Archive for bi-polar 2 disorder

Life After Lithium-signs of life return

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Almost two weeks since I simply quit taking my 900mg lithium daily. And guess what?

I am writing again, at least in my blogs. I am doing some housework here and there. Reaching out to others. I don’t feel like the walking dead with zero emotion or energy.

No more ‘will I or won’t I barf with today’s lithium dose?” lottery. No more gaining weight even while basically starving myself. No more lack of affect.I can FEEL things again.

I did not ask my doctor’s permission. Tried that with two others and they blew me off, probably covering their own asses in the event I went bonkers. But I also take 200 mg lamictal daily and it is an excellent mood stabilizer without side effects so I feel comfortable in my choice to do away with a med that was really dragging me down. I have been through it many times. I know the signs when I need that lithium boost and I will speak up if it comes to that.

For now…I feel alive. I feel creative stirrings. Social stirrings, like maybe reaching out to people isn’t going to result in psychological devastation. My entire outlook has changed and that could be the Cymbalta/Prozac combo, too. But I have always taken issue with lithium’s side effects. It is an AMAZING medication in its effectiveness but it’s been what, 50 years, and they can’t tweak it so it doesn’t make you feel like the walking dead and sickly? Besides, I am axis 2 on bipolar scale, more depression than mania so two mood stabilizers is overkill, it makes sense that I’d feel less numb taking the worse one out of the mix.

I don’t advise others to up and quit their meds. I am just at the mercy of a rural area, shit insurance, and a psych center that’s been through 4 doctors in the last 2 years. No stability, few who listen to me when telling them how it freaks my kid out when I take lithium and end up puking over the toilet…No, I made an executive decision after waiting and waiting for one of them to HEAR me. Maybe this is just coming off the stuff and I’ll go back down the rabbit hole. Maybe not. It’s worth the risk just to be able to laugh again-and mean it.

Talk to your docs/nurse if you need med changes. Do it the right way. But always advocate for yourself, a medication should never make you feel worse even if it stabilizes the ups and downs.


My kid and I are going through something right now so check out our story and share if you’d be so kind. Merci. And happy early Halloween.



Posted in biolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on November 11, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Abstract black white snow texture on black background for overlay



I’m driving me Crazy (Long nonsensical rant)

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on April 21, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Things I Did Right Yesterday:
Got my kid dressed, fed, and off to school.
Picked my kid up from school.
Took a shower (after 3 or 4 days).
Cooked a decent meal for supper.
Finished reading one book, went to the library and got more, and read 55 more pages. Which is not as easy as one might think with a child saying “Mommy” every ten seconds.

Things I did Not Do at all yesterday:
cat boxes

And Things I forced myself to do but did not really excel at:
Errands (It was like every step was walking uphill in molasses, which after two solid days not leaving the house, one would think getting out would be a relief.)
Not getting irritated with my yapping tantrum throwing child. She’s taken to screaming at me for no reason and she’s been grounded for almost a week now and still can’t correlate her behavior needs to change for her to get ungrounded. I am trying very hard to be calm, to talk in a firm but regulated tone, to not overreact to childhood staples…It’s exhausting. Mostly I want to go hide in the closet.
Socializing. R came over and we watched a movie. It wasn’t something I really wanted to do, I’d much rather have kept reading my book. But he’s having a tough time and while he sure as hell does not deserve my empathy, it’s who I am. I can’t let people who behave like jerks turn me into one. And that’s a challenge. (But hey, he did redeem himself after I confronted him about all the work I did on that laptop last week and he blew it off. He brought me a pack of smokes and Mangoritas. Can that be considered income?)
Socializing is hellish for me. Unless I am manic or drunk, every minute just seems endless. I sit and clockwatch and wonder, is it time for them to leave yet. Then there are times when after a drink or two the stick is removed from my ass and I get sad when it’s time for them to leave.
I literally cannot find a happy medium.
While it could be failing to regulate my emotions (the counselors are insane if they think this is even remotely possible with bipolar, the entire definition of that is lack of regulation) but mostly I think it’s my ever changing moods, anxieties, and mind frame. I know when I am in a bad state and being around others will result in nothing good. So I self isolate to “protect” others from me. And it’s sad I feel I have to protect people because I’m the one who’s ill and if it were physical illness, people would be flocking to protect, support, and aid me. It’s just so much ass trash how mental illness is handled like some imaginary friend. I have to take care of myself, manage the illnesses, and tend to those around me who find me so taxing. Try living with it, bitches.
I am driving me crazy.

It does not help that for the last two years, my status quo has been altered. Due to seasonal affective shit, normally I hit my depression around the end of September, then come April, I go half manic. It’s changed. Last years I didn’t become high functioning until July. Which was when the shrink decided I was doing well and it made her so happy so she’d see me in four months when she got back from leave. I knew in my gut this was not a good idea. Just ditching me as the seasons would soon transition.
And I was right. I was with the emergent care guy before November. Because that’s how my cycles run. I will be doing splendidly for two, three months, giving the illusion that all is well. Then like being T-boned by a semi, the depression swoops in for a royal ass kicking. Time after time it happens yet aside from one doctor, the others seem oblivious. Yet this psych center advertises that they specialize in seasonal affective disorder.
I am frustrated by the lack of progress I’ve made as far as the depression. There’s just this lack of joy in everything, even things I normally love. I love Wednesday 13’s music yet it’s been months since I even listened to one song. Why? It’s almost like I am afraid my dark toxic mind will poison music I love so I have to keep it far away from me. I am the bottle with skull and crossbones on it. So easily what I love could be tainted during a depressive bout. I try to force myself to engage in previously enjoyed activities but…Like pasting on a smile, it’s exhausting, it gives me bad juju, and um…NO.

It’s odd how I can be a welcome mat at times when in fact, I am told I am one of the mouthiest most assertive people anyone’s met. Or am I just feeling like a welcome mat because deep down, under all the self protective tough girl crap, I am still this mooshy hearted “No one helped me but I still want to help them” wimp?
Case in point: R.
He all but ignored me for a week. Got pissed off when I couldn’t rise the 2002 Lazurus laptop. He has no concept of what I am going through. I tell him something, he says I never said it. (But he makes fun of my inability to remember numbers.)
I try to vent and talk to him, he just blows me off.
Yet when it’s him struggling, I am duty bound to listen and make soothing noises.
Which to some extent I do.
But him whining about the shop not meeting its overhead for the month cos little has come in for repair, and oh no, the sky is falling, I only have a six month cushion of finances. (His wife makes almost six figures, so my empathy is…um…nil.) I had to borrow money from my sister just to put gas in the car to get my kid to school, ffs. Don’t tell me how hard it is.
Then he prattles on about the fights he has with his wife. She’s going through menopause and I guess it’s a bumpy ride. He’s “finally” come to the realization it’s not her fault, it’s a physical problem and all her hormones have gone crazy.
At which point I said, “Ya mean, like a mentally ill person having imbalanced chemicals?”
To which he said, “Enough, I’m just now wrapping my brain around this menopause thing.”

It never ceases to amaze me how ignorant even educated people can be. Do a little fucking research. Menopause, mental illness, it’s all related to hormones and chemicals, which is scientific fact.
It’s just…I feel sorry for his wife sometimes, but she’s so overbearing I figure they deserve each other. They’re not bad people. Just…as fucked up as anyone else but oblivious to the fact.
I just get so furious with him because it was my mood swings that made him ditch me 15 years ago. Like I could control that. He was afraid it would negatively affect his children. Whose mother was diagnosed borderline and abused them physically. Yet he stayed with her fifteen years.
It may seem petty, but in all honesty…I can handle being ditched because I’m a bitch. I’m stubborn. I swear too much. I smoke, I drink. I am a hoarder. I have too many cats. I’m mouthy. I have a plethora of faults I own that are acceptable reasons for ditching me.
But time after time it always comes down to my disorder. Because it’s totally intentional and within my control. I just take the meds because I loooove side effects.

But under the anger lies the soft hearted person who wants to do right. So when he said, “Can you just come by the shop in the morning and keep my spirits up?” I said I would. I get so little from him and yet…Sap that I am, I keep giving. I think in some ways I am atoning for the past when I was misdiagnosed and the wrong meds were making everything worse so I was a crazy feral at times. At some point, the atonement has to end.
Truth be told, I did not sleep well, again, and I am not feeling all that “supportive” of others’ spirits today.
But I will go do it and at least get lunch out of the deal. (Again, is it income if someone buys you lunch?) And because I have been broke all my life and I know what it’s like when nothing is going right and your finances are freaking you out…I will be empathetic and supportive.

But there will likely be snarkasm thrown in. I mean, I can’t coddle the man like everyone else does. If I stop being honest and speaking my mind, well, that’s just not me. Maybe I should learn some filters.
Or maybe others should just stop being stupid and realize not everything is personal. Most of my snarkasm stems from trying (and failing) to be funny or something you’ve done to irk me or well, bipolar.
Fuck filters.

I despise the way something seems so tolerable at some point and you agree to it. Then next instant, it’s like, wtf have I done? I’m in no shape to play this role today.

Anyway…I think I am done. This is probably one of the least focused most rambling posts I’ve written in the two weeks since I started Focalin.
Oh, well. I consistent in my inconsistency.

Remember kids.
A friend will help you move.
A real friend ill give you an alibi and help you bury the bodies.
I need a real friend.
Except my mood would change and I’d want to bury them.

Fuck, I really am driving me crazy.
Ha, driving Miss Crazy.
I’m out.

Manxiety, Dr. Sweetheart, and Karma

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , , , on April 3, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s official. Not only do I have panxiety (paranoid anxiety) I also apparently have Manic anxiety disorder (manxiety.)

The new doc thing was terrifying. I got there wayyy early. I read a magazine, remembered nothing, reread the same things over and over. I was sweating and emitting that stagnant stress smell. Heart pounding, mind spinning, yet completely downhearted and exhausted. Ya know, where you bury your head in your hands and try not to yank out clumps of your own hair.
I was weighed. Yeah, if you weren’t already depressed being told you gained 15 pounds in spite of cutting out soda and eating one meal a day…Hate that part. And my blood pressure was higher than norm. I was FREAKING OUT, ffs. Of course, it’s gonna be elevated. The nurse said, “Oh, he’s a sweetheart, you’re gonna love him.”

I’m not sure I love him but…I didn’t hate him. He was…OPEN. He listened. He said I was manic, I tried to explain I just get high strung and panicky like that for appointments…I don’t think he bought it even if it’s factoid. He declared me manic as well as ADHD.
Then I broached the whole focus/Focalin issue and he said he had no problem prescribing Focalin because obviously, I am ADD.
For years now I’ve been told I’m just anxiety ridden and finally a doctor sees that I actually have this attention deficit thing and it’s not in my head????
He said a large percentage of bipolar patients do have an attention deficit, with or without hyperactivity, even if insurance companies seem to think ADD or ADHD ends when one turns 18.
I was in his office about twenty minutes. He heard me out, told me his stance, and we just discussed it rather than him handing down edicts. I agreed with him the prozac should be lowered, split into two doses even if the half life should last longer than it does for me. He actually said everyone reacts differently instead of making me feel like a loser for not being one size fits all.
It was mind boggling.
He did consult the old files, but only after talking to me. I guess he was seeing if my story meshed with the record. I flat out told him that I have seen so many doctors and counselors, all with differing ideas, that I am flat out confused aside from the bipolar two and anxiety disorder diagnoses.
He didn’t make me feel like a leper for being honest.
He prescribed 5mg Focalin without a fuss, said he could see why I’d need it and he was trusting me not to abuse it. Considering insurance won’t pay and it’s an extra sixty bucks out of my disability check which barely provides shelter and heat…I wouldn’t be asking if it hadn’t helped in the past. Trying to find the money is stressful but it’s also…hope.
I wasn’t really manic, I was just fucking nervous.
But he perceived it as mania and hyperactivity so at least he saw that there IS something rotten in the state of Denmark. He’s the first doctor in 7 years who saw the attention deficit for something other than anxiety. He gets points for that. As well as for blunt honesty. He asked on the way out if I had any questions, and I said, “No, you answered them all and I am shocked you listened to me.”
He said, “That’s what you pay me for.”
I respect honesty even if it stings.
I also asked him if he, too, was going to rotate out in 2 years like all the other doctors there and he said that he and the hospital were contracting together for five years, minimum, trying to turn the center into a large scale care place as well as a ward at the hospital that hasn’t had one in dozens of years.
That…made me hopeful.
So…Prozac back to 20mg twice a day and 5mg Focalin twice a day. Excellent, Smithers. He wasn’t so much a sweetheart as a…a…PROFESSIONAL. It blew my mind.

First off, it’s gonna be sixty bucks a month out of my limited budget which is OUCH!
Second, my pharmacy won’t have that dose in until Monday. I told them I’d wait because truth be told, I’d rather keep all my scripts at the same place so any possibility of interaction can be spotted. So I said I’d wait and I’ve spent the evening crunching numbers, debating what I can skimp by on to afford this medication.
Nothing is ever perfect. I think given the right speech, I could probably sell my soul to R so he’d shell out the lump sixty bucks I can’t. I THINK. You never know because people will promise to help you then the next day ask why you needed the help. (Viva drunk friends.)

My kid is at my mom’s so I have had the day to myself, after the appointment hell ended. I’ve done…Um…Dishes. Cat boxes. One load of laundry, though five baskets remain unfolded…I bought myself a tv dinner for supper. I called my mom’s to check on my spawn and they all started spazzing that it was some sort of emergency. Because ya know, I couldn’t simply miss my daughter.
And I am only allowing this sleepover for her benefit. My mom and sister have kind of pissed me off good. For my sister’s birthday, they had NO food for a week so our dad and stepmom spent a hundred bucks buying them food. Which they proceeded to share with and feed to about 9 people who aren’t family.’
Today, my sis and mom show me how they’ve spent over a hundred bucks on my kid’s Easter baskets as well as a frilly dress and Frozen tennish shoes. I dared to say, “Thirty bucks for shoes she’ll outgrow in a month is dumb” and got fucking verbally jumped.
Apparently I don’t want my kid to be happy because I won’t blow all the money on crap and let her starve for two weeks.
This is just how it is with my mom and sister. They’re all about fun and frivolity whereas I am more like dad in practical terms. It’s never ceased to be a bone of contention. Toss in that I look like my dad, well, mom’s never really forgiven me, like it was some choice on my part.

I get a night to myself, Mother Nature (the bitch) gives me cramps from hell. I want to do nothing and be around no one.
I reconnect with someone I think is worthwhile except they’re too far gone to be reached.
I am sooo hoping the Focalin helps with this.
I soo need a federal loan to afford it. (sad ain’t it.)

So that’s the good, bad, ugly, and karmic.

Psychological Restraints

Posted in biolar disorder, mental illness with tags , , on April 1, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

I often feel like I am in this invisible straightjacket, except it’s my mind that’s bound rather than my arms. It’s stuck in this place I can’t escape no matter how hard I struggle, no matter what I do trying to free myself.
It’s a mindframe and I have spent way too much time in it as of late.
Like smashing into a wall, only to have the wall wrap around me in a little cube leaving me little but elbow room and a glimpse of light at the top, like a chimney. There are no handgrips or footholds, no ladder or rope being dropped down to lift me out.
I’m restrained.
Little doubt that the cramps and spinal pain the curse has brought are aiding in my inertia but this has become…too frequent. Too common. I can’t move backward, forward. I’m psychologically immobile.
Yes, I do all the tricks to “snap” myself out of it.
All avenues lead back to the brick box. I’m down here in the darkness, looking up, seeing the light at the very top, wanting to reach toward it, and yet…It’s too far away and I have no way out.
It’s the psychological equivalent of a hamster on a wheel. Round and round, never stop going, still get nowhere.
Talk about feeling futile. This was why that stationary bike I had served as a coat rack. No one enjoys working so hard and getting nothing in return. (I didn’t even lose weight.)

I try so very hard to help myself, to keep an open mind, to do all the tricks that will allegedly fix me.
Fail after fail I get downhearted and the self loathing explodes.
Why do they encourage us to do this to ourselves?
Positive attitude is one thing, but acting like it’s the key to curing mental illness when all it does is set us up for failure if our brain chemistry isn’t on board…It seems cruel and counter productive.

I want out of the restraints, I want lifted out of this brick well I’ve fallen down. I scramble at the walls, scuffing my knees and arms and hands and face. I try to climb up, climb out, but there is nothing to grab at and I am only hurting myself and accomplishing nothing.
And I wonder, am I doing this to myself? Because that’s the consensus, mentally ill people are all lazy fakers too weak to cope with life’s harsh realities so we create these issues in our own mind as an easy out.
I know the truth.
This was never my choice. No more than someone chooses to be born with a birth defect, a heart defect, or any other illness or disorder.
The propaganda monsters are getting to me, stabbing at my brain with their ignorance, making me doubt myself.

I have a song I’d like to sing to mental illness. It’s an old tune by Helloween.
“I want out–to live my life alone
I want out–leave me be
I want out–to do things on my own
I want out–to live my life and to be free.”

Seriously, what the fuck does it take to break these chains?


Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , on March 31, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

It is so maddening. When I get one aspect of my spectrum of disorders in hand, there’s another one to step forward and demand its time in the spotlight of destroying my sanity. My mood is okay today in spite of all the crappy stuff yesterday.

But the PANIC…Oh panxiety is devouring me.

Today I have to venture out and learn if my car is saved or doomed. That car isn’t even mine, it’s my mom’s and I can’t buy another one and…It’s just setting off terror receptors akin to being chased by Leatherface.
That anxiety ties into rapid heartbeat, paranoia, and of course, pretzel gut and severe sensitivity to outside stimuli. (I want to cover my ears childishly to block my kid’s incessant mindless chatter.)

Then there’s the whole disability review lurking every moment of every day. I have resigned myself to the fact that I can’t do anything about it. I am at their mercy and I have a bad feeling in my gut. Not that I blame them. I’ve been waiting to be cured for over twenty years now. No one could be more frustrated by my start and stop progress and regression than I myself am. This is sooo not how I saw my life turning out. Not that I have it all that bad, mind you, outside the mental stuff. It’s just…I always considered myself this fierce strong woman who could conquer anything by willpower alone.
Then the depressions kept hitting until the fierceness was gone and it hit me. I am human, I have an illness, and I can’t do a damn thing but keep trying to get better even if it seems futile.

And Thursday is the new shrink. In person. Never met him before. I don’t know if he’s gonna be like the osteo shrink from hell (“Zoloft isn’t working because you don’t want it to work” or maybe he will be indifferent or will he be open like Dr Amazing was.
I am filled with dread and hope at the same time.
I can go in there with my list, explain myself but again…One more thing I can’t control. His predisposed biases, his psych philosophy and style, his ability to listen, willingness to take more than three minutes.
Just so much up in the air right now and I am out of control. It’s making pretzel gut a daily event.
I dread facing each day no matter how solid my mood and mind seem. Because the anxiety has stepped up and taken place of that aspect.

It hit me after months of the seasonal depression…We have about six solid months of warmth and sunshine ahead. This could be my prime time, I could bounce back. It could go either way.
Then I think, oh god, six months of shrieking children running loose because the parents can’t be bothered with them. Six months of kids in the streets with bicycles paying no attention to traffic. Six months of more traffic, more noise, more people out and about. All catalysts for the anxiety.

I hate the depressions but they are generally the more manageable anxiety period. Except the last winter, for whatever reason the anxiety went rampant. Hell, there were days I wouldn’t even take a Xanax. Then Bam, suddenly I need more than my prescribed dose to keep from going off the rails. And there was no trigger.
I get so sick of that part of the doctor stuff. They insist everything has a trigger and with me, it simply doesn’t. One day I will hear a car horn honk and it will set me the fuck off into paranoid anxiety land. Another day I will have 12 kids playing in my yard and it’s barely an annoyance.
Oh, sure, the classics heighten and metastasize it.
But often..It’s ninja panic. Stealthy, sneaky, from out of nowhere.
I wish it would die in a fire.

So my gut is churning and I am dreading this entire week no matter how much I try to spew sunshine and rainbows. Positive thought is as good for mental illness as prayer is for fictional illness. It may help at times but for the most part…If I could talk myself out of feeling batshit crazy, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Blah. Meh.
The holding pattern is the worst. I just want to rip the bandage off, know one way or the other with most stuff. Is the car DOA? Is my livelihood being hacked away? Is the new doctor a douche?
It’s hell on the panxiety, feels like I am on autopilot waiting for all these answers and I am at the mercy of others to get them.

Not that I am Greenday fan but one line from “Basketcase” keeps pounding through my brain.

“Sometimes I give myself the creeps…Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me..It all keeps adding up..I think I’m cracking up…”

So yeah, about that feeling okay thing…

Posted in anxiety disorders, biolar disorder with tags , , on March 31, 2015 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday started out good. Mind frame good, anxiety manageable, no gloom cloud overhead for the first time in days.
And then it started. Ya know, reality.
I soo want that shirt: “Shit happens…usually to me.”

First, R’s car broke down on the way back from the out of town dentist, so I had to go fetch him. Going to an unfamiliar unspecified location…Yeah, panic incident number one.

Then my mood started to slide as the anxiety rose and it hit me…I forgot to take my meds this morning. (Hey, I can only get so many things right per day, I drop the ball a lot.) I had none stashed in my pill case. So the slide began. People made me paranoid and nervous. Phone made me jump. I spent much time in back smoking, farrr away from any living being.

I hit my wall by 3pm. The cats had run out of food that morning, I was worried about them being hungry. My stomach was a knotted mess so I thought stepping away, taking my meds, maybe the break would help.
And halfway to get cat food…The car sputters, goes pow, shoots smoke out the back and just dies. In the road. I managed to steer it off to the side but was still in the way and self conscious as hell and panicking.
Awesome. I called my dad (in hopes of talking to stepmonster but she was gone) and he starts yelling at me, like it’s my fault when cars have problems. Thankfully this beckoned stepmonster who’d I rather deal with anyway since she’s the one that does the auto work while he stands and grumbles about her doing it wrong. Meaning, not his way. Idget.
In a moment of random what the fuckness, I actually had two perfect strangers ask if I needed help or a phone. And I was just….floored. Because last few times I’ve had car trouble no one’s been arsed to even look my way. That nice people exist…always boggles my mind. How jaded am I?
Anyway…R and stepmonster pushed the car into a parking lot, then we went back to the shop. My kid was with stepmonster of course so while all this attempt at multiple car repair by them was going on, I had her and people bringing tvs into the shop and my kid was whining and yapping and…Yeah, that on top of my dad throwing out that it could be the timing gone out on the car thus making it fucked…
I was in panic zone. I’d spilled something on myself so I was wet and sticky. I hadn’t had my meds. I was worried about the poor hungry cats. Pretzel gut was in full effect. Meanwhile I have all these people around me telling me to chill out and not worry about it. WTF? I think calmly freaking out (oxymoron?) was an appropriate response. But to the mundanes without mental issues, it is just that simple.
So the whole time they were with my car and I awaited the death knoll…I was sweating so bad I couldn’t even have a cigarette because my palms would have made it soggy. And it was that nervous sweat that makes everything smell musty. More self consciousness thrown in with an impending sense of doom over the car. (You have a hell of a time getting around this town without a car.) And my kid was fussing about wanting to stay another night at my dad’s so like I purposely broke the car to ruin her fun.

The good news is, R seems to think he knows what the problem is with the car and should be an easy fix because the part is under warranty.
Bad news is…Um, yeah, I have no wheels atm and oh yeah, about a dozen people got to witness me in huffing puffing deer in headlights panic mode. Fortunately they just thought I was very busy and in a rush. That’s how all the store clerks see me because I am always feverish to get what I need and flee back to the bubble.
By the time stepmom brought us home I was livid. And oddly, it wasn’t mood. I mean, I was fairly solid as far as the mood went so while irritating, car trouble isn’t the end of the world. It was the anxiety that just kicked my ass.
Rather than sink into self pity, I took a shower, regrouped for five minutes, then made cheesy bread for supper. Then I have my kid a bath, a friend stopped by, and a day filled with shit happenings seemed like par for the course. Especially the part where I slept in two hours bursts, my kid woke up screaming six times, and I wake still exhausted and running on auto pilot. Good times.
THIS is what a good mood gets me.
The difference is, when I am mentally solid and rational, I can cope, even if it’s a sweating hyperventilating panic attacked mess of coping mechanism.
On the days the mental frame is not solid…Those are the days I come flying apart and the shrapnel rains down. And I have more of those days than solid ones.

Okay. Rant done. I think.
Shall see what today brings. R is going to take time off work to go fix my car, which reminds me…he can be irksome but he really is good to me and why do I get so damned angry and petty at times?
Damn it, I can’t handle people being nice to me, it throws me off. How fifty shades of fucked up is that.