREAKING BRILLIANT not just at reading and writing, but she is even doing well in math. ICK. Math beyond basics is lost on me. Snoozefest. Or migrainefest. Pass.

After that, the car died six times going to Salvation Army. I filled out paperwork, they gave me a list of landlord possibilities and said they could hold my paperwork for 2 weeks and help a little if I found anything before the papers expire.

Guess what?

Not only am I almost out of phone time….Ha ha ha, my anxiety is so high, making calls freaks me out! And that’s a norm for me, I dislike phones immensely unless they are for my convenience. (One of the best things about being rid of R is being rid of all his texting and calls-at-any-hours, so stressing). I’m not sure what to do about the phone thing. Guess I can go to mom’s but hey…

On the way home…the car started jerking wildly and I thought I had a flat but no, it’s the damned car itself. Transmission is failing!!!! It was all I could do to keep her running and putt along to the driveway.

So all in all…one more sucky day to add to many.

And I am ready for bed, as much as that galls me. It was 60 degrees today, I should be somewhat revived by that, at least. Though drizzle and gloom contribute as much as cold. Still…Everything is going wrong. I haven’t gotten a single donation. Seriously, how pathetic must I be when I can’t even raise $20? And this is IMPORTANT. If you hate me, fine, but think about my kid. She could cure your cancer someday. Or murder you in your sleep. It can go either way with kids.

I’m just defeated by it all and the depression says it’s time to tune out and rest.

What I want to do is WRITE. Immerse myself in a fictional world less sucky than my own because that is what makes me feel alive, what makes me happy, what makes me breathe.

But because my brain won’t behave, I can’t even have the thing I want most.

Oh, and for the record…I am NOT FUCKING AMUSED by healthcare’s new classification of mental healthcare as ‘behavioral problem management”.

If I had a CHOICE to not behave like a bipolar depressed anxiety crippled person, I sure as hell would, you ignorant fucks.

Behavioral treatment. Yeah, sure, that’s all mental illness is. Behavioral.

Because wanting to curl up into a ball and sleep forever to escape your own mind is a wonderful way to live, totally by choice and behavior.

Now my behavioral problems and I are going to…well, behave poorly by going to bed very early because sleep is better than feeling like you went ten rounds with Tyson then had the medical establishment spit in your face for daring to behaviorally bleed.

The Exhaustion Of Depression

Posted in depression with tags , , , on February 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

After yesterday’s total immersion in the depressive abyss…I woke today feeling only slightly less inclined to keep breathing. The gray dreary weather and cold temperature sure doesn’t help. But yesterday was awful. I had lunch and started feeling sick, then got chills and curled up under fort blankie and nodded off for ninety minutes. Napping during the day is not my norm, pure depressive artifact. It was all I could do to keep going and faking normalcy for my kid. I made a little playtime for her, fed her, contemplated feeding myself but I was so cold and chilled…when she zonked, I took to fort blankie and it wasn’t even 8 p.m. I slept in spurts, aided by Xanax and melatonin. No more of that Attrax, nooooope. Proof that stuff was the culprit is that I did sleep and I don’t feel like I got hit by a truck today. Whoever created that stuff is a sadist. Probably the same idget who decided Latuda’s a good idea. (No offense to those who respond well to these medications, but I’ve been on a lot of meds with a lot of icky side effects, for me to hold a grudge means that particular med was toxic to me in every way.)

Today is the planned day to relocate the outdooor cats in hopes it will keep the landlord from evicting us. I am sad but it is necessary. The cats prefer living outdoors so a vast stretch of farmland with mice to catch and barns to sleep in and a man who will feed and water them daily…That’s better than the pound. Doesn’t make it easier. Life is lonely when you go outside and don’t see even one kitty to pet. Well, it is for me. I don’t see how the stray cats or outside cats hurt a damned thing but unfortunately, it’s asshole nation where someone’s gotta suck all the joy out of life for some of us.

Other than relocating the cats…I have no plans for today. The weather makes me feel like sludge but mostly…yesterday exhausted me. I know, it sounds ludicrous to be exhausted doing little but sleeping and yet this is the reality of depression. I have lots I could be doing but until the current depressive cycle with its debilitating physical impact passes…

At least I don’t feel suicidal. That’s something to be thankful for. Because yesterday….I really felt like I was being driven that direction.

Thank pegacorn I have the strength to ride out the black abyss days. How much longer I will have the strength is anyone’s guess.

Depression is a metastatic cancer of the mind and anyone who disagrees has obviously never been a chronic sufferer.

Miserable Valenswine’s Day to everyone.

Dark Side’s Calling

Posted in depression with tags , , , on February 13, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I finally managed to get a really good night’s sleep. Recipe:1mg xanax, 40 mg Attrax, 3 mg Melatonin, taken within in a half hour of each other. Unfortunately, the price for sleeping through 7 hours…That Attrax has a hangover not even alcohol gives. My body feels leaden, my soul blackened, my head like concrete. I am more tired than when I didn’t sleep through and I keep wondering on what planet does anyone, let alone people with degrees, find this a good solution to my sleep disorder? And it’s not even a half assed acceptable hangover where you can at least nod back to sleep and wake up again like take two.

I am in a bad bad mental space. I was frozen idle for two days, sprang into action of some sort for two days, now today….I can’t see any hope in sight. My kid, after a sleepover at grandma’s, has spent the last 3 days since returning being an absolute jerk. Constantly questioning me, mouthing me, being dramatic, blatantly lying then saying, “Grandma says I am just going through a lying phase…” I say no, she is still arguing 10 minutes later with me. If I try to be parental, she goes drama and says she has dreams they take me away cos I am sooo mean to her…Then I get treated to more garbage from my mom’s house and how they spent all this money on Valentine’s gifts for her but I can’t even spring a dollar for chocolate for her and somehow I am the bad guy even though we have shelter and warmth and food…

I am at the end of my rope with everything. The dark thoughts in my head are so dark, they make black look like a festive color. I don’t think I am coming out of this depression alive. It’s really bad. And worse, some days I think I might be able to come out on the other side ok but then I end up with more dark days like this one where I am a failure at everything and I don’t even have self pity, I just want it to all stop, to end, to be over.

I’m exhausted. I feel eviscerated. There’s no point. The one person I love most in my life is nice to EVERYONE but me and my will to live is nil, her treating me that badly just makes me feel like maybe her dreams should come true and they should take her. God knows I can’t parent her with my mom’s faction constantly undoing it then saying ‘oh we don’t mean to do that’we just never have any problems with her.” Nope, never telling an 8 year old no and letting them eat so much sugar they come home with cookie batter in their hair…why would a child find that worth acting out against?

And then I feel like this pathetic whiner who has screwed up everything I’ve ever touched and I don’t want to absolve myself by giving up, I want to fight because I know sometimes I am the problem but then I see how others have been pretty shitty to me but their lives go on fine so again…right back to me being the only problem and what is the fucking point.

I hate feeling this way. I wasn’t in this space the last few days but then I take that damn Attrax for sleep and suddenly my entire equilibrium is haywire.

So I bide time and think how to approach the new doc without coming off as a vitriole filled demon even though I feel entirely justified that their psych nurse totally botched my treatment in every possible way and it is relevant but I can’t even speak up about it cos it just looks bad on me.

The anxiety this all causes has me rattled but I am so far down the rabbit hole…I don’t care if we get kicked out, I don’t care about much of anything right now.

That Attrax is toxic. It’s the only common denominator as I’ve taken Xanax and Melatonin for years without incident. I thought 7 solid hours of sleep would be worth the known hangover but…

Like everything else I was wrong.

Grrr….these dark mental spaces scare the hell out of me. And the fact it came on only after taking that damn sleeping pill make me more furious than I was by not sleeping.

I have to own all my bullshit that contributes to my problems yet the professionals shovel out pills that cause my mental state to be worse and they get to shrug it off, not a factor, not their fault.

Just….sick…of…it…all.

I quit drinking. I cut my caffeine intake to 5%. I have done EVERYHTHING trying to help myself…and yet…my mind just gets sicker and sicker.

And while I appreciate input, all the talk about lock down wards and shock therapy really had me freaking out because I have NEVER needed either before even if I had discussed it with a decent doctor as last resort. What I need is a good doctor with a logical plan for a med regime that will work. And for winter to go away.

Less than a month away now. Hope is there, if the dark side doesn’t drive me over the edge.

A medication has to be pretty vile, in my personal use, if not sleeping is better than the aftermath side effects. Attrax. Ranks right up there with Latuda. Pills of death.

I stopped making sense long ago…my brain is so muddled…I HATE SLEEPING MEDS. And I hate the fucking dark side because I am not beyond hope, I am not a horrible person, and to end up feeling this bad in spite of every effort to seek treatment and do away with my own behaviors that made things worse….this is galling and despicable.

Life is hard.

But when your biggest battle begins in your own mind before you even open the front door and step outside…it’s hardly a fair battle at all.

I’ve been awake 3 hours and my brain still feels clogged with cotton, none of what I am writing makes sense even to me. Wtf….