Mental Health Ninjas

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on October 5, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I got cocky yesterday. I was swimming along, going with the flow, had things managed and anxiety to a dull roar. (I was actually able to make phone calls, which should have been made Tuesday but that day, I was borderline psychotic with anxiety.) Nothing catastrophic happened. i was feeling okay.

Then I got home and that damned band of anxiety ninjas launched a full scale assault on my senses. I literally felt like my bones were trying to pry their way out of my skin. There was no trigger. I was in my safe space. I was drinking water all day, so not caffeine to set it off. No sweets. Just…ninja attack. I took a Xanax. It did nothing. So I took another, knowing that’d make my bedtime dose short but hey, what’s a couple of hours trying to nod off compared to anxiety so bad you even feel like your child is a threat and it sets off fight or flight impulses.

Eventually, the spell passed, but it took almost 4 hours to regain equilibrium and by then, I was so stressed, my stomch was hurting. Frustrating.

Today is another wet and gloomy one, three in a row. We need the rain, even if all we get is short bursts. I only mowed my lawn twice the entire spring and summer, that’s how dry it has been. But much as I love the sound of rain and not having sunlight piercing my corneas…It does impact my energy and mood so gloomy days are a bit rocky for me.

This one started on a somber note. Spook’s kitten, Sachel, passed away. The mama refused to feed him, he refused to eat even kitten chow or milk, and I guess even with me using a kitty syringe to feed him nutrigel and mooshy food, it wasn’t enough to sustain him. Now I am terrified Adelitas is going to go the same way, though he is at least warming a bit to the idea of powdered milk and he will drink some water. Any day that starts out with having to tell your 8 year old her kitten died is not a good day. I buried him after she left and put a flower on his grave so she can have her own ceremony later.

Ran some errands before coming to the shop. Frankly, I am amazed how much I remembered to do, even some of it before I left home because hey, I have internet, I can submit an invoice from there…But of course there’s one thing I can’t remember so I had to send R a text and he will undoubtedly give me shit for not remembering that one thing. I remembered everything else. Give me some credit for that. With the holes in my memory these days, I’m lucky if I remember to put on pants. (I wish that was a joke.)

I kinda spruced myself up today with a pretty shirt, some eyeliner and earrings, a bracelet. Think it’s my way of saying, “Look, you selfish bitch, that poor kitten is dead and you’re alive, so show some damned signs of life and be thankful you have one.”

Back to making the donuts. Which means sitting here watching TV shows and firing off a message to an ebay seller about a defective product. Woohoo, I am a whirlwind. I guess compared to others, I am a sloth but the functionality I manage, lackluster as it can be…I take a little satisfaction in it.

A little. Too much and then people will think I am all cured if my exterior is all shiny. If only they could spend some time in the darkness hidden by that exterior they might learn some empathy.


No Discernable Reason

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on October 3, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The anxiety is flapping its wings like a thousands bats in a belfry and I barely got out the door. I was okay yesterday. Now I feel like I am losing my mind. Ninja anxiety without a trigger really pisses me off. Because I am a bit of a control freak and if I can’t discern a trigger, I can’t do anything to ward it off. How is that not maddening even to non control freaks? Something hurts, you take a painkiller or have it fixed by a doctor. Your car breaks down, you get the mechanic on it.

What the hell am I supposed to do with constant free floating anxiety that in an instant morphs into a giant cloud of paranoia and rising panic even when nothing sparked it?

This is when I an SURE that I am semi-allergic to the petri dish. Being out of my safe space hovel, in the dish, surrounded by people and noise, I seem to start melting down. Doesn’t matter if my mood is good or bad. Anxiety ninjas attack and it’s all I can do not to become some blathering tear soaked ninny. If being at home keeps the anxiety below 7, yet going out into the dish amps it to 11….The dish must be the triggering incident. But I can’t hide in my safe space constantly, I know, it’s not healthy, gotta face your fears, tough it out, suck it up.

At this point, I am sucking up so much, I could be a damned Hoover or Dyson.

That is all.


Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on October 2, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I have stunned myself today with how productive I have been today. Oh, not around the house, the place is still Biohazard level 5. No. But I had to pay the internet bill, the power bill, and the rent and I had that all done before 10 a.m.

Then I got a voucher from Salvation Army for clothes at their store because what money I had left goes for car insurance and gas and the kid has no fall/winter clothes. I didn’t find any pants, but I got her six shirts, all very cute and in great condition. While doing that, I got a message that someone wanted to bring a TV into the shop. Well, Monday is MY day where I get to be selfish, sans kid, and regain equilibrium, but I still went and opened the shop and took in the TV. It’s a warranty so guaranteed money which means more for him to put towards buying me the car he’s promised for 2 years! (I think me driving a heap of ugly junk bothers him more than me, but then, it is all about appearances and others being impressed.)

After that, I got my meds (my Trintellix costs insurance $512 a month, pharma companies are satan!!!), I got some Halloween stuff (yeah, yeah, what a waste of six bucks) and came home. I decorated. Six years straight Mr. Vorhees has occupied my bedroom window.

Neighbors have told me driving by at night when their headlights hit my window, it scares the hell out of them. Ha ha ha ha. That’s the point of Halloween, ain’t it?

I haven’t taken a pic yet but I even decorated my drought barren rose bush with black roses and skulls. Poor Monster has barely had two dozen blooms all summer cos of lack of rain. Otherwise, she is a monstrously huge bush of hot pink roses. (Yeah, yeah, Morgue, hot pink? My stepmom bought the rose bush for me as a Mother’s Day gift from my kid and planted it, it was labeled as yellow but either the store fucked up or all the stray cats peeing on it changed the color with their urine’s PH.)

Aside from the usual Trintellix induced stomach ache and some anxiety induced trembling of my hands…not been a bad day. Which means the rest of the week when I have to be in the dish, I am probably going to be a hot mess and start freaking out.

Such is the cycle.

On a funny note..I got a comment today on my “Dear Blahpolar…in memory of…” post. Pure Spam or Net Troll. Told me my last few posts have been boring and I need to get back on track. HUH? Okay, that post was about Ulla, not me, in memory of the anniversary of her death. And if that tribute bores you, go fuck yourself with a barbwire dildo. I laughed it off. My posts are pretty consisten in being rambling diatribes about my necessary nemesis, R, and my defiant child and my battles against depression, bipolar, and anxiety, and the never ending money problems. Newsflash, Troll/Spamzilla: my blog has never been anything but boring. Because my life is boring. I am boring. So there will be no changes made. Go read one of the scintillating (BORING) three sentence long blogs talking about what someone ate for the day or insulting someone based on their looks. That’s about your speed, anyway.

Okay. I guess that’s my diatribe for the day. Stay tuned for more boring posts!

Actually stayed tuned for more pictures of my awesome Halloween decor. That’s actually interesting.

The Crash

Posted in depression with tags , , , on October 1, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Does not matter how many times it happens or how it is the norm.

I always get a little arrogant when surprised with a functional day in spite of being drained by the week. Yesterday was that day for me. I thought, hey, maybe I am adapting, getting stronger. I started making to do lists and…


Since my kid left for church I’ve done nothing but lay in bed. My stomach churns. I’m sleepy but not enough to fall asleep. My body aches. I feel bruised head to toe. The simplest things feel like insurmountable tasks.

This is the crash. This is the cycle with the depression. This is splat.

I hate splat. I want to do my lists and be uber functional woman and…Yeah, it ain’t happening today. And so I’ll reboot my brain and let my body rest and of course, i will feel shitty about it and guilt trip myself, probably indulge in some self loathing for not being able to ‘snap out of it’.

It’s okay. I’ll set the one small goal, accomplish it, and allow myself to simply be tapped out and recuperate what the week drained out of me. That was about the only piece of advice from counseling that every truly helped.

One goal. Get it done. Allow yourself to breathe, rest, and feel exhausted, depressed, etc.

Now ain’t that a sad statement after 20 some odd years of counseling. I come out with one decent piece of advice that I can actually use.

I’m thinking the counselors here must just be really shitty at their jobs.

(And there’s that tiny voice telling me, no, I am the problem, because they are educated, trained professionals, and I am nothing but a basketcase of mental disorders so I have no valid opinions or feelings.)

Crash, splat, and self loathing. What a wonderful way to start the day.

The A Word

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Yep. Another post involving The A Word. The dreaded anxiety. Free floating today. I don’t know why, perhaps hangover the week in the petri dish even if it was a shorter week thanks to many appointments for my kid and me. (My kid and I? Whatever.) Still, it was a trying week just the same, possibly because while the appointments got me out of the shop, I was actually dealing with other, far more public and populated places. It definitely took a toll.

Fortunately, not so much as to cripple me today. Still managed to drag my ass for a couple of yard sales (in part due to my kid’s relentless nagging, I think without it, I probably would have said forget about it.) We also went to three different stores for various household supplies. By the last store, I was at the end of my rope with traffic and noise and people. Especially a tense moment at the last place, which had nothing whatsoever to do with me. Some woman jumped this dude who came in on a motorcycle and I guess he was going too fast and almost ran into her and her little girl. As I have renumerated, I don’t handle confrontation at all, even when it’s nothing to do with me. I seriously thought these two were going to come to blows and it set off every panic receptor in my body. FLIGHT, FLIGHT, FLIGHT. Sadly, I’ve got too little fight left in me except for the big picture stuff. Survival and all.

There has been the added drama of my kid’s social life. First I get a note from S’s mom asking if S can stay the night with Spook, she has no phone anymore so we have to write notes. So I said okay, after 5 p.m. so I can get some stuff done. Then came the devil girls (they are oddly now allowed to play with my kid since I became the neighborhood spokesperson, getting all the kids back on the school bus route) and of course, my kid can’t play with more than one or 2 at a time and there was drama. Name calling. Thievery. S doesn’t want to stay now, and I guess she told her mom to say no and that upset my kid, who then said she didn’t want S to stay, she wanted the devil girls. I have no idea what is going on now. I will stand by my word if S does show up to stay, but otherwise…Enough fucking drama. My nerves don’t need it.

I am stressing because our kittens, Adelitas and Sachel, will not start eating solids and their shitty mom Cleo has declared them weaned and refuses to feed them. I got Kitten Chow, moistened it with water, with warm milk. They aren’t interested and I am terrified they are going to starve themselves. So I’ve taken to using a medication syringe to feed them tiny bits of the Nutri-gel, in hopes it will stimulate their appetite while nourishing them. I don’t want to lose my two little Manx kitties. Well, Sachel is a bobtail but Addy is pure Manx, not even a nub of a tail. Beautiful, sweet lil babies.

I was further distressed by a visit from stepmonster. That beast had to the nerve to gush to me how their neighbor’s car broke down so they loaned her one of their 5 vehicles. Yet these people couldn’t lift a finger when my last 3 cars went belly up. Can’t help their own fucking family, but help a damned neighbor they’re not related to. And oh, supposedly it’s cos she’s a single mom with a toddler but I know the fucking truth. It’s because she has a job and with my dad, that’s all that has ever mattered. You don’t work, you’re dirt. It doesn’t matter the reason. You could be in a coma and he’d expect you to have a job. More than being hurt, it just pissed me off. They didn’t give a damn when I was stranded, with their granddaughter and they had extra vehicles. I haven’t had any sort of accident or speeding ticket in 25 years. Last ticket I had was when Spook was an infant and it was for a stupid seatbelt violation. It’s not like I’m a terrible driver. They’re just fucking rude and cruel.

I may have my issues with my mom and sister’s zoo-esque lifestyle living together like a commune but when I had no car, my mom came through letting me have back the one I gave her, then giving me the old one Dad had passed onto hers. I just don’t get my dad and stepmonster sometimes. Everyone seems to like them but the way they treat me and Spook is rather monstrous. They’re still taking food to my mom and sister’s crew (they usually make my sis clean their house to earn it, but they don’t offer me that option, because stepmonster prefers my sister’s cleaning to mine and hey, fair enough, whatever) but mom and sis have triple the income I have, they get food stamps, and still, Dad helps them out more than us.

And don’t think my kid, even at 8, hasn’t noticed how little the whole family helps us while helping the other side so much. “I’m sorry you’re not Grandpa and Grandma’s favorite child, Mom.” FFS. Do these people not see how that belittles me in my child’s eyes? Of course, it doesn’t much impact her opinion of them, because hey,sometimes they take her places or buy her stuff or in my mom’s case, she shovels 4 cupcakes her way every other hour. What’s to not like when you’re 8.

The saving grace is that I have long been an outside in my own family, i’m pretty used to it. And taking any help from my dad’s faction is akin to taking out a loan from a loanshark, even when you’re paid up, you’re still having it held over your head. Not worth it.

I was also treated from two seperate sides on donor sightings around town. I don’t know why they bother, I don’t care if the man lives or dies. Hopefully he lives in agony until he’s a hundred as punishment for abandoning all 3 of his kids and blaming the moms instead of owning his own asshole-i-ness. Someone swears they saw him working at a gas station here in town. Well, good for him, maybe the state will enforce the child support at some point. He was also spotted at the hospital and frankly, I hope he has an STD. Yeah, I’m evil. And I barely think of the man until people start bringing him up and of course, they’re all outraged at his shitty treatment of Spook and the fact he blames it all on me. As stepmonster pointed out, he saw her and dad with Spook out in public multiple times and he didn’t even cast a longing look to his child, he actually turned away, didn’t even attempt to talk to her. And she was with them, so he can’t play the “Niki will start a scene, that crazy bitch” card.

In some cases, it’s less denial and more apathy that keeps me feeling less…volatile and spiteful. If I don’t hear about him, I forget he even exists for the most part. Wishing him ill is just me lowering myself to his level, but at some point the emotions do get the better of me and I lash out in tiny, petty ways. I’m a lowly human. To my credit, at least on the two occasions we encountered him in public, I made no scene and I didn’t punch him. I mean, if I’m so volatile and intimidating, that would be the expected response, right? But I didn’t. Because I’ve grown as a person, in spite of shitty circumstances and a misbehaving brain.

I lost the med lottery today. And it’s weird. I ate first, took my meds, ate a little afterward. And still got slammed with nausea and a headache and grogginess, not to mention acid reflux. And I had the audacity to do my usual and lay down in my dark bedroom waiting for it to pass and Spook’s posse came in and accused me of falling asleep and not supervising my kid. I was not asleep, ffs. I am able to lay down and close my eyes without nodding off 99.9% of the time. Nothing gets my dander up like a false accusation. Especially from a bunch of mouthy brats.

I am feeling better now, though 0.5 mg Xanax barely took the edge off the A word. I guess this is my new norm. I wonder if the dual anti depressant therapy could be heightening the anxiety, that is known to happen. But going into seasonal affective disorder, I can’t afford to cut back the anti depressants. Oh, and that’s one more stressor, my Medicare drug plan stuff came and they’ve changed the forumulary covering even fewer brand drugs, and they’ve made it clear they intend to to switch all of us to a similar drug that is cheaper. Which means before 2018 I’ve got to get the nurse doc’s office on a waiver so they can’t take Trintellix away from me. I am all for cheaper as long as the med has the same effect. But I’ve tried their idea of “similar” and none of them worked. If they yank out the one that helps I am screwed.

So all things considered…I guess I have many reasons to be anxiety ridden and to have spiteful or fearful feelings. And even if it’s not justified, it’s still real and it’s still a pain in the ass.

Social security disability reviews always ask for examples of how my disorders interfere with my ability to lead a normal, quality life.

The more proper question is, how don’t they?

The Carousel Never Stops Turning

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on September 29, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Guess only die hard fans of Grey’s Anatomy will get the title of this post, but even aside from the show…it’s a meaningful statement. The carousel NEVER stops turning. You can get ill, throw up, try to jump off, maybe you land injury free or die from a busted skull. That damned ride just keeps going, and until death, there is no escape. There is only holding on when you can, jumping off and hoping for the best when you can, and trying not to throw up on any children riding the same carousel. (Sue me for trying to inject a bit of humor into an otherwise humorless situation.)

The anxiety ninjas arrived today, about three dozen, swinging nunchuks and swords, coming at me from every direction. I’m trying to duck and cover and get in a few blows of my own but alas…Those ninjas are kicking my ass.

I always have anxiety before any shrink appointment, so I can’t say it was unexpected. The level of this particular ninja attack left me feeling overwhelmed, terrified, pounding heart, sweatiness, wooziness, nausea, headache…Yet my blood pressure was perfectly normal at the office.Inside, I swore I was having palpitations and the room was spinning and yet those damned numbers, the tangible proof society demands to prove you’re feeling what you are feeling, remained within the perfectly normal range. Talk about insult to injury. Even I start to question myself when the scientific data contradicts what I am personally experiencing.

For me, in my head space, it’s very real. It’s crippling, terrifying, neverending. The carousel ride from hell run at warp speed and that awful music blaring to the extent my eardrums shatter. But the scientific numbers remain normal so obviously…I will never be viewed as anything more than a malingerer.

One line in the sand I drew today when I finally got to see doc nurse was to explain to her that her constant clacking on the keyboard while talking to me was a big issue for me and surprisingly, she didn’t do it this time. I don’t know if I angered her because she is a trained professional, for all I know, under the smiles, she might have been plotting to have me labeled cured out of spite. (No, I don’t like the fact my brain goes to such a dark place automatically, but I guess when the dark stuff happens to you enough, it becomes ingrained to at least suspect it.)

She didn’t seem all that worried about the state I was in. Unwashed hair, couldn’t remember last time I showered, I sleep in 3 hour intervals, then can barely drag ass out of bed come morning. I left out all the stuff about the shop/R stress, figuring that would just get me another lecture about counseling or, worse, “But you are managing.” Being ambulatory and half competent is not managing, it is grasping at straws.

I am all for counseling EXCEPT for the one place in town that takes my insurance as their previous counselor screwed up my head worse and of course, R’s daughter is on staff there so she would have access to my records and has repeatedly shown an inability to respect privacy laws or show basic empathy for those with mental issues…With my pre-existing trust and panic issues, there is NO rational reason why anyone would want to risk their fragile mental state becoming fodder for this woman’s private conversations. (And it’s not a matter of maligning her, I have been witness to her lack of discretion and professionalism as she tells R stuff and he tells me, so the entire counseling program is compromised. To speak up about it, even anonymously, in this small town, would leave no doubt who and where the information came from, and that’s not merely burning a bridge, that’s setting an entire village on fire.) Suffice it to say, if the disability deities want me in counseling, they can feel free to expand coverage to a local counselor that hasn’t psychologically scarred me.

So anyway…Doc nurse had no answers about the anxiety except to blame situational (yeah, that’s some of it) and saying by taking my meds in the afternoon I am probably causing my own insomnia. I know this to have been debunked, however, as I used to take the meds in the morning and still had trouble getting to sleep at night and staying asleep. I’m not a know it al, I am not non compliant, I am simply experienced with trial and error of finding out the best way to take the meds. Maybe I can shift the Lamictal and Wellbutrin to morning, but the Trintellix is staying after a meal. That level of nausea is worse than anything lithium ever dished out.

She increased the Trintellix to 15mg, said see you in 4 weeks, or can I do anything else for you. I was dumbfounded by that last part, like I was at a convenience store. What did I forget to get a pack of smokes? Almost felt like a dismissal. But I suppose it’s typical. Anything short of saying you want to harm yourself or others is pretty much dismissed. There’s you pill, here’s a quarter, call someone who cares. (No one remembers that Travis Tritt song from the 80’s/90’s? I had to have a country song to assign to my dad as a ringtone, that one seemed fitting, cos hey, I don’t much care about your ranting…)

Ranting. I am the pot calling the kettle black. Ranting is all I seem to do. When I’m not busy rambling.

Anyway…back to the shop, took a Xanax (I needed her to see how strung out I was on the anxiety, if you go in all calm and collected, they dismiss you even more,so I didn’t take it beforehand), and now…I am supposed to blast some stereos to see if they will ‘act up’ but my noise tolerance today isn’t very high so I think I will watch Chicago Fire instead. I’ve waited 5 months basically to see how it turns out. Though the ‘will they live or die” thing likely isn’t good for my anxiety.

Just comes a point when the anxiety has robbed me of as much as I can allow it to. I can’t even get into this season of American Horror Story because it’s too realistic and terrifying. I look at this country and I see the hatred and sheeple mentality and it is become a cult, no clowns needed to terrify and repulse. Maybe in a few months I will be able to handle it. Not right now.

The anxiety has ruined Supernatural for me. Lucifer, too.

So, no, whatever shows I can work in without having a massive mental breakdown, I am gonna brave it even if I have to keep the volume down low or use the closed captioning to avoid the noise all together.

The anxiety ninjas may have beaten me down, but I’m still gonna get back up. Because that carousel never stops turning and on rare occasion, it’s a pleasant ride and I think that’s good enough reason to keep fighting.

When Your Self Esteem Goes Ten Rounds With Tyson

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so obviously, I don’t know Mike Tyson nor do I know much about the boxing world. From all accounts though, Tyson’s a hell of a boxer who punishes his opponents in the ring.

R has become my version of Tyson, only instead of fists in a boxing ring and a somewhat fair fight…He barrages me with his political certainties, dismissal of my ever having a salient opinion, and also, he uses on line videos to highlight his personal views of women in general, and especially, women who don’t work or use the court system to go after men for alimony or child support.

Last night I was treated to a ten plus minute youtube diatribe from some chick he finds smashing in her opinionated posts. This one, of course, was “I don’t need a man” and hell no, I am not providing a link to it because I’m not lifting a finger to give her more viewers. She wants to be all girl power and shit, but essentially she is saying the world is still run by men and they are hunting and gathering and chest thumping to protect us female snowflakes who are too weak and lazy to do it ourselves.

Given, when I am menstrual and in physical pain, not to mention the pummeling I got from my child calling me dumb and stupid for three straight hours (because of the ‘no’ word, of course), maybe this inane video just hit me harder than it normally would.

Or maybe as a woman on disability, who does get state aid, who did go to ask the court to butt in and get child support from the donor…Maybe this chick’s words felt not like slaps across the face, but having a box cutter swung aross my self esteem repeatedly. Thankfully I was a little numbed with Mangorita (the only thing positive R brings to the table anymore) so I didn’t go what he calls “feminaze”. I calmly allowed “She makes some salient points, but on the child support issue…I don’t care if it’s a mom or dad who walked out and won’t support their kid, the custodial parent should have every right to go to court and use legal means to pursue the deadbeat for support for the child.”

Which he made about himself, too, because he had full custody of his three kids and a 5 year battle in court with their mother and she didn’t start paying child support until after the final hearing. But he didn’t go whining to the state, he just made do because apparently, youtube chick is right, men are the hunter gatherers and we, the females, are simply the cooks and cleaners and occasional orifice for their baser needs.

It’s amazing I didn’t punch him. Really, it is. He sits there so proud of this youtube chick spouting off, shredding so called feminists, and essentially, shredding ME, and he denies the parallels. Because I was doing ok without child support for 5 years until he and my dad bullied me into using the state and the courts to pursue child support. So here I am being lambasted for doing what HE pummeled me to do for years.

I also tried to bow out gracefully from his shop deal. He’s taking in too many items, spending too little time working on it because the other place is working him over and sending him out of state again next week, and I am the one left to explain to people why it’s taking 4 months to get a damned repair done. The stress and anxiety this puts on me is immense, but trying to talk to him about it is pointless. He doesn’t hear, won’t hear. He says everyone’s stuff will get fixed, but he fails to grasp when it takes months for an item to be repaired and we can’t even blame the slow delivery from China when the parts have already been sitting here for weeks now…Everyone tells me to cut him slack, he’s exhausted, so I appealed to him on that angle. He got snappish and said he’s not exhausted, he just needs time and it will all get done.

Denial is bordering on delusional.

So I am telling him about my limitations and pointing out it wouldn’t do any harm to let the shop be closed a week or so, let him get caught up, let me catch my breath…And nope, he still wouldn’t give an inch.

So between the forced second hand video pummeling of the chick I shall now refer to as youtube Satan, and his utter dismissal of my cries for mercy…I went to bed feeling pretty damned beaten down, ignored, and hurt.

I wasn’t real stunned when this morning, I woke up in so much pain from cramps and backache, I got my kid off to the bus stop and went back to sleep. Fuck it. He won’t listen to me, all I can do is try to take breathers here and there to avoid the crash and burn. I wandered into the shop around 9:45 and I don’t feel the least bit crappy for it. When someone gives a cry for help and says they need a break…and you ignore them…you’re lucky to get anything out of them, considering that cruel treatment.

He can call me a snowflake all he wants. He can thump his chest about what a great worker he his doing two jobs and how he single handledly raised 3 kids by himself. He also had an ex who saw the kids one evening a week and every other weekend so he did occasionally get breaks. I don’t. He always had some sort of inheritance or savings to fall back on with his kids. I do not. He drinks himself into a stupor nightly for 30 years, so even if he depression or anger he wouldn’t feel it. All I’ve got are an endless string of meds that work, half work, or don’t work. I’m not a fucking snowflake.

And a call just came in for a guaranteed $250 from a warranty repair and because he is so busy, they’re going to take it elsewhere.

He’s right, I’m wrong. Period.

And let’s not forget this one dumbass who has called 45 times in two days. I’ve talked to him four times, R talked to him 3 times, and no matter what you tell him, he keeps calling back and he doesn’t hear you and repeats himself. If I hated ringing phones before, now I view them as ticking bombs out to cause my central nervous system to implode.

Maybe I should just send my kid to my mom’s for the weekend and have the psych nurse doc lady sign me into the mental ward for a couple of days.

Fuck, it’s sad when you have to think in such extremes all to avoid ruining a friendship. Seems to me were R truly my friend, he’d have some concern for my feelings. But then, me asking for a man to be concerned about my feelings makes me a snowflake.

There are days I wish North Korea would just nuke us already. (I hope that’s the menstrual dysphoria talking.)