Archive for bipolar disorder

404:Will To Live Not Found

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on June 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m up and dressed, what more do you want?

I was a raging bitch beast to my kid this morning because she keeps doing the same stupid things I tell her not to, ya know, being a fucking kid, and instead of being irritated, I felt white hot anger. It wasn’t til a half hour later I realized the anger was not proportional, entirely, to the crime. I am hormonal. PMS on stereoids, courtesy of my body’s own fucked up hormonal rages. I apologized to her more than once, profusely, and tried to explain but she had already moved on by then. Mommy being upset took a back seat to babbling about friends and toys. Thankfully, I guess. Though I know my grudge holding spawn, it will eventually come back to bite me on the ass, no matter how effusive the apologies.

I was wakened briefly after six by an incoming text. Instant panic. But it was a good text, telling me we are now getting child support. The amount is greatly reduced but so are his hours and wages, something is better than nothing. At least he has been held accountable financially. About all she is ever going to get out of him, it seems. Maybe she’s better off. Someone who goes through a job, gf, and home every year or two is less stable than me. He likes nomadic life. Enjoyed being homeless. Definitely not the better parent here. I made sure she has a home even to my own detriment. My needs come in dead last. He wouldn’t know what it’s like putting someone else that far ahead of himself. Even his seemingly selflessness has an agenda. I lived it. He was all about love if he was in like with me, but if not…I was one of the window lickers. Class AF, the donor.

To my credit, I just thought he was a denial laden emotionally broken man child from the word go. I never wavered when we were together or apart. It’s either a gift or a curse, seeing people for what they are in spite of how I want them to be. That includes myself. Whereas others view me as this mouthy badass bitchbeast, I know deep down, that fierceness is only a rebellious streak. I’m pretty docile and avoid confrontation. Like going to my favorite store now that he is working there. I just…can’t. I went there three times and he was only working the one time, for all I know he quit or got fired again. He isn’t ever going to change, though the fact he can get fired over and over and still get management positions with bad references in such a small town, that attests to how good a liar and how gifted he is with the fake sincerity. Good for my kid, I guess, he’s supporting her half ass. Wish my responsibility ended at $55 a week.

No, actually, I don’t. The reward is in watching her grow up, evolve, become more mature, and living vicariously through her zest for life. That’s worth a lot more than money. But the responsibility is crushing at times, any parent who says otherwise is in deep deep denial. Being so responsible for another person’s existence when you can barely manage your own rudimentary existence…that is terrifying and it takes one hella strong person to do it.

I’m still not feeling this life thing. I ran a couple of errands and cleaned my laundry room/cat box area, but beyond that, I haven’t done much. I got one of agonizing stress stomach aches and had to lay flat for the better part of a half hour. Hate that shit, but thankfully it only happens once or twice a month, to that extent. You just learn to live with the gut goblins after awhile. It doesn’t add to the quality of life, that’s for sure. It’s just survival.

The biggest joy in my life these days are the days I don’t take Abilify and when we watch Rob Gavagan’s videos on youtube. He has strange stuff, crime stuff, plus some humor, he’s just funny as hell. He has the personality and charisma I wish I had but simply do not. I don’t agree with everything he says but he never says anything in a way I can’t push it aside and still like him. That’s rare. He makes me and Spook both laugh with his ‘why would you put that on the internet’ series. Making fun of social media fucktards is hysterical. These people either know how ridiculous they are or they are blissfully clueless. I simply cannot fathom anyone being that stupid or unaware, even someone with a detriment so severe they have to wear a helmet. And I would never make fun of the legitimately mentally disabled. But chicks showing pictures of what came out in their pee or people talking about how seeking attention on social media is idiotic, then asking for attention….

Those people make me feel pretty damn good about myself.

Which in the current depressive mental hellscape is no small feat.

If you do check him out, be warned. He swears a lot in some videos, like me, so avoid if that gets your panties in a bunch. We wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s fucking fragile feelings. Or would we…That’s the thing with Rob, even when he’s being offensive, you don’t exactly feel offended, just amused.

Yeah, 404 is about right today. But as long as I can find some Rob Gavagan videos, all is not lost. There is always someone out there more pathetic than my depressed ass and they don’t even have mental illness to explain it.


I’ve got nothing…again

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on June 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I keep ‘rebooting’ my brain, thinking tomorrow has got to be different, that I have GOT to snap into action and get some shit done.

Nope. I got nothing. Again.

Just feeding myself a TV dinner was an undetaking but I am glad I did it, I was starting to feel nauseated and headachey, which happens when I go too long without eating a proper meal. Least now I don’t have a grumbling belly and I don’t feel wonky-sickly.

I do feel crampy and achey, though, the wind up of my monthly PMDD. For those unfamiliar with this term, think PMS on stereoids and meth with an anger management issue that lasts 2 weeks a month, including physical pain.

Deep down I know I’d feel better if I got shit done.

Surface says, zero fucks given.

This is depression. My meds are so fucked up, courtesy of an inexperienced, inept nurse practitioner. I should have pitched a fit to simply go off the Abilify. I should have fought for myself.

The woman does not bring out the best in me. It’s my bad.

Trying to write with the mom mom mom monster on high speed is not working for me.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. Fighting these blah states is futile. I am just going to ride it out. Like I have the choice of opting out. That is reserved for those around me who aren’t strong enough to handle bits and pieces of what I live 24-7. I feel justified in being disdainful toward them, considering the crap they throw my way simply because they can’t bring themselves to accept that mental illness is a real disability.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, but it keeps me from smacking ’em with shovels.

Weathering Mood Swings, Thick Humidity, and Gut Goblins

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , on June 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Previously I have described my stress stomach aches as pretzel gut. I think now I am renaming them Gut Goblins because it sounds funnier. Not more dignified but definitely smirk worthy. And the goblins are dancing a jig today and I have no idea why. I got up in a decent mood. I slept decently if you discount waking up multiple times but at least I was able to fall back to sleep easily. Spook and I headed to town and she was excited as today is their field trip to the zoo in the state capitol. I just wanted to run errands and go home because the humidity is so thick, my hair is literally soaking wet, limp, and greasy. I just washed it and dyed it so it’s not dirty. It’s this nasty ass weather.

I think that may be the abrupt drop in mood, the fact it was sunny out then got dark and it’s calling for rain and thunderstorms. I wish to God my moods weren’t so closely tied to the weather. In the midwest, that’s as good as a death wish, cos the weather here is always changing. No medication is ever going to cure that or curb it. Only relocation would and that is….an expensive extensive undertaking. I can barely keep it together here, let alone uproot us even IF I had the money.

Yesterday sucked. Gut goblins were stomping to Uptown Funk thanks to a visit from my dad’s faction. ALLEGEDLY to help me with mowing the football sized lawn. I did 1/3 of it. Dad said I missed this, didn’t do this, didn’t do that right…So I plopped down and just kept my head low, my jaw tight, and let them do it their way all the time they’re screaming at me, screaming at my brother. I didn’t ask for their help, though I am grateful for it, because damn, this lawn is fucking enormous. I was just relieved when they finally left at 7:30. All day I’d felt stirrings of a writing urge and thought, well, once they’re gone and Spook is in bed…But NOPE. Their visit, and being up since 2 a.m., just tapped me the hell out. I went to bed around 9 and slept hard the first hour or two. I was beaten down and beat. Their screams were still echoing in my ears, telling me I’d never know what hard work was, they worked hard their whole lives…Um, yeah, dad, sure. Stepmonster? She does part time in home care and only has one client so about ten hours a week, then their mowing obsession. And she uses the rider so it’s not like she’s actually working too hard.

I just hate the way they berate people. They mow the yard for their single mom neighbor for free and don’t scream at her or her boyfriend of the month. Dad says it’s cos that little neighbor boy means so much to them, they don’t want the overgrown lawn to bring bugs to bite him. Oh, whatever. Go berate that shallow self loving bitch for awhile. They would NEVER speak to others the way they speak to me and my brother, though. Just to give an idea of how awful they are to us. One year my sister was at Walmart and stepmonster walked right up to her in front of everyone, literally kicked her in the ass, and started screaming at her…because my sister gave her friend their address to mail them a Christmas card. The friend had to been to their house multiple times so my sis didn’t see the big deal, their address is just a p.o. box, ffs. But my sister was physically assaulted and humiliated because these redneck motherfuckers can’t behave like civilized beings towards family. If I’d ever done that shit to anyone, my dad and my mom and stepmom would have been in line to scream at me for being rude and immature. Yet that cow does it and it’s ok, she just lost her temper.

Shades of the donor, shades of R, much? Hypocrisy at its finest. R could throw smart phones and smash them up because he was mad and that was fine, he lost his temper. I got mad and kicked something, I was being immature and volatile. The donor…egad, he’s so fucked up in his perceptions and the way the same rules differ between him and what he holds others to. He always preached about how no matter how tall he was, he always felt small like he was looking up at people. And in the next breath go on a tirade about people on food stamps or Hispanics who don’t speak English. Yep, sounds like him looking up at people. HYPOCRISY.

And my brother, oh, he’s on the shi list, too. He blows his entire paycheck on food from where he works and soda at the gas station, then doesn’t even chip in for gas when we give him rides, and he saw me buy a fruity alcohol drink the other day at the station and asked, “Do you really need that?” Um, I’, 46, it’s MY fucking money, and whether I need it or not, it was a treat to myself for doing half the lawn and not imploding when they started berating me. I am a big believer in rewarding yourself for hard work and good behavior. Whereas they only believe in berating others while gratifying their own needs for take out and junk food yet anyone else, they judge how you spend money right down to a 25 cent piece of licorice for my kid. God, we need to get far away from these toxic people. Their good intentions don’t act as an antivenon.

The cats are fighting and while it’s play fighting it is making me nervous. Nervouser. The gut goblins have moved on to reenacting the musical STOMP.

I try to put off my one of two daily doses of sane maker anxiety meds but sometimes…when you’re so jumpy it manifests as paranoia…Maybe it’s time to break down and take it already.

Might wash my hair simply because the humidity is so fucking gross. Amazing, I ran the gamut of ups and downs in 3 hours and now I am just edgy and agitated. Yep, psych nurse, I am all fucking cured.

Sorta sorry if all the swearing offends but I wrote several posts that were downright G rated. The anger needs to come out and if using some F bombs keeps me from punching others or harming myself…those who are offended can deal or bite me. I don’t get along so well with goody two shoes, anyway. The world does not end if you say ‘fuck’. God does not strike yoh down.

AND, if the deity of your choice ever stubbed their toe on a table leg, I am 99.9% sure they’ve used a swear word or two. That shit hurts, I don’t care who you are.

Calm…But Not

Posted in anxiety with tags , , , , on June 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Grr, stupid weather alert interrupted Press Your Luck, I lost valuable cheering time for the Whammy. Spook has been drawing pictures of the Whammy, I will post those sometimes. She is a really creative artist, but considering I can’t draw stick people well, I’m envious of anyone who can draw. I’d trade writing for the ability to do art or play music any bloody day since people don’t want to read anything that isn’t brief, technical, or vapid. Grr again.

So yeah, the weather alert isn’t even near our county so I feel less narcissistic and more justified in being annoyed by the interruption. It’s the midwest, it’s tornado season, we should all just live in a basement covered in mattresses for six months. OR get on with life. It’s like the things that should make me panic, don’t, yet I sweat the little stuff like crazy. Another grr and a GAH!

I can’t tell if it’s low level anxiety or the stupid akathesia from the Abilify that has me feeling confused as to whether I am calm or jittery.

I think one major trigger is my kid is packing around a posse of 4 other kids and they are loud. They’ve already gotten hurt and needed band aids and peroxide and it’s like, geesh, why do they always have to trip in the road on the way to my house…Cos injured kids is panic inducing even if I keep my cool and often seem a little too under-upset. I know there’s a better term but it escapes me at this time so…too under upset it is.

I don’t know why all the kids have my teeth chattering. I lived it for 6 years at the trailer, day in and day out. But the year long respite in which she only had one little friend to play with here, I’m out of practice, I guess. That and I spent more time in town out of my safe space than I am comfortable with. But they are loud and talk all at once and it confuses my little brain. Noise, the bane of my existence, even when it’s the music I love. One more thing the damn psych pros don’t want to address.

I’m still seething a bit over my lackluster 5 minute appointment with the nurse and no real resolution to my Abilify problem. I think what is going to have to happen is I am going to have to waste 2 hours of my time on hold contacting Medicare to see if they can direct me to some pre approved list, which will then only give me the hassle of finding one who takes primary and secondary. If I wans’t agitated and depressed to begin with…this shit will do it, but it isn’t exclusive to me. Insurance has given millions of people headaches from hell.

I’ve met my 1mg total of xanax for the day but since she didn’t do shit to ease the damn Abilify bugs I may allow myself a supplemental dose just to calm down. I am jumpy as a bunny and the thing is, I LOVE kids. I love their energy, their optimism, their creativity, their accepting natures (til they become tweens, anyway). It’s just the noise and chaos that do me in. If that didn’t apply to stuff I enjoy, I’d say I’m being a picky little snot. But the fact that the noise/chaos sensitivity extends to EVERY aspect, even what I love, kind of spells out that it is a DISORDER.

I am taking a respite tomorrow, I can’t drive in town again, and Spook is okay with missing a day of camp as long as I take her Friday for their trip to the zoo. Which I will. Because I am trying to be a more present and interactive mom, even if I have to cry out occasionally ‘code black, code black!” because her needs have exceeded my resources to handle them. We both liked that show so I explained the title to her and now we use it in our communication. I can’t say it always works with her, she is a very in-your-face child, but sometimes it buys me ten minutes of peace to recharge. Sometimes that’s all I need.

And sometimes, I want to climb into the closet under a blankie and cover my ears and say MOMMY QUIT.

But I don’t. I stopped doing the closet thing long before she was even born. It was just embarrassing, especially when people would notice my hidey hole and say, oh my god, do you seriously hang out in your closet?

Erm…I did, yes. It got that bad and it was my only safe space.

Now I am low on safe space but settling for safe-ish. Nothing is perefect.

Well, fuck, another weather interruption. Still not our county or even near us. I don’t know why the midwest bothers living anywhere but a basement during tornado season.

Another Blessed Hell Ride On The Hellscape In The Hellmouth

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on June 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The NP spent 5 minutes with me. I asked to lower the Abilify to five mg, she said, no ten. I asked to have my wellbutrin raised back up, she said no, let’s do one thing at a time, see you in 6 weeks. Last month her and the student nurse jacked up my Lamictal, lowered my Wellbutrin, and raised my Abilify so that was 3 changes at once.

What the actual fuck, lady?

The akathisia is driving me bonkers but I went ahead and took the Abilify today, the 15 mg, because I wanted them to see just how bad it was. I don’t think she cares. Not that I ever had any delusions about that anyway. Maybe next month when I get my audience with the benzo nazi director of nursing/docs, she will hear me out more adequately. Though if she’s a ‘toss the baby out with the bathwater’ type like she is with the benzos, she may be worse than the NP. At least she tries to be polite. Not exactly pleasant but that could just be her personality. And the RN’s and receptionists are wonderful so again, it’s baby and the bathwater. If I can hang on til they set up telepsych…But that’s been six months and no sign of it coming to fruition so…

I hate ‘interviewing’ for psych doctors. It’s such bullshit. You have openings, you take insurance, what is the fucking problem? They run a credit check even if every cent is covered by insurance? That call your former docs for references and decide your case is too difficult or you’re just a malingerer?

At least the support staff knows me well and is supportive. Though that should be the nurse’s job. I just wanted away from her. Polite but cold does not work for me in bedside manner. And her back was to me the whole time, again, while she clacked on the computer. Every other doctor will take notes or wait til the final five minutes to enter notes. Not these nurses, they clack the whole time you’re there because god knows in ten minutes they will forget what you’ve just told them. I am disgusted by the situation and yet, I am loyal to the center. They helped me when no one else did and I don’t think two bad apple NPs should rob me of that.

What can I say, I am stubborn.

I am going to work on a bath today, it’s been 4 days. I vaccuumed and put a load of laundry in. I am mostly just relieved I don’t have to see that nurse for 6 weeks. But I am NOT gonna make it on 10mg so maybe I will try the pill cutter and do 5mg, as a mythbuster. If it helps, then I will be calling them and telling them NOPE, I cannot do this.

And while the last couple of posts have been themed with the word ‘hell’…truth is, after the Taylor Swift bubblegummy song, I really needed to work some metal in and The Blessed Hellride is Black Label Society so…metal as fuck. But still….people do need to calm down and stop being homoohobes and bigots so…I’m gonna give Taylor Swift music a shot. Though “Me” is just too squeaky for me. I prefer “Delicate.”

I also prefer Wednesday 13’s “I want you dead.” I’m a ghoul scout.

Tomorrow is The Blessed Hellride Known as My Psych Nurse Appointment

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on June 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

If you’ve read any of today’s posts then you know I am struggling, big time. Depression, panic attacks, anxiety, insomnia. I thought I had a week of grace prior to my next appointment with the hellish psych nurse. They called today to remind me I see her at 10 tomorrow morning. So whatever hopes I had of tomorrow being better than today mental health wise are shot. I’d like to be positive and give the benefit of the doubt but how many times does the same thing have to happen before you ‘get it’, this is how it is, it ain’t getting any better.

I never did nap today. I took my Abilify today and immediately the squirming and twitching started up. No Abilify, none of that crap. But I doubt she will go for rempving it from the mix. Her agenda has been made clear. Get me stable on as few meds as possible and shuttle me off. Talking to her back has gotten old. But I hanging in there because next month I get my one and done audience with the directing psych doc and I really would like an opportunity to address my concerns with her since she is the NP’s overseer. I don’t hold out too much hope it would change anything, but I’d like the chance to try. Cockeyed optimism.

I am still stewing from free floating anxiety. I heard a lawnmower earlier and all I could feel was my gut clenching, praying it was NOT my dad’s crew coming to save the neighorhood from my ugly lawn with their OCD lawnmowing fetish. It made me so jittery I was afraid to get up and leave my room lest it be them and they spot me through a window then drag me out to get dragged under by their well meaning but toxic nehativity. Well intentioned people are the bane of my existence. You can’t really hate ’em for trying to be kind even if they fail miserably, but you can’t just be their welcome mat and let them poison you over and over. It’d be so much easier if they were just ill will toting jerks.

It’s 6 p.m. Couple more hours and I will mercifully be able to take cover of darkness and fort blankie and hopefully sleep the sleep of the dead for most of the night. If it works, then I am going to start pondering 22 hour days more often. Worth the suffering if it results in restorative rest.

I am ready to shut off my brain for awhile. It’s battered and bloodied and needs a break. Days ike today put it through the effing shredder.

Day,Night,Morning, Whatever, Too Tired To Care

Posted in anxiety, insomnia with tags , , , , on June 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I would like very much to solidify some sort ‘sleep pattern’, as in go to bed at a certain time every night, get up at the same time every day. But you know that is damn near impossible when insomnia has you so twisted that you take sleep whenever it comes, schedule be damned. Except now I feel damned because I zonked at 7:30 last night after Spook did, and I slept until 1 a.m.

I have been up since then and it’s now 5:35 a.m.

It’s still dark out but the birds are chirping. Day? Night? Dawn? Dusk? I don’t know anymore.

I do know that I am just plain exhausted.

I thought some of the financial stress alleviating would equal instant insomnia cure. I mean, that is what the shrinks and counselors all say. You can’t sleep because you’re stressing about money. Now I’m not stressing (as much) but sleep is still giving me the middle finger.

I have to get Spook up in two hours and drag my ass to town to drop her at daycamp. I need to get groceries. That was supposed to be on Monday but since she wasn’t feel well enough to go to camp, I didn’t go to town.Last night before impromptu crash, I thought I’d get a bath, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to tackle the supermarket after I dropped her off.

The thought of battling lines and people and budgets and getting everything we need so I don’t need to make extra trips…It’s stressing me out. And I don’t have the energy for it.

So much for my mental health issues being cured by a little influx of cash. That was an epic bucket of fail.

Like trying to type with a cat walking across the keyboard, grrr. Why do they and the spawn always want my attention ONLY when I am on the computer? I can sit here for hours not touching the computer, staring off into space, and nothing. Pick up the laptop, oh, now suddenly they need my individed attention and will stomp the keyboard to get it.

This irritability is artifact of the fucked up sleep cycle. Had I gotten five and a half straight hours during the actual night, I’d probably be ok. But waking at 1 a.m. and not being able to go back to sleep…I’m sludge for the day. Best I can hope for might be to come back home and sleep but then I get day sleep guilt. Long story, but let’s just say it ties back to my first husband working 12 hour graveyard shifts and his mother riding my ass because I got to sleep at night and he didn’t. He had that job before he met me, ffs. That woman did a number on my head even 25 years later.

Why do I let people get under my skin like that? Probably because I am too damn tired to swat them away like the insect-y pests they are. And I am tired of being tired. Tired of talking about it but it plays a huge role in what tone my posts take so it’s not without relevance.

Back to youtube and a documentary on witchcraft. I’m desperate enough to turn to witchcraft if it’d help my mental issues but sadly, it’d just make me look lock down crazy as opposed to desperate for sleep.

I hate days that are shit right out of the gate based only on not getting proper rest. Instead of witch craft, maybe I should just become a pothead. All the cool kids are doing it. My state is even try to pass recreational use right now.

Not sure I am willing to lose 50 IQ points just to get some sleep, though.

I wonder if CBD oil would help…Shit is expensive, though.

Grr, back to witch craft. Burning at the stake is much more pleasant than dealing with mental health issues at this hour.