Archive for depression

Stabby Z-Whacking Cabin Fever Pitch

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

I’m not rocking the post titles anymore, but oh well. The winter storm missed us but we got the 35 mph winds and single digit temps so we’re essentially on lock down again this weekend. Armpit even canceled church a second week in a row. I’m about overdosed on my kid’s antics. I felt so guilty for not letting her play with her little friend during the week that I pushed my own boundaries and let him come over for 5 hours yesterday. It was exhausting, all the noise, bickering, demands for food, rowdiness, not listening to me…I was so glad when he left. And he’s not a bad kid but he’s pretty whiny and fussy so he’s the equivalent of three trailer park bratlings. Those kids had barely present parents so they weren’t as needy and dependent. They were, however, far more demanding and backstabbing so I prefer Spook play with C than ever return to what amounted was a free daycare run out of my yard 8 months a year. I just don’t handle stress well.

And neither does she. She’s got cabin fever big time and since it’s like 7 degrees out, with a negative windchill factor, I can’t even send her to play out in the snow like last weekend. Her tablet is fucked up already and everything is boring, it’s like her mantra or something. The complaining gets to me because I am doing my best. The demands get me down because it’s always ‘buy me this when you get the money’. I just got hit with a three hundred dollar heat bill I can’t fucking pay and cover my rent, let alone the other bills. Still nothing with the lawyer and child support. The government shutdown has me ready to scream and slap both sides with a fish cos they are all being dicks and it’s hurting American people who can’t afford this shit.

I am really starting to feel stabby and Z-whacky towards the world at large.

Psych nurse being number one in my circle, and it’s no longer even about the xanax. It’s that she couldn’t even be bothered to return a call and maybe suggest an increase in my antihistamine to ride out the Prozac withdrawal. 3 weeks later, I am still getting a few brains xaps every day, ffs. And I know when I got talk to her, she will refute this, blame the Xanax lower dose, they do this shit to me over and over and over, all of them. But there a million of us who have experienced withdrawal from antidepressants with the brain zaps and still, the pros are in some sort of denial. It makes me feel weak and powerless, which makes me in turn feel like a cornered animal ready to strike out.

I can’t even muster up the anger fueled cleaning state because I did it on Friday and just two days of her being home and having company undid all I accomplished. It seems futile. And the weather is making situational depression so much worse, and the anxiety metastasizes whether triggered or not.

I already forgot the point of this post. To vent, I guess.

And also…DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO HUNT DOWN A CHRONIC DEADBEAT PARENT, DISCOVER WHERE THEY ARE WORKING, AND TURN THEM INTO THE STATE AND THE COURT? I am fed up having it all put on me while he skates scot free, there has got to be a way that I can find him and have him held accountable for his daughter. My dad says I am being naive but he was the idget who told me to pursue child support in the first place when I damn well knew the donor would just make our lives a living hell over it. He didn’t disappoint. If we could just get that support reinstated we would be able to make ends meet. No frivolity but I might actually stop having daily stomach aches and feeling so angry and betrayed and salty towards a system that doesn’t fucking keep its word to help kids get what is owed to them.

Once again, I am back to ‘is it bedtime yet’ mental space and my kid is sick of me being so tired that it means an early bedtime for her but I’m up every two hours and I am not getting any decent rest in spite of 18 mg of melatonin (spread out over the night.) I’m exhausted and beaten down and I want to rip off heads and put them on spears but…I am too damn tired to even follow through on my own anger. Which is probably good cos heads and spears usually means jail time and I don’t need that but…

It boggles my mind how little it would take, in the grand scheme of some people’s income, to get me and Spook ahead of this shit so we might have a chance to flourish. $2000. That’s it. But I can’t even get a payday loan, let alone that much, so I just worry incessantly about feeding her, the cats, how bad the house smells cos I can’t afford clean litter very often…I turned the heat down but now I feel cold all the time and it probably won’t bring the bill down six bucks but I have to cut corners wherever I can. It’s so frustrating to see people who are able to shell out hundreds of dollars for clothing or vacations or just happy fun ball stuff, yet we’re actually a worthy cause cos we didn’t do this to ourselves. This was done to us.

Yea, I know, my shitty choice in sperm donors, my responsibility.

Maybe I’ll just prioritize the psych nurse as being smacked with a fish and save the spear-heading for the donor. See what I did there?

My warped humor is all I have left but I am sure given enough time, the powers that be will try to rob me of that, as well.


That useless piece of shit man loving country lawyer my uncle foisted on me is going on the Z-whack list. He has done more to coddle the donor than help my child and for that…he deserves a spiked baseball bat to the head lesson on how to not be a sexist pig. If I were pulling the shit the donor has, my ass would have done been put in jail.

Gahhh. I need a punching bag or something, the anger and frustration are just overflowing here.


Anxiety Disorders Mean Living Life in Perpetual State of Trepidation

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

Wow, that title kind of sucks. Oh, well, it’s true. I could dumb it down, make it click bait-y but then I wouldn’t be me. I zig when told to zag. I was actually reading up on how to increase blog traffic and ya know what? Ermagod, so many rules and so much consistency required, too much bloody work. Besides, I’ve seen what the masses consider acceptable and cool and I don’t want to be in that club, anyway. I guess mostly I want to shine a line on mental health struggles and be recognized for my unique effed up style of incoherent writing. I’m not about popularity, just getting my story out there so others feel less alone and trapped. Having done the research, it seems having a successful blog is like having a job and I lack the most important quality-consistency. I can’t ‘schedule’ my feelings, for fuck’s suck. I can’t stay on topic, I can’t stop swearing, I can’t do any of that click bait-y popular blog stuff. I wish I could but ya know what? 7 years, over 1000 followers, and I only ever sent my link to one person. The rest came naturally over time when I interacted with others’ blogs. It helps weed out trolls to not go full social media with this stuff. WordPress is a safe haven, think I want it to stay that way. Languish in obscurity or flourish in pomposity…I choose to languish.

We,as previously mentioned, are facing another ass kicking winter storm this weekend so I need to get my ass into town and get groceries in the event we get snowed or iced in. Yet the prospect of this task has my gut in knots. I am becoming agoraphobic again, just like the last time they yanked me off my working Xanax protocol. (Anyone sick of hearing about this topic? Cos I am sick of writing anout it and yet I was awake at 2 a.m., in a full blown panic-rage state, thinking how screwed I am under this current regime. This impacts me negatively on multiple levels, difficult not to harp on it.) I was so rattled yesterday I told my kid she couldn’t play with the neighbor kid but damn it, they always have to play at my house and I have to listen to them bickering and screeching and my nerves aren’t handling it well. She asked what she did wrong and I said nothing, my anxiety was just running high, to which she said, “You always are!” That felt like a snap to the face, but she isn’t wrong. I have devolved so much in the last couple of weeks and it is impacting my mental state further because I feel so damned helpless. I have a lawyer, yet he won’t lift a finger to help me get child support or have the donor held accountable. I have a psych nurse who doesn’t have the authority to oversee my med doses without some dictator overlord quashing it for every patient. I am willing to work but I can’t convince anyone I am stable enough because I am not, I am clearly a train wreck. I feel so damned powerless and impotent and frustrated on every level.

It’s bad enough to live in perpetual fight or flight mode due to anxiety disorders. But when it is basically mandated that you live this way by your own psych care provider and they have no empathy for you…Trepidation is all I know. I live in dread and fear daily now. I also have excrutiating social anxiety so simply going out for groceries is an experience of great discomfort for me. Now it’s terrifying.

Well, fuck me, some dude raised over three grand on gofundme to attend a bachelor party for a guy he doesn’t even know yet people make me feel shitty for raising what amounts to $210 a month for four months and 80% of it went to the heat/power bill???? What the fuck is wrong with people? Seriously, a single mom trying to take care of her kid when every aspect of life is against her, and it’s not even important as a bachelor party trip?????? This world has gone bloody insane with its priorities. Difference is, this guy did the fundraiser with no qualms and posted himself smiling and packing his bags. I feel shitty every time I’ve had to reach out for help for the most basic of things. I am crushed under the guilt sometimes.

Oh, the tv is babbling about vaping again. My sister got one of those rigs and it looks like a pot pipe to me. Not attractive. I will stick to my discontinued Mark Ten e-cig. No nicotine but I get the gesture of smoking so it fools my just enough to survive til I can bum a real one from time to time. No, kids shouldn’t be vaping. But hey, guess what? My mom started smoking when she was 11, then quit in her fifties, so the cycle has been there all along. This is not new.And what the fuck are we telling kids when we legalize pot for recreation yet tell them water vapor and nicotine are evil? Shouldn’t it all be lumped together as a bad habit no one needs?

Ugh. I am very close to a melt down. Very close to burning what few bridges are left. I am tired of pretzel gut. I am tired of nervous waves constantly in my belly. Tired of feeling unsafe and scared inside, let alone when I have to go into the petri dish. I was even trying to raise money to get a better psych doc but hey, maybe I should just say it’s for my nephew’s wedding in May where my kid is going to be flower girl and I can’t afford to buy her a bloody dress for it.

I thought if I let myself be hobbled yesterday by depression and anxiety I would feel stronger today and be able to face down the task of going to town. BUt then I hadn’t anticipated being awake for three hours in the middle of the night, battling back panic and anxiety and anger and frustration over this psych nurse deal. Not getting proper sleep takes a toll. I am about to go off my secondary antidepressant and ask for Trazadone. It doesn’t do a thing for my depression but it makes me sleep. or it used to, I don’t know if it would these days. And I don’t like the hangovers. Guess I am stuck riding it out with Celexa but the thought of 6 glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep from a coma drug…sounds pretty tempting.

I am going to have to start my day with a Xanax if I am ever to get to town and do what needs to be done. I am sure once seasonal affective ends and the weather changes it won’t be this awful but for now, it is this awful and it sucks. Because I will still be stuck with a psych nurse who can’t actually control my medication amounts so I will just be on a hamster wheel going nowhere and exhausting myself getting there.

The Depressive Rabbit Hole

Posted in depression with tags , , , on January 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been on auto pilot for days, just trying to survive the snow and make ends meet barely. Now it is all hitting me and sending me down that black rabbit hole of depression where light cannot reach me. I rail against it, fight it off, but it is dragging me under like being sucked into quicksand. I am edgy, nervous, twitchy but too paranoid to move out of my spot lest the world implode, and even things that I find interesting seem lackluster. It’s odd how depression taints even the best things in life.

There’s this misconception that depression only impacts the things we don’t like doing. For me, it is all encompassing, right down to my ability to enjoy favorite shows like Supernatural. I’ve not watched an episode this season because I don’t want my depression coloring a show I love in negative light. I MUST protect what I love the most from being touched by depressive abyss and this includes music, as well. Music is what kept me alive my whole life so to lose the joy of it due to my mental disorders, it is a harsh, painful blow. You may as well put a pillow over my face and smother me because either way, I feel like I am dying. That’s not being overly dramatic, either. Unable to enjoy music, unable to create in my writing, unable to even score a piddly part time job waving at people curbside…And then I read the news and how the shutdown is impacting everyone and I get to live knowing my own father is cool with it now that he knows his tax refund won’t be delayed….It’s so disheartening to be surrounded by people who society views as upstanding yet know their mentality is pretty fucking scuzzy.

(Oh, for those offended by my swearing:A professor of Cognitive Science at UC San Diego named Benjamin Bergen recently published a book entitled “What the F: What Swearing Reveals About Our Language, Our Brains, and Ourselves.”
In it, this cock-sucker posits that cursing could be linked to higher intelligence.”It turns out that on average, the ones who swear the most also have the biggest vocabulary overall,” Bergen wrote.He also suggested that, “swearing might be cathartic and can relieve anger and aggression.”

I feel so unsettled today. Bad juju feelings abound. Maybe because I had a rough night of wake and sleep, and woke for two hours, tossing and turning with a headache and cold sweat, so by alarm time, all I really wanted was to stay in bed sleeping. I don’t get proper rest. My so called good nights are the ones where I wake ten times but can fall back to sleep within a half hour. The bad nights outnumber the good ones, though. Now that I’ve been hobbled in my medication doses, waking up so many times every night and having to ride out the pounding heart, sweating, racing thoughts, over and over, is excrutiating. It may sound insane but I take LESS Xanax when I am prescribed the 1mg three times daily. I no longer have that safety net and the 0.5’s barely take the edge off so the stress of knowing I ‘can’t’ take an extra half a pill or I’ll be ‘overdosing’ weighs heavily on me.

I am trying to ‘shake off’ the depressive darkness but it’s not working. It’s apparently gonna be one of those days, where I set a tiny goal, meet it, and give myself permission to flail about in the abyss. Today’s “Behavioral Health” craze would frown upon this coping mechanism, but I learned it from a therapist in the 90’s and it has served me well over the years. If it ain’t broke, I ain’t fixing it. And what the hell is with changing terminology on mental health, anyway? Psychiatric Disorders. Depression. Personality Disorder. Mood disorder. Now it’s behavioral disorder. Because we absolutely choose to go manic and burn every bridge around us and we adore going down the rabbit hole where our only company are the dark thoughts telling us how futile it all is…TOTALLY A CHOICE IN BEHAVIOR. What the fuck?

I’m ready for bed. I feel so unsafe during the day. Not like physically endangered, but there’s just so much activity and noise even in this tiny town, only at night can I find calm and peace. Much as my depression responds favorably to setting the clocks forward, it also means my anxiety will be in hyperdrive since daylight is a big trigger. We barely get ten hours a day now. Soon we’ll be getting 12, 14,17 hours of sunlight daily…And the thought terrifies me. I act so high strung as it is, even if my mood goes up, I’m going to be too jumpy to enjoy it. Fuck a fancy fucking bag.

See? I’m fucking bloody brilliant, damn it! Not really but the writer dude was onto something with swearing to relieve stress and aggression. I might offend with my foul language (yet Americans love President Trump’s ‘street talk’, huh???) but you’d be way more offended if I went around slapping people with a dead fish like I’d prefer to do. Swearing is a therapeutic,lesser evil for me. Now that’s behavioral health, swearing because it makes you feel better. Again, ain’t broke, don’t fix.

Panxiety Ninjas

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on January 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Paranoid anxiety (panxiety) has swooped in like a band of ninjas, wielding nunchuks, swords, and sick martial arts moves that make Van Damme look lamer than he already does. I have no idea what happens to my brain when this ninja panxiety attacks, the only real trigger is that my dad’s on my last nerve with all his putdowns and his hypocrisy and racism. He used a very rude term to describe Martin Luther King day and no amount of me telling him it offends me makes him stop it. I just can’t handle too much of the man, he is so negative toward everything but himself, his woman, and their 23 year old man child. Not that my mom is any better, she glares and growls at the mention of him, like me and my sister chose him to be our father. She was the nitwit who married him and made kids with him. She got to divorce the ass, we’re stuck with him for life. And he’s a stress inducing person.

Otherwise, things are status quo. I get to keep the water on another month (mom and sis helped me come up with the other half I needed) and my cats got a bag of food, that was my birthday gift (from dad’s crew). He’s on his ‘geezer’ kick,mocking my age, which baffles me because I don’t mentally feel like a woman about to turn 46. If anything, I’d say I’m stuck around age 30 and some of the music I listen to is pretty freaking harsh and new school metal, so age isn’t mellowing me out at all. I just roll with it because yes, I do remember being a young person and making fun of my ‘old’ parents and thinking life pretty much ended at 30. What can I say, karma bit me on the ass again.

We’re facing a one two punch of weather storms, first freezing rain, then up to 5 more inches of snow. I should be in town stocking up on food and such. I can’t seem to locate my motivation. And the panxiety ninjas are making me feel very panicked and unsafe, so this is definitely not a good time to put myself in the middle of traffic and idiocy. (IT’S A CAR, NOT A PHONE BOOTH, YOU ASS CLOWN!) We won’t starve or anything if I don’t make it to town, we just won’t have a vast option for food. My kid is salty that I forgot her ramen noodles. With the shutdown and food stamps in danger and her deadbeat sperm donor not paying support, ramen may well be all we can afford for months to come. I can’t stand the stuff but I have so much macaroni, I could probably live off it two months given milk and butter to make the sauce. What I worry most about is not being able to buy her grapes and apples and stuff. She is so picky especially when it comes to healthier foods and I have this fear that she’s going to end up with scurvy or something. Personally, I know one can live weeks and months without so much as a nibble of veggies or fruits, but I’m not willing to test out that adult ability on a growing 9 year old.

She got her report card for the second quarter. All A’s and B’s. I am so proud of her. She had such a tough time transferring in so late last year and getting a real stickler for a teacher, one without patience or the willingness to give extra help to a kid in need. She doesn’t like the teacher this year, either, and it’s all boring and she hates it, but now that I know her grades are good, I feel less shitty about the forced move to Armpit. Maybe I ruined her social life because here all her friends are boys and she misses girls to play dollhouse and dress up but she’ll soon move onto tween stuff. Already she’s taken an interest in make up. I did it for her today so she wouldn’t end up looking like Pennywise. Sometimes, the school makes the girls wash their faces and that pisses me off. It’s my fucking child, I made sure the make up was soft and not garish, should be a parent’s choice, not the damn school’s. That would be my biggest problem with conservatives and small rural areas. They want to force their views down your throat and if you don’t like it, tough. To that I say…bite me. Unless she does her own make up and does indeed go to school looking like Pennywise, then it’s okay to make her scrub her face. Clowns are terrifying!

Okay, so writing helped with panxiety ninjas a little but my gut is still twisted into pretzel knots. The only good thing that came from the 20 inches of snow last weekend was that we were all pretty much snowed in and my anxiety level was fairly low. Now that people are out and about again, the noise is sparking that sense of being overwhelmed by sensory input. Just the ice dripping on the air conditioner sets my skin to itching. The cats aren’t helping, jumping and chasing and knocking stuff down. This was a fine time for Dr. Sadistic to hand down a practice wide ban on high dose benzos. NOT. I have every intention of getting put on a list for the next new doctor they bring in, this nurse doc thing isn’t working if they don’t even have the power to control their own patient’s medication amounts. I keep looking for contact information on who heads the center so I can lodge a complaint about this doctor’s abrupt edict. They put me through hell between cold turkey Prozac withdrawal and halving my Xanax without tapering. If this is their standard of care, they suck.

Oh, cripes, my dad’s on the phone, wonder what about me he is putting down today. (eye roll)

Snowed Under

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, mental health blog with tags , , , , , on January 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am supposed to use relevant click baity words in my title to garner more views but dear god, I can’t think of a thousandth way to use anxiety or depression in a title so…I’ll go with what our life has been like since last Friday. Ahh, the midwest during winter. We got 20 inches of snow, yay! And the people who could afford to get plowed out packed their snow against my car up to the door handle. My dad kept calling and laughing, saying, “You’re not going to get that car out til March without a plow.” I said bring me a shovel. It took me 3 days of basically chiseling a tunnel with a spoon but I dug my damn car out of that packed icy wet snow blob.

That was where my car was prior to my shoveling it out. My dad called to offer me a ride since mail delivery was suspended due to the snow and they were holding ours at the office. I gleefully told him no need, I got myself out. He said, “You seriously dug that car out by yourself? It must be gonna storm if you did that much hard work!” Then he proceeded to lecture me about not tearing the transmission out of my car, as if I used it as a battering ram to get out when in fact, I carefully shoveled the snow away from all four tires, from the bumpers, and made a clear path to drive out. He’s such a dickbag. (Not to mention a hypocrite, last week when he heard the shutdown might impact him getting his tax refund, he was trashing republicans and democrats alike. Now he finds out they should be on time, he’s all for Trump, ‘at least he stands his ground and doesn’t back down for anyone’. OMfg, how ignorant can people be? But it’s typical, if it doesn’t impact you personally in a negative fashion, then you can get behind any cause no matter how idiotic or amoral.)

So I left the house for the first time in 4 days, feeling very proud of myself and very accomplished. Shoveling snow isn’t easy work. Especially when it’s damp packed snow with clumps of ice the size of boulders. But over the course of three days I whittled it down and I proved my dad wrong. It’s easy for him and my mom’s faction to brag about how they got out of their drives scooping them theirselves. Dad has gf and 23 year lummox son, sis has her husband, their male houseguest, herself, and a motley assortment of hangers on. I have only me. I will give Spook credit, though. Mostly she played in the snow but she did use her Minecraft sword to push some of the snow off my windshields and roof. I think my dad expects superhuman things of me and he’s always holding his crew up as an example but my kid isn’t a 23 year old ox and I don’t have a spouse/sig other, so if it takes me awhile to get things done…So be it. That’s my biggest disability.

I’m not afraid of hard work, in the least. But when my anxiety turns into paranoid panic (panxiety) and my mood bottoms out because I feel so hopelessly depressed and others make me feel shitty about myself, then I do have some physical issues that throw a wrench into the works…Working at my own pace is the only way I know how to do things. I never could keep up, outside manic episodes, at any job, because I simply don’t think quick on my feet, I am not good under pressure, and I don’t move as quickly as others. It’s not laziness. It’s limitation from my disorders. I accept this, even though adorable kids from Shriners are rejecting their conditions as a disability. Hmm, let me know how that works out when you’re not an adorable kid and go to get a job but can’t do it due to your condition. Is it a disability then?

I’m still feeling a little salty about my dad’s smartass comment. I mowed the lawn most of the summer all by myself whereas it took three of them to do it and they griped how massive an undertaking it was. Yet to avoid putting up with them, I got over my traumatic experience with a gas lawn mower and I worked my ass off to keep them out of my safe space. Not that it kept them quiet, he was always quick to point out a missed blade of grass, or a spot I missed. Nothing I do is ever good enough for that man. Thankfully, I am learning to tune him out. As I recall even when I worked prior to my brain damage, I got an assistant manager position, he asked when I was going to make manager. When I worked 53 hours one week, he told me I needed to slow down before I burned out, but then my hours got cut and he told me to get a second job…Nothing is ever going to please this person. My daughter is starting to see it, too, now that she is 9, losing her cuteness and controllability factor. They don’t like people with their own minds if it impacts them personally.

I’m battling some dark days, depression wise. Over the weekend, locked up with my kid, unable to even walk to the car in the knee deep snow…I’ve been having dark thoughts and the hopelessness is tangible. The exhaustion is real, too. I sleep. In two hour increments. Then I am awake for an hour or two or three and get maybe an hour of sleep before alarm. The lower Xanax dose has me climbing out of my skin with all the noise from constant trains and snow plows and tractors. My dad described Armpit as a ‘quiet’ place to live. He failed English three times so apparently he doesn’t know the true definition of quiet. It sure as hell isn’t this place where it’s tractors year round, plows during the winter, lawn mowers every day of summer, and trains coming through every half hour round the clock. The trailer park, now that was my quiet. Maybe others saw chaos there but it didn’t touch me so I felt calmer and safer there. Which might explain why I keep having dreams of being back there even though the trailer’s long since been hauled off and trashed and the new company is commanding $799 a month for similar trailers in that same place.

I’ve also been dreaming a lot about shopping sprees at yard sales and thrift stores. Maybe because I can’t afford that frivolity and also, they don’t have yard sales in 20 inches of snow. Yet that frivolity makes me sooo happy and so often we find things we need. Like we could use a decent used microwave since the timer on our 1980’s rotary style one is broken. Yard sales for me are like Black Friday for most people. And buying used doesn’t bother me in the least, still went to yard sales even back in the day of my first marriage when we had a decent income and could buy better stuff. I just don’t value brands and price tags. I do value great deals and finding odds and ends like my voodoo man knive block…Retails for $65. I bought mine at a yard sale for $8. That was 3,4 years ago. I’m just a low rent person and that isn’t a bad thing.

I am waiting to hear back on whether this person my sister knows is going to buy my tablet off of me for $30 so I can keep the water turned on. I hate letting go of a like new big tablet with keyboard for so little but I don’t have much choice. It’s nerve racking, waiting to hear if it’s yay or nay. I thought my dad might offer up a few bucks for my birthday but he has made it clear they won’t be even giving me a card, just probably more pork products. Shame municipal utilities won’t accept pork as payment.

We’re gearing up for freezin rain tomorrow, followed by a possible of 2-5 more inches of snow over the weekend. My kid gets out early Friday and is off Monday so if I can’t farm her out to others for outings, she will be Hulk Smash bored and I will be looking at my 1 mg Xanax with longing, knowing…It has to be a dire emergency, thanks to the center’s new ass trashy policy. I go back the end of the month, I am going to ask if they’ve got any other doctors. I’m not having luck with psych nurses (shame, cos so many of my wordpress friends really love their psych nurses) and the doctor overseeing them is the anti benzo freak…I want a real doctor who will treat me like an individual, not spend the whole time clacking on the computer, and feign empathy from time to time. These psych nurses are so prickly, they make it clear if you want a good bedside manner, you have to go to therapy. It shouldn’t be like that.

Ok, so as my luck has it, after all my hours of tunneling out…I moved my car to the other side of the street where the neighbor had a plowed spot…and then the village dispatched a tractor plow to clear a path alongside my house so the mailman can access the boxes.

I worked my ass off scooping by hand and the paths I had made in the yard for the kids..the plows dropped snow on in six feet heaps.Bloody hell.

I hope I hear soon if they want to buy that tablet. I gotta get the bill paid by Friday and if I have to drive into town for the meet and swap, it best be today before the freezing rain starts tonight and I am once again snowed under, so to speak. Still not sure how to get money for a bag of cat food, but one thing at a time. I don’t have enough Xanax dose leeway to multitask my panic.

How Employers Fail The Mentally Ill

Posted in mental health, Mental Health Disability with tags , , , , , on January 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

For those who think it is easy to obtain disability pay for mental health issues, you are very wrong. It is a grueling process that takes years for many of us fighting to get it. During these years, we keep trying to work at positions that trigger our illnesses and worsen our conditions. We burn bridges with out failures, we lose friendships, relationships, rack up bad references and a reputation for being ‘flaky’. No sooner than we hit a solid patch, we can backslide in a few weeks’ time. This DOES make us seem like less worthy candidates for many jobs.

But unlike laws that protect the physically disabled from discrimination and employers are required to accommodate their disabilities, the mentally ill are protected only in theory. In practice, we are often shunned because of our checkered pasts. Instead of an employer seeing a slew of jobs as you continuing to try to support yourself, they just see someone who can’t keep a job. If you fall into depressions and stop bathing (as I have currently) and your only true joy is sleep…You are perceived as weak and lazy. I am anything but. I have been fighting to raise a small child on my own for 7 years while her father gets away with spotty child support that often leaves us in the lurch. I am bounced around my psych practice to providers varying in competence, few of whom are really invested in my mental health. I am constantly facing unexpected expenses and I try to play to my strengths and seek what I perceive as ‘possibly doable’ jobs. Babysitter, dogwalker, light housekeeping, secret shopper, virtual assistant, proof reader. I WANT TO WORK.

At the same time, I can’t deny my limitations and pretend everything is okay. It is not. I can’t even get a good reference from friends and family because they think I am unreliable and they’re not entirely wrong. But since much of my disability stems from trying to interact with my mental illness in situations that I can’t even manage for basic functioning or enjoyment, I am almost doomed from go to fail. People trigger me. Crowds trigger me. My anxiety makes me twitchy and paranoid and sometimes, my brain convinces me that if I don’t cuss and scream, my brain will claw its way out of my skull. I cease rational thought in these situations and it happens over and over. I’ve put in 30 years of counseling. I have tried every med known to man. I bully myself, I pep talk myself. My disability simply isn’t going to go away nor will I ‘snap out of it.’

I accept this. Others do not.

How wasy it is for them to think me lazy or weak. How common to not be given an opportunity to prove yourself because your past is so unstable and you can’t look someone in the eye and say much has changed. You want to work, to earn your keep, but you’ve grown wise enough to know what simply pushes your boundaries and leads to breakdowns. So where does that leave me?

Working from home by computer, ideally. But most of those jobs are scams or require some sort of degree and familiarity with software I can’t even afford, so again…I pawn off what I can, I have fundraisers, I offer to cook a meal or do someone’s dishes. I am TRYING everything I know to makes ends meet. I can’t even get a call back from a place where all I’d have to do is wear a ridiculous costume, stand in the cold, and wave at people. I don’t think I’d be very good at it because I have a perpetual ‘fuck off and die’ look on my face when ‘out there’, it is all terrifying and frightening so the porcupine quills come out whether I want them to or not. But to not even get a call for an interview, Geesh. I know I brought it on myself, but hey, if I had been granted disability sooner, I wouldn’t have burned every employment bridge in this small area.

You have to be given an opportunity to earn your keep. Until that happens…you’re really at the mercy of fate. And no one cares if your intentions and motivations are pure. I would likely flourish working from home in some capacity but those jobs just aren’t plentiful or realistic, I am told. So I keep trying to live in the ‘stable world’ even though I am far from stable and get nowhere in those pursuits. At this point, I’d do creepy fetish porn if I thought someone was paying for it.

So before you dismiss the mentally disabled, before you deem us lazy or weak or unwilling to work…View us as you’d be required, by law, and morality, and decency, to view someone with a physical disability. Someone with a cane is obviously not going to be able to wait tables and move quickly and carry trays of heavy food but they might make a good greeter or sorter or even dishwasher. You just have to be willing to find a position that their disability and limitations don’t exclude.

For me, anything outside my safe space is at the moment beyond my capabilities and still, I am making the effort to try and get one of those jobs. Yet if someone would give me the opportunity to do some sort of work from my safe space, at my own pace…I’d probably excel and flourish instead of languish or crash and burn.

I just need a chance.

Employers need to stop, intentionally or unintentionally, counting out the mentally ill when in fact, we’re capable of quite a bit if you play to our strengths instead of expecting us to suddenly overcome lifelong limitations.

Finding a way to support yourself that does not drive you to a breakdown shouldn’t be a luxury or lottery winning. It should be common sense. And there should be far more employers out there offering this type of work for the mentally disabled.

You want to preach about teaching men to fish as opposed to just giving them a fish, but you don’t want to give lessons. That is illogical to a degree even I can discern.

What Do You Do When Your Mind Is A Senseless Word Jumble?

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on January 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Really, what do you do? Because I am about to scream and yank out clumps of my hair. I thought getting buried under a foot of snow would calm my mind from the anxiety so I could spring into action around the house. Instead, I just feel exhausted and sad and hopeless. Earlier, I even went *there* to the dark side I never want to visit because I could never do that my child just because life is tough for me right now. But the thoughts come, no matter how hard you ward them off.

My old therapist said on days like this where I can’t make sense of my racing thoughts and blackened mood, I should set a couple of small goals, reach them, then just allow myself to feel depressed. (These days, they consider this self pity and wallowing but it really is a wonderfully effective coping mechanism.) Today I let my kid go play in the snow then cleaned up after her. I put on clean clothes. I refilled ice cube trays. Beyond that…I’m just faking it. I made a video of Spook and Me snuggling because I want her to know that sad or stressed or whatnot, I adore her and she is very very loved. It just may not expressed in the manner she likes. She wants a mom who will have snowball fights and I’m willing in theory but once the cold air hits me, my nose starts running, my ears start hurting, and the cold settles in my bones. I’m a wimp, I’ll own it, but no reasonable person can blame me for being hesitant to start up an hours long sinus and ear ache.

I keep thinking, maybe tomorrow I will feel differently, maybe my give a damn will reappear, maybe maybe maybe….I want to get the place cleaned up, I want to get organized, I want to get back to my fiction writing….But what I want and what is within my capability right now are very different things. Sheer will alone cannot overcome mental illness. I’m about as stubborn and defiant as it gets when it comes to letting my disabilities get the better of me so if I am feeling this mental space…This isn’t some borderline personality mood swing, it’s not some bipolar up or down. I am paralyzed by this depression and the fact I can’t get proper sleep and my nurse doc can’t even return my call and offer a temporary raise in my antihistamine to ward off the brain zaps from coming off Prozac and high dose Xanax so quickly…Man, I thought this one was going to be different, be better, but I was very wrong. It adds to my sadness and sense of hopelessness.

I think another part of me has just accepted the fact that by the 19th, our water is going to be turned off because I only have half the money and was counting on my usual birthday cash to pay in full. Instead, I got pork. Bacon, sausage, pork chops. I’m not knocking food but man, when you’re counting on your usual cash and don’t get it…Well, why bother with housework if we’re not gonna have water? And the landlord won’t let us stay here without water service cos that puts the house’s pipes at risk of freezing and bursting so we’re just…screwed.

I posted a new fundraiser ten days ago. Not a single donation, but it’s had 66 views. If each of those people had just donated a dollar, I could pay my water bill and buy cat food and at least live to fight a few more weeks. During which I could get a call about a job (I even put in for a secret shopper position) or the donor could be located and forced to start paying again. I am pretty depressed that my family, for the last 7 years, has always given $75 cash for my birthday amongst everyone and the year I NEED it the most…they changed the plan on me thus epending my plans. Had I seen this coming I could have juggled things differently. Anyway, for what it’s worth and yes, I know, I have a lot of nerve asking and I am a wretched person, blah blah blah…save my sanity please by donating to help keep Spook and me afloat another month.

I’ve been trying to post videos to youtube on mental health issues, funny rants, cat clips, I’ve been trying to do more written posts, I am all but standing on a street corner looking for ways to earn money. But much like my family, people seem to completely ignore the fact that YOU CAN’T WORK IF NO ONE WILL HIRE YOU. I didn’t ask to be disabled, I didn’t ask to end up brain damaged to the extent it put me on disability because I can no longer do the things I am trained to do and am not stable…

Mental illness is the illness that just keeps taking and taking, no matter how hard you fight it, or how much progress you make. You can’t live down your past, you can’t wave a wand and make yourself high functioning instantly, and the world just makes you feel like a whiny, lazy loser unworthy of the smallest amount of compassion and empathy.

At least I have my sense of humor. And am keenly self aware that I am a train wreck.