Mental Paralysis

Posted in depression with tags , , , on November 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s finally my ‘me-free’ day after 5 straight days with my kid home from school and I find myself mentally paralyzed. I wanted to leap in and start cleaning today but it’s not happening. I know part of it is the furnace being out, it’s cold and I become very inert when I am cold. Weird part is, it’s fifty degrees outside and warmer than inside. Sometimes I swear my body’s thermometer is broken.

I need to clean. Like, mega clean. Hell, I’d like to sit at the desktop computer and try to write. But I am cold and low and for whatever reason, my brain is not cooperating with the desire to do anything but sit in front of streaming video. It’s like this sometimes. The anxiety and paranoia mount and add up to the point where I think if I move around something bad is going to happen. It lacks logic but then, anxiety disorder lacks logic so it seems, well, ha, logical.

There are days when I can force myself out of the paralysis brought on by the paranoia and anxiety. I don’t believe this is going to be one of them. I am going to try not to browbeat myself, though, because Saturday, even after my meds making me so sick I wanted to die, I did dishes, folded some laundry, took the vacuum apart and fixed it…Sometimes the mind cooperates and sometimes it doesn’t. There is no ‘snap out of it’ bullshit. Maybe later the paralysis will lift and I will get stuff done. Or maybe my victory for the day is getting up before my kid and making sure she had hot cocoa with fruit for breakfast. After nearly two weeks of menstrual dysphoria and pain, on top of the seasonal depression, just getting up after hitting snooze three times, and making hot cocoa and sitting up while she gets ready is a mega accomplishment.

It seems laughable to so many people that I view it that way, but then, it was a counselor who taught me to view the rough days that way. If you accomplish even one small goal, against the mental inertia and paralysis, then you can ride it out until it passes and not have to feel shitty about yourself or lack of accomplishment. You did something, and that counts. Now if that therapist (if he is still alive, he moved away a long time ago, breaking my heart cos he really was awesome) would just get his own talk show and tell the masses that it’s okay not to be a whirlwind all the time, especially when anxious and depressed. Seems these days the only way to reach mindless masses is through TV or social media.

Then again, I wouldn’t wish that on Paul, he was too a good a therapist, and human, to fall into the vapid wasteland of today’s society even if his message is an important one. I consider myself blessed to have had him as a counselor, even if it was less than two years before he moved away.

Today I am just going to ride it out. Therapist’s orders, so to speak. And while the self flogging is almost certain because hey, self loathing is depression’s constant companion- I am going to try to keep it from becoming 50 Shades Of Grey self flogging.

Nothing sexy or even curiously kinky about convincing yourself you’re a useless husk of humanity. Besides, depression will put its two cents’ worth in, no extra flogging necessary.

Somehow, whips and chains seem less sadistic than mental health disorders.


Mental Disorders-Perception Versus Reality

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , on November 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Today was a weird one, mentally, and I chalk it up to excess stress and of course, my own fuck up of missing several doses of anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. (Which, occasionally IS my memory failure, but also can be attributed to the doc/nurse office not replying to refill requests in a timely manner, the pharmacy failing to fax for refills, and many times with Trintellex, not having the dose on hand thus resulting in a couple days’ without meds, and let us not forget lack of copay money as well as insurance script plans not allowing refills more than 4 or 5 days in advance.) Not absolving myself, I screwed up missing doses, no matter the reason, and I am the one paying for it. Today was a roller coaster of inertia, desire to function, crash landing to depressive abyss, followed by a lift into hypomania. I OWN my screw up.

What has me spiraling today, though, is PERCEPTION VERSUS REALITY. And this is NOT a thing limited to those with mood disorders or the assortment of other mental imbalances…There is my truth, your truth, facts, perceptions and it is all confusing no matter the stability of your brain chemicals. With a series of legit imbalances, though, it is more difficult and confusing, even when your self awareness is uber precise.

Points in question…My ‘friendship’ with R. Earlier I hit a rock bottom abyss where I could barely hold back tears (and the monthly curse is over so it’s less likely hormonal) and all I could think was, “Thanks for the friendship, your demands broke me.” Is it fair? Maybe. Maybe not. Is it a distortion? Maybe partially because I can’t expect Mr. Spock to correlate with my “even the needs of the few are equal to the needs of the many” emotional stance. Still…I find it an imbalanced ‘friendship’ and I use the quotations marks because this is a man making demands of me and while I am not without necessary benefits when me and my child need them…This man doesn’t even send a Christmas or birthday text, treats my kid like an annoyance, and when I told him awhile back I had a sick cat I needed to be home with, he said, :Well, then I should think you’d rather be here”….

His emotional IQ is so low except for his own progeny and grand-progeny, we are never ever gonna be on the same page. I REQUIRE money to keep my fed sheltered and clothed and the car running. I require his expertise when my furnace goes out or my computer hardware fails. But when it comes to my emotional needs, I am left feeling starved, denied, abused. Even if he means well, my feelings are no less valid.

Yet any time I voice them he has this Mr. Spock method of making me feel weak and subpar and like I am screwing him over as opposed to vice versa. He was diagnosed 20 years ago as a narcissist so it’s not a newsflash that his needs come first and my needs are crap unless he can write a check or make a repair but I keep thinking of all the times I have hobbled in on my last physical and mental leg to be a good friend, to atone for my pre-mood stabilizer behavior…and if I fail him even once, I get a nasty lecture about being intolerable and now I have to stand on my own two feet cos he’s tired of ‘taking care’ of me.

Yet he can fail me dozen of times, leave me with a car about to keel over because he hasn’t had time in 18 months-even while laid off from the second job-to take a peek-see and help…I just feel…a little abused, a lot neglected, and frankly, emotionally starved. I recognize the difference in our mentality, personalities, histories, and me being…well, psychologically disorganized, which amounts to us never seeing eye to eye but…

Am I really so demanding to want him to listen and HEAR me when I am willing to do the same for him? Is it fair of him to blow me off with ‘different car and needed cash/items’ so I do his bidding?

Perception versus reality. It’s a thing, mental chaos or not.

I’ve had so much counseling (whereas he repeatedly rejected the notion anything could be wrong with him) I am fairly self aware, outside my 2 week menstrual dysphoria. I know my weaknesses, am trying to find my strengths, I recognize my imperfections, my dastardly behaviors and deeds…Yet I am surrounded with people who can’t even determine that calling me a bitch (thank you, mommy) is saying more about their lack of emotional maturity than it is me.

What can I do?

I am just gonna keep putting one foot in front of the other even though every day feels like my soul has died another death, my emotional well being is in famine mode, and my insecurities are causing me to doubt even my ability to breathe without screwing it up.

There IS beauty out there. I am not prepared to give up on it yet.

Whether my psyche holds up to my hopes and desires is a whole other story yet to be determined.

I just think a ‘friendship’ where you’ve pushed yourself beyond the breaking point and the other person still expects more…it’s a bit toxic. And it means R hasn’t changed an iota in 20 years because, hey, he was the one who dumped me because of my mood swings. He didn’t care I had a shit doctor who misdiagnosed, wrongly medicated me and nearly killed me and I couldn’t afford better. He shunned me because I was too stressful yet now I am feeling the same since he expects me to become Mr. Spock like him…

Play fair in the sandbox or I am taking my toys and going home.

It’s a concept most children can comprehend yet is lost on a fifty four year old man.

Narcissists are a special breed I guess.

I may have selfish/self centered qualities but I lack the confidence to be a narcissist or even compete with one.

Bridges may be burning soon. Don’t bother with the fire extingishers.

At this point, I have realized-doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is insanity.

R’s standards will never lower and my stability will never meet his standards. Stalemate or bridge incineration…I can’t kill myself for this person and a TRUE friend wouldn’t expect, or want, me to.

Skewed perception or reality? Let me know, guys. I can’t buy a vowel or a clue, I am so broke.

Bipolar Disorder,ADD, and Racing Thoughts

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on November 26, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Earlier was a long venting, renty post to purge the week’s demons.

This evening I find myself less overwhelmed with emotions and more frustrated with the curse of bipolar, its subsidiaries (my shrink says often ADD and ADHD come hand in hand with bipolar disorder and goes undiagnosed far too often), and of course, the prescription insurance plans who refuse to cover necessary medications people like me truly do need to benefit to functionality and quality of life.

I do not have the hyperactivity form of attention deficit. I do, however, have rabid racing thoughts and it’s quite maddening. What is more maddening is that a simple low dose of Focalin helps 75% toward this particulaly brutal aspect of my bipolar disorder and yet, insurance refuses to pay for it no matter what the doctor says is best and necessary. Even generic Focalin and similar meds are so pricey, I can’t pay out of pocket. So where does that leave me (and many others, I am sure)?

It leaves us being held hostage by our spiraling thoughts that stampede and race day in and day out, hindering ability to focus and finish basic tasks, read a book, write coherent posts (read my blog lately?). It’s not bad enough to constantly be at war with the immediate symptoms of bipolar, which, too, includes racing thoughts. Having a secondary diagnosis of attention deficit with racing thoughts yet not being able to get the relief you need due to financial restraints is insult to injury.

I find it so reprehensible to have a diagnosis for this particular hindering disorder yet even with the doctor signing off on it, I can’t afford the meds and insurance won’t cover it. As if we simply make up stuff so we can take even more pills.

While it is very true that a plethora of people use ADD/ADHD stimulant meds, and abuse them, for no reason other than all night cram sessions or keeping up with their kids’ extracurricular activities…For those of us who have legit disorders, their irresponsibility and utter selfishness rob of us what could greatly improve our quality of life NOT TO MENTION, ability to gain employment. No employer wants someone so scatterbrained they can’t complete small tasks, let alone major ones, and more often than not, that small dose of Focalin helps put me on track. I won’t say it’s 100% long term effective, but some of it is the ebb and flow of the bipolar ups, downs, and crippling depressions. No drug is a true miracle worker.

I am truly frustrated that my writing-which is all I have ever been good at, and the one thing I absolutely love doing-suffers because my brain moves so fast and has so many topics at once it’s like being in a money booth with a wind machine trying to grab at currency but being unable to grab more than two singles. Too much blowing around in my brain like juggling a dozen ping pong balls and I drop them constantly thus my intelligence comes into question. People think I am so lazy flake or dingbat and that is infuriating.

Unfortunately, with ACA on the chopping block, which likely means us disabled will be turned out into the cold as well, I see no solution in sight. It just seems to me that with the attention deficit and churning thoughts being such a hindrance, properly diagnosed over multiple years by multiple doctors, yet I am still not worthy of the expense when it could so improve my life, my child’s life, our entire situation…Big pharma, insurance companies, and the system as a whole are unintereted in helping anyone who isn’t crapping hundred dollar bills to afford the costlier drugs.

As a post note…To all those who pop Adderall, etc, to get high, gain energy, cram tests…Your selfishness means people who need-and deserve-that help- are often unable to get it even when we are legally entitled to it. So thanks for that, assholes. You rank right up there with big pharma and prescription insurance plans.

I matter, and I should be able to get the medication I need, even if I could only cover a fraction of it. Instead of hurling judgments at those with mental disorders, how about the powers that be come up with a plan to help us help ourselves by making these needed meds affordable?

I’m already in my pajamas, I know I am dreaming. Big pharma will do the right thing about the same time as politicians gain a soul.

Hot Fucking Psychological Mess

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on November 25, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I survived the holiday madness only to have a complete meltdown last night. I panicked and called the local counseling center because my kid went ballistic when I tried to move her table as she had it blocking her path in her room thus making it a fire hazard…She attacked me, then tried to break the dvd player.This, after her trying to stab me with a pen in the morning, because she insisted family is spelled -ey and no amount of proof-dictionary, google, our state family medical card…nothing was getting through to her and she came at me. So…I cracked my lids.

I guess I was so upset the on call counseling operator decided I needed bigger guns than they had on call cos I was referred to an 800 number then put through half an hour of questions about me and my kid and did I feel I needed them to send authorities to come take her away. THIS IS WHAT I AM TRYING TO FUCKING AVOID!!! This is why I’ve been reluctant to push too hard on the counseling angle, because rather than let me talk and seek advice, they want to take the most drastic route. And by then Spook had calmed down, so much so I assumed while I was bawling on the phone to this random operator that she had worn herself to sleep.

Nope. She was awake and started crying and saying she didn’t want to be taken away, but then she flip flopped and said it’d be okay if they took her away for two weeks as long as they didn’t make her eat nasty food and we could talk on the phone. (Feel the fucking love???) This all followed me daring to be stupid enough to confided in my mother about Spook trying to stab me and my mom snapping, “You need to stop putting off getting her help!”

So I tried to get her some help only to be rejected by the local place, which was fine, I didn’t even want to go there as their child psych pro happens to be R’s judgmental eldest daughter with the master’s degree…So after being rejected and referred what I got was A.) “We’ll send someone to your house tonight to remove her” or B,” “Call this number Monday” for a counseling center 90 miles away from us. Um..Yeah, that’s the psych ward my sister and brother both spent time in as teenagers cos they were ‘troubled youth’. My kid does not need hospitalized, we do not need to be seperated or have our home invaded by ‘behavioral experts’. My kid needs evaluated by a shrink because all this aggressive slash violent behavior seems triggered by the word no, and worsened by being shoveled sweets (my mom let her eat an entire pie Thanksgiving day behind my back, thus turning her feral).

I reached out for logical help, not drastic measures and certainly not signing my kid into a psychiatric hospital. Once again, good intentions lead to being made to feel even worse for reaching out because now I’m in some system and they probably will come take my kid away and not because she is violent toward me but because our house is falling apart, messy, and oh, our heat went out again and R is out of town til at least Wednesday night (thank God we are having a warm burst the next 5 days)…

I wanted counseling for her, maybe sessions for us together. I want help figuring out how to curb her behaviors, how to handle my own reactions to them, and because I reached out for help during a meltdown that was a long time coming considering how hormonal and stressed I have been as of late…they will probably come to our door and see my nasty caved in floors and threadbare carpet no shampooer can get truly clean and of course, one of the kittens will have likely hurled ten seconds prior thus making it look like I don’t clean up after them and…

I need to breathe. I am panicking.

Maybe calling that behavior center would be a good thing. But my car shimmies over 25 miles an hour so I’m not gonna be driving her 180 miles to a psych ward and her state insurance won’t cover it anyway which was why in my dark hour of need I tried the local center. Even though it would be an enormous conflict of interest (would any of YOU want to take your kid or yourself to a center where their prized therapist sat in front of you at a cookout and griped about being on call and having to check in on a client and saying “I really don’t want to talk to this bitch” about said client????????????????????????????). Oh and let us not forget the confidentiality breaches left and right that come from that same place, and that precededed Ms. Master’s Degree, it’s just a small town and when family members get the same counselor, for some reason the counselor thinks that means confidentiality is waived…Oh and let me add, Ms. Child Pyschology Wunderkind just had to remove her Kindgertner from religious school due to behavior issues and put her in lowly public school…If she’s got a child of her own that’s problematic, how is that gonna help me with my child? Especially because the times we’ve been around her socially she has exhibited nothing but judgment and critiquing my child…

I’m spiraling, I know. I am just fucking freaked out.

I am further melting down with the shop stress as he’s been gone almost two weeks, nothing is getting done, people are pissed and wanting their money back and take their stuff elsewhere…I can’t handle the confrontation on top of everything else.

I am out of talk time on my phone so I got a crappy free app which apparently has echo feedback from hell and I realized with no minutes on my own number, the school can’t reach me should Spook need to come home so I went to the page to try to edit personal info and at least put in the app number as secondary and it wouldn’t let me change my own fucking information.

The new kitten, Vex, is still keeping me awake half the nights, as is Spook, entering another one of her sleep with mommy phases so even my bed and sleep are nightmares.

I am trying to be strong and tough it out but inside, I am fucking screaming my fool head off.

Amidst all the chaos of holiday week, I missed a couple of days of my meds ( I can’t juggle everything,ffs!) so when I took my Trintellix this morning, I got sicker than a dog. I forgot how harsh the 5 mg was, let alone missing the 20 mg a couple of days and popping back on it. I started feeling better but for several hours, I was in gastric hell. I’ve given up on Wellbutrin, whatever it was doing has ended. I am hopeless for the most part.

Yet I fantasize about just abandoning this whole ‘normal conventional’life and doing something different…like moving to Mexico and selling tourist crap or finding some small coastal town in Maine and spending days on the beach playing with my kid. I want to leave behind all this stressful shit of politics and whether the president is a good person or whether taking a knee at a ballgame is some big crime against America…I just want to be at peace and lead a quiet life with bouts of pure joy. We don’t need fancy stuff. In fact, acquiring all the stuff we have actually makes me less happy because my chaotic brain can’t organize for shit and it just piles up and becomes a depressing hindrance and I can’t even sort myself enough to start pitching whatever I can live without.

I am a hot fucking mess and not even one that’s fascinating. But if anyone every says I’m not giving it my all and trying my hardest, even to my own psychological detriment, I’ll gladly call them liars to their face. I am giving everything I’ve got and then some and ya know what I am getting in return?

A nervous breakdown and probably some do gooder who will take my kid away because I dared to reach out for advice when I hit my breaking point and didn’t know how to handle being attacked by an 8 year old.

I need a time out. From R’s demands, from my family’s put downs, from my kid’s tantrums…But my kid and I are bonded and her fits are my cross to bear. I can’t help thinking we both just need out of this humdrum existence. A clean break, far away from the oppression of my family and this town.

Sounds loopy and naive, right?

Loops and naive could prove to be our savior so I’m not ruling it out. Adults can run away from home. I just need to get my head on straight, calm down, and start figuring out how to find this peaceful place where my daughter and I can enjoy life. There will be struggle, always, but I have to have faith that somewhere there is a place for us where we would be calmer, happier, and maybe live happily ever after. Loopy and naive are all I have left.

I don’t see how a desire to live near a beach is so fanciful, though. It doesn’t have to be Malibu. Just some place far from my skeletons and demons, where I could start to heal, where I could introduce Spook to a vast culture and a variety things this place doesn’t offer…

Maybe I’m loopy. Maybe I am mid breakdown and in denial.

Or maybe I am finally realizing that possessions don’t mean that much, but environment, especially one that nourishes your spirit, could be just what the doctor didn’t order but is desperately needed.

Hives For The Hellidays

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on November 21, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

In spite of a churning gut and back breaking cramps I was forced awake at 5:45 a.m. by Vex kitten for it was face eating eardrum shattering crying time for him. My kid had already disrupted my sleep by waking me up to get in my bed so by then I was good and agitated and unwilling to take any Xanax that might make me fall back to sleep….So I gave up on the sleep thing even if I held tight to the warm blankie thing.

Today was a big day for me, errands wise. Trash had to be gathered and put outside. Then I had three baskets of wet laundry to drag to the car and bring to the shop to dry. Then I had to hit the mega supermarker that I can’t fucking stand to get several things for our family fangsgiving shindig Thursday. Which resulted in such a bad stomach I could have spent an hour in the bathroom but no, because now I am on “get a different car time’ which means yes even my stress related digestive issues come in last place.

Now the hives have started!

To make sure I didn’t get any sort of peace, the service engine soon light came on in the car!!!!

And my mechanic is still out of state on his other job, not that he’d have time to help me anyway and God knows my dad is useless. I tried to tell him last night about MAngo dying and Shady being injured and he just kept talking about how cute their stray kittens are….I have NO support system here. I am to the breaking point where I tell them all to fuck off. I can’t sleep, my stomach is upset whether I eat or not, nothing is being fixed or replaced as promised no matter how much servitude I put in, I am breaking out in bloody hives….and to add insult to injury I will go tell this to the doc nurse (next week, I think) and she will treat me with less dignity than the drive thru clerk who hands me my fries and tells me to have a nice day.

Am I stressed and hormonal and annoyed? Fuck yeah.

It doesn’t make me wrong and it sure as hell doesn’t change the bizarre physical reactions to all this anxiety and it sure as fuck does not make the people around me pay an iota of attention to my spiraling downward and when they do finally notice….they’ll just shake their heads and cluck their tongues and talk about how they knew all along I would melt down and how poor Spook deserves a better mother. And I can predict this because it’s what they’ve done and said my whole life.

It’s not an assumption or paranoia when time after time, the reaction is just the same. Sometimes, even well meaning “we love you” people are shitty.

At this juncture my only saving grace is that I have not been violent with anyone. So let’s just hope my prescription coverage doesn’t do away with mood stabilizers and I can keep convincing myself these people aren’t worth the prison time that would come with bashing them upside the head with a Z Whacker.

Lamictal may not help depression but it does a fine job of sparing ignorant people the ass beating they so richly deserve. They should thank me for taking my pills.

*No homicidal urges here, just hormones and anxiety and frustration but really…They should thank me for taking my mood stabilizer. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me from at least whipping out the verbal chainsaw and cutting down the bridge then burning it to the ground. My feelings may be extreme but they count and being discounted constantly….I really think my self control and the effectiveness of lamictal should be lauded.

What Condiment Shall I Have With My Bipolar Depression Sandwich?

Posted in bipolar depression, bipolar disorder with tags , , , , on November 20, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So, wtf is with that bizarr-o title, you may ask. Well, being the antagonistic world mocking troll that I am I took note recently that two of my posts that included the word “bipolar” in the title got twice the views as my less specific titled ones. Is that because they were better written? No. It’s because we live in a trend-obsessed society of people who surf tags and titles for content as opposed to simply reading something before deciding it’s crap and of no interest to them. This hurts all TWO Of my feelings. I will never grasp a world so vapid that a post about what condiments one put on their sub sandwich for lunch that day can garner 2000 likes and yet I can write a heartfelt ode to a fallen friend and get trolling comments about how boring my writing is. So here’s your fucking condiment post with a specific topic that I probably will not stick to because….I like to troll and antagonize mindless sheeple.

(And for the record, I’m having no condiments today because I am eating leftover chicken seasoned so well, it needs nothing else for flavor,tyvm.)

Another long depression filled weekend complete with agonizing cramps and backaches and the never ending interrupted sleep cycle. We took in new kittens, and the timing is awful, but I’d agreed weeks ago when things weren’t going well and to learn they were being half mauled by the owner’s pit bull…Vex and Hex are now our family. Unfortunately, Vex is having trouble with mommy cat seperation anxiety and for three days straight has opted to wake me at 3 a.m. with crying and attempts to eat my face. Literally, gnawing on my face and nose. And this is with Godsmack doing his usual mouth nomming all during the night. One would think I could close the door, solve it, right? Oh, noooo. There is a second door that leads to the bathroom and the kid’s ripped it off the hinges years ago. It has only a curtain and since the bathroom’s main door has a 10 inch gap at the bottom, not even closing it keeps them out.

And me even thinking about turning away my kitties should tell you how exhausted, irritated, and frustrated I truly am. Normally they are a comfort but right now, everything is just piling up and there is no comfort.

Except that’s not entirely true, Godsmack seems to be liking his new role as big kitten on campus, he is patient with those adoring noobs as any mama cat. It makes him less lonely and that is good. Let him bathe their flesh raw and leave mine alone.

My kid, as ever, is a joy. And by that, I mean, she won’t cooperate on the tiniest things, fights me at every turn, refuses to eat real food but calls me a starver for denying it her 5 ice cream bars in one day. She wants to watch TV with me, but she talks through every word of it. I can’t make a call and she’s talking through, that, too. She reads my email and texts over my shoulder. I can’t sit without her being so close our elbows are touching and if I move abruptly and accidentally jar her, she calls me an abuser. And before any well meaning entity tells me ‘stop letting her get away with it’…you come spend some time with this kid and be the one who has to constantly tell her no. There is no letting her get away with it. I hang tough and it just makes the fights go on and on and still, I don’t back down and still, she keeps fighting me. I may not be at my finest now and I may not have much to give but she takes and takes and takes without returning much most days so I end up feeling like roadkill and she’s the vulture picking meat off my carcass. Not warm and fuzzy mommy enough for you?

At 3:49 a.m. today she gave me a heart attack, so to speak, by ninja creeping into my room to tell me she couldn’t get comfortable. I told her to go back to her own bed, but instead she brought the kittens in and they got to making noise and I was in pain from cramps and exhausted and I just wanted to go back to sleep cos I was supposed to make up for turkey day at the shop by being there Monday morning….I eventually had to lure the cats away with food and order her back to her bed, raging under my breath that I was either going to give away kid and cats or run away myself, anything to get more than 3 hours of bloody solid sleep a night….

I am not a monster. I am, however, being ground down to dust and it is taking a toll. During summer it wasn’t as awful because at least it wasn’t dark at 5 p.m. thus signaling even my child that it’s bedtime. Bad enough my seasonal depression makes me want to go to bed that early. Now every night once it hits 5:30 pm. she starts rioting when I refuse to tuck her in. This seasonal shit has fucked up every goddamn aspect of every goddamn thing and yes, from my overuse of swearing, you can tell I am goddamn stressed out and pissed off.

But I made it to the shop. After she went to school I went back to sleep. Wandered in here a little after eleven. Fuck it. He’s out of state indefinitely, what’s he gonna do? Yell at me on the phone? This is generally the point for the history of my life where jobs and relationships fall apart because I am falling apart and I am becoming unreliable, unfocused, screwing up little things, hating even minor social niceties for taking even more from me than I have to give.

But hey there’s a bright side. 5 days from now the curse will be over, the pain will subside, and my hormones will level out so that my insanity level will crank down a few notches. YAY. So I can handle Fangsgiving festivities which even with no drama still seem to be more stressful than heart warming good fun. Depression has really robbed me of everything joyful and good.

I know much of it is depression and hormones because a couple weeks back I took a picture of the ground covered in leaves and thought, so this is why it’s called fall, the leaves all fall and make this pretty patchwork on the ground….Now does that sound like a thought from someone who simply has a bad personality and negative attitude? Or is what I truly am inside when not being pummeled by hormones, bipolar, seasonal depression, stress, and anxiety?

I’d sure like to know if that leaf admiring girl could come out and play more often. I kind of liked her. And that, my friends, is what depression does to you. It makes your best traits seem like a whole other person you wish you could hang out with all the while dooming you to being the one trapped in darkness and hopelessness.

That is a sandwich no amount of condiments on earth could make taste better.

Interrupted Sleep In Bipolar Disorder

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on November 17, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Not that it came as a shock, but recently in a friend’s blog (I’d link to her, my keyboard is not cooperating) she referenced how important it is for bipolar disorder patients to get good, solid sleep.

What is that, anyway? Because since my daughter was born, I can count on two hands the nights of uninterrupted sleep I’ve had and that’s WITH a sleep aid.

Last night I accomplished my goal of an early bedtime,falling off sometime after nine p.m. Only to wake every hour on the other. I am not embellishing or dramatizing. My phone is my alarm clock thus right on my headboard and every time I woke I would check the clock, thinking omg, maybe she’s late for school because I forgot to set the alarm…IMagine my chagrin to see 10:30 p.m., 11:15, 12:30, 1:15 and so on…And that’s not really the exception, it’s just the extreme form of what is regular for me. Perhaps some of it has to do with checking on our injured cat Shady but 8 years without good solid sleep is maybe what has helped bring me to the edge of breaking point.

Lack of solid sleep impacts mood, energy levels, emotional strength, mental equilibrium and that is in non bipolar people. So the toll it is taking on me is considerably larger, though I am certainly not trying to claim any special prize here on who suffers the most from lack of decent sleep. I’ve had a sleep disturbance my entire life, from age ten. Before Spook was born, for better part of two years, I had to take 300mg Seroquel and 400 mg Trazadone just to get to sleep. Down side was, I’d sleep 13 hours a day. And that got old so I cold turkey’d both of them even before I had my kid. I switched to melatonin, which is less harsh but also, loses effectiveness the more you use it and it’s not intended for indefinite use.

Nurse doc mentioned last appointment if the raise in melatonin dose didn’t help me sleep through we could explore some prescription sleep meds. THis is does not please me. INsurance does not cover stuff like Ambien or Lunesta which would mean old school anti depressants or knock out shit like Seroquel and I’m not ever going back to 13 hour comas. Life is hard, but geeze, sleeping life away is not living and it’s sure not a cure for insomnia.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but if lack of (uninterrupted)sleep does impact bipolar disorder so negatively, then I need to find a way to combat it.

I can’t get rid of my kid or cats. I can’t stop life from sucking. I can’t pretend the world isn’t about to implode. About the only thing in my control right now that I can truly do away with is the stress of the shop and being R’s little helper monkey. Because it has become apparent to me in recent weeks that I am little more than a marionette he rewards with bananas.He doesn’t give me Christmas cards or a birthday gift (his wife does, she deserves so much better than him.) He doesn’t care when my animals die or get hurt. He doesn’t listen when I reach out to him for parental advice. This is not a friendship. It’s an acquaintanceship and he just happens to trust me as much as the managers at McDonald’s trust their assistant managers. Except they could probably ask for a few days break to deal with their health issues and not get treated to a guilt inducing self esteem anhilating smackdown.

I am giving it til my kid’s christmas break in mid December and then i am done. I’ve pushed myself so far, I refuse to go any farther. At this point I am holding on because he agreed to help me buy my kid’s Christmas if I keep helping. ONce that’s done…I am taking some me time. Maybe the stomach aches will die down, I will be able to sleep better, hell, maybe at the end of the week i won’t be so mentally eviscerated i can’t even work up the energy to enjoy a meal and movie with my child.

I spend way too much time trying to please others and make amends for my past behavior before mood stabilizers. I try so hard to prove I am a better, different person than i was then. I let myself be manipulated and convinced that I am just being moody or insecure when frankly, someone who doesn’t even send you a happy birthday text really isn’t your friend. not after 20 years of knowing each other.

So let’s flip the script. Get my needs met then let the chips fall. If it destroys the alleged friendship, so be it. A friend would never drive you so far over the edge you feel the need to sign into a hospital anyway. THat’s what an employer would do and for that, I should be getting paid real wages and benefits. But if three months of not even half days has broken me…I don’t think work is in the immediate future.

TIme to reboot and heal have to be my focus for now. I owe my child, not the man child. Fuck a different car, I’ll drive my rust bucket til it collapses. It’s not worth it anymore, not when I am losing myself, my health, my mental balance, and it’s impacting my relationship with my child and ability to parent properly.

If anyone is gonna drive me into a padded room, it’s gonna be my child. I chose to bring her into this world and for better or worse, she is my responsibility, her behaviors my cross to bear.

Emotionally stunted fifty year old man children aren’t.