Archive for the depression Category

Spoons, Sporks, Forks, Done, Queen Cobra

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , on May 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am finally sitting still after running all morning. My spoon/spork allotment is zilch, I used them all getting my kid to the doctor, rushing her 15 miles to Armpitopia school, rushing back to town 15 miles to make my job interview with like two minutes to spare…Stick a fork in me, I am done.

The interview was relaxed and I think it went well, though I can never seem to shake the underlying “I am a fraud, I am not fit to work when I can’t even keep my laundry folded.” I hate being forced into this position, I truly wanted to return to work ‘the right way’. One year on stable med cocktail through the winter depression, that is my litmus test. I don’t have the luxury.

Anyway, the lady that interviewed me said they have multiple interviews through tomorrow for only 3 open spots but I could always apply for their thrift store. Cos being a numerically dyslexic cashier sounds like a great idea that could not possibly result in me giving someone their own twenty dollar bill back because numbers so easily confuse me and mix me up.

More bad news, even though I only have $835 a month income, it would still cost me $85 minimum per month, plus $8 gas times 5 days a week for nine weeks, to get Spook into the summer camp there. I simply don’t have it. I might be able to eek gas money, or eek out the camp fee, but I can’t do both. Stupid fucking donor screws up everything for that kid. She’d be so much better off with that program all summer. They take them swimming and to game playplaces and they feed them two meals and a snack…Plus she’d make new friends and get out of the house. But unless I stumble across $240 by June 11th, she won’t be able to go. And even with that paid, I’d still need gas money. I can’t even get a fast food interview, apparently submitting a resume for those jobs automatically excludes you as being ‘too fancy’. Ffs.

On top of this, the new pediatrician thinks Spook may have a ‘slight’ curvature of the spine which is why she is so uncomfortable and unable to touch her toes and is so clumsy. So now she has to get an X-ray. It terrifies me either way because one, she gets that backbrace the kids will torture her about, or two, she needs surgery, and I just don’t see how she’s been that impaired by not being able to touch her toes. Leave it to me to pick the one competent doctor in town who is willing to challenge insurance and get these tests paid for. I have her also set up for some ADHD test, as well as a child psych, and a referral for a psychiatric eval. Shit’s getting real now and it makes me wonder if I have overdramatized things. I know I haven’t though. I still don’t think there’s anything too wrong with her spine. She’s 4 foot nine, 100.8 pounds and perfectly healthy and sometimes happy. I mean, she begged me to take her back to school today as opposed to going to grandma’s or staying home, so apparently her depression and low self esteem only apply to school days when a classmate is having a birthday party with treats.

I am wiped. I fed myself and got back into warm slobby jammies. I went back to sleep around 5 a.m. but I bolted up at 7:30, thinking it was later and I’d missed her appointment. Starting the day in a panic after a night of start and stop sleep and bizarre dreams is not to my liking. One thing, though, I should sleep well tonight. I thought for sure I’d get home and be able to nap but scumbag brain rebels again. Now I have 6 hours at least before I can tune out and try to rebuild the spoon/spork supply and face another day.

This cold damp weathwr ain’t helping at all, for some reason, my housekeeping giddy up requires it to be summy and relatively warm. That is unlikely cos though the temps are going back up to 80’s then 70’s, we have 7 straight days calling for 50% plus rain chances. Fuck’s sake, I can’t escape seasonal depression even during fucking spring because fucking Illinois and fucking Mother Nature can’t stop forcefeeding me the cold and bringing the seasonal symptoms back in spades.

Yes, I needed to say fucking all those times, it was necessary. Cathartic even. Because I feel fucking exhausted and fucking hopeless and fucking pissy. My brother has the IQ and maturity of a bath sponge but he can get a job and I can’t. And I hate my toxic father being in my head, pointing that out to me every single day by mentioning ‘your brother is working today’, like that helps at all. And I fucking wish the donor would just fucking die already since he’s done nothing to help his kid and everything to hurt her.

Maybe if I ever get 7 solid hours of sleep, I will be less venomous and hateful. For now…call me Queen Cobra.

Advertisements

Cold Rain and Brain Drain

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on May 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Here it is, 3:27 a.m. and I’m awake, have been for an hour now. The clock is ticking. Trains are roaring by. The icy rain is pounding against the metal air conditioner unit in the window. It’s 48 degrees and a dampness in the air has me wanting to do nothing more than curl up under the covers and sleep. But I don’t dare take more melatonin because I have to be up by 8 to call the school and tell them Spook will be late. Then I have to get us both ready and I am NOT getting into a bath when the house is this damn cold. My hair is gross so I thought I could just wash it in the sink but again, it’s so cold, I feel it in my bones and in my veins, coursing through me head to toe as if transfused with ice water. The pressure is on. My kid’s doc appt is 9:45 but we have to be there by 9:30. Then I have that job interview scheduled for 11 a.m. so I need a bunch of stuff to go off without a hitch so I can get her back to school and make my interview on time. I also have to make sure I look presentable but when it’s cold like this and all my warm clothes are packed away (it was 90 last week, I thought we finally had hit spring) I don’t want to leave my warm jammies. I don’t care if I get the job.

Because this is exhaustion and depression and it will pass by Thursday once the temps rise back up but right now, it may as well be dead of winter. My mental states are that fragile when connected to the weather. I fight it but it doesn’t do a bit of good. And this job has all sorts of training and involves going to public places which of course, with my fear of public places and people, probably would be worse for my mental health. Not to mention 14 other candidates being interviewed and they are still running the help wanted ads and I’ve that old charge to bite me on the ass and it’s religiously affiliated and I don’t exactly scream Christian in my darkened identity…

If I could have just slept through the night, woke with the alarm, it might have been different.

But since I woke up in the middle of the night, the weather is awful, and I am in a time crunch plus racking up mileage and using gas in the car going 80 miles in one day…It’s overwhelming me. When overwhelmed my instinct is to retreat, hide, avoid. I am fighting that urge because even if I don’t have a shot at the job, every interview is practice and gives me a chance to see where I excelled and where I need work in my interviewee skills…

Mainly, I am ready to get it all over with so I can come home and maybe get an hour nap in before Spook gets back from school. Not that I can sleep during daylight, at least not since the season changed.

I think it’s Fort Blankie time, I am freezing. Is it so wrong to want some bloody warmth when it aids so drastically in my mental state being more positive? Turning on the furnace would not help, plus the pilot light is out and I am currently back in my ‘terror of the basement’ mindset. I’m also hormonal and hope I don’t start bawling in public for no reason or worse, get hypo manic aggro.

I am so sick of how many suns, moons, and stars that have to align for me to be in a good mental state and be high functioning. And I don’t think I can take another cold fall and winter here, it;s killing me, mentally at least. But I continue to be trapped like an inmate, my freedom hinging not on a parole board but on the financial means to flee.

Depressing.

The Day and Night Clusterfuck

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, insomnia with tags , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I have lately been doing several posts on how not being able to properly sleep at night impacts your entire day and any plans you might have made. Mainly because prior to Abilify, I had insomnia cranked to 7. Now it’s cranked above 10 and the best my psych nurse can say is take 10 mg melatonin. So I do and it gets me maybe 90 minutes before I wake again and I need more melatonin and then sometimes, even tripling the dose doesn’t make me sleep. I feel aggravated, pissed off, and plain exhausted.

Life does not go on hold just because you didn’t get your proper zzzzs. No one cares that you spent more time awake than asleep so your focus is off, you awareness is clouded, and your physical and mental states are just plain foggy and exhausted. They cut you zero slack. My dad keeps telling me about one of his trucker buddies who kept working at a grain elevator in spite of a broken leg. I can’t fucking compete with that. But there is a bit of difference between a broken leg and the anxiety/panic physical symptms I am experiencing that require multiple rushed trips to the bathroom doubled over in agony. The broken leg may be more of an impairment but you can’t crap your pants every time you get panicked and expect to keep jobs, friends, romantic relationships…I’d call that a major hindrance to functionality.

Right now, it’s not yet 3 p.m. and all I can think of is bedtime. For awhile, I’d shaken that. But today I am truly tired cos my total sleep last night was about 4 hours and that was in increments. I’m bloody tired, man. I am a space case. My body feels bruised and aches. It was all I could do to mow 1/8 of the lawn. I had thought I might make it to town to do the open interviews for fast food hell but…I need a bath and I am just too damn drained. PLus, I submitted an app over a week ago, my brother directly addressed his manager with my name, and I haven’t even gotten a pity call for a pity interview. They just don’t want me and I don’t blame them. I am overqualified intellectually, yet due to my panic attacks, underqualified to deal with their massive rush crowds of petri dish dwellers. Maybe them not calling me is the universe sparing me from more failure and bad references, idk.

I just know I can’t get to sleep to take a power nap so I have at least 5 more hours of consciousness with ovary oompa loompas, spine devils, and the agony of being conscious when I am too tired to even breathe or blink. This is my daily life. If I am lucky, I get one day that is not like this.

But yeah, sure, employers, I am totally ready to work and stable and cured and I won’t let you down.

I want a chance to see if I can prove even myself wrong but if I were rich and a betting person…

I guess I wouldn’t put my money on me, either. Exhaustion plays hell on self esteem, too.

Gratitude,Tacos and Teardrops

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Friday night when Spook was at her grandma’s, I had a good night’s sleep. I thought that would repeat last night but alas, I was up and down every ninety minutes for no apparent reason except my brain is an asshole. Then to put the cherry on top, rather than let me have my rare day to sleep past 8:30, my dad started calling at 8:15 and kept up til I finally dragged ass out of bed and answered. Such a dick move but so typical of him. Yet god forbid you ever do that to him, typical narcissist.

I wasn’t awake an hour and mom called saying Spook had a tummy ache and wanted to come home. So I had to head into town to fetch her (thank God I pawned dvds for gas money!). I think she was homesick after staying there for 2 days and all the busy wedding festiivities. She got some 7 Up on her tummy and some real food (grandma forgets to feed her anything but candy) she started feeling better. The we got home and she was clingy as hell and though she napped briefly after a benadryl for her sneezing fits, she was glommed onto me through 3 episodes of Station 19 and 2 eps of Grey’s Anatomy. In spite of me having movies for her of her own liking, she just wanted to be that close to me. Which is trying for me because she squirms and can’t sit still and never ever stops talking throughout the show…

I had a hitch this month and needed to reach out to a friend and ya know what? He’s never met me face to face, we don’t even email often cos we are both doing such fierce battle with our disorders, but I asked for a loan to avoid an $18 late fee and disconnection on a bill and…he said it was not a loan, it was a gift, from love. I was so touched. He is a good man. I hate that he is struggling through mania right now because it doesn’t seem to be the good mania. And I am fully prepared to pay him back, I just couldn’t see a near $20 late fee and getting disconnected IF I could find a lifeline. I felt like an asshole asking but he never made me feel that way, that is my own damage. I am so grateful for his friendship, he has just been amazing to me and Spook for over 5 years now and we only ‘met’ via our wordpress blogs. This is why I get frustrated when people say you can’t have true friendships formed on line. I have a 25 year friendship with R who would not help me and yet A. didn’t hesitate. The peanut gallery of doubt needs to STFU. Spook and I are lucky to have him.

Not so lucky was my wonky stomach and of course, in spite of a double dose of Pepcid, I had tacos for my lunch and I paid for it with agonizing pretzel gut for 4 hours. I think it had to be a combo of spicy food and just the stress of the last couple of days. High functioning costs me dearly every single time. I’m not out to avoid being a big girl and all that but when it basically chains you to the bathroom with physical symptoms…I don’t know a single person who is gonna say YAY, let’s do this every single day!

Tears…I bawled during Station 19. I doubt any of my 5 readers watch it but still I will avoid spoilers. But I cried and I felt no shame cos tears can be so cathartic. Spook was baffled and reminded me it is just a show and no one died, but…i feel things deeply and I am done feeling sorry for that. Of course, I know it’s fiction. But it’s damn good fiction if it can rouse the emotions in me that make me cry. Then again, maybe I am just hormonal. I never know.

I survived the weekend, tomorrow she goes back to school (4 days til summer doomsday), and i have that job interview Tuesday (along with 14 others) so…out of the frying pan and into the next fire or vice versa, my brain does not do well with the order of things, even old cliches or sayings. For now…I survived a very difficult few days and I will call it a win. And I also feel so much gratitude for the amazing friends I’ve made on wordpress, even if I complain about lack of interaction and how my mindless quirk posts get more likes than the thought out well written posts that I take great pride in…I am thankful for all joy that has been brought into our lives by followers.

You guys don’t know it but any time you click like or leave a comment or email a kind word…you are helping more than you will ever know. You guys rock and are appreciated. Always remember that even when I am melting down over money and my kid’s vacation fundraiser and acting like a spazz. I AM THANKFUL FOR YOU ALL.

Love,
Morgue

Mommy Sneerest and YMCA

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My mom was in prime form today. Her dementia has gotten worse and with the potential cancer lump lurking, she was locked and loaded for nastiness. All of it aimed my way, geared toward putting me down for ‘having that disorder’ and ‘taking too many pills’. It’s almost like my being bipolar and taking medication threatens her, otherwise, why would she take it personally? Just because she decided depression is normal life and chose not to do therapy or meds, the rest of us should do so as well and if we don’t…hell hath no fury like Morgue’s Mom. Who over the years earned nicknames like Hateful McNasty, Bearilla, and Pit Viper. Because she is mean just to be mean and it’s only gotten worse with the dementia. Then she forgets she was mean and everyone is lying about her or exaggerating. I honestly don’t know how my sister deals with living with her, I’d already be in jail for trying to throttle her. I don’t have patience, it’s a curse.

The wedding was beautiful, if a little haphazardly put together. It did NOT rain. I actually did tear up which with two mood stabilizers, I did not think was possible and yet…I maintain I must be hormonal because honestly, it is the only time I truly tear up, I truly am THAT medicated. There were no fights, no drama, the wedding went off without a hitch. I was accused of being dressed for a funeral, which isn’t shocking. I don’t know why people think black is only for funerals but it happens to be 98% of what I own. I wore a light gray shirt the other day and all it did was draw attention to my middle where I carry most of my weight so I like the way black hides my not so sexy curves. Fat-o-flage, I call it.

The whole time we were there, I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t stop thinking about when are these mandatory dances going to be over, when are they gonna get that cake served, when will they finally open the bloody gifts…I sometimes wonder if my constant need to be home is more a combination of anxiety and A.D.D. Because I just can’t get absorbed in things. I become restless, distracted, and my mind just wants to go home. Not because anything is waiting at home but because here I do have things to help me be half focused.

My kid danced up a storm. I did not. Without some darkness and a drink or two, especially with a bunch of prissy people I don’t know, yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. But I was helping her change from her flower girl dress in the bathroom when they plated “YMCA” and I couldn’t help myself…I started singing “It’s fun to kill S-T-A-N…” from the movie Stan Helsing. Awesome parody. May have been the only true smile I had on my face all day. Not that I wasn’t happy for my nephew, it is just…me trying to fit into a world I simply can’t connect with does not nourish my soul. Stan Helsing and that rendition of YMCA nourish my soul and tickle my funny bone. It starts at 46 seconds.

My dad did buy me a sandwich afterward because they always go out to eat and I just happened to be riding with them. Woohoo, a sammich I didn’t have to cook. Very nourishing.

Some pics I took, it wasn’t very sunny out so the lighting is crap.

Sleep Is The New Orgasm

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Inappropriate title, you say? Meh.

I sent my kid off to her grandmother’s around 4:30 today and shortly after, I zonked out. I slept until 8:40 p.m. I was exhausted because in spite of the phones being at my bedside…I didn’t hear either of them ring when my dad called. It makes sense, though, since I’ve been running at a sleep deficit for so long. Sometimes, if I know Spook is safe and I am ‘off mom duty’, I can sleep quite well. It’s still usually in 3-5 hour increments but I sleep hard and well, for the most part. It doesn’t keep me down, I’m still a joke in a box but…

I needed the sleep after 3 nights straight of mostly being awake and only cat napping.

The sad fact is, at 46 and with a dating pool I would need a hazmat suit to venture into, my libido is quashed by meds and sheer lack of intellectual stimulation.

So getting good sleep is my new orgasm and I want multiples.

Tomorrow is my nephew’s wedding. I guess my stepmonster already made a scene and pissed everyone off at the rehearsal dinner tonight. The bride to be’s ‘nana’ is a wealthy uppity type and we are, well, hillbilly-ish white trash with some class. Mostly, we tell it like it is and a lot of fussbudgety people do not like that. I just want to go and get it over with. I wish my nephew and his bride the best, truly but if it stresses me out, I need it to be done with.

And make no mistake how much it stresses me out. I know where the shindig and all is going to be, but I can’t handle traffic in town anymore and so I asked to ride with my dad and stepmonster. THAT is how fucking far down I’ve sank since the benzo nazis took my Xanax. While buspar seems to dull the generalized constant anxiety a bit, the panic attacks I’ve had since they cut my Xanax dose 75%, I can barely bring myself to leave the house beyond Armpitopia’s minimart. Driving in town is harrowing and fills me with terror. Forget socializing. If I can’t drink and I have no sane pills in the strength I need…Funny how the edict of ONE person who has never met me has fucked up my functionality so drastically. I don’t know how she sleeps at night.

Final note- Rest In Peace, Grumpy Cat. 7 years is far too short a time for the joy you brought many of us.

However…
I nominate my Godsmack to be the new internet cat meme. She lives in a dollhouse, bathes her human, plays fetch, and is utterly an It Girl Kitty.

The Stench Of Terror And Rejection In The Morning

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My heart is still shooting around my chest like a shiny metal ball in a pin ball machine. Oh, panic attacks. I got a call from a temp service I refistered for on line and got ten minutes in and by the second time he asked if I gave notice, I realized…I’d failed to give notice to my last ten jobs cos I usually went manic and saw no consequences or went down the rabbit hole and saw no consequences cos I saw no future. It does sound bad and it reflects badly on me, but I can rewrite history. I can only do my best not to repeat it. But in all fairness, I didn’t give notice to R when I ditched his ‘friendship’ and his shop wench helper monkey thing. Once I hit my breaking point, fight or flight.

Then I was told that they won’t assist anyone without at least a current reference within the last 4 months.

My heart was pounding so loud the whole time, and I felt so much guilt and shame for not giving notice so many times. No wonder my name is literally mud, with employers. I always had this immature notion that because I was a good worker, that would somehow negate my bad judgment toward the end when my disability caused me to crash and burn. You can’t live down your past in some cases. In my case, I fucked everything up so bad from so many angles, legal, professional, skillswise…If I ever get hired again it will truly be a miracle. I’ve said until I had a year of medication stability under my belt, even I wouldn’t hire myself because I don’t think a two or three month stretch of ‘decent mental space’ means the seasonal affective won’t come along and kick my ass and make me flake out all over again.

Had to put my legs up, they are trembling so bad coming off the panic attack I about dropped the computer. Damn, I hate panic attacks. Phone calls should not make you feel this terrified but it does, for me.

It is all snowballing. The home health aide rejections, the fast food rejections (my brother even gave me a direct verbal reference to the hiring manager and I can’t get an interview to sling fries!), now temp services won’t touch me. I am toxic. I never set out to be. I don’t know how to fix it except find a way to work for myself where the meltdown cycles don’t cause income to come to a screeching halt. I don’t feel like I have many other options. I got an update about a hotel maid job and there are 56 other applicants for the same position. I have zero experience in that field so I am pretty much out of the running. I still haven’t heard from the day camp and I am wondering if they ran my background and I’m out for that, too.

It is very frustrating and disheartening. I honestly though by now I’d at least have found something ten hours a week, housekeeping or something. Now my water is going to be turned off and that means the hundred dollar deposit my dad coughed up gets kept by municipal utilities…But I had to pay power and rent and buy food and gas and…

I don’t understand why people are so hard on me, yet no one is rioting at the donor’s door. No one is terrorizing him for not working and not supporting our kid. It’s all on me and it isn’t right since i am the only parent making an effort. I don’t expect an award but it’d be nice to be seen as finally doing the right thing by taking care of my kid. I could have come unglued and blamed my disorders and just let someone else raise her while I drowned in my depressive sorrows. I have changed for the better even if I am not cured but no one gives a damn.

I just gotta keep pushing ahead, there’s no other options. But I really find it insulting to be looked down on for having fundraisers when I am putting every cent of my monthly $835 into the household- $400 rent, $220 power and heat, $70 water, $47 car insurance…if someone wants to add all that up then include feeding and littering the cats, two tanks of gas for the month, plus toiletries and extra food when needed and explain to me how to get blood from the proverbial stone…I am listening. What sickens me most, I think, is the fact my kid hasn’t received a single cent for her fundraising project for the summer. That’s bloody cold. But it’s my fault for not utilizing social media. I feel bad for using my blog for personal needs that way but…it was a follower who told me I should raise funds when needed….

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I’m pretty dejected now and already in a state of half panic so I guess it’s time to make a trip out into the petri dish. Fuck a fancy bag. I didn’t get back to sleep til 5 a.m. so I’m having one of those endless days/nights for a second day and it’s really got me space casing. Hopefully I can focus enough to drive and get groceries.

Then once my kid has left for grandma’s I can assume the fetal position, and sob uncontrollably because everything is such a mess. I have only myself to blame. Though I blame bipolar and anxiety and that isn’t too negate my own responsibility. I just maintain that my behavior stems from the information my brain is sending out so at the times I fucked up and flaked out….I was just doing what the firing impulses in my melon told me to do.

I fucked up my life and now my kid is suffering for it and I can’t get anyone to give me a chance to prove how much I have changed. The one thing I never had when I was bouncing job to job was mood stabilizers. They have made such a difference in my life, I would like the chance to prove it. But I understand why no one wants to take a chance on me.

I probably wouldn’t put my money on me, either, if I had any.