Archive for the mental health Category

Why I am trying to Raise Money

Posted in gofundme campaign, mental health with tags , , , , , , on August 10, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

For those unfamiliar with my plight, I am going to repost my original post frommy Go Fund Me page.


I am a single mom trying to get by on limited income. I rent and my landlord won’t pay to exterminae the place. I have used EVERY product known to man, at my own cost, and still the roaches and assorted other ickies return. Two years ago, I had finally gotten it under control then my neighbors moved out because they couldn’t handle the bugs they had. I begged the landlord to at least spray a line between our homes to keep their bugs from moving in with me and my child. He did not do it and here I am again.
With school starting, summer power bills, treating the cats for fleas, food costs…I just don’t have the money for extermination as local companies require you sign a 12 month contract and that adds up to more each month than I can afford without my kid going hungry. I am asking for help because I am embarrassed for anyone to visit lest a roach come creeping out. Not all people who get roaches are unkempt slobs. These bugs were here from the moment we moved in and nothing I do helps because the landlord has high turnover and any time someone moves out, their bugs come to my home.

I could probably suffer til I manage to save up, but I am terrified my lack of money could result in someone saying I am an unfit parent and my kid lives in an unfit home. My daughter is my life and she deserves to be able to get a cup out of the cabinet with a bug jumping on her. Even if you can spare five dollars, it adds up. Please help if you can’t or at least spread the word on social media. This is humiliating and I am using what over the counter products I can but none of them eliminate the nest and….

We simply need help.

So that is our story. We don’t want the money for superfluous reasons. We need it to improve our home’s liveability. I have tried to do my best as a single, disabled mother with limited resources, I never asking for assistance that wasn’t absolutely necessary for my child or keeping a roof overhead. It pains me to ask for help even now but the problem is just getting worse so even if you can only spare five bucks.. Your help is appreciated.

Here’s the link again.

Even a repost or social media share can make a difference if you’re in the same boat as me financially. Thanks for reading this.


Zombie Shamble Got Nothing on Depressive Shuffle

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression, depression, mental health, seasonal affect disorder on January 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I am the walking dead, minus violence and a desire to eat flesh and such. Five mornings straight this week I have gotten my kid to school only to come home and…go back to sleep… THEN feel shitty for napping because, dammit, I am A BADASS, this is beneath me. I’ve not done this week long nap shit even when the donor abandoned us nor when I had the crippling depression for seven months or even two weeks of flubola…

I can’t begin to explain it. Wellbutrin mixed with all the other meds? Cos that is the only difference in me staying  nap free for years and now suddenly napping 5 days straight. Is it the 99% cold and midwest gloom (which we are facing another week of). Is it the fact I am up and down all night for whatever reasons even when my kid sleeps through (2 out of 7 days) this week?

To add to feeling super shitty about it, I kinda flaked out on planned lunch with R yesterday til last minute cos…my body was in deep nap mode. Today I was to be at the shop at 10 so I could earn smoke money but…I didn’t get there til 12:15. He was unamused.  As was I because I did set an alarm and somehow, my phone got muted so no sound…

To my credit, even tho I was mega late to get there…I had every single thing on the list done in an under an hour.  Because while I like smoke breaks and a  bit of youtube ‘i like this’ sharing…my end game is always to get there, get shit done, get back to my safe bubble. I am not half assing anything, I am just…more focused on getting it done than say, R, is.

Tis been one of those weeks where his missus is out of town working so he invited himself over 3 nights straight. I wasn’t enthused (depression laughs at enthusiasm) but we did watch Flash/Legends/Arrow together. Then he introduced me to a movie called Silent Hill which was pretty cool. SO while every fiber of my being wants to bitch slap the world at large and retreat within myself…I am making the effort to socialize even if…hell, for all I know, that may be what makes me so exhausted thus causing the daily naps.

I got to looking at R’s past emails for the month for part orders,etc, and it hit me…JANUARY NEVER ENDS. Seriously, the print out I did for him for a service repair only came in on the 12th…and it feels like weeks and months later and we aren’t even out of January.

Which to most may seem like, huh, big deal. But from seasonal depression and finding the bright side, ya know, when seasons change…It feels like a lifetime away even if only a few weeks. I thought the no heat thing was the worst, and oh, it was grueling, but now we are roasty toasty…But it doesn’t change the fact it is still cold outside and 99% of the days have been gray and gloomy. While black and gray may be my favorite colors to wear…It does shit for mood. I NEED the season change…

This lethargy and shuffling about trying to be normal and smile and laugh is exhausting. If the disability people were to ever want to question my family and friends, I’d probably be screwed. Because no matter how open and honest I am, they only hear what makes them comfortable. HEY, SHE LAUGHED AT A JOKE. Hey, she put on eyeliner and came to dinner.

There are no words to describe how much it takes out of me to paste on that facade, all in the name of being “normal” and not making others uncomfortable. Soul sucking seems an apt description, as I am sure many of you can relate to. We fake it, but that’s all it is. FAKE. Our struggle and pain are very real but we live in a world too weak to deal with that. To the masses mental health issues are akin to “mentally disabled”, as if we are lacking in intelligence or basic skills to survive life. The truth is… a huge percentage of “mentally disabled” people with bipolar, depression, schizophrenia, et al…are hugely intelligent. Our brains simply don’t process and produce the same results as non chemically altered brains.\

It is frustrating to the nth. I see my shrink Monday and while I think the Wellbutrin is a good start..I am still going to have to contend with his “why won’t you do the counseling clinic” and also, his last comment about how being on disability is “the new norm”, like I am hindering my own progress cos this is somehow more comfortable. I told R earlier, when he was on a rant about how those of us on disability/food stamps/Medicare/Medicade are all government minions kissing the government ring to get “free stuff”.\

I told him flat out, “Losing your self esteem is not getting anything for free, it costs more than you could ever comprehend.”

Not to mention, with all his Trump crumpeting…he, too, is just a minion, whether he realizes it or faces it. His small business is struggling and paying more taxes than it should because he, too, is at their mercy.

I guess being called a government minion got under my skin. Because other than abide by the rules for disability such as seeing my doc, seeing their doc for review…I am not kissing up or selling out. I am living my truth and others see it…So if I don;t qualify for legally entitled disability and such..I should be given an Oscar for fooling dozens of people. All of whom only need read this blog to comprehend I am faking nothing.

Now…I had to wait an hour because my “Obama phone” aka Safelink had no service so I couldn’t even call to see if my kid could have a sleepover with my mom…but service is up so now i can. Thank Pegacorn neither of us were bleeding out cos no service is kinda…unreliable. Shall we fire Tracfone?

Just to prove I have kept an iota of humor about me…I saw a couple things around town this week that made me smile so I had to take pics.

One…I luuuurve (damn you, Sass, for introducing me to that term lurve!) the Serta counting sheep and this display window just beckoned for a camera…

0126171257-00Then this beautifully yet warped random gem driving by, cos my sis was a huge Cabbage Patch Doll fan and I find them creepy to this day…

dollHow can you not admire someone nailing a naked cabbage patch doll to a phone pole????

Also…how attached are you to your internet name? In my case…This is on my bedroom wall.

morgueLast but not least…my daughter’s rendition of a skull cup you can drink from AND plug into a wall as a lamp.


Depression is kicking my ass, making me narcoleptic and grumpy but…the humerus (ha ha ha) is still working.

I Interrupt This Mental Health Blog For…a political statement

Posted in mental health, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on August 16, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

I was wakened this morning by a text from my friend R with what was supposed to be a humorous yet disparaging comment about the recent leak of info that occurred to Nancy Pelosi and other politicians.

Reading what happened with this leak (leaked on a wordpress blog, no less, how soon before the hatemongers and idgets rob us of our safe haven here) made me even less amused with my friend. For months he has clobbered me with his pro-Trump, “Hillary is Satan” views. To the point of calling me a moron, telling me I have my head up my ass, am uninformed, am duped by mass media…


What I am is a person who does not believe in hate. I don’t believe in spreading it. I don’t believe in fanning the flames. Both sides of this Presidential race have their flaws, their corruptions, their utterly reprehensible behaviors and views…I simply won’t sink to their level and declare all Republicans evil or all democrats the devil. I won’t endorse building a wall to keep out “foreigners” nor will I say I am enthused with how the email scandal with Hillary was handled.

I simply won’t be reduced to a cog in the hate machine.

Me beliefs are what my guide me. I believe in choice. Freedom. The right to stand behind what resonates with me. Until this current election, my differing views have  never caused my friend R to belittle me.

What does that say about the theme of the Republican faction? Filled with so much hate it can turn friend against friend.

I am not calling for anyone to vote either way.

I am imploring that every one make their own educated choices on what to vote for, what to stand for, and please…


Leaks, privacy invasions, putting at risk undercover operatives, wearing t-shirts with hateful messages, inciting violence…

This is not patriotism. This is not political. This is setting us back as a people to little more than cavemen.

You can believe in something without allowing it to transform you into a hatemongering, cruel husk of a human.

That is all that I will be saying.

Hatred simply is not patriotic no matter what faction is spewing it.


Fundraising Again-For Family Whose House Caught Fire

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , on September 8, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms


Oh, yes, it is I, she who really does not have anything good to say because…life.

Around three a.m. this morning, my mom’s house caught fire.The fire started upstairs in my nephew’s room (he fortunately wasn’t there.) Everyone but her husband was asleep and he smelled smoke. Mind you, no smoke detectors had sounded. They checked and my nephew’s room was ablaze. Thus started a panic to get all people and pets out.

My sister lost SEVEN of her beloved cats to smoke inhalation and has two others fighting for their lives for the same reason. One of those cats she’d had for fifteen years. I found her on the lawn with a trash bag full of her dead cats she’d gone inside to get and she was sobbing.

Some pets got out in tact, and the people are okay. But due to the fire, then the efforts to put it out by the fire department, plus the smoke damage…The place has been declared unsafe and will be boarded up. They have three days to get what they can salvage and get out. Meanwhile, Red Cross is putting them up in a hotel for three days. After that…They have nowhere to go.

They rented the house. They had no renter’s insurance. Everything upstairs is a loss. The downstairs stuff can probably be saved sans the smoke damage and whatever water damage. Which means my mom and her roommate, who rooms were downstairs, should be okay on clothes and such. My sister, her husband, and my nephew have lost everything.

Amidst all that…I can’t shake the image of my brother in law and my sister bawling over their seven cats. Things can be replaced. Your animals cannot.

I am doing this fundraiser because they truly have nowhere to go. If you can even find a house in town that allows pets, you need close to fifteen hundred dollars for first month and deposit. Then comes the expense of moving, turning on utilities. There is very little assistance available locally.

Please please, donate if you can, and EVERYONE POST THIS ON YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA. Because I have an empty bedroom and if I don’t find them funds and a place to live soon, they’re all gonna end up staying with me. Much as I love them…Not good for my mental health, not to mention it would violate my lease. But ya know, you can’t throw family in the street…


(All information is factual and can be confirmed through the Jacksonville, IL fire and police departments.)


GoFundMe: Help Me Save my Kitty’s Life

Posted in animal lovers, mental health with tags , , , , , on August 31, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms
My beautiful picture

This is Absinthe, AKA, Abby-Sin, before she got so sick.

My beautiful picture

This is Abby,after draining the abscess. She couldn’t swallow or eat for three days so she wasted away even though I was feeding her by eye dropper.

Per suggestion by a follower, I started a campaign to help fund a vet visit for Absinthe, after multiple calls to vets within a 50 mile radius all resulted in the ver batim response: “It will be close to three hundred dollars because we have to examine, treat for fleas, give her all the normal shots, as well as the antibiotic.” I tried to explain my financial predicament as a single disabled mother and inquired about charities, but alas there are none in this rural area. I even  pondered turning her over to the non kill shelter so she could be treated even if it meant placement elsewhere…They told me they are full of kitties and I should call the pound, which euthanizes any pet not adopted in a week.

I can’t do it, I cannot abandon Abby. She is such a sweet natured, loving kitty, she deserves every effort I can make to save her life. Anyone who donates, even fifty cents, will receive a copy of the bill of what is spent to make her healthy as well as a picture of her when she is recovered. You will also receive the coveted Spork Of Gratitude.


For those who you use social media and know animal lovers, put that link out there. For Absinthe, not for me. This is about her. She has fought so hard to survive when even I had lost faith…HELP OUR KITTY, PLEASE.

And since this gofundme thing is new to me, excuse any mistakes I have made. I just want to help Abby, she has been my pillow companion at bedtime for months and she deserves better than my broke ass can give her. Forget me…Think of that gorgeous calico kitty.


Once Upon A Time…A True Story About Mental Illness

Posted in biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , , on August 28, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Niki KindergartenOnce upon a time, there was a five year old named Niki. She was in Kindergarten. She loved animals, Wonderwoman, watching The Incredible Hulk and Dark Shadows. The worst thing she’d ever been through was watching her beloved dog, Snowball, pass away because an nasty neighbor poisoned him with glass for messing in their yard. It was her first experience realizing that the world was not all rainbows and that some people are plain bad. It left a mark on her heart but did not quash her spirit.

As that little girl got older, she was exposed to more ugliness from people. Still, no matter how badly she was treated for whatever petty reasons- being too tall, too chubby, having the wrong last name- she remained a bright hopeful girl who began to write short stories about cats. She loved to rollerskate in the basement with her cousin. She loved listening to music. While not as extroverted as her younger sister, and not of the blonde hair blue eyed “she’s so pretty!” variety…Niki was smart, sure of who she was, and content with her life.

That would all change, and change drastically. Still, amidst years of being bullied at school…She remained optimistic. She had hopes, dreams. She knew who she was and it didn’t matter if even her own parents found her high strung and moody and “difficult”. She stayed true to herself, even to her own detriment.

Then it all fell apart. Convinced she was indeed moody and difficult and a “weirdo” because kids told her repeatedly that she was…She sought counseling, figuring her dysfunctional home life with parents that hated each other had made her “weird.” She refused medication because, frankly, she didn’t know about mental health issues. She thought she could “fix herself” by talking and figuring out where she went wrong. Except all the things she’d been told were wrong with her were opinions by small minded rural people. There was nothing wrong with the way she dressed, looked, or the things she liked.

There was, however, something wrong with the way she go from being ecstatic and energetic and talkative and social…to falling down into a hole where she barely left her room and wanted no one around. There was something very wrong with her inexplicable anger, her agitation, her screaming only to start bawling and coil up into a panic stricken ball of shame. It kept happening, year after year. No matter how much she changed her behavior, the moods and anxieties would come regardless of how good or bad her life was going.

So she agreed to see a doctor and be medicated. And it helped, with the depressions, keeping them limited to a specific period during winter and stressful times in life. Six to nine months of the year, she’d be elated, busy at home or not at home. She had hobbies and enjoyed everything to the fullest. Until she didn’t.

It took over ten years and five doctors before she learned she was misdiagnosed and the very meds given to “help” her were in fact responsible for her “manic” episodes where she engaged in behavior that was totally at odds with her core beliefs. Mood stabilizers changed everything. No more screaming and ranting. No more crying jags. Things were clearer, more level.

Too level. And the depressions still came, and now they lasted longer, even with medications. She lost relationships, friendships, couldn’t hold a job. She lost parts of herself, the best parts, which may have been born of mania yet she missed the shiny happy part of herself. The only true answer was to stay with the medication lest she make any more mistakes to haunt her for the rest of her life.

It didn’t stop her from feeling daily like a husk of who she was. Then again, she wondered if she’d ever really known who she was, or if she was a manifestation of the mood cycles and anxieties…


That is my story. That cherub faced girl up there was me, as a five year old. The version of me with light still in her eyes. Maybe a lot of psychological damage was done, but the bipolar and anxiety have been the destructive things. It’s been agonizing to be cast as a mercurial flake when there is a logical explanation. It’s insulting to have that explanation dismissed.

That little girl never once thought that one day, she’d find it a chore to get out of bed and put on clothes.

That little girl never once imagined she’d become so exhausted from it all she’d lose her will to live on a daily basis.

Five year old me never knew one day she’d become prisoner to a sick mind full of fear and distorted thoughts that tainted everything she touched.

She had reason for light to be in her eyes. She had the whole future ahead of her.

I loathe that the struggle extinguished that light in me.

Some days I fight with all my might because I KNOW I can emerge from the depressive ell and live again. Other days, the fight is perfunctory and pretty much auto pilot.

I use sarcastic humor (often mistaken as pessimism) as a coping mechanism. Because I don’t know how else to handle this endless nightmare called mental illness.

I’m exhausted for being exhausted. I’m fed up being accused of not trying hard enough, not having the “right” attitude.

I’m tired of barely being able to watch a show I like because the suspense heightens my anxiety. I am filled with self loathing that my issues have kept me from taking my kid to the park, to this school activity, or even teaching her to ride a bike. My issues transfer onto her in my ability to function and it sickens me.

Five year old me was so blissfully unaware of the ugliness ahead of me.

I wish I could turn back the clock and relive that blissful ignorance. Because knowing what I know now…

I may have just stayed in my Wonder Woman Underoos, worn underpants as a hat, and not even bothered trying to live a normal life.

There is no such thing with mental illness.

Mental illness doesn’t kill you, they say.

Yet it kills your spirit. And often drives people to suicide.

So I think mental illness is a killer.

For so very long, I allowed myself to be convinced that it was all my “personality”. I was just that flawed. That flaky, that lazy, that much of a loser. You hear it day in day out, lies become a smidge of truth to a distorted mind.

Yet in the last few years, becoming active in the blogging community, reading others’ stories…The bipolar signs, cycles, anxiety issues- it’s all fairly universal. No one is exactly the same and yet…sometimes the behaviors are the same.

Now the mental health professionals would have you believe the very symptoms of bipolar they’re shoving meds at you to treat…are also part of your personality disorder.

It is my understanding personality disorders are born of genetics, personal experiences, etc. So pardon me if I cannot fathom how thousands of us, from different countries, from different income brackets, from different genetics- all end up with the exact same traits of a personality disorder. It’s just not logical to assume we all had the same experiences that warped us.

That five year old me had her blissful ignorance. My current incarnation has knowledge. I’m not sure if the trade off is worthwhile but it is what it is. And I am who I am.

I am bipolar. I have an anxiety disorder. I am mentally ill.

And I still miss my Wonder Woman Underoos.

The More I Read, The Less I Actually Know

Posted in biolar disorder, mental health with tags , , , on August 16, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Be it blogs, links, or articles, every time I go in search of education on mental health issues…I find myself more confused than I was before reading.There are so many variables, so many anti medication types, so many opportunities for self flagellation because others manage to function in spite of mental issues SO WHY CAN’T I?

Which leads me down the rabbit hole of uncertainty. I’m sure it comes off as some sort of self esteem issue but my self esteem is fine until everyone starts telling me I’m weird and lazy and all that crap. I like me fine. Everyone has the problem and I can’t fix that. All I can fix is me, so every time I read something and it seeps into my tormented brain…Self doubt begins to rampage.

Because like it or not, humans can be very oblivious to their flaws and behaviors. Especially the negative things. If not oblivious, there is denial which can become a lifetime of living the lies you tell yourself. THIS is where my weak spot is. Because I spent many years manic and depressed and improperly treated and I was a monster at times. I was a selfish arrogant bitch. And I never want to be that person again.

So no matter how much progress I make, as a person, without regard to the mental/med thing, it’s easily shaken by any insinuation, real or self imposed, that I am somehow malingering or becoming that awful monster again. I’m mental, so wouldn’t I be the last to know?

Yet that hyper self aware part of me knows who I am. I’ve fought against conformity my whole life because what others see as being “wrong” with me are traits I like and find awesome. Few and far between agree with that but it could just be a meshing personality thing. I appreciate all the comments people leave, telling me I am awesome, not to be so hard on myself, that my writing is both funny and heart wrenching. These are the people i want to know and connect with because they’re not too shallow to see the ugly side as well as the Snarkasma side.

The breaking point, where all the insecurity and self doubt seep in, stem from being berated by those around you on almost a daily basis. I don’t want to be that oblivious arrogant brat again, so its very easy for tiny little things to make my security in myself weaken. It’s less weak personality and more…I know what I used to be, I was a borderline sociopath with little conscience or empathy at times. So if you want to get in my head, that’s pretty much all it takes. I can own being a bitch when I intend to be one. If I am just wonky and being a brat without cause…That I feel bad about.

Which means in spite of my issues, I’ve made more progress and become more self aware than a large percentage of the population.

“But what if you’re using your bipolar as a way to simply avoid the things that scare you?”

“How is it others do fine and work and don’t complain incessantly yet you never can get your shit together and shut up?”

“Why do you think being bipolar makes you so special you’d even think to blog about it? Arrogant.”

“Maybe it’s that Dr. Pepper you had the other day. Maybe you’re too sedentary. Or that Mangorita the other night…You make your own problems…If you’d just straighten up and quit whining…”

Mind you, I dispute it all to the death. It doesn’t keep that little worm of doubt from crawling into my head. I never want to be a monster again.

I am also well aware I can, at times, be too hard on myself. Mainly because those around me really are harsh. These are people who d0n’t believe mental illness is real. My dad calls my disability check my nitwit pension. My mom constantly snarks about how I need to grow up and stop being depressed cos I have a kid counting on me now. R has me half scared to show any emotion lest my attempts at humor with my flat affect be met with a, “Are your meds not working?”

It tears you down, no matter how strong you are. Because it’s a bitter pill to swallow when the most supportive, caring people in your life are basically strangers on the internet as opposed to those close to you and who allegedly love you. That’s why it’s so easy for me to doubt myself. Everyone else does. God knows I’ve given them reason in the past. There is no forgiveness. My dad keeps bringing up my speeding tickets- which were over twenty five years ago. Someone saw me go into a liquor store the other day and reported it to my mom who went off on me about being a drunk. Never mind I was getting a pop, nooo, it’s a booze store, I must be a drunk.

I think in light of all this, the miracle is that I have any self esteem left at all, not that it wavers and can be low at times. People far stronger than me have caved under such things. I keep going like that crazy battery bunny.

So please don’t take my self doubt as some sort of attention seeking/low self esteem/feel sorry for me thing. I really have spent all these years trying to atone for my manic past and learn how to cope better. It just gets torn apart at times, especially when my mind is in a “fragile” zone.

I think it’s time for me to stop reading a lot of stuff. Not because it’s offensive or I dislike someone or I’m negative…But because if it’s not part of the solution, it’s part of the problem. Less denial than it is simply trying to save myself from the abyss. I didn’t work this damned hard to improve myself to have it all undone because Biff in Timbuktu doesn’t need meds and thinks it’s mind over matter.

The only story that I can tell is my own. It is my story. And it is my truth. Naysayers have got to go.