Archive for disability

My Brain Is Stampeding Today

Posted in anxiety, Attention Deficit Disorder with tags , , , , on August 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I can’t find any clarity today. The thoughts are coming too fast, too furious. Racing thoughts freak me out even if they are frequent. I had hoped for an ounce of clear thought so I could accomplish something around the house. Or at least find some solace in a quiet mind.

It is not to be.

Two shrinks said ADD comorbid with the bipolar two disorder. The others say it’s anxiety byproduct and will abate once the anxiety is in check. Which isn’t going to happen when they keep lowering the anti anxiety meds which is the ONLY thing other than Focalin that slows my mind enough for clear thought. To say I am confused and frustrated is an understatement.

I am thinking so unclearly these days, I literally had to call the shrink’s office on my kid’s behalf and ask them to do the math on what day I can pick up her script (they have a 3 business day policy from when you call it in to when you can fetch it) and also when the insurance would pay for it. I literally could not wrap my brain around the math and I can’t risk my kid experiencing withdrawal if I screw it up. The nurse there was very nice and helpful and set it all up for me, thankfully.

This reminds me of trying to help my kid with her 5th grade math. This common core bullshit is, well, fucking bullshit. Six steps to do what I can do in three. And it HAS to be done their way and as core math was never taught, or even mentioned, when I went to school, I am a bit lost. Fact is, highly educated as R and his wife are, they saw her 3rd grade common core math and even they had trouble figuring it out because it is so convulated with more steps than are necessary. I know there is a method to their madness but I can’t fathom it.

I am starting to think my NP also has problems with math. When she filled my Zoloft, she put it down for 155 pills. Well, seven days with one pill, then 21 days with 2 pills ain’t 155. And she is constantly giving me 90 days worth of other meds when they should only be a 30 day supply, then she renews the script so she isn’t thinking ahead. Her math is fucked up. I turned her in and it did no good at all.

See how fast the thoughts are coming? It is like a stampede in my brand and it is terrifying. I don’t know what to do with this chaos. I can’t even focus on watching my shows, which for the last several days were keeping me fairly focused and calm. That is out the fucking window now.

I am also itchy and twitchy with the superstition mom installed in me for itchy ears and nose meaning calls or visits and people talking about you.

If this is sanity and stability, I think I have a pretty good malpractice case against the psych center. When the head shrink asked if I was willing to keep seeing the NP, I should have said NO. I just didn’t want to make too many waves. Which was how I lost access to my fave competent awesome shrink and ended up with NP number 1 who was useless. I wanted to be agreeable because I know their staffing issues. My compassion and empathy fucked me royally. And the awesome doc left so likely I’d have ended up here anyway. Though had I stayed with him even the year he remained, I might have been on a better path. Then again, with my med resistance and sensitivity, I can’t really blame them as long as they are willing to go to the wall for me. Which current NP is NOT because she is so concerned with keeping the conservative regime set out by her overseer. Less pills would make me elated. Less pills are not what I need now. I need HELP. Aggressive help.

My kingdom for something to calm my mind right now. You’d think with all this madness in my mind I’d have all sorts of energy and get up and go but I am still wearing the same clothes from two days ago. I did a load of laundry but I have no energy to hang dry it since my dryer is broken. And the washer is making unfamiliar sounds so it will probably be next. I can’t catch a damn break here without everything going wrong.

I dream of a quiet mind. Instead, I have perpetual mental chaos. My luck is shit.


Survival Of The Unfittest

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The circus party went pretty well, aside from my mom going off on one of my sister’s male friends. He had the audacity to say that kids need a few swats on the butt on occasion cos they have no discipline…and she went off the deep end about how spanking is abuse and she called him an abuser and it went on for 15 minutes. Personally, I am on his side, I agree kids need discipline. If it makes me an abuser that I have swatted my kid’s butt several times over ten years, so be it. I never used a belt or paddle, I never left marks, and I learned the meaning of that oldie but gooodie parentage, “This will hurt me more than it hurts you.” Even one swat made me feel such guilt, I just..couldn’t adopt it as a legit method of discipline. What I found, though, is that 90% of the time, swats on the bootie do no good with my kid. Taking away her electronics and friends, though, reboots her attitude and she becomes more cooperative (briefly) so…I will stick to what works best. Still..I am not gonna be shamed for the rare occasion she goes off the deep end and a swat on the butt is all that gets her attention before she hurts herself or me. My mom’s dementia is making her more demented than her norm, and I feel bad for her, cos genetics suck and you can’t control or change them but…she has battered me verbally for ten years over my every parenting choice/action so…she gets what she gives. I just do it without screaming and belittling her and my sister lives with her and said you just have to blow it off, mom’s kinda nuts even if it isn’t her fault.

What it boils down to, and what matters, is while my mom and sister’s girl friend chose to sit out the swimming…there were ten of us in the pool having a hella good time and Spook was happy, having fun with her mom, her aunt, her cousin, friends, a baby her cousin in law brought with her…I kinda broke the ice when I decided to stop being a wuss and went down the slide and off the low and high dive then my sis and her friends felt like they could do it too, age be damned. I promised my kid I would embarrass myself for her enjoyment by going off the slide, doing both dive boards, and going into the kiddie pool with the mushroom waterfall..And I kept my word and inspired people YOUNGER than my 46 years to just say fuck it and have a good time. The saving grace was the gray weather and constant threat of rain which made the pool very..not busy. Maybe 25 people even with the ten of us. It was nice. The water was freezing at first but once you went under and got accustomed…it was okay. We all pickled quickly, my fingers couldn’t have been scanned electronically with any accuracy cos my fingers ballooned so quick…But WE ALL HAD FUN. And unlike when I was a kid and the pool was packed and the lifeguards rode your ass for even splashing…It was fun. For the first hour, then I started losing interest. But we toughed it out til it did start to rain. (In all fairness, I lose interest quickly even in stuff I normally find entertaining so much of it is my depression, people REALLY need to stop taking MENTAL HEALTH DISORDER as some sort of person affront.)

Spook battered me into letting her spend the night there which normally wouldn’t be a bad thing…But it meant me carrying everything in by myself which kinda sucked. Not that she is much help lately. She helped out more when she was younger. I am trying not to take it personally but I told her earlier…this a time I need help the most. I am so behind on all the housework and it’s getting gross even for my low standards…But I can;t do dishes, laundry, vaccuum and mow the lawn all at the same time by myself. One would think my dad would help out and mow the lawn since they have like THREE riding mowers and could do it in under an hour. But NOOOOO, my asshole father won’t help, no, it is better that I spend four fucking hours with a push mower on a football size lawn. I gotta admit, much as he pisses me off, he also hurts me. They have a 24 year old man child who works 15 hours a week, they spend $50 a week taking him there and back cos he ain’t bright enough to drive anywhere but Armpit (where the dumbfuck backed into my car and fucked up two of the doors cos he didn’t hit the brake even after he smashed into us!!!!)….he pays no rent, no bills, nothing for food, they even buy his phone time…and I was told at 16 to get a job or get out..So hells yeah, that pisses me off. Wouldnt’t have killed the fucks to come mow my lawn while I was at the circus today. But it is just much more satisfying for them to critique me and make me feel shitty than help. I wish I had $50 to spare to pay someone to mow it for me cos I truly am buried at this point with all that needs done. I know, it’s my fault for letting it slide, but…If I were recovering from a broken bone or surgery, people would be dropping to help out. But since my illness is invisible and mental…doesn’t count.

That will NEVER make me stop wanting to smack people with a metal shovel upside the head. I recently read a post about someone who got a new job and she listed all these coworkers who were prattling on about their depression, their anxiety, their panic…But it’s obvious their issues are normal stuff. These are not people so fucked up they can’t step out the front door cos a ‘mob’ of 4 fifth/sixth graders are in their yard. THAT is my damage. It is not overdramatized, it is how I felt at that time. I truly believed those kids were a threat. I told myself I was being ridiculous, I bullied myself, but it did not change a fucking thing. Mental health issues are not something you snap out of cos someone is mean to you. You feel it until that mind state passes and then…maybe you feel it again, and again, and maybe one day you don’t. Roll of the dice.

Okay, so that was a disjointed ramble from hell but…

Aside from my mother’s explosion (and it wasn’t me but she had a kid doing grand theft auto and robbery before age 18,so her parenting method was awesome)…it was a good time for Spook and for most of us. Hopefully I will sleep like a corpse tonight. Wait, was that offensive to the dead? FUCK. Now I am in guilt ridden second guessing mode. Hate it.

The only thing I hate more is…THE DONOR failed to even email Spook on her birthday…and today my sister went to the store where he works and he sold her the birthday balloons…yet didn’t even ask her to wish his kid a happy birthday. I mean, I get it, I am fucking scary (I Guess, if you’re a spineless jellyfish) but…he saw my sister, waited on her, and didn;t even think, oh damn, I missed my kid’s birthday for EIGHT years in a row…Yet MY LAWYER is sending him reminders to get his kid a gift and he still doesn’t do a damn thing…

I feel like such a dick for choosing such an ass trash father for her. And yeah, I say father, because that is genetics and DNA. But to be a DAD,,,you need to be present and give a damn. I wouldn’t even miss my CAT’S birthday, for fuck’s sake. Yet he does nothing for any of his 3 kids and still convinces himself he is a good man. I don’t even relate to that level of denial and delusion and half the time these days I can barely step out my front door cos my anxiety leads to so much paranoia and feeling threatened…But I still can’t let it rob my child of her birthday, for fucks’ sake. I wish I could just give his address and ask a bunch of random people to send him a post card about how shitty he has treated my little girl, HIS little girl. But last time I called him a deadbeat he sicced my stepmonster on me for maligning him. Hmmm. You walk out without your kid having food or diapers, miss 8 years of birthdays, lose more jobs than you keep, never self report to collect child support..THAT IS THE DEFINTION OF A DEADBEAT PARENT. I hope he fucking still reads this. He has villified me to the nth and maybe I deserved some of it.

Spook NEVER EVER deserved this level of abandonment, rejection, and disrespect.

Oh crap,my benadryl and melatonin cocktail is kicking in, I don’t even comprehend if I am spelling properly or typing properly. Time to go.

That was today’s circus. At least I get along well with everyone BUT my mother.And Spook had a great time. Ultimately, none of the adult drama counts for shit, it is about the child. She had fun, she got a sleepover, and tomorrow she will come home to a new tablet (with a smaller screen but dual facing cameras, which is what she asked for)…so…

I wish the circus had some lions and tigers and bears oh my, and some goats and a miniature pony and a seal balancing a ball on its nose…Least I wasn’t wrong about there being some bullshit drama. My mom never lets me down on that. I’d love to absolve her by saying it’s the dementia but she’s always been kinda nasty. She didn’t earn the nicknames ‘pit viper’ and ‘hateful mcnasty’ without cause.

I kinda envy those nicknames, though. They sound pretty badass.

My mom…more venomous, less badass.

Least she loves my kid and doesn’t go off on her. YET. Take the small wins, right?

It’s Been Awhile…Time For a Good Rant and Ramble

Posted in anxiety, depression, Ramble with tags , , , , , , , , , , on August 9, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so my chaotic thinking makes most of my points come across as incoherent rants. But I have been trying to keep the theme consistent at least. Today I just wanna let loose on random events of late, so buckle your seatbelt, take your motion sickness pills, and let’s get read to ramble…

Last Thursday about did me in. I made six trips to town and back, had to go to another town to register my kid for school. Friday was the camp picnic and swim for family. I drove around the park three times and couldn’t find them. They texted me but because the laws on phone use have tightened I leave it in my purse, and because loud noise startles me, I keep the volume low so I didn’t get the text til hours after the fact. I heard my daughter screaming my legal name across a pond and she knows I hate that but it got my attention so I drove around and joined the picnic.

The pool was a hell of its own. First thing, one of the kids asked me if I was pregnant. NOPE, JUST FAT. Grr, it happens all the time and has since I was 12 years old. My family has a pear shaped body and we all carry our weight in poofy bellies. My sister got down to a size 6 but could’t shake the genetic loser lottery and her belly poof remains. I wish people would just shut the hell up. I know, it was a kid, but still…My first time in a swimsuit in public in 30 years and an insult right out of the gate. For awhile my kid and I had fun, I was teaching her to do flips in the water and watching her go down the slide. Then she volunteered me to watch this one girl, she used to live in the trailer park, and man, she is a spoiled undisciplined brat who wants the world to revolve around her. I gave this kid money for snacks and stuff and she had a bawling fit because I have my kid more money. She didn’t even say thank you. I was bored 45 minutes into this outing, mind you. By hour two and with that whiny demanding brat my responsibility, I told Spook it was time to leave. She had a tantrum and I kept my cool in front of everyone, even though what she needed was a swat on the butt, too old to act like a toddler. Then I felt guilty when I realized we hadn’t been there 2 hours but technically, had she not volunteered me to supervise El Bratto, I wouldn’t have gotten so stressed out and wanted to get the hell away from the kid.

My dad darkened my step 3 days in a row, imposing his will on me, stalking me by phone as well. I’d just spent 6 days and 12 trips to town to the petri dish, I needed to clear my mind and NOT have people contact. He gave zero fucks. I have big issues with people who ‘tell’ you they are coming by, or they just show up and demand you drop everything to accommodate their schedule. It’s just disrespectful. Nothing is gonna change the man and sometimes, in my angriest moments, I think, wow, my life is gonna be less stressful once he is gone. Then I remember he’s in okay health and his mother is still alive at 92 so chances are good I have 20 more years of his asshole-ness…Then I feel shitty for thinking such awful things, my poor kid doesn’t even have a dad, at least mine is still in my life.

I didn’t go anywhere out of town for 5 days straight, that’s how tapped out last week made me. Last year due to money issues, I was basically trapped here 7 days a week and I felt hobbled. Now I can go days without leaving town and it doesn’t much bother me. Maybe because the summer cost me so much in mental and physical energy. My desire to make sure my kid had a good summer really was priority, but at what cost to me mentally? I’ll be recovering for weeks to come, I am sure, but…it’s worth it for her to be content and happy. I think. She’s moody as I am, so the littlest things set her off. Today it’s this fish fry her grandpa is taking her to tomorrow night. She is petrified they will force her to eat baked beans and cole slaw so she’s been in a tailspin ever since. Her own fault, she asked if they’d take her and she knows their rules about eating food even if you don’t like it…The tiniest things send her into huge meltdowns thus we have dubbed her the drama llama. She hates that name. I think it’s adorable and fitting. Besides, my dad’s nickname for me at her age was ‘lazy butt’ or ‘barge feet’. I’d rather be a llama.

I am feeling ‘betterish’ today now that I doubled my Xanax dose and took Buspar with it. I managed to move from my deer in the headlights state and do a load of laundry and hang it to dry. I let my kid go get her friend and they are playing out in the yard and for once, I am not all paranoiad and fearful. My brother darkened my doorstep bringing back my trash cans and telling me about their plans for the fish fry and I didn’t spaz out. It’s all about the medication. It truly helps clear my head and calm my thoughts and it leads me back to semi rational thought. I don’t like ‘disobeying’ the script but they’re not helping me so I have to help myself. I’m still under the old dose, so it’s not like I am abusing it. Just enough to get myself off the crazy train.

I need to do dishes and vacuum. I don’t think it’s gonna happen. JUst a load of laundry, picking up some trash in the yard, and running to the gas station wore me out. It’s the curse, though. Every month it taps me out and renders me half conscious from sleepiness and in pain from cramps and my whole body feels bruised and leaden…I may just have to settle for my small goals that I managed and try again tomorrow. I think once I survive this damn debacle of a party Sunday my sister and mom have planned for Spook, I will feel a lot better. I don’t understand why they have to put off paying their damn bills and spend hundreds of dollars for a party the kid will forget by next week. They do it more for them than for her, I swear. Hopefully this will be the last year they feel the need to go overboard since she’ll be 11 and probably in her ‘i hate adults’ phase.

See, I knew the depression was SERIOUS when I didn’t even enjoy going to Big Lots or looking at Halloween displays. That is usually my happy time. This time it was just a depressing chore. So if I can’t enjoy what usually makes my spirits soar gleefully…is it any wonder why I am dreading an over the top birtday party populated not by actual family or our friends, but my sister’s people and their kids? Every damn year. And because I am so disorganized and anhedonic I just let them do it because no doubt I’d fuck it up. Organization is not my thing, especially as of late. Just choosing clothes or what to eat leaves me stressed out and baffled and unable to make a choice. So I guess I bring these ridiculous parties on myself but when I did protest, my mom got nasty and told me to ‘do it your fucking self then’.

My parents really aren’t warm and fuzzy types, at all. And they weren;t before they hit their seventies so they can’t blame age. That and I don’t think either of them like me. They love me, but they don’t much like me. And that’s okay. The feeling is reciprocal. With love and respect, of course.

Ice Cube Trays

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on August 8, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am curious if it is just me and maybe I have a lazy character but…does anyone else battling depression and anxiety find it near impossible to do the most basic things? I’d like some input because I am battling so hard against the basics.

Take refilling ice cube trays. (I’m probably the last person without a fridge with an ice maker in the door.) But there are days when I simply can’t rally to refill them even though I know I will regret it because I really like ice in my drinks. Yet…I can’t seem to muster up the energy.

Same goes for housework, errands, yard work, feeding myself, bathing, basic hygiene. It is all so overwhelming and my body feels like it’s made of leaden sludge and I fight and I fight and I bully myself and I try to rally…To no avail.

Is it just me?

I know mental health issues can impact basic functionality but refilling ice cube trays? That seems like an extreme to struggle with. Hell, these days, jus going outdoors has become an anxiety inducing dread filled thing. Which makes mowing the lawn pretty daunting, let alone cleaning up limbs and stray trash out there. Out there I don’t feel safe. I feel exposed and vulnerable and while I occasionally force myself to go out for a few minutes…Sometimes I can’t even manage that unless it involves having to take my kid somewhere. And I won’t claim 100% success there, sometimes I disappoint her because…I just can’t do it.

I am also battling answering the phone or checking messages. I don’t know why. I get paranoid and panicky going out to the mail box. Driving has become an exercise in terror. Just deciding what to wear often results in so much confusion that I just stay in what I slept in.

So is it just me? Chime in, please. If this is my being lazy, well, I can’t say the depression really makes me give a damn but maybe I could work on my personality. If this is commonplace with severe depression and anxiety, though, I’d love to hear about it. I am seeking solace and validation because…

I am lost and no one has sent out a search party.

Otiose Ramblings From A Life Anhedoniac

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

anhedoniac-one who does not receive pleasure from normally enjoyed things

My daughter was horrified when she looked over my shoulder and saw ‘word of the day’ in my email inbox. She asked why anyone would want to have that. As if learning new words is as horrific as a man wielding a chainsaw while demanding you eat brussel sprouts. Sadly. this is an attitude I have faced my whole life. Any attempt to better myself outside a formal classroom setting is viewed with distaste, horror, and of course, the inevitable accusation that I use big words to make those around me feel dumb. I learn new words because it interests me, aids in making my writing less repetetive, and learning isn’t contagious so they can piss off.

I was watching the show “Instinct” and the lead male character informed his female cop partner that she was a ‘music anhedoniac’ because music did not light up the pleasure centers in her brain therefore she did not receive pleasure from it.

That was when it hit me that I have become a life anhendoniac. Most likely the depression but also the sheer monotany of trying my best and always coming up short. Things that should make me feel good, should light up my brain’s pleasaure centers simply does not. It all feels like a big chore, a draining task that is joyless and misery inducing. Am I the walking posterchild for depression or what?

I woke at 1 a.m. For no good reason. I was still awake at 5:30 despite throwing Xanax, melatonin, Benadryl at it. My Brain would not slow down and shut up. I was screaming into my pillow at one point. Night after night this happens and by the time the alarm goes off, I feel like a walking dead girl. I stressed out all that time knowing I needed to recharge so I would have the energy to get my daughter to day camp…only she informed me her “Boyfriend” isn’t there on Mondays so she didn’t want to go today. Seriously? Last night she was set to go. GAH! Not that I got to sleep in even a little between her yakking and my cat bathing my face incessantly.

I was gonna mow the lawn today. I don’t have the energy and it’s still so wet from early morning rain, it’d just clog the damn mower. Oh, and we had that windstorm last week so before mowing, we have to gather up all the twigs and branches…And the yard is half a football field so doing it with a push mower by myself is exhausting. Last year I’d started doing it simply because my dad’s ‘help’ stressed me out so much. This year I am so overwhelmed and worn down, I accept the help even though it truly isn’t worth the mental price. I wish I had the money to pay someone else to do it but the standard for a yard this size is $50. I ain’t got that kind of money. Besides, my neighbor across the street hasn’t mowed either, so if they say something to me, they damn sure best be on her case, too.

I saw the weirdest commercial on TV plus. It had this GWAR looking dude warbling heavy metal satan channeling lyrics about the evils of ecigarettes. And I was offended and amused at the same time. (If you don’t know who GWAR is, Google it, they are scary hilarious.) So now cigarettes and ecigs and vaping are all evil, but almost every state is adding some legal use of pot on the books. I’ve never really considered weed a hardcore drug, but I have looked down on stoners because seeing them stoned and minus many iQ points depressed me. Now everyone down to pre school teachers are entitled to light a doobie, get wacky, and it’s all good, long as you don’t smoke cigarettes or use an vape.


I can’t wait til 20 years from now when they discover that pot causes penile cancer or some shit. The self righteous have really crossed some lines.

I am all for occasional use if it’s your thing. I am definitely all for it for people with illnesses that truly are helped by it.

But GWAR-ing me as if a heavy metal backtrack is gonna make me abstain from tobacco or nicotine is HYSTERICAL.

All this pot legalization also opens my already confused mind to questions like, “does this mean all the people charged with minor pot possession charges get their records wiped?” “What if everyone is playing bumper cars cos they are stoned?” “What if an employer bans the use yet the law says it is legal>” Total fucking quagmires. (Oh, dear, there goes that word of the day knowledge, how dare I!) Though my very old chatroom nickname was Kwee Quagmire. Partially after Scully’s dog from X Files and partly because mental illness is the definition of a quagmire.

I have washed dishes, refilled ice cube trays and water dispensers, washed aload of clothes, taken out trash. Now I feel drained. I still need to hang dry the entire load of laundry. Broken dryers suck. But I don’t dare spend the money to fix it because every two weeks I am just waiting for the child support to not be there because the donor just disposes of girlfriends and jobs like Kleenex. And sometimes, I swear he does it just to fuck with me and hope I have some sort of psychotic break. Of course, that would be giving him too much credit. For all his “I have a 187′ IQ bullshit, I seriously doubt he’d have the brain power necessary to play any real mind games. Then again, I have underestimated his penchant to be cruel and immature and maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his potential to play mind fuck games. Because in his head, it’s all about me getting his money, he doesn’t even think about his child. To say he has woman issues is underfuckingstatement of the year. I don’t think it’s mathmatically possible that every woman he has been involved with/related to has been some sort of soul sucking mentally abusive monster. The odds are just too astronimical.

My kid starts evening church camp this week. 6-8 p.m. My brother is going to take her. I still don’t understand why they’re okay with a 24 year old man hanging out with a bunch of kids. Kind of creepy pervy. I guess their thinking is he’s willing to help and mentally he’s about their age anyway.

The Focus Factor is NOT working, is it? I am all over the place here.

Well, you guys choose to read this, you get to walk away, so winner winner chicken dinner.

Except my chicken has salmonella.

Ray of fucking sunshine, ain’t I?


Posted in anxiety, depression, disability with tags , , , , , , , on July 7, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

One of kittens got under my car today and died. I didn’t know he was under there, I usually honk to spook them away. Today I didn’t because I swore I did a headcount and they were all on the step. I buried Tyketto and have spent an hour crying and grieving. I am just…shattered. It was an accident but this does not assauge my guilt. I feel like the most vile person on the planet right now and the day is young.

All I need is my dad calling me over and over and bitching at me. And they’re supposed to mow my lawn which means I mow, stepmonster sits on a rider, and they both scream at me how I am doing it wrong and it doesn’t look pretty. They mow their neighbor’s yard and never yell at her or guilt her.

My hatred for them grows by the day. My dream is to move Spook far away from this toxicity called my family. My mom babies her, my dad treats her like she’s a grown up and shouldn’t have tantrums and should be mowing lawns.

This day sucks. I just want to feel nothing and silently grieve for my cat and flog myself with guilt.

And I know what my dad will say. “No use crying, it’s done and you have too many cats anyway.” Yes, he has said that many times when we’ve lost a cat.

He’s a monster. And his woman is the bride of the fucking monster, minus the legal status.

Just let me grieve.

But so I can’t be accused of not trying, I did fill out an application on line for sandwich artist. Those personality tests are a bitch because I can’t say people don’t get offended by the things I say because they do. But it’s not like I’d do it in a paid work position, ffs. If I want to call my dad a fucking asshole, well, that’s our family dynamic.I should lie, I know. Personality tests are bullshit anyway. If they wanted to truly know you, they’d give you situations and ask you to write a paragraph explaining how you would handle it within the company rules and respect and satisfaction for the customer.

Okay, the tears are coming again. I don’t want to drip on the laptop.

Hive Mind

Posted in anxiety, depression, working with disabilities with tags , , , , , , on July 7, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s nearing 6 a.m. I have been up since 3:20. The whole thing with my dad on my ass about working at fast food hell has me breaking out in hives. I am 46 years old and my dad can still nag me to hives and keep me from sleeping. Pathetic. But he calls FOUR times a day to rag on me and even when I say fuck off, he keeps doing it, after he screams at me that I am lazy and useless.I have tried being mature and civilized and pointing out, he doesn’t pay any of my bills and I am not asking for anything, so WHY is it any of his business? And god knows I can’t dare mention the fact that I am disabled, that starts him on another tear about deadbeats on the dole.

Any ideas on how to handle this impossible cretin of a man?

Any thoughts on how to earn money from home on the computer?

I don’t care if it’s $12 a week for emailing spam, just anything to get him off my fucking back. It would really frost his balls if I could find something to do on line, he is so hell bent on how my failure to get employment is because I insist on applying on line and won’t go talk to the people. And blah blah blah, that’s not how they do it at his job which he’s had 42 years blah blah blah. I just want to earn some money or hell, even gift cards to buy household and pet supplies. ANYTHING to get him off my back. I am not lazy, I am disabled. If anyone would ever bother to work with me and around my limitations, they might find I am a hard worker, I want to work, but yeah, I have some stuff going on that makes conventional jobs near impossible for me.

Anyone want to help me spite a bigoted racist redneck who has one set of rules for himself, his woman, and their son and another set for his daughters? Anyone want to help me battle misogyny?

Probably not but I am going to keep trying.

Out there somewhere is a way for me to earn a living without it sending me to the Rubber Ramada. I just gotta find it.

It’s light out now. I will never get back to sleep. It’s gonna make for a long day. I am thinking about unplugging the house phone and calling it a whoospie, forgot to plug it back in after running the hell machine vaccuum. It’s happened before, legit. Then he’d just call my cell and waste my minutes on it, but thankfully, I keep the volume low to avoid panic attacks so it’s easily not heard. Then he will come to my door, start barking orders about mowing my lawn properly, and make my life a living hell as he seems to do 7 days a week since we moved to Armpit.

If it wasn’t for him and his crew, I might adapt to this place.

Advice on how to handle the situation would be appreciated. Surely someone knows how to deal with a personality like his. I’ve never figured it out because he simply can’t see any side but his own and he is immovable on certain topics.

Thoughts, anyone? Before I need to drag around and IV pole with a Benadryl drip to control my itchy hives.