Archive for the seasonal affect disorder Category

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.



Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, seasonal affect disorder on September 8, 2014 by morgueticiaatoms

After an uneventful but highly productive weekend…

And the end of shark week…

Today I feel low, I am tearing up, and every tiny thing is making me take offense. No one cares. You suck. This is what my brain is telling me.

Today I get my fucked car towed away. And maybe this is the delayed response to knowing just how fucked I am. I don’t have a dollar to my name. How am I gonna buy a car? And why does all the bad shit happen to me and usually all at once.

Perhaps it’s hormones being wonky still.

The temp has dropped and it’s getting colder, less daylight. Maybe the seasonal affect is knocking on the door.

This tearing up and feeling fragile and paranoid thing SUCKS. WTF is wrong with me? And why am I surrounded by people who don’t get it and keep telling me, “It’s not so bad.” “Don’t get so bent.”

What is the appropriate response when your car blows up and you have no options? How is that not worthy of an emotional response like this?

Though I rarely cry so this is weird for me.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.


The wolves of depression

Posted in depression, mood disorders, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , on December 10, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s not like it’s anything new, happens every year this time, but I have got to say…the seasonal affect is kicking my ass again. When I go to bed at 8 pm every night because I am just wiped out, down, and cold…It’s not a good thing. It’s like I am on auto pilot, function when I have to, come home, and fall into sleep. (Oh oh oh, Fall Into Sleep, awesome Mudvayne song, kudos to me for unintentionally working a metal song title into a mental health post!)
But, going to bed that early pretty much guarantees my body will wake up around 4 am, which I actually need in order to function like a daywalker. I don’t do mornings with any grace. I actually hate mornings. Mommyhood rewired me somewhat so that I can function in the am, but it brings me little more than disgust. At least if I wake up before she does,I get a little me time to organize my thoughts, then I have plenty of time to feed and dress her, then myself, and pack the gear.
It is sooo nice to wake up and turn on music to clear the cobwebs. I was so afraid to do it for so long, lest it wake hubby and upset his equilibrium. He always claimed it wouldn’t but he was a renowned liar. Some people need coffee to wake up. I need really obnoxious metal music. My current theme song is Bullet For My Valentine’s “Four Words to Choke Upon.”
All things considered, I am dealing fairly well.
I mean, as the counselor from hell has pointed out again and again and again, what choice do I have?
Well, I’m pretty sure psych wards would not need to exist if people didn’t crack their lids after having piles of shit heaped on them time after time.
Bah. Her sunshine spewing and “accept your lot in life” attitude piss me off. I need empathy and support. Instead she blows rainbows and puppies up my skirt, then takes a hard line and tells me I have no options. Helpful. NOT.
I am concerned that all of this early bedtime and sleep is a symptom of the SAD. Or a depression setting in due to all the upheaval and stress. The professionals don’t seem all that concerned, but why would they, they see me a few minutes once a month or week. I live with me. I know my patterns of behavior. I have had SAD for as long as I can remember, but used to, I would be up all night, and sleep all day. The nights were mine. I guess since I can’t sleep all day now my brain is just adapting but still…I don’t think geriatrics go to bed at 8pm. Without net, though, I am pretty lost at home, guess sleep is all there is to do. I mean, I am keeping up on the housework really well, so it’s not like the depressions of old where I just said screw it all and let things pile up.
Just seems odd that my kid’s going to bed between 6 and 7pm and instead of basking in the me time, I am curling up into bed, assuming the fetal position, night after night.
Anxiety,panic, and stress, oh my.
Yet I am still handling it better than I did when I was medicated and had the donor’s “help”. Funny how being oppressed sucks the life out of you. I’m sure he would say the same. We didn’t feed each other’s energy, we just canceled it out. Not absolving him or condemning me, just some after the fact insight. Another fact is, he fell for manic Niki and even though I warned him repeatedly of the reality of my disorder, he ended up not liking the reality so he jumped off the ship.
As dire as things seem, I’m not sorry he’s gone.
I am sorry that he has treated me and Spook so shittily. But it speaks volumes to his character, not mine. I am picking up the pieces and stepping up.
Even if every step I take feels like I am wearing concrete shoes and my exhausted mind and body just want to hit the floor (ha ha ha, Bullet For My Valentine song title worked in, two points for me.)
The fact that I am so jazzed about something as inane as working metal song titles into this post tells me that I am going to be okay. The old me is back.
I just have to keep the wolves of depression at bay for a few bumpy months.
Tis easier said than done.

To Do Battle Another Day

Posted in cyclothymia, depression, mental illness, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , on December 7, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

I assumed the fetal position in my bedroom at 8pm last night and drifted off to the sound of the X-Files. (Really must thank Mom’s roomie for loaning me those tapes.) I woke at ten til 4am, a half hour before my phone alarm was due to go off. Part of me wanted to lay there and wait til the alarm gave me a shove into action. But the bladder is pretty insistent,so I got up and by then, I was wide awake.
Now it is 6:31 am. I am dressed, war painted up, my kid is fed, and I am ready to face the day. I live to do battle one more day.
People without mental illness have no idea how much this shit sucks, how it sucks the life and spirit out of you. They think they have it bad having to put up with us. Try LIVING with this, motherfuckers.
Every time I think I am getting on track…some jackass at the controls flips a switch and I veer off onto another track entirely. Then onto another…and another…
GRRR, could it be more frustrating?
The counselor says yes,it is hard, but I AM DOING IT. This is testimony to my strength and determination, she says.
Meet me during one of the post hypomanic downs like last night, when my soul felt like it was bleeding and everything seemed so pointless I just wanted to curl up and cease to exist.
I feel better today, but those lows, even when short lived, really kick your ass and fuck with your mind.
On the plus side, I have retrained my brain somewhat and learned how to deal with them better, rather than just wallowing in the abyss.
On the negative side, I am medicated to the gills and it is still happening.
I guess I still have that naive side that thinks the right medication will cure it totally, but in my gut, and my heart, I know bipolar is “manageable”, it is NOT curable. My entire life is going to be one big roller coaster ride.
Which means anyone who is with me is going to have to accept that and deal with it.
I have yet to find anyone who is strong enough.
I wonder if I ever will.
And sometimes, I just don’t care, because being alone is so much easier, so much less stressful.
Nothing stresses you out more than trying to pretend you don’t have an illness to make those around you more comfortable while you go under and no one lifts a finger to help you. Though they are not short on criticisms.
Oh,well, enough of the melancholy bullshit. It’s a new day, and another chance to see what monkey wrench life is going to throw into the cogs of my life.
At least I’m going to be out trying to do something to better life for me and Spook. That’s gotta count for something.

The flipside of hypomania

Posted in cyclothymia, mental illness, mood disorders, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , on December 7, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

I guess I started feeling it around four pm…just a little slip in the good stable mood, a little bit of depression creeping in, like a finger on the back of your neck. Then came the achiness, and the exhaustion, and the desire to just get as far away from people and chaos as possible. Except today was one of the more quiet days at my mom’s, so the anxiety was definitely within me.
I spent an hour and a half feeding, bathing, and playing with Spook. The whole time I can just feel my spirits sinking, feel myself turning inward, after being so extroverted for days. The hypomania, the hope, the faith in fate and good things to come…is all slipping away as I sit here typing.
I feel guilty for being relieved that my child has gone to bed.
I feel weak for being so bone weary exhausted.
I feel ashamed because I am almost dreading returning to the repair shop to remove more capacitors because of my own clumsy slow ineptitude.
The shrink lowered my xanax, and now my anxiety is skyrocketing.
I need that Focalin desperately but it would seem I am not going to be able to afford it.
I flew high for five whole days.
Now on day five, it all comes crashing down around me.
Such is the cycle with bipolar two. Up, down, sideways, all around.
Right now, I am so frustrated with the fact that I am still cycling , even medicated to the gills, that my stupid brain has started its whispers, telling me of the utter futility in hoping I will ever find a man who will tolerate my crazy moods and wacko issues. Guys,being the non emotional creatures they can be, want someone stable, not a perpetual roller coaster ride. The idea that being born with this curse of a disorder could mean spending the rest of my life alone really irks me. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want it.
I am low.
It’s only 7:30 pm but I am  ready to assume the fetal position. I flew high for too many days straight, now I have crash landed in the pit of despair. This too shall pass. Until it does, though, maybe sleep will bring me some solace and recharge my drained battery.
Hypomania is great.
The aftermath sucks.

SADly Yours (seasonal affect disorder post)

Posted in depression, mental illness, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , on November 29, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

How appropriate is that acronym for Season Affect Disorder.
The weather went from unseasonably warm to typical dismal wet cold November in the midwest, and my “comfortably numb” has since started its descent into “I really don’t want to be conscious for the next four months.”
My mood is as dismal and chilly as the weather outside the door.
I am faced with power bills I can’t afford to pay just to keep my kid warm. Daunting, to say the least.
I hope her donor is nice and toasty and happy with himself. So nice of him to give a damn whether his kid has warmth for the winter,or diapers for that matter. Some good man.
Oh, well, she has an emotionally wonky albeit fully capable mother.
Though the functional part of capable seems to be waning with this damn seasonal affect shit.
Funny how my desire to do anything seems to vanish as soon as it gets below fourty degrees.
Add to it the strain that having to drive across town to the Three Ring Circus (ie;mom’s) to use the wifi, and in spite of the meds and several days of feeling semi stable and  numb…I am fraying at the ends of my rope.
Which is ok, I am used to taking the frayed ends of my rope and tying knots in them to buy myself some more time of just hanging in there.
I do not like this at all. I don’t think anyone does.
Every fucking fall and winter.Rinse, lather, repeat.
The wind up doll act will continue, of course, since I have no choice. My kid trumps all else.
Thing is, I am getting sick of people trying to pep talk me about how “you CAN and WILL do it because you have to for your daughter’s sake.”
And if mental illness were so considerate as to cooperate, there’d be no need for psych hospitals.
Everyone has a breaking point.
Hell, look at how the Donor handled the stress. He ran screaming into the night like a little sissy.
I live for my kid.
But I am not ignorant enough to think love and determination are going to cure a mental illness that has plagued me my entire life.
I am however, just stubborn and seasoned enough, to know that this is one more battle I have fought many times before and managed to come out of,scathed but kicking.
I’d be a liar if I said I don’t worry about my own psyche cracking.
I’ve been under a great deal of stress for 28 of my 38 years. It never seems to lessen. No matter how strong you are, the human mind can only take so much.
I have yet to find my breaking point.
I don’t want to find it, either, that’s one search party I won’t be dispatching.
But, the darkness in my mind this morning when I woke, and realized I was facing another long day of a toddler testing my patience, no money, no gas to go anywhere, no net, no cable, no reason to really get out of bed because at least it’s warm under the covers…I swear were it not for my insistent bladder, there would be days it would take a tow truck to get me moving. At least during winter.
That or the banshee wail of my kid.
I guess this is the part that is so hard for people who are in relationships with me. The yo-yo effect. Even medicated, I have so many disorders going on year round, you can never count on any kind of consistency with my moods and functionality.
They get to walk away.
This is my lot in life.
And as much as every fibre of my being wants to crawl back into the warm arms of sleep…my spite drives me to keep duking it out, with my mental illness, with dismal prospects, with everything that oppresses and stresses me.
Hubby once called me a bitter angry c*nt.
Maybe it’s what keeps me from running like a sissy every time things get tough.
And frankly, I may be bitter and angry, but I think that vile C word applies more to a coward who would walk out on his kid(s).
FUCK YOU, Seasonal Affect Disorder.
And fuck you too, Sperm Donor.

Comfortably Numb

Posted in anxiety disorders, cyclothymia, depression, mental illness, mood disorders, panic disorder, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I am seeing the biggest sign that the Lamictal is working its wonders. I am…comfortably numb. The rapid cycling and hypmanic episodes have died down and now I find myself in pretty much the same mind frame,mood wise, day after day. This is not to say there aren’t days where my mood lifts or dips or I get angry. But they were at an 11 on a one to ten scale, and now I am about at a three. That is mood stabilizer magic.
I was going to ask for an increase, but now I am not sure I need one. 100mg daily is on the low therapeutic side, but if it’s working, why mess with it? I guess I will find out Thursday when I see pdoc. I am going to ask her about something to help with my concentration and focus, because I do still have trouble with that. One doc said I had ADD and gave me focalin, which did amazing things for me. Then another said it’s contraindicated for people with panic disorder, even though it did not cause a problem for me there. Who knows. I know if I am going to hold a job, then this doing ten things at once and finishing them when I get to it ain’t gonna fly. I need something to help gather things in my head up neatly and give them some semblance of organized thought.
As for the anxiety…XANAX IS A GOD. Within two days back on it, the terror and paranoia went away completely. I was myself again. Now that I have been on it awhile and built up some levels in my bloodstream, it is quelling the generalized anxiety for the most part. It still has limited effects on the bad panic attacks, but it does dull them, and I am not without gratitude for the little things. It doesn’t seem to really do much for social anxiety, but I tried Paxil for that once with the sterling recommendations from the docs on how it would do wonders, and I spent two weeks wide awake, pacing, and more paranoid and jumpy than I’d ever been, so I guess dealing on my own is the lesser evil. I still say, for anyone with anxiety based panic and paranoia, Xanax is the gold standard, risks of addiction and withdrawal aside.
As usual, the Prozac is my magic bullet. The evenings are still tough, but since Spook and I have a routine, and I know the seasonal affect will eventually come to an end, I am maintaining. I’ve wondered why, in all the years and anti deps they have put me on, why Prozac has always been The One that works. It lasted about four years, which is 3 years,three months longer than any other. So I keep going back to it. Guess it’s what my fucked up brain chemistry responds to.
So…three days of kid and mom sickness, no net or cable, I have had lots of time to think and ruminate. And I keep going back to this one bad blow up The Donor and I had, and I couldn’t even tell you if it was this year or last or the one before. I just remember that particular dispute,because it was ugly, but also…He was talking complete shit. I don’t even recall what sparked the fight. But what I do recall is how I was trying to explain to him certain symptoms of bipolar disorder, and he went rabid and read me the riot act on how I tried to blame everything on my disorder rather than just owning up to it being my personality.
I’m not in denial of my personality disorders. I have an 18 year file thick as two collegiate dictionaries detailing my diagnoses from multiple professionals. It always comes back to “personality disorder not otherwise specified.” So, yes, I have a trait from that one, two from this one, blah blah blah. In light of having had the wrong diagnosis (dysthymia) for 14 years, though, I wonder how much of the personality stuff is true. Because reading the blogs of others with bipolar, describing some of their feelings, moods, and behaviors, I see so much of myself there.
Which means when I was trying to explain some of my actions to The Donor, I was dead on, and he was wrong. Maybe not about everything, maybe like everyone else, I have blind spots as far as my own behavior is concerned. From the way I beat up on myself over every tiny thing, though, I find it highly unlikely that I am in the denial he accused me of being in. In fact, every time I would beat myself up for repeating idiotic mistakes, he would tell me I was being too hard on myself and to stop it. So it would seem that it was only a problem when it was convenient for him.
What all this thinking and reminiscing has sparked in me is the firm belief, that if you are going to be with someone with a mental illness, you get involved and supportive and realize that not every action of theirs is some affront against them. If you love that person, then you will do research, you will talk to their doctor, you will become involved. The Donor was so scarred from his own stuff that he couldn’t see that I had an illness, he just thought it was conflicting personalities or I hate him, anything easier than admitting that he had married someone who was indeed mentally ill. Never mind I was straight with him from the start about the reality of who I am. His denial was so deep, an excavator could not have dug him out.
Again, this is not me absolving myself. I know I am a penny pincher from hell (meet my father, you’ll understand.) I know I am overreactive at times. I know I can be selfish and self absorbed. I know when I feel threatened, it brings out my insecurities and I become quite a nasty beast.
I also know for every bad trait I have, there are two good ones.
I am flawed but not beyond redemption.
I don’t think I have ever been with anyone who cared enough to realize I have an actual medical condition. My first husband had NF (neurofibramatosis) and as much as it scared me to death to be with someone who’d been so ill their whole lives, I basically demanded his mother make copies of all his medical records and hook me up with literature and people I could talk to to learn about his illness and what I could do to help and understand. That is love.
I can honestly say I have never had that from anyone I have been seriously involved with.
Therefore it stands to reason, no one has ever really loved me.
Or they did, it was just with limitations.
I digressed a bit, and I apologize, but for me, it is all tied together, personality disorders and mental illness, the present, the past.
I am ecstatic that the current med combo seems to be working its magic.
I am less than ecstatic with the daunting months ahead of me, trying to keep a roof over my child’s head and find a job, and just maintain.
But I am putting one foot in front of the other and I am dealing. In a testament to true strength and courage, I am taking the hand I was dealt, and I am trying to play the best game I can, win or lose.
The one thing that makes all the difference in the world now as opposed to before is Spooky. Having a child and being her mom has given me more purpose, more strength, and more determination than any pill ever could.
I just needed the pills to get my head screwed on straight enough to realize this.
Proof I have a legitimate illness or otherwise, all the pills in the world wouldn’t help at all.
Comfortably numb is not a bad place to be.