Archive for the mental health Category

Why Can’t I Get My Bleeping Ducks In A Row?

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

For those who missed it, yesterday was world mental health day and I babbled a bit about it here.

Today it is cold. Another whiplash served up courtesy of that bitchbeast mother nature, to go from 85 down into the 40’s. My sensitivity to temperature and weather extremes leaves me flailing more often than not.

I have a biohazard 5 on my hands with the housework. Guess who broke ANOTHER vacuum? Idk, it’s a gift or perhaps a sign that I am meant to have a maid cos I suck at it all. I’d rather be mowing a lawn than doing dishes, if that says anything.

But let’s add that to the list of ‘ducks not getting in a row no matter how much I boss them around’. It’s like my inner disorganization and outer disorganization have teamed up, parked themselves chained a huge concrete slab, and are daring me even try to get them in a row. I’m not feeling it. And no, it’s not the whiny childlike “I just don’t wanna….” This is anxiety and depression crushing it in concert. By crushing it, I mean crushing me.

My shrink suggested this might help.
braindmdhealth.com- supplemntal vitamins for focus and memory.
$39..99 plus ship and handling?
That’s half way to costing as much as the works-shitty Ritalin when what I need is the ‘sell an organ on the black market to afford it’ Focalin.

Being scatterbrained is one thing but not even being able to form a checklist of a few things to do because your mind wanders that much…It’s hellish. I am amazed I’ve gotten my kid to age 9 without stitches or some sort of state investigation. Because sometimes, I don’t even notice she leaves with her pants inside out, yet I make sure her hair is brushed and she is fed and has her bookbag and school papers and…I’d love to be detail oriented but because my brain is so cluttered with spinning thoughts yet hampered by depressive indecision…I’m kind of a hot mess. Or train wreck. Or whatever term is ‘in’ these days. I just prefer the term ‘fucked up’, it’s all encompassing and timeless.

The only real feather in my cap was that my stepmonster gave me a 4 pound pork roast that I managed to cook up in the oven with carrots and taters and onions and celery before it went bad. Cooking anything more complicated than a pizza is challenging when you need to be detail oriented.

My ducks are in ten rows, walking in all directions, high fiving each other and quacking incessantly at the top of their lungs. I always loved playing that duckie game at carnivals but even a losing duck got you a ten cent plastic ring or something. My mental ducks…just give me headaches.

Final note- Thanks to all who have donated, you’ve helped keep us afloat for the month and we are eternally grateful. But I did just get a $220 power bill so we’re gonna keep the fundraiser going until I can force the state to hunt down the donor and make him help support his child.

Honestly, if you have to be forced by the state to do the right thing and contribute to your child’s upbringing financially…you’re a shitty person and should lose your parental rights and still have to pay until the kid turns 18.

The “I’m a good man” delusion is nearing a level of requiring medication to bring you back to Earth. Good people pay for their kids without a court forcing them to do so because it’s the right thing to do.

Am I being too opinonated?

Funny, after 7 years of chasing someone so they do the right thing…I’ve earned the right to be opnionated and yes, pissy about it.

I’ll never forget those words the good man jammed down my throat. “This is your pregnancy, but we are having a child.”

7 years later…I have a child and you don’t even mail her a birthday card.

I won’t go so far as to say I am a good woman but I have done right by my kid so that counts for something. Here on Earth, outside delusionville.

Now I’ma try to convince my ducklings to line up at least enough to clean cat boxes and do some dishes.

Pretty sure they all went out and bought big foam middle fingers in protest. Duck ’em.

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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.

Newsflash: CHECK YOUR SANITY PRIVILEGE AT THE DOOR.

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.

How Random Acts Of Kindness Have Enriched My Life

Posted in mental health, random acts of kindness with tags , , , , , , , on October 3, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I spend a lot of time talking about how my life has been kind of crappy as I never seem to fit in anywhere and my social skills are instead social ills thus I have a hard time-even on line-befriending people and it’s often mistaken for apathy or disinterest or snobbiness. I’m not going to cover the times my family and friends have come to my aide because, well, that’s just how that stuff works and it doesn’t lessen my gratitude one bit. But what stands out in my mind are the random acts of kindness and gestures that have been extended to me by people who I don’t know or people I never even shared a phone call with let alone met face to face.

In high school, I was a metalhead in a rural area where jeans and flannel were the norm. I did not fare well. I was a freak and picked on relentlessly. Even though the random act was preceded by the guidance counselor arranging a meet with one of my tormentors…After a couple of lunches spent together during which she drove us to get fast food…we chatted. And she apologized for making fun of me and apologized for how awful her friends had been to me. She confided that she and her friends really were jealous of me for having the courage to be myself even when it meant my life was a misery of tormenting. She said she admired me for having the guts to do my own thing. And while the torment didn’t entirely end cos the stoners were still in play…Julie and her clique stopped tormenting me. We weren’t besties but she set her friends straight on leaving me alone. Never forgot that.

I ran away from home when I was 16 and landed in Hollywood, CA. It wasn’t thought out long term and within 3 weeks I was out of cash and out of a place to stay. A nice young woman named Nina let me crash in her motel room (we met at that motel where I was staying) and she introduced me to sharing apple pie. I hate pie filling but like buttery crusts so we’d watch cable shows and she’d eat the pie filling and I’d eat the flaky crust. Imagine me, bumpkin from Hellhole, midwest, rooming with a girl who…got paid to get on dates with men. I freaked out when she invaded my diary and called my parents thus setting into motion the whole ‘return the delinquent runaway teenager home’ process and I never wanted to go back to Hellhole…But she said it was different for her because her family never came looking for her and mine never stopped trying to find me, I had a place to go home to where people cared. She was protecting me from her fate. I could have been raped or murdered and was basically homeless and starving until her act of kindness and protection.

At that same hotel in Hollywood a heroin user named Jack was concerned about a young girl all alone exploring the streets so he taught me some self defense moves. Asked for nothing in return, took me to a place he knew the people were kind and would watch over me when hanging out. I spent 3 weeks in Hollywood and more people who didn’t even know me were kind than all the people I’d known for years in Hellhole. Being a misfit really skews your view of people until you’re proven wrong. It’s just so rarely you’re proven wrong.

One year I was stuck working at a gas station which was soo stressful and people were stopping in wearing their concert gear, reminding me Ozzy Osbourne was playing two nights away and I couldn’t be there. I said that to one kid and he took off his chain and leather wristband and gave it to me as a consolation gift for a fellow metalhead. A teenager being nice to a woman nearing her thirties really did impress me.

10 years ago when stranded in San Diego (I love California but it’s so expensive I can never seem to stay there), my uncle bought me a bus ticket home and wired some cash…and I lost my wallet. I had no money, no ID, an empty plastic water bill, and my phone battery was dying so I had to limit even calls to let my family know I was okay. It took 3 days to get home. A kind woman traveling with a toddler boy saw me sitting at every stop nursing the water I filled my bottle with from free fountains and asked why I never ate. I explained my situation and even though she had a small kid to think about first…from then on, every stop the bus made, she gave me a package of cheese and crackers just so I didn’t have to go hungry completely. What a wonderful mom that boy has.

When I was pregnant with Spook and couldn’t take meds, I was a hormonal bipolar depressive monster trainwreck. I was also terrified and the donor was always working so I felt so overwhelmed and alone. The OB’s nurse, who didn’t know me from Adam, started taking an interest in me with each appointment. She went out of her way to make sure I was calm, didn’t feel so alone, and when I started to spin out and say, “Oh, no, I can’t be a mom, I am going be an awful mom!” She would reassure me that I would be a great mom and if I needed help, she gave me her personal phone number and said to call her anytime. When I hit the third trimester and was close to suicidal she is the one lobbied with the OB to ignore the shrink’s refusal to minimally medicate me and I was at least given an anti depressant and Xanax to ensure by the time Spook was born three weeks later…I was in a mental state where I could care for her. Thanks, Jeanine.

Tyler, a friend I met in a depression chat room eons ago, used to send me bunches of snail mail letters, even when he was broken down and in the psych hospital.He was a great artist and sent me his drawings. He turned me onto the amazing music of Wednesday 13 and even sent me a t-shirt. I don’t know what happened to him, he vanished off line but I hope he is living his happily ever after. I love that boy even now, though he’s no longer an 18 year old calling me his mom and cyber braiding my hair in a chat room.

Bex. Another net friend who vanished and I hope is living happily ever after. She sent me candy from Britain and letters and she visited me and Spook and..we just love her. She’s as much part of our family as we are.

Heather, another net friend, helped me get school stuff for Spook one year and when my laptop died…she sent me a new used one so I could keep blogging. She, too, vanished, but again…hoping it’s just a case of stabilized mental issues and moving on with life. I hold no grudges, just miss them and hold their memory close.

I could get Carpal tunnel mentioning every small act of kindness from people I’ve chatted with on line and I don’t mean to diminish their importance but I am going to have to give a blanket thank you to the kind soul who paid the power company back in 2007 so I didn’t get turned off, and my late friend, Kathy, who sent me packages of clothes when I had nothing that fit and she paid for my internet for a month when I couldn’t and she paid for six of us when msn chat went pay so we could stay together…She passed away and I’ve never stopped missing her.

Mr. Mumple. He bought us pizza over the summer even though we don’t even live in the same state. He sent my kid a birthday card that made her laugh. He has always been amazing to us and he makes me laugh.

Andrew…how I miss you, cabana boy. You’ve been our only donation this time around and I haven’t even gotten an email in eons. That gesture means the world to me and Spook. Over the years you have been generous and giving to a fault and I only hope a public expression of gratitude can give you some idea of how thankful we are to you. Even that year you gave me the e gift card to buy Spook her Elsa costume thus ensuring another month of hearing the song “Let It Go.” 😉

Shanna, who sent me this amazing beauty of gore coloring book and some other stuff just to cheer me up at a bad time.

Sass, who doesn’t blog much anymore but we text from time to time to share single mom and mental experiences and of course, warped humor. Just talked to her last Saturday by text. Your kind words mean the world to me, lady. She wrote this for me on her blog when I was close to the edge of breaking into a thousand shards this year.

Diane, Leslie, Tessa, Bob L, manyofus, to everyone who bothers to click like or comment…thank you for those random acts of kindness.

And the most recent act of random kindness from a person I’ve actually met…the manager out our only minimart gives me credit to buy milk and such for Spook when I can’t get to town or don’t have any cash. He doesn’t know anything about me except we come in there a lot and half my family lives in town. He’s just a very nice man and I am thankful for that kindness.

I hate people. I really do. On a grand sheeple scale. Individuals I gauge based on if they are kind to me, as well as others. All those who made kind gestures to me and my child over the years helped keep me from losing total faith in humanity and my heart turning to stone.

We are thankful to everyone, listed or not listed here for every kind word and deed. We believe in karma and try to pay it forward any chance we get. At this moment, though, the only way I can pay it forward is in words and hopefully, those still count for something.

My Effing Brand Is MENTAL CHAOS!

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , , , , on September 6, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Read an article earlier about today’s ‘gig’ culture, which at my ancient of 45, I thought was some sort of computer storage reference slang. Apparently it refers to ‘millenials’ and their social media ‘gigs’ where they work so hard at building their ‘brand’, ie; themselves, to make what amounts to minimum wage except for the, of course, 1%.

I thought it was the height of idiocy when celebrities and such started being labeled ‘brands’. Silly me grew up in the days where we rode our dinosaurs to school while envying our friends wearing BRAND NAME SHOES AND CLOTHING. This whole ‘people as a brand’ thing baffles the fuck out of me.

And this whole ‘internet star’ and ‘meme’ thing not only baffles me, it honestly annoys me the way having a bug hover in your face does. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good meme. Like Grumpy Cat, Honey Badger, and Scumbag Brain. Some half literate teenager who appeared on Dr. Phil and speaks some form of language no linguist could decipher…Um… HUH?

It’s all so bloody silly and petty and vapid and omg, this is the world we are living in. Even our ‘most powerful man in the world’ is so prevalent in social media, it’s hard to take him seriously. I guess 30 years ago when I was second hand reading my mom’s sleazy Enquirer and Star tabloids I was silly and shallow but I never took any of it as gospel, it was fodder to keep my brain from going comatose. Nowadays, social media is everything. Number of followers, likes, comments, it all creates your self worth if you have any kind of social media presence at all.And oh, here’s a hilarious irony or morony, in my lingo- employers check your social media to determine whether you’re fit to be hired BUT ALSO if your social media presence isn’t large enough, they don’t want to hire you.

Damn me for reading my own email subscriptions and getting exposed to this drivel. And the worst drivel of all was the millenial writer pleading her case that millenials aren’t narcissistic, vapid attention whores forcing themselves down the internet’s throat. No, it’s former generations ruining the economy for them so that they have to work real jobs as well as pimp themselves on the net in ten various social media forums in hopes of getting followed, liked, and popular so they might make some money on the side.

The saddest part-and this is the second article I’ve read in the last week referencing the topic- is crowdfunded healthcare. Where people need freaking surgeries to LIVE but have no health insurance or crap coverage so they take to the net and gofundme in an effort to raise funds. And once again, the popular kids, er, diseases, win out. No one wants to donate to someone (like me and Spook) with 2 followers and no special ‘narrative’ to make it interesting thus worthy. First, that Americans even have to fight tooth and nail for healthcare is disgusting. Second, people are thrilled to donate millions and millions to political campaigns yet those same people can’t shell out ten bucks toward someone needing a new lung or medication or well, less dramatic but necessary, food and shelter.

It’s reached a level of stupid my brain simply cannot compute.

So allow me to promote myself as a brand: fucking.mental.chaos. That is me, that is my brand. No consistency, mood swings, posting at all hours on all topics, never staying on point, can’t focus to save my life…Paranoia, anxiety, depression…Money problems, kid won’t mind me, sick pets I can’t take to the vet, can’t afford to buy enough food…And I’m not even pretty or young and my narrative of being a single mom on disability isn’t even that unique. No wonder my fundraisers are epic fails.

Yet desperate as my child and I are…I never sell out my own principles even to get money. I never started blogging for attention. I’ve only ever handed out my url to like two people, everyone else meandered along however people do on line and clicked the follow or whatever. My goal was to get story out there so maybe just maybe someone out there feeling just as shitty and thinking shitty thoughts might say, wow, this chick gets it, maybe it’s worth sticking around just to laugh at how ridiculous the world has become even though I want to curl up and cry and die or implode or all of the above…

I’m not Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, et al. I don’t do that shit. So my social media presence is this blog and oh, I once submitted a question to an Abiword message board under my real name. What an attention seeking money grubbing sleazeball I am!

But I digress. Mental chaos. I tagged this blog with that term on the intro page 7 years ago and it remains relevant and damned accurate. It is my brand. It’s not a popular selling brand but it is my own and frankly, obscurity looks pretty damned comfortable in comparison to what amounts to the corner of a shady street where everyone leans in your car asking if you wanna follow them.

I miss when hookers did that classy thing where they offered sexual favors for money. That was something I could respect.

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.

The Perception Misconception

Posted in mental health, mental illness with tags , , , , on May 25, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve long said there’s very little truth, only personal perception. The problem with personal perception is, often, there is no malicious intent. We are all human, prone to bias based on our own experiences, so often our truth is very different from what is scientific fact, or fact proven with evidence. Now this could launch me into a political tirade but instead…

If I say, “I remember you doing this, and I said that…” Well, that is my personal memory and perception of the matter.

You can say, “No, you took it out of context, you didn’t hear me correctly…” And that would be your truth, your perception.

But if a video camera captured that same exchange and showed either you, I, or both were wrong and it unfolded differently…that’s fact. That’s proveable truth, not fallible human perception.

So short of every moment of your existence being video taped, there are going to be many, many times when perception on either side of the fence is simply wrong or a misunderstanding or breakdown in communication. And it’s okay because, hey, only human, we make mistakes, blah blah blah.

The ONE time when I do, however, find different perceptions to be very dangerous is when you have a legitimately diagnosed mental disorder, but those around you don’t mere debunk it but flat out refuse to believe it could possibly be for real. This is when perceptions can become harbingers of doom.

My family, AKA THE ORIGINAL harbingers of doom, perpetually doubt, question, dismiss, debunk, scoff- any negative reaction to mental illness one can have, my entire family practices. No matter the long mental disorder history on both sides, or the fact that my mom, me, my sister, my brother, my great grandmother-all spent time in treatment or in a psych hospital for the disorders-changes perception. Hell, even my mom and sister declared themselves cured and only weak people need medication, I need to get over myself.

Battling this daily- perception ceases to be benign and becomes a malignancy. Frankly, it beats the hell out of your self esteem because these are the very people who are supposed to love and accept you, as you are, no matter what and yet they make you feel as rejected and dejected as the masses. It takes a strong psyche to face this daily battle and not lose your mind or be overwhelmed with self doubt and self hatred.

It may hurt a little less but facing the same sort of invalidation from friends and romantic partners never gets easier. You warn them, this is my condition(s), this is how it can get bad, they swear they are strong enough and care enough to weather it out…then time after time, abandon ship because they had no idea you were so difficult.

Much as the rejection stings, I can’t help but laugh derisively. Wussies. They get to walk away cos it’s too tough. I don’t get that luxury. Furthermore, I basically slap myself with a ‘toxic’ skull and crossbones as well as a ‘biohazard’ label as warnings and still..the cockroaches scurry off. Oh, wait. That’s MY PERCEPTION, not fact. They’re not really bugs and they have every right to flee and not be dragged down by whatever shit I have going on. But I perceive their abandonment less as them trying to spare themselves and more as persecuting me for that which isn’t in my control. And they perceive my disorders as some sort of personal affront on them, as if they bring out the worst in me or I hate them so I’m moody or high strung. (Again, when greeted with a skull and crossbones and biohazard symbol, take a beat and THINK.)

And there’s the rub. Perception deception.

While everyone perceives me as negative and pessimistic, I truly do tend to view most negative views towards those with mental diagnoses as simple ignorance, rather than something evil or personal. People get scared of what they don’t know or understand and they lash out or tense up. Ignorance, however, can be resolved with some information and communication. I’d like to think *most* are willing to be educated and learn more facts before a final judgment. But the bottom line is, there will always be those who simply will never come around. And while they may judge me as crazy, I feel pity for them. Some are born not very bright and due to educational lacking or some sort of impairment, they can’t really become the next Einstein.

Ignorance, however- that is a choice. And if you are presented with facts and personal experiences and still choose to be ignorant and hold ignorant views…you are to be pitied. Nothing sadder than choosing to be dumb when the information is right in front of you.

But, hey, again…perception deception. Maybe the masses that are asses (gotta love L7 for that title) have it right and my perception is all wrong.

Maybe pegacorns are real, politicians aren’t corrupt, and body odor smells pleasant.

Not fucking likely.

But I am humble enough to entertain the merest possibility that my perception could be wrong. If so…

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE PEGACORNS BE REAL.

Gas is up to $3.15 a gallon and I can’t handle being in Armpit, I need transportation. 😉

Stripped Down Naked:Part Two

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

This is Part One if you missed it.

Did you know that my Debbie Downer personality has an alter ego? I call her Susie Sunshine and she annoys the hell out of me. But it is in keeping with my shelf-full-of-skulls-pet net-full-of-Furbies style. I’d like to say all the ‘negative’ comes from depression but I’ve been a little dark and ghoulish since I was 6 years old. Some are girl scouts, I’ve always been a ghoul scout.

Sometimes…

I laugh.

I like to watch College Humor videos on youtube. Of course, the horror parodies and anything making fun of Apple products are my favorite. Oh, and “If Google Was A Guy’, my kid and I both love those. (Don’t ask me to explain my severe hatred of Apple stuff, I’m not even sure myself, though I think it has something to do with my upbringing of paying too much for stuff that’s not very special outside its brand name.)

I read theoatmeal.com. That dude is funny as hell. And the comic about your cat trying to kill you is way too true.

Sometimes, I visit fark.com. People get pretty creative with their titles and the articles are often interesting.

I watch sitcoms. The Middle, Mom, Big Bang Theory, Young Sheldon, Superstore. And yes, I laugh out loud sometimes. And sometimes I laugh so hard, I have to hold my sides. Other times, I just half smile because my spirit isn’t feeling too humorous.

The Heat with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy is one of my favorite funny movies. I also love the horror parodies like Scary Movie, Vampires Suck, and a lot of stoner films. That last one is probably growing up during the heydey of Cheech and Chong, but then again, Harold and Kumar are just funny without pot.

Susie Sunshine may not come out to play very often and she certainly doesn’t appear much in this blog, but she is here, part of me. Just not a part I’m all that fond of. I think it’s an attachment issue. Because when I feel good, I never want it to stop. But then if I feel too good, I get scared it’s the start of a manic episode and I could do so much damage…So I muffle and muzzle the very part of myself that might actually draw others to me and make them see I’m not such a bad chick.

I play kickball in flip flops with my kid. I splash around in kiddie pools and run through sprinklers when my mood is amenable. I’ll jump on the swings or slide at the park with her. I even have a character in her dollhouse I named Drunken Giraffe because we were playing one day and I was in a winter depression and distracted and she accused me of being no fun to play with. So the plastic giraffe became drunken or hopped up on energy drink and suddenly, she’s laughing her butt off and I am the best playmate ever.

Drunken Giraffe in his snazzy cut off shorts stolen from a Barbie.

The point of this post isn’t that I am cured or that life is all fun and games.

The point is that I am not just depression and desperation. I have more going on than the negative even if it’s a low background hum.

There is positive here.

I’m just glad Debbie Downer is here to smack sense into Susie Sunshine when she starts getting too damn happy. No one needs to be that cheerful, damn it, it’s unnatural.