Archive for bipolar disorder

Wellbutrin: Treat One Disorder, Worsen Another

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on December 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve never ever been one to respond well to any of their anti depressnts that allegedly help with anxiety. In fact, stuff like Paxil that was supposed to specifically lessen the anxiety, made me more anxious and paranoid. Knowing this, however, I still asked the nurse doc if we could try Wellbutrin again. I’m desperate and it has been failure after failure on the usual and unusual med suspects. Seemed maybe an ‘old’ friend that lasted almost 2 years at least half effectively was better than blindly facing the unknown again. Besides, I had blamed most of my issues with Wellbutrin on Trintellix and when I stopped that, well, things did slightly improve. Wasn’t til I was off both that I went down the depressive rabbit hole AND situational anxiety kicked my ass.

The bottom line for me is…anti depressants heighten my anxiety and paranoia. Yet I am so tired of living in depressive hopelessness, I am willing to treat the anxiety with two different medications so I can take the Wellbutrin in hopes of seeing light of day. It’s only been a few days and the dose doubled as of yesterday but I hadn’t paid it too much mind. Until this morning.

My dad called to wake me at 8:30 (I fell asleep around 5 a.m. for the second time) to tell me my brother has strep, but I went back to sleep until my alarm poked me with a stick and I bitch slapped its off button. I went back to sleep again but was so uncomfortable, bladder wise, I forced myself to get up though it was a task and a half. I’m not joking when I say I prefer my dreams, even bad ones, to how I have been feeling lately while awake.

I am supposed to be at peace and rested and whirlwind cleaning and getting the tree up today.

Instead I’m so rattled I am enduring The Brady Bunch on tv because I feel like movement, positive or negative, is going to spark some international incident in my own brain. That ‘deer in the headlights’ feeling that has been my norm as far back as I can remember. I used to be able to ride it out and come out on the other side after awhile.

Now thanks to the anti depressant heightening my anxiety, the only way I can calm down and get out of paranoia zone is to take an antihistamine, and if that doesn’t help, then take half a Xanax. And if that doesn’t work…I sit rooted in my spot, feeling like the alarm bells are ringing and the red warning lights are blaring and blinking. I should bathe. But I have this odd feeling that the minute I commit is the moment they will return my child to me so I’ll end up having to get out of the tub to retrieve her and play nice and…

Same goes for housework. Second I start to focus on that, she will return home to regale me with tales of how they let her stay up til 1:30 a.m. and bought her this and that and let her eat 4 pounds of cookies and ice cream, then her exhaustion will set in and she will spew pea soup on me metaphorically in the form of mood swings and tantrums…

Much as I need these occasional breaks from my kid…I think the process makes me as stressed out as her behavior does, anyway. At least when she is with me we have a loose routine where I don’t let her survive on sugar, stay up too late, or demand ‘if you love me, you’ll take me shopping for X, Y, and Z.” This is what she learned from that faction and it will take me a day or two just to get her calmed down and rested up. Honestly, if she was a different kid, more like me and my sister were as kids, even, we could stay up late, get up early, and it didn’t phase us. Spook doesn’t get her 11 hours of sleep, she becomes a venomous pit viper every single time and I’m the one they return the snake to. So this stresses me out and I think I just want her returned and the status quo of our situation to be reinstated that it makes the medication induced anxiety feel worse than it is.

The script antihistamines helped take the edge off slightly but I predict Xanax being called into play soon. Maybe then I can get out of the headlights and accomplish something. Even if it’s just feeding myself. (Which btw has become such a task, I’ve been slicing up raw potatoes and salting the fuck out of them and eating those, with the skins on, just so my belly will stop growling.)

8 days and things will be better. Christmas day is usually just me and Spook so I can deal with that. And then it will be over for another year. I really resent my dad for his shittily timed walk out on our mom. He could have waited til after the fucking holidays so we wouldn’t equate happy events with when our family was blown to smithereens. But that would require self awareness and a man who knocks up his teenage gf while still married obviously has no awareness. It’s been 19 years, almost 20, and I still can’t adapt to our new normal as a divided family. But then again…even when I was part of that family I fought tooth and nail to move out when I was 17 to escape its dysfunction. Guess you just miss things that used to give you at least a good feeling for a few days. Now everyone is as divided as the political climate in the country right now so it fills me only with dread.

Aside from veering off course with my rant there…if your anti depressant makes your anxiety worse, talk to your prescriber and weigh the pros and cons. This isn’t an optimal state for me, but the dark thoughts were far more destructive than walking on eggshells with my nerves is right now.

And don’t be surprised if you are prescribed an anti depressant for anxiety but it doesn’t actually help at all. There are many of us who don’t fit the tidy little mold of how things should work. Doesn’t make the drug a bad one, nor does it make us bad people. Much as it is science, finding a psych med combo you can live with is also an artform. One it can take years to perfect. Never give up.

And ignore that little nagging thought at the back of your mind that your skeleton is trying to escape your skin, it is illusion. Oh, wait, does that just happen to me?


9 Days Til Cryptmas Stops Seeping Through My Walls

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

As usual when my kid goes for a sleepover,I came home, did fuck all, and fell asleep…because I am just drained constantly due to the interrupted sleep, the raising her alone thing, the money stuff, family drama, oh, and let us not forget TRYING TO GET MY TREATMENT RESISTANT DEPRESSION TREATED. I always end up guilt tripping because I am supposed to take my kid free time and turn into some manic cleaning whirlwind and it almost never happens. And it’s ok, I apparently needed to recharge.

I would have been cool sleeping through the night but I woke up at 1 a.m. and my sister and her friend were drunk texting me and saying the spawn just finally went to bed. She’s gonna channel satan tomorrow for sure, tho she will undoubtedly save the grumpiest part for me. What woke me up, honestly, was the insipid background noise of some Hallmark-ish holiday movie. Ion has been forcefeeding the garbage to me since Thanksgiving and while I am sure it is all very heartwarming…ENOUGH. Last weekend I was sick and was watching the holiday gruel simply because I was too sick to do battle with all 13 of our stations. This weekend…I fell asleep to Dateline, but woke to change to IOn when the news was on, nothing to knock you out like holiday shows and…really. Enough with the damn holiday fare. Spook and I’s agreed upon radio station in the car has played nothing but holiday songs since turkey day and it’s maddening. If this is their attempt to get me in the holiday spirit, all they’ve done is make me more irate and bitter and ready for this crap to be over with.

So I got rid of the helliday movie and am watching my usual 2 hours of Major Crimes. Amazing how I somehow am awake at this time everu Saturday, like my body is programmed to wake up in time for this show. It’s a good show, but I’ve seen every episode. Idk, the interrupted sleep thing has become the new norm, annoying as it is. At least the last week after our guardian angels helped make sure we get through the holiday season, I have been sleeping better now that I’m not sweating every morsel of cat food or fretting about Spook having nothing on Christmas morning. Now if I could just STAY asleep six solid hours a few times a week, I think I would feel so much better.

Plus side, the child isn’t home so even if I don’t get back to sleep til dawn, I will be able to sleep past 7 a.m. Oh, wait, probably not, my ass trash father will probably be calling me or doing a surprise drop by to yell at me for not answering the door in a timely fashion…He’s like a plague I can’t escape and living here has made it spread to all my extremities so I can’t find comfort in what used to comfort me. He won’t allow it. I mean, I served my half hour on the phone with him today, listening to him put me down and prattle on about their happenings, you’d think I’ve been punished enough. Since moving here…I walk on eggshells waiting for them to darken my phone line or doorstep because it is never going to result in me feeling better about myself, or even feeling the same. They have to go out of their way to insult me and point out my failings. I’ve been dealing with it 46 years now, you’d think I’d have thicker skin, but…not during the depressions. It’s like my spine hibernates and I’m this floppy spineless creature who allows others to dictate my self worth.

Which is not me. at all. Even removing my ‘validation whore’ label, I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about people liking me. But perfect strangers rarely walk up to recite a litany of my worst hits like my family does…

Has this made any sense?

Oh, whatever. I am feeling the stirrings of joy and relief, not for the holidays but because…in nine days it will all be over for another year and I can breathe. It’s just not what it should be. Immediate family, modest gift exchange, a meal. No, now it’s a bunch of my sister and her husband’s friends and their kids and then there are the meth heads who occasionally appear and, oh,egad, we’re coming up on a year since K hung himself in their basement so even going to their house comes with a certain sadness.

Just make it stop for another year.

I don’t even get excited for gifts because it’s rarely what I asked for and then I end up feeling like shit because I can’t reciprocate…I do this thing out of family obligation and for my child, not for myself.

Nine days. I feel giddy.

I’m the Grinch, I can live with that. Hmm, since we moved, I haven’t seen my green Grinch shirt I usually wear for the holidays…Or my Grinch earrings…

Guess I will just wear my middle finger earrings and my shirt that says ‘I bite.’

Now can I go back to sleep where I don’t have to think about any of this stuff? Holidays make the nightmare about being murdered seem pleasant.

Tis The Season To Hate And Berate…Myself

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 15, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I had a sleepless night because we had to be in town first thing today and when I have stuff looming overhead…well, I may have taken my meds at 7 p.m. but I was still awake at 9:30 because, anxiety. My spawn woke me before it was even light outside today. I adapted to this Mon-Fri 6:30 a.m. ish school daywalker thing, but when it’s not even 6 a.m. and I’m awake but not because I haven’t yet slept…Ugh. I told her to go back to bed but she didn’t. I had ninety minutes left before the alarm so I did go back to sleep…for 40 minutes, but she was so excited to go to town and about sleeping over at grandma’s, I was doomed no matter what on the ‘sleeping in’ front.

So we got our task over with and I dropped her at Grandma’s, so Grandma could tell her that I am a good mother and she should be grateful to me, only in the next breath to criticize me and say it’s my fault for ‘letting’ my kid behave rudely. HUH??????? I ground her, take away electronics, put her to bed early. The only things I don’t do is use food as punishment or spank her. The kid has a mind of her own, always has, and this ‘we don’t let her get away with that sort of thing’ is bullfuckingshit. But hey, they’re the ones who don’t mind going hungry as long as they spend money on ‘fun’ stuff and what 9 year old is going to mind for the fun people they only occasionally see yet be an ass to the party pooper fun stomping full time parent. Blarggg.

I can only take so much of my family, and especially my mother. She’s got early stage dementia so I try not to be too harsh but I also remember how she has critiqued me my whole life without any regard to my mental disorders so…I stay away from her and my dad, both, every therapist who ever met them told me and my sister they were toxic and to be avoided for our own mental well being.

I thought coming home to peace and quiet would be a nice change.

Then my dad called. And he got in on the berating, claiming no one in town will rent to me, which is asinine. We had 2 weeks to move, I didn’t exactly have time to interview landlords, not that a reference helps when you don’t have the bloody money. But he started in on me and went on for 20 minutes…and this is how self absorbed they all are, I’ve half tuned out and just occasionally mumbled, “Hmm, uh huh…” and they don’t even notice. The only time it is about me is when there are criticisms and insults to be made. Otherwise, my place is to shut up, take the abuse, and listen to whatever they have going on without mentioning my own situation because HELLO WE ALREADY COVERED THAT NIKI DOES NOT MATTER OUTSIDE BEING SPOOK’S MOTHER.

The only saving grace now I can pray for is that both factions are done berating me and making my hate myself for this day. I am serious, when I fall into these depressions and the anxiety reaches fever pitch as it has recently…I cease to be a woman about to turn 46 who isn’t reliant on any family faction for anything and suddenly, I am a helpless 13 year old again, with no choice but to put up with their insults and if I defend myself it will make things worse and tuning them out is only effective half the time but then I get to stew over their words in my own head for hours and days…These are people I’d probably wave at, maybe say hello to, but sure as hell would not CHOOSE to associate with because they’re ignorant and say stupid racist shit like ‘he’s nice for a black guy’ or ‘she’s nice for a lesbian’ and oh, yeah, dad’s faction flies the confederate flag and my sister is essentially a damn handmaid only her job is to serve mom and her own husband as opposed to having babies so hell to the fuck no am I down with that domestic goddess clean freak thing…

So if they are so different from me, and so toxic…why does it hurt so much when they put me down? Why, at my age, do I still give even a minute fuck? And therein lies the rub that not even 33 years of therapy has managed to explain aside from that whole genetic bond family love (gag with a spork, ugh!) thing.And the truly insulting thing is that I care more at 46, relying on neither parental faction for anything, than when I literally was a child at their mercy. But again, ONLY when the depression soaks in and turns me into this whiny weak fragile thing that I despise so thoroughly. Because this is a small facet of my personality. I didn’t survive being a metal chick in the country music redneck pit of hatred by being a shrink violent who allowed others to dictate her self worth. Is it possible that as I become more mature and evolved by society’s standards, it is actually a process of devolving for me?

How I wish all the times I escaped from this state I could have been stable enough to afford to stay away. Because if I only had to deal with my family a few days a year and had a chance to miss them, well, then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling like the sniveling little bitch I am now. Oh, I’m nearing 50 and my mommy still calls me a bitch, boo hoo…Actually, that’s a bad example because bitch is totally complimentary to me. Oh, but when she rags on my parenting skills…EEEEVIL woman. Like the joke about the southern bells who put you down just by saying, ‘bless your little heart’.

I need all this garbage out of my head. I need to remember who I am, who I have always been, I’ve been so focused on growing up ( not that a man walking out and leaving you with a small child to care for really gives you much choice) that I think I’ve inadvertently quashed some parts of ‘immature’ me that were in fact quite badass and mentally healthy. So while the parental poison circulates through my system today, I think I will also give myself the best gift possible:

Forgiveness for being such a screw up that my parents are so harsh on me. I forgive me. I’ve tried to do my best, I continue trying to do my best, and frankly, pleasing these people is never going to happen so…

Maybe one day I can get their toxixity out of my system and…learn to like myself a little more.

Because hey, I’ve made some good friends on line who see me as more than, well, whatever derogatory term my family is hurling at me today. Maybe they see something in me, through my writing, that my family never will because…they consider being forced to read a punishment.

2019 resolution: try to get back to being me, including the good parts who aren’t afraid to say, “Go to hell if you don’t like it.” That 13 year old girl I used to be had moxie.

She was also an idiot who frequently got crushes on gay men without a clue as to why that wasn’t really going to work out.

So I’ll keep the mature stuff but if being able to stand up for myself and say ‘fuck you’ means learning to like and accept myself as a flawed but semi decent person…

I think I’m on the right track.

Still wouldn’t turn down the option to relocate far, far away from here. Just sayin’.

Depression’s Hideous Truth

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on December 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I am accustomed to the seasonal affective depression that comes with fall and winter and the weather extremes the midwest os prone to. I will face off with the fact that not having a dime to buy my kid’s Christmas or feed my cats, was messing with my head and making me very black and bleak. I have tried with all my might to find joy in the small things, gratitude in the amazing kindness people have shown us, and I have tried to shut out the misery of too much sensory input from both my child and my family.

The bottom line is….

It’s. too. much.

I am in a depression, be it seasonal or clinical or financial or whatever other asinine label you want to slap on it. Of course, I am thankful we are in good health, we have a roof overhead, food in our bellies, and super kind generous friends whom we treasure very, very much. I’m sorry if the smile never quite reaches my eyes. It’s depression. Depression is an ungrateful, unhappy high strung bitch who can find fault with everything and everyone, especially in myself.

I had this wondermous dream last night where I went to court with a different legal rep and got a different judge, who looked at the evidence of absenteeism in the child’s life so the judge agreed he gave away the priviliege of being a father so no rights for visitation but total financial responsibility til she’s 18. It made me wonderfully gleefully happy and waking up was a bummer. And it is necessarily punitive or hateful towar the donor. It’s just that I have so little validation in my day to day life, THIS is the one area I know I haven’t messed up or failed at. I never walked away from our child, never checked out with a trip to the hospital or ditched her with family so I could go ‘find myself’ minus all the stress. I’ve been here since day one and no matter how many pieces I break into, every single piece remains with Spook, for better or worse. And I think getting ‘good ole boy’ country lawyer who goes out of his way to seek out the donor cos ‘I’d hate to see him charged with contempt of court’ and this pissy half narcoleptic judge (seriously, what judge says here, have visitation, even if you haven’t seen the kid in 7 years and they don’t know who you are, no trauma there!), I just feel invalidated, betrayed, ignored, stomped on. Having a dream where two different legal entitities validated the strength and hard work it’s taken for me to remain with my child in spite of my own own mental health issues…it was magical. How sad is that?

Though on the heels of the dream where I was trapped in a small town bar with my sister and her friends and no money even for a soda and no way to leave thus totally trapped and out of my element…I suppose the bar for ‘good dream’ wasn’t set too high.

I don’t know when I became such a whore for validation. Maybe when the ‘like’ button became the internet’s way of letting your know if you’re relevant and worthy. I used to give very few fucks. Then again, maybe being a mom suddenly made me think I should at least half ass care what others think as they are the powers that be who could deem me unfit.

I just want to go back to when I was a depressed mom whose every thought revolved around ‘is it bedtime yet’…and I didn’t feel like a monster for it. Because a few months later once the seasons shifted, I came out of it and bounced back to life, so I know it isn’t forever. I guess living in Armpit, above our current child support-less means, makes it seem hopeless and eternal.

This isn’t to diminish the kind things that have been for us, at all. Depression simply doesn’t care if you think it’s pretty or smart or interesting or grateful even. What it does is tell you repeatedly every hour you are awake is that you are unworthy of any kindness or generosity and that the only thing you have to forward to in the future, is death. At which point the world will throw a parade and I won’t even be there to blow up their floats with a sarcastic middle finger 😦

It’s 3:12 p.m. My kid’s been out of school for almost 3 hours and 90% of that time she has had company. There is a lull in the bickering at the moment but I walk on eggshells waiting for my respite to end. Waiting until she becomes so controlling toward her friend and disagreeable that I have to be the bad guy and say playtime’s over for the day.

That there is another thing people don’t consider when you’re the primary caregiver of the children. There’s no good or bad guy parent, you are both, and you get far more grief for being the bad guy than credit for being the good guy. Doesn’t always make you feel loved even when you know deep down you are doing the right thing.

So…4 hours mimimum til I can begin to think about bedtime. I am ready now. I got my kid off to school and home, she’s had playtime, she’s been fed, and my dad chewed me out over…something, I’ve just been tuning out…Now, I get to eventually go to sleep and hope at least 1 phase of my sleep is pleasant even if 99% is nightmares.

My favorite dream is the one where I’ve started writing again and am deeply engrossed in new characters and a new storyline and….life feels like it’s worth a damn.

They call it a dream for a reason, I guess.

Sinking Ship, Scurrying Rats

Posted in depression, mental health with tags , , , , , , on December 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Not that I celebrate anyone being bummed out, but a fellow blogger recently confirmed what I had thought all along: it doesn’t matter how many followers you have, if you stop writing juicy content for the mindless sheep to chew on, they scurry like rats on a sinking ship. I was willing to think perhaps it was just me, because I’m not known for juice content, just lots of foul language, depression, anxiety and occasionally I am funny. Acquired taste, so to speak. But it made me feel less crappy to know that IT ISN’T US BLOGGERS AS MUCH AS IT IS PEOPLE BEING ADHD SHALLOW READERS.

I write an angry yet inadvertently humorous post, I am told I am entertaining. I write about how financial constraints are turning me into a basketcase, snooooooze, whiny bitch, hand out queen. I ooze how much I love my kid and cats, ugh, too cutesy and mooshy and ‘attempting to manipulate with cute pictures and heart string tugs.” I write a disdainful-of-famous-people post and I am both offensive but entertaining. People say ‘keeping doing you’ but then I see who my hardcore followers are, the same 4 or 5 names who bother to click like several posts a week and while I don’t expect anyone to hang on my every word or even half ass follow my often rambling incoherent posts…The die hard readers have let themselves be known and the ones who may not be able to read all the time, have let me know, in email or otherwise, that they care.

It is THESE people I write for. Maybe it’s hit or miss, but it’s always for real. That being said…

I solved my bad my mom blues dilemma the other night by falling on my sword and asking if we could get a ride with dad and stepmonster. This lead to them harshly criticizing my child and me for our anxiety issues, our fashion choices, and my dad even saw fit to go on a tirade about the state of my back yard. Which honestly I haven’t seen since the season of leaves, rain, snow, ice, and mud began 2 months ago. The darkness and traffic reminded me why I was willing to fall on that sword, just sitting in it had me panicking. Then a gym full of hundreds…I took out my MP3 player and popped one ear bud in, hoping my badass metal music would make me feel less like a deer trapped in headlights and more, well, bad ass. I was also using my phone to take pictures, and record the program since mom and sis couldn’t be there…

Only to get home and find out I had no pics, no video, THANKS TO MY ASS TRASH FAILING MICRO SD CARD. I was both mad and sad because I’ve always gotten at least a pic (I only had a flip phone til last year) of my kid’s holiday program and yet I came home with nothing. “Media server failed.” “You can’t access this video.” “SD card is corrupted.” GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I braved the madness, the panic, the parental people, and didn’t even get a pic of my kid. Oh, well, at least I got to go to sleep that night with my mom dignity in tact as opposed to the self flogging I would have given myself had I said fuck it, let’s not go. (I don’t think she would have minded, a friend sent her a bunch of Magic Tracks and magnetic toys and such and she’d have been happy staying home to play with them.)

FYI, If you read this and I have referenced you as a friend yet not linked to your blog isn’t rudeness, it is because I just don’t know protocol for this sort of think. Some want to remain anon, some don’t mind a plug and picking up a new reader or whatever. JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT THE LINK. Happy to do it.

So… our wondermous friend who sent Spook the toys in the mail and has also been helping feed and litter our cats, has no idea how wonderful her gift is. She said she hoped my kid didn’t mind it being used but um, we live off yard sales and auctions, so we kind of like used stuff better. And my kid is so mega creative and I am so pun-ishingly punny…

I was feeling goofy (hey, a week without your meds when you’re bipolar kind of does that) and every time the little LED cars rearended each other, I’d yell MAYHEM and ask if she had Allstate insurance.
Without me ever suggesting it, she started playing with the magna-whatevers,magnetic toys…and she made A BLOODY TARDIS WITH THE DOCTOR INSIDE!!!!

I guess just having a Tardis poster on my bedroom door inspired her. Oddly, when I was a kid, I had a Freddy Kruger poster on my bedroom door and it only horrified my sister.

I am still fighting the depression, but every day closer to the holidays means…I am a day closer to being rid of this yearly misery! The saving graces have been the kind actions of people who donated or sent us things we had to have or both. You guys are the most awesome friends Spook and I could ever hope for. And those in our boat who can only offer up words of support, you can’t know how much that means to us, either. I think my big pressure right now is just all the family bullshit and infighting and backstabbing. Oh, and my sister, who lives in a house with 7 other people, all combining their income, so of course, her and mom get to spend exorbitant amounts on my kid and their own gifts to each other. (Oddly, I’m never included, but being an acquired taste, it’s ok, I did’t want what I actually asked for, anyway.HUH?)

I have been battling acid reflux lately, which only serves as a reminder of my age. 45 may be the new 25, but I can’t have food after 6 p.m. without agony, apparently. Though yesterday it started after I ate at 5 p.m. so maybe it’s holiday stress related, Idk, I am just not used to being in physical agony for hours and begging my child ‘hit me hard enough in the back that I burp, it hurts so bad!” Humbling and humiliating.

In a shocker, I stumbled across two pics of Spook when she was small that I thought were lost forever cos I tend to save to hard drives and then of course, it dies, the phone is outdated, and stuff gets lost. These pics were taken at the trailer when she was 4 and omg, I love my daughter so much, but I occasionally miss that innocent age. When she hated me on tantrum, not principle.

My beautiful picture

First day of Pre-K before she ever got glosses or had her hair chopped off (her choice on the hair, tho not til years after my dozens of lice battles, grrr.)

My beautiful picture

She gets out early today, like 4 hours early. Not sure what we are gonna do with the weekend. I HAVE 4 trips to town next week I have to make for appointments and such. At some point, I need to get her Christmas presents bought. Oh, and clean the house, put up the stupid gargantuan tree. Oh, fuck, bathing. I miss my fucking shower, this bath tub thing sucks. Especially since I had to knock the thermostat down 5 degrees in hopes of lowering the heat bill.

I need one of these things.

$299. LMFAO. As if. But hey, entering menopause, never able to be quite warm enough or cool enough…I wouldn’t say no if the company wanted to give me one to do a review on its efficacy. Unless it does that creepy GPS thing that relays what position I am in and what transportation I am using at that moment.

But then again,if given one for free…

I’d probably be so paranoid I’d put it on the cat and say, here’s your data, bitches. Wonder what the location for ‘popping in the litter box’ translates into.

Bad Mom Blues

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on December 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

My kid has her school Christmas program tonight. I’m a nervous wreck over it. It was bad enough when I went during the daytime with my dad driving for the Veteran’s Day thing. The lot was packed and we almost got run into twice, it was a harrowing experience. And I wasn’t even driving. I can’t fathom how horrid it will be with all six grades having a program thus all the families and cars and limited parking so other cars will be blocking in other cars like it was in November. Spook has changed her mind a dozen times. She wants to go, she doesn’t, she does. Now she says she does and my dad and stepmonster apparently want to attend but not in a useful fashion like taking us in their car. All because students have to be there at 5:40 and they don’t want to be invoncenienced for 20 minutes. And now she is in 4th grade, which means her grade probably won’t make an appearance til an hour end. She’s tall so she is always in the back row but I still can never get a decent picture of her. GRRRR.

What kind of monster mom puts her own anxieties ahead of her kid’s school activities? She’s only missed one event since she started school and that was a Pre-K program, and we were both ill. I don’t want to rob her of anything but man, traffic pile ups and panic attacks are not what I need right now. Not to mention my poor eyesight at night. It’s like tempting someone to back into my car or, god forbid, me hit someone’s car. Or a person. Or, oh dear, someone’s kid. I feel like such a horrid mom but I’ve barely been breathing or sleeping for 3 months prior to a guardian angel helping ensure we survive December…I am just worn out and not feeling all that fierce or brave. I am feeling neurotic, anxious, scatterbrained, and truth be told, two hours of Christmas songs shrieked out by children is as appealing as a root canal without Novacaine.

I should think others would have complaints about the dismal space alotted for parking but I guess it’s just me. And I am going to have to suck it up. Which isn’t as easy as you might think, because my anxiety comes with sweating, trembling, and pretzel gut resulting in needing to be near a bathroom. On top of all that, I’ll be contending with hundreds of people. (This school combines children from 4 different towns nearby, so it’s cloistering compared to her old school in town.) I need to stop thinking only of myself but I also gotta say, if I have a wreck for the first time as an adult and it results in even higher insurance costs…it just seems too damned risky.

Now mind you, I wish I were feeling my badass self but three months living on the edge, barely sleeping and worrying myself sick..I’m exhausted and i just wanted to enjoy the relief of knowing we have been blessed with so much kindness and generousity from our ‘angels’. Is it eeally that big of a deal? Missing a program when she admits she too gets nervous-sick and only knows the words to one song…

I despise my disorders. I am not real fond of myself right now. I am sure I will pull it off. Or not. I can’t rock the perfect mom thing right now, the kid and world may just have to suck it up and accept ‘good enough’. Ya know the stupid thing is, if I were physically ill and couldn’t make her program, people wouldn’t blink. They’d be supportive and empathetic. But mental health issues, forget it.

I blame this, in part, due to mental health being reclassified as ‘behavioral health’. Because we all love being manic and depressive and anxious and paranoid, it’s just a choice we make and our behavior can totally be fixed with talking it out.

I can barely write it without flipping off the computer screen. It makes me that mad.

I hate feeling like a bad mom. And I really hate that I find myself wishing my flubola had timed itself better for tonight instead of the weekend so I wouldn’t have to feel like a bad mom. Why is physical sickness forgiveable yet mental health issues are fodder for judgments and nastiness?

It’s the people who beheave that way who need assistance with their ‘behavioral health’. Because they are clearly choosing to behave like jerks and don’t even care.

At least I feel bad all around whether it’s my mental or physical health that negatively impacts my child.

Why, Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus

Posted in depression, guardian angels with tags , , , , , , , on December 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I spent the first part of my morning with a full ‘end of 2018 year rant wrap up’…only to discover that during this time, our campaign received a large donation and a kind note from a woman who felt that she’d been blessed with the ability to share and help me and my daughter have a happy Christmas. I’ve never met this woman. She is the mom of a friend I met here on wordpress (never met him in person, either) but they have been so generous and kind over the years…Words cannot say what I am feeling in my heart right now.

In spite of all our struggles, it seems Spook and I are truly blessed. Blessed to have caring ‘guardian angels’ and real Santas in our lives. Every contribution made, be it a share or a kind comment or even a like on a post- you guys are why I’ve kept blogging on wordpress. The wordpress mental health community ROCKS. And as I said before, Spook and I are a package deal so it isn’t just her blessed or me blessed. We have both been blessed and are so thankful and we will do whatever we can in whatever small ways (even if only to cook a small meal and share with a local man who likely won’t have food for Christmas.)

I feel so bad that my rants come off as misanthropic and ungrateful and hateful. I can make excuses or I can just say…I’m sorry. Fact is, nothing gets me moodier or more anxious than not being able to do the bare minimum for my child and cats and our maintaining a roof overhead. It has been weighing heavily on me for months and every time a week passes and the child support still isn’t being paid, I get even more stressed.

Thanks to so many people’s generosity and acts of kindness…I am actually able to breathe now for the first time in months. Not because we’re rolling in dough, but because we can survive another month and she will get to have Christmas morning and the cats will have food and I can even get her school pictures. A prior donation we received got me my new medication copays.

I was able to start my Wellbutrin today, and as usual, it really jacked up my anxiety but if it gets me out of the depressive rabbit hole, I will consider myself on the mend. I am just so grateful to the person who cared enough to donate so I could get my medication. You have no idea how much it means.

I couldn’t let it rest at the year of suckiness round up post.

Maybe Santa Claus is real.

Guardian angels sure are.

Bless everyone and theirs and know that we love you and appreciate you.