Archive for bipolar disorder

Merry Christmas Is Seeping Through My Walls

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

My internet was down last night from 6 p.m. til 1 p.m. today. Which left me with my digital antenna 10 channels and…I AM SO BLOODY SICK OF SAPPY CHRISTMAS MOVIES! Oh, and channels like Ion who devote entire weekend days to showing 20 straight hours of the drivel need Z-whacked. Repeatedly. Enough, already, I get it, it’s the freaking holiday season, BLAH HUMBUG. Fa la la la la go fuck yourself. I found myself watching, again, Rent An Elf, this morning. Yeah, yeah, single dad meets cute girl, love ensues, happy ending, happy family. Cutesy and heartwarming. But my heart is tired of being warmed so piss off. I only have one real Christmas movie I enjoy and that is The Ref with Dennis Leary. HYSTERICAL. And I can’t watch it cos I only have it on VHS (those are tapes we old folks used to use before DVDs and digital files, for you young peeps) and we don’t have a single working VCR. Three broken ones, but not a working one. Which boggles the mind cos no one wants them anymore, they practically give them away at yard sales but, oh yeah, I sacrificed my yard sale love this summer so my kid could go have fun at day camp. And to demonstate just how old school I am, I also want an old boombox with dual cassette and CD player cos my car has a tape player and I’d like to freaking use it. Yes, I have the adapter so I can use my MP3 player but it’s a hassle. I just wanna jam a tape in and be done with it. Don’t get me wrong, I am no technophobe. I lurve lurve lurve computers and digital files and all the nifty ‘all in one’ features of music and video players and games and word processing. But I drive an ’01 and sometimes, old stuff is just…better. And sometimes, it’s just nostalgia to take you back to a different time and place where you had some good memories…

So obviously I survived the second holiday party yesterday. It was packed. And Spook was irked that I wouldn’t stay very long, but she’s lucky I worked up the nerve to even go. Talk about triggering my agoraphobic issues and panic attacks. But she had fun doing crafts. And they had Paw Patrol characters walking around which she enjoyed,too.

I did NOT enjoy a two and a half hour wait trapped in the car with the “I’m bored, I want” monster. MOM MOM MOM MOM MOMMY MAMA MOM MOM MOM. She does not stop to take a breath, just keeps going on and on and on. Her mouth is the freaking battery bunny. And ya know, I needed 2 minutes of silence but…denied. We did go to a few cheap stores to browse and she told me what items she would like for xmas. She’d racked up about a hundred bucks alone at Dollar Tree. Geesh. Ya know, I want a 6’3 guy with long dark hair, green eyes, who loves metal music and horror movies but I know realistically it isn’t gonna happen. But the I Want monster tends to not live in the reality of our financial predicament. And she shouldn’t really have to but it is relevant to why I always have to say no to things. It’s not lack of interest or love or support or encouragement. It’s just that pretty much every activity she wants to do requires money I don’t have. Bummer, but hey, I guess my job in life is to be the downer who says no.

Everyone is like, giving me metaphoric high fives cos “You went and did all this stuff with the crowds and you didn’t die of a panic attack, it’s all in your head, get over it.” Well, derp, I know panic attacks won’t kill me. But one of my biggest issues is that my anxiety manifests physically and yesterday I was so stressed, I was sweating and I actually started to smell bad. And I put on antiperspirtant and deodorant four times, I used body spray, I used perfume, I wore clean clothes…But I could smell that distinct odor my nasty body emits when under severe stress. It isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s downright embarrassing. But I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked by my junk DNA. My skin is apparently toxic, with jewelry turning my skin green, or my years of rubbing off the stamped letters on pretty much every keyboard I;ve ever had (even the expensive laser etched one, guaranteed NOT to it.) Junk DNA, man.

I slept last night. Hard. I woke up a few times, briefly, and was acutely aware of my kid’s absence. When I did wake up right before ten, I didn’t really want to move cos both kittens had curled up under my arm and were just sleeping and purring. THAT is my warm fuzzy happy place. Purring cats. But I had to get up cos I told stepmonster I’d come help her set up her new modem. And I so didn’t want to.

I spent an hour on the phone with tech support only to learn…every device in the house, including my netbook and phone, a Kindle Fire, and a computer with XP, would connect. The problem is with her damn Windows 8 and that it is beyond my skillset. And she’s just like, “I’ll just go buy another one.” That’s fucking stupid. I told her to just move all her stuff to a flash drive and have my nephew reformat it with Windows 7. Wish I had the luxury of saying, “Oh, well, I’ll just go spend $300 on a new one.” Which will likely have Windows 10 and be an even bigger pain in the ass. (Fuck you, Windows and microsoft, Win 7 works just fucking fine, your ideas of improvement SUCK.)

One of the main reasons I didn’t want to go there to help is that they are loud and gross and I can’t focus. They use the bathroom with the door open. I was on the phone with tech support and my dad was belching in the background, then all 3 of them were talking over me so I had to ask the dude on the phone to repeat himself again and again. GAH. I can’t do chaos, I can’t do this whole redneck lack of basic decorum and manners thing. Close the fucking background door and if someone is on the phone, go belch in the other room, for fuck’s sake. Just…eww. To my credit, I didn’t blow a gasket when stepmonster referred to me as her daughter. That drives me fucking nuts cos she is 2 years younger than me, ffs, scientifically impossible for her to be my mom. And it’s disrespectful to my mom, who raised me and my sister while dad was always on the road and fucking around with his child hillbilly pseudo wife. It’s like a fucking episode of Springer,

Not that the other half of my family is any better. My sister and her husband were fighting over money yesterday. He apparently owes over $400 for weed he got on credit and everyone is all pissy about how he pays no bills and just…useless. And my mom has dementia and is always saying shit that isn’t true. Like when she said all me and Spook do is fight. NO, what I do is give her limits and discipline and she doesn’t like it so it makes her mad. I’m not here to be her friend, I am here to help mold her into a decent human as opposed to some sociopath. And she called me this morning saying she missed me. Then I told her dad and them were gonna pick her up around 4 and she yelled that was forever away and threw the phone down. And my mother of course took that as a sign that I can’t get along with my kid. But my mom was the yes monster, giving us little discipline, buying us off after her screaming tirades, letting our friends basically hang out 24-7, smoke cigarettes and eat our food. Guess a yes monster can’t relate to, ya know, an actual real parent.

Hmm…Yeah, I think that concludes today’s rant.I am going back to Fort Blankie and the mindless drone of Unsolved Mysteries. These social outings totally kick my ass and take days of vegging out to recover.

Meanwhile all this helliday cheer continues to poison my dark ghoulish heart and I wonder why can’t we just do away with all holidays and celebrate Halloween 365 days a year?

The Discomfort Of My Own Skin

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 7, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

In the past I have always been able to find a certain level of being comfortable in my own skin. The last couple of years, however, it so often feels like I am wearing skin too tight to fit over my bones, like it is someone else’s skin. It’s very uncomfortable and disconcerting. On certain points, I know exactly who I am. I like to wear black. I love Halloween. I love heavy metal. I dig skulls and graveyards and horror movies. I have zero problem that my ‘social life’ has always seemed to revolve around the new TV season from September til May. This is who I have always been, it is not artifact of depression or low self esteem or some need to be negative and bizarre. I was reading Fangoria when I was 7 years old long before there were any whispers about mental illness or personality disorders. The things the professionals and society on a whole decide are part of my depression and negative attitude are in fact the things that actually make me feel…less miserable. Sometimes they even bring me pure joy when the mental demons aren’t dancing the cha cha in my brain.

Last night I had an epic moment of being pathetic in regards to my workaholic narcissist friend, and once again, I allowed him to put me in a corner, feeling like the bad guy when in fact, no one is the bad guy, it’s just a bummer issue. But rather than him letting it be a bummer or have any inkling of understanding my position, he just put it all off on me and stopped texting. All because I missed his call the other night. Anyone who says 56 year old men can’t behave like bratty children is a moron. And I rationalize constantly for those around me, taking into account their upbringing, the kinds of people who were their family influence, and I can understand how they turn out cold or tough love-nasty or self absorbed or lacking in self awareness. You know, the luxuries no one has ever afforded me for my issues, let alone the chemical imbalance that wreaks havoc over every aspect of my life. But ya know, this need to see the good in people and rationalize when the outcome is always the same-their behavior leading me to feel like an overly needy irrational emotional succubus…

It is indeed me. Not necessarily at fault for my behavior and reactions, because no one can tell you that your feelings are right or wrong, they are just how you feel. But my expectations for others to respond, like, well, emotionally available adults with some semblance of conscience…I am setting them up to fail because I know…even if I have done all the therapy and work on myself and become a better version of me…Trying to reshape them into something I can cope with is wrong. Yet I keep doing it and licking my wounds when their same shit, different day behavior remains the same. Part of why I self isolate, I guess. It’s like I feel too much, too deeply, and others around me…are much more level, simpler, scientific, I suppose. And it works for them. I’m the one always alone, never really part of anything, never really bonded to anyone. I’d like to flip a switch and become some emotional simpleton but part of being comfortable in your own skin…

Is accepting yourself as is, flaws and all, even when these so called flaws mean you can never quite mesh with other people.

Wow, did not see that rant coming.

So let’s just go with the last two days.

Yesterday I avoided housework but I did drag out the Christmas tree and decorated the front porch so my kid would be appeased.

Not gonna make any magazine covers but I kinda like the whole eclectic ‘whore it up’ vibe of mismatched and willy nilly color bulbs.

Thie morning I blew off the alarm and phone and…went back to sleep. So went my plan to get her to the pancake with santa deal early enough to miss the crowd. But I did get her there.

On the way back, she told me, “My friend and I had fun, you’re always such a downer.”

Wow, that stung. I mean, I don’t do Miss Mary Sunshine, like, ever, without manic episodes, but I didn’t think I was that bad at hiding my inner struggle. I act silly sometimes and try to make her life and smile at her. But you know when the depression permeates your very bone marrow…I guess I am just stuck being Debbie Downer with a sprinkle of Happy Fun Ball from time to time. I feel like I am letting her down, but then…she is such an upbeat, social kid, I don’t think Mary Poppins could please her as being cheerful enough.

We have another event at 4 today. It is gonna be packed, but it is necessary. Least she will have snacks and activities and some semblance of a holiday spirit since I am such a downer. After that, she is going to spend the night at her grandma’s. Which will put me having to drive after dark and getting home around 8, at which point all this socialization will have me zapped and drained so I will accomplish nothing, probably not even enjoying some teen angsty Vampire Diaries. Sigh. Adulting is hard, I need the escape.

I got my water bill today and it was higher than expected so that cuts my gift budget for her to $21. That is pretty pathetic but I don’t have any options. Hopefully 19 dollar items wrapped seperately will give the illusion of her getting a good Christmas. I was counting on my mom and sis going overboard as usual but sis and her husband were in a big fight last night cos they literally can’t buy any gifts til the day after Christmas. But knowing that family faction, one of them will get shit on credit or go get a payday loan. It’s not supposed to be about the gifts, everyone says, but if you think about it…didn’t those Bible people bring incense and such at the baby Jesus birth? So maybe it’s not really about 2019 consumerism overboard spending gifts, but…it kind of is about some sort of gifting thing.

At this point, I’d be cool with the incense sticks. They have a baby powder scent that I love and several cool burners but the store that sold them…doesn’t sell them anymore.

Spook is at my dad’s right now, playing with their neighbor boy. Gotta leave in an hour, we are giving my brother a ride to work, which leaves us in town meandering for 2 and half hours til our event.

It is unfair of me to think a ten year old capable but one day…I truly hope Spook realizes I was more than just a downer of a mom who didn’t much enjoy Christmas or have friends or money. I hope one day she understands that since her donor walked out 8 years ago, everything I have done and continue to do has been for her wellfare. She is my life. One more reason I don’t do the dating thing. When grown men say, “Let’s get together when you’re not busy doing the mom thing” or send you dick pics an hour after getting your number…Those are not the people I want around my child. Call me snobby or picky, but growing up with parents who can’t stand each other is just as bad as growing up with one parent absent. I’m going on 47 and my divorced for 20 years parents are still doing the tug of war thing with our emotions and loyalties and all the put downs toward each other. I want to set a better example for Spook, even if it’s just proving being single doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something wrong with you or that you have to be lonely and unhappy. I have little doubt one day I will burst out of whatever ‘wrong skin’ I am wearing and I will attempt to date or find true love or at least a booty call…

I’m just not there yet, even though it kills me that people think I am alone 8 years now because the donor ‘broke’ me. I was broken long before him, but that’s the thing about broken stuff. It can usually be mended and repaired. He may have left dents in my armor but he did not break me. If anything, he proved to me how wrong I was to just keep getting into these convenient relationships just so I was ‘normal’ by not being alone and towing the ‘you must have a partner to be whole and normal’. He also helped me see some of the destructive things I do in relationships that contribute to their demise. I LEARNED something from the experience, which counts for something. I am just so very sorry Spook has to pay for it by having an uncaring absentee sperm donor society wants call a dad. A dad–or mom- is someone who sticks around. It’s a title you earn, not just giving due to biology.

Okay, one hour to go before entering the petri dish in town. I just want this day over with. So I can turn around and do it all again next weekend. Fucking hellidays.

The one thing that would make them more bearable is if I had a family that served wine with dinner. Oh, and if we had an Uber company to drive me back safely to Armpit. But, nooo, I get a mom from a family of drunks so she thinks even one sip of booze means you’re a drunk. Bah humbug.

Or in my current mental state, BLAH HUMBUG. Cos it all seems so blah and dim and just dismal. I don’t know what is sadder than not even being able to spend $7 on the slime your kid really, really, wants for Christmas. Oh, her saying it was my choice to live here in Armpit, that was a pretty low blow. I never wanted to live here. But it was 2 weeks to get out and either be homeless or live here so I did what I had to do for her.

One day maybe I will get the gift of gratitude from her for all the hard decisions I’ve had to make out of love for her. Including living in this hellish farmland of unfriendliness. I was informed last night that the nasty neighbor across the street no longer likes me and it’s all because some stray dog climbed into her car when the door was open. Not our dog, not our fault, and Spook was trying to wrangle him up yet she now hates me…

This is what I mean about the intellectual and emotional quotient of those around me. You can’t reason with that level of…lunacy.

And ya know, call me old fashioned, but if someone has a problem with me, I’d much prefer they tell it to my face rather than me having to hear it from my dad who heard it from ten other people.

Small town midwest, backstabbing and gossip mongering at its finest.

Second thought, maybe I am okay not being an emotional simpleton. If I have to use their backwards logic to be accepted, I think I will just stay in my crypt and be a downer.

Unless someone wants to send me a case of Red Velvet St. James wine. Then I’d be a happy downer in my crypt.

Blah humbug.


Posted in anxiety, depression, seasonal depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 6, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Definitely not a ‘jump out of bed at 5 a.m. day’. More like a six snooze alarm followed by sludgy feelings of ‘must I leave Fort Blankie?’ Got my kid off to school and was freezing so I went back under the covers with two purring kittens and Unsolved Mysteries on TV. A half hour without so much as a yawn, I said fuck it and got up and put on a heavy (albeit ugly) hooded sweatshirt and socks and started moving here and there. No major accomplishments because my stomach is a mess today and it’s gotta be stress about tomorrow and all the festive holiday crap for my kid. Can’t be what I ate. All I’ve had the last two days is some celery sticks with peanut butter.

Another reason for today’s lethargy is the gloom outside. We have had sunny days only 3 times in the last 10 days and it’s starting to feel like a potentially lethal bleeding out illness like ebola. (Definitely NOT making light of ebola sufferers.) For those with seasonal depression who are so sensitive to extreme warmth, extreme cold, sun, gloom- this plays hell on the battle to at least find a baseline of “I don’t want to die today.” Living in the moody weathered midwest has been a heavy cross to bear all my life with the seasonal affective disorder. This area is not known for weather consistence therefore no amount of psych meds are gonna have much impact ‘fixing’ this aspect of my multi diagnoses.

Something AMAZING happened yesterday. I fiddled with some internal wires on my desktop computer and brought it back to life. It seems to be working now, though who knows for how long. Guess when I put the case back on last time after a memory stick came loose I didn’t do it right and jarred some shit loose. I was ecstatic. Now my family can stick their norm and just get me shit I don’t need. I tried dropping some hints along with pics and links cos I REALLY need a new purse. I’ve had two break in the last 2 months and the one I am carrying now, the straps are held on only by thick knots I made and they could go at any time cos, hey, $6 purses you’ve had for 2 years can only survive so long. Both links I sent my sister as hints were for purses under $18 so maybe just maybe they might get me something I like and need.

And don’t get me wrong, I am not being greedy. But Christmas is about the ONLY chance I have every year of acquiring even a couple of items that I simply cannot afford myself because every cent I have goes into raising Spook and meeting her needs. I could also use ink cartridges for my printer. At the moment it is but a paperweight without ink but even a simple black cartridge runs about $30. My stepmom pointed out with all the sales, it’d be cheaper to buy a new printer. And I’ve used that reasoning, which is why I have about four junk printers out in the shed. This printer means a lot to me because it was a gift from a friend. And I gotta say, being old school plus broke, I sure as fuck miss the old dot matrix printers that used the accordion paper with holes fed into it. If all I want to print out is my writing but it takes 3 black cartridges to do it, well, that bloody sucks. My old dot matrix had an old school fabric ribbon that cost about $12 and lasted two years before it even began to fade. So is it really so far fetched and old fasioned to have the warm fuzzies for something that worked well and was a hell of a lot cheaper to use and maintain? Given, dot matrix sucked at printing pictures but just for text, especially my 600 page stories, well…It was just cheaper and more convenient and the thing didn’t break down ten times a week with a bloody paper jam.

Happy to say I slowly getting caught up on the pile that is dirty clothing Mount Laundrolympus. Unfortunately, I now have more dirty dishes to wash. And the hell machine needs to go over the carpets since my brattleaxe child is too lazy to use a trash can for candy wrappers.

I am just tapped out and so frustrated. Everyone around me is moving on, moving up, and I am stuck in this endless bipolar depression cycle. Even my stepmom, who can barely write, managed to attend truck driving school and get a CDL. So why can’t I DO SOMETHING to better our situation for my kid? It helps if you have an inkling of what you might do that would be within your skillset but not stress you out too much or bore you into a coma. That’s why I think some sort of work from home deal would be perfect from me. Word processing, hunting down bargains, research, emailing-all things I excel at that do not overwhelm me and trigger the worst of my disorders. But it is a pegacon. I want to believe it exists but deep down I know…it does not.

In another battle with my narcissist ‘friend’ he called last night but I was on the phone with my sister discussing Spook’s xmas wish list and I’ll be damned if I know how to use call waiting on my cell phone so I let it go to voice mail twice. He sent a text about how he called. And he hasn’t spoken to me since. This is familiar territory. I try to reach him, well, he’s too busy. He tries to reach me, I better answer first ring or reply to text on 2 minutes or he gets mad. Why did I bring this negative force back into my life? Oh, right. Because I am trying to see the best in people and learn to cope with their personality quirks not triggering me. So far…epic fail. I know his bullshit behavior isn’t my fault but as I’ve said before…I feel guilty when it rains and apologize to people for the sucky weather, like it’s even in my capabilities to be responsible for that. People around me know my guilt complex and use it against me incessantly.

I miss the pre mood stabilizer days when my conscience didn’t make frequent appearances, let alone become a damn albatross I can’t escape even for my own mental health.

Now what to do with myself…Housework. Think I’d prefer a root canal without novacaine. When I was watching Lost Girl, they had this fae creature called a brownie and its only purpose in life was to serve others as a housekeeper, cook, errand runner, and the only rule was never take him for granted.

I want one of those. Yeah, yeah, rich people have housekeepers and maids so it technically exists but…supernatural creatures are just more interesting and oh, yeah, I am BROKE so I can’t afford a housekeeper.

Oh, my kingdom for some comfy warm socks. My socks are too thin and my feet are freezing. And my Muk Luk slippers fell apart to the point I couldn’t even yet again hot glue them back together. Thankfully it’s been hinted that I am getting a pair from one family member for Christmas so…hopefully I can keep my feet from freezing and breaking off toes til then. Weird thing is my kid refuses to wear socks or slippers at home and her feet are like ice cubes. I’ve even made jokes about breaking off her toes and using them as ice cubes for my soda. She thinks it’s funny. I guess I am just a thin blooded wuss when it comes to the cold.

The fact that being cold contributes as much to my seasonal depression as does the ass trash weather explains why I fuss about being cold so frequently. Hard to feel ‘up’ and comfortable when all you can focus on is shivering and being uncomfortable. I suppose I could crank up the heat but I can’t afford it and besides, since the vent in my bedroom is putting out little heat thanks the menaces called cats that get down there and fuck up the piping…I just need some mega warm clothes, apparently. Which I normally do cos I get shit cheap at yard sales but since I put every dime into sending Spook to summer camp, I had to give up yard sales this year alas having no warm winter clothes.

Okay, purge complete. Maybe now my brain will slow down, shut up enough, and allow me to accomplish…something. I did the bath thing yesterday so..maybe today…dishes.

Tragic H8te ball says…unlikely.


Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on December 5, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Not for the first time, it occurs to me how similar depression is to being entombed, alive. You scream, you claw, you kick, you exhaust yourself in the massive effort to escape…And yet you remain entombed, going nowhere, until all hope is lost and you just lay still, accept your fate, and wait for it all to be over. And on the fringes of your mind, in spite of it all, remains the tiniest bit of hope that before you take your last breath, something, someone, anything, will help dig you out, will lift the lid and set you free.

Morbid much? I know.

I survived my kid’s Xmas concert. Man, that place was packed. And I don’t give a fuck what everyone says about small towns, the people in this area are NOT friendly. I plastered on my best ‘not freaking out’ smile and not even my neighbor lady could be bothered to speak. Do I give off some bad vibe simply because I wear all black? Because, hey, their cammo deer hunting gear and flannel doesn’t do much for me, but I don’t base my opinions of people on wardrobe choices. Guess that is where I go wrong. I’d probably be popular if I were more shallow. In town at her old school, I could at least count on a few fellow parents giving a smile and a hello, how you doing. We’ve been here almost 2 years and I can barely get a smile from anyone sans the school staff. It gives you a complex at some point, especially when you’re doing your best to ‘play nice’. I don’t think I am better than anyone here. I KNOW, however, I am definitely different and hey, that’s been my identity since I was 11. What others deem ‘the weird girl’, I deem being different, quirky, and true to who I am in every way.

My kid, of course, waited until 20 minutes before we had to leave, to go on a fashion tirade about ‘they told us to dress up in something nice.” Well, sorry, you outgrew your dresses so wear your velvet pants and a collared shirt. Nope, she wears capri gray aweats with a navy shirt and her oldest skankiest tennis shoes. Seeing all the other kids gussied up and my kid looking like a rag muffin was embarrassing. But since she won’t listen to me, I guess she will just learn the hard way when her fashion choices result in being made fun of. I mean, mine have always been met with derision, but I was tough enough to handle it. My kid is a cream puff who suddenly stopped wearing her cat shirts cos some popular girl in class said they ‘weren’t cool’. She is stubborn with me, but definitely a follower. (My heart dies a little every time I have to face that fact.)

We came home and chilled out. I did something stupid and texted a friend whose response was pretty lackluster yet if they text me, I am supposed to do cartwheels. Dealing with a narcissist (clinical diagnosis, not just my opinion) is a bitch. Because they dismiss your feelings as unimportant and whatever they have going on is crucial to the existence of mankind even if they’re just drinking a damn beer and watching Star Trek. And most narcissists are so lacking in self awareness I don’t think it even occurs to them how hurtful it is to be constantly belittled by them in this way. So by reaching out to him, I gave him more importance than he deserves and he ‘put me in my place’ with his disinterest. Stupid, Morgue, just fucking stupid.

At least I had some good dreams. Mind you, I don’t really remember them but they weren’t bad. I woke up at 5 a.m. and actually got out of bed rather than having an affair with the snooze button. Think that last dream ended on a positive note and it energized me to an extent. Now that energy is sapped (good dreams doesn’t mean I didn’t wake up six times) and it’s only 8:30 a.m. My focus is nil. I tried to get caught up on Van Helsing but ten minutes in, it was apparent my brain simply wasn’t into it at all. So back to streaming Unsolved Mysteries on Pluto, more background noise than anything.

To my credit, I kicked ass around the house yesterday. I hung dried laundry, washed dishes, swept, mopped, cleaned the cat box, tidied the living room. Sad that it has to reach biohazard ‘we have no clean plates or clothes left’ before I can muster up the give a damn to do it. And people mistake depressive inertia as me simply not caring about my child ‘enough to get it done’. Got nothing to do with how much I care about her because this depression, especially the seasonal, predates her by 35 years. I’m not taking it out on her when it has nothing to do with her. Sure, she adds to my stress and some days the way she treats me does make me depressed, but that is situational. What I am dealing with right now is clinical. And I don’t think the doctor is going to want to max out the Cymbalta since last time I went manic at 90. I don’t think there’s any risk of that right now.

The idea of feeling entombed this way for the next 4 months has me frustrated, depressed, anxious, and pissed off.

I got my power bill disconnect notice. Where is that damn assistance grant????

I have $13 for food for the next two weeks and public aid says my increase won’t happen til after the 17th.

The car is now driving funny, as if the steering wheel is too loose and I can’t keep it on the road.


I can’t enjoy things I normally do.

I have no energy and just want to sleep.

I hate being around others.

I see no hope in my future.


Unfortunately, being able to discern the difference doesn’t really give any answers on how to improve the situation.

I have more wet clothes to hang. I miss having a working dryer, I am a princess that way. I should prolly run the hell machine aka the carpet cleaning noisy sucking thing. My kid wants to put up the tree so I should dig it out.

Know what I feel like doing?

Spacing out to the sound of Unsolved Mysteries and accept that I am entombed and no one is coming to free me. The end means peace, and peace would be so wondermous.

Sadly, it isn’t survival of the fittest, at all.

It’s survival of the most rebellious and stubborn and on that one…I’m in it til the bitter end.

Why can’t I just be a quitter?

Joyless To The World

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on December 4, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It NEVER ceases to amaze me how when I write a fairly positive post, NOT about my own mental issues, it goes totally unnoticed.
It was my ode ( relatively short, concise post for me) to Giving Tuesday and sharing what was a heartwarming and special TV commercial about shelter animals and how they need help. But of bloody course, it isn’t mindless ranting about all the stuff I can’t fucking change so, hey, fuck you, Morgue, we don’t want your warm fuzzy feelings, give us fury and wrath and misery.
Duly noted.

I suppose today I am off to a better start than the last two in spite of having been awake EVERY single hour, on the hour, all night. (And I am not dramatizing, I literally kept waking up every hour so I remember every number on the clock, sleeping in 20-45 minute increments does not lead to feeling rested and peppy.) But I was slapped in the face with the reality of my depressive inertia when my kid said she had no clean clothes and I told her to dig something out of the dirty laundry and Febreze it. I think that was when I knew that my ‘check out’ from reality and the drudgery of domestic responsibilities could not afford another napping in the morning. And lemme tell you, I felt like shit. Like such a failure as mother. Every plate in the house is dirty,too. And still, my give a damn remains dormant.

Six weeks ago, I was in super whirlwind mode, which I suppose was just hypomania. But I never had any feelings of being overjoyed or omnipotent or even hyper. I was just focused and getting shit done. So I thought maybe it was a new phase to my seasonal affective disorder. Ya know, how some people spring cling, I guess I was hoping I’d just gone the polar opposite and was fall cleaning. Now I know that I was in survival mode because I’d put it off til the last minute and had to get the place in order so we could get the landlord and repair people in to get the furnace going. Once I survived that ordeal…The normal seasonal grog and lack of will to do anything returned.

It’s kicking my ass.

It was all I could do to gather up some dirty laundry and make my way to the washer to plop it in. Just adding laundry soap seemed exhausting. Now I have to debate whether to hang dry it inside, or wait til it warms to the alleged fifty degrees it will be outside, or do I take the $2 my kid gave me that she got from a friend and get quarters to use the laundromat? When in depressive inertia mode, making choices is misery because I honestly don’t know which way to go. Simple things, hard things, it becomes this clusterfuck like being trapped in traffic and you have nowhere to go so you freeze. Indecisiveness is a bitter pill to choke down. Thankfully, my mom sent home a ton of leftovers from Turkey Day so I’ve not had to make many choices on what to eat. And last night with my kid, I totally phoned it in. I offered to cook her something and she fussed so I just let her eat 3/4 of the chocolate pie her grandmother made for her. Yes, bad mom. Whatever, at least she wasn’t hungry.

All I have accomplished in the last 5 days was taking a bath Monday (after a week without one), refilling ice cube trays, and making a trip to town for Spook’s meds. Otherwise, it’s just been day naps and lethargy, too depressed to even continue what I was binge watching and sit in front of a TV watching whatever is on the antenna which at this point with 10 channels means I’ve seen it all 10 times…But I can’t help if I have no interest in anything other than zoning out. And maybe it’s my way of letting my feelings stew so when I do resume my binge watch it won’t be tainted by my inability to focus or ya know, give a damn what happened. Today I AM gonna finish the last six episodes of this show, damn it. Then start on Being Human, which was just added for free to Vudu. I’ve watched all these fantasy/horror shows before like True Blood, Lost Girl, and Being Human, but with my memory problems, it’s always nice to go back and revisit old ‘friends’. I am hoping that binge watching these types of shows will spark my creativity and allow me to finally rewrite my 3 book trilogy I’ve been working on since 2007. Gotta say, writing is not an easy process when it comes and goes and stays away for years at a time. And with an attention deficit, it’s very hard to do continuity and stay on track. But I want it back, I want my fictional world back and I NEED to write their story, these beloved characters I have coddled and hated and cursed and loved for all these years. I am DRIVEN to do it, I just need that creative spark.

Oh, and for Santa, ie, mom and sis, to come through with a used computer tower for my Christmas gift. I’ve just never been able to write on a laptop, I have no idea why. Call it a quirk.

I got a call from the school yesterday at 3 p.m. My first thought was, oh god, what did Spook do now? She was calling to ask if she could go to the after school religious group, which for 6 weeks she has totally shunned as boring and lame. I was surprised but I said yes. Then realized her insistence on walking home was bad parenting cos by 5 it is pretty dark out…She got home fine and was in a decent mood. One of her friend’s mom even spent $5 so she could get 3 books from the book fair. Thank God for generous people. Once upon a time, I was the one buying books for the kids at the trailer park whose parents couldn’t afford it so hopefully this is karma coming back on me in a good way.

I was surprised to get an email from Spook’s teacher, even though I had asked her to keep me posted on how Spook has been doing on the higher dose of her med. It was all positive. The medication seems to make all the difference. Except every day getting her to take it is a fight. She says it makes her sleepy. The doctor and pharmacist say that’s not possible because it is a stimulant, she’s just not getting enough sleep at night. Which creates more drama because she wants a later bedtime now that she is ten, but if I don’t have her down by 8:30 she is still wandering around awake at 10, then getting her up in the morning is pea soup spewing time. It’s like I cannot do the right thing no matter how hard I try with this kid. The joys of parenting.

Tonight is her Christmas concert at the school. I’m already looking for sicknesses I can catch suddenly to get out of it. It isn’t that I don’t care about my kid and want to be there for her. But driving at dark, gym crowded with people, high pitched noises…It’s like all my triggers packed into a 90 minute space and it wears me down.

But I’d better get used to it. Saturday is breakfast with Santa (which was postponed due to weather last week), then later in the evening another Christmas event. The following Saturday, another holiday event and a birthday party on the same day. We both have shrink appointments this month. Then the family get together, plus multiple trips to get our med refills which never align to get done in one trip.

I should be joyful, faking it for my kid. She’s already pissed I haven’t put up the tree yet. I’m just…struggling, big time, and lugging out that tree and assembling it seems so daunting…And having no gifts to put under it is just downright depressing.

Once upon a time, I was spirited at the holidays. I wore the Santa hat even at my job, big light up bulb earrings…I was merry right up til Christmas day when I checked out of the family things and spent the day alone, licking my wounds from being so damn cheerful all month. Then one year, my marriage ended near Christmas, then my parents split at Christmas, oh, my second legally binding relationship broke up right before the holidays…And of course, the family member who committed suicide on New Year’s Day. It’s just not a festive time for me, emotionally.

I will, as usual, cajole, kick, and bully myself into putting up a tree, buying second hand chintzy gifts for her, and plaster on the ‘holly jolly Christmas’ mask. And I am tired of it being a mask, I’d like to feel some joy.

But all I have to offer right now is being joyless.

If hearing about it depresses you, trying living it 24-7.

Bah humgbug.

My # Giving Tuesday Favorite Commercial

Posted in animal lovers, anxiety, depression, Giving Tuesday with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Despite my current predicament of not having a thing to offer on this Giving Tuesday…

I thought I would instead share my favorite commercial celebrating the meaning of this day. First time I saw it I was torn between tears and a heartwarmed mooshy smile.

It would be ultimate dream to one day be well off enough to donate freely to no kill animal shelters and make sure every animal found a Forever Home. Unfortunately due to location and financial constraints, I can’t even afford to go donate at the local shelters (one of which is the city pound and it is heart breaking!).

So today I give thanks for all that my daughter and I do have and I think of those less fortunate. Especially lonely pets in cages. No matter how nice the shelter and care they receive, they are still alone and that is sad. Even our furry friends should be able to be included in the holiday. This commercial says it all. Though I can’t afford groceries let alone buying a Suburu to get the ASPCA donation…I would if I could, all pets, fur, feathers, scales, gills. For all awaiting their forever home, know if my bank account was as big as my heart…you would all be home for good with the love and kindness you deserve.

So if you do give on this Tuesday…you may want to consider a good cause like animal shelters.

And if this commercial doesn’t warm the cockles of your heart even a tiny bit, you are dead inside.

My Give A Damn Is Busted…Again

Posted in anxiety, depression, S.A.D with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

You know that little fire in your belly that gets you up in the morning and guides you to do the basics and face the day no matter how trashy you feel mentally?

Yeah, my fire was doused with a gazillion gallons of water and is a mooshy pile of ashy liquid.

I got up with my kid. I went back to bed. This is becoming a pattern. Now when I have a bad bad night like Sunday where I woke at 3 a.m. and can’t get back to sleep…I didn’t feel so bad about napping because I was down 90 minutes then I went right into auto pilot and headed to town to get my kid’s ADHD pills.

Days like today where prying myself out of bed is exhausting and a losing battle…I just feel like a waste of oxygen and space. And no matter how hard I try to convince myself that obviously, my mind and body needed the extra rest…I still feel like a loser. And the kicker is, if ANYONE ELSE explained to me about how they never sleep through more than 2 hours without waking and it goes on 365 days a year…I’d offer them empathy and compassion and reassurance that running on a sleep deficit is unhealthy and no wonder you seek extra rest whenever you can get it.

For myself, all I have our harsh judgments, name calling, and self loathing. My family really trained me well with their ‘no coddling, only angry name calling’ coping mechanisms. I can’t even cut myself a break when I know I am not merely sleeping to escape reality, I am doing it because I am up so many times a night, I never feel rested. My body is playing catch up. Though you can never really get back lost sleep, you’re just running an overdraft balance for life.

So if we get all therap-y and stuff, what would a professional tell me to do to get myself out of this self loathing loop for my ultimate sin of daytime napping? Oh, yes, they would tell me to get up, bathe, put on clean cltohes, tackle the household chores, go for a walk, and,poof, it’s all better.

Which is why of the 7 or so therapists I’ve ever had, only ONE really got me and helped me. Because his philosphy was to just accept the way you feel even if it is low and self loathing and sad and frustrated. One small goal set and carried through-even if as minor as brushing your hair- will suffice as accomplishing something while allowing yourself to just feel what you are feeling.

He of course left this hamlet of flannel and farm machinery 20 years ago and now that everything has ceased to be mental health and become ‘behavioral health’, that gentler touch needed for me to perservere with therapy will be no more. NOw it’s all tough love and spacey EMRD and being basically a bully to motivate us for our bad behavior. (And to be fair, if this eye movement or tough love therapy stuff does it for you, great.) Behavioral health is bullshit and my epic dream of revenge would be to find the idiot who coined it and zap them with a stun gun over and over and tell them ‘it’s your behavior that’s bad, not the 50,000 volts zapping you.’ Because when you take imbalanced brain chemicals and call it behavioral, you’re basically telling everyone that our minds are fine, it’s just our poor behavior to blame. AND I AM NOT FUCKING OKAY WITH THAT.

I did not mean to go off course that way. But hey, this is what I live with in my brain 24-7 so what the hell, spread the discombobulated unfocused misery.

My effort at being an evolved parent and letting my kid have a sleepover with a boy failed. He apparently said something flthy to her and she came home bawling and reported it to the school and now it’s just become this big thing…I’m not convinced being open to this idea is wrong. I had lots of male friends and I had zero feelings for them as anything else and they were always carrying on about gross sex stuff and if I pointed out hey, I am a girl, they’d be, “No, Niki, you’re just one of us guys.” Had I been a girly girl that might have hurt my feelings but since I was the metal headbanging foul mouthed rebel with lots of causes…I tried to cast my daughter in my role at her age and it is a different ball game. My kid is very different than I was at that age. But I told her months ago this boy was bad news and she just kept saying it’s not his fault, he’s autistic, he has no other friends…Yet first time he acts like a 12 year old boy with a dirty mind, she couldn’t turn on him fast enough. I encouraged her to let it simmer in her mind a couple of days before writing him off totally, she is very reactive and impulsive. I also told her she had NO obligation to be friends with ANYONE who made her feel unsafe the way his words had done. Giving a mercurial 10 year old free will is nasty business. Because if I don’t give her trust and independence, I am babying her. But if I do give it to her and it goes bad, well, it’s all my fault for letting her do it. Parenting is enough to induce a brain bleed.

To the school’s credit, they did call me and made sure I knew what was going on and that Spook had made complaints because the bus driver made her sit next to that boy and they’ve arranged it so she does not have to anymore. It’s a shame, his parents seem so nice, even if they essentially buy his love and give him zero boundaries. I’d hate to have my kid’s worst behavior held against me. I am NOT defending the boy. I am, however, old enough to look back on how many friendship bridges I burned over some plausible stuff and some pretty silly stuff…I don’t wish my fate on my child.

I was trying to be humorous and it failed, but she was all indignant and said, “MOm, you don’t understand what it’s like to be have a boy talk dirty that way to you!” And I said, “Wait a minute, R is always talking filthy to me about how he is a Trump loving Republican, it doesn’t get dirtier than that…” I didn’t have the heart to tell her the last guy who asked me out was sending me dick pics an hour later. Let’s face it. Some boys never truly become men no matter what biology says. They are sex obsessed gross lil perverts who have no clue how to treat a woman with respect. Telling her it gets better as you get older is a lie. The challenge is to try to find the one lesser pervert in the sea of perverts. Not that I am jaded or anything.

She will be home shortly. Waiting to see what mental state she will be in.

Tomorrow I have to take her to her Christmas program. Once again essentially driving blind in the dark to the middle of nowhere. And my car has a new quirk which has me terrified. The gear shift used to move stiffly and slowly. Now it moves so fast you can’t even click to put it in the proper gear.(And of course the little orange thing that should move to indicate what gear you’re in does not work.) If this car fails, I am so beyond screwed.

Sadly, my give a damn is indeed busted so it’s all a future problem. Like how to feed my kid the next 3 weeks on $30. How to make sure she has a few cheap gifts under the tree. Oh, and how to pay the heat bill because my assisance grant still hasn’t gone through. And every other year it has gone through within 10 days, but now it’s going on 3 weeks so yeah, I am panicking. What I need is a generous Giving Tuesday benefactor. Or to find a winning lottery ticket in some random place.

Meh, I am so low I don’t even have enough give a damn to fantasize.

Is it January 2nd, yet? Because in this family, we can’t even have a happy new year because a family member committed suicide January 1rst, 3 years ago. It’s all money problems and sadness and the toll it takes on me leaves me with zero joy to even fake for my kid’s sake. And every year, I think of K killing himself less than 24 hours after being released from the psych ward who deemed him fit enough to be released. He was in a bad place and they totally failed him. Which always serves as a reminder to me that if I go down the rabbit hole, with crap insurance…I’d just get bounced out the same way and…what’s to say I wouldn’t want to end it too? Nothing makes me any more special than him.

Hell of a thing to think about during this supposedly joyous season.

Reality just doesn’t give a damn. My kid was yapping the other way about feeling a day had been cursed and she was in full drama llama mode and telling me I don’t know what it’s like to feel so cursed.

My grandother died on my second birthday. No one told me til I went to put flowers on her grave and saw my birthdate as her deathdate.

I’ve felt cursed my whole life. Like a bad reminder to my mom every year that her mom was dead on the day I celebrate being alive.

Which may be why I gave up celebrating birthdays many moons ago.

But I guess it’s just behavioral health and I am to blame for not behaving properly.

Cos throwing a parade with candy would be totally more appropriate than just, ya know, feeling sad about things that are sad.