Archive for anxiety

It’s All About The Birthday Girl

Posted in depression, fundraiser with tags , , , , , on July 22, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I will spare the usual rant except to say…I’m going under here battling depression, anxiety, and how deeply in debt the move and all has made me. This isn’t about me. This is about her. A sneak peak at the page to show that this time it’s different, not my babbling. I was too scatter brained to start a new page, so only $10 for Spook has been raised thus far. We are grateful for every act of kindness, every click of the share button.

Click either pic to go to the actual page to donate or share. Thanks.

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Off Kilter And The Bad Thoughts Are Knocking At The Door

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 21, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

As mentioned in my previous post, due to my own inadvertent screw up, I am facing another financial set back, not to mention the entire family turning against me and even dragging my daughter into it. (Seriously, this was an adult problem between me and my sister, and she dragged even my 8 year old into it, as if I wasn’t feeling shitty enough, now my kid is going to judge me. For an honest albeit stupid mistake.) I spent last night alternating between tears of self loathing and doom and nervous throwing up. It’s bad enough when you fuck up and it creates a rift between you and another person, but now the entire family knows and I am in the hot seat. I will remain there even if I by some miracle manage to juggle some expenses and correct my fuck up. It’s like a family lynch mob with me as the lynch-ee. Maybe I deserve it. Though I fail to see why my sister had to drag everyone, including my kid into it.

Today I am on edge, unfocused, freaking out, my stomach is churning. I want my kid home but either way if they bring her home or I go fetch her, I will be facing down my lynch mob. God, I want a normal family where things aren’t used as fodder to start wars within amongst us all. And dear god, if feeling like crap had a monetarily value, I could pay off bills for the entire family. It’s gotten so bad, the Bad Thoughts are lurking in the shadows, knocking on the door. Reminding me that hey, I gave it my best shot but obviously I am never going to get everything right so why bother sticking around.’

I have to reject this. I have to toughen up, deal with my mistake and the fall out, but my prior trust issues inasmuch as my sister handling it between just the two of us are metastasized. Good people don’t drag an 8 year old into adult matters this way. And my family has always done the two face back stabbery since I was a kid so this isn’t new, I just had hope as we got older, that fucked up dynamic might change. It hasn;t and once I correct my mistake…I think it’s time to go back to my minimal contact with them policy. Because even without this fuck up, I am always on some shit list they have and I am fed up. Fighting depression and anxiety are hard enough with the people who ‘love’ me making it even worse.

I am willing to sacrifice, scrimp, cut corners, even let the internet get turned off (though it’s year long contract so I’d still owe them)…I used to dodge my responsibilities and mistakes back during the manic days but I have busted my ass and my brain becoming a better person. I thought I was getting there. I was apparently wrong but I can’t let myself give up and I cannot give power to the Bad Thoughts.

While I am willing to sacrifice and scrimp…

I am praying for a few kind people to donate to Spook’s fundraiser She deserves a birthday and the necessary stuff for the start of school. So if you have a heart at all, help Spook. I’ll try to clean up my mess and keep current on the bills, but…she shouldn’t be punished cos her mom doesn’t always get it right.

Even if you can’t donate…just a share shows you care. Spook is just a little girl about to turn 9 and enter 4th grade. Her getting some clothes, supplies, and even a half decent birthday is every bit as worthy a cause as donating to some soulless political candidate or a campaign to ban plastic straws. Show her there are some decent people out there.

I am trying to be a decent person but falling a bit short. I won’t ever stop trying, though. That little girl is the light of my life and even if my family and the rest of the world deems me to be an evil spawn of satan…All that matters is that my kid keeps seeing me as ‘a good mom.” Just need a little help right now.

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.

BREATHE.

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?

The Sandwich Saved Me

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on July 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

What do you do when depression is flogging you and your efforts to fight back take more out of you than give back?

For me, I retreat into binge watching TV shows. This weekend, it’s been both seasons of Jessica Jones, based on a Marvel comic. For the last few years, I’ve been absorbed with the DC comics series like The Flash and Arrow. It never occurred to me Marvel series might have something quirky to offer until I watched this year’s Cloak and Dagger. Now I have two Marvel universes to get lost in when the sandwich isn’t saving me.

Come on, that is hilarious! And kudos to them for season one with David Tenant as the evil villain. Oh I love that man, he brings snark to every character though some of his work has been pretty…shall we say bleak? Or is that just British not-Dr.Who-programming? Nah, I watched the US show Gracepoint with Tenant, he’s a very versatile actor. Easy on the eyes too but it’s always the accent and the snark for me.

I guess I am posting because…I woke again, this morning, and was disappointed that I was awake. Which I guess means disappointed to be alive because dead people can’t wake up, only the living can, so if every single day you are filled with disappointment and dread upon waking…stands to reason something is wrong with your life or your mind. My life is plenty 50 shades of fucked up but currently, I think the depression is just winning 6 out of 7 days of the week. Which I predicted would happen when the doctor refused to up my meds and leave me hanging for three months, but hey, what do I know, I’m just the fucking patient who has to wither in this mental space and watch my life slip away from me.

And it pisses me off and fills me with shame. So many others have it far worse, their lives are far more meaningful than mine, and here I am, feeling like I lost all my limbs when I am abled bodied yet my mind won’t cooperate for shit and honestly, I am about self-bullied out. I am pep talked out. I am shamed out. I WANT THE SANDWICH TO COME SAVE ME NOW.

My kid returned from her zoo outing and ya know what? I’m kind of glad I didn’t take her. All she did was gripe that they couldn’t buy her this and they had to eat hotdogs cos it was the only semi affordable thing then she was griping in the car on the way back so much they actually stopped to buy her a coloring book and crayons to shut her up…And she had the nerve to tell them she thought it was boring at the zoo at one point and damn near made my nephew’s girlfriend cry. Welcome to Spook experience, people, all the work, zero gratitude, and incessant complaints all in hopes maybe once a week you hear the word ‘thank you’ and get a hug. Pfft…If I want to be dissed and hear complaints, it’s called every day of the week. So even a $150 trip to the zoo didn’t please her. Maybe she’s just one of those kids nothing will ever satisfy.

She just found out her little friend next door is going to be moving and she is pretty bummed. They’re gonna stay in Armpit but I guess living with the mother in law and grandma is too much for them, they want their own place and good for them. If I’d had to live with any of my family once I had Spook, blood would have been spilled. Lots, and lots, and lots of blood. I am trying to be supportive and sympathetic for her sake, but she’s having none of it, she wants to embrace her misery in a chokehold. Sigh. I want my misery to fuck off and die in a fire.

I did have a little ‘cool but in a sad way’ moment earlier when she said she was soooo exicted for tomorrow. I asked why and she said because we have the standing pizza date in town. She’s looking forward to taking lunch across the road to the park and eating with her mom….Yeah, right. She’ll take two bites then find another kid or some playground equipment to ditch me for. But she’s looking forward to it and I am too. Thanks to our very good friend Mr. M preordering and buying it for us, I will be getting one wish granted this week-for Marco’s pizza. And it’s so very good and they don’t do a lot of business so I feel like I have to eat there every chance I get before they too are run out of rural hell….Anyway, we love you, Mr. M.

Now back to the final two episodes of season 2 of Jessica Jones. No sandwiches have saved lives this season, but they did have an episode called “Shark in the Bathtub, Monster In The Bed.” Oooh, sharks and monsters and sandwiches, oh my. One of them please save me. God knows my psychiatric care center isn’t doing a damn thing to even try.

And people wonder why I watch so much TV and prefer fiction to reality. Yeah, total mystery. NOT. Bloody hell.

It All Just Sucks

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Honestly this is not some boo hoo woe-is-me post, I just couldn’t come up with a better title at the moment. I was too lazy to eat when I woke up so I thought, I’ll do the mood stabilizers later after I do eat but what can it hurt to take the Cymbalta now while I am thinking about it…Well, the hurt is in my gut which is now burning like a mofo, something that was never a side effect when I took the same in the past but now suddenly it is a random thing. As if my burning stress stomach aches and lowering myself to take Pepcid isn’t enough, then playing the “will the pills make me puke or not today’ lottery…Just what I bloody needed. GRRR.

You can spew all your sunshine and wave your pompoms in my face and tell me what works well for you and it’s all about a positive attitude but you know what? It doesn’t change the fact that MEDICATION SIDE EFFECTS EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE JUST PLAIN SUCKS.

In a surprise twist the other day after being assaulted by some well meaning but ’caused traumatic flashbacks’ pompom waving…I felt like a loser for a couple of hours and then I realized no one has my permission to make me feel inferior no matter my failings and hey, that includes ME. I was busy beating up on myself because I’ve not found my magic cocktail of unicorn farts, medication, and meditating on clouds made of cotton candy I forgot the most important things of all: we are all different. And I really need to get the stick out of my ass because I suck at being given advice, I take it way too personally and in doing so, I close my mind to some positives I could take away from it. I totes want my uicorn fart magical cocktail but until that happens…I’m gonna keep doing me.

And I surprised me because after the loserpalooza mental state kicked my ass long enough, I started moving around the house. Not because I wanted to but because I was pissed off, because I was sick of beating myself up, because damn it, I am fighting as hard as I can and the pegacorns aren’t barfing rainbows on me so I may as well do something. I folded 7 baskets of laundry and attempted to find a place for it all thus making the middle room look less biohazard-y. (It is very challenging to store things when YOUR IDIOTIC HOUSE HAS NO CLOSETS,FFS, whoever designed this place was a fucking moron.) I cleaned cat boxes, tried to clean floors (epic fail without a working vacuum and fans blowing dust everywhere you just swept or dusted, grrrrr.) The humidity that day was so high I had sweat running down my back, indoors, with the AC. 93 outside, 89 inside, what a joyous life. But I got shit done and it felt good. Hypomania always does, though I sure do miss my full blown mania and oh those delicious but lethal diet pills that kept me looking pretty and so energized I could run 56 hours straight but that’s a story for another (never) time.

I zonked around midnight, only to be wakened three times by the rioting cats who don’t do diurnal…I had a nightmare I jolted from at 4a.m. and could not get back to sleep. So I tried boring myself to it by watching, oh dear god, Martha Stewart glazing a ham. (The horror!) Fail. By 6 a.m. I was doing dishes, counting time til I had to take my kid to my mom’s for her sleepover and outing. Which meant by the time I got my ‘me day’ I spent most of it sleeping because I hit the hypomania wall and when I did wake up, I was up til after 2 a.m. and too tired to do anything I had planned because when planning it, I had assumed I’d be well rested instead of my cycles all fucked up.

Today I am edgy and grumpy. My kid is off to St. Louis with her cousin and his girlfriend for her first ever trip to the zoo. And selfishly, I feel pissed off about it. I want her to be happy, but I feel pissed off that my nephew doesn’t work, doesn’t pay a single bill, his girlfriend just had to resign from her job before they fired her, and still they have all this money to drive so far away and go to the zoo and feed my kid (after they took her out of town shopping last night!) and it’s just not fucking fair that I do all the sacrifice and hard work and I can’t even be included in the fun stuff she gets to do. Me, me, me, I know, but is it so wrong for a parent to want to be with their kid doing the fun stuff? It should be a memory for mom and daughter but no, I’ve got every cent tied up keeping a roof overhead so…

So I am feeling left out and petty and at this point…I’d just be happy if I could afford a damn pizza from Marco’s. Everyone takes Spook out to eat, to swim, to shop, and I am always stuck home, can’t even spring for a damn McDouble. Boo hoo, right? Well, newsflash:parents are people,too, and while we are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary for our kids to be happy…

Some of us selfish bastards would still like $13 to get a damn delicious pizza.

But knowing my mental state and how the meds are wrecking my body daily..I am glad she has others who financially able to give her what I can’t. Honestly, some of my fondest memories of childhood aren’t of amusement parks or zoos, they’re just the mundane daily things, like playing with a dog, or running through a sprinkler and having ice cream after. Of course, I’m not vapid and my kid kind of is, so her memories will involve everyone but me cos they all have money to do the fun stuff. I won’t begrudge her that. I’d probably have a mental breakdown if I was even sitting in a car in St. Louis traffic (sure would love to see the snakes though, such beautiful creatures.) I still think it’s bullshit that my cousin and his girlfriend don’t have to pay for food or a single expense by living off my mom and my sister. But then isn’t that how everyone views me, living off disability…Difference being, my money isn’t going toward happy fun ball stuff. I prioritize and my kid comes first so if her having food means no trip to the zoo and I’m a downer…so be it.

Really makes me think of everything my parents sacrificed for me and my sister when we were kids. How little they got out of life other than working to pay bills and keep us clothed and fed. Not to mention they hated each other and stayed together for our sake (not a favor) so that had to suck a lot, too. At least I am not stuck with an albatross in my home thus ours is a happier home than what I grew up in.

I still want my Marco’s pizza, though. If I can’t have pegacorn barf and unicorn farts…I just want a damned pizza. I’m shallow and demanding like that.

Word Vomit

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on July 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

What an appealing title, right? Who isn’t going to break a finger clicking to read this! Actually, I just need a good purge so whatever I write here will be…word vomit. And ya know, sometimes it’s a lot like being physically ill where the last thing you want to do is throw up but once you do…you start feeling a little less putrid? That is what I hope this post will do for my mental state, which to be honest, has not been good at all, thus the ‘long time, no write’. And yes, if I go more than 2 days without posting, it usually means I am in The Bad Place.

Over the weekend The Bad Place hit hard and I was swallowed up by blackness.

Looking toward the legal proceeding with the donor and how the judge will likely grant him visitation even though he hasn’t so much as mailed the kid a birthday card in 7 years or asked about her when faced with my family members (most of whom seem to side with him cos they are from that antiquated ‘children should have both parents’ mentality, which, in this day and age is absurd…Ideally, yes, kids would have both parents but in this case…I don’t think rewarding abandonment is the right move. ) But once the darkness hit, I started thinking maybe it’d be in her best interest because I am a shitty mom, always down or up, always jumping at every sound, unable to socialize let alone work…Maybe they should take her from me because, plainly, I suck.

And thank pegacorn I’ve been on this hellish hamster wheel long enough to know depression is a blatant liar and distorts the truth. My kid is healthy, happy, creative, smart, we’re very bonded, and she’s got her basic needs met, always.

But then that bastard depression starts whispering, pointing out all my failures, as fluffy and vapid as they are.
“You’ve never taken the kid on a vacation once in 9 years.” “You can’t afford to sign her up for the sports she wants to try.” “You buy her second hand clothes because you’re such a loser, you can’t even work and earn minimum wage to buy her new stuff.” On and on and on it goes.

Then come the Really Bad Thoughts, the ones telling me that she’d be better off if I were simply dead. That I am a hindrance, that I am a bad influence, cos hey, I don’t work and she knows it’s not normal and points it out frequently. I look at all my damn years of meds and doctors and therapists and I’m not any better now than I ever really was. The only change has been in me, as a person, in my personality and thoughts but if I can’t ever escape the bipolar depressions, it’s all been for nothing. I’m an albatross for this vibrant little girl.

I rode out 4 days of those thoughts poisoning my system. Lived only for sleep, which is still interrupted and plagued by nightmares and the dread when I wake in the mornings.

I know I had a brief ‘up’ when the Cymbalta first start working but when the doctor made no changes and left me hanging 3 months before an appointment with yet another new nurse doc…I just feel like they dropped me in a war zone with access to water and military rations, but nothing else. I am stranded in this shitty place and will be for another month at least. And knowing how that place works, there’s a good chance I might even get bumped for someone ‘not doing as well.’

I don’t know how much more ‘not well’ I could be doing to have the dark thoughts lurking and stalking me, to feel so lethargic, stressed, hopeless. This is better than 4 months ago, but after gabapentin and Effexor giving me such horrendous side effects, the bar for better is set pretty low.

I am still juggling the stress of living so close to my dad. Even when they leave us alone, I just live in fear they’re gonna crash my limited safe space. (Conversation with normal person:”Thanks for mowing our lawn, we appreciate it.” “You’re welcome!” Conversation with my dad: “Thanks for mowing our lawn.” “Yeah, you need to be thanking us!” Lack of basic manners totally sets me off!) I keep trying to convince myself it’s not so bad here and yet every time we are in town my kid sees a friend from the trailer park or her old school, she gets sad, I get sad, and realize…We had no choice and we’re making the best out of the hand we got dealt but this is never going to be our home. It’s is my dad’s town (he even knows when I go to the gas station cos it’s such a tiny town and everyone talks) and…I called living in town a cess pool and the petri dish but it was OUR space, our privacy. Now…Armpit just makes me feel exposed and even though my dad’s not footing a single bill or buying us groceries, I feel like we’re depedent on him. Which is ludicrous and yet I fight myself tooth and nail to change my mental state and…FAIL.

Today I took my poison, er, meds, with milk…and got so sick. I ran to the bathroom 4 times in 10 minutes, I was dizzy, nauseous, my head was spinning and…I’m sick of it. I’ve never been a pot user but the more people I talk to who are fed up with the psych meds not working but pot seems to help…It’s not the road I want to go down, but I sure as hell understand why people are going down it. The medi-go-round is the ultimate test in constant aggravation and frustration but I’m not giving up hope. It has, occasionally, gotten me to a good place mentally. Besides, as I recall from youthful dabbles, pot just made me sleepy and if I wanted to sleep all the time, I’d go back on Trazadone, least keep it legal.

But yeah, that’s where I am. Word vomit. Purge complete.

The Futility Of A Depressive Existence

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on July 7, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I am down the rabbit hole today and not sure why, other than monthly hormone fluctuations. I can’t blame the oppressive heat because it’s cooled off significantly. My kid isn’t channeling satan. My family has yet to darken my phone line or door step. Nothing traumatic has happened. Such are my mood cycles. The doctors always want a reason, a trigger, and sometimes…there isn’t one other than I HAVE A DEPRESSIVE DISORDER, duh.

I managed two trips to town this week. Needed to go in today for cat food but it will keep another day. I can’t seem to do two trips in a row anymore. Just too mentally taxing, all the activity, noise, people, colors. Sensory overload. July 4th, morning, anyway, I was feeling pretty good even though melting like the wicked witch. I wore a bra, I put on make up, we made a trip to town for some groceries. But then we came home and my kid had a friend over then proceeded to do nothing but yell at him and no amount of correcting her or standing her against the wall did any good. I didn’t really like dad and them sweeping my kid away for a cookout (which, FYI, I wasn’t invited to) and leaving me alone on the holiday because she’s my kid, not theirs, but I can’t punish Spook with my zero desire for social interaction. And also, I wasn’t invited. I don’t know why I keep mentioning that, I don’t know those people, met them once, but based on how they treat the little boy and the dog, I don’t much like them so it’s not like I wanted to go. I think it was just basically being excluded from being with my child, dismissed as it were, was very very rude of my dad’s faction.

But they brought her back early enough we set off some sparklers dad bought her then we were in bed before 11 pm. Party animals. The heat takes it out of me. When you’re running the window AC and five fans and the temp inside is still 89…pretty miserable, especially in 8 days stretches. Thursday we had a blissful day without any word from them, though I got hit with cramps from hell and was so tired, I could barely walk room to room. I just looked forward to bedtime. Which for someone who can’t stay asleep more than a couple of hours is just frustrating so if I am looking forward to nothing but that…my mental state is pretty bad.

I had one of *those* nights last night. Crashed by 10:30, woke in a half panic around 2:30 a.m. and my racing thoughts just wouldn’t let up. The more I thought about needing to sleep while I could cos soon my kid would be up just made me more stressed and that didn’t aid in sleep. I eventually took another melatonin and half a Xanax…only to still be awake at 5 a.m as the sky lightened and the stupid birds started in with their little “This is my branch, it is not your branch” sing songing. At some point I nodded off…and Spook woke me before 7:30. It’s going to be a long day. My body feels bruised and beaten, my mind feels tapped out and while she is behaving pretty well, Spook is wound for sound and making lots of gleeful noise. This on top of trash trucks, trains, and lawn mowers….half a Xanax time. Otherwise panxiety sets in and worse than plain old anxiety is when the paranoia piles on and you start feeling like the world is out to get you and something bad is going to happen. I try to avoid taking Xanax when I can, especially during the day lest it randomly make me sleep (99% of the time it doesn’t but a few times it has and I can’t risk it with my kid on the loose) so if I am taking a pill…I am borderline freaking out.

It just has gotten to a point where my existence feels futile because depression just never shuts up, never truly dies down or even recedes. And even worse, I ponder what ifs, as in, “Well, maybe it’s *this* existence, constantly struggling with money, overwhelmed by noise, bogged down with oppressive family members…So I let myself imagine another life, something without money worries, something a little glamorous and exciting, like being a celebrity loved by millions…And frankly, even that existence seems pretty futile to me. I don’t think I could handle the stimuli overload and I definitely could not spend my days being a bubbleheaded shopaholic and partying every night to the wee hours. Now if even someone else’s supposedly great existence feels futile to me…I’d hazard a guess that my depression is far from stabilized. And with the psych center’s staffing issues it doesn’t look positive that it will get straightened out any time soon.

So here I am in limbo, perpetually trying to find reasons to make life worthwhile other than my kid, cats and TV shows that occasionally make me happy. (REALLY into Cloak And Dagger, maybe because it taps into how powerless I feel and how I wish I had some superpower that could help me dig myself out of this depressive snakepit…Oh, wow, what an insult to snakes, they are beautiful creatures who wouldn’t stoop to hang out in a depressive pit.)

If I want to be fair, though, I did get a couple of very supportive, flattering comments on my blog this week and that did bring some measure of comfort and ‘keep spewing it’ fire in the belly. While less concerned that my grammar is not always kosher and I am typo queen…when someone says that I put into words thing they have thought but couldn’t articulate in such a dead on way…That was the entire point of starting this blog. We all struggle through this, feeling so lost, so alone, and just on occasion, we stumble on something like a random blog post that gives us hope (I envy writers who can stay on topic and not write novel length posts of rambling like I do, but this is me.) and it makes it all seem less futile and worthwhile.

For today, though…I guess it’s the rabbit hole and lurking panxiety ninjas and cramps and just feeling like drawing breath is too exhausting. The tides will shift. They always do. I just wish they’d shift to a more positive place and STAY there. I don’t want to feel this way. That anyone should have to feel this way sickens me. Living with this darkness in your own mind, no matter how hard you try and fight….It’s cruel and unusual and for so many of us, it is reality.

And reality bites.