Archive for anxiety disorder

An Open Message To Non-Custodial Parents Who Miss Support Payments

Posted in child support, depression, fundraiser, single parenting with tags , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Dear non-custodial mom or dad-

Your responsiibilities to your bf/gf/spouse may end when the relationship does, but YOU ARE NOT ABSOLVED OF RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR CHILD(REN).

When the state or court orders you to pay support, it is your responsibility to make those payments. If you lose your job or change jobs, the decent thing to do is to tell the custodial parent that support is not forthcoming due to such circumstances. Even if you can only offer up a ten dollar bill until your circumstances improve, the effort shows you give a damn and helps you be viewed as a decent human being.

We depend on that money to feed OUR kids. Yes, the relationship we had is over, but WE still have a child together. OUR child needs heat and clothing and school supplies. When you fail to make a support payment, you are not hurting your ex. Your are hurting your child. The 20% or whatever the law requires you to pay is nothing compared to what the custodial parent pays but we still depend on that support to take care of OUR child. While you may not lose sleep over it, I can assure you those of us who have little ones counting on us, do lose sleep because we care about our children more than we care about ourselves.

That support isn’t for fancy clothes or dance classes or expensive game systems. It means the difference between the child(ren) getting adequate nutrition and warm clothes and having heat and a roof overhead. Blowing off this responsibility yet still thinking you’re a good person is delusional.

Choosing not to see your kid(s) does not absolve you of financial responsibility. That,too, is delusional. You make that choice, not me. Sticking me with the legal fees, yet not paying support, is just abhorrent.

You may not think a few missed support payments are a big deal, but I assure you…CHILD SUPPORT PAYMENTS ARE A VERY BIG DEAL.

For a disabled single parent with limited income, your apathy and irresponsibility are a big deal. Your lack of basic politeness to even text, email, or call and say, “I am changing jobs/lost a job, I can’t pay the support this month” makes you a basic jerk.

This isn’t about me. This isn’t about you. WE made a child together. I have taken on all the responsibility and for the third time snce you left, you have shunned even minute responsibility by flaking on the support payment or even giving me a heads up.

So non custodial parents, moms or dads, stop thinking only of yourself, stop thinking that not paying support is some dig at the custodial parent who messed up your life with a bad relationship. Grow up and think about the child we made together.

The kid(s) matter above all else. Failing them means you are a failure as a parent and as a person. Knock it off. It’s not about who did wrong or name calling or causing the other hardship. This is about the well being of a child we both brought into the world and basic human decency.

The Mother Of Your Child

Due to these circumstances, I have started a new fundraiser because while I can do without whatever it takes so my kid has what she needs, I am not too proud to ask for some help.


Survival Of The Scared Shitless

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I had a couple of ‘decent’ days. Spook and I had a decent prepaid meal at the park the other day.
She managed to eat two cheesesticks before declaring that she was bored and it all sucked. I enjoyed it, but then, I’m used to boredome and everything sucking, I truly do appreciate the gift of a pizza Mr. M bestowed upon us. Made me feel kinda….ugh, hopeful, like perhaps I’m not a complete waste of space.

I had two days of being functional. I swept, mopped, did laundry, cleaned cat boxes…which is difficult for me as every part of me feels coated in dried concrete 24-7. I treasure the days I am in the mind frame-and body-to get shit done. I wish I felt that way more often. Some people are all too happy to give advice on what works for them and makes them a high functioning superhero but…sadly, it’s never worked that way for me.

Today seemed not so bad but then SPLAT. I learned that my sister got slapped with an old bill from our old address and it damaged her credit rating. I was paying on the bill (I thought) albeit slowly, only to learn…I was using the wrong account number and paying on a bill that belonged, well to The One Who Shall Not Be Named. I fucked up, big time, and I am humiliated and now on the family shit list and further in the hole. I will fix it, I made the mistake (however unintentional) because my sister was helping us by putting that bill in her name when we found ourselves abandoned and fucked on that front…My last wish was to do something to screw her over but…here we are. And of course, she will tell the entire family, so I will be persona non grata and maybe that’s what I deserve for being a screw up. I could make a dozen excuses and explanations and they’d all be valid, honest, and for real. It doesn’t change anything though. Until I fix it, I am gonna be on the ‘evil bitch’ shitlist with the entire family. And even then, I’ll remain there as her credit as impacted.

The level of embarrassment and shame are enormous. Worse, my kid is staying at their house tonight so who knows what venom they’re spewing to her about me. I’ll have to pick her up and face their wrath and since I am mid-curse, hormonal, and have to also face the donor in court Monday…It will be a miracle if I don’t end up on lockdown in hard restraints. I am just to that point where I have tried so damned hard and I still can’t get it right or be cool, calm, and collected…and I am not whining, I own my screw up, but my precarious mental state kind of goes without saying. In my family, “sorry” and “I will fix it” count for nothing. Everyone is out to tear everyone down. And it is infuriating because my sister has been married to “Beavis” for 20 years, he doesn’t work, doesn’t even mow the damned lawn, and she thinks the sun shines out of his ass.

He idolizes Hitler and Charles Manson, and in a way, that’s how I view him. He’s so charismatic, to a certain faction of gamers and wanna be bikers, he has people willing to pay for weekend white water rafting trips and they loan him $10,000 Harleys to drive but he can’t be bothered to help around the house, EVER, and while he can always wheel and deal for money to take care of their cats or get weed and Marlboros, he’s never given a damn if his kid had no milk for cereal or the whole house was starving. I have nursed my dislike and resentment for 20 years, trying to respect my sister and her ‘he’s my true love, no one else gets me him like I do” but…Honestly, what kind of dickbag has his son come home all proud that he made the honor roll and says, “So what, anyone can make the honor roll these days.” And pretty much EVERYONE in the family hates him, but his mom owns the house my sis and mom and nephew live in, so of course, all lips kiss the ass of the queen. Who enables Beavis to do nothing and yet my sister is constantly having to clean our dad;s house to earn money for food….

So yeah, I fucked up and I will fix it, and I feel positively like shit, but what about that fucking lump? No one holds him accountable, ever, and she preaches his awesomeness and he has a dozen friends who all but worship him but then, that’s his base, the fellow people who when fired from a job sign their final paycheck “fuck you”. So I wouldn’t want to really be accepted in that crowd because, well, douchebaggery isn’t cool even if it is prevalent. So’s Katy Perry and Lady Gaga on the radio, doesn’t make it right or mean I have to endure it.

I’m sure it all sounds too stupid to be true and I just sound bitter cos I fucked up and now I have to own it, but I was feeling this way long before today. Beavis dared to say something about how I don’t take good care of my cats since we had to rehome some of them due to the move and my brain about popped out of my skull. Those cats went to live on like ten acres of farm land where they are fed and watered twice a day and have tons of room to roam and catch mice. I didn’t rehome them out of choice but at least I had the decency to make sure they went to a good place where they’d be cared for. The man has homed several strays I found over the years and they’re all healthy and plump. So to have that p.o.s who doesn’t do a damned thing but play video games all night and piss into empty soda bottles kind of sent over the edge. I’m not making him a caricature like some Mike Judge cartoon, he really is just that….awful. And I hate feeling that way because I love my sister and I don’t want it to come between us, we’ve always been pretty close and on cool footing. But I can’t help but feel the way I do and I’ve felt that way for 20 years. My turning point was when they were doing meth and he actually took her dentures, put them in the toilet and pissed on them. Maybe she can forgive that shit, but man, I’d probably be in prison if he’d done that to me cos I’d have bashed his head against the toilet.


I’ve never given my blog link to anyone I know in person because years ago, I made that mistake and my sister read some of my thoughts on our fucked up family and she was very hurt and didn’t speak to me for awhile. I don’t want that but bottling it up is poisoning me. Besides…her and mom were pretty smug about knowing from the get that the donor was a fake who would walk out on me and Spook. They have their judgments, same as me. Difference is, I admitted they were right when they were proven right. I’ve been proven right a hundred times about Beavis but I end up being the villain. So much for self awareness and objectivity. I don’t need to be loved that much that I would put up with that shit. If a guy wants to be a house husband and stay home to do housework and child care while the woman works to make money, cool. But a guy who makes the woman work and take care of the kid and take care of the house while he plays video games and rides motorcycles with his wanna be MC…Just writing it makes me need to vomit.

Anyway…Before this all happened…I was having mega anxiety attacks because I realized…OMFG, Spook’s 9th birthday is August 7th. Plus she needs some school clothes plus school supplies…and I can’t do it all and keep the bills paid and now I have this new thing on me….So survival of the fittest and the scared shitless. YEP, another fundraiser. But this one….Just check it out, it’s short and sweet and based on Spook’s own words. I get bogged down with her defiance and anger but the other day when her little friend was here and acting up, she tried to calm him and said, “Listen to my mom. She’s a good mom.”

It’s those little moments you live for, but if I want to keep the power on, it’s not going to get her a Minecraft cake. This one matters a lot, guys, it’s for a little girl who never asked for any of this. She just wants to have a happy birthday and go to school wearing clothes without stains and holes. With all the mindless political fundraisers going on out there..surely a 9 year old girl is worth a $5 donation. Not for me. For Spook.

Pretty please with pegacorn vomit and unicorn farts on top?

Party Hearty…Not

Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 24, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My daughter is still at my dad’s house but each passing hour my anxiety rises. Why? What awful thing is impending?

My kid was invited to the neighbor boy’s 5th birthday party today from 2-4 p.m.

Now why on Earth would taking my kid to a birthday party make me anxiety ridden and panicky?

Event crowded with people I don’t really know, outside my safe zone, lots of unknown factors (like the year we were paid to leave a birthday party cos Spook was upstaging the birthday girl), rainy cold day making my depression worse…


My heartrate is up,I feel sweaty, even a little woozy. This is why I personally rarely go out to public events or even private ones if more than 3 people will be present.

The physical effects of anxiety and panic are disturbing and it takes a long while to restore equilibrium. While professionals may classify this aversion to events avoidance behavior…I have become wise enough to view it for what it is: the opportunity to make the choice to not become overwhelmed,discombobulated,and physically ill.

It’s half amusing how people with known food allergies are condemned if they go ahead and eat something that hurts their stomach or results in unpleasant bodily responses. ‘You know you can’t properly digest peppers,idiot,why’d you eat them?’

BUT if your condition is on the mental health spectrum and you avoid things known to impact your physical health negatively…then it’s avoidance and unhealthy behavior. You won’t try hard enough or push yourself hard enough.

WTF kind of double standard is that?

For myself,I can opt out 95% of the time and only feel moderately self loathing.

For my kid, I aim to barrel through the anxiety and panic so at least one of us has a happy life. Even if it means I will spend two days sick,trying to calm down and recover,I try for her sake.

I hate to admit how many times I have failed her in spite of trying my best.

This is where depression makes anxiety worse. If I weren’t clouded under a depressive bout, my anxiety would probably not be so metastasized over a kids’ birthday party. The disorders just feed on and off of each other,round and round it goes. The carousel never stops turning.

If my anxiety is as bad as any food sensitivity and even hinders my ability to go out and have a good time…

How dare anyone call it a benign condition.

Outer Space On Earth

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on March 22, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been searching for an apt description of how I’ve been feeling since beginning gabapentin but have been at a loss until now. While out driving today-and having skipped the a.m. dose- I realized I almost felt stoned, like being on pot. I am so spaced out, it’s entirely likely someone might mistake me for being a pothead. I wish I were being dramatic or had some sort of vendetta against the drug working but…this is the cold hard truth of how it makes me feel. Will it go away in a week? Maybe. Will my body adapt as the dose goes up? Possibly. I have such high hopes, based on what others have said about their experience. But also a certain wariness based on also what I’ve heard about the negative experience of others, not to mention my doctor’s seeming apathy about my bad reaction to the high dose. I am committed to giving it a fair chance but feeling spaced out all of the time is not my idea of an optimal response. Not to mention through the spacy fog, my heart feels like a bullet richeting off walls inside my chest. I don’t like that at all.

I bothered to drag out the laptop and hotspot my phone for this post. I hate using the stupid phone. And yeah, that is a play on words, and my actual opinion, of smart phones. I like the multipurpose of the thing, it’s like a swiss knife of phones. It’s also a pain in my ass trying to get apps with limited space cos idiot Android won’t let me store apps on my micro SD car so I never have enough room. Then I have to learn how to use each app, and I’ve already wiped out a post and several replies on wordpress because…I have no idea what my fat fingers are doing even with a fat finger keyboard app. Anyway…it just seemed worth the hassel and added mb usage for this post. Not cos I have anything important to say but because…I arose from yesterday’s inertia and had the excess energy to drag out the computer and not spaz out over using more mb than I have to. I even wore eyeliner and mascara today, plus undergarments and clean clothes that aren’t black. OMG. It isn’t because I am feeling great. My body feels like lead, my limbs might as well be concrete, and everything aches. It’s because I felt such guilt about basically shutting down for two days. I am forcing myself to behave ‘normally’ when I feel anything but normal.

And after having to move an entire house full of stuff 20 miles over a ten day span with a child in tow yet not feeling this crappy…I am inclined to think gabapentin is simply kicking my ass with negative side effects. I may be wrong, who knows.

We are getting a used wash machine tonight. Stepmonster found it in the paper for $75 and I can only cover 3/4 of it thanks to a donation but I can hang dry stuff or hit the dryers for a quarter a 10 minute load, which is a hell of a lot better than $4.00 a load at the scuz o mat. She got me two rolling racks to hang dry things on since we have no shower or rod to hang stuff from. Or closets. I am grateful and relieved, other than the unbearable anxiety and hassel of them actually invading my safe space and delivering it. And that’s my neuroses, I own it, they’re trying to help and my scumbag brain interprets it as a threat.

At the same time, their utter disregard for my disorders, mental health, and usurping me with my child and my rules for her-that IS a huge threat. And since I owe them so much money, they feel justified in upsetting me at every opportunity and keep her whenever they choose for as long as they choose.Me asserting myself does no good, they are bulldozers. Which makes me feel so powerless and utterly shitty. I honestly thought (deluded myself) that people would donate. $60 in six weeks is not reflecting well on my ability to motivate a fundraiser. It’s not like I don’t get it. I watched a show the other day where a woman pretended to be her teenage daughter on line and bilked a guy out of $60,000. A large percentage of people on line asking for money are scammers.

I am not. And asking for help is not easy for me. Unfortunately, I only have the consistency of my blog about our money difficulties and my word as proof so I do get it why people don’t donate. And I get that so many are having similar problems, they simply can’t afford it. I just had…hopes. Owing the paternal faction of my family is like being buried in concrete. I can move, I can’t breathe, so I just stay alive never going anywhere. I’ve not even managed trash pick up, my car insurance is late, and internet is as big a dream as winning the lottery. This isn’t whining. This is my reality.

Also my reality is my kid having a hard time to adapt to the new place and new school. I honestly thought she’d adapt better than me, but that hasn’t really been the case. Of course, it’s impossible to ever truly take her at face value because she is an emotional chameleon. She tells my dad’s faction she likes it here, she tells my mom’s faction she hates it, she tells me she hates, but the bulldozers come in and flatten the truth. Because any opinion other than their own is wrong and even I am not that overbearing and controlling. I admit, I am struggling with her struggling. She is manipulative and no, I don’t care what the child psych said about not using that term because it is accurate. She has more of her father in her-minus his actual influence-than I want to admit. That flexibility in personality and opinion, that need to be a people pleaser than harbor resentment for it-that’s a page out of the donor’s book. This is one trait I can’t own because my biggest detriment has always been my refusal to change to fit in or keep the peace. I have my resentments, but my own choices being held against others is not one of them. I’m ill equipped to handle this child rearing problem but as I have zero choice…I am doing best I can.

You’d think as spaced out as I feel, it would muffle some of the extreme emotion that accompanies my current issues and personal struggles. Nope. Not so lucky. I am still feeling it all, just from under a gauzy later of medication. And I’ve mythbusted, it’s not the Effexor, it is the gabapentin.

I noticed, also, while driving 28 miles just to make a trip to town for supplies and a trip to my mom’s- I feel so spaced out, backing my car out or navigating a crowded parking lot is daunting. Terrifying. Going down the interstate with farm implements and machinery always puttering along one lane, while other traffic seems to be coming at me from a back road…GRRR. Freak out city. It wasn’t bothering me so much. Now it is. The isolation is bothering me. The lack of wifi net access is driving me bonkers. How long the days here seem is grueling. It’s one thing to choose to stay home and not interact. To be forced to stay home due to mileage, a busted belt on the car tire, and gas costs-that is maddening.

But I guess in the interest of fairness I should look for the positive in my life right now.

Beyond pulling in Ion channel for free via the digital bunny ears and having a roof overhead…I am coming up empty. Doesn’t bode well for the Effexor doing any miracle work.

If both meds are failing me with this new doctor, I fear I am screwed. And I don’t mean that in a bawdy pleasurable way.

As The Anxiety Builds

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on February 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

That title sounds soap opera-y but then, I grew up second hand absorbing my mom’s love of daytime soaps as a young kid. To this day I remember characters and actors from Young and The Restless, Days Of Our Lives, Another World, All My Children. My brain is a steel trap for inane pop trivia yet the stuff that could prove useful…poof, gone in ten seconds never to return.

Another fine gray dreary wet day in the ninth circle of midwest hell. This is not good for depression. Week after week we have maybe 2 sunny days which leaves 5 gray days a week to wreak havoc on my mental state and drag me further down the rabbit hole. Joy. It’s a catch 22 for me, because I find sunlight hurts my eyes and sometimes makes my skin itch and feel like it’s burning, yet for my moods, sunlight is important and I’ve come to accept that to my own chagrin. Though what all the professionals psychobabble about seasonal depression being solely due to shorter sunlight hours is bunk. For me, it’s a factor, and a relevant one, but also the inability to ever get truly warm for 5 months of the year is a mega hindrance to my functionality.

I could not get to sleep last night even though I took a melatonin and felt sleepy. The minute I put my head on the pillow…my mind started churning, the anxiety started building. I did my usual self soothe ritual of counting backwards in odd numbers from 1000…By the fifth time I was downright pissed off because I wasn’t the least bit sleepy so I got up and watched an episode of Castle. I was still awake at 1:30. Then I woke several times during the night and I’ll be damned if I remember why. Come morning and sensing that it was light out (gray as it is) I pulled the covers over my head as this is the one day of the week I can at least sleep til 8 a.m. and it was only 7:30. Never mind going back to sleep, the brain was out of the gate like a racehorse-bucking bull hybrid, thoughts spinning, panic setting in, the thought of failing my child by ending up homeless paralyzing and terrifying. And then my kid was up so time to make the doughnuts, so to speak. Be mommy and all.

We ran some errands, though we had to wait ninety minutes for stores to open. During which my kid channeled satan with impatience to go spend the dollar grandma gave her. When she goes into jackass mode, there is no reasoning with her. Honestly, I am tired of the ‘perfetly normal for a child that age, just a phase”. If I recall, people suspected Jeffrey Dahmer was just going through a phase when he started tine torturing and dissecting animals. At some point a phase is actually a warning sign that something is amiss. With my kid, I think it’s some sort of oppositional defiance thing because the word ‘no’ sets her off.Probably why in all my depressions and anxiety bouts I’d eventually let her wear me down to keep my sanity. I am no longer the yes monster, though, trying to repair the damage done by my perpetually altered mental status. It’s not shirking responsibility, I created the monster to some extent (my family did not help at all) so I am working on correct it. Can’t say I am fond of having bags of quarters swung at my head for simply saying “No, we’re not going out today, we’ll do it tomorrow.” She’s kind of a ticking bomb sometimes.

At the same…she is my joy. She is love, and I beam when we are interacting without all the drama or my depression and anxiety infused self doubt. She is an amazing kid, so smart, so creative, and while maybe my nurture was only a factor…Knowing I haven’t completely screwed her up in 8.5 years in spite of all the struggles…It’s nice to feel like I’ve done one thing right.

Errands all done, which is good, cos the spitting snow and rain and gloom really bring me down. And I’m not talking ‘ooh, bummer, dude”. I mean total mood sabotage, as in one minute I am ‘managing’ and the next I feel like I am sinking. Oh, depression, you gift that never stops giving. I wish you would, really. Because your idea of giving is actually TAKING, robbing me of basic functions that come so easily to others. I may have to learn to live with you, but I will never ever welcome you or consider you any kind of benefit, you cockweasel.

(I know, I spew venom like a cobra, isn’t it awesome?)

And FYI, for the ignorant sans empathy alleged human beings who think mental illnes is a weakness or an affectation or we’re lazy and ‘faking it’…It is my fondest wish you get some invisible illness that hinders your existence and others view you the same as they view those with mental disorders. Walk in those toe pinching blister causing shoes a week and you’d be crying uncle.

I am having one of my ‘deer in the headlights’ days, meaning the anxiety is so bad I feel like moving from my spot in my bedroom crypt will result in catastrophe. It’s irrational, but then so is throwing up over the side of a gambling boat on a date cos the panic is so overwhelming it elicits a physical response. Anxiety disorders make zero sense but one thing I’ve learned in spite of all the gobbledygook the professionals spew…if you get anxious and it’s just your personality…maybe you can retrain your neural pathways and go all cognitive and mindfulness and be all better. But when your anxiety is constant, differing only in severity, sometimes based on outside stimuli, often with no clear trigger…that is a disorder and it is crippling, It distorts your thoughts, makes you have irrational fears, causes trust issues, and often makes you feel like you’re a lost cause. Oh, the lies our disordered brains tell us. And when they do it while we’re down the rabbit hole…we’re just vulnerable enough to either believe them or at least ponder their voracity. Living in perpetual self doubt and confusion, and having the mental health, er ‘behavioral management’ regime more often than not having zero clue and not wanting to buy one…It’s not a quality existence.

My dad darkened my doorstep today and asked if I found a place to live yet. It’s been TWO days of looking and I’ve already gotten 8 unfeasible or unavailable responses. The man has no grasp on the reality of my situation. To his credit (sarcastic emoji here) he gave my kid $2 to blow on junk food and offered me nothing even though he knows I am low on phone time and penniless. Feel the love. Hell, if they’d help me a little even with money for talk time and gas, I’d cook them a good meal or come clean their house…I am willing to barter with whatever I have to offer. To not even be offered that chance by my own family…But I don’t work and in my dad’s book that makes me a lazy non person. He has bragged so many times how he’s 71 and still works everyday, I want to slap him with a rotting mackerel. It’s not my fault he’s a workaholic. It’s not my fault that he can never seem to save up enough money to make himself feel better. I’ve stood by my kid, kept the same roof over her head 9 years, and that’s more than my parents did for me. Oh, we were clothed and fed, but it seemed we were moving every year or two. 8 different places in two different towns before I was 13. Maybe they didn’t have a choice, or money, but I think with all that counts against me and no help from the donor…I am due a little respect for all I have managed to do in spite of my detriments. But nooo, not with my dad.

This post was supposed to be brief but…I guess I’m like Stephen King via his ‘Making of Rose Red” video. “I’m more of a putter-inner than a taker-outer.” Rambling and ranting is my therapy and contrary to what my inept psych team thinks…it’s a wonderful method of exorcising my demons. And while I do wish I had followers who were more interactive as far as clicking like or commenting because if I help even ONE person struggling with mental issues feel less alone…it does my heart good and I’d like to think it does them good and that’s just something, as a writer, a sufferer of mental disorders, and as an empathetic human…I’d like to hear about.

So that’s the purge of the scumbag brain,

Now comes the reminder of the ‘help us find a home’ fundraiser which has raised ZERO dollars in 4 days. It amazes me how people donated to help get my cats vet care or help me license a car and yet I am facing homelessness with an 8 year old and not one person cares to donate or even just share on social media with a bit of my story…I am sure a large percentage think it’s a scam but I have posted on the gofundme page the paper declaring us out if we can’t buy. We have no choice and this was no screw up of my own, it was a doublecross by a lying sociopath landlord and a soulless management company hell bent on ridding themselves of low income ‘trashy’ tenants. If you have an ounce of humanity, even if you don’t have a dollar to spare, please click the picture of my daughter below and at least check out the page and pass it on social media if possible. Or reblog even. ANYTHING could possibly help and if you read my prior entries, you will know my story never varies. I am honest to my own detriment at times telling it like it is and how broke we are.

Look at this little girl and tell me she deserves to be homeless just because her mom is disabled and has limited income and her father is a working deadbeat unwilling to see her or pay a cent even when ordered by the court.

Remember…even a $5 donation from several people can help and I am always willing to provide receipts for every cent received and spent.

All I want is to do right by my daughter.

Dark Hellhole

Posted in depression with tags , , , on August 23, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

My father has forever griped about how every home I’ve had (since the brain baking Nardil incident of 2000) has been a dark crypt. Fair enough. When bright light gives you massive headaches and agitates your anxiety, you do what what have to in order to survive semi comfortably.

Yesterday, during a lash out tantrum, Spook screamed at me, “I want out of this dark hellhole!”

During a tantrum with her, there is no reasoning, the truth has no bearing. I have white and polka dot curtains in the living room, lace sheers in the hall, and gave her the choice to put whatever she likes in her room. A few weeks ago it was a light Shopkins curtain then the neighor’s forever on porch light in her window started to suddenly bother her so I gave her a darker curtain, told her it wouldabsorb light and she should pull it aside during the day. I do NOT force my need for dim light and ‘crypt calm’ anywhere but in my own bedroom, my safe space, my sanctuary.

As for hellhole…We can agree on that, albeit for different reasons. The place is falling apart, bugs, et al, fine, that sucks. But for the first time in 8 years I have finally reached the point of being ashamed to live in this trailer park and it’s because the landlord is just letting white trash and assorted others move in with their brat ass kids and there’s garbage everywhere, someone even stole my kid’s bike and one of our cats, one nice man put a nice swing set and a bunch of nice plastic houses and stuff down at ‘the little park’ for all the kids…and in under 2 months it’s all been destroyed. The park is basically a trash can and I told my kid to start cleaning it up and of course, she didn’t do any pof it, it’s unfair, blah blah blah. No, it’s not fair, but since she picks shitty friends who one minute hit her with a stick, the next minute she’s screaming that I won’t let her play with them because they are being bullied and she needs to protect them…

Meanwhile we have the white trash parents who won’t let their kids hang out with mine because oh, right, I told a 13 year ld to kiss my big fat butt after she threatened to kick it, and my kid was present when some boys started a fire so she’s the pyro (I can guarantee she lacks manual dexterity to have used the roller Bic lighter that started the fire)…I am so ashamed to live here, I told R if Kenny ever leaves the shop’s back room, put in a shower and I’ll pay him damn near twice what K pays. I’ll find my cats homes or foster homes. I am at wits’ end. And the bitch of it is, I’m blacklisted with section 8 (low cost) housing due to a bad landlord reference I got before my kid was ever born, so yeah, karma. (Fucking bipolar depression, actually, but the world doesn’t care.) I can honestly say this has been the worst summer I can remember because used to, she had maybe 3 kids to play with. Then comes the onslaught of shitty parents who let their 4 year old loose before 8 am and she’s still wandering at 9:30 p.m. so I walk her home and get a door slammed in my face for disturbing the parents.

WHITE TRASH. I may be trashy inasmuch as being a lousy housekeeper but I always know where my kid is, she is polite to everyone but me, I don’t have trash piled up inside or out, I am TRYING to treat the bugs, I am TRYING to keep food in the fridge so my kid doesn’t go begging others for food as I respect how difficult it is to afford to feed your own let alone 7 other kids. My reward?

The kids found three abandoned newborn kittens and brought them all to me, stampeding into my home, EIGHT of them, uninvited by anyone but my kid, then they start going through my fridge, whining because I have Dr. Pepper instead of Mt. Dew and I asked them nicely four times to go play outside and they just sat inside on my couch asking for food then wanting to manhandle dying kittens. And one did die and I have to bury another, and I have two that are holding on because I keep checking every hour, (even during the night) and feeding them vitagel and warm milk with a vet’s syringe, trying to keep them alive even though it is futile, they are too small to survive without a momma cat. And for all I know, the mama is looking for them because these trailer park kids are liars and just found the kittens alone and decided the say the mother was dead. And don’t think I am dumping on other people’s kids alone because mine is as much a culprit as them, just maybe to a lesser degree. Her extreme abuse is saved for me alone.

She had six tantrums yesterday and nothing I did worked to curtail them.Often it is that way. I record the exchange so the professionals can hear me trying to deal calmly and her just screaming and threatening to hurt herself or kill me or “tell grandma you won’t let me do X”. Since school started, there was only ONE tantrum free day. And it’s wearing me down. I am hanging by a thread. And to my shame, I have allowed her to get to me and started raising my voice but I refuse to spank her or even touch her on the arm to get her attention. Because this is a kid who gets scratched by your fingernail and tells people you cut her. Yes, I am afraid of my own child getting me arrested for assault because by the time the truth comes out (if it does, because he system often doesn’t accept that kids lie) it’s too late.

Yes, I know. I am weak. She’s a shark and my anxiety and fear are blood in the water and she moves in for the kill. I try so hard to keep a lid on it. And it makes her scream more when I am calm. Guess it’s less stressful to just scream back (yeah, immature and bad parenting, but I last a hell of a lot longer before I snap than even R without an anxiety disorder, this is TRYING child). Of course, I end up feeling shitty for raising my voice and not keeping my cool and the guilt is crushing. I apologize and tell her mommy earned ‘bad points’ for not following my own rule about not raising my voice as I tell her to not to do.

Last night I hit the wall. I cut off access to her friends after the third invasion of food demanding brats and her playing the “S won’t be my friend anymore if you don’t give her my shoes and this shirt!” R stopped by to give me a part number he needed ASAP and Spook decided that was a great time to demand a tea party and when I politely explained I needed to find this part as the customer is a cancer patient with months to live and she needs her TV fixed but if she’d give me a half hour of peace to look for the part, we would have our tea party.

She didn’t give me two minutes of peace. She got the newborn kittens meowing which is shrill noise that makes me anxious and unable to focus. We had to run out and I told her no to something four different times and she just ignored me and did it anyway and informed me for the thousandth time I am not the boss of her or her body and I just want her to be a robot. FFS. No means no. So her consequence was no tea party with me as it was nearly bedtime before she stopped with the tantrum and finally said “I’m sorry, I love you,Mommy.” And I asked her what she was sorry for and she said, being bad. I said, no, not being bad, what did you do to lose the tea party? And she had nothing. Just that I am the worst mother and don’t are about me kid because I am trying to instill consequences and conscience. Which she then used against me to say they are big words and she doesn’t understand so I broke it down to very small words even my idget family could understand as could a first grader and she still pretended not to get it yet she gets it fine at school.

Hellhole indeed. This is my life. Every damned day, this is my life. And all the experts say it’s my short comings and not my kid’s fault. It takes two to tango, sure, but this kids bare no responsibility is bullshit. Schools expect a certain level of good behavior and give consequences if the child can’t abide. But parents are supposed to take all responsibility, never lose their temper, never feel like running away from home or hiding in the closet to escape what is essentially a pint sized bully…

I love her so much. It cuts like a knife (Bryan Adams, anyone?) when she screams that I don’t care about her simply because I won’t let her do as she pleases. She has so many good qualities…

Much like her mother, though, the bad starts to outweigh the good and people have limits, they hit the ceiling and just caN’t do it anymore.All my relationships go like that no matter how much I change my thinking and behavior because, bipolar. Not all shitty behavior is that but consideirng who I used to be, outside of the bipolar, as a person…I have become a damned saint. None of it seems to matter.

I won’t give up on my daughter. Too many have given up on me because, yeah, the bad is awful and it is soul sucking and makes you want to run screaming into the night no matter how much love is involved. You just can’t let someone else drag you down. (Sorry, donor, was never my intention but then, you abandoned three children so fuck you.)

I’m not bitter, just filled with saccharine known to cause cancer in labratory rats. (How odd that is the one thing I remember from my childhood when I used to get a diet 7-up and saw that on the label.)

Okay. Rant over. But I think the gist was,I am trying to be a good mother in a very difficult situation with a very volatile child. Frustrating but I survivd 7 years of daily bullying and being spit on by the redneck elite…I won’t be taken down by a child. I will get to the end of my rope and then I will tie a knot in it, and then when that frays, I will tie another knot. And if I have to, I will tie knots in my nerve endings to keep holding on because she is worth it.Junk DNA, chemical imbalance, or just “I’m a shitty parent who fucked her up”…

I will be better than those who walked out on me.

Losing It

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on May 18, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Quiet brain started rumbling after I picked my kid up from school and every tiny thing I tried to do went wrong. Like disassembling the vacuum and fixing it and I went totally blank on where one part went back in even though I’ve taken that section apart ten times. Just…blank. Then I dumped a glass of water. The wind kept knocking the fan over but if I close the windows, the humidity kills us. Another kitten passed away. R called to ask if I’d keep the shop open from 4pm to 6pm tomorrow while he goes out of town to look at a car as his got side swiped and is barely running… My kid started mouthing me in front of her friend and after telling her no to the same thing five times, I went a little overboard with the ‘firm’ voice. Gah, just…suckage.

Around 8:30 p.m. the panxiety set in. Only it was a scarier panxiety than I’ve had in a long time. The light dimmed when I plugged the fan in my kid’s room. Which brought me back to a text from my sis a few days ago when she saw a firetruck heading my address direction and she was worried we had a fire. And of course, a week or two back my dad tossed out how he thinks we’re going to burn to death in this place. Then I realized one of my smoke detectors fell off the wall and is trashed and the other has a dead battery…I AM A TERRIBLE MOTHER, IRRESPONSIBLE AND UNFIT!!!!

I started spinning out of control, mentally. Looking at all the stuff I’ve let go, all the stuff falling apart. Even this laptop, the keyboard got splashed with sticky stuff (OJ, I think, courtesy of leaping felines) which is more money and having R install it. Oh and in spite of two cooling fans external, the laptop is getting hot really fast meaning likely my fan is clogged but I can’t disassemble a damned computer and the person I know can is too busy to contact me unless it is related to his needs.

Downward spiral at breakneck speed. Sheer terror, going around turning off anything that doesn’t need to be on. And I found my kitchen dark and the fridge off which means likely when the fan in my kid’s room dimmed, it’s tied to that circuit and the safety breaker was thrown. Had to reset that. And then it came in the back of my head, the rare appearance but always terrifying…

You’re trapped like a rat in a maze here, you’re unfit to be a mother, your kid deserves better…You’re losing it and you feel buried alive and you know what would just fix it all is to kill yourself.

These dark thoughts do not come to me often, that has always been the one plus of whatever brand of imbalance I have going on. I’m not suicidal. But when the panxiety hits the roof and I feel so overwhelmed…Scumbag brain starts whispering, then screaming, like a bunch of cruel teenagers encouraging a classmate to jump off the roof ledge and kill themselves.

I am a little scared by tonight’s mental events. I don’t see the psych nurse until May 30th but if I am falling apart with paranoia and hopelessness three times in the same week…I am decompensating. I need to call the dr office and talk to someone but as short staffed as they are, by the time I hear back, it will be the day of the appointment. I need a secondary anti depressant and I need it desperately. I was playing my little ponies with my kid earlier and honestly…I was keeping a promise I made to her last night. I have zero desire to play. I zone out and fake it and…THIS IS NOT ME!

I didn’t realize how quickly I was circling the drain until tonight. Because I had a few less vile periods and thought I was close to the upswing of seasonal depression. Instead I am falling to pieces and emotional shrapnel is everywhere. My writing has practically flat lined. I have no desire to go to yard sales (as if I have money.) Even food has lost its appeal and the tv shows I watch…background noise and something to distract myself from my own thoughts.

I AM NOT GOING TO HURT MYSELF, so please don’t take that message from this post. I posted this simply because I NEED the professionals to know how bad it gets for me at times, how terrifying it is, how paralyzing it is. To be so overwhelmed, have so little support or help, to just tread water day after day until nights like this when I started going under the surface, sputtering for breath. Convinced sharks are coming for me even though there are no sharks in the murky local river where I am drowning.

I took 2mg Xanax and am starting to calm down. I hope this is an isolated incident. Even if these paranoia bouts hit three or four times a year…It’s too many times. I feel like mentally I am so far gone and such a failure…

You know what the depressive distortions are telling me.

It’s terrifying. More terrifying is living in fear that one day…I’ll start believing the distortions and finally throw in the towel.

I think the brain needs a reboot, gonna attempt sleep. But with my brain circling with all the possibilities of what could go wrong while I am asleep…It’s not going to be restful sleep.

I hate this.