Archive for disability

Survival Of The Scared Shitless

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I had a couple of ‘decent’ days. Spook and I had a decent prepaid meal at the park the other day.
She managed to eat two cheesesticks before declaring that she was bored and it all sucked. I enjoyed it, but then, I’m used to boredome and everything sucking, I truly do appreciate the gift of a pizza Mr. M bestowed upon us. Made me feel kinda….ugh, hopeful, like perhaps I’m not a complete waste of space.

I had two days of being functional. I swept, mopped, did laundry, cleaned cat boxes…which is difficult for me as every part of me feels coated in dried concrete 24-7. I treasure the days I am in the mind frame-and body-to get shit done. I wish I felt that way more often. Some people are all too happy to give advice on what works for them and makes them a high functioning superhero but…sadly, it’s never worked that way for me.

Today seemed not so bad but then SPLAT. I learned that my sister got slapped with an old bill from our old address and it damaged her credit rating. I was paying on the bill (I thought) albeit slowly, only to learn…I was using the wrong account number and paying on a bill that belonged, well to The One Who Shall Not Be Named. I fucked up, big time, and I am humiliated and now on the family shit list and further in the hole. I will fix it, I made the mistake (however unintentional) because my sister was helping us by putting that bill in her name when we found ourselves abandoned and fucked on that front…My last wish was to do something to screw her over but…here we are. And of course, she will tell the entire family, so I will be persona non grata and maybe that’s what I deserve for being a screw up. I could make a dozen excuses and explanations and they’d all be valid, honest, and for real. It doesn’t change anything though. Until I fix it, I am gonna be on the ‘evil bitch’ shitlist with the entire family. And even then, I’ll remain there as her credit as impacted.

The level of embarrassment and shame are enormous. Worse, my kid is staying at their house tonight so who knows what venom they’re spewing to her about me. I’ll have to pick her up and face their wrath and since I am mid-curse, hormonal, and have to also face the donor in court Monday…It will be a miracle if I don’t end up on lockdown in hard restraints. I am just to that point where I have tried so damned hard and I still can’t get it right or be cool, calm, and collected…and I am not whining, I own my screw up, but my precarious mental state kind of goes without saying. In my family, “sorry” and “I will fix it” count for nothing. Everyone is out to tear everyone down. And it is infuriating because my sister has been married to “Beavis” for 20 years, he doesn’t work, doesn’t even mow the damned lawn, and she thinks the sun shines out of his ass.

He idolizes Hitler and Charles Manson, and in a way, that’s how I view him. He’s so charismatic, to a certain faction of gamers and wanna be bikers, he has people willing to pay for weekend white water rafting trips and they loan him $10,000 Harleys to drive but he can’t be bothered to help around the house, EVER, and while he can always wheel and deal for money to take care of their cats or get weed and Marlboros, he’s never given a damn if his kid had no milk for cereal or the whole house was starving. I have nursed my dislike and resentment for 20 years, trying to respect my sister and her ‘he’s my true love, no one else gets me him like I do” but…Honestly, what kind of dickbag has his son come home all proud that he made the honor roll and says, “So what, anyone can make the honor roll these days.” And pretty much EVERYONE in the family hates him, but his mom owns the house my sis and mom and nephew live in, so of course, all lips kiss the ass of the queen. Who enables Beavis to do nothing and yet my sister is constantly having to clean our dad;s house to earn money for food….

So yeah, I fucked up and I will fix it, and I feel positively like shit, but what about that fucking lump? No one holds him accountable, ever, and she preaches his awesomeness and he has a dozen friends who all but worship him but then, that’s his base, the fellow people who when fired from a job sign their final paycheck “fuck you”. So I wouldn’t want to really be accepted in that crowd because, well, douchebaggery isn’t cool even if it is prevalent. So’s Katy Perry and Lady Gaga on the radio, doesn’t make it right or mean I have to endure it.

I’m sure it all sounds too stupid to be true and I just sound bitter cos I fucked up and now I have to own it, but I was feeling this way long before today. Beavis dared to say something about how I don’t take good care of my cats since we had to rehome some of them due to the move and my brain about popped out of my skull. Those cats went to live on like ten acres of farm land where they are fed and watered twice a day and have tons of room to roam and catch mice. I didn’t rehome them out of choice but at least I had the decency to make sure they went to a good place where they’d be cared for. The man has homed several strays I found over the years and they’re all healthy and plump. So to have that p.o.s who doesn’t do a damned thing but play video games all night and piss into empty soda bottles kind of sent over the edge. I’m not making him a caricature like some Mike Judge cartoon, he really is just that….awful. And I hate feeling that way because I love my sister and I don’t want it to come between us, we’ve always been pretty close and on cool footing. But I can’t help but feel the way I do and I’ve felt that way for 20 years. My turning point was when they were doing meth and he actually took her dentures, put them in the toilet and pissed on them. Maybe she can forgive that shit, but man, I’d probably be in prison if he’d done that to me cos I’d have bashed his head against the toilet.


I’ve never given my blog link to anyone I know in person because years ago, I made that mistake and my sister read some of my thoughts on our fucked up family and she was very hurt and didn’t speak to me for awhile. I don’t want that but bottling it up is poisoning me. Besides…her and mom were pretty smug about knowing from the get that the donor was a fake who would walk out on me and Spook. They have their judgments, same as me. Difference is, I admitted they were right when they were proven right. I’ve been proven right a hundred times about Beavis but I end up being the villain. So much for self awareness and objectivity. I don’t need to be loved that much that I would put up with that shit. If a guy wants to be a house husband and stay home to do housework and child care while the woman works to make money, cool. But a guy who makes the woman work and take care of the kid and take care of the house while he plays video games and rides motorcycles with his wanna be MC…Just writing it makes me need to vomit.

Anyway…Before this all happened…I was having mega anxiety attacks because I realized…OMFG, Spook’s 9th birthday is August 7th. Plus she needs some school clothes plus school supplies…and I can’t do it all and keep the bills paid and now I have this new thing on me….So survival of the fittest and the scared shitless. YEP, another fundraiser. But this one….Just check it out, it’s short and sweet and based on Spook’s own words. I get bogged down with her defiance and anger but the other day when her little friend was here and acting up, she tried to calm him and said, “Listen to my mom. She’s a good mom.”

It’s those little moments you live for, but if I want to keep the power on, it’s not going to get her a Minecraft cake. This one matters a lot, guys, it’s for a little girl who never asked for any of this. She just wants to have a happy birthday and go to school wearing clothes without stains and holes. With all the mindless political fundraisers going on out there..surely a 9 year old girl is worth a $5 donation. Not for me. For Spook.

Pretty please with pegacorn vomit and unicorn farts on top?


When Your Self Esteem Goes Ten Rounds With Tyson

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so obviously, I don’t know Mike Tyson nor do I know much about the boxing world. From all accounts though, Tyson’s a hell of a boxer who punishes his opponents in the ring.

R has become my version of Tyson, only instead of fists in a boxing ring and a somewhat fair fight…He barrages me with his political certainties, dismissal of my ever having a salient opinion, and also, he uses on line videos to highlight his personal views of women in general, and especially, women who don’t work or use the court system to go after men for alimony or child support.

Last night I was treated to a ten plus minute youtube diatribe from some chick he finds smashing in her opinionated posts. This one, of course, was “I don’t need a man” and hell no, I am not providing a link to it because I’m not lifting a finger to give her more viewers. She wants to be all girl power and shit, but essentially she is saying the world is still run by men and they are hunting and gathering and chest thumping to protect us female snowflakes who are too weak and lazy to do it ourselves.

Given, when I am menstrual and in physical pain, not to mention the pummeling I got from my child calling me dumb and stupid for three straight hours (because of the ‘no’ word, of course), maybe this inane video just hit me harder than it normally would.

Or maybe as a woman on disability, who does get state aid, who did go to ask the court to butt in and get child support from the donor…Maybe this chick’s words felt not like slaps across the face, but having a box cutter swung aross my self esteem repeatedly. Thankfully I was a little numbed with Mangorita (the only thing positive R brings to the table anymore) so I didn’t go what he calls “feminaze”. I calmly allowed “She makes some salient points, but on the child support issue…I don’t care if it’s a mom or dad who walked out and won’t support their kid, the custodial parent should have every right to go to court and use legal means to pursue the deadbeat for support for the child.”

Which he made about himself, too, because he had full custody of his three kids and a 5 year battle in court with their mother and she didn’t start paying child support until after the final hearing. But he didn’t go whining to the state, he just made do because apparently, youtube chick is right, men are the hunter gatherers and we, the females, are simply the cooks and cleaners and occasional orifice for their baser needs.

It’s amazing I didn’t punch him. Really, it is. He sits there so proud of this youtube chick spouting off, shredding so called feminists, and essentially, shredding ME, and he denies the parallels. Because I was doing ok without child support for 5 years until he and my dad bullied me into using the state and the courts to pursue child support. So here I am being lambasted for doing what HE pummeled me to do for years.

I also tried to bow out gracefully from his shop deal. He’s taking in too many items, spending too little time working on it because the other place is working him over and sending him out of state again next week, and I am the one left to explain to people why it’s taking 4 months to get a damned repair done. The stress and anxiety this puts on me is immense, but trying to talk to him about it is pointless. He doesn’t hear, won’t hear. He says everyone’s stuff will get fixed, but he fails to grasp when it takes months for an item to be repaired and we can’t even blame the slow delivery from China when the parts have already been sitting here for weeks now…Everyone tells me to cut him slack, he’s exhausted, so I appealed to him on that angle. He got snappish and said he’s not exhausted, he just needs time and it will all get done.

Denial is bordering on delusional.

So I am telling him about my limitations and pointing out it wouldn’t do any harm to let the shop be closed a week or so, let him get caught up, let me catch my breath…And nope, he still wouldn’t give an inch.

So between the forced second hand video pummeling of the chick I shall now refer to as youtube Satan, and his utter dismissal of my cries for mercy…I went to bed feeling pretty damned beaten down, ignored, and hurt.

I wasn’t real stunned when this morning, I woke up in so much pain from cramps and backache, I got my kid off to the bus stop and went back to sleep. Fuck it. He won’t listen to me, all I can do is try to take breathers here and there to avoid the crash and burn. I wandered into the shop around 9:45 and I don’t feel the least bit crappy for it. When someone gives a cry for help and says they need a break…and you ignore them…you’re lucky to get anything out of them, considering that cruel treatment.

He can call me a snowflake all he wants. He can thump his chest about what a great worker he his doing two jobs and how he single handledly raised 3 kids by himself. He also had an ex who saw the kids one evening a week and every other weekend so he did occasionally get breaks. I don’t. He always had some sort of inheritance or savings to fall back on with his kids. I do not. He drinks himself into a stupor nightly for 30 years, so even if he depression or anger he wouldn’t feel it. All I’ve got are an endless string of meds that work, half work, or don’t work. I’m not a fucking snowflake.

And a call just came in for a guaranteed $250 from a warranty repair and because he is so busy, they’re going to take it elsewhere.

He’s right, I’m wrong. Period.

And let’s not forget this one dumbass who has called 45 times in two days. I’ve talked to him four times, R talked to him 3 times, and no matter what you tell him, he keeps calling back and he doesn’t hear you and repeats himself. If I hated ringing phones before, now I view them as ticking bombs out to cause my central nervous system to implode.

Maybe I should just send my kid to my mom’s for the weekend and have the psych nurse doc lady sign me into the mental ward for a couple of days.

Fuck, it’s sad when you have to think in such extremes all to avoid ruining a friendship. Seems to me were R truly my friend, he’d have some concern for my feelings. But then, me asking for a man to be concerned about my feelings makes me a snowflake.

There are days I wish North Korea would just nuke us already. (I hope that’s the menstrual dysphoria talking.)

Gloom Mongered

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on August 16, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

Slept 4 and a half hours then woke, terrified I’d miss the alarm for my kid’s first day back to school cos, hello, smart phone, dumb Morgue…That anxiety ate away at me so I took .25mg of Xanax and right as the hamster wheel started to slow down…Spook-in-the-box pops up and can’t get back to sleep because she was nervous and excited about school. Which meant neither of us got back to sleep, she had her new clothes on and hair done by 5 a.m. I’d hoped even for a power nap but it didn’t happen then. I was relieved to drop her at school because her enthusiasm was killing me. Hypo and depression both HATE enthusiasm so it’s hard to know which cycle I am actually in.

The texting chihua got called back to his ‘real ‘ job, after working three days last week, then off two days, now he’s back and he was on me about the shop. And all I wanted was my first true kid free day in months and I texted back a little snarky, plus the bug treatment has me sweeping up corpses constantly before the cats can eat them and be poisoned…But because I do need his expertise with automobiles and of course, my heat will need fixed again come winter…I sucked it up and agreed to do four hours even though it pissed me off but the guilt was worse. I mean, he’s working two jobs and I’m gonna whine about a few hours of essentially sitting on my ass and occasionally helping hoist a TV in or out?

Guilt fucking sucks ass.

This morning I went home, feeling absolutely shitty from lack of sleep and finally when I got in the power nap…it lasted 20 minutes before my gloom spewing father called. And so my self esteem went further down the septic tank, my guilt skyrocketed, and my anxiety turned into an acid burning stomach ache. YAY. I dared defend the ONE good part of the ACA regarding pre-existing conditions and he launched into how he’s retired and still works and they take all his money to cover people who don’t pay taxes and (gee, who could he be pointing that finger at?) and he was up on his soapbox thumping his chest like the gloom mongering ass trash he is.

It isn’t that he doesn’t have a point. The system is broken and things need fixed. No one should shell out 70% of monthly income to have health insurance (which they can’t even use because it covers such a small percentage)…But hey, no soapbox here, my stomach is still churning from my dad’s preaching and guilting.

To add to it, new family drama. After the ugly split with my nephew and his fiance, I guess my sister moved in her stoner friends and the girl’s mother and they are all boo hooing over losing Medicaid cos my nephew turned 19 and isn’t in school and of course, the girl living with them is such a stoner she packs around selling weight and I don’t want my kid anywhere near it but then that starts war with my mom because hey, I drink alcohol, so it’s totally the same. Not to mention the sickly stoner’s mom is living in the living room with a porta potty right there so where is my kid supposed to play? With the porta potty or upstairs with the people holding pot or down in the basement smoking it?

So sick of the fucking drama. If I could just move far far away it wouldn’t be an issue. If I could just shake this fucking bipolar monkey and get a damned job and if my brain would just fucking behave and if, if, if…

Nothing like a good chat with dear old dad to bring the bad thoughts to the surface and remind me, apparently, even my own father considers me useless and I should just kill myself rather than his tax dollars pay for my disability because obviously there is nothing wrong with me EXCEPT I HAVE THE BRAIN FUNCTION OF A CARROT HALF THE TIME AND EITHER BURST INTO TEARS OR SARCASTIC ANGER OVER THE STUPIDEST SHIT! All a choice, of course, we all choose to feel this way. Because it’s fun and makes you feel good about yourself.

Bloody hell.

So in addition to being at the shop with a burning stomach ache, I can feel myself going down the rabbit hole which was tugging but thanks to dad, it’s yanking me downward.

I really want the mouse pad that is a target that says “bang head here.”

Why It’s Not So Easy To “Get A Haircut And Get A Real Job”

Posted in bipolar disorder with tags , , , , , on August 9, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

After being hunted down last night by R because my prepaid droid and his contract iphone apparently don’t get along and I got his texts but he didn’t get my replies…He is apparently back to the old ‘real’ job thus today I am trapped at the shop. The first four hours I made Spook suffer with me, then I arranged for my sister to fetch her so at least part of the day wouldn’t be blowing-out-my-brain stressful.

Not a single call. Not a single person coming in. Not even a to-do list from R. Just sit here and watch shit on my computer and try not to lose my mind from boredom.

What’s the worst part is…The Brain Bugs Are Back. Being in the dish, in a place where people could call and come in…My entire body feels like bugs are crawling all over me even though they are obviously not.

This irrational anxiety has plagued me throughout my life, from school to dating to working to marriage to raising my kid. It is crippling. My every instinct wants to lock that door and drive home fast as I can because likely the brain bugs will subside or at least stop putting on heavy metal concert with my central nervous system as the mosh pit.

And this is why I am on disability and have been for some time. Because employers need reliable logical employees who aren’t convinced bugs are crawling all over them simply because their central nervous system and brain chemicals have gone haywire. They don’t want to hear about your months long depressions where you consider one shower a week your major success story, let alone being able to get out of bed, think coherently, and be productive to their schedule and standards. They don’t care that some days your memory fails, aphasia sets in (using the wrong words, kinda like when I said get the frogs off my skin and meant to say bugs), your hands shake so you can’t do anything that requires dexterity with your hands. Forget your stomach churning and all the trips to the bathroom, that’s an inconvenience and makes you more trouble than you could ever be a value as an employee.

Perhaps for some considered to be slackers, it really is as simple as getting a haircut and getting a real job.

For those of us with the mosh pit of battling brain chemicals inside our skulls…

It’s not that simple. It’s not a matter of sucking it up or getting over ourselves. We are not lazy. We take no pride in our inability to be high functioning. We are embarrassed, filled with shame, we have low self esteem to begin with and the world robs of us what tiny bit remains because we can’t meet their standards of the norm.

I used to think it was okay because for thirty years I’ve had all these mental health professionals aligned with me, saying, yes, your disorders are crippling and making you unstable to hold a job, you NEED disability checks.

THEN I got and read shit like this:

How would an immigrant Donald Trump fare under the neo-Nazi-approved “legal” immigration plan he endorsed last week? He’d probably be targeted by his own deportation force.

Columnist Catherine Rampbell writes that the “economy-crippling bill”—which opponents have noted is really an effort to cut down on non-white immigration and make America white—“change[s] how ‘skills’ and ‘merit’ are defined, replacing our current employer-centered system with a points-based one” that awards points for “age, education, and extraordinary achievement.”

Original link to that is HERE

Yeah, Yeah, Morgue, you’re an American, what’s the big deal? The big deal is it sounds like financial eugenics. And first on the chopping block are gonna be those of us who by society’s standards ‘don’t make any contributions’. Paranoid? Yeah, so were those who saw the holocaust coming. How’d that turn out?

Perhaps I am proving my own point here of just how whacked out the brain bugs have made me.

And let’s not forget the real bugs that reside with me and Spook. In the two minutes it took me to put ice in my cup and pour water, a roach had crawled inside. No one should have to live that way simply because their priority is feeding their child and keeping a roof overhead. So…The CAMPAIGN continues. Thanks to those who have donated, and please do if you can and spread the word if you can’t, maybe there’s some kind person out there or maybe even two who don’t know me but get…Living with bugs is not a choice and unfortunately the goverment won’t allow me to sell a kidney to pay the Orkin guy.

And just remember…having a disability is not synonymous with laziness or not putting forth effort. Luck of the draw and we with legit disabilities got screwed. But then I guess the masses can’t understand it. But if it happens to them at some point…they will. And they will find out what a cruel place the world really is.

Attention Internet Based Employers: Disabled Person Seeks Employment

Posted in biolar disorder with tags , , , , , , , on March 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Dear (insert name of employer here),

I do not have a resume prepared as I have not been employed since I went on disability in 2002 thus have little relevant to state since then.

Prior to the brain damage that eventually won my disability claim…I waited tables. I was a hostess. I worked retail in the men’s wear department and housewares. I dabbled in food prep at a grocery store briefly. I tended bar at a private banquet hall for awhile. I did some wood working for a woman with a craft shop until I injured myself. I waited tables again, in a capacity that put me in the position of waiting on dining room customers, washing dishes, mixing shakes, etc, cleaning the floors and bathrooms…I worked for several months as an assistant in a daycare. I dabbed as a retail cashier, which was a struggle as my brain damage left me slightly numerically dyslexic. Not a good quality when handling money.

Prior to the brain damage…I was an assistant retail manager, promoted after only being hired as seasonal help.

I have spent the last several years, once receiving a proper diagnosis for my disability, trying to find the correct medication combination to stabilize me enough to be reliable in an employee capacity. Unfortunately, as always, my condition is medication resistant and I can never stabilize more than four to six months at a time before I borderline hospital ready.

To my credit…I have no simply allowed myself to wither while on disability. I became extremely proficient in computers and use of the internet. I became a first time mother, and a single one, at that. I have learned that when I am stabilized I am pretty amazing at multi tasking. I am frugal, able to find the best deals, I can type fast (never timed my words per minute as it would cause a panic attack and make me perform poorly), and I am task oriented. My mind wanders due to the attention deficit, but given a solid list of tasks to be performed in a certain order, especially at my own pace, I can be quite the whirlwind at whatever task thrown at me.

In addition to my self taught computer skills, I have spent time as an unpaid assistant at a friend’s electronic’s repair shop. I have learned a great deal in the four years I’ve helped out there once or twice a week. I wanted to try my hand at A Plus certification for computer repair but the numeric dyslexia proved a hindrance when dealing with voltages and such. I almost succeeded in frying a computer and myself. I TRIED and I wanted it so desperately but numbers…Simply are not my strong suit.

I have also nourished my hobby of writing (which began when I was 8 years old) over all these years.Even that is impacted by my disabilities due to lack of focus and the rapid onset of depressive and manic symptoms. I make the effort because I love to write and when my mind is balanced…I am very talented as a writer.

I have many skills. I feel I could flourish if given some sort of employment I could do from home, to avoid agitating my anxiety disorder. I perform better if on my own as being micromanaged and watched make me too nervous to work properly. If I am not tied to a time clock and can take a ten minute break due to a panic attack or stress induced stomach issues, I feel I would be an asset to any employer whose work is internet based.

Yes, I have bouts of depression where I can barely get dressed. I struggle just being a parent, let alone juggling it all during the really bad bouts. My anxiety can become so bad, I actually experience paranoia. This is why I think a job from home would actually help me over any job I could physically go to daily. If the issue isn’t compounded with triggers, I could prove to be invaluable as an employee.

I just need someone to give me a chance. Someone who can open their mind beyond a spotty resume. See beyond my past failures, see how much I have grown as a person. How much being a mother has made me mature. I don’t want to be on disability. In many ways, it’s just as stressful as never being stable enough to work. It’s damaging to the self esteem, for sure.

I want to earn a living for my daughter and myself. I want to work for it. I just need an employer who would be willing to work around my disabilities. Really, if I required a wheel chair ramp, the law would enforce it. The mentally imbalanced don’t get this consideration, no matter what the disability act says. We are very much discriminated against.

I want my life back. That means my financial independence, knowing I earn my way, knowing I make a contribution, knowing that somewhere out there…There has to be an employer who believes people are more than their disability, more than their past poor choices and unstable behaviors. People do change, I am proof.

So if any employers out there are game….Please. I’m a hard worker with many great qualities to balance whatever disabilities and detriments I have.



A bipolar job applicant

Mental Illness as an act of rebellion?

Posted in mental illness with tags , , , , on August 5, 2013 by morgueticiaatoms

I read this article the other day, and no, I didn’t save the link so I won’t make any direct quotes. But it kind of steamed me up. Not because I necessarily disagreed with the writer having a valid point on some level. But because articles of that nature completely invalidate the very real struggles some of us with mental disorders have.

He surmised that mental illness in this day and age is an act of rebellion against the oppressive aspects of society- sucky jobs, sucky relationships, sheer laziness. He himself claimed he suffered from a bout of depression and felt in a way even his own depression was an act of rebellion against that which oppressed him in his life.

I am not naive. I don’t deny-as I have witnessed firsthand- that a number of people do claim a disability yet function fine in every other aspect of life outside of a job. I knew one in the tiny town I grew up in who claimed back injuries that crippled him. Yet on any given day he was fixing his roof, hunting, fishing, taking swings at his wife and kids, drinking like a fish.  To this day he is still drawing disability and yet still totally functional outside of a job environment. So, no, I don’t deny people like him exist and they suck.

On the flip side, you have people like me, who have struggled our entire lives with an illness that has impacted every aspect of our lives, not just the oppressive or unsavory ones.

Were I merely rebelling against that which scares me or oppresses me then I’d be out dancing on weekends and going to carnivals and amusement parks and concerts. I wouldn’t panic at the thought of taking my kid to a crowded water park. I wouldn’t have a panic attack when a guy seems to be flirting with me. I wouldn’t get into such a non functional funk that I have a two and half foot high pile of laundry in the floor. I wouldn’t sporadically break down in public crying for a reason I won’t even remember two hours later.

I suppose I take everything way too personally even when it isn’t meant to be and that is my flaw. But the article just got my dander up. Most stuff I read on line is a tiny splinter under my skin. It’s annoying, a little sore, but it resides in the background after awhile. When something is still getting my dander up two days later, then it’s something that struck a chord in me, for good or for bad.

And the notion that the mentally disabled are simply milking it because we’re too lazy or of too weak of character to tough it out makes my blood boil. I am sure there are those out there who turn a minor bout of “the blues” into a major depressive episode, especially with certain doctors willing to hand them the keys to the pharmaceutical kingdom.

Most of us are not that way.

Most of us are actually embarrassed by our condition. Guilt ridden how it negatively affects those around us. Completely demoralized by our own lack of independence and ability to contribute to our own existence, as well as to the rest of the world. We are the living dead at times and yet we are surrounded by people who don’t understand and keep telling us to suck it up and we try and we fail and it makes us feel even worse. Which actually compounds the disorders we’re fighting. Unsupportive people are like a toxin that spreads through our systems and poisons us further.

I will admit, I do have a rebellious personality, and I always have. I have marched to my own drummer since I was 5 years old and preferred to hang out with the crazy drunken cat lady rather than other children. Tell me not to do something, I want to do it. Tell me to do it, I don’t want to do it. Back in my teens and early twenties I was just immature enough to go with it.

At some point I realized rebelling for the sake of rebelling was stupid. What is the point of rejecting a notion-something you had previously wanted to do- just because someone else suggested it. It’s just dumb.

So now I choose my acts of rebellion wisely. Like refusing to conform to whatever society’s idea of a normal mom is. I will never own a mini van. I will never wear floral print dresses or listen to lite rock or decorate my home with dainty throw pillows and adorable matching everything. And it’s not because I am rebelling idly, it’s simply because that is not who I have ever been and just because I am supposed to become soccer mommy doesn’t mean I am going to sacrifice my identity. My uterus performed its duty. That is all. I am macabre, I am goofy, I am unconventional. And all those things society seems to frown upon…are the aspects of myself I actually think are endearing.

Is that an act of rebelling? Sort of, going against the status quo. But it’s in order to remain who I have always been. It’s not idle rebellion. More self assertive rebellion.

Now my mental disorders, which have existed since I was a preteen…That’s not rebellion. That’s just my cross to bear. Because when the depression kicks in, I could run ten miles and have all those happy endorphins or whatever coming out in truckloads…and my brain still tells me I am sad. So no, I will never be convinced I am simply claiming mental illness because I am lazy or rebelling.

But as the counselors have said, maybe I take it all so personally because it’s not something I haven’t felt about myself.

And therein lies the rub. It’s NOT how I feel about myself. I know my disorders are real. But I know it’s how a lot of people see me and it gets under my skin. I mean, pretty much seven days a week I am subjected to someone close to me making a derisive comment about “lazy people on disability” and “wellfarers.”

If I could find a job this minute that would be willing to take into account my various periods of functionality and shutting down, I would jump on it and hump its leg. Not being self sufficient kills me on a daily basis. It’s not how I was raised. But isn’t insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome? And that’s how it is with me trying to hold a job. I crack under the pressure or I have a bad manic or depressive episode and suddenly I become undesirable and expendable. I went through 16 jobs in 12 years, never holding one more than 17 months. The counselors, the doctors, they all told me I needed disability because I couldn’t rely on my own stability. I fought them for a long time. I didn’t want to be *that* person.

But I am that person. And since going on disability, I have managed to keep a roof over head, paying my rent every month like clockwork. Putting the money right back into the economy. Not taking advantage of any assistance programs I don’t absolutely need. Trying to barter with people for things I need by cleaning house or running errands.

I make an effort.

I try hard.

I just can’t seem to kick ass on this bipolar and panic bullshit.

So to have it reduced to something trivial like “rebelling” because life is too oppressive…is offensive. It is invalidating. It is ridiculous.

And I will go to hell for this, no doubt, but sometimes I wish mental illness was infectious and I could just pass it on to all these assholes who don’t even try to understand just how hard it is to live with this shit. Walk in my shoes before you make a judgment. Until then, fuck you.

Leave it to me to take a simple internet article about ONE person’s opinion and make it all about me and righteous indignation.

I guess in that respect I am a narcissist.

But the fact I recognize that and can admit and feel bad for it kind of indicates it’s a low level narcissism.


What do my followers think? Is mental illness our form of rebellion because we’re too weak and lazy to cope with the difficulty of life?

Feedback is welcome, and also, appreciated.

Anxiety post- The Waiting Game

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , , , on October 27, 2011 by morgueticiaatoms

As hard as I have tried to “retrain” my brain, it has thus far proven vastly unsuccessful. Since I was ten years old, any time I had an appointment or event looming overhead, I have been unable to focus, relax, breathe properly, or un-knot the pretzels of panic in my gut. It does not matter if it is something good or something bad. It is the looming part that gets me every time, not knowing how it will work out, fearing the worst, hoping for the best, NOT KNOWING. Dreading.

Today, I am seeing a woman about the Ticket To Work Program which is for people like me who have been on SSI disability for a long time and would like to ease back into the work force with hopes of eventually no longer needing the disability check. I am a nervous wreck. I have no choice financially except to get my ass back to work, because I have a kid to support and am fond of the roof over our heads. I have to start thinking beyond mere survival and start planning ahead for her future.

But I am also at this fragile juncture where my meds are still being tweaked, and my personal life has gone to hell, and I am not really comfortable telling anyone, “Yeah, I’m totally stable and reliable right now,you should hire me right away.” How many times have I done that while manic only to fail miserably and let down the people who took a chance on me? My work ethic was never the problem. I was raised to be a workhorse by my father. My problem has always been the toll that the stress of work puts on my existing conditions, to the point that I melt down.

The grueling stomach cramps started around 4am this morning. It’s how my body processes anxiety and stress.

Then came the sweating.

Then the hives.

I use every method in the book learned in therapy to combat it. Sometimes it serves as a temporary distraction for my mind, but my churning stomach and sweaty pits do not abate. Every muscle in my body is knotted up. I keep looking at the clock, tick tock, tick tock…wait. wait. wait. The waiting game. Bad enough if you’re  an impatient person, which I am. It’s excrutiating if you have an anxiety disorder. Like having an axe poised over your head, wondering if it’s going to come down at any time and decapitate you. After awhile, the anxiety and panic of waiting make you just wish it would swing down and be over with.

Anyway, the goal of this Ticket to Work program, from what I understand, is to ease disabled people back into the work force by helping them secure jobs in fields that will not agitate their conditions. The key is to start out slow, work part time, then as you become more settled, you aim for full time, then to be totally off disability.

I’ve wanted to go back to work for a long time.

But even medicated, I can only manage four stable months a year.

So this is very scary for me. I’ve been drop kicked into reality once this month. I don’t know if my psyche can take another drop kicking so soon.

I just don’t have a choice at this point.

So I play this waiting game, my body feeling like gelatin even though my muscles are taut as guitar strings, and my stomach churns.

In my head, I hear all the people I’ve ever known berating me with, “Get over it!” “Grow up!”

And all I can think is, “Look at all that I have accomplished, look at how hard I am trying, why do I never get credit for any of that?”

Besides, something tells me if the “suck it up” crowd had anxiety so bad that it caused them run to the bathroom to become physically ill on a daily basis, they might show a bit more compassion.