Plowboys, Bruised Fruit, and Harsh Self Truths

As the weather keeps its weird ups and downs (it was sunny and almost 60 today, last week we had snow and ice and single digits!!! this plays hell on seasonal affective disorder) and the helliday and family get together nears, I find my energy depleted, my will to live nil, and dread the size of the titanic envelopes me. And I am still hormonal as fuck and because it has gone on so long, I think it means by old nemesis, ovarian cysts, have returned to fuck with my mental state. Or menopause is knocking on the door. Idk, I just find myself uncomfortable mentally, physically, and emotionally wrecked on a daily basis. And when you try to explain to this others when they ask why you’ve become a recluse only to be told to ‘suck it the fuck up’…Not that I embrace the culture of victimhood but it does start to feel like you’re being abused when people can’t even fake basic empathy, compassion, and civility. I just got off the phone with my ass trash father and that was how he and stepmonster were talking to me. “Suck it the fuck up.” All they want is for me to come over and figure out why her laptop won’t connect to their wifi. Um, cos it’s fucking dumpster fire Windows 8? (And yes, I know they are ending support for Win 7 but much like I have done with XP, I will cling to the superior operating system until they pry it out of my cold rotting hands!!!!) I could have a machete in my head and those redneck motherfuckers would tell me to suck it up. Yet because of dad’s age and their diabetes and stepmonster’s low iron, I am supposed to show them respect and compassion???? They talk about it so much it makes everyone around them a little nauseated. But if I mention MY health issues, physical or mental, it’s ‘suck it up’.

I am livid to find myself 46 years old and still prisoner to my toxic family’s, well, toxicity. And my feelings toward them may be heightened at the moment, but they are not wrong. My dad told me recently I needed to ‘lower your standards and get yourself a good old plowboy”. I think in redneck speak that means some country bumpkin farmer or trucker with a good job. And if I met one I had anything in common with, I wouldn’t care what they did for a living or where they were from. My standards are not that high but I do want someone I click with on a rudimentary level. And with my current emotional battles I am a nightmare for myself, let alone dragging some unsuspecting person along for the blessed hellride. And I don’t even know why he thinks to say these idiotic things because not once have I said ‘woe is me, I am all alone’. I CHOOSE to be alone. And yeah, I DO like guys who are tall and have long hair and listen to heavy metal and appreciate the horror and sci-fi genres because, hello, common ground. But I’ve never once said they had to tick every box to meet my ‘standards’. And they are so ignorant and lacking in self awareness they refuse to admit the exes I do have-they BACKED before me and told me not to hurt the guys. Well, hubby one chose drugs over me, hubby 2 walked out on his kid, and they were both ‘upstanding’ men. And by redneck standards that means they held a job and bathed.

Idk why I still let it eat me alive. It’s not as if their input has ever had ANY bearing on my actions or thoughts. Though I guess in a way they throw their punches and the bruises land and it puts a dent in my limited self esteem.

I’ve been doing this terrifying new thing where I actually have DEEP THOUGHTS (with Jack Handy…sorry, old SNL reference, couldn’t help myself.)

I’ve met women I find far more aggressive and abrasive than me but the men put up with them easier than they can me. And I think it’s because those women have self confidence. I lack confidence when it comes to interacting with other people. Partly because I had so little positive reinforcement from my parents and peers, and also, because from single digit age, my mother drummed it into me that saying you’re good at something is the same thing as conceit and ‘being stuck on yourself’.

So in my mind, I have become ‘bruised fruit’. I signed a petition or two about how bruised/ugly produce get pitched and aren’t even donated to the needy because they have a bruise or a dark spot. Ugly doesn’t mean spoiled or no good. But of course-and I do this myself- it is human nature to choose the shiny red apple, the bright white onion, or the crispy green celery over that which is browning, wilting, or puny. Because I have come to view myself this way, maybe inside I have given up on being ‘chosen’ from the shelf that is the meat market of dating life. Deep down, I know while troubled, I have a good soul and a good heart and it should be all that matters. But because so many have discarded me or flat out rejected me and my own family reinforces this cycle with their ‘love with strings and insults attached’ mentality…Any self esteem I collect is quickly undone. In a way, it’s not so bad. I stay to myself I don’t end up being one of those women who hop bed to bed in desperate search of any affection and acceptance even if it’s shallow and sleazy. Other hand, I also don’t put myself out there so am I really bruised unwanted fruit or am I hiding in the stockroom, rotting in a corner because I won’t get my ass on the shelf?

DEEP THOUGHTS, as processed by a mood swinging anger seething bitchbeast whose only comfort has become the nothingness of sleep, including napping during the day. (SOOO not my normal.)

AND it gets scarier because I’ve had to do some hard looking at my own reactions to others’ behavior. And it kills me to admit, I’ve been pretty unfair to others at times. I expect to be treated with a modicum of respect and when I am ignored, I mistake others being disnterested or busy as being rude and disrespectful. I want my needs catered to the way I cater to them, accepting them as being emotionally unavailable or plain rude when in fact…some of them are just ignorant, thoughtless in a chronic manner, or too narcissistic to care let alone change. And I can’t keep collecting injustices and holding them against people just because they are jerks. I gotta learn not to get attached to certain expectations and if my needs are being met in one way, I need to accept whatever is being offered or move along and stop holding a grudges.

Admitting that was like being punched in the gut and heart.

But that is why the self aware are, self aware, and the narcissistic and ignorant remain just that. Self awareness comes with a price and it is hefty, having to admit half your problems with interactions are because of your own faulty thoughts and expectations. It leads to guilt, self flogging, sagging confidence, inability to come to grips with not being able to change the past, and terror that you will just keep repeating the pattern even though you know what needs to change…That is a heavy burden to carry so I guess I see why so many opt out and choose to be blatant jerks or oblivious,well meaning idgets.

But sticking my head in the sand is not an option for me. Evolution is necessary for me to keep putting up a fight and if that means owning even more of my own ickiness as a human…so be it. That those around me remain the same and continually do things I find hurtful and disrespectful, well, it’s just free will. I can do my best to avoid the toxic folks, and do my best to make sure I am not one of them anymore, but…

It is never wrong to expect others to treat you with digitity and self respect. When they fail to do this, you have every right to take offense, be hurt, feel wronged.

The challenge is shaking it off and learning to accept that maybe X can’t even discuss something more serious than a youtube video with you, they’ll spend a hundred bucks to fix your car when it is broken down. Or that people raised by abusive parents who told them to suck it up really don’t know any better than to pass on the same abuse and think it’s acceptable and normal as long as they make sure your car oil is changed.

Really wish I had some Mangoritas to wash down THAT hubcab sized bitter pill.

Knowing you will never receive the kind of love you need from those who claim to love you-knowing that essentially you’re worth some money for your car but not compassion or empathy…

Yeah. Sticks in the throat and leaves behind a bitter taste.

I am choosing to view these people as ‘quid pro quo’ opportunities, as I have always attempted to do. Take what is useful and try not to get sucked into their emotionally stunted void.

And never give up on one day finding even a fraction of what it is I need on an emotional level to be content.

Male, female, romantic, platonic, urban, country, rich, poor…none of it truly matters.

But I do insist they have a fucking conscience in how they treat others and the soul to feel bad when they’ve behaved badly.

If I can offer that much, then expecting to receive the same isn’t some far out there ‘standards too high’ bullshit.

Bounce Back…Sorta

After yesterday’s grief ridden post, I got a text from a friend wanting to come over last night. Idk, I don’t much feel like socializing but then again, I so rarely get the opportunity for conversation with others than my kid, cats, and toxic family…I said yes, which gave me something to both stress about and look forward to. I boiled water so I could take a half ass bath and at least have clean hair and not reek. I boiled more water and did a pile of dishes I’d been neglecting. I swept and mopped the kitchen floor. I used the hell machine to vac the carpets. I cleaned the litter box. I buried my poor departed Pasha kitten and made him a grave marker. I did a load of laundry and hung it off curtain rods by heat registers in hopes it would dry properly that way. I gathered up all the trash out back so it’d be ready to my dad to pick it up. I got a lot accomplished, including a few episodes of True Blood. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to do any of it. I wanted to stay in bed and just feel sad, because…loss and grief are due a mourning process and I was very attached to Pasha.’

Guess the prospect of someone being in my home and judging me for even a mild state of disarray-reminding me once again how easily it all gets out of control…It kicked me into gear. I even made Sloppy Joes for supper, not that my kid appreciated a warm meal. Nope, she just wants chicken nuggets and strips and pizza rolls nuked in the microwave so I guess I cooked more for me. Because I do have that thing where I forget to feed myself for a day or two and like the shrink said, I need to start eating a little more properly if it will raise my blood pressure enough so I don’t feel cold all the time.

My kid came home and practiced her saxophone, they have a band concert next week. Talk about excrutiating to my sensitive noise issues. She practiced a whole 30 minutes then said her mouth hurt and it was cutting into her tablet time. Her dedication us underwhelming. But she is just starting so even if I want to wear noise canceling headphones (don’t own any, sadly), I am trying to be supportive and encouraging and compliment her on the effort to learn. I am (irrationally) irked about how widespread our dire financial circumstances are that everyone at the school knows about it. The band teacher offered to try and find a family we could car pool with or she could come get is herself and that is very nice. I can’t help but feel shitty about it, though. To not even have $20 to get gas and our med refills is pretty humiliating.

I looked into some work from home jobs from Indeed but I was doomed from the go because I don’t have the powerful computers required (nor reliable internet service) to even be considered. This laptop I am using has no mic or webcam or fancy software. I thought maybe if I could find a low stress safe zone the shrink might sign off on it for a few hours a week. I was so boosted to see legit postions until I saw their tech requirements. Apparently a 7 year old freebie laptop with half the functioning stuff not functioning ain’t gonna cut it. As if I stood a chance, anyway. And that is not negativity, it is based on the fact that even if I had the proper tech gear, I don’t have the education or background experience.

My kid was up, dressed, and cleaning her room at 6 a.m. I was battling lethary and since she was up and ready to go, I did something I never do. I stayed in bed til 7:20. And forgot to give her her pill (mom of the year). So far I have put on clean clothes, put some clean clothes away, and said a prayer that when R came over last night, he got our hot water fixed again. Now if I can just get stepmonster to install the kitchen faucet, we should be all set. Except for the fact that my bedroom has zero heat coming into it, think the bloody outdoor cats got down in the basement and fucked up the vent lines. Not like it matters, I am always cold, anyway. If I am not having hot flashes.

I need to go to town to turn in the heating assistance paperwork they have to have but…another trip to town, with only about 50 miles worth of gas left in the tank (it takes a gallon and half for every trip to town and each trip is 30 miles there and back) so I am gonna have to, ugh, see if dad can help me get gas in the car. Unlikely. I know if my mom had it she would give it to me, but alas, she does not have it. It amazes me how some people can go to multiple churches or whatever and get ten kinds of help but because I live in Bumfuck, there aren’t helpful organizations aplenty. Which is hilarious. Only thing Bumfuck has more of than bars and fast food is churches. And please do not mistake me for lazy or a whiner or looking for handouts constantly. The donor flaking out on the child support cut our income by almost $300 and that takes a toll. Til then we were managing okay. Leave it to him to ALWAYS flake out on support right around Christmas, seems to be his pattern. And he doesn’t even mail her a gift, not once in 8 years since he left. It breaks my heart because it Spook and there is just nothing I can do about it. The man is…useless. I try to tell her he loves her in his own way, much as he is able to considering his own upbringing by a drunken abusive father, bully siblings, and a dead father. If ay of that is true. He has some serious mommy/women issues, for sure. Abandoning 3 kids and yet he thinks he is well adjusted and a good man…Talk about denial and delusion.

But for today I may be crampy and listless but I am up and half ass functioning. That counts for something. And other than the mountain of laundry my daughter had stashed in her room, I am caught up on the housework. We have hot water and heat. Soon a working kitchen faucet. Gratitude for the small things. And the bracelet I found from months ago that is inscribed inside with ‘your anxiety is lying to you’. Now I just need one that says “depression is not your fault, your feelings matter”. Maybe if I look at it daily I will start to believe it and be able to blow off all the unsupportive toxic naysayers.

Maybe if I can get my mind out of the depressive/anxiety gutter I can seek out some sort of support group, an outlet or whatever. I want that so bad but I am just not ready. Yet. I am getting there. Slowly. Oh so sloooowly.

Baby steps.

Dysphoric Doll

Dysphoria is a state of mental discomfort or suffering. When you feel dysphoria — you feel depressed and awful.It’s a state of unease, anxiety, and misery.

Losing our kitten, hormonal imbalance, weather related depression, money stress…It’d make anyone sad, right?

Except my sadness has ballooned into outright dysphoria. Zero energy, zero will to live. Getting up to get my kid off to school today was grueling. How I wanted to remain in my warm sarcophagus of blankets and sleep.

The news depressed me. What a farce. I made it about 15 minutes before I changed the channel. Not that my brain is any state to focus or even be distracted by TV.

This misery has seeped down into my bones and I feel utterly useless, helpless.

I saw a motivational poster at the psych center yesterday about making every day of your life count and how it is up to you whether you waste it or make it a memorable day of productivity. It’s almost humorous to put something like that in a place where so many of us go because our minds tell us, no matter how well things are going, that we are too exhausted and demoralized to even bathe.

I won’t prolong this woe is me bullshit. But what I thought was feeling low last week was nothing compared to how I am feeling now. You could shove me into a six foot hole, cover me with dirt, and I’d be hard pressed to even protest weakly.

My love for my child and cats should make me more determined. Instead, I feel so despondent. Maybe another day in Fort Blankie is in order. I did get out and function yesterday, at least. I can always take the paperwork to town tomorrow and get Spook’s new script. I can’t get my scripts because I won’t have the copay til next month so I will have two weeks without Cymbalta and Wellbutrin.

Okay, enough bitching and moaning. Just wanted anyone else who is going through a dark depression who might happen upon this…you’re not alone. And it’s not your fault.

I Wanna Be An Ice Queen

9 days ago I was hanging laundry out on the line to dry.

Today it is 8 degrees and the outdoors is essentially a snow covered ice rink.

Talk about something to make the seasonal affective disorder kick into overdrive. That is a massive, abrupt shift for everyone, let alone someone with seasonal depression. Throw in inability to get warm, cramps, and a sick cat and well…If you were looking for sunshine to be spewed here today, move along.

I fretted all night long because the school deemed the roads fit and my kid told me she had a bad feeling and didn’t trust the bus driver…Then my dad told me how their SUV did a 180 and almost landed in a ditch. So I got the bad juju in my gut and this morning, when dad called and said even his boss-who lives near my kid’s school-told him not to bother even trying to get over there, too dangerous. I kept my kid home, claiming lingering stomach issues from yesterday. Fuck this school district. I don’t want my kid to miss school but if someone-with 60 years driving experience-is being told by their own boss not to brave the roads because they are so dangerous- well, I have learned to heed the bad juju. Someone was killed in an accident on the road yesterday in a different county so…neurotic as it may be, I kept her home. And for once, my dad didn’t give me grief, he told me he’d rather have her safe than stranded on the road or turned over in a ditch.

The ironic thing-and forgive me if I misuse the term irony, when dad called yesterday morning before the worst of the snow and rain, he told me “Roads don’t scare me none.” Six hours later after a trip 50 miles away to his doctor and them nearly wrecking even in a 4 wheel drive…he changed his tune fast and said it scared the hell out of him.

Tomorrow I am just gonna have to suck it up as I have two very important back to back appointments. I will just have to drive slow and try to remain careful and focused.

Not looking forward to telling the new telepsych that I am feeling shittier instead of better but I will try to explain how the hormonal surges mess with my mental state. And I don’t know many people who, while in physical pain, can say they ‘feel good’. The only thing that is soooooooo much better is the raise in Xanax. The panic attacks have pretty much subsided, yay. I mean that as in pompom waving YAY!, not sarcatic ho hum monotone yay. After a year of being ravaged by panic attacks every single day, this is a good thing. Even my paranoid anxiety is lessened, though social situations can spark it. One thing positive-the shitty weather prevented dad and stepmomster from stampeding into my kingdom.

LOL. My kingdom. Sounds narcissistic AF. But it is less ego and more like “this is my safe space, it is my fortress to protect me from the outside threats that set off my panic”. So it is a very old modest kingdom filled with used and mismatched stuff, but it is our kingdom that unfortunately, is located in Armpit, USA. Think I felt less ashamed spending 9 years in the trashiest trailer park for 100 miles. But I worked years to make that a safe space and because it was so iffy, it did ward off visitors well. Now that we are in a house thus ‘more respectable’ by society’s idiotic standards…it seems to draw people to us. Good thing my mood swings and neuroses are basically a social deterrent.

I am feeling low today and wishing that my raging emotions could just ice over and turn me into a numb emotion free ice queen. But that’d be taking the easy way out, going back on lithium. And man, for me, lithium is the ultimate numbing agent. With no highs and not even enough available emotions to express proper grief or anger or happiness…novacaine for the brain. I can’t handle the side effects and I can’t stand the numbness in the long term. But when the feelings are raging and it overwhelms me, I wouldn’t mind a break from it all. I want to write so damn badlu, get lost in fiction, feel something other than all this sadness and frustration and anger. I even started binge watching True Blood for a second time for inspiration back into my vampire world.

I stayed up til 11:45, for a change, but never did get the gumption to sit at my desk and face the blinking cursor of doom. It’s almost like I am phobic of trying to write about anything but my own misery and medi-go-round. The weather and having my kid home probably isn’t helping. But it isn’t just that. I am back to battling filling ice cube trays. We are out of clean plates because when I went on my cleaning frenzy, I only kept a fraction of what we have and put the rest in the shed…And SANE people just do the damn dishes when they run out of plates. Hell, normal people wash them before it gets that far. I went through this a few weeks back letting every spoon and fork in the place get dirty. Then I ran out of paper plates and started cooking on occasion and now…the build up is back. Having to heat water on the stove then drag it over to the sink and make sure it stays hot enough to get the plates clean, and make sure I have clean rinse water…I gotta get the hot water heater and faucet fixed. Oh and the dryer…

There I thought I was digging my way out from under it all and ya know what? It just keeps coming. Lather, rinse, repeat. This is life. How does anyone get joy out of doing the same things over and over with no end in sight? Oh, maybe because they don’t live under a heavy depressive bubble choking the breath out of them on a daily basis.

But at which point do I have to stop blaming the depression and just admit…I hate doing housework and that is a flaw in my character and the depression may make it more challenging but the bottom line is, I am the problem?

I think the deciding factor for me is, it doesn’t merely impact things I do not like to do. It envelopes everything I do, even what normally is pleasant. That truly is depression in the clinical, crippling sense.

Maybe I could go stand outside with no gloves or coat and become a numb ice queen.

My luck it’d just make me feel all these insane emotions more deeply and give me frostbite and pneumonia.

I warned you. No sunshine and rainbows being barfed up here. They froze mid air during the spewing.

That’s a lie, I am not doing sunshine and rainbows right now but it sure paints an adequate picture of the current weather here.

Hell In A Skin Suit

Yet again, a reference from television that sparks resonance in me. “Hell In A Skin Suit” was used to describe the struggle some have with the inner chaos of their own mind. I like it. It makes me think of Supernatural or Men In Black where shapeshifters wear ‘meat suits’ or whatever. That gives me a brief smile. Until I realize the validity of the term to describe mental health struggles.

Today I am in PMDD pain hell, not even an ibuprofen/Tylenol mix is helping. My kid decided she was sick this morning- then made a miraculous recovery in like ten minutes. I think she just didn’t want to attend the Veteran’s Day program the school is putting on as I write this. Stage fright or something. But it is the first day she has missed this year so I am not gonna sweat it too much. Though it does make me wonder how band is going to work out for her, if she is afraid to simply stand on a stage with three other grades and sing along to words she’s had to recite for three years now.

My dad called to ask about going to the program since he is a veteran then started cussing when I told him she wasn’t feeling well and I thought maybe she had a nervous tummy. (Tummy induced toilet issues are NOT funny or something you ‘snap out of’, believe me.) I don’t know why he thinks how I raise my kid is his business. He told me not to let her start doing it all the time and it’s like, ffs, she hasn’t missed a single day since September til now. And for all I know, she could have inherited my seasonal affective disorder, which on a cold rainy, snowy day really does impact you mentally and physically. He and stepmonster tend to idealize their own upbringings with very strict fathers, as if proud they got beaten because it made them ‘tougher, better people.’ Problem with that is, the way they were raised is now considered brutal abuse verbally and physically. The way their fathers-and mothers- treated them is pretty close to criminal even by standards of 40 years ago. Maybe it made them stronger, but it also made them so lacking in empathy, so emotionally stunted, that they can’t put themselves in anyone’s shoes but their own and therefore their way is superior and I am doing it all wrong. I am not opposed to the occasional swat on the butt when Spook is acting out, but I am not about to use a belt or scream how useless she is and that I will beat her if she doesn’t get her ass outside and reassemble a tractor engine and get it right the first time or there will be more spankings…Geesh. Idealizing abusive parents and I am the one who needs mental health treatment?

I am currently in a state of dread, waiting for the…doom and gloom parade. It was just supposed to be my stepmonster coming over to replace the sink faucet Spook broke,but the weather quashed dad’s work day so that means it will be both of them trudging in through the rain and snow and cussing and yelling at me and my dad never misses a chance to insult the way the place smells, even if it smells like Yankee Candle fresh cupcakes. When your own father is more critical than the landlord, it’s pretty fucking sad. And like my dad can talk, they have so much grease behind their stove on the wall you’d need a chisel to remove it. Oh and air conditioners piled up on coffee tables and dishes stacked in the sink and on the deep freeze. Now as long as I don’t have to do the housework, I could not care less if they want to leave food out to grow their own antibiotics grow house. But when he comes in and insults MY home and housekeeping, well, judgement is free flying. Few weeks ago maybe he’d have had a valid point, it got pretty bad during the wrongly medicated NP months but…I fixed it, I half ass got my shit together, and it’d be nice for once if he had just one positive thing to say. Hell, he doesn’t even credit me with raising Spook alone all these years and honestly, I am the only in my family who has ever raised a kid alone so I think I am due a modicum of respect. It’d have been easy to just flake out like her father did, sign myself into a hospital, and just sink into my hellish skin suit.

But I did not do that and I know it’s common sense to do right by your kids, but still…I was the one everyone doubted from the get go, if I could handle being a parent, while they all still thought the donor walked on water. Yet I did not walk out 8 years ago and never look back like he did. I am still here, doing my best, even when my kid hits me, gets bad grades, can’t get along with others, has more mood swings than I do…and makes me think I can’t do anything right on a daily basis…I am still here and not using my mental health issues as an excuse to avoid the responsibility-and yes, sometimes suckiness, of parenthood. Yet my own dad can’t even be supportive and encouraging of that. But yeah, that abusive upbringing of his worked out just fine, what a fine example of great mental health and the ability to forge emotional connections and express feelings…NOT.

I had a ‘seethe and burn’ period last night when I got a reply from the school’s band teacher. She mentioned three times that she ‘meant’ to call me but did not get around to it. Then she said there was little expense involved as long as the saxophone does not need repair and that she thought it was wonderful how ‘our community’ rallied to donate a sax and the reeds and case so Spook could participate in what she really wanted to do. Then made me feel like crap because Spook kept telling them we couldn’t afford it, so of course, involving my kid in money matters makes me a bad parent. This woman completely missed the point that Spook had been told no, I had not signed consent, and she defied me and went behind my back and not one single adult called me. Instead she made me feel like I was being unreasonable and ungrateful to the people who donated the band stuff to Spook. This could have ALL been avoided had this woman taken the time to make sure to call me, assure me that the equipment had indeed been donated and not some kids giving away stuff behind their parents’ backs, and stated that the expense should be minimal. Is that asking too much, to be included in my child’s life as I am her parent? I felt totally usurped, insulted, and I wanted soooo badly to fire back an indignant response but…

I am hormonal and not thinking clearly so I let myself sleep on it. And I am just going to let it go because obviously, this woman does not get it at all, that Spook defied me and not one school official could be bothered to contact me.

My own gut is knotting just waiting to see when dad and stepmonster come tromping through. God, they are so loud and all they do is cuss each other and complain and it’s just very upsetting to my calm and safe space. I had like 12 people tromping through for 2 weeks, I am not prepared for Redneck Cage Match in my kitchen. I have tried to talk to them about just showing up without a call and they just tell me to get over it, they are helping me and it is on their time table. Which is why I rarely ask them for help with anything. If you’re just gonna use it to hold me hostage and be rude to my request for basic courtesy call before showing up…keep your damn help, the price is too high. I was okay when it was just stepmonster but now…It’s kinda like waiting for the grim reaper to show at your door only the reaper is your genetic material donor who apparently does not like you much.

They are all judgey because my nephew and his wife are expecting and they just got married in May. Neither of them have steady incomes but they do live in their own income based place and she is finishing beauty school so…Butt the fuck out, let them learn to be adults, good and bad. I think they are too young, but then I get to wondering if I’d had Spook when I was younger, maybe I’d have had more energy to be ‘fun mommy’. There just are no correct answers, you gotta let people do their own thing and if it is a mistake…they will learn it and they will have to pay the consequences. I wished them congratulations and tried to be suportive.

I guess there was also a public altercation when my sister ran into stepmonster at a store and she went around telling everyone that we are her daughters. She is two years younger than me, biologically impossible for me to be her kid, and it is disrespectful to our mother who birthed us and raised us. Guess my sis pissed her off, but it’s true. She isn’t even legally married to our dad so us even calling her a stepmom should be something she is grateful for. But no, she’s so important in her own mind, she even has to claim what my mother put in all the hard work for.I’ve tried to respect her relationship with dad and I even included her as a grandparent in Spook’s birth announcement (my mom was not amused). If she’d just get it through her head that we are her STEPKIDS and quit disrespecting our mom. Not like our mom goes around claiming that stepmonster;s son is hers.

Hell in a skin suit. Yep. Wearing it loud and proud today. Boy will the new psych doc be impressed with my progress. NOT. Gonna have to go through the rigamorole again, as I do with every new doc or nurse, about how the monthly PMDD impacts my mental state. They never note it in my chart ‘because that is a problem for your primary care physican.” Who in turn bounces back with, “I can’t attest to the impact this will have on your bipolar, you need to talk to your specialist.” BLOODY HELL, THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO WORK TOGETHER TO COORDINATE MY CARE AND ALL THEY DO IS PASS THE BUCK AND I AM THE ONE GETTING SCREWED.

Yes, all caps were necessary because it is a frustrating situation.

Today I am so low I can’t even enjoy tv shows. Lest the gloom mongers come knocking on my door. Every sound has me on red alert. Basic socialization should not be this difficult and certainly not with people who are supposed to love you. Yet..this is my reality. Hell in a skin suit. And it isn’t even slimming!

Frayed, Splayed, And Played Out

It has been a stressful week. Think today is the first day I’ve truly had a moment to breathe because I have nowhere to go or be. Wednesday I put 90 miles on the car running to one small town for my oil change, then an abrupt trip to town for my kid to see her shrink because she is not doing well on Focalin..Then two pharmacies to find Metadate in stock only to find out insurance flat out denied the claim, period. Then had to stop by the landlord’s to get him to come see about the heat.To his credit, he was here not a half hour later and he made 4 trips but could not get it figured out so he called in a professional heating guy (Young inexperienced kid). Apparently our furnace has multiple issues in addition to its mainboard being dead and fried so we have to wait today for his boss to show up (they really don’t teach these noobs much beyond how to swap out an old board with a new one, it’s sad). My dad loaned us a couple of heaters which are helping keep us thawed but by Halloween night it’s gonna drop to 28 and snow so…we have GOT to get some bloody heat. But first the furnace is gonna need a new brain, er mainboard, and we have cracked wiring and crumbling vents so…it’s turned into a big mess, and having all these people coming in and out of my safe space has me feeling like I’ve been stripped down and splayed out..Bad for my nerves but at least I’ve gotten to the point of necessity where not even my neuroses is holding me back from dealing with the suckingness of reality.

Yesterday was a bucket of suck. I showed up for my first appointment with the new telepsych and…their stupid computers would not connect. So I had to reschedule and the soonest they can do is a month from now. I tried to impress on them that I NEED medicated properly since the Zoloft was such a fail but I didn’t even get a call back about it. Then we had to go to Podunk for parent teacher conferences where, not for the first time, I hear a teacher inform me that my child talks like ‘a 35 year old woman’. I apparently use the psycho babble a lot more than I realize and so my 10 year old writes about having mental breakdowns when the other kids stress her out. Gotta admit, that doesn’t make me feel like a great mom but there was no intent. This is me, this is how I talk. It seems much of Spook’s issues do stem from her disordered thinking, which apparently was not so bad when she was on Metadate. Supposedly the doctor’s nurse was still in talks with insurance about switching her back but…ARGH, NOTHING has gone right this week.

Spook won a free pass to some Pumpkin festival in town tomorrow for perfect attendance and I had to be the vile ogre to inform her…there isn’t enough gas left in the car for a trip to town and back and I won’t have a cent until Monday or Tuesday. She had a mega meltdown but I have cashed in coins, pawned all my dvds, I have NO options left. And it’s not like she isn’t going to get to do fun stuff, my brother is taking her to the local church’s weinie roast/Halloween thing Saturday night but I do understand that she ‘won’ this pumpkin festival thing, I just don’t know what to do about it. I guess times like this it would be handly to be more social and maybe have a friend or two who might loan me five bucks for gas money but…Honestly, small as my world is with just the kid, cats, and house…I am still frayed to the ends and overwhelmed. I can’t do social, I don’t have anything left to give anyone else.

And that leads to being played out. The seasonal affective has come in to play big time with the 20 degree overnight temp drop and three days straight of gray gloom. Even my Halloween solar lights are feeling it, they were flickering last night because there’s been no sun to charge them up. Toss in never being quite warm enough because we have no furnace (and I start freaking out that somehow it will be held against me as a parent, even though her room is quite toasty with that heater)…I have pushed myself as far as I can go and now I am just done. Stalled out. I’ve got nothing left. I am running on empty. Every night I hit 8:30 and even if I am not preoccupied with being too cold…I’m just tapped out mentally and all I want is sleep.

I had a ‘are you fucking serious’ eye roll moment at my non appointment yesterday when the nurse was checking me in. She’s been dealing with me every month for a year now and…she asked, “Do you have depression?” HELLO???? I am bipolar two, of course I have fucking depression, plus the seasonal affective. These people are so inept it’s pathetic but they are so nice and it’s obvious they’re just doing the best they can with what they have. But seriously, when my primary complaint every month is depression and you’re the one entering it into the file every month, but you still ask if I have depression? Is it a HIPPA violation to reread the file to check what you typed into it? It’s just bloody sad. And it was sad when I talked to Spook’s psych because she acted like she did not believe me when I told her Spook was not responding well at all to Focalin as oppposed to metadate. I KNOW that she SHOULD respond well to what is a better medicine, but she simply does not. I did well on Focalin, I expected it would work with her, too, genetically, but it simply does not. Why would I stress my kid and myself out more by saying it doesn’t work? Even the teacher says Spook is like a totally different kid than when she started the school year and the only difference is…she was on metadate then, and Focalin now. Why is it so hard for these local yokel shrinks/nurses to comprehend the trial and error science of psych meds? Just because it should work, and has worked in a hundred other patients, does not mean it will work on patient 101. So frustrating.

More frustrating is that I let all of this pile up in my mind, waiting for the ‘right time’ to string it all together here and now I am so chaotic, I can’t get it out fast enough or in a coherent manner and that is pissing me off and robbing me of the relief I usually get from venting this way.

So I’m just gonna say…I got the place into good enough shape that no one who has entered it and has the authority to evict me-has said a word about bad smells or anything not looking tidy enough…I had six months in a depression to get things in order and it didn’t happen. I let it go until the last minute and in under 9 days, I managed to undo six months of depressive inertia and biohazard status. I pulled it off. ME. There may be hope yet. For now, I’d settle for enough warmth to feel my fingers again and not need to cover my nose under a blanket. But nothing is perfect and at least I am on the right track at last.

Say a prayer to the furnace gods for me that we can get this sorted. I feel lousy that it could cost the landlord thousands to get it working but ya know, he let this place sit empty for a year with food rotting in the kitchen, and he never did a bit of maintenance on the furnace after we moved in, so it’s kind of his own neglect that lead us here. No way have we lived here long enough or used the heat enough to have caused the rot and decay going on down in that basement. But that’s me, I feel guilty for things even when it’s nothing to do with me. I have too much conscience these days, likely a desperate overcompensation for the years of being manic and having little self awareness or conscience.

I can’t seem to do anything outside of extremes, I think bipolar is hardwired into my DNA.

I need to find my gloves, my fingers are really cold. I could go in the other room near the heater but that is out of my safe space and I am saving that for when the repair guy and landlord and his daughter invade. Got nothing against them, them have been very decent and all, but my disorder addled mind sees it as an invasion….No idea where I was going with this line of thought except…I am off my fricking rocker.

Nervous But Okayish

Bumpy night for me and my kid. Both of us woke for no apparent reason so we were wandering about, complaining that we couldn’t get back to sleep, til close to 4 a.m. When the alarm went off, all I wanted was more unconscious time. She was channeling Satan, calling me names, fighting me over every tiny thing, including me not letting her wear her heavy winter coat on a 58 degree day. We have a sick kitten and I think it’s cos the mother weaned him too soon and there’s just not much I can do but try to comfort and nourish him with nutri stat. Sometimes a litter has a weakling, has happened many times before. You never know who will be a survivor, his mama was at death’s door as a baby when her mama cat abandoned her and I revived her with nutri stat. Idk, I am trying, but 4 screeching kittens, a hateful name calling kid, and my own mental discord…

I made a trip to town to get Spook’s script, for all the good it does. Got some groceries. Nothing better to do. It rained so our internet was down for over 28 hours. It’s up now finally but it is a windy day so who knows how long it will be up. Getting so bloody old, Frontier.

My dad called about getting the oil changed in my car, said he has the oil and filter and will pay for it, I just gotta make the trip out of town to the mechanic who charges the least. I don’t know my way to the dude’s house and dad started making fun of me, taking ‘you’re supposed to be computer smart’ barbs’ at me. I’ve never been good with maps or directions, and after the Nardil scrambled my brain, I’ve been even less able to find directions and follow them. But it’s always good when those you love put you down and tell you to become something you’re not just because it’s easy for them. He can’t run a fucking smart phone or computer, but he can find his way across the country with a paper map. I can run computers but I can’t even follow a street map. But yeah, make me feel more stupid about it, that is super helpful.

Almost 2 weeks with him working and few calls, I got spoiled. Three calls in the last two days and bam, my anxiety is back with a vengeance and my self esteem is taking a beating. Smashing, family.

I guess I am okayish, I am glad I got the trip to town out of the way but I feel restless…I don’t have any focus, or energy. Which ya know, could be because I didn’t get decent rest and mornings that start out with a kid screaming YOU’RE STUPID, I HATE YOU!, well, those drag you down. Not to mention the whiplash changes in weather which puts seasonal affective disorder into play. It is all dragging me down but I am trying to remain…upright. Did not say succeeding, just trying to maintain.

A healthy coping mechanism has been to start binge watching Z Nation from season one. That whole viral monster apocalypse thing cheers me up. It’s a hell of a lot more cheerful than realizing that even though R and I remain friends…his Republican tirades are making it very difficult to maintain any enthusiasm for it. I mean, agree to disagree, let’s just not discuss it since we’re not on the same page. But he still won’t let it go and it just puts me in this awkward position of either standing my ground and being drawn into a fight where I get berated for my liberal beliefs or I just smile and shine him on and say hmmm and uh huhn. Much preferred when our biggest issue was religion. He is much more willing to accept me as a Godless heathen than as liberal, he doesn’t try to force his religion on me. And prior to Trump, I never even knew he was a Republican, this political shit is something new that…Idk, I try to be tolerant but it is difficult when he is the only one entitled to his views and I am just a libtard who is wrong. And yes, he says it just like that.

Try to see the good in people and not focus on the negative, right?

Vampire and zombie outbreaks are just so damn much more pleasant than the current reality of how politics are dividing even the longest strongest relationships.

Yep, fiction is my go to coping mechanism when things get too muddled in reality. It works for me.

I really really wish someone would send me a Z Whacker for Christmas. Talk about a conversation piece to hang on the wall. That makes me smile. A lot.