Archive for the pms Category

Dysphoric Doll

Posted in anxiety, depression, pmdd, pms, seasonal depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Dysphoria is a state of mental discomfort or suffering. When you feel dysphoria — you feel depressed and awful.It’s a state of unease, anxiety, and misery.

Losing our kitten, hormonal imbalance, weather related depression, money stress…It’d make anyone sad, right?

Except my sadness has ballooned into outright dysphoria. Zero energy, zero will to live. Getting up to get my kid off to school today was grueling. How I wanted to remain in my warm sarcophagus of blankets and sleep.

The news depressed me. What a farce. I made it about 15 minutes before I changed the channel. Not that my brain is any state to focus or even be distracted by TV.

This misery has seeped down into my bones and I feel utterly useless, helpless.

I saw a motivational poster at the psych center yesterday about making every day of your life count and how it is up to you whether you waste it or make it a memorable day of productivity. It’s almost humorous to put something like that in a place where so many of us go because our minds tell us, no matter how well things are going, that we are too exhausted and demoralized to even bathe.

I won’t prolong this woe is me bullshit. But what I thought was feeling low last week was nothing compared to how I am feeling now. You could shove me into a six foot hole, cover me with dirt, and I’d be hard pressed to even protest weakly.

My love for my child and cats should make me more determined. Instead, I feel so despondent. Maybe another day in Fort Blankie is in order. I did get out and function yesterday, at least. I can always take the paperwork to town tomorrow and get Spook’s new script. I can’t get my scripts because I won’t have the copay til next month so I will have two weeks without Cymbalta and Wellbutrin.

Okay, enough bitching and moaning. Just wanted anyone else who is going through a dark depression who might happen upon this…you’re not alone. And it’s not your fault.

Cake Balls And River Dancing Oompa Loompas

Posted in anxiety, depression, pms with tags , , , , , on June 5, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My night fucked up my day yet again, so I am running on about 4 hours sleep. Normally this would be adequate for a day or two, but during PMS week (the week after the PMDD cranks down), I am in pain, I am altered, and I am bone weary exhausted. I don’t choose to be, it just is. My back is killing me, like a thousand oompa loopmas river dancing on it. Sitting up or laying down, it just hurts. Sudden movement in any direction makes it worse. I’ve been trying minimal activity since it allegedly helps with cramps, but it ain’t working. NOPE. Today is not going to be a high functioning day, physically or mentally. I was awake for 6 hours during the night and growling into my pillow by hour six with no grogginess and the looming clock where I need to be up with my kid. That is the opposite of restful. Throw in those oompa loompas and again, NOPE.

This physical detriment add to the mental clouds and climbing anxiety. Because I know I should be up and doing stuff but I just can’t work up the wherewithal to put myself in a situation that brings on more pain. This seems logical to me, not lazy, but there are factions who simply won’t back off the notion that movement alleviates the pain. This is one case where the opposite is true. So nope, very little is going to be done today, unless the ibuprofen starts performing levitation and other magic tricks, like being a painkiller.

Spook and I met with the counselor yesterday and for once, the kid clammed up and would barely talk. So I had to kind of take over the entire thing and it made me feel overbearing. I can only imagine what the counselor thought. She goes on maternity leave in a couple of weeks which leaves only a male counselor and Spook is fighting against that hard. The lady wants to play some games with her so they can discuss how to handle the overwhelming emotions that cause her to meltdown or become violent and aggressive. There was talk about oppositional defiance, but I did the research and it just doesn’t really fit. She only rebels against discipline. If she is in cooperative mood, she’s not oppositional at all. But I am sure they will borderline me, and tell me no, the symptoms don’t have to be there all of the time, it can be a part time disorder…Pfft.

My connection keeps cutting in and out, grrr, damn wonky data plan. I better publish before the entire post perishes. Or worse, goes to drafts and gathers cobwebs because, nope, I just don’t have the energy to finish it.

Egad!!!! My dad gave us some ‘cake balls’ a neighbor gave them. I took one bite and it was like sugar overload. Yet I can put down a two liter of Dr. Pepper no problem. Weirdorama.

On a plus note, we have our first weeks’ gas to get Spook to day camp and enable me to seek work. Negative side was gas came first so we’re living on $9 worth of groceries the next two weeks.

Please share, even if you don’t believe in donation. We’d be just as happy with a gas giftcard to one of the chains in town. I just need her to have one good summer of memories and I can’t force anyone to hire me. I am trying my best.

fundraiser boop glasses

Final self depracting yet proud moment of pure narcissism. I took a selfie, and I almost never like them, digital is not kind to people with large pores…But it turned out so good, I am gonna share. I look like a demon off Supernatural and that is way cooler than being pretty.


Oh and meander over to my other blog for some random AF jokes and observations. This is today’s post.

Hormonal Livewire, Defused

Posted in depression, pms with tags , , , , , on February 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Things went from bad TO EVEN WORSE with psych nurse but I’ve been so hormonal and angry, feeling like it’s a fever burning me up inside, that I have avoided writing lest it prove to be an irrational rant of so much swear words and insults towards those I view as oppressing me. 4 days I’ve been on boil, tick tock, everything making me feel so mad, so betrayed, so helpless, so hopeless, so ready to just…end it all and get the fuck out of this shit show called my life. Today…the curse arrived and with it came sudden mental clarity. I am still very irritated by it all, mind you, but for the first time in almost two weeks, it doesn’t feel like a fever coursing through my veins, burning me alive. I feel objective. I feel a sense of clarity. I still have no answers and I am still plenty pissed off with the entire debacle they have forced upon me but…I’m no longer a hormonal livewire. The relief that came with waking up to this mental clarity for the first time in 2 weeks was immense.

So..they lowered my Xanax again. Now the new office wide edict is no more than 0.5 twice a day for ALL patients. Of course, they blame the opiod crisis but that is bullshit. It boils down to a bunch of irresponsible doctors getting a bunch of people hooked on pills they never should have been given in the first place and those of us who need a medication for quality of life and have done NOTHING but use it responsibly get punished. I did not, however, have the luxury of truly going off on nurse doc M that day as for the second day of the polar vortex, my kid was again home from school so I had her in tow. I did not want her seeing me go ballistic in a hormonal rage so I plastered on my fake face and pretended to be irked when in fact, I was furious. This nurse did not even apologize for the confusion in no one returning my call. She is so clinically detached, she could be robot under the hair and skin, for all I can discern. No, it is not lost on me that I seem to find fault with psych nurses in general, but I’m two for two here. They spend more time clacking away on the computer keyboard than actually talking to me, listening, and asking questions about how I am feeling and managing. I don’t know how that isn’t supposed to make one depressed as well as angry.

I tried to engage this woman by mentioning a brain stimulator device I saw on line that is alleged to help far more with seasonal depression and anxiety than meds and therapy. She’d never heard of such a thing, in spite of it being approved by the FDA back in 1990, and apparently successful enough that Maine’s medicaid system covers it. I asked if we could raise my antihistamine to pick up the slack from coming off 3mg xanax down to 1mg for the entire day and she said she could increase it to three. I WAS ALREADY AT FOUR 25 MG PER DAY so that is a decrease. I called the pharmacy to explain it to me, they said she only approved a 2 week refill, then lowered my dose so I called the office to raise hell as it’s like she wasn’t even reading from my file. The psych office eventually called back but I haven’t had the guts to check the message they left on voice mail. It will probably make me so damn mad I’ll smash the phone with a hammer. (I did that once, to a smart phone my kid got so hooked on she wouldn’t even put it down to go pee, so I made her watch me smash it with a hammer. I’m a bloody monster, whatever.) But again, as I seethed inwardly and she made no mention of the issues I had spoken with her nurse about moments before the appt. I was more focused on not letting my kid see me have a meltdown of any sort, I feigned calm, cool, collected with a modicum of irritation.

Honestly, I thought the first doc nurse was too clinically detached but as it happens…she atually radiated warmth like lava compared to this chick. Perhaps this detachment is necessary for them to keep their own sanity and establish boundaries with patients who might become too clingy but I can’t grasp why all the doctors I have seen at this practice have managed to come across professional yet empathetic except these nurse practitioners. Even my least fave doc they’ve had, and mainly cos he doesn’t even believe in the validity of his own chosen specialty, radiated more warmth than nurse doc M. But I know if I raise the subject they will yet again tell me to get a counselor for hand holding. Cos a good bedside manner and not making your patients want to die is definitely an unreasonable ask. I just…not so much as a ‘I’m sorry you went through Prozac withdrawal, I should have paid more attention to your chart” cos it’s there from every doc I’ve seen since 2005, I have bad withdrawal from these meds…She barely acknowledged it had happened, just said to take half a Celexa for a week since I’d ‘had had some withdrawal from these meds’. Had she spent more than a cursory two minutes with my file this would have been very clear. The one size fits all approach is not working for me, and it’s actually damaging me to the point I am ready to just quit taking meds all together.

Four days now the surging hormones have been doing battle with the depressive inertia, the inability to organize my thoughts, the anxiety stemming from having a noisy child who is testing boundaries to the breaking point…And honestly, if this psych center remains a factor in my life, I am not going to get well. Taking my Xanax down so low is reprehensible when it’s a quality of life matter. How am I ever going to manage to work if I can’t even get through the noisy days with my kid? I’ve developed all the coping mechanisms I am capable of. I told the receptionist when I was making my next appointment this new regime makes me miss talking to the doctors on TV screens. That’s saying something, cos I was never all that comfortable being treated by people who had never been physically in the same room with me. Now…it seems like I lost a pretty damn good thing compared to this new hellish regime.

I wish I could just ‘snap’ out of it. I’d never taken another psych med or see a psych professional again in my life if I hadn’t learned over and over that I have a legit disorder that requires these meds. But much like I had to get away from R’s negative impact on my mental state due to his political extremism and criticisms, I may have to excise this cancerous growth known as ‘psychiatric care’ for my own sanity and safety. Getting help is never supposed to make you feel this hopeless, this doomed, this desolate…And what really burns me up is, if I went to a store to buy gas or groceries and was made to feel this bad about myself…I’d have every right to complain to management, to seek another store, have the offending employee disciplined…But these people with their degrees for whtaever reason aren’t held accountable, we’re just supposed to take what they dish out as our due and never complain cos we’re the ones with the problem.

So I’m still in stewing process, where I have zero answers but way too many negative emotions and too little positive to counter balance it. I’ve got to figure out a way around this. Knowing this center’s instability, I should probably just wait a couple of months. There’s talk about going back to telepsychiatry but that introduces problems of its own. Like ending up with someone worse than you had, which is how I feel right now. I went from a couple of caring doctors who saw I was struggling and trying my hardest and they had empathy and made me feel like they were on my side. Now I’m back to seeing someone I’d probably avoid if she worked a cash register cos I just respond better to friendly, warm people as opposed to the removed cold detached types. (I swear, I have done soul searching and this isn’t about the Xanax, this is truly about how she presented while in the presence of Dr. T during her first few weeks then how her demeanor frozw over once she was allowed to see patients alone.)

For now…even though I am in physical pain from cramps and bloating, my mind does not feel as if under siege by hormone aliens, so I’m going to call this day ‘better’than the last few but far from victorious. At least we survived the polar vortex with little more than missed days of school and a frozen toilet. Now we’re in the fifties. It’s freaking maddening because we’re going to be back down to 11 degrees next weekend.

I should run a pool on what will drive me over the edge first. The insane weather impacting my seasonal affective disorder, or the lackluster psych care that makes me contemplate suicide whereas before, I wasn’t thinking that way.

Bad juju all around. I need some major exorcism mojo.

Mood Limbo

Posted in depression, pms with tags , , , , , on June 9, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

(Yes, another post about monthly lady issues, but as it has become increasingly worse and impacts my precarious mental states, I find it necessary and relevant to tracking my altered moods and recording how it robs me of basic functionality…Plus, if someone else out there stumbles on this and has the same symptoms…well, they can at least know it’s not all in their head and they’re not alone.

Limbo, as in ‘how low can you go?’ The extreme ups and downs I am experiencing this past week are driving me mad. Mostly lows and total loss of motivation and functionality. I do the bare minimum and still feel like I’ve been awake for days lifting heavy machinery. I know it’s hormones but it really is mind boggling how much PMS/PMDD can impact one’s mental and physical state. I used to be willing to roll with all the standard bitchy PMS jokes. Now…after having my daughter my condition has gotten so much worse, there’s no laughter or joking area for me.

I think this may have been why I was so fired up for the doctor to raise my Cymbalta. Because whether I like it or not, every month this stuff comes and alters my mental state and robs me of even basic enjoyment. (One of my old shrinks actually LISTENED to me and would give me like 7 days of low dose Prozac to at least help ward off the monthly symptoms but yeah, he left and the current revolving door regime has zero interest in listening.) Like stopping at a yard sale, even if I’ve only got a quarter in my pocket, and just browsing. Participating in life, in things I enjoy. Housework is my bane of existence but right now,it’s so low on the priority list even if I wince when I see all the fuzz on the carpet. Using the vacuum is just too much trouble, lugging two seperate pieces room to room and it spits out more than it sucks up. (Yeah, my dad’s idea of an upgrade from my old vac, which did the same damn thing.) For some people, getting up and active helps with at least the physical pain involved in PMS/PMDD symptoms. For me, it just leaves me feeling more beaten up and bruised and exhausted.

So I try not to overtax myself physically and do battle with my wonky mental state which of course, makes my mental state worse.

Three nights straight I’ve perked up when the pain lessened and did the “I am gonna do this and this and that tomorrow, better get some sleep”…And for the third straight morning, I’ve wakened to feel the same shitty way. And it’s not lack of determination. I purposely went without melatonin last night so I wouldn’t be too groggy to wake up this morning. Unfortunatly, I was still awake at 2:30 a.m. Woke up at 3:30 a.m. 5 a.m. 7:30 a.m.

By my set upon ‘get moving’ alarm…I pulled the cover back over my head. Finally got up at 9:50, which with my kid at grandma’s, is indeed a rare treat. I said I’d pick her up around noon ‘after’ I ran the necessary errands. It’s 11:30 now and I’ve done nothing but get sucked into watching Special Victims Unit. Because sitting still and zoning out to a TV screen is the only thing I can do with minimal discomfort and exhaustion. That and the fact my sinuses are draining and my allergies have kicked in so I am drowning and gagging here.

I am pretty healthy person, physically. Rarely see a doctor, rarely get sick, rarely take even OTC pain killers unless I’ve tried riding out a migraine or cramps for hours to no avail. I’m not much of a talker (you’d never know that from the volume of my purge writing, would you>) so I don’t really complain to others no matter how bad I am feeling. I have had a couple of bad reactions to medications that resulted in locked up muscles so I could barely move and I kept plugging away.So I am not some whiney snowflake taken out by the first sign of physical discomfort. This PMS/PMDD shit is for real. It stems from my paternal grandmother’s side, she used to be bedridden for a week at a time, her symptoms were so bad. And this is a way from the depression years who was subservient to her husband and pushed like a work mule by him and her own parents from an early age. She was of hardy stock, taught not to complain and just get shit done. So when she confided to me and my sister that our monthly conditions are hereditary from her side and it took her down so far…I realized this isn’t whiney snowflake territory. Sadly, genetic validation doesn’t make it any easier to handle.

Point is, I’m not prone to voicing every minor or major complaint and expecting sympathy. If this impacts me enough to keep posting about it, it’s debilitating.

So I guess I will pick up my kid whenever unless they call and say otherwise. Forget errands, not going to happen today, either. I am not giving up, I am just…taking a step back. Maybe later my give a damn will propel me into action. Ibuprofen probably wouldn’t hurt but I despise taking more pills than need be, the psych meds are bad enough.

I read or heard someone describing depression as sinking in quicksand and fighting it makes it worse.And sometimes this is such a dead on description…Right now the quicksand is up to my waist and I’m gonna stop fighting it. It will release me later. Which I’ve been saying for days now but this is the monthly limbo dance.

I suck at the limbo.