Archive for the mental health blog Category

Snowed Under

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , , on January 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am supposed to use relevant click baity words in my title to garner more views but dear god, I can’t think of a thousandth way to use anxiety or depression in a title so…I’ll go with what our life has been like since last Friday. Ahh, the midwest during winter. We got 20 inches of snow, yay! And the people who could afford to get plowed out packed their snow against my car up to the door handle. My dad kept calling and laughing, saying, “You’re not going to get that car out til March without a plow.” I said bring me a shovel. It took me 3 days of basically chiseling a tunnel with a spoon but I dug my damn car out of that packed icy wet snow blob.

That was where my car was prior to my shoveling it out. My dad called to offer me a ride since mail delivery was suspended due to the snow and they were holding ours at the office. I gleefully told him no need, I got myself out. He said, “You seriously dug that car out by yourself? It must be gonna storm if you did that much hard work!” Then he proceeded to lecture me about not tearing the transmission out of my car, as if I used it as a battering ram to get out when in fact, I carefully shoveled the snow away from all four tires, from the bumpers, and made a clear path to drive out. He’s such a dickbag. (Not to mention a hypocrite, last week when he heard the shutdown might impact him getting his tax refund, he was trashing republicans and democrats alike. Now he finds out they should be on time, he’s all for Trump, ‘at least he stands his ground and doesn’t back down for anyone’. OMfg, how ignorant can people be? But it’s typical, if it doesn’t impact you personally in a negative fashion, then you can get behind any cause no matter how idiotic or amoral.)

So I left the house for the first time in 4 days, feeling very proud of myself and very accomplished. Shoveling snow isn’t easy work. Especially when it’s damp packed snow with clumps of ice the size of boulders. But over the course of three days I whittled it down and I proved my dad wrong. It’s easy for him and my mom’s faction to brag about how they got out of their drives scooping them theirselves. Dad has gf and 23 year lummox son, sis has her husband, their male houseguest, herself, and a motley assortment of hangers on. I have only me. I will give Spook credit, though. Mostly she played in the snow but she did use her Minecraft sword to push some of the snow off my windshields and roof. I think my dad expects superhuman things of me and he’s always holding his crew up as an example but my kid isn’t a 23 year old ox and I don’t have a spouse/sig other, so if it takes me awhile to get things done…So be it. That’s my biggest disability.

I’m not afraid of hard work, in the least. But when my anxiety turns into paranoid panic (panxiety) and my mood bottoms out because I feel so hopelessly depressed and others make me feel shitty about myself, then I do have some physical issues that throw a wrench into the works…Working at my own pace is the only way I know how to do things. I never could keep up, outside manic episodes, at any job, because I simply don’t think quick on my feet, I am not good under pressure, and I don’t move as quickly as others. It’s not laziness. It’s limitation from my disorders. I accept this, even though adorable kids from Shriners are rejecting their conditions as a disability. Hmm, let me know how that works out when you’re not an adorable kid and go to get a job but can’t do it due to your condition. Is it a disability then?

I’m still feeling a little salty about my dad’s smartass comment. I mowed the lawn most of the summer all by myself whereas it took three of them to do it and they griped how massive an undertaking it was. Yet to avoid putting up with them, I got over my traumatic experience with a gas lawn mower and I worked my ass off to keep them out of my safe space. Not that it kept them quiet, he was always quick to point out a missed blade of grass, or a spot I missed. Nothing I do is ever good enough for that man. Thankfully, I am learning to tune him out. As I recall even when I worked prior to my brain damage, I got an assistant manager position, he asked when I was going to make manager. When I worked 53 hours one week, he told me I needed to slow down before I burned out, but then my hours got cut and he told me to get a second job…Nothing is ever going to please this person. My daughter is starting to see it, too, now that she is 9, losing her cuteness and controllability factor. They don’t like people with their own minds if it impacts them personally.

I’m battling some dark days, depression wise. Over the weekend, locked up with my kid, unable to even walk to the car in the knee deep snow…I’ve been having dark thoughts and the hopelessness is tangible. The exhaustion is real, too. I sleep. In two hour increments. Then I am awake for an hour or two or three and get maybe an hour of sleep before alarm. The lower Xanax dose has me climbing out of my skin with all the noise from constant trains and snow plows and tractors. My dad described Armpit as a ‘quiet’ place to live. He failed English three times so apparently he doesn’t know the true definition of quiet. It sure as hell isn’t this place where it’s tractors year round, plows during the winter, lawn mowers every day of summer, and trains coming through every half hour round the clock. The trailer park, now that was my quiet. Maybe others saw chaos there but it didn’t touch me so I felt calmer and safer there. Which might explain why I keep having dreams of being back there even though the trailer’s long since been hauled off and trashed and the new company is commanding $799 a month for similar trailers in that same place.

I’ve also been dreaming a lot about shopping sprees at yard sales and thrift stores. Maybe because I can’t afford that frivolity and also, they don’t have yard sales in 20 inches of snow. Yet that frivolity makes me sooo happy and so often we find things we need. Like we could use a decent used microwave since the timer on our 1980’s rotary style one is broken. Yard sales for me are like Black Friday for most people. And buying used doesn’t bother me in the least, still went to yard sales even back in the day of my first marriage when we had a decent income and could buy better stuff. I just don’t value brands and price tags. I do value great deals and finding odds and ends like my voodoo man knive block…Retails for $65. I bought mine at a yard sale for $8. That was 3,4 years ago. I’m just a low rent person and that isn’t a bad thing.

I am waiting to hear back on whether this person my sister knows is going to buy my tablet off of me for $30 so I can keep the water turned on. I hate letting go of a like new big tablet with keyboard for so little but I don’t have much choice. It’s nerve racking, waiting to hear if it’s yay or nay. I thought my dad might offer up a few bucks for my birthday but he has made it clear they won’t be even giving me a card, just probably more pork products. Shame municipal utilities won’t accept pork as payment.

We’re gearing up for freezin rain tomorrow, followed by a possible of 2-5 more inches of snow over the weekend. My kid gets out early Friday and is off Monday so if I can’t farm her out to others for outings, she will be Hulk Smash bored and I will be looking at my 1 mg Xanax with longing, knowing…It has to be a dire emergency, thanks to the center’s new ass trashy policy. I go back the end of the month, I am going to ask if they’ve got any other doctors. I’m not having luck with psych nurses (shame, cos so many of my wordpress friends really love their psych nurses) and the doctor overseeing them is the anti benzo freak…I want a real doctor who will treat me like an individual, not spend the whole time clacking on the computer, and feign empathy from time to time. These psych nurses are so prickly, they make it clear if you want a good bedside manner, you have to go to therapy. It shouldn’t be like that.

Ok, so as my luck has it, after all my hours of tunneling out…I moved my car to the other side of the street where the neighbor had a plowed spot…and then the village dispatched a tractor plow to clear a path alongside my house so the mailman can access the boxes.

I worked my ass off scooping by hand and the paths I had made in the yard for the kids..the plows dropped snow on in six feet heaps.Bloody hell.

I hope I hear soon if they want to buy that tablet. I gotta get the bill paid by Friday and if I have to drive into town for the meet and swap, it best be today before the freezing rain starts tonight and I am once again snowed under, so to speak. Still not sure how to get money for a bag of cat food, but one thing at a time. I don’t have enough Xanax dose leeway to multitask my panic.

Ugly Socks and Grumpy New Year

Posted in depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , , , on January 2, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Grumpy was an xmas gift from my mom. (Like my cheap ass would, or could, pay ten bucks for a calendar.)

Ugly socks…While crushed under the seasonal depression I have come to find that laundry scattered everywhere, even if clean, does not lead to matched socks. But my feet are cold. So I keep going back to what may be the UGLIEST socks on the planet. I think I gave a nickel for them at a yard sale 3 or so years ago. I hate green. I hate big thick knee high-esque socks. But they are so bloody warm and comfortable and I am finding…that is true about so much in life. The pretty stuff ends up disappointing you, if not traumatizing you, and the ugly stuff serves its purpose but you end up wondering why it has to be ugly to work so well. In the end, you just accept ugly and move along, though. I have one flannel shirt I used to wear every day of winter when I walked my kid to the bus stop and it’s butt ugly but soooo warm..,And I won’t even get started on the footed onesie jammies that make me look ridiculous and feel even sillier but are just so comfy and warm…

I’d hoped one good thing would come of the move, like getting a house that is warm so you don’t need to wear ten layers of ugly clothing. This place is not very warm. I have the thermostat at 71 and I am freezing and I will still likely get hit with a $250 gas bill. I suppose it can’t be that bad as my kid wears short sleeves and barely complains but it consumes me, feeling cold all the time. Even in these thick hideous socks my feet are numb from feeling so cold.

So FUGLY. But my feet are cold so I’d take a few more pairs right now. Just…no green or yellow. Oh, who am I kidding, I am a morguecicle, I’d wear olive drab if it mean staying warm inside.

Today is the spawn’s last day of xmas vacation. She returns tomorrow and Friday, which I find idiotic, they should have just waited til Monday but whatever…she’s getting bored more easily and quickly so while it was one of our better ‘locked up together for two weeks’ holiday breaks…I’ll be okay with her returning. Though first thing in the morning I have to be in town to see the psych nurse. Not looking forward to this as I fear her being such a noob and all, she is gonna throw her hands in the air and point out I’ve tried everything, I am beyond help and hope…To which I say…let’s try Celexa. It was what I took back in 2001, kept me afloat even without a mood stabilizer, but when I lost my job I lost access to it as a brand name drug so…It’s the one that worked that I didn’t think of trying again til now. I mean, I don’t think prozac is doing fuck all but the Wellbutrin definitely has had me out of bed and forced functional so that is something, esp, during holiday stress. All she can do is say no. I wouldn’t advise it, though, as I am ten kinds of hormonal so tears or tantrum, displeasing me isn’t a good idea.

It’s not even noon and I just want to go back to sleep. Had another one of those nights where I woke for 3 hours so by the time I got back to sleep, my kid was getting up. Man, without cable, you have crap to watch after 1 a.m. when your cheapie digital antenna only brings in stations up to 30 miles away. I was stuck with shit like Cannon and Mannix, shows my mom used to watch when I was little. I miss falling asleep to a playlist of shows. Unfortunately, I can no longer do that because the old desktop my nephew ‘built’ for me is so old, it only supports usb 1 and my use of usb 2 and 3 external drives causes the whole system to crash. Makes me soo damn mad. I guess I should have been more specific than ‘I Just want it to let me use Abiword and play music’. Ya know like, modern enough to use my devices I already have, that by now are considered old yet too new for this desktop…I call it Igor and I can live with the loud gamer fan, the slow speed, the little memory…but its got no audio drivers, had to get an external adaptor, so my new speakers I am so proud of…end up sounding no better than if plugged into my ass trash phone. 😦

Yes, I know, I bitch therefore I am. Just venting. If I do it here, then I don’t run as much risk of thinking the people around me give a damn so I complain and they come up with new ways to criticize me or try to suck me into some fraudulent scheme.

Criticisms are what made me start a new fundraiser. The local animal wellfare agency will soon be doing their discount spay/neuter your pet thing and we have 5 that need fixed, 4 girls and 1 boy. And they need their Advantage flea medication, I waited too long last year, used an ass trash off brand, and they were infested and I was broke out head to toe, now scarred…So hey, if you love cats or animals in general, give our campaign a share so we can get our furkids fixed and medicated against icky bug thingies. I don’t want to have to get rid of our cats because they’re not fixed, get out the screen window, and then all get preggo only to have some defect that prevents them from producing milk so the kittens die….Ugh, no. Gotta get em fixed.

Unfortunately, still no movement with the donor on the support issue. The state knows he isn’t paying, but claim they have no record of him having any earnings. He’s likely found a way to get paid in cash so he doesn’t have to support Spook. In which case he’s even skankier than I thought. I hope they get him for tax avoidance and ship him back to the land of maple syrup and hockey. If he’s not gonna be in her life, what’s the point of him being near her? Ass trash.

I’m salty as fuck, whatever. I think I have the right as many times as the man has left us hanging. I wish I were a peaceful forgiving rainbow loving sunshine spewing martyr but…I’m not. I’m just a cranky grudge holding bitch beast. And now my kid is having a fit cos I dared to ask a 9 year old to find her own clothes to lay out for school tomorrow, think it may wind up a steel cage death match.

Life is so fucking fun and glamorous. NOT.

Except when you find shit like this that makes you go awwwwwww. This I like.

This Just In…

Posted in mental health blog with tags , , , , , , , on October 30, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

After 3 dismal days of barely functioning…I had a good mental health day today. I tackled the chore of dishes, mowed a patch of lawn, and straightened up the Halloween decor for trick or treaters.(As if the local yokels will allow their precious redneck snowflakes to come here, it’s been 7 months and they only let their kids play with mine if she is at my dad’s house…never mind how many times I’ve tried to get the moms to contact me about playdates.)

All in all, though. I wasn’t up or down or in the middle. I was just living my life. Kicking myself for not accomplishing more yet trying to pat myself on the back for what I did get done. My kid changed her mind a 4th time on her Halloween costume, though it’s going to be raining both days and nights so I don’t suppose it matters.

I am crossing my fingers that my check deposits early so I can get her shoes to wear to the daddy/daughter dance where I will be serving as dad Friday night. Otherwise, she has nothing but tennis shoes and hideous cowgirl boots to wear the beautiful (used) black satin and velvet dress I got for her to wear. What I’ve learned the last couple of months is that ‘receieve your direct deposit up to two days early’ really isn’t written in stone. More like asking a Magic 8 ball. So since I need it desperately to try and find her some decent used shoes at a thrift store…chances are I won’t get it til after the dance. Which will mean fashion hell for her so she’ll hate me for going in boots and getting laughed at or she will be mad at that we didn’t go…

I can’t win, tired of trying. I’m just gonna do my best and hope it’s enough to not traumatize her too much.

I am gonna try to skip Seroquel (scary-quel) tonight, see if maybe I have less trouble getting up in the morning. We’ll see how long the melatonin lasts, if it even kicks in. Money has me so stressed, and Halloween which is supposed to be my happy time yet just becomes even more stress…Grrr. But for three days I felt so lethargic and leaden the morning after Seroquel, I just can’t see myself living in that kind of stupor. And it’s so easy to get attached to sleepers as a crutch, a way to hasten sleep to escape a reality that isn’t pleasant…I did that for a couple of years before my kid was born and I swore I’d never go back to it.

Maybe I will just ‘date’ Seroquel on weekends when I don’t need to be up at the crack of ass and functional immediately.

None of my problems were solved. I didn’t accomplish as much as I’d wanted. But…it was a good mental health day and those come rarely so raise the metaphoric glass. You celebrate the tiny things when they are in fact huge things for you. Only tiny to people with normally ordered brains.Disordered minds…good mental health days are to be celebrated and embraced.

World Mental Health Day-where you wave your pompoms FOR us, not to mock us

Posted in mental health, mental health blog with tags , , , , , on October 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’d like to thank my friend for reminding it is indeed world mental health day.

For the simpler folks, this is not a ‘holiday’ in which you celebrate and mock ‘crazy people’ while piling on colored beads and downing various alcohol concoctions. (I think that’s St. Patty’s/Xmas?New Years day combined.)

Today is about bring awareness to how prevalent mental health problems are these days. And in some ways, mental health issues have always been a ‘thing’ but due to stigma and shame and scarce resources to get help…It’s becme a punch line for all of society to get their guffaw and giggle.

How easy it must be for the sanity privileged to mock us, taunt us, put us down.


Because it isn’t just situational, it isn’t just genetic, it’s not a matter of weakness or strength. Sometimes life just deals you a bunch of bad cards and no matter how they play out, you lose. And sometimes, no matter how defiant, rebellious, and bad ass we are as people…mental illness gives us the finger.

It isn’t a death sentence, being mentally ‘ill’. I think the mental health struggles make many of us way tougher than we might have otherwise been. Doesn’t make it right, it’s just a fact. When your biggest enemy is your own mind you have to play bloodsport with daily…You become a badass, like it or not.

I had a bunch of thoughts earlier I wanted to spew on page, but…it’s nearing 9 p.m. and I need to sleep since my kid is finally out. The neighbors asked if I’d get their kid off the bus and watch him tomorrow and I agreed and hey, it could be awesome if Spook is in “he’s my best friend!” mode. If she’s in a mood and hates everything and everyone…Not good. I didn’t even ask them for money. I think I can do 90 minutes watching a 5 year old. Used to juggle 15 kids uner the age of 12 when I worked daycare back before The Nardil Incident that cooked my brain.

I don’t have any answers on how to properly lobby in favor of mental health awareness and treatments.

What I do hsve is empathy, understanding, and hey, if anyone reads this and thinks maybe the dark thoughts are burrowing in…Message me. I’m here for you, just as others have been here for me over the years.

And if you are one of the lucky ones with mental health issues that don’t prevent you from working, being social, and basically LIVING LIFE….

Please take a moment to read our story.

I got a $220 power bill today and without child support, I can’t pay it all and feed my kid so consider a donation. Or hey, if you have any work that can be done via computer from home…I’m not unwilling to type for our supper and earn donations.

Now go be aware of mental health problems in the world and maybe give a kind smile to someone who looks sad or offer to help buy their script for the month or even just pat them on the back.

You have no idea how much the little things can mean to some of us.

A Few Hours In The Mind Of Morgueticia (longish read)

Posted in depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , on October 2, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

(I used to do my random posts this way, just jotting time and stuff on my mind then, so I am gonna revisit that, let me know if you’d like more of it on occasion and if not…well, continue your inability to click like or comment, I hate the status quo but it beats being trolled.)

11:21 a.m.
Panic is rising the longer I wait to see if my check direct deposits. I feel panic seeping in as if this has never happened before when it has. What if they canceled my disability and I didn’t get told because I forgot to change my address? Did I change my address properly? I checked several times, so I know I did, but what if the computer glitched it up? I saw the landlord across the street as his other property across the street and the panic increased. He’s used to me paying early or at least first thing on the first, he’s going to think I’m blowing him off. Or does he remember he rents to me? What if he knocks on the door to ask for the rent? The scumag brain goes round and round and simply does not care for reasoning. So I sent in the troops, ie; Xanax.

11:28 a.m.
I’ve noticed when I am anxious and stressing, I pee more. Idk why that is. So while I drink tons of water and pee a lot anyway, now that the ‘expected’ has become an EEEVIL DEVIATION with my check MIA…suddenly the anxiety metastasized to ‘what if I am peeing so much cos all the meds for 20 years have damaged my kidneys?” You don’t have to tell me how ridiculous it is. Panic is not a rational disorder.

11:41 a.m.
Middle of writing…power went out. And I went into meltdown mode. The trailer had a breaker box so I could check if it was tripped. This old place has fuses and I don’t know what means a fuse has blown short of it being blackened and my dad and stepmonster are working so who the hell am I gonna call…I checked to see if other room lights worked to see if it was a fuse and they were all out so I moved onto…wandering the house in a manic panic, using my phone to check the website for power outtages in the area, hoping just because I’m 3 days late on the power bill (bite me, donor) they turned off our power…It was only 10 minutes and the power came back on but…my heart is pounding, my pits are sweating, I feel thirsty, and I am all jittery…
Deviation Is EEEvil for me. Routine is important, much as I don’t like stringent routine. I need at least a ‘loose’ routine I can rely on, like my check coming on the first or whatever or people calling before they freak me out with a knock on the door, or trying to watch Frasier at night before bedtime because for some reason, I find it a calming show….I need MY effed up routines to keep even a precarious balance and today…I am being kicked in the face. I know power outtages aren’t personal, digital banking isn’t either, my kidneys are fine, the landlord is not out to get me cos rent isn’t paid by noon…
So why can’t I reason with the panic that sends my physical responses into nasty hyperdrive?
People fail to understand when it comes to mental disorders, our minds are so disordered, we kind of rely on certain outside routines to guide and comfort us. Deviation sends me into a tail spin and it takes awhile to get back to my ‘sane’ space.
I don’t want coddled or pitied. I just want to be understood and have this aspect of my disorder respected because it’s as crucial to my mental well being as medication, therapy, exercise, etc. Empathy works better with me than criticism and ‘buck up’ speeches. Which is all I’ve ever gotten from family, friends, and romantic relationships so maybe that’s why I need the softer touch, the supportive voice. We always want what we’ve never known.

12:02 p.m.
Mind is racing as I ponder how this check deposit deviation is really mucking it up my week. Spook has a 4 day weekend so my free time to get stuff done without her in tow fussing about how much stuff I can’t afford to buy her is so limited. Plus that yard sale nightmare. And paying bills. The panic is abating, but it’s sped my mind up so much it kind of feels like I’m on a roller coaster and the Joker is at the helm. Make. it. stop. or at least slow down. Damn it, check, deposit already, I NEED TO GET STUFF DONE SO MY ANXIETY LEVEL CAN GO DOWN!
For every idiot who has ever said that panic attacks are silly and not real has NO idea how one or two panic inducing events on top of a deviation from routine impacts my mental state. It’s humiliating.

12:15 p.m.
I am knee bouncing out of agitation born of anxiety. I never bounce my knee cos personally when others do it, it makes me nervous. (is that irony or morony?) I could just abandon all hope of my check coming but with direct deposit, it could come any time. I never know. And my mind is so preoccupied I can’t seem to function in any other capacity than sitting on eggshells and bouncing my knee. I know, DO something, distract myself, accomplish something. (Oh, no, my nose itches, my mom always said that meant a call or company, stupid superstitions she programmed into me) I am frozen in half panic mode. I had a few good days, I guess this is the aftermath.

12:26 p.m.
Damnit, disappointment. I got a text and thought oooh maybe it’s my deposit. Nope. My brother asking a question. Sorry, bro, no offense to you but I was really hoping it was notice of a deposit to my account. And a second text that isn’t my deposit….GRRRR.

12:29 p.m.
Smack me with a shovel, my deposit is in. Now to go spend it all paying bills and hoping I still have $20 left to buy food for my spawn.

3:15 p.m.
Rent and power paid for the month, gas in the car, car insured a little longer…Now I need $170 to food and water bill and my kid’s Halloween costume and internet. (Though I’ll live on ramen if I have to to keep the net, this is my ONLY social life, it keeps me from ya know, killing things.) Then we gotta turn around and raise another $600 to keep afloat at least the sixty days the donor has by law to start paying again. (And only IF he or the new employer turn it into the state, which he’s required to do yet never has and yet they do nothing to punish him, fml.)
Had to explain a call I placed to dad’s earlier when the power went out. And of course, I heard the “You need to calm the hell down, you’re always getting upset over nothing…” PANIC DISORDER, ASS TRASH. I do take things hard and I don’t mean to. The donor used to baby talk to Spook about ‘tell mommy not to get so bent.” Um, bent is pissed off. Panic is freaking out. Get it right, dumbass.
Time for the spawn to be getting home. The alarm ringtone to remind me is the American Horror Story theme. Gotta keep your humor even if it’s macabre.

4:13 p.m.
I lasted six hours in a bra and just freed myself from the unsexy bondage of some sadistic lingerie designer with singing out loud and dancing, “I get to take my bra off, I get to take my bra off!” My child laughed her butt off. She’s at that age where she wants boobs so bad and wears little training bras even though she’s still not there yet…I let her have her dreams of bras being pretty and comfortable simultaneously. She has a long life ahead of her to learn how untrue that is. Unless she escapes the family curse and is flat chested and thin so comfy bras are easy to find. Pfft. She already has my side of the family’s big shoe size so I’m not optimistic for the poor child.

4:20 p.m.
No, not time to smoke pot, that stuff is expensive. And it makes me stupid. No, my kid has the neighbor boy coming over to play so my anxiety has spiked again as he is much younger and all they do is bicker. But I can’t bring myself to condemn her to boredom or let her go blind and braindead with too much LCD screen time. What amazes me is that I think her and this one boy stress me out as much, of not more, than 7 years at the trailer park where every single day there’d be 2-7 kids in my yard. It’s the bickering and how much Spook bullies C that really bothers me. I don’t do confrontational with any grace.

4:51 p.m.
I LOATHE the ‘new and improved’ gmail appearance. I put if off til they left me no choice and I was right to do that. Deviation is fucking EEEEVIL, HAVE WE NOT COVERED THIS? I have an open mind and like change to some degree, but I also like the right to say “Hey, the old unimproved way works better for me.” Take that choice away and I get fucking hostile ala Pantera. Gmail now looks all bloaty like wide ruled paper and the attachments trigger me with the red text showing in the in box and…C’mon, Google, can’t you let us old schoolers opt out?
This is as traumatic as when Firefox put my home button on the left side of the page and it took 2 years for me to rewire my brain and typing and clicking hand. STOP MAKING THINGS BETTER UNLESS YOU LET SOME OF US DECIDE WE LIKE THE WORSE OPTION.

4:55 p.m.
I found Nemo. Well, not the fish, but the lip balm my daughter was wanting. I was ‘cleaning’ and forgot where I ‘reorganized’ it to for three days. This is like earlier when I tried to put the unfrozen ice cube tray in the cabinet and the plastic sugar container in the freezer. My brain is EFFED UP.

5:50 p.m.
My dad just drove by again in his big rig and honked the horn at Spook who is playing outside.Gah,living in Armpit is bad enough, but when your dad’s driving all through Harvest 7 days a week by your house….it does not make me calm and safe. If anything, I’m just waiting til later when my phone rings and he tells I parked my car wrong, the lawn isn’t mowed properly, I wasn’t supervising my child well….It never ends with him, the criticism. It was how he was raised, getting it from both parents, so I understand the damage, I just don’t get why he can’t try to break the cycle. But he is 71 so it’s unlikely the old dog will learn new tricks.
Harsh as he is…the one thing he’s boasted-correctly so-about, is that he has never abandoned any of his offspring. And that is true. He may not be warm, fuzzy, and emotionally supportive and even a spare piece of bacon warrants being ‘indebted’ to him…but he’s never abandoned us completely.
Maybe because like my child, his own biologicL father bailed when he was 2 and never appeared in his life-or supported him-again.
Gotta respect him for that much. It’s not his fault that semi truck horns blaring sets off my panic disorder. Though telling me to man up and get over it is kind of a douchey move.

5:57 p.m.
I am watching Last Man Standing (season 2) and they are up in arms over whether the grandchild should keep the mom’s maiden name since dad disappeared for 2 years or change it…
That was the only thing I caved in on with the donor. I let Spook have his last name (he would have feminized her name to name her after him, nooo, don’t feed the egos!!!). She tells me often she wants my last name but I know how much trouble my dad had legally changing my brother’s name cos he didn’t sign the birth certificate, cos ya know, he was still married to my mom when his 19 year old mistress had their love child…Spook may have to suck it up on this one. I can’ t get the donor to support her more than 6 months before he flakes out, doutbful I’ll ever have money for a legal name change.
Though noone wants my last name. Growing up being called “Harddick” is not pleasant. Until you find out “Limpdick” is even worse.

Gofundme keeps emailing to *help* er *remind* me my campaign is an epic fail with only one donation. It’s like being told, “You don’t use Facebook and Twitter, you are a useless piece of crap who doesn’t deserve to be helped!” No one cares that the reason I don’t used social media is because social media was how I found the donor and totally got fucked over so it’s all become tainted for me.

7:41 p.m.
Spawn is in bed. I am free to…um…fret that I am not ensconced in bed fully sleep medicated to ensure I am asleep by 11 p.m. Guess this is where I end the rambling and post this typewritten spewage. But hey, it’s my spewage, every word is true, and I have to live it, so consider yourself lucky if all you have to do is read it.


Where the F%#* is My Happy Medium?

Posted in bipolar depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , , , , on October 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Yeah, yeah, I’m like The Princess and The Pea and Goldilocks rolled into one mentally fucked up package. Nothing is ever ‘just right’. But is it so awful to want a happy mental medium space?

Much as I enjoy the sleep-and needed it, even though last night was another stop, toss, turn, wake, repeat in spite of the cocktail (pills)…I do not like the morning after grog. I hit snooze six times. I snapped at my kid and didn’t pack her lunch cos she pissed me off and I was just sooo groggy…My check didn’t deposit. I’m groggy, did I mention that? And I don’t like trying to function from within the grog. This was supposed to be my happy day to start decorating outside for Halloween. Instead I am binge watching the first season of Last Man Standing and trying not to lay down cos I am just soo weighted down with The Grog.

On top of the grog is the whirlwhind of crap coming at me this week. I opened my stupid mouth that I might have a yard sale for “city wide” this weekend (420 people is a city, really???) and my dad hijacked it, so I have to get everything ready then haul it to their house and motherfucker, I don’t even have anything that will amount to more than some quarters so it will be more hassle and work than it’s worth. Except for the fact he’s got some stuff to sell and he offered to let me and my brother split whatever sales and I got a kid to feed so…But I can’t do shit until my check comes so I can buy a dollar roll of masking tape to price stuff so I am stuck on hold. I’m always up in arms when my check is late cos I like when it comes on the last day of the month and I can actually say I paid bills ahead of time. Every other month it deposits the 30th31rst,or 1rst. Here it is the first and I got nothing. Which means more effort trying to convince my self it will come in, the sky is not falling…

I guess since I flew a little high mood and energy wise over the weekend this is my ‘splat’. Focused on the bad, unable to pick out the good things, drained, feeling hungover from the sleep cocktail when in fact it was likely the anxiety causing the sleep and wake interruptions that has me so tired…

A happy medium is just what I want. No extremes (which between bipolar disorder and a moody 9 year old, ha ha, who am I kidding). But…this is my reality.And the high could be all the medication changes and withdrawals cos I couldn’t get refills and it could be a precursor to seasonal affective depression kicking my ass…I have no balance, no equilibrium, no clarity. It’s maddening. But I am gonna try to stay positive.If I can keep my eyes open and stop being pissed off that sleepy as I am, I can’t seem to nod off again. My brain sucks.

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Confessions Of A Mental Health Blog Snob and Why I Avoid The Beautiful People

Posted in mental health, mental health blog with tags , , , on May 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

So let’s just say growing up as bullied kid for a plethora of reasons that made me stand out in my rural population 144 town, such as too tall. grew boobs too soon, didn’t like country music, didn’t wear denim, liked spray in hair dye, wore lots of make up and jewelry, refused to cave in to conformity no matter how much they tortured me…

I will admit to my bias again those I consider ‘the beautiful people’.

For me, this isn’t merely about looks or wealth or success.

True confession- I check out every blogger who clicks like on my posts or follows me. Sometimes, their writing resonates and I instantly want to read more. And sometimes…I see people with dozens of likes and a hundred comments and honestly didn’t find their writing to be my cut of tea…so I move along, guilt free. The beautiful people don’t need lil ole me to join their fan club. But if you are one of those popular bloggers and I follow you and chime in occasionally…it means your writing is damned good and that’s an uber compliment from me.

I suppose I should feel shitty for such ‘elitist’ bullshit, allowing my old baggage to impact my adult life but ya know what? I just don’t.

I am the same with bands, comedy videos, tv shows, movies, fashions. If I don’t personally find it to resonate through a stack of amps…I move along. And people with that many likes and comments aren’t going to miss me so there’s nothoing to really feel bad about. Something speaks to your soul or it doesn’t. At least I give people the benefit of the doubt before the opt out due to overpopularity.

That will never be an issue with my blog. It says I have over 900 followers. On a good day, I get 4 likes. If people are in a good mood, that may double. And of course, my fragile creative writer soul bleeds a little any time I post something I am particularly proud of and it gets completely ignored. I’m not looking for my existence to be validated. I would just occasionally like to know that I wrote a post that was at least as scintillating as that Facebook picture someone took of their salad with a Narwhal shaped crouton on it.

Needy bitch much, Morgue? Hells yeah.

But my entire identity has always been tied to the ‘little guy’, the people like me who are overlooked, underestimated, dismissed, criticized, insulted. So I guess it’s all about ‘the little blog that could’ for me. No, having thousands of followers and likes and comments doesn’t make anyone evil. It just means they are on solid ground so my efforts to bond with others are better spent on the lesser noticed blogs like my own.

Don’t get me wrong. I am under no illusions that my blog is anything special. At best, it’s a clusterfuck to follow some posts, and at others, it’s like depression could be considered infectious.

What I take pride in is the honesty in which I display in my writing here. No filters, no sunshine spewed up your pant legs, none of this “this worked for me, I am all cured, it will work for you too!” I curse, I leave my typos, I wander topic to topic and it is confusing and irritating and ya know what?

THIS IS JUST WHO I AM. Verbally or written…I’m a hot mess of quirk, dysfunction, dark humor, proud sarcasm, and if you can’t handle me in writing…we’d definitely need a couple of Z-Whackers to battle it out in person.

And after having confess my blog bias and coming off looking all shallow and grudge holding…I won’t be shocked to lose dozens of followers (who never read my posts anyway, so whatever) and maybe even some dressing down comments on what a bitch I am.

That bitch thing, is one more facet of my personality I am crystal clear on. My best friend in high school gifted me with a “Bitch Goddess” keychain I carry to this day and taught me not to take it as an insult, but rather as a word people fling about but when women piss them off in whatever inane way. So color me bitchy cos I am always going to piss people off with inane things, with off color things, with an inability to focus or often make sense…

This is who I am.

Some days like today when my mood is low due to lack of slep and absolutely exhaustion…I’m not real fond of being me.

Other days, when my dark sarcastic humor cracks people up and they tell me how funny I am, how good my writing is, how awesome it is that I’m still fighting to just be who I am instead of deciding “oh, I’m 45 and have a kid, time to change everything about myself and conform’.

And those rare occasions when someone comments on a blog post and tells me they like the portraits my words paint, or they totally get where I am coming from and it’s helped put a smile on their face or helped them gain enough perspective to fight another day…

THAT is why I blog, why I write, why I shun the popular blogs and beautiful people.

While a Trek Fan, I’ve never gotten on board with that whole ‘needs of the many outweight the needs of the few’ thing.

I will gladly take one comment a month from someone telling me I made them laugh or my words helped paint a picture they can relate to.

Because if I had hundreds of those, I could never have the time to reply or really interact and attempt to engage and show…misanthropal tendenancies aside…I do care.

I just reserve that energy for caring for those who don’t have a village of adorers. Maybe it’s my loss but I’ve had some experiences with the popular beautiful people and frankly…Opt out.

Bad judgey snobby Morgue.

Shamelessly, unapologetically so.

Only beautiful people I wanna hear about is when the Marilyn Manson song plays.