Archive for bipolar depression

Week Of Fail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Meltdown At The Self Checkout

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yes, I had the JOYOUS (NOT!!!) experience of going to Hellmart and struggling through the self check out lane with SIX measly items. The lady next to me was having no trouble and she had a small kid in tow. Which didn’t stop me from meeting my frustration peak and growling, ” I hate this shit!” Ooops, my bad. But I was struggling with just those few items, trying to remember what I scanned, what I hadn’t, what went in the bag or had yet to be scanned…It was bloody confusing and stressful and I melted down. As I do EVERY time I have to use their stupid self check out. With someone as terrified of people and as misanthropic as me, you’d think self check out would be a dream come true. It is not. I will purposely walk to one end of the store, far from where I parked, if it means getting a real person to check me out. Today I didn’t have the energy and in addition to my meltdown, I also overheated in spite of it being a cool rainy day and got woozy and sweaty. A half hour out of my life and it set the tone (further) for an utterly shitty day.

It started with waking at 4 a.m. I tried to go back to sleep. I gave up at 5 a.m. But an hour or so of my greasy itchy scalp drove me to take a bath around six just so I could wash my hair. How fucking dysfunctional is that? I don’t care if I smell bad but damn it, my scalp is itchy so I will bathe for the first time in 3 days!

How a COMPETENT Psych nurse or doctor can consider bathing twice a week ‘stable and well’ is beyond me.

I got so sleepy after the bath I hit snooze just as the alarm went off. I hit it three times, trying to drown out the light with a pillow over my head. Finally sat up and shut off the alarm and knew it was gonna be a long bloody day. Getting my sloth of a child in gear took more of my spoons.

Now I am home, hungry, but I don’t know if I have the energy to bother feeding myself. At least not til it gets dire and I start feeling dizzy and sweaty and nauseated. HOW HARD IS IT TO FEED YOURSELF, FFS? With depression and anxiety, it’s pretty damned difficult.

Yesterday was a crushing anxiety mash that I didn’t think I was gonna survive. I started thinking about bedtime before it was even noon, trying to think of ways to tire my kid out so she’d be on board with an early bedtime. She was unamused (yet griped today that she was still tired, so maybe mother does know best.) It was just grueling every step of the way. Anxiety, paranoia, panic, that bad juju feeling, terror at the prospect of leaving the house…

The only time I left was to run to the mini mart and spend $1.08 to MAKE SURE me renewed debit card actually worked. Because I’ve been traumatized before with a card that didn’t activate properly. Thankfully it worked. Glad they didn’t have a mandatory purchase amount for debit, cos I had like a buck and 86 cents in change on there. I had that damn card for a week before I had the guts to activate it and change whether it would work or not. That is the kind of stuff that keeps me awake at night. No, I don’t care how irrational it is, or how ridiculous I look.

I only look that way to people who don’t know what depression and panic are like and they’re just not people I want to know.

My paranoia has reached such a point that I labeled a pingback as Spam today because I just wasn’t in the mood to see who it traced back to and if they were talking trash.

I am exhausted. Tomorrow my kid sees the benzo nazi, who I am sure will say she’s a normal kid because if she won’t give benzos to people who TRULY need them, then a squirmy overly emotional kid isn’t gonna sway her much.

I am having such trouble with concentration I actually wasted money on Focus Factor. Guess what? It doesn’t do a damn thing to help me focus. But I’ve heard it helps some people. Maybe those of us who truly are ADD/ADHD only respond to actual stimulants which of course is harder to get than a fucking opiate and insurance would rather shell out for an organ transplant than pay for a medication.

Okay, back to the ‘do I have the energy to feed myself?’ and ‘do I even deserve to eat since I can’t even hold a job?” debate.

My daughter told me this morning she had a nightmare that I worked full time and she never got to see me and grandpa was still griping at her because I wasn’t working enough hours or making enough money and she should grow up and get over needing to see her mom.

That man and his faction have no boundaries to the damage they do and they just aren’t bright enough to care.

It’s so easy to say cut ’em out of my life, move away, et al.

Like head lice, my family NEVER truly goes away for long and as for moving away…Even if I had the money, my dad already told me they won’t help us move if we leave Armpit, EVER, and I don’t know anyone with a truck and I don’t have a credit card to rent a moving truck so….

The easy answers aren’t gonna work in this case.

I am not, however, opposed to being adopted and just ditching everything so Spook and I can save ourselves from this toxic environment and toxic people. Just need a place to go, a way to stay afloat, and a little seed money. If I had all of that…

I’d declare my family dead to me and move the fuck on before they cost me what few strands of sanity I have left. Then and the psych nurse are tapping me the hell out.

Otiose Ramblings From A Life Anhedoniac

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

otiose-pointless
anhedoniac-one who does not receive pleasure from normally enjoyed things

My daughter was horrified when she looked over my shoulder and saw ‘word of the day’ in my email inbox. She asked why anyone would want to have that. As if learning new words is as horrific as a man wielding a chainsaw while demanding you eat brussel sprouts. Sadly. this is an attitude I have faced my whole life. Any attempt to better myself outside a formal classroom setting is viewed with distaste, horror, and of course, the inevitable accusation that I use big words to make those around me feel dumb. I learn new words because it interests me, aids in making my writing less repetetive, and learning isn’t contagious so they can piss off.

I was watching the show “Instinct” and the lead male character informed his female cop partner that she was a ‘music anhedoniac’ because music did not light up the pleasure centers in her brain therefore she did not receive pleasure from it.

That was when it hit me that I have become a life anhendoniac. Most likely the depression but also the sheer monotany of trying my best and always coming up short. Things that should make me feel good, should light up my brain’s pleasaure centers simply does not. It all feels like a big chore, a draining task that is joyless and misery inducing. Am I the walking posterchild for depression or what?

I woke at 1 a.m. For no good reason. I was still awake at 5:30 despite throwing Xanax, melatonin, Benadryl at it. My Brain would not slow down and shut up. I was screaming into my pillow at one point. Night after night this happens and by the time the alarm goes off, I feel like a walking dead girl. I stressed out all that time knowing I needed to recharge so I would have the energy to get my daughter to day camp…only she informed me her “Boyfriend” isn’t there on Mondays so she didn’t want to go today. Seriously? Last night she was set to go. GAH! Not that I got to sleep in even a little between her yakking and my cat bathing my face incessantly.

I was gonna mow the lawn today. I don’t have the energy and it’s still so wet from early morning rain, it’d just clog the damn mower. Oh, and we had that windstorm last week so before mowing, we have to gather up all the twigs and branches…And the yard is half a football field so doing it with a push mower by myself is exhausting. Last year I’d started doing it simply because my dad’s ‘help’ stressed me out so much. This year I am so overwhelmed and worn down, I accept the help even though it truly isn’t worth the mental price. I wish I had the money to pay someone else to do it but the standard for a yard this size is $50. I ain’t got that kind of money. Besides, my neighbor across the street hasn’t mowed either, so if they say something to me, they damn sure best be on her case, too.

I saw the weirdest commercial on TV plus. It had this GWAR looking dude warbling heavy metal satan channeling lyrics about the evils of ecigarettes. And I was offended and amused at the same time. (If you don’t know who GWAR is, Google it, they are scary hilarious.) So now cigarettes and ecigs and vaping are all evil, but almost every state is adding some legal use of pot on the books. I’ve never really considered weed a hardcore drug, but I have looked down on stoners because seeing them stoned and minus many iQ points depressed me. Now everyone down to pre school teachers are entitled to light a doobie, get wacky, and it’s all good, long as you don’t smoke cigarettes or use an vape.

HUH?

I can’t wait til 20 years from now when they discover that pot causes penile cancer or some shit. The self righteous have really crossed some lines.

I am all for occasional use if it’s your thing. I am definitely all for it for people with illnesses that truly are helped by it.

But GWAR-ing me as if a heavy metal backtrack is gonna make me abstain from tobacco or nicotine is HYSTERICAL.

All this pot legalization also opens my already confused mind to questions like, “does this mean all the people charged with minor pot possession charges get their records wiped?” “What if everyone is playing bumper cars cos they are stoned?” “What if an employer bans the use yet the law says it is legal>” Total fucking quagmires. (Oh, dear, there goes that word of the day knowledge, how dare I!) Though my very old chatroom nickname was Kwee Quagmire. Partially after Scully’s dog from X Files and partly because mental illness is the definition of a quagmire.

I have washed dishes, refilled ice cube trays and water dispensers, washed aload of clothes, taken out trash. Now I feel drained. I still need to hang dry the entire load of laundry. Broken dryers suck. But I don’t dare spend the money to fix it because every two weeks I am just waiting for the child support to not be there because the donor just disposes of girlfriends and jobs like Kleenex. And sometimes, I swear he does it just to fuck with me and hope I have some sort of psychotic break. Of course, that would be giving him too much credit. For all his “I have a 187′ IQ bullshit, I seriously doubt he’d have the brain power necessary to play any real mind games. Then again, I have underestimated his penchant to be cruel and immature and maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his potential to play mind fuck games. Because in his head, it’s all about me getting his money, he doesn’t even think about his child. To say he has woman issues is underfuckingstatement of the year. I don’t think it’s mathmatically possible that every woman he has been involved with/related to has been some sort of soul sucking mentally abusive monster. The odds are just too astronimical.

My kid starts evening church camp this week. 6-8 p.m. My brother is going to take her. I still don’t understand why they’re okay with a 24 year old man hanging out with a bunch of kids. Kind of creepy pervy. I guess their thinking is he’s willing to help and mentally he’s about their age anyway.

The Focus Factor is NOT working, is it? I am all over the place here.

Well, you guys choose to read this, you get to walk away, so winner winner chicken dinner.

Except my chicken has salmonella.

Ray of fucking sunshine, ain’t I?

Scary

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My brain has become a scary place for me. I just feel so low, so depressed, so utterly unhappy..But I can’t pinpoint anything truly making me feel so hopeless and dark. It is the very definition of clinical depression. That raise in Lamictal dose seems to have had the opposite effect and made me feel more depressed than I was.

Earlier, I was in such a dark place, I had this fucked up thought. If you were to ‘accidentally’ trip on some concrete steps and aim to land on your head hard enough, you’d never have to feel this way again.

This is NOT normal for me.

It is terrifying that it would even occur to me.

There is no intent, so not to worry. But the thoughts stirring in my mind are honestly scaring me. I honestly don’t know when my next pointless nurse appointment is, and it doesn’t matter because she has zero interest in helping me. Or that is how I perceive her ‘back to me’ detached manner with the only goal being having me on as few meds as possible. And THEIR policies are why I am taking two drugs for anxiety as opposed to the one that worked so damn well on its own.

I guess this could add to my depression but it’s more irritating, frustrating, and hopeless than it is depressing. I’ve pretty much had lackluster psych care my whole life. The good ones are very rare. Oh, the joy of rural life and being poor. Somehow this means I deserve subpar care from apathetic providers as opposed to someone with good insurance in an urban area who can get their dream doctor and make positive progress. I started going downhill during the raise in Abilify and the halving of Wellbutrin, all of which she did simultaneously, as well as increasing the Lamictal. Then the next appointment she refused to do more than one change and refused my input completely. She has played a part in making my summer very difficult and unhappy and there will be no consequences for her, those are all for me to pay for her ineptitude.

It would help if you could be honest with the providers without fear of being committed against your will or being deemed dangerous to your child just because your mind is in a scary dark place. I have no ill will toward my child. I feel I owe her an apology for being such a high strung depressed mess.

I keep telling myself I’ve been in this dark space many times, and the bad thoughts have occasionally wormed their way in. I just have to hold fast, stay strong, and not buy into the depressive distortions. This,too, shall pass. Just not fast enough to make me feel like I am not losing my mind.

At this point it’s such a useless cluttered dark place, I wonder if I’d be losing much of value.

But that is depression talking and I MUST REJECT whatever negative input it is giving me as best I can.

Which is easier said than done.

Especially now that I am in hormonal purgatory for two weeks and still pining for that dream work from home job since all my problems seem to be ‘out there;, trying to fit into a mold I simply do not. If I had physical disabilities, the world would be empathetic and break their backs to meet my abilities and not penalize me for my limitations. But nope, that’s not the way it is with mental illness. Sometimes even those who blog about mental health issues don’t come across as all that empathetic and supportive because they have stabilized and it’s sticking. Yet I remember these same people at their worst and remember how I extended myself to them even when I had little to give…The same is not being returned but by a couple of harcore supporters. I don’t know why I expected differently. Life is not fair, things are not always reciprocal, and while a large percentage of people with mental health diagnoses do have remission and reach stability…

I am not one of those lucky people and I guess people just get sick of hearing about it. For that I am truly sorry, I don’t like sounding like a broken record.

I don’t like living life like a broken record, but I don’t get the option of walking away because I am ‘too negative’.

I should be so lucky.

Frozen

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

I am on edge and frozen in place in my bedroom crypt. My dad said they’d be by sometime to mow, which translates into me mowing while he yells at me how I am not doing it right and it looks shitty. This is what I’d call a triggered anxiety response. What does not make good sense is that I could have been outside an hour ago mowing it myself so I could avoid them, but then again, this yard is enormous and all I have is a push mower so it’s an hours long process by myself.

I need to toughen up and get a Teflon coating so nothing sticks to me. Unfortunately, I’ve been trying for years and failing. Things do stick to me. Like being bullied by the very man who is supposed to unconditionally love and accept me and back off when I tell him he is doing something to offend and stress me out. Instead he cusses me, calls me names, and vows never to help me again. All because I don’t flourish under criticism and yelling.

I am still devastated by the loss of our kitten yesterday. It haunts me. It was an accident but that doesn’t make it easier. Fucked up as it may sound, I don’t think I’d take killing an evil person as hard as I am taking the death of this sweet kitten. Evil people and people who put you in the position of live or die deserve no mercy.

So here I sit in my crypt on the bed, jumpy, jittery, and paranoid that if I start moving around something bad will happen. Hell, yesterday I was just going out for some milk and….the kitten died.

I am still struggling with the trips to driving to town. Every noise, every sound as the tires roll over the pavement, I am convinced I have a flat. If the car shifts slowly, I automatically think transmission is going out. (It happened to my old Grand Am so it’s a feasible fear.) I get to town and wanted to run a couple of errands but…I forgot what I needed, and I avoid the store where the donor works unless I don’t see his car there…I did stop for am Orange vanilla Coke. Sometimes those little treats are the best you’re gonna get.

What would help me most of all would be to sleep at night as opposed to waking up multiple times. I am exhausted. This impacts my mood which heightens my anxiety…And the nurse is useless to help me except with the coma pills like Seroquel and Trazadone. NOPE. I may have a good mental health day and contact my insurance to see if they cover Lunesta. I’ve never had it but 7-9 straight hours of sleep and no hangover sounds pretty damn promising.

Back to Pandora’s Box Of Panxiety.

And once again, if anyone knows of any work from home opportunities, please let me know. I don’t care if it’s $12 a week for reading email and watching videos. That little amount could help buy pet supplies so it would be well worth it.

How fucked up is it I’ve had perfect strangers donate money and yet here I am begging for someone to help me find work within my disability limitations and NOTHING. What message is that sending? I am willing to work, I am just not willing to risk my precarious mental health by working in noisy crowded triggering places. Not opposed to fetish porn at this point. Yes, I am that far down the rabbit hole and my dignity has taken a backseat to supporting my child.

Don’t judge me, I am doing the best I can.

I Never Gave My Brain Permission To Feel Depressed

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on June 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

One of the worst things about being bipolar two is that even when you’re not in a deep depression, you’re still cycling through the mood swings. There is this misconception that because the swings are ‘less severe’ than sheer mania of bipolar one, that this somehow makes it less difficult to cope and lead a meaningful life. That is crap. I’d give my internal organs to be straight up bipolar one. I respond well to mood stabilizers like lithium and lamictal so mania is not an issue for me.

The depressions, on the other hand, are just as severe as bipolar one yet because I am axis two, my depressions are summarily dismissed as weak character, situational, ‘not wanting’ to be happy.

First off, I NEVER gave my brain permission to be depressed, ever. I look back through my life and there were times when life was way worse situationally due to money or being stranded as a teenger in Podunk or bickering parents who couldn’t even keep us fed and clothed properly. I survived and was often happy, not in spite of it, but because my brain was telling me to be happy for no reason. Mania. Hypo or not, it was a respite from the depressions that just come on even when things are going well.

I think the biggest disservice done to the mental health community of sufferers is cognitive behavioral therapy and mindfulness. I don’t dispute their usefulness for *some* people. For me, they have been nothing but more bullshit I have to do battle with because it makes it seem like we choose to be depressed. There is no why so often with bipolar two. You just feel the way you feel and maybe it doesn’t last as long as bipolar one depressions (mine does, but that is just me) but it’s debilitating anyway. I am mindful that right now, things are not that awful for us.Yet my mind is very dark and I don’t get very much joy out of what used to be a good time. I can see no real future for myself beyond raising my child. No amount of talking myself out of this is going to change a damn thing. CBT is cognitive bullshit therapy, as far as my situation is concerned.

It’s angering because it has helped so many but one has to ask…were these people really in a clinical depression for months on end? Because clinical depression doesn’t just lift because you’ve decided to be a shiny happy people. In a way, it’s clinically approved denial. I don’t have that luxury. If I convince myself this is my new depressive norm and I just have to stop thinking I can feel better and accept this current state…I may as well eat arsenic right now. I reject the way I am feeling because I KNOW what it feels like to be hopeful and get full pleasaure out of things. This is not it.

So keep barfing sunshine and rainbows on your pile of emoji pooh but don’t pretend it doesn’t still smell like pooh.

I am wearing pants and sitting upright today. Some days this is as good as it gets. I don’t like it, but I accept it. I am surviving. Which brings me to the new Rob Thomas song. There’s a line that resonates.

I see my life like a train with a one-way track
I’ve made mistakes, and I couldn’t take ’em back
And I’ve been runnin’ ’round in circles ’til I’m dizzy, I can’t lie
But every night I go to sleep’s a day that I survive

Yes, I like Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 and Nickelback. Nothing wrong with good songwriting even if it’s not as obnoxiously metal as I’d prefer.

Now I am NOT gonna barf sunshine and pretend this computer screen isn’t about to fail and leave me fucked with a hard drive full of stuff and no HDNI monitor to use it. FML

Filled with cognitive dissonance but sincerely yours,
Miss Ann Thrope
AKA
Ann Hedonia

No need to defend cognitive behavioral therapy if it’s your thing. You won’t sway me. I’ve been in therapy longer than half the internet bloggers have been alive. And I reserve the right to call what does not work for me bullshit. CBT. Cognitive. Bullshit. Therapy.

If it works for you, yay.

Eww, I spewed a wee bit of sunshine there for ya. CLEAN UP ON BLOG AISLE SIX!

Sweat And Panxiety

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on June 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, it’s been 99 in the shade, with humidity. This morning I was gone an hour to take Spook to camp and came home drenched in sweat even though it was only 77 degrees out. That humidity just drains the life out of you. I can’t fathom people who choose to live in such climates. I remember California and how the heat was dry so even at 95, you barely broke a sweat in front of a fan. Not here. Had I not been born here and kept here by few finances, I would bid this hellmouth good riddance. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, and nary a happy medium at any time. With seasonal affective disorder, all these extremes in the weather mean I never really get my feet underneath me, yet I am still expected to be cured by all their pharma candies.

It’s frustrating and a little insulting. If society truly was about helping the disabled become more independent, they would help us relocate if it would benefit our disorders, help us find jobs within our capabilities, and not punish us by deeming minimum wage jobs as too much income to qualify for state insurance yet you don’t earn enough for paying for your own. They tie your hands at every turn, bitch that you don’t try hard enough to make changes, and you’re just walking in a perpetual catch 22 hellish state. Right now without insurance even through state Medicaid, I could not afford to get my med checks even every six months. My meds are all generic and yet it would still be close to $100 out of pocket. So I go work for minimum wage, lose my coverage, can’t see a doc or get my meds, and they wonder why every single time I crash and burn. Disability isn’t just ‘the cushy life’. It’s murder on your self esteem but you have to gauge what is most important. For someone with mental health issues, keeping your insurance so you can get your meds and doctor care is crucial. The system just does not leave you loopholes or leeway. I can’t seem to impress upon my dad that risking my insurance for minimum wage would be very dangerous for my mental health. I can’t seem to impress it upon anyone other than my sister, who has seen firsthand how the system punishes you for trying to work yet yanks the very health coverage you need to be well.

Forgive me, I am very scattered.

So, yeah, a trip to town, during which I was marinating in sweat, my hair turned into a sweat sponge, and the necessary errands were hellish by the heat and my terror of the car overheating. I am terrified of the car breaking down, terrified if I hit the panic button and nothing is wrong, I look stupid. Scared if I blow it off it will be a problem that ruins the entire engine…It’s stressful, driving, since we moved to Armpit. And I’ve been to town 8 trips this week so Spook got to take part in all the fun outings at camp and frankly…I am trafficked out, peopled out. The next 4 days I am staying my ass at home unless I CHOOSE to leave. That is why I ran errands to stock up on things. But now that I am home, I am just waiting for my dad’s faction to darken the door step to mow the lawn and scream at me in the process. So I am trying to work up energy to start it at least by myself but then again, last time, they redid everything I had done so you gotta wonder why bother trying when it’s never up to their standards.

I woke up this morning at 4 a.m. in a random PMS induced rage about my brother not chipping in for gas. He buys my kid fries or ice cream but it’s my car, my gas, my driving, and we have to stay in town an extra hour in the heat to help him out and he doesn’t give a dime for gas cos that bitch of a stepmonster told him he only needs to feed my kid occasionally. That is coming to an end today, I am gonna tell him, ten bucks a week for three rides isn’t asking too much. Since he is so cheap, he will likely opt for them to start picking him up cos they don’t even make him pay for gas. Yet my dad thinks I am spoiled???? Little Lord Redneck Fauntleroy is in for a rude awakening from me. Might start a family war but oh, well. I can’t keep stewing over this shit and it’s just not fair or right. It wouldn’t mattered if you carpooled and the person had to be in town anyway, they’d still want you to chip in for gas. Yet family thinks it does not apply. NOPE.

It boggles the mind how much their idiotic behavior is responsible for some of my mental stress.

To the point of paranoid anxiety because they can’t simply be civilized, not scream, and not be monstrously critical.

If you want a lighter read, check out my last couple of random blog posts.

Wednesday Thoughts

Friday Thoughts