Archive for fundraiser

The Help Us Keep Our Power On And Get Trash Service Fundraiser

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , on March 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

It was brought to my attention that my fundraiser links weren’t working. Not exactly shocking, I’m using a stupid phone (stupid smart phone, oxymoron?) and I get everything all garbled.

Anyway…this is the working link.

Share, repost, donate- whatever help you’re willing to give…Spook and I are grateful because this situation is distressing. More distressing is the fact that the move was forced on us, otherwise we wouldn’t be in over our heads because we live within our means.



Fear And Self Loathing Not In Las Vegas

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , on March 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

STILL trying to make ends meet.

It’s been almost 3 weeks since I actually used my laptop to post. I am using the hotspot feature on my phone so every minute ticks by like a cash register reminding me the time I use, the time I lose, and have to pay to replace. Grrr. Like counting every drop of water we use isn’t stressful enough. That bill, before we use a drop of water, is $65 a month. It’s hysterical in a not funny at all way that living in Armpit, USA, actually triples our monthly costs. I never wanted this. I spent nine years living within my means, never going over unless it was unexpected or pet related. Now I am behind before I even start. It’s been over 2 weeks and I still can’t afford the $63 to start trash service. I have two powerbills to pay now, cos I have to cover the old place as well as this new place. Forget internet service. Which is driving me and my kid nuts.

But I am still asking for donations. Like not being successful has ever stopped me in life. And it’s laughable, raising ten bucks in a month. I must be a really awful person if I can’t even motivate people to throw in a fiver for my kid or cats.

While asking for donations…I get a comment commiserating but asking what work I do…And the self loathing and shame kick in and ya know what? That should never happen for someone who has a legitimate disabiility. Society is the one who has deemed mental disabilities less worthy than physical ones. It also perpetuates the myth that you can only be a valid member of society if you have a job.

My goal through the entire last 7 years has been ONE measly year of medication stability so when an employer asks, “are you stable and reliable?” I could say honestly YES. It hasn’t happened and that is to my own chagrin. I have tried, pushed myself, pushed myself harder, dealt with utterly wretched people who gave zero fucks about me or my and my child’s well being…

And it means nothing to the world. I have no job, I don’t matter. And worse, I have the audacity to ask for donations, again, only for people who have jobs or physical ailments.

Maybe having no consistent internet access will be good for me. I have obviously become too invested in what others think of me, others who don’t know me, don’t know how hard I try, and don’t care. But I think I am so invested because more than anything I WANT to work. I want to be able to stand on my own and support my child and my own mind simply won’t cooperate. It hurts. And it’s why I’m not too proud to asking for donations. I tried working, I lasted 4 months with the situation with R, I pushed myself until I melted down and wanted to die. I’m not asking for handouts to buy a big plasma TV. I am asking because I have made every effort to help myself and get better, but right now…I need help. I need help not simply for myself but because I have an 8 year old counting on me and this move doubled our expenses. With child support I can eventually handle the monthly expenses but I need help getting caught up.

We have no closets, so dad bought us wardrobe cabinets. The freezer didn’t work so dad bought us one of those. My car keeled over, so he bought me a 2001 Lumina. I owe the power company $500 between the two residences. I still owe the landlord $325 toward deposit and that is something that could get us thrown out if I don’t come up with. I now use four times as much gas in the car since we have to drive 18 miles just to get ‘to town’ let alone the grocery store.

Hate my whining? You’ll never hate it as much as me.

I was content being trailer park trash because I knew I could afford it and wouldn’t get in over my head or need to beg for help. When the scumlord sold out and it became ‘buy in or get out’, I was thrust into a position I did not choose so again…asking for help ain’t easy but it’s legit. Nothing I did wrong got us here. We simply got screwed over by a very corrupt liar.

And now my new doctor…I truly do feel doomed. I had to have my lithium level done today and the lab couldn’t even decipher if it was supposed to be before my meds or 12 hours after or fasting, and I asked the doc and she said yes to fasting and 12 hours but I don’t think she was listening at all. I think the level will come back wonky and I will have to do it again and it will be because she was too busy complaining about Dr. B leaving them shortstaffed as opposed to treating me.

I keep soul searching for what I did wrong, how I am viewing it wrong but…something is more off about this woman than the doc nurse. Takes some doing. Maybe by expressing how sad I was to see Dr. B go to new doc I sealed my fate. I wonder if I had castigated him for his abrupt departure if new doc would have given me more time and listened.

We can delude ourselves all we want with the whole professional detachment thing. Shrinks are still humans, still have feelings and biases and sometimes, they just don’t like the patient or take time to even try. And I don’t give a damn if my cashier at the gas station likes me or not but then, that cashier isn’t going to be the one handling my disability claim thus necessitating some sort of knowledge and bond.

New doc is just…not connecting. Maybe if she’d spent the 30 minutes with me instead of 7 minutes cos she was running behind schedule…

But the ending of that story is always the same. I have mental issues, I am in the wrong, the professionals are always right and the truth, which lies somewhere in between, is irrelevant.

Click that picture if you can help us. Please.

The Cute Cat Pictures Moving Fundraiser

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on February 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Since we are being forced to move thus costing money we simply do not have…We are having a fundraiser Even $5 helps buy a gallon and a half of gas for this out of town move, so don’t think it’s too small an amount to bother. It means the world to me, my daughter, and our cats.

So even if you don’t donate to people…do it for our sweet kitties. Their pictures will take you to the page where you need to be. Even a share on social media matters so do us a solid, please.

Hex says ‘please help us move.’

Godsmack says, “Life is too awful to look at right now, mommy can’t even buy us canned food!”

“Mommy calls us the terror twins but only because we’re so cute she can’t be too mad when we chew up her shoelaces.”-say the cuddling siblings Vex and Hex.

Vex likes laying on Spook’s dollhouse bed. He is going to be crushed when he keeps growing and the doll bed doesn’t!

Godsmack is perplexed as she used to fit into the doll pool perfectly. Now…if she sits, she fits, but not for much longer.

There was no room in the pool so Hex settled for poolside with Godsmackers.


As for me…my mental health is in hellish limbo, don’t stop, don’t go, and when we can go, well, I am at the mercy of others so even when we cang go it’s just a few inches which feels like accomplishing nothing. Meanwhile the clock on needing to be out of here before the backstabbing slumlord-mgmt company overlord decides to swoop om, lock the doors, and prevent us from getting all our stuff out.

My appetite is up a bit, maybe because I’m barely sleeping more than 3 or 4 hours a night and that’s interrupted with nightmares and waking in a panic, unable to slow down my mind and get back to sleep. Guess the lack of rest has to be supplemented by eating to fuel my body. I am just ready to curl up in a ball. And having my kid ask me ten times a day if we’re going to be okay is grueling… Worse is when she has one of her mood swings cos I’ve said no to something she wants so she starts screaming how I never have any money and I am going to make her be homeless.

It’s very hard to run on empty and with that weighing on me…

I fear if we ever get this move pulled off and the carousel does stop turning…I may be in a room with padded walls. The human psych can take whatever the world dishes…until it can’t. And that’s the terrifying part. People ten times tougher than me have flailed and collapsed under the weight of life’s bullshit and mental health torment. There’s nothing that makes me different or special and if sheer will and desire to fight and perservere were enough…well, there’d be no need for psychiatrists, therapies, mental hospitals, or medications.

Wing and a prayer. That’s where I am right now. And since I’m not very religious…I’m more hoping this one wing will help keep me from crashing into the ground.


Buried Alive Psychologically

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on February 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

All the ‘get out, you have to move cos we’re jerks punishing you for no reason other than being low income’ stress has been an great distraction from taking a long hard look at my mental state. And I don’t mean great as in, rah rah rah, awesome. I mean, enormous. I have been so busy trying to get blood from a stone and pulling knives from my back just so I can take care of my kid and find us a home…

Now I am starting to worry about myself. Because strong as I am…I am not made of steel and concrete. I am terrified, of this other place falling through, terrified of being considered an unfit mom cos I don’t have much money, and now…Waking at 3:30 a.m. in a full blown panic realizing how little control I have over anything in my life right now…

My mind is going to very dark places and I don’t like it. I thought maybe I’d go to the hellish counseling center today, ask to speak to an on call person, but what good would it do? They think everything is behavior- they are after all ‘a behavior center’ so I could go in vent, cry, and what…walk out feeling worse cos they’ll tell me it’s all situational or my own behavior that’s the problem…That’s just gonna push me one toe closer to the edge of the ledge.

I am buried alive in every way except the kind involving dirt and eternal peace.

Yesterday I had the audacity to say to my dad that, “I just want to start trying to get out from under it all…”

And he said, quote, “Oh, hell you’re never going to get out from under it because it takes money, you don’t have any and you won’t work.”

Excuse me???I won’t work? I have tried and tried and tried. I have pushed suicidal boundaries and staved of homicidal urges trying to overcome my own mental limitations because I do want to work, I do want to do better for my daughter.

To have my own father kick me when I am already down that way…

I just want to go to sleep and wake when this nightmare is over except it’s not a nightmare. This is my new life. Rent that’s 50% of my income, deposits I can’t pay, monthly bills that will leave me lucky to fill a tank of gas to drive to appointments and buy a bag of cat food. I am under because this move to Armpit and this senile landlord were dad’s idea cos both were supposed to save me money and give me and Spook security. Instead it’s made everything so much worse.

And I am trying to keep my chin up, dig my heels in, and say never surrender like Corey Hart but ya know what?

Psychologically, after 5 months without seeing a psych professional, let alone a competent, caring one, and all this stuff hurled at me…I feel like emotional ground beef. And I have tried to transfer it all into angry rants to avoid looking whiny or weak but…

I’ve hit my wall. My disorders are winning. I feel like I’d be better off dead. And I am shouting at that devil and I am not going gently into that good night and I am waving both middle fingers cos I am strong and this will pass but maybe that’s the thing…

The housing thing probably will straighten out and pass.

My mental state and the lack of competent psych care here…That I fear will never get better.

And I am so damned scared I may as well be the 8 year old instead of Spook but it’s the truth. She will never see my crying like I am now and I will never say anything to her except “Hey, it’s scary, but we’re gonna be fine cos we have each other.”

But I am terrified. And I am breaking. I see the new shrink like March 8th but now I don’t even know if I will have enough gas to get from Armpit to town to keep the appointment. And I don’t hold out much hope this one will be any better than the dreadful doc nurse was.

I’m buried alive but some sadistic fuck was kind enough to leave me a straw to breathe through so I can breathe, I just can’t move or escape or….do anything to help myself.

Feeling this way is a sort of death of its own. Death of the soul, last gasps of hope and spirit. And I am still not waving the white flag but I have to wonder…just how many strong intelligent people with their own mental demons refusd to wave that flag and it didn’t do a bit of good.

I know 3 people who didn’t make it out alive.

I don’t want to be one of them. Suicide kills but it’s as illegitimate a death as it is living life with these problems. When I die, I want it to be not because I broke…but because it was simply my time to go. I deserve that much dignity after a lifetime of even my own father running me down like I have no value.

Donate here if you can, please.


I’m Tired Of Being Kicked In The Face, Life, You Can Stop Now

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on February 25, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms


YEAH. The stress of it all finally hit and I am cracking up into pissy little bitch mode because over the years, I’ve had a few campaigns to raise money. For vet care for the cats, bug treatment of the house, and once, for my family who had a house fire, not a cent of which was for me. And ya know what? PEOPLE DONATED. But now that my daughter and I have been basically tossed out of our home through no fault of our own thus thrusting us into $1100 debt right out of the gate (first month and deposit rent new place, transfer of utilities, old utility bills, new utilities with deposits that were formerly rent inclusive, gas for living 18 miles out of civilizaion in Armpit, Midwest, basic household necessities, new registratioN for the car by March 31rst, car insurance-ALL AT ONCE)…Two weeks and not even a five dollar donation or seemingly even a share on social media or a reblog. Not once single act of kindness, and hell, only a couple of basic human decency ‘sorry you’re facing all this shit’. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE HUMAN RACE?

I know things are tough all over, my kid and I are not special, everyone is getting kicked by life. But seriously? Not even five bucks in two weeks? And everyone thinks it’s a mystery why I am a misanthrope. Here I am, reaching out because I HAVE to, not cos it makes me feel good, and I am saying, “Hey, humanity, I’ve pretty much given up on your decency but I am open to being surprised if you want to prove me wrong”…NOTHING.

Do you think it’s easy to do a fundraiser and ask strangers for money? Because it’s not. It is humiliating, it makes you hate yourself no matter how worthy you are and how righteous you are in asking for help. So for anyone who thinks I am trying to raise money cos it’s fun and I want to buy a big plasma TV or some shit…I am trying to keep a roof over my kid’s head so they can’t find reason to take her from me and that requires money. Had I seen any of this coming it wouldn’t be this desperate but then, I was lied to at every turn by a corrupt former landlord and a backstabbing new management company so this isn’t something I brought on myself.

Reblog, share on social media, give a fiver, leave a nice comment. DO SOMETHING TO RESTORE MY FAITH IN HUMANITY, PLEASE.

And now that I have ranted like a spoiled child having a tantrum thus confirming what a horrible person I am thus not deserving of a single donation…let’s move onto what this blog is actually about. The slippery slope of mental health issues.

I was hanging in there for awhile. Auto pilot kicked in. I was trying to be strong for Spook, trying not to lose my shit cos hey, this shit happens all the time to everyone, not exclusive to us…Life goes on, we will figure it out.

Thing is when you are bombarded with a plethora of disorders that make your brain process and react very very differently than mundane brains (not insulting, just sounds more catchy than ‘non chemically deficient brains’)…you can only exist on auto pilot for so long and then comes SPLAT. I was running on pure stress and anxiety, too worried about having my kid taken away cos I wasn’t being proactive about finding us a new home, and then…the depression waved at me, winked, and announced it would no longer be quashed just because the anxiety had a front row seat, it wants its fifteen minutes. Or has been the case with this current depressive bout, 7 months.

And then came the dark thoughts and I swear were it not for my kid…I’d pull a Marilyn Monroe and just say goodbye, cruel world, in a blaze of pill gorged lack of glory.

I am never gonna get out of this financial hole. I am never gonna get my brain to cooperate or find a doctor competent enough to help with that. I am gonna be stuck in the damned sticks forever with my dad and stepmonster in total control of my existence because I will be using their vehicle as mine won’t run over 35 mph, it’s so broken.

Maybe the dark depression is making it seem more dire than it really is, I don’t know anymore. Seems pretty bleak to me. And everyone keeps telling me to calm down, which really makes me want to hit them in the head with a shovel cos hey, if I could skip the anxiety and panic disorders, I totally would. I find it so hypocritical narcissistic of everyone around me to be entitled to their anger and their anxiety and ranting…but because I have mental disorders, somehow I am NEVER entitled to vent my feelings because they are never legitimate. CALM DOWN is one of the worst things you could ever say to me, it’s complete invalidation. You could call me a scum sucking whore who licks windows and has sex with goats and it still wouldn’t be as insulting as telling me to calm down when I have every right to not be calm. Or telling me to cheer up when I have every right to be down, or hey, because I am in a deep clinical depression thus cheer is not something I am acquainted with.

One more nail in the ‘humanity sucks’ coffin came when I called the property manager-former lying scumlord to tell him we’d be out by March 5th and he actually had the nerve to say, after NINE years never paying late and only having a week’s notice of their new ‘buy or get it’ policy…”It’d be better if you were out by the 28th.”

Are you fucking kidding me, you cocksucker motherfucker cockweasel piece of shit????? I cannot believe how shitty he is treating me whereas before he sold out and became uppity manager guy, he was all nice to my face and on how I am the ideal tenant, he wishes all were like me, and how much he’d hate it if I ever moved….How am I supposed to have any faith in humans when people are such duplicitous liars? And before anyone plays the ‘not everyone is like that card’…if it happens to you often enough…it seems like it is everyone.

I am running on fumes. Today we are gonna start moving stuff and attempt to get my car over to Armpit, which should be terrifyingly entertaining on an interstate in a car that won’t go over 35. And has a lying gas gauge cos Thursday it was just over a 1/4th and now it’s on the orange mark and I’ve gone maybe 3 miles. I don’t know if that’s enough fuel to even get to Armpit.

Now that I have purged all the poison from my mind like a teapot reaching the boil point and letting out the steam and whistle…

I apologize for my harsh words and lack of coherent thought and well, basically being me. Though if you knew me even a little, you’d know I also have a lot of great qualities. I am not just my anger and misanthropy and moods and nerves and money needy…Right now, though, those emotions are pretty much sitting in the front row waving not lighters but flame throwers and I am ducking fire here.

One last time for now…

Please, even $5 is a gallon and a half of gas toward getting around. And the thought really does count, at least with me and Spook. Or a reblog or share or kind word.

We’re just a family doing the best we can.


How Anxiety And Depression Put Your Life On Hold

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on February 20, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve often expressed to my doctors how saddened I am by how much of my daughter’s childhood I have missed due to crippling depression and anxiety. Mind you, I’ve been here for her every day since she was in utero. But over 8 years, I have experienced so many depressive bouts and skin crawling anxiety, I fear I have missed my chance to truly bond with her over fun outings. I’ve never taken her to the public pool or a movie (that crowd terror I have.) So many days I am just too low or wound too tightly or frozen with the inertia of it all…I’m not a very fun mom. And it breaks my heart and I really wish the professionals would GET that. None of them really do, though, to them it’s just an excuse or complaint to be taken with a grain of salt.

For me, it’s like seeing my kid’s loving childhood ‘I need mommy” years pass me by and I can never get them back. It is heartbreaking and frustrating. I try so very hard, even on my worst days, I at least try to make her laugh a few times with faked silliness. Before long she will hit double digits and become a tween and I will be little more than an embarrassment to her (as is normal for kids entering that age zone). To look back and see all that depression and anxiety have cost me…The doctors, therapists, and disability powers that be will never in a million years understand how devastating it is, how nothing can ever make up for it.

Today was day 4 with her home from school. We’ve been getting along pretty well. I can’t say I was fun mommy today because I was making calls left and right about finding a place to live and it was just door slam after door slam, either no pets, not available, twice the rent I pay here a third of the space. It’s disheartening, to say the least.

My dad extended a lovely offer. If I come live in his town in one of the properties his friend owns via section 8, they will let me drive their white SUV and put my old heap on auction. Now this sounds great, right???? WRONG. Being under their thumb is worse than dealing with R. It may come down to being imprisoned that way, but I am fighting it tooth and nail. Last person they loaned their vehicle to all they did was gripe about her running back and forth to town (25 miles round trip) and putting mileage on their vehicle. If she took it to go out on a date or to a bar with friends, that offended them, too. They are so controlling, it would be akin to being smothered and buried alive. I wish I were being dramatic. Even my sister said they are just trying to lure me there so they can basically take over my kid and turn her into a little redneck like them. I’ve seen them try so it’s not far fetched. It’s..last resort. Not to mention what those people can’t grasp is that section 8, even with a willing landlord with an open property, takes at least a month to go through, if not longer. I have less than 2 weeks!

My gums hurt from grinding my teeth with anxiety. I haven’t eaten a thing today, I have no appetite. When Spook asks, “Are you sure we’re not gonna be homeless, mommy?” it breaks my heart. No, we’re not gonna be homeless, though we might be better off if we were. One local agency will help with first month rent and deposit BUT you literally have to be living on the street, in your car, or in an emergency shelter for more than a month. HUH????? So to get my kid a home I have to let her have no home which puts me in danger of having her taken away from me. This system is insane.

Sleep doesn’t seem like it’s going to come easily. I am out of melatonin and I am sure as hell not taking any of the doc’s or doc nurse’s ‘sleeping pills’. Worse hangover than a vodka bender, I kid you not. And they make me sluggish the whole day after and bring my mood even lower. So how are their prescriptions any different from alcohol if both act as depressants?

Again. If you can donate or just reblog or pass on social media…Fundraiser is here.

If you need further proof how dire our circumstances are…this is my current bank balance.

And to add more stress, the yearly registration sticker for my car is do by March 31rst, another $105 I can’t come up with.

It’s hard for me to ask for help so believe me…we need it more than you know.


As The Anxiety Builds

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on February 17, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

That title sounds soap opera-y but then, I grew up second hand absorbing my mom’s love of daytime soaps as a young kid. To this day I remember characters and actors from Young and The Restless, Days Of Our Lives, Another World, All My Children. My brain is a steel trap for inane pop trivia yet the stuff that could prove useful…poof, gone in ten seconds never to return.

Another fine gray dreary wet day in the ninth circle of midwest hell. This is not good for depression. Week after week we have maybe 2 sunny days which leaves 5 gray days a week to wreak havoc on my mental state and drag me further down the rabbit hole. Joy. It’s a catch 22 for me, because I find sunlight hurts my eyes and sometimes makes my skin itch and feel like it’s burning, yet for my moods, sunlight is important and I’ve come to accept that to my own chagrin. Though what all the professionals psychobabble about seasonal depression being solely due to shorter sunlight hours is bunk. For me, it’s a factor, and a relevant one, but also the inability to ever get truly warm for 5 months of the year is a mega hindrance to my functionality.

I could not get to sleep last night even though I took a melatonin and felt sleepy. The minute I put my head on the pillow…my mind started churning, the anxiety started building. I did my usual self soothe ritual of counting backwards in odd numbers from 1000…By the fifth time I was downright pissed off because I wasn’t the least bit sleepy so I got up and watched an episode of Castle. I was still awake at 1:30. Then I woke several times during the night and I’ll be damned if I remember why. Come morning and sensing that it was light out (gray as it is) I pulled the covers over my head as this is the one day of the week I can at least sleep til 8 a.m. and it was only 7:30. Never mind going back to sleep, the brain was out of the gate like a racehorse-bucking bull hybrid, thoughts spinning, panic setting in, the thought of failing my child by ending up homeless paralyzing and terrifying. And then my kid was up so time to make the doughnuts, so to speak. Be mommy and all.

We ran some errands, though we had to wait ninety minutes for stores to open. During which my kid channeled satan with impatience to go spend the dollar grandma gave her. When she goes into jackass mode, there is no reasoning with her. Honestly, I am tired of the ‘perfetly normal for a child that age, just a phase”. If I recall, people suspected Jeffrey Dahmer was just going through a phase when he started tine torturing and dissecting animals. At some point a phase is actually a warning sign that something is amiss. With my kid, I think it’s some sort of oppositional defiance thing because the word ‘no’ sets her off.Probably why in all my depressions and anxiety bouts I’d eventually let her wear me down to keep my sanity. I am no longer the yes monster, though, trying to repair the damage done by my perpetually altered mental status. It’s not shirking responsibility, I created the monster to some extent (my family did not help at all) so I am working on correct it. Can’t say I am fond of having bags of quarters swung at my head for simply saying “No, we’re not going out today, we’ll do it tomorrow.” She’s kind of a ticking bomb sometimes.

At the same…she is my joy. She is love, and I beam when we are interacting without all the drama or my depression and anxiety infused self doubt. She is an amazing kid, so smart, so creative, and while maybe my nurture was only a factor…Knowing I haven’t completely screwed her up in 8.5 years in spite of all the struggles…It’s nice to feel like I’ve done one thing right.

Errands all done, which is good, cos the spitting snow and rain and gloom really bring me down. And I’m not talking ‘ooh, bummer, dude”. I mean total mood sabotage, as in one minute I am ‘managing’ and the next I feel like I am sinking. Oh, depression, you gift that never stops giving. I wish you would, really. Because your idea of giving is actually TAKING, robbing me of basic functions that come so easily to others. I may have to learn to live with you, but I will never ever welcome you or consider you any kind of benefit, you cockweasel.

(I know, I spew venom like a cobra, isn’t it awesome?)

And FYI, for the ignorant sans empathy alleged human beings who think mental illnes is a weakness or an affectation or we’re lazy and ‘faking it’…It is my fondest wish you get some invisible illness that hinders your existence and others view you the same as they view those with mental disorders. Walk in those toe pinching blister causing shoes a week and you’d be crying uncle.

I am having one of my ‘deer in the headlights’ days, meaning the anxiety is so bad I feel like moving from my spot in my bedroom crypt will result in catastrophe. It’s irrational, but then so is throwing up over the side of a gambling boat on a date cos the panic is so overwhelming it elicits a physical response. Anxiety disorders make zero sense but one thing I’ve learned in spite of all the gobbledygook the professionals spew…if you get anxious and it’s just your personality…maybe you can retrain your neural pathways and go all cognitive and mindfulness and be all better. But when your anxiety is constant, differing only in severity, sometimes based on outside stimuli, often with no clear trigger…that is a disorder and it is crippling, It distorts your thoughts, makes you have irrational fears, causes trust issues, and often makes you feel like you’re a lost cause. Oh, the lies our disordered brains tell us. And when they do it while we’re down the rabbit hole…we’re just vulnerable enough to either believe them or at least ponder their voracity. Living in perpetual self doubt and confusion, and having the mental health, er ‘behavioral management’ regime more often than not having zero clue and not wanting to buy one…It’s not a quality existence.

My dad darkened my doorstep today and asked if I found a place to live yet. It’s been TWO days of looking and I’ve already gotten 8 unfeasible or unavailable responses. The man has no grasp on the reality of my situation. To his credit (sarcastic emoji here) he gave my kid $2 to blow on junk food and offered me nothing even though he knows I am low on phone time and penniless. Feel the love. Hell, if they’d help me a little even with money for talk time and gas, I’d cook them a good meal or come clean their house…I am willing to barter with whatever I have to offer. To not even be offered that chance by my own family…But I don’t work and in my dad’s book that makes me a lazy non person. He has bragged so many times how he’s 71 and still works everyday, I want to slap him with a rotting mackerel. It’s not my fault he’s a workaholic. It’s not my fault that he can never seem to save up enough money to make himself feel better. I’ve stood by my kid, kept the same roof over her head 9 years, and that’s more than my parents did for me. Oh, we were clothed and fed, but it seemed we were moving every year or two. 8 different places in two different towns before I was 13. Maybe they didn’t have a choice, or money, but I think with all that counts against me and no help from the donor…I am due a little respect for all I have managed to do in spite of my detriments. But nooo, not with my dad.

This post was supposed to be brief but…I guess I’m like Stephen King via his ‘Making of Rose Red” video. “I’m more of a putter-inner than a taker-outer.” Rambling and ranting is my therapy and contrary to what my inept psych team thinks…it’s a wonderful method of exorcising my demons. And while I do wish I had followers who were more interactive as far as clicking like or commenting because if I help even ONE person struggling with mental issues feel less alone…it does my heart good and I’d like to think it does them good and that’s just something, as a writer, a sufferer of mental disorders, and as an empathetic human…I’d like to hear about.

So that’s the purge of the scumbag brain,

Now comes the reminder of the ‘help us find a home’ fundraiser which has raised ZERO dollars in 4 days. It amazes me how people donated to help get my cats vet care or help me license a car and yet I am facing homelessness with an 8 year old and not one person cares to donate or even just share on social media with a bit of my story…I am sure a large percentage think it’s a scam but I have posted on the gofundme page the paper declaring us out if we can’t buy. We have no choice and this was no screw up of my own, it was a doublecross by a lying sociopath landlord and a soulless management company hell bent on ridding themselves of low income ‘trashy’ tenants. If you have an ounce of humanity, even if you don’t have a dollar to spare, please click the picture of my daughter below and at least check out the page and pass it on social media if possible. Or reblog even. ANYTHING could possibly help and if you read my prior entries, you will know my story never varies. I am honest to my own detriment at times telling it like it is and how broke we are.

Look at this little girl and tell me she deserves to be homeless just because her mom is disabled and has limited income and her father is a working deadbeat unwilling to see her or pay a cent even when ordered by the court.

Remember…even a $5 donation from several people can help and I am always willing to provide receipts for every cent received and spent.

All I want is to do right by my daughter.