Archive for anxiety disorder

Week Of Fail

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on August 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

This week is sucking like a Dyson vacuum. Our internet is down and the company can’t get anyone here until the 20th to figure out the problem. That is absolutely ridiculous. They said the last week of the month at first and then I had a loud wtf reaction. I didn’t swear but I did exclaim. Loudly. They charge me a fortune in fees yet provide the shittiest service ever. I must get five texts a week telling me the internet is down and they don’t know when it will be restored. At least twice a day we can’t connect because it is down in brief increments. Living in Bumfuck with few choices other than DSL blows goats. Not that I could afford cable broadband, they are fucking scalpers.

Having no internet and relying on my prepaid phone as a hotspot is nerve racking. I am writing this on wordpad so I can copy and paste it, I only have 2 gigs on my phone and it’s $20 to add another 2. Just my kid’s youtube habit alone could blow through that in two hours. I must admit I am a little lost. Though no home phone limits my dad’s phone stalking. Until he realizes to call my cell then he’ll burn through my talktime.

We didn’t get to go to the stop and drop that had me so agitated and panic stricken. A bloody train stalled on the tracks for over an hour and 15 minutes-right during the time we needed to leave. I was not amused as I even bathed and put on clean clothes and make up and steeled myself for the experience. That is the third time in a month a train has stalled on the tracks, cutting us off from any exit. I keep thinking, damn, what if we needed an amulance or whatever. This is dangerous and happening too frequently. And I wasn’t even relieved to skip the stop and drop because Spook was so disappointed and now I need to make an extra trip to drop off all the supplies and I can’t even get the school to call me back as to when I can do that.

Plus side, yesterday I did mow the entire lawn (sans one ditch) and I did two loads of laundry. I got my kid to clean her room. I bathed. I felt pretty accomplished. Then the internet went down, the train debacle happened, and my mood went down the tubes. I just looked forward to sleep but the battery bunny fought me all the way. Found out towards 9 that my mom was at the hospital for several hours with a pinched nerve causing her agony. Guess they gave her a shot of some sort and sent her home. My sister said she couldn barely walk she was hurting so bad. And I fell asleep before I could even reply to her, so that added to me feeling like a jerk. I woke several times during the night to check the internet because I assumed it was a service problem but it’s my house only. Then I started to panic and thought maybe I cut a wire when I was mowing but it runs up the side of the house and I didn’t mow there so how is that possible…

The panic is killing me. Today my gut goblins have liquified my entire abdomen, the knots are so bad. And I am walking on eggshells because the internet lady said there could a cancellation at any time so they’d call, now I feel glued to my cell phone. That adds a lot of stress for me. I hate being tied down. And my kid is picking up my nervousness, every time I make a sound in the other room or go out the door she is calling mom mom mom, what are you doing. Which is kind of what her father did to drive me bonkers, analyzing my every facial expression, asking what he did wtrong, when it had NOTHING to do with him but nothing I said convinced him otherwise. I don’t like being under a microscope.

Further adding to my anxiety is political bullshit. I am so sick of hearing about a president I could puke. I liked it better when the president was just something I ignored. Now that internet free speech is being threatened and they are trying to enforce this ‘no immigrants unless they’ve never been on public assistance and can make good money’…It’s got my gut in more knots because honestly, how long until they start treating their own citizens this way. And I’ve had it pointed out a million times that I am a drain on the system. Yet no one wants to help me find a way to be self sufficient within my disability limits so I remain here, treading water, my self esteem in the gutter, my anxiety on red alert. Like I feel good about needing assistance and not finding work or being able to even try to maintain it. It makes me so fucking mad that the disability act does not have the same provisions for the mentally disabled the way it does for the physically disabled/challenged.

Spook starts school tomorrow. I can’t believe she was only 2 when I started writing this space. Now she is ten. And I did it by myself. I won’t say I didn’t have assistance with financial stuff, but the day to day stuff…All me. And she is a fairly happy kid, her basic needs are met and then some. Yes, my limitations impact her to a degree but she is still a people person so it’s not like I have totally tainted her. That is something, i guess. Not that anyone really gives me any credit. They’re too busy focusing on what I don’t do to their satisfaction to notice what I do get right. Sigh. It is what it is.

Ha, I used to say that all the time because it drove the donor nuts. I’m a bit of a troll that way. I didn’t much like the way he said asshat but I didn’t censor him. This is a man who, after I told him my fear of inheriting Alzheimer’s from my grandmother, would deliberately move things around on me and laugh when I couldn’t find it and thought I was losing my mind. Being a troll is one thing, being cruel humored is another.

Back to…um…Egad, I have nothing left to do without internet but…clean. And I did more than enough work yesterday, I need a mental health day. I also need the gut goblins to stop stomping on my innards. Is it bedtime yet? I could easily sleep until the 20th. Wow, I am a fucking princess, thinking there’s no life beyond constant internet connection. Weird thing is, I barely used the net after 6 p.m. when my nightly routine shows come on the TV. It’s just knowing it’s there that comforts me., Kind of like having a cell phone when I am driving. I may not need it, but it is there and that brings me some solace.
Looks like 7 days without solace for me. I mean, we’ve dealt with hotspot access only before. It was awful but we lived. I know one thing. Once my contract with this company is up, I am gonna look into other providers. I have not heard good things about the other DSL provider, though, so I could be trading one pile of shit for another. But a week to come fix a problem with their equipment and service is ridiculous. I pay my bill seven days late and get smacked with an $11 fee.

Life is garbage right now. I might process it better if I had more mental balance but so far the only difference Zoloft is making is improving my quality of sleep. (Except for last night, the internet being down really throws off my equilibrium.) I know it takes more than ten days but still…I want results now. Shame psych meds don’t work like Tylenol. Pharma should tackle that problem so we get relief immediately.
I know, pegacorns.


Ice Cube Trays

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on August 8, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am curious if it is just me and maybe I have a lazy character but…does anyone else battling depression and anxiety find it near impossible to do the most basic things? I’d like some input because I am battling so hard against the basics.

Take refilling ice cube trays. (I’m probably the last person without a fridge with an ice maker in the door.) But there are days when I simply can’t rally to refill them even though I know I will regret it because I really like ice in my drinks. Yet…I can’t seem to muster up the energy.

Same goes for housework, errands, yard work, feeding myself, bathing, basic hygiene. It is all so overwhelming and my body feels like it’s made of leaden sludge and I fight and I fight and I bully myself and I try to rally…To no avail.

Is it just me?

I know mental health issues can impact basic functionality but refilling ice cube trays? That seems like an extreme to struggle with. Hell, these days, jus going outdoors has become an anxiety inducing dread filled thing. Which makes mowing the lawn pretty daunting, let alone cleaning up limbs and stray trash out there. Out there I don’t feel safe. I feel exposed and vulnerable and while I occasionally force myself to go out for a few minutes…Sometimes I can’t even manage that unless it involves having to take my kid somewhere. And I won’t claim 100% success there, sometimes I disappoint her because…I just can’t do it.

I am also battling answering the phone or checking messages. I don’t know why. I get paranoid and panicky going out to the mail box. Driving has become an exercise in terror. Just deciding what to wear often results in so much confusion that I just stay in what I slept in.

So is it just me? Chime in, please. If this is my being lazy, well, I can’t say the depression really makes me give a damn but maybe I could work on my personality. If this is commonplace with severe depression and anxiety, though, I’d love to hear about it. I am seeking solace and validation because…

I am lost and no one has sent out a search party.

The Manic Of Panic

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on August 4, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I discussed how depression distorts rational thought and connection to reality. Now I’d like to address how extreme anxiety and panic disorders can impact you the same way, to a point of distress that replaces your normal personality with circuit overload and an ‘off the deep end’ sense.

It started for me at 9:30 this morning when my brother informed me “Dad said to get your shed cleaned up, he’s coming over to set up the shelves and table.”

I muttered a curse word and went into furious panic meltdown mode. Part of the biggest issue I am having now is with decisiveness and putting things in order so being told to ‘straighten’ things up without knowing where he wanted to put things just had me melting down. And I am hormonal so the last thing I need is this yelling cursing hypercritical man in my face on a day I’d planned to vegetate. (Yeah, I did that yesterday, but after the forced functionality of the week, it takes me days to recover, sue me.) This bomb dropped on me without my permission, invading my autonomy and space, really sent me down a rabbit hole of panic. I wanted to hit the man with a shovel.

But then it would just hurt the shovel and I’d be charged with elderly abuse so…

I broke my own rule and doubled up on Buspar and stretch my Xanax dose by 0.5 mg for the day.

Ya know what?

It helped immensely. It slowed my mind, lowered my paranoia, soothed the panic, and it kind of dampened the sense of ‘assault’ which made me so panicky and angry to begin with. Now if a medication can take you from ‘ready to explode’ to ‘I got this, I am thinking much more clearly now’, HOW can that medication be wrong? But since I am forced under the current psych regime of ‘less is more’ I don’t have much choice but to ration my Xanax stash stingily even though a higher daily dose wards off the worst of the panic attacks and paranoia and terror induced anger.

I have ZERO faith in this psych nurse or center when they not only cut the benzos, but refuse to do dual antidepressant therapy. I just told the nurse that Wellbutrin was the only thing keeping me on auto pilot and the damn NP cuts it out and puts me solely on monotherapy with an unproven med. I am never gonna get better under this conservative rule. Dear God, you can’t watch 30 minutes of TV without a commercial talking about people who need a secondary med to aid their initial antidepressant to rid them of the symptoms that linger.

I don’t want to take more pills, but I damn well do want to do what is best and what works for me, as an individual, their less is more policy be damned. They won’t LISTEN to me, won’t pay any mind to my records where dual therapy worked best, won’t even acknowledge that they are treating me for bipolar one when I am BIPOLAR TWO.

One more wretched situation where I feel powerless, like I am being assaulted and my free will robbed-just like with my father. And make no mistake, when someone IMPOSES their will on you in spite of your strenuous protests, it is a violation that feels exactly like physical violation.

Thankfully dad came and went, thoygh he had one of cursing fits but it was directed at my brother instead of me, for a change. The man is a black cloud on legs and negativity is not what I need now. He and the other well meaning people of the world are gonna be my bloody demise mentally. Just because you mean well doesn’t mean you aren’t doing damage, open your bloody eyes and ears and stop thinking only of yourself. All these commercials for ‘because of you’ about making others feel bad instead of making them feel good, damn, if those around me would be positive instead of critical, I might not be in such bad shape right now.

But yea, I digress. Panic distorted thoughts are as dangerous as the depressive distorted ones, and the process is terrifying, feeling so out of control,so cornered, so under attack. And if a slightly higher dose of a medication helps rectify it into a situation you can better manage…The people villifying the medication are the ones at fault and they should be ashamed of themselves for breaking that whole ‘do no harm’ thing. Sometimes, more is just what is needed and less is just what causes the most harm.

And it is my quality of life that has suffered so drastically so pardon me if I do hold a grudge, a bit of hatred, and a strong desire to get the hell out of the care of these inept alleged professionals.


Posted in anxiety with tags , , , , , on July 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The panxiety (paranoid anxiety) has returned with a vengeance. I can’t explain it other than paranoid anxiety, this sense of bad things coming, feeling unsafe and vulnerable. Sometimes, I question my sanity because I don’t feel sane when it gets this bad. I don’t feel in control at all. And this is pretty much status quo 5-6 days a week. It is frustrating to try to explain to my psych nurse and her be so dismissive. If something is bad enough to disrupt your basic functionality and make you question your sanity because you honestly think “something” is out to get you, it seems it should be addressed by a psych professional. She refers feelings to counselors, as if they don’t play a part in my mental health treatment.

I am maxed on Xanax and Buspar and it’s not even taking off the edge. I don’t dare take more, though, they are making everyone sign these ‘pop urine test’ sheets for stimulants and benzos and don’t want to be caught ‘riding dirty’ so they think I’ve proven their benzos are evil mentality…This looming overhead adds to my stress because some days, I truly need to take an extra pill just to slow my mind and ward off the paranoia that has me convinced something bad is coming. I’m not superstitious, this is more insidious than a fear of black cats or the number 13.

I feel so helpless and hopeless. Maybe it will subside a bit once I’ve made it to town and back with my kid. I’ve noticed that all summer I have been under extreme stress from the trips to town and her being so far away from me (in my mind, 14 miles is far away) and I am just a neurotic helicopter mom…

I don’t feel I need hospitalized. I do feel I need an actual psychiatrist with an open mind on benzos who is willing to listen to me and not just refer every feeling I have to counseling. That would be the best thing to aid in helping my condition.

I have a better chance of finding a pegacorn.

The Fall After The Function: Vulnerability

Posted in anxiety, panic disorder with tags , , , , , , on July 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

All my life people have opted to focus on when I am functional, or half functional. They don’t want to know the reality so I appease them by putting on the happy face and feigning my way through it. It is excrutiating.

In my previous post, I spoke of a sense of foreboding that something was going to go wrong.

People scoff and tell me I am being ridiculous.

The dryer isn’t working. And I am not bright enough, or brave enough, to discern if it’s a simple blown fuse or something far worse. And it’s not like I can have people come in and look at it and see my dust bunnies and smudged walls and cobwebs. I try to get them all but inevitably, I miss stuff. And then comes the judgement and disgust. So I don’t like inviting even family in.

I just knew something was going to go wrong.

Now you would think it would be as simple as tidy up then get someone in to check out the problem.

I am afraid after a many months long depression and doing the bare minimum it’s going to take a major overhaul before I feel comfortable letting people see the worst of it. I know this does not speak highly of me but it is what it is. My kid has clean dishes to eat from, clean clothes to wear, she has food in the cabinet and fridge, she gets bathed and her social and educational needs are met. An unwaxed floor just doesn’t seem all that important to me. Except three months of spot mopping has, well, turned it into a hands and knees scrubbing situation.

People always ask, why do you let it get so bad?

I ask, why do none of you ever notice how hard I am struggling and offer to come in and help me keep it from getting so bad?

Their answers of course are, we’re too busy, you’re a grown ass woman, grow up,et al.

Their insensitivity to my life long plight is why they are not welcome in my safe zone.

I am feeling very vulnerable tonight. VERY. Like scared and unsure. I keep being told I just need to get a job, it will give me my self esteem back.

Every job rejection is a nail in my self esteem’s coffin.

I can’t look them in the eye and say I am stable because I am not. And above all else, they want a stable employee who will show up rain or shine or panxiety attack or depressive fort blankie moment. That person is not me.

I wish I could feel safe and secure and confident but the panic attacks and paranoia just play hell on every aspect of my life. The depression sucks the joy out of the most basic things that I normally enjoy. I try to force it. I push myself harder and harder. And this is the end result. A week of pushing myself to the breaking point and there are cracks in the facade…and I have no one here to turn to.

Meanwhile a little girl doesn’t understand why mommy is always looking sad or upset, no matter how much I try to explainto her that I had an illness before she was born and I still have it, nothing to do with her. I try to slap on some silliness and interact positively with her. I am with her every moment she’s not at camp, school, or with family. I am doing the best I can, at this time.

Still, the facade continues to crackle and split.

I just feel vulnerable and scared.

And I fucking hate it.

Carnival Of Terror

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on July 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, tonight is the carnival I promised I’d take my kid to. I did not sleep well. I kept waking up from bad dreams, in a panic, counting down the hours, knowing once daylight dawned…the next time I can sleep will be after tonight’s ‘festivities’. I am terrified. Of the crowds, of the traffic, of what if the rides come apart and kill us, or what if motion sickness causes me to barf or anxiety causes me to barf…I know the what ifs are stupid, but they are still there, shouting at me through a megaphone, paralyzing me with fear and dread. I thought I’d wake up with a strong resolve and not make it about me and my neuroses, I am doing this for my child…But then I get to thinking, wow, if the disability people hear I managed to go to one carnival in 25 years, they will declare me all cured and it’s not like the psych nurse will side with me…To me, it’s all a chain of events that could lead nowhere good. I need to just focus on making it a good time for my daughter and a survival exercise for myself. I mean, two years ago, I couldn’t eat in public in crowded restaurants. Now I can at least brave half crowded ones on occasion. Maybe if I just expose myself to terror inducing situations…

Yeah, they stick their immersion therapy where the sun don’t shine. This stress stomach ache I have complete with nausea and woozy head is nothing anyone would willingly expose themselves to. Never will it cease to amaze me that we are encouraged to avoid foods that upst our tummies, yet if it’s an anxiety inducing event, well, suck it up even if you’re physically ill and in agony. What the actual fuck, society?

I have picked a battle with one of the camp counselors who has done nothing but rag on my kid all summer over her clothes being raggedy or not fitting right. When Spook said ‘she made me feel like trash1’ and burst into tears, well, I opened my ‘legit legal’ email and fired off one to the captain of the orgnization. The reply was terse and about talking to the counselors so all the kids receive love and acceptance. No mention of apology that their counselor made my kid cry and feel so bad. Not that I expected much, the counselor’s hell daughters have been bullying Spook all summer and nothing is ever done about that because ‘it’s her word against both of them and their mother’. What a collusive bunch of crap. I thought since it was a religious organization they would accepting and kind and spare the judgment and play fair because, well, in spite of my ranty misanthropy, I do tend to believe in the good of others. Once again, I am proven wrong. Yay. It’s a much easier fall to just believe the worst so when they prove you right, you tumble an inch or two. When you give them the benefit of the doubt, you have feet and feet to fall and land unceremoniously on your butt and pride. But what was the alternative? 3 more weeks of this woman singling my kid out over HER FUCKING WARDROBE? That so called counselor should have brought the issues she had to me and me alone, not to a 9 year old child. And Spook called her a fashionista and it was proven to me when my overly critical mother saw the cut off shorts Spook was wearing yesterday and said, “What’s wrong with what’s she wearing, she looks fine.” If my mother the pit viper isn’t bitching, then someone’s snotty standards are too high. I am biting back a super bitchy response about this woman’s name being a brand of banana so obviously she’s fruity…Oh, fail, I didn’t bite it back. My bad. Make my kid feel like trash and cry and the claws come out, bitch.

I’ve already had another discouraging fail today and it’s only 10:30. And it’s an annoyance, nothing life altering, but I thought I’d paint my nails for the first time in weeks…Well, the shit I used was all sheer so I painted two coats, then a glitter top coat, and it was gloppy and even after 20 minutes it smeared off half my nails. It just gets to the point of why bother trying to look or feel good about myself when I just fuck everything up?

I still need to work on the bath and hair wash thing. It would not do to go to a carnival looking too skanky, lest I see an enemy or frenemy and give them the satisfaction of putting me down for my skank level. The saddest part is, were it just me, I’d give zero fucks. But because my kid is experiencing bias on her own wardrobe, I now feel obligated to at least feign cleanliness so they can’t judge her on my behalf, too. Not that people will ever not judge even if I looked like a million bucks. There will always be some little inane thing they will relish criticizing. But being unbathed isn’t gonna be one of them even if I have to hand the water hose to my kid and tell her to spray me down while I hold a soapy loofa. And you can smirk or laugh but there are days it truly feels like that’s the only way this whole bathing thing is gonna happen. Of all the places we had to get, it had to be one with no bloody shower. I hate baths, hate hate hate them.

So wish me luck, I am gonna need it. I will try to get a couple of pics of Spook having fun and me looking like a deer in the headlights but smiling fakely. It could be worse. We could have to go with my dad’s crew, they’re seeing the rodeo tonight. I can’t stand watching them rope small animals and then there’s the clowns and….NO. I’ll take the rickety rides of doom and the threat of stampeding crowds, thank you.

Fear And Sadness

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I just returned from taking my kid into town for day camp. Each trip is a harrowing experience in paranoia, anxiety, panic, and fear. Last year it was an irritation, but it was not a dread. This year, with the reduced Xanax, it’s become a hellish experience that I am not ‘getting over’. I can’t come up with anything else that would have brought this terror response on compared to last year and all the upheaval and hell we went through. For my condition to worsen is insulting and injurious. I know the benzo nazi thinks she is protecting us from addiction but what she has done is reduce the quality of my life. And if bitching about it daily means I am an addict, DO explain why I have a 4 month supply that I don’t abuse.

Yesterday was sad. I don’t know why. I looked forward only to bedtime. My kid wasn’t acting out. Nothing awful happened. I didn’t even have to deal with my family. We’re not starving, our electricity is not being cut off. We are both in good physical health and have a home and car and computers and TVs. So why am so damn sad all the time?

The nurse and shrink seem to think upright and functioning means I am doing well.

I don’t feel at all like I am doing well. I have let the laundry pile up, the dishes sit in the sink, and about the only true functionality is keeping food in the house, bathing her and myself, and wearing clean clothes. This isn’t living, it is existing. And I know this isn’t as good as it gets, I know I am not expecting too much from a med combo. The raise in Lamictal and evening dose has done nothing to elevate my mood. I am still preoccupied only with going to sleep, even said sleep is interrupted and plagued with nightmares.

I am sad and some of it is losing the kitten the other day, it haunts me.

But I am also sad for no discernable reason, and I can’t help but admit I feel hopeless toward the future. Until I am out of this panicky depressed mental space, I don’t have a future because I am stuck treading water in the present. And the professionals’ idea of help is cognitive bullshit therapy or worse, mindfulness. I am fucking mindful that I am always down and there’s no real reason to feel that way!


I am not okay. I am functioning at the bare minimum, but I am not okay.

Tomorrow night may be my undoing. I promised to take Spook to the county fair as part of her bday gift for next month and the thought of parking the car in the crowds, and navigating said crowds has me paranoid and freaking out. Everyone says get over it or you’ll do fine, but it does not help a bit.

Sometimes it’s worse when people do the tough love thing and encourage you and reassure you.

Because then if you truly do lose your shit, it’s like you’ve let them down, and it just adds to the self loathing.

I’ll say it again: well meaning people are the bane of my existence.