Archive for anxiety disorder

I Was Asked…Why Do You Swear So Much?

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on February 21, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

My sister and I were texting last week and pissed about something so we were swapping our filthiest swear word insults at something (probably dad and stepmonster) and I said something about learning motherfucker as kid, and she said she learned cocksucker from mom and I was like, whoa, you got that from MOM? I was 7 and I learned ‘cocksucker motherfucker’ from DAD when the car wouldn’t start during winter and he’d slam his fist on the dashboard!”

We do put the fun in dysfunctional.

My dad’s a truck driver, so I grew up around swearing and filthy jokes and nudie girl calendars in the bathroom at his work. He’d bring us chocolate lollipops shaped like Dolly Parton’s boobs. Ink pens with a guy who strips naked when you turn it upside down. Perhaps inappropriate but it was one of the few things we both agree was pretty cool about our childhood. Hell, this year, he gave me a dashboard calendar of mostly naked men. We have a good sense of humor about such things in this family.

Why do I swear so much?

Honestly, I don’t like social conventions or anyone telling me what is or isn’t a ‘dirty’ word. Words only have the power you allow them to have.

I learned this in 5th grade when we moved to Podunk and I was different than the flannel and denim brigade so their favorite thing to call me was ‘weird bitch’. If it got me upset or a tear appeared, they’d laugh and hoot and it really fueled them. Sadistic little fucks. And I honestly had NO idea why they hated me so much for just doing my own thing and being myself. I mean, how did me using pink spray in hair color impact them at all? It didn’t. They were just small town judgmental jerks.

As I got older, the crude insults got worse. Slut. Whore. C*nt. Fucking bitch. Hooker.

And they loved giving me crap about being Niki Madonna, even though that phase was over in 7th grade but the name followed me til high school and as a metalhead, it offended me more than bitch.

But they knew that so one day I just turned to them and said, “Yes, would like Niki Madonna’s autograph?”

And just like that, they deflated a bit.

The next time a kid called me a whore and offered me a dollar bill to do what ‘fucking whores do’ I snorted and said, “You’d need a federal loan.”

The upper class girls, those older, wealthier than me, more popular than me…decided, based on nothing more than my appearance of wearing black and tons of make up and jewelry, that I was a ‘fucking bitch.”

I stuck to my guns and stayed true to myself. Their opinions stung and made my daily school life a living hell of being panicked in the hallway, in classes, and too much so to even eat in the cafeteria, I went to the gym to listen to my Walkman and write. But the counselor I saw told me there was nothing wrong with me, it was just small town mentality, so I knew if I changed, it wouldn’t change them, they’d targeted me and that was that.

When I started giving a curtsy and saying, “Thank you, I am a bitch, that is such a compliment!”

They backed off a bit but it was like their daily goal to see if they could make me cry. The day one of them actually spit snot in my face came close but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

At some point, I just decided I would take all the power away from them and their rude insults. The words no longer had a good or bad connotation, they just had definitions and snarky but witty retorts. I swore that I would never again allow myself to become a prisoner of feeling my self worth was less because people chose to use swear words to describe me.

The more I used the words myself (usually to described stubbing a toe or burning a meal, not towards others) the less power it had, the less the memories hurt. Apparently that only makes sense to me but to this day…It sticks. People really don’t know to react when they call you a foul name and you smile and thank them for the compliment.

I just don’t get society’s hang ups on ‘bad words’. I mean, far as I know, there’s not a list of forbidden words in the Bible. They are ‘bad’ only because mass groups of people have deemed them that way.

There is a Canadian town called Dildo. Then we have Hell, Michigan. Fucking, Austria. Do you think the parents wash their kids’ mouths out with soap for reciting their full address?

I’m a liberal, so I guess I have a hard time seeing things from a conservative’s or religious person’s shoes. I try to be circumspect in certain social situations but when it comes to my family, friends, or my blog…This is just how I talk. It is how I vent anger and anxiety and stress. It keeps me from slapping people and throwing shit against the wall in a furious meltdown. They are just WORDS. Kind of like numbers are just numbers, yet people assign them some sinister meaning. 666, number of the beast, unlucky 13. It’s asinine.

Swearing is a choice and I respect those who have chosen not to do it. But at the same time I’d appreciate not being judged just because this is how my family communicates and it’s no big deal to us. \

I like being a ‘nasty woman’, it’s the ultimate fuck you to misogynistic dickbags who think it’s okay for men to be perverted and swear but if women do it, we’re nasty.

I’ll go Shakespeare polite here-

Fuckest Thou.

Words only have the power you give to them and I stripped them of their power over me.

Jolting Awake

Posted in anxiety, insomnia with tags , , , , , , , on February 21, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been trying to sleep since 9:30 p.m. I knew it was likely going to problematic for me to sleep tonight because I’d napped into 12:30 in the afternoon to catch up on the sleep I haven’t been getting at night. But then I took my melatonin=benadryl cocktail and eventually began to feel drowsy.

Yet every time I started to get to the sleepy place, on the precipice of sleep…I just jolt awake. As if being shocked by some invisible force or shaken abruptly by an unseen hand. Heart pounding, head immediately clearing of sleepy fog and wide awake and filled with swirling anxiety.

I was almost asleep…when Spook got up and woke up me. She’d wakened and couldn’t get back to sleep. She wanted a melatonin. I gave her half of one because she can be impossible to wake and I didn’t want to risk her being groggy for school. It was 11:56 when she finally returned to her own bed.

I huddled under the warm covers (I am still freezing, I am always freezing or sweating my ass off, there is no comfortable middle ground) and started my ritual of counting backwards in odd numbers…Twice I started to nod off…and jolted awake. I growled into my pillow and turned over, ready to start the process again. Last number I remember counting was in the six hundred range and slowly I began to slip from consciouness into a sleeping state.

I jolted awake again.

I’d slept less than an hour. It was 1:10 a.m.

Now it is 2:20 a.m. and my efforts to resume sleep are proving fruitless. It sure is adding to my aggravation, though. I should be under warm covers, dead to the world, and yet here I am, sitting up, writing this, in hopes it will help purge my mind and slow down my racing thoughts and quell my anxiety.

Maybe subconsciously I am afraid to go to sleep. Not because of nightmares but because even I sleep, I may still be too groggy in the morning and take another ‘there goes half the day” nap like I did yesterday. Then I have to contend with losing half my day, the feelings of guilt for being lazy, the shame of being too groggy to tough it out.

Insomnia is a cruel, cruel disorder and a conscience is not necessarily always a good thing. Especially when its your own and it constantly bullies you over something as necessary as getting enough proper sleep.

I hate bullies and yet I am stuck living with one and it’s called my brain.

This Just In From Fort Blankie….

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on February 3, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

So, there it is, folks. Your resident ghoul scout ‘let’s label her emo,goth, satanic, crazy, scary etc’…Snuggling under a blankie with my baby boy Sage. What a frightening monster I am! Well, ok, without make up, maybe a little scary but…

I did not have a good night. I was awake until 6 a.m. Only for the ass trash alarm to wake me at 6:30. Then I hit snooze so many times it was 7:20 and I was like, “Spook, are you up and dressed?” Thankfully, she was. As soon as she was on the bus, I went back to Fort Blankie and I was back to sleep in a blink. The weather outside is a relatively abnormal 48 degrees in February with sunshine and yet…I am freezing.

I think I am having a ‘come down’ from the excitement of joining the mental health community and interacting with others.

Because THIS is where I get all weird and my lack of social skills and total craziness starts to seep out.

“Did I offend someone? Oh, wow, half these people don’t even have mental issues, what am I supposed to talk about if I don’t know anything about happy? These are some well read, educated people…Oh, god, I am so inferior…”

Story of my life. So I am gonna take a couple steps back today and regroup, see if maybe the mood levels up a bit. For some reason, I never feel good on days when I go back to bed, never mind that I got little to no sleep during the night. I always feel slothful and ashamed.

I am literally shivering yet my neck is all sweaty, what the fuck? And I got to thinking that I should feed myself something other than wilted celery but that has given me a stress stomach ache since the dishes are all pretty much dirty and I don’t know what I want and…

I’m spinning out. As usual. At least now I am aware there’s support from kind people out there for when I get in this state.

Of course that comes with the fear of what I have encountered in life. “I’m here for you.” Two hours later, “OH, let it go, you’re making me depressed, call me when you’re done feeling sorry for yourself.”

Which is stupid because I don’t have self pity. I have accepted my lot in life and I am always striving to at least put up some beaded curtains and lava lites and make it less ugly and more festive…

Depression is this mental cancer and unless you’ve been there, it is very easy to mistake it for self pity or being a downer or a personality flaw. Ignorance can be corrected, however. It’s just that most of the world prefers ignorance and making the mentally disordered feel lousy.

Sage has abandoned me to go romp with his brother and mother cat so it’s back to Fort Blankie, alone.

Sometimes you just gotta ride out the storm of depression.

It’s too exhausting trying to interact with others who insist there has to be a reason you feel depressed and you can’t even answer that one for yourself, let alone others.

Being reminded how much you have to live for does not help.

People just being kind, giving you your space and some encouragement and support…That is what helps.

Like My Writing? Buy Me A Cup Of Coffee

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 15, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

(FYI, I loathe coffee and Dr. Pepper is way cheaper than the hoity toity coffee spots, anyway.)

A long time reader/friend suggested I use this Buy Me A Cup Of Coffee site as it is a way for people who appreciate your content enough to donate a buck or two or ten, whatever. I will, of course, add more content there as time passes, but right now, my laptop is dying, my kid needs her saxophone fixed, and I’d rather people donate out of appreciation for my writing than out of pity. I don’t think I have enough of a regular following for it to amount to anything but my friend reassured me my writing is good and I am funny and lots of people might be willing to toss in a dollar here and there. She has been in contact with me for several years so I am gonna trust her over my insecurity issues and go for it.

Please check out my pages. If nothing else, it has cute cat pics and poetry.

Merci.

Fighting Depression’s Inner Darkness

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I don’t know how better to describe it than ‘depressive inertia’, though I am sure others have their own way of explaining it. That point in a depression where you’ve forced yourself to function highly and exist outside your safe space and now…you feel you drained. You have no energy. No motivation. You feel scared, paranoid, exhausted, edgy all while also feeling groggy, lazy, and like your entire body is made of lead so even taking a few steps to the other room leaves you more drained.

I functioned yesterday in spite of my Trazadone hangover. I bathed, wore clean clothes, put on make up, went into town with my kid, made 4 stops, managed to stay up til 10 p.m. as opposed to my usual retreat around 8 p.m. to seek solace in the nothingness of sleep. While it all sounds pretty basic for everyone else..for those of us with ‘neurodiverse’ brains, basic things can often be the toughest to accomplish during a depression or high anxiety period.

Today…I’m just not feeling it. I lolled in bed til 9 a.m. then handled a stray dog situation with the nasty neighbor threatening to have him hauled off by the pound. I’ve handled multiple calls to my family. My daughter’s drama llama routine. And I still feel leaden and half asleep and the darkness in my mind is just…incomprehensible. Because all things considered, there is no situational reason to feel this dark inside. Which leaves…functionality hangover and depression. And depression distorts and lies and twists things and you can only fight back so much.

I’m not feeling the housework thing. Not feeling the TV thing. In fact, season 6 of The Walking Dead has me so stressed, I think I am gonna throw in the towel and stop watching. Maybe one day I will be in a mental space to handle how dark the show turned suddenly. I had to do that with Sons Of Anarchy after they killed off one of my favorite characters. Just had to walk away. I eventually finished it, but the neurotypicals need to try to imagine living with such misfiring brain chemicals that you feel threatened and panicked by fictional TV shows. It’s one thing to get a BOO! type scare from a horror movie or something suspenseful. But when a show makes your ‘fight or flight’ chemicals overflow…that’s a full blown disorder. And this is my life, 365 days a year. If the depression isn’t fucking me over, it’s the anxiety, and right now, they’re tag teaming.

I am trying to fight the darkness and inertia. Trying to convince myself to ‘just do something and you will feel better’. But yesterdays functionality comes with a price I am all too familiar with. The likelihood of me accomplishing anything more challenging than refilling ice cube trays is slim. And I know it sounds ridiculous. I am really trying to fight it.

Just comes a point where the darkness sinks its teeth in and won’t let go.

If a simple Saturday outing left me feeling this tapped out…Christmas Eve with the family is gonna do me in for a week.

And this is why I limit my social contact and such. Because the price I pay is so hefty. Leaving my safe space and pushing myself when I’m running on fumes as is…I end up with days like this where even watching TV feels joyless. It’s background noise of shows I’ve watched a dozen times before. Because I’m not calm enough to watch something I find too stressful. I’m not in a bright enough mood to even seek out something light hearted. That stuff is supposed to make you feel better but for me…it just serves as a reminder that even if I got a magical fairytale Christmas, won the lottery, and got to raise a real live Baby Yoda…The depression and anxiety would still be here, hijacking my mind, fucking up my life, further destroying my limited self esteem and convincing me that even if I have every reason not to be sad…

The depression is going to fnd a way to make me feel sad, logical or not.

Panic Ninjas And Their Throwing Stars

Posted in anxiety, anxiety disorders, panic disorder with tags , , , , , , , , on December 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

And from out of the woodwork come the oh so familiar panic ninjas, filling me with paranoia and that bad juju feeling…like something bad is coming my way.

Nothing triggered it.

It just is.

And it’s one of the hardest things I have to live with, these anxiety and panic attacks that make no sense and garner little empathy, just harsh judgment.

I feel like I am losing my mind, not being able to get these out of control feelings of anxiety and paranoia under wraps.

I also feel weak for not being able to beat it.

But it’s a disorder for a reason. I cope best I can, I take my meds, I try to at least keep my freak outs inward so as not to damage my kid with my neurotypical brain.

Does not change, at all, these feelings that something awful is coming my way. Is something bad coming? Is it distorted thoughts and misfiring brain chemicals? Culmination of holiday stress and frustration that my meds aren’t actually making as big a difference as I’d hoped they would?

Maybe it’s knowing for the next 16 days my kid is going to be home, bored and restless and giving me whiplash with her puberty induced mood swings and screaming fits.

Maybe it’s knowing that I am trapped in this fucked up mind in this fucked up mental state with these fucked up panic ninjas throwing their fucking stars at me and I have zero respite outside sleep. Which in two hour increments leaves me more pissed off and exhausted than feeling much relief.

I wish even for one day all the people who say condescending shit like “calm down” and “get over it, panic attacks won’t kill you.” could find out what it is like to live perpetually in a state of fight or flight.

Difference being, I wouldn’t be an insensitive jerk and judge them for symptoms or not understanding before. I would offer empathy and compassion, as it should be.

Still, wish I could slash these panic ninjas into ribbons with a big ass sword.

Attention Deficit Disorder-HUH? What did you say?

Posted in Attention Deficit Disorder with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I suppose it MIGHT have helped me hear better had I bothered to mute the episode of The Walking Dead in the background when I called to check on my 9 voice mails that piled up over a month…But alas, I didn’t so what I heard was…iffy.

I am fairly sure one message was “WHO THE HELL PAID FOR THIS (INAUDIBLE)?”

And I was so busy hitting the number for delete cos I LOATHE voice mails (fine, if you must, but how about a text instead cos of my panic disorder and general anxiety caused by phones?)…I didn’t mute the background noise, didn’t really hear the voice other than it being male and not one I recognized, and I vaguely smiled cos, how is my OGM offensive? I got it right from Supernatural, in Dean’s voice (Jenson Ackles): “Leave your name, number, and nightmare after the tone.”

Who the hell paid for this?

Oh, man, do I owe the show and everyone royalities now? Cos this has been my OGM on my cell for like 3 years. I like it. It confuses people who are expecting an automated response or my female voice. They have to pause and wonder why a man is answering my number. The receptionist at the psych’s office found it HI-larious and said, “That is sooo you, Niki.”

Damn, straight. I mean, Supernatural has been my jam from season one. I have the charm bracelet, two keychains, and a necklace of Baby, the Impala. I named a cat Castiel. I found Crowley amusing AF though I would have totally slayed him given the chance. Lucifer was a nice looking cockweasel. Rowena, Crowley’s mom, was a total bitchbeast and yet, too damn funny. Blonde Ruby was a badass demon. Bobby was the awesome as fuck master of calling people ‘idgit’. Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Daddy Winchester, however briefly, was bloody yummy. So, yeah, I am gonna have am outgoing message that kinda includes what I am into, derp.

I am sad this is the final season of Supernatural but all good things must come to an end, I suppose. (Sadder still to hear “Sam” (Jared Padelecki) is supposedly working on a Walker;Texas Ranger reboot. Ugh, rock and roll monster slayer to country bumpkin super martial arts lawman? Say it isn’t soooo. I promise to keep an open mind, even though Jared did NOT manage to save the Friday the 13th remake in ’08 from being a dumpster fire caught on film). I really hope Jenson Ackles finds a new gig that is as awesome as Supernatural. I mean, I have vague memories of him on Days Of Our Lives, but mostly I remember him being “Smart Alec” on the most kickass show that got canceled aside from Firefly, Dark Angel. I am not big on cocky conceited dudes but for some reason, Ackles pulls it off no matter what character he portrays. He just seems like a fun guy. Long as you don’t want to you know, have a deep conversation or like, have a friend who holds your hair back while you throw up.

See how many topic changes I just did, all trying to tell about the weird voice mail?

This is MY brain. Chaos, disorder, defiance, oh LOOK! A BUNNY! No, wait, there’s shiny aluminum foil! Huh? What did you say? Hey, what WAS I SAYING?”

The shrink has diagnosed me as attention deficit minus hyperactivity but the bitch is, even with generics, my insurance won’t cover any A.D.D meds for adults, and I sure as hell can’t shell out $6.50 a pill times 30 days every month. I have had to fight tooth and nail just to get my kid’s insurance to cover a med for her ADHD that only half ass works as opposed to a pricier med with no side effects that was excellent. So she gets stuck on a med that only half ass works yet makes her feel ‘icky and sleepy’ and that is only til she turns 18 then insurance stops covering it. As if we stop having the disorder at age 18?????

Society wants us calm and focused and not fidgety and twitchy and topic jumping and wandering off topic and yet…Even with insurance, we can’t get the medication we need that works best. I signed a petition today to ‘encourage’ the powers that be to limit the amount pharma companies can jack up the cost of ADHD meds. Right now, my daughter’s Metadate, as a generic, for 20 mg pills is $6.75 PER PILL. She is also on a 10mg pill at noon which adds up to about $4 per pill for 30 days. The ONLY reason I keep making her take it is because the teacher has noticed such a drastic and positive change in her behavior during school hours and towards classroom/lesson work. It honestly makes me feel like a monster when she begs me not to make her take them and I insist. I don’t make her take them on the weekends as long as she isn’t bouncing off walls. I know this is ‘techinally bad mommy’ territory but I am not alone on this parental landscape. Many parents have just gotten used to years of squirming topic changing hyper moody ADHD kids and the only time it’s truly disruptive is during school. I’ve not noticed my weekends being any worse or better whether she takes the pills or not. But I can certainly understand how her constant movement, yapping, inability to focus, and emotional overload when frustrated can disrupt a classroom where one teacher is handling 28 students.

Wow, this post was supposed to be about some bizarre message left on my cell voicemail. What the hell did I do to get here?

I never know. I am ‘alleged’ by wordpress to have 1200 plus followers but sometimes, I don’t even get a single like on my posts and I surmise it is because I drone on and on and can’t get to the point and jump topics and people ain’t got time for that shit. Or the attention span. And yet…this is my world, my life, the mental space in which I live. I can’t have a policy of blog transparency if all I ever do is edit my writing until it’s four sentences that sound like a training manual as opposed to coming from me. I’d have a more popular blog if I could do that but alas, I just can’t.

Maybe if I had my focalin back, I could, I don’t know. One would think once a med has run its patent and becomes available as a generic and is so frequently prescribed, at least one pharma company would make it affordable for those whose insurance won’t pay yet they can’t pay a fortune out of pocket. But much like insulin, these pharma vultures see a market for these meds that people need and they can price gouge without consequence even on generics so fuck us patients, tis more important to line the shareholders’ pockets and boats and mansions. If big pharma types had to take the same oath as doctors- “First do no harm”, well, none of them would have a fucking job. Because price gouging IS DOING HARM.

I mean, seriously. Here my daughter and I sit, stuck in Armpit, midwest, population 400, renting a house built in the 1920s, every piece of furniture secondhand, driving an 18 year old car with over 220,000 miles on it, with 22 cents in the bank…and even I have the decency to feel shitty for complaining about what we don’t have. Yet these big pharma assholes have mansions and sports/luxury cars, boats, summer homes, every fancy thing money can buy but I doubt a single one of them feels guilty that their excess comes at the cost of many people not being able to get the meds and treatment they need. Thus whatever famous person said, “Most succcessful and powerful men are not good men.”

No idea what this post amounts to other than me finally having the nerve to check my voice mail only to have some rando dude yelling about who pays for *this*, whatever *this* is…Phones are eeevil. Unless serving my needs (which are limited cos, ugh, hate phones) they just cause me more anxiety and stress than I need. Not to mention trying to hold a conversation and stay involved and focused and on topic when your mind is spinning in a hundred directions with a thousand bouncing thoughts…

If you bothered to read this and made it to the end, I am very grateful. Some days, even one like is the difference between feeling low or feeling like maybe I accomplished one good thing. I wish I didn’t need the shallow validation but…unfortunately, I do. Not because I am interesting or intelligent or a good writer or any of that egocentric stuff…I just like to know on occasion that my words resonated with someone. Anyone. And these days, people seem loathe to take the time to comment so the like button is all the feedback I have. When I can’t even get a like on a post…Those are some dark days. Which kind of speaks to the evil of the like button and why it should probably be taken away but…

Honestly, I don’t care if you skim, or read only one paragraph or think I full of shit except for one sentence that you kind of understood…Clicking that like button costs you nothing but kind of counts for a lot with me during these dark winter depressions.

As Bobby Singer would say, I am an idgit.