Archive for fundraiser

Swallowing Your Feelings Is Akin To Drinking Drain Cleaner

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , on July 2, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Last 2 days have been stress overload. Some triggered, some…my new life in Armpit near my overly stressful dad’s faction. But I find myself forcing down my feelings to the degree it feels like I may as well be downing shots of drain cleaner and waiting to keel over. I know that anxiety and depression often lend to irrational feelings that cause an overreaction but some things kind of warrant a reaction. In my current financial position, it’s an option I don’t often get to exercise because, geesh, I owe, I owe, family, landlord, upcoming school clothes and supplies. In another crushing blow today, I found out the local center that usually helps with summer cooling bills has no funds so they won’t be doing that this year and running the AC is gonna put us under to the point of disconnect. I’ve not gotten a disconnect notice in 7 years since the donor left us high and dry so this option simply isn’t desirable.

Yesterday one of the car windows wouldn’t roll up during a torrential downpour and my dad went off on me because I rolled the window down in the first place. It was broken when he gave me the damn car, works sometimes, sometimes doesn’t. He ordered me to use the AC instead of rolling down the windows but when the car gets hot so easily, that just seems bloody ignorant. On and on he went, lecturing me like some dumbass teenager, not hearing a word I said, and because I owe them I have to bite my tongue until there are so many tooth holes in it, you could strain spaghetti. I did thank my stepmonster for fixing the window (sort of, least it went up so I don’t have to drive around with a trash bag on the window) and not yelling at me…but then she went off on my kid for rolling the window down and said she was going to ‘beat her ass right in front of your mother.’ At that point, I DID speak up and said I got no problem grounding her, standing her in a corner, taking away TV and tablet…But NO, you are NOT gonna spank my kid, you redneck sadist.

We went to town today to try and pay rent. Landlord wasn’t home, won’t return my calls, so I sit here, nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, not knowing if he’s gonna pop in at some random point or charge me a late fee or…who knows what. My kid went into gasping “I want!” and complain mode while we were in town, sticking so close to me I tripped like 5 times and was at my breaking point. Got home only to get a call within moments that dad and crew were on their way to mow the lawn. Ya know, I’d like to think it’s because they care but he reminds me EVERY time that they’d get $50 per mow from everyone else. 6 years at the trailer they never once mowed my lawn. Then again, they hadn’t vouched with their good buddy that I’d be a good tenant. They care what this landlord thinks since they did vouch for me so they only mow it so I don’t make them look bad. Sound cynical? I wish it was.

Then my dad started in on how they are gonna be so busy the 4th cos they were invited to a hog roast, then to their neighbor lady’s soiree and Spook was, too, but…not me. I did nothing to these people! And hey, hanging out with redneck strangers may not be my cup of tea but this gloating how popular they are with the locals seems a lot like reminding me that I’m an outsider. Normally, I am fine with this. BUT they’re taking my kid from me on a holiday and they robbed me of saying no by asking in front of her and she wants to go cos other kids will be there so if I say no-and we can’t afford to do anything- then I am boring, mean mommy.

I am grateful for their help, the lawnwork, but damn, they just seem hellbent on making it clear my kid would rather be with them and I am not accepted here. And I can’t fathom what sadistic father would want to do that to his own daughter but then, some of the atrocities parents have perpetrated on their kids…guess mine is a lightweight. Still pisses me off.

But our errand into town is done, the mowing and family interacting is done, and now I just gotta wait for the landlord to ninja visit or call. (Will phones ever stop making me panic????) Oh, and of course, the wild card of dad visiting and by now I’m 1.5 mg in on Xanax so I’ll probably be perceived as too calm thus on something like booze or drugs. GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh. Pre-spawn, I gave zero fucks. Now that I am in the position where she could be taken away from me even on rumor or wrong assumptions…Yeah, now I kind of care but I can control medication impact no more than I can control hypomania. It happens and compared to days of old…this is child’s play. Seroquel and TRazadone had me sleeping 14 hours a day and nursing a hangover the other ten so I was loopy as fuck. This is an improvement.

So much as I don’t like doing it…I am gonna mention our fundraiser again.

At least I have the decency to not feel good about asking strangers for help.

Half the time I wake up to 3 a.m. religious infomercials where some preacher is promising to plant seeds of hope for people who donate $15 or more. Some poor woman said she couldn’t spare it that month and he bullied her by saying, “If I offered to sell you my BMW for fifteen dollars, could you get it then?” She said probably, and he said, “See, it’s just the desire to want to do it.”

Fuck you if you’re a preacher and driving a BMW while begging your parishioners to give money that might just mean they don’t get their medication or groceries for a week. These ‘Godly’ folks are frauds, they are out for themselves, and worse, they do it in God’s name. THEY are the ones who should feel ashamed, not a single disabled mom with a small child. Unfortunately, the world is such an obscene place these days (and as far as TV preachers are concerned, always has been) so I’ll be the one called a fraud out to scam people when I drive a $450 car and wear clothes with rips and tears so I can make sure my kid doesn’t. Yep. I am the devil.

Just a share. $5. Whatever it takes to get us caught up.

You may not know us and you may think it’s a scam but you have 6 and a half years of my archives you can read and you will find only inconsistency of my stability mentally. My story has never changed because that’s how the truth is.

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Mother’s Day, Fundraising, Hypomania, And Soft Kitty,Warm Kitty

Posted in fundraiser, mental health with tags , , , , , , on May 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Share if you care, it costs you nothing but a click on social media

YEP. Another fundraiser. But before you exit the page, would you let me explain how I have the gall to ask perfect strangers for help?

EVERYTHING I DO IS FOR HER.

Spook is the only thing I’ve truly gotten right in my life. Maybe my domestic fairytale didn’t work out as planned, and it’s been a financial clusterfuck courtesy of my own limitations and her donor’s…dumbfuckery…But I don’t regret her for an instant. She is the best of me and the worst of me and loved so very much. Sure, I vent because she’s difficult and stressful but…yeah, that’s my karma cos I got a mini-me. (R.I.P Original Mini-Me, Vern Troyer, hope you found peace, dude.)

So learning that the donor is apparently switching jobs and leaving us in a child support lurch indefinitely…I started another fundraiser, with a modest goal, and we got our first donation this morning! We are so very grateful to the kind soul whose simple act of generosity means we can afford household necessities for a week or two. You are amazing.

And I get it if you’re in a similar boat and can’t donate. But many of you are very active on social media and you could share our story with a click, costing you nothing. It’s still a big ask, but I’ve got a little girl counting on me since I am the only parent she has that gives a damn. I may have given birth, but I had to EARN this.

Sorry I didn’t do a neat presentation but I gotta roll with my current half ass hypomanic state before it pulls a David Copperfield and vanishes. Point is…that little girl may give me hell, but she adores me and counts on me. And I am doing my very best. I even tried to get a summer babysitting job, but alas, the woman went with someone else. I’m not unwilling to make the effort but you can’t point guns at people and demand they allow you to work for money. And I’m not on board with pointing guns at people just demanding they give me money, that’s a felony, I think. Besides…if I could afford a gun, I’d go pawn the damn thing.

Please.

Just a share means the world to us.

$500 is the goal I set for these impending, necessary expenses: $325 security deposit (to avoid eviction, which he would be within his rights to do.) $48 car insurance (it will be canceled before my next check comes in if not paid by the 28th.) $100 for gas, household supplies, pet supplies, and a little wiggle room because the move meant losing my library privileges in town. It costs $60 for non residents and since I can’t afford to buy books or well, even go out, reading library books is my one luxury. And yeah, it’s sad that reading and libraries are considered a luxury, living in this town feels more like a punishment than anything because of lack of access to everything cerebral and civilized. I wish flannel and farm machinery popped my rocks but, alas, I want books to read.

I would love to raise a little more than our goal so I could buy a used desktop computer. Both of mine died during the move but they were so old, they still had 3.5 inch floppy disk drives, so I think they served their time well. It’s just difficult to commit to my serious writing on a laptop because I live in terror of overheating them. My last tower cost $55 on ebay so it’s not like I am a spoiled brat. The current laptop I am writing this on was a freebie someone abandoned at the shop and my nephew reformatted it. My other laptop is XP and the fan is broken. There’s no pampered princess thing going on here, just function.

Survival is the goal. Not letting down my kid until I can work something out. There can’t just be one person in this armpit who needs a sitter or housekeeper, but as I am still considered an outsider…finding a way to earn some extra may could take time. And pegacorn knows when I’ll be able to pin the donor down again, he has no problem working, he just as an allergy to that paycheck covering part of his child’s upbringing. (Seriously, Canada, if this is the best you have to offer, take him back.) If he keeps changing jobs, he knows by the time I catch up to him he’s done created enough chaos, time to do it again. Oh, well, he helped make a beautiful spawn.

In case you missed it, I’ve gone hypo. I was up til almost 3 a.m. Didn’t take melatonin. Did more housework, packed my kid’s lunch, wrote another post…Did not want to go to sleep because ya know, use it or lose it. But I slept 3 and a half hours and now I am still in hypo mode so I am doing the rambling rapid speech (rapid typing?) shuffle. Apologies, but no apologies. OMG, it’s been so long since I’ve felt this good mentally. It’s not that anything great happened but in spite of it all, my mind is…not in the abyss. I LOVE feeling this good.

So soft kitty, warm kitty. Yeah, who doesn’t love good cat pictures? I am fighting for these three, too, they’re our family.

My crappy camera does not do justice for Godsmack’s gorgeous blue eyes.

Hex is outgrowing her box.

Vex looks heavenward and pleads for it to rain tunafish.

And me, the cat sofa, bed, snuggle post, but fortunately, not the litter box.

Remember…SHARE to show you care. Because as shameful as it is for me to ask for help…I am more afraid that not asking for help is a bigger failure of character. I still believe in the good of people.

And the flying spaghetti monster, totally believe in that, too.

Like Good Causes? Read This Post

Posted in depression, gofundme campaign with tags , , , , , on May 10, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Allow me a bit of narcissism here. My daughter and I ARE a good cause.

So as it turns out, after paying for only 2 months, the donor has left his job and is MIA. The loss of child support has turned a precarious financial situation into a dire predicament for my daughter and I. Just when I thought light of day might be seen…he drop kicks us again. Last time he left a job, it took six months for me to find him and turn him into the state because the employer failed to report him as a new employee.(It’s the law and they broke it but nope, no consequences.) So even if he found a different job as opposed to getting fired like last time, he legally has 30 days without a payment before I can pursue him. And what I learned last time is that even with a legal support order, the state does not actively seek these absentee parents out. They sit and wait for an employer to turn in a social security number then the gears start to slowly grind. If I don’t know where he works and the employer doesn’t turn him in..who knows when my kid will get what is due her.

Even before I had a kid, I had a big problem with parents-men or women- who walked out on their kids and refused to even chip in financially without a court forcing them to do so.

Now that I am on this side of the fence, it infuriates me even more. He’s been 77 months (6.5 years) and of that…he has paid about 15 months of support, and that was only after I waited 4 years, giving him the opportunity to step up and do the right thing. He has two other kids he doesn’t support. Yet he thinks he is a good man and moms are unreasonable asking for support as long as he isn’t seeing the kid. I’d make a snarky comment about the mothers of his children having bad taste in men, but that would negate the joy our kids bring us so I won’t got there. I wish my kid had a great dad, but she doesn’t.

She’s got a devoted mom who has been raising her alone 7 years on a disability income, through good, bad, worse, and worse than worse. I ask for very little assistance, don’t even go to Toys for Tots at Christmas, I just budget more tightly, eat a little less myself, whatever it takes to not take charity if I don’t absolutely have to.

If I am having another fundraiser…it’s because it is necessity.

This isn’t your ordinary fundraiser, though.

Yes, we need cash. But we also know how many scammers are out there telling sob stories so they can afford plasma tvs and partying. Spook and I are just as happy with a $20 gift card to Dollar Tree for stuff like toilet paper and dish soap and shampoo. We’re fine with anyone contacting us by email who’d be willing to make out a money order to a utility or the landlord, account numbers and photo evidence provided. There is no scam here, just a strong, urgent need to survive. And I set the goal low- enough to pay off the security deposit so the landlord can’t evict us and a little more to tide over what my income won’t.

I don’t like doing this. I know readers don’t want to hear about it.

But I gotta try even if like the last fundraiser, it’s an epic failure.

I can’t say we’re the best cause. Hell, if I had money, I’d be donating to save endangered tigers and create no kill animal shelters because those are causes that resonate. I don’t expect our cause will resonate with many. But even if half a dozen people say, hey, this family could use a break…That’s more than we can hope for.

Click here or on the picture.

So help, share, wish us luck…Or unsubscribe, whatever. I’ll make no apologies for trying to keep my family afloat. She is worth more than my pride will ever be.

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.

Thanks.

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.