Archive for bipolar

Poetry,sort of in motion

Posted in depression, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on April 12, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I have been up since 2 a.m. I woke and tried to get back to sleep but FAIL. So I bided time with a little housekeeping and lots of blank mindless staring at the tv. (There is nothing on worth watching tip 5 a.m. IF my antenna is pulling in that particular channel.) I tried watching Forensic Files on computer but alas,the cats chewed through my external speaker cord for the nth time. R has fixed them half a dozen times,told me there’s little left to solder so pitch em. This saddens me as they are the best sounding speakers I have ever had and for sixty bucks,they lasted over 7 years.

Anyway…I got my kid off to school and for the first time in weeks…I could sit outside at 7:45 a.m. without a coat,just my Murderdolls tshirt. It is sunny,warm,glorious. Forecast indicates it will stick for three days then back to the 20’s and. 30’s. Ick. We had snow Sunday and it was nineteen degrees. These extremes are hell on those with seasonal depression.

Having mentioned hell,I stopped by to get the dog’s leash as I was to fetch her after her spaying appt…and my dad announced he was riding with me cos the dog doesn’t know me too well.

Wtf? I talked to stepmonster last night and this was NOT mentioned. I was crestfallen. My dad’s overly critical and driving with him in the car makes me feel like a 16 year old noob even at 45. Not to mention his need to weigh in on any money I spend even when it’s for my ‘crazy pills’. (Yet my half brother is on mood stabilizers,anti depressants and anti anxiety drugs but he’s got ‘REAL’ problems,being special ed and all.) One more case of ignorant people thinking just because you average or above average intelligence means there is nothing wrong with you.

So all my errands (almost) where he could flog me for spending a quarter instead of getting trash service (that costs $85, not a damn quarter) were cancelled. I got a lecture cos Godsmack had 5 kittens and our lease says only one inside and I shouldn’t have let her get preggo and I should have her fixed($$$$???). Wtf am I supposed to do? I didn’t know she was knocked up,I kept her from males at the trailer park but since scumlord would never fix the hole in the vent system, a male got inside and did his thing. I didn’t even know she was expecting til we’d been here a month.

But that is the hell that is my dad. His parents critiqued him all his life and so goes the trickle down effect.

I was glad to just fetch the dog and get dad out of my car so the panic would die down and I could breathe. (Trust me,the immaturity,idiocy,and irony of a mouth heavy metal chick of 45 still getting flustered around mommy and daddy does not escape me.)

BUT to my dad’s credit,he didn’t put down my driving even once.

After I calmed down…I made another trip to town. Seems silly but I was out of my meds and the trip was inevitable anyway. That’s how shitty my dad makes me feel about my condition. I skipped the pharmacy just to avoid the ‘you’re able bodied,you’re just drawing disability cos you’re lazy’ speech.

So errands are done,and I am back in Armpit. I dread the homework hour when Spook gets home. She can’t focus or won’t,half asses shit, has fits if I correct her then verbally attacks me when her grade suffers cos she wouldn’t listen to me. I miss the teacher in town who never sent homework home and my kid was an A+ student. But since that school focused on core math and didn’t teach much cursive,my kid is struggling,bringing home F’s,and embarrassed that she’s been assigned extra help. Poor kid. And damn this new teacher for being so exacting. Apparently I was initialing Spook’s homework so messily,this teacher asked if my kid was forging my initials. Just to be a smartass yesterday I used a bright purple pen and signed my full legal name in cursive real big,complete with i’s dotted by smiley faces. Fuck ’em.

And now that shocker: I wrote a poem this morning and it’s not all brooding and dark. Enjoy.

—-

Days spent in darkness,cold,alone,hopeless.

The sunlight peeks out of the sky.

My mind opens as if a curtain has been parted.

Warmth brushes my skin.

My soul whispers, ‘I’m alive again.’

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Word Salad

Posted in anxiety disorders, Uncategorized with tags , , , on March 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Just curious…does anyone else have trouble interpreting things they hear due to some brain short circuit type ‘word salad’ snafu?

It happens to me a little too often for my comfort.

The docs have no problem admitting meds can cause tardive dyskinesia, but tell them years of taking the assortment of pills have turned your brain into a misfiring skull contained mess of cole slaw…

You may as well have sprouted foil covered horns on a second head. That’s how much credence they give my complaints,anyway.

I know I didn’t used to be this scrambled and it has nothing to do with age or lack of intelligence.

I will never be convinced that 20 plus years of the pharmacopia cocktails haven’t given me Jello salad brain.

It’s just a theory I have but fairly credible- doctors are reluctant to confirm any negative psych med side effect that hasn’t be substantiated by ten thousand patients and an FDA warning because…

Honestly,how many people would knowingly take these meds if told it could make you stupid and feeble ten,twenty years down the line?

I don’t think I would have even given the meds a second try had I known my impending status as a not so proud owner of a salad shooting brain.

I wasn’t afforded that luxury so now I have to listen to things 4,5,6 times,replay it in my head,say it aloud…and there are times it never does actually hit home and register as gobbledygook. I feel dumb as bellybutton lint on a daily basis due to salad brain.

Also a major self confidence crusher is the constant blank outs and tip-of-my-tongue words that vanish or never even appear.

Is this a big enough issue to swear off meds? If I knew the salad could be reassembled back to lettuce,tomatoes,radishes,dressing,and croutons,maybe.

Damage is done though and I know on the green moon when meds work well it’s worthwhile…so I’ll take the salad brain even though I’d rather eat squirrel than rabbit food…

Still..,your intelligence having to be sacrificed for sanity…

Is there anything mental health issues doesn’t take from us?

Mama Roach’s Last Resort

Posted in bipolar disorder, gofundme campaign with tags , , , , on August 27, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

So…In a hypo-manic state after burying my dead cats, washing dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, washing laundry, folding and putting away laundry (kid is at church, very productive time)…I revamped my fundraiser page.

You can click that pic and it will take you there. I cut back on the long winded ‘my story’ part. I tossed in some heavy metal flavored humor. I posted the pic from last night and then thought, oh, god, people will see that and say, ‘no wonder she has bugs.” Fact is, the ceilings were that discolored when we moved in 8 years ago and if the landlord considers fixing your heat a hindrance, your ceiling color isn’t getting fixed.

Still, you can see the bugs are just moving into new corners as soon as the efficacy of the spray wears off. I knew something was up when we moved in and I noticed all the corners had big pieces of scotch tape on them. I of course took it down…But the previous tenants had done that in an effort to seal off the bugs’ entrance. Which means the bug problem is this particular lot/court, not each individual.

Anyway…Click it, don’t click it, you may get a laugh even if you can’t donate or you can pass it on. Now my hypomania is fading fast because soon my kid will be home, and soon, the next battle will begin. This morning it was 20 minutes of her lamenting that I wouldn’t put mascara on her because she suddenly decided her lashes make her look ugly. I don’t know what’s coming next, with her, or with me. That I haven’t gone homicidal kinda makes me think I deserve a kick ass superhero name. Snarkasma is cool and all, but perhaps…When I am being really bad ass in spite of everything being shit…

CastIronWoman.

No? Meh.

Trintellix, Lamictal, Wellbutrin, Bad Juju

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , on July 10, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Just a brief post on yet again, medication side effects. And what I have learned since starting Trintellix is…Taken by itself I am fine. When, in an effort to evade my bad memory and avoid forgetting meds, I tossed in my Lamictal and Wellbutrin with it twice and became nauseous, sleepy, and my stomach began to hurt, badly. Now since mental health care and meds are as much artform as science, I suppose there’s no way of foreseeing that this would be a bad combination to take at the same time. If I wait fifteen or so minutes to add the other two, I am fine.

Aside from the horrid stomach aches from mixing with other meds, the Trintellix is neither harming nor helping. It’s been 3 days though, so fair enough. I just cannot believe the misery I am in now simply because I wanted to take all three meds at once to avoid forgotten and missed doses.

Trying to plan a life around all this medication complication is a bitch. I am all but retching over the toilet when not curled up in stomach pain and my kid is furious with me because my pain overshadowed the fake concert she was going to put on. Kinda like R when these med complications screw up HIS plans. It’s all about everyone else and how this inconveniences them.

Medicated or hormonal or sane or not..That should make anyone pissed off, to be surrounded by so many selfish assholes who don’t care what you’re going through except that it inconveniences them.

On the other hand…Putting ourselves through all these trial and error meds and the side effects and failures…It negates the naysayers who claim we are malingerers who don’t want to get better. Psych meds are like gargling Drano and hoping it doesn’t kill you. No one would do this unless they wanted to feel better desperately.

So that is all. If you have med side effects that the professionals say you can’t have because their iphone says it’s not listed in the side effect post from the pharma gods…We are all different, all have different combos of meds to take, and IT IS NOT IN OUR HEADS when this stuff makes us sick.

And P.S.- I really find it disconcerting when my doctor, nurse practitioner and even the pharmacist are consulting their smart phones to inform me about my medications. I miss back when people read books. Grumpy Morgue out.

Manifest Anxiety

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , on May 24, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I have run the emotional gamut over the last 4 days from too depressed to be awake to wanting to die to “I’m okay-ish” to today’s “I was fine then the anxiety started gnawing away at me and I had to go out near people and now I am either having a nervous breakdown or a psychotic break”.

Mixed state. Icky.

Sunday my will to live was nil. The bad thoughts were kicking my ass and I was starting to believe their lies, especially when my kid was hosting 6 different kids and shrieks were the ambient noise. That day I managed to wash dishes and fold six baskets of laundry, not out of will, but out of desperation to drown out the depression and its lies of how worthless I am.

Monday was survivable.

Yesterday…I hadn’t eaten in 36 hours, took my meds, and started throwing up. Then my stomach started to churn and not even milk and Pecid were taking it down. I got excessively sleepy and had to stumble through the day ticking off minutes til my kid was asleep so I could escape to dreamland, too.

Today didn’t start out bad. But then came time in the dish and traffic and oh, some dumbfucks parked in the middle of the road arguing about who was the shittier driver. That was pleasant because confrontation sits so well with me. That ratcheted up the anxiety to fever pitch.

Part of this week’s anxiety is being at the shop 4-6 while R is out of town. It’s not that there’s anything to do. Whatever was asked of me was done Monday and now it’s ghost town aside from talking to elderly people who wander in and seem to just want conversation. No, I think it’s the responsibility factor. Like someone trusting their child to you when you’re in the middle of having a seizure and a heart attack as well as being dosed with roofies. I have enough with my kid and cats and home…But ya know, I am forcing myself outside my comfort zone for a friend and also, giving the depression and anxiety the middle finger. Fuck you, I can and will do this, even if it lands me in the Rubber Ramada.

Price for this forced functionality and rebellion is immense. Because I sit home and wonder, did I lock the door, did I turn everything off, did I forget something…Crushing responsibility at the moment. But when not mixed, when not getting my ass kicked by a seasonal depression that’s lasted 8 months…it wouldn’t be a big deal. I am capable enough. At this time, though, I am also altered so much, putting on pants is a challenge.

Of course, I can’t tell anyone around me that. I have to pretend to be just fine because Niki is too smart to be depressed. As if intelligence has fuck all to do with depression or bipolar. I can’t tell my family how bad it is because then they will start thinking I am unfit to care for my child. Yet as I fall apart, my kid is still fed, clean, clothed, going to school, and has friends. No, I am the one I am unfit to take care of. I do the bare minimum for myself because that is what it takes to be a competent mother while in this hellish state of mental unhealth.

Not a word there? I just made it one.

So two more days after today and hopefully R will be back and I will be free of added responsibility. Because I am wearing down and breaking down and I don’t even get to tell my doctor about it, he’s so busy I get to see the nurse in spite of an 8 month depression that’s barely been alleviated due to the fact the midwest still thinks it’s late winter. FFS.

Writing this has given me a headache.

I am gonna tell the nurse I just want to go low dose Cymbalta. I’ve been on it two or three times and the high doses always make my anxiety go insane. I am thinking this time with the Wellbutrin (if they can be mixed, cos you can’t say it’s so just cos the internet said it is) maybe I can be skyrocketed out of the abyss. Cymbalta has done it for me before, one of the best meds ever used by me if you discount high doses causing mania and anxiety. I just hope it’s not a case of “I have to talk to the doctor and he’s gone for 6 eons so you can’t get a script til he returns from Planet Neomaxiezoomdweebie”.

And I best not hear “outpatient therapy”, either. I am beyond the point where talking and art therapy are useful. I am up and ambling about and my anger is keeping me alive…I just want some damned balance and maybe the will to live. Because the way things are going with the new president…the disabled are going to be disposable and I’d like to have my mental ducks in a row before that happens.

And by disposable, I mean, bye bye benefits, not that the Trumpire wants to suck our blood and kill us.

Hey, don’t look at me, college humor came up with that nickname for him. I just like it.

Words Escaping Jumbled Mind Prison…Pics instead

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , on February 10, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been waiting for the sun, moon, and stars to align and grant me the focus and words to post for days now. It’s not happening which pisses me off even more. So what are you gonna do with a corrupted brain file?

Work around it, of course.

So after a year of completely ignoring my gray laden black hair I finally got the “giddy up and go” to slap on some black base, make the gray go away.

Then I saw the box of Splat that’s been in the cabinet since January of last year and…I was too exhausted to contemplate the bleaching process.

Then one day I just did it. Of course, my plan to finish with actual color (other than bleached out orange) was thwarted when R showed up decrying his latest bickerage with the missus.

Yeah, I did go out in public like this.

pre-splatYeah, yeah orange is not my color.

Then I hit a day where I got the energy to use the Splat Crimson Obsession Color, AFTER hacking off my below chest length hair to just under my chin cos…8 years, same hair style, killing me with boredom.

0209171111-00(Hard to smile and take selfie with crap ass flip phone, sorry for the grrrrr look.)

Frankly, I LOVE the cut and marbling color of black and crimson. All anyone can say is OH GOD YOU CUT OFF YOUR HAIR. Look at it, tho, it’s all interesting and pretty now. I started dyeing my hair flat black the moment I got preggo with Spook cos the color is kinda hard to maintain but considering I cut my own hair, paid a buck for base black, color and got the Splat for under ten bucks…It wasn’t too costly and while sure, more work than a depressive mind wants to do…I like it. Fuck you if you don’t.

Then I got to thinking all nostalgic about how little I have kept over the years between manic and depressive binges, thus ensuring little pieces of memory and history are gone. EXCEPT this one keychain my friend got me when I was 16. How I managed to keep it so long amazes even me, but it always makes me smile. I EARNED that title, damnit.

0210171713-00(And that doughboy my sis just got me this past Christmas, I just kinda got a thing for his giggle, weird is my thing.)

Then today I came home to a box on my step, a belated birthday gift from a reader/friend and I found this AWESOME pill box, amongst other coolio stuff for my and my spawn.

0210171709-00OMG, S, meds of madness, I LURRVE you…Already stocked it with Xanax a plenty.

And I am gonna color in a page of the beauty of darkness adult coloring book and post it, cos…my bat is gonna be the darkest most boooti-ful creature of nightmares, ever.

So while a week of ups and downs and my brain just refusing to give me proper words to properly post…Maybe I summed it up with this pic post.

What I have taken away from this past week is that…1.) Wellbutrin is working and well, but it makes me sleepy as hell if I take it with other meds thus making me nap and feel guilty…2.) Trips down memory lane aren’t always awful even if your best friend considered you a  bitch goddess. (Coulda been like a bitch skullery maid or something.)

And 3.)  Whether in the flesh or on line, sometimes a well written note/card at just the time you need to be reminded you’re kicking as much ass as you can and need to stop beating yourself up…is the best gift one can receive.

 

Chatterbox

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , , on October 26, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

So…Several Tribe members popped into the new chat room and I AM ELATED. Even if you can only spare  a couple of minutes or just want to sit in silence…The room is there just for those reasons.

I soo enjoyed talking to those who popped in! Be it about meds, food, TV shows, or whatnot…Just setting up a nickname and popping in means so very much!!!

You may notice sometimes that my friend imptiness is in the room and she and I have a goofy sort of shorthand.

PLEASE DO NOT FEEL LEFT OUT OR LOST OR ‘TOO OLD”.

She is my oldest, closest internet friend, whom I met in a depression support chat room back in the early 2000’s. In spite of our age difference…when our “room mother” and founder of the chat room passed away…We got very, very close. Fifteen years or so now we have been besties. She even traveled across an ocean by plane to an unfamiliar country (in spite of anxiety/panic issues) to spend seven months living with me and Spook. We love her like she is family, if not even more, because she isn’t a cockweasel like my family can be.

If am I not there and she is…Trust that she knows what all this mental stuff is. It took her 19 years to get a proper diagnosis and meds (fuck you, socialized medicine). She KNOWS, I assure you. She’s a lot like me, introverted, a little shy and maybe awkward but if you need a shoulder and empathy…Bex (imptiness) is my spiritual counterpart even if she’s not been very active in our wordpress tribe.

I trusted this woman with my child. ( And she helped remove lice from my kid’s hair, which makes her a bloody hero in my book!) Fellow Greenday fans can bond with her, cos um…I’m still not big on them and she adores them so…Be my guest. She also has a weird fetish for toast, IDK.

Point being…No matter your location, time zone, mental state, etc…We are determined to be here whenever possible. In fact, if I am NOT available and you just need to text chat…Simply ask and I will give you my number. ( I changed to the 1000 free texts a month and would rather use them on you guys than texting chihuahua),

I tried to send out as many invitations as I could, but I don’t have everyone’s email addy so I am sure I missed some and I am sorry for that. You are not excluded, no one is, I just need to know where to send the invite. You can email your address (manicmurderdoll@gmail.com) or create a fake email for privacy’s sake, whatever. I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO FEEL EXCLUDED, EVER. If you enter the chat room and feel the mood is too light to discuss your probs…Private messaging is available. You can even put those who annoy/trigger you on “ignore”.

This room is for support, but also…To honor me and Bex’s original chat room “mother”. Kathy, even though on limited disability income, actually paid for TEN of us original members too poor to pay for a subscription,  to join the paid service. She just cared that much. And if I had the extra money, I’d be paying for the premium virtual room for chat but alas, I cannot.

The chat room’s name “Freshly Depressed” is inspired by a graphic I saw posted on our dearly departed and greatly missed “Blahpolar” AKA Ulla’s blog. To honor her memory. To remind us all that while the law and society may call it “suicide”… we all know it was the depression she couldn’t live with and had to escape. I truly miss her but I truly hope she is at peace now. She is certainly not forgotten by the tribe, as this chat room proves.

To clarify, when I termed it “beta”, that simply meant a test run to gauge its features and interest garnered. There is always a learning curve, always a glitch, but I was tired of waiting for expertise and just wanted to get the show on the road, so to speak.

The fact half a dozen people popped in, even with little time to spare, exhausted and not feeling ebullient…Means there’s interest and so the room shall remain up unless I have to shut down for awhile or whatever.  I will always be back. Please keep coming back or pop in to test the waters. Ask for an invite if need be. No one will force you to talk if you’re not feeling it. In the past, I have often found it comforting enough to simply sit aside in a chat room and read what others are saying. Helps to feel less alone.

In closing…Thanks to you who popped in. Keep visiting, please. For those who have not popped in…Please do when you get a chance. And if anyone did not receive an invite…PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF PEGACORN LET ME KNOW AND GIVE ME YOUR ADDY SO YOU CAN BE INCLUDED.

I really want this chat room to work out. It’s important to me because I cannot count the number of times over the years a chat room pretty much saved me from self destruction or going down the rabbit hole. If we can offer that to others…It is time well spent. No one should ever have to feel so alone in this battle with bipolar/depression/schizophrenia/borderline personality disorder/anxiety/panic attack/ unnatural love for balloons…Seriously. The humor may be a lot off kilter or gallows or inside jokes…

The support has no strings.

Freshly Depressed is for ALL of us doing battle.

Please feel free to repost this and let your followers choose whether they need this  support.

I love you all, tribepolar members. From the deepest, sincerest recesses of my heart…I love you guys. You’ve been there for me…

Now let’s be there for each other when time allows.