Archive for generalized anxiety disorder

Non Fictional Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on July 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Over my years on disability, I’ve been asked How does your condition(s) impact your ability to function normally on a daily basis. During my years blogging about said conditions, I have received a plethora of advice telling me to exercise, meditate, use herbal supplements, envision myself calm and unaffected, be strong, be tough, blah blah blah. (Well meaning people are the bane of my existence because they really don’t get it.)

Today the enormity of my anxiety disorder/panic disorder is slamming into home plate with a cleated shoe to my face.

I’m watching a fictional tv show where most of the characters, including the cops, are corrupt, lying, backstabbing assholes and the only decent characters are all getting screwed over and gaslit by the assholes…and my heart is pounding, my paranoia is up, and it all feels like it may as well be happening to me. I feel scared, outraged, helpless, and I am about to just give up on the final four episodes (it only lived one season) because my fight or flight response is hammering at my psyche…

THIS. This is how my conditions impact my daily functioning. I can’t even watch a fucking tv show because it triggers fight or flight.

Going for a jog, doing some jumping jacks, and inhaling essential oils does not correct whatever is crossed in my brain causing inappropriate messages to make me feel inappropriate emotions and physical responses.

So while some may perservere by jogging 10 miles a day and huffing essence of pegacorn farts…

I’m not so fortunate. And I hate this shit with every fiber of my fucked up being because I can’t even date or eat in a restaurant or go to an amusement park lest the fight or flight panic be set off and send me into a sweating, pretzel gutted foul odor emitting trainwreck.

Yesterday it was the black depression kicking my ass. Today it’s the anxiety.

17 days til my next med check appointment with yet another new psych nurse. Maybe she’ll tell me to stick a spoon on my nose and walk around the block while singing “Yankee Doodle”. After being told by one well meaning person to rub patchouli oil on my pulse points as it would help with depression and anxiety but instead made me sneeze, itch, get hives, and cough until I retched…

It goes to show I’m willing and desperate enough to try pretty much anything but as usual the one size fits all mentality simply doesn’t fit me. I’m oddly propertioned psychologically, I guess.

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Stripped Down Naked

Posted in mental health with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

(EMOTIONALLY NAKED, move along, perverts who thought otherwise.)

I like to think I am pretty transparent in my blog about my feelings but then, I have to come to grips with my coping mechanisms of sarcasm and macabre humor, not to mention mood-fueled rants often masking the true emotions that might actually resonate with others. Those coping mechanisms have kept me alive my whole life at times when I was being so mentally beat down I could have easily exited stage left never to return again. I treasure my mechanisms even when others don’t get it, or doctors or therapists say they’re not healthy. They’re mine and they work for me.

At the same time I realize they can mask a great many things about me that might actually be likeable. In the interest of transparency…Allow me to remove my masks and strip down emotionally bare.

I wasn’t always this angry sarcastic bitch monster. Once upon a time, I was a vivacious girl who loved watching Madonna and Cyndi Lauper on MTV and mimicking their fashion. I loved cherry Slush Puppies from the gas station. Walking to this corner hole in the wall mom and pop stand with a dollar in coins and coming out with a paper bag full of penny candy. I loved staying up late, drinking Mountain Dew, eating nacho cheese Doritos with beef jerky, watching cheesy slasher flicks. I relished warm summer nights when we had an old horse trough as a pool and the water would be so warm under moonlight and I was so free, unwatched, unjudged, just splashing and having fun.

The flip side of this would come, of course, when the depressions hit and I’d retreat within myself because no one wanted to hang with Debbie Downer holed up in her bedroom listening to sad or angry music.

It wouldn’t be til many years later I’d find out that the vivacious side of me that pondered no consequences and just lived life to the fullest when I could was actually part of a mental disorder. Mania or hypomania. I was flabbergasted. Being happy and loving life is MENTAL DISORDER,WTF? I just couldn’t reconcile with what the professionals were saying about extremes. To me, happy was happy, I didn’t know you could be ‘too happy.’

Wasn’t til after too many cycles of too happy and too sad with way too few episodes of stable that I saw the damage being done to my life, and my mind. I wanted nothing to do with medication, convinced it was all artifact of a dysfunctional family and childhood bullying. Eventually, though, I had to face that happy behavior or not- it was a problem.

Money-or more aptly, spending it, became what made me feel happy and alive. Eating would take its place when it ran out. Then when money for food ran out, it would become sexual extremes. I’d draw people to me, then become some other person and drive them away. Over and over and over. And I’d always go running to the counselor, asking why, what is wrong with me, why can’t I stop???? Why can’t you just say it’s okay to be too happy and let me ruin my life naturally instead of it happening anyway even with the damned pills? Little did I know at the time thatn while the counselors had diagnosed me manic depressive, their ancient, inept shrink labeled me dysthymic and kept feeding me antidepressants that sparked the mania episodes. It would be over 12 years before I’d find a correct diagnosis and mood stabilizers.

In doing so, I felt like I finally had an explanation for so many things. But I also felt like the vivaceous part of me was dead and gone. Depression or not, everything that had made me fun and creative seemed to get sucked up by the stabilizer meds. To some extent, I still believe that, though Lamictal is the only one I can tolerate without horrid side effects and being numb.

I have been so caught up in this cycle of mood swings and anxiety and dates that ended with me throwing up after a panic attack. Hard to see the up side of life when that is your life.

So bare naked truth.

We need money. What I value most, though, what I have always value most…are words. I guess as an avid reader and writer it makes sense. I got my first pen pals when I was 15 and my name was published in Metal Edge magazine looking for other music fans to write. Over the years, I lost touch with dozens of people, then submitted my name again, and made new pen pal friends. I wasn’t a snob, I even wrote to inmates. And some of those inmates may have been working an angle, they may have been puppy smothering goat molesting scum for all I know but…words. And some would send me artwork of dragons and such and I was in awe because I always wanted to be able to draw and…I simply can’t, even my stick people suck.

Once the internet became a thing, letter writing has died off more and more. I can’t remember the last time someone sent me a handwritten snail mail letter.

During the move, I came across my stash from an old friend I met in a mental health chat room. He would write me even when he crashed and burned and had to go into the psych hospital. I haven’t heard from him in 8 years and I miss him so very much. He struggled so hard. Every part of me hopes the silence is because he found his magic cocktail and got his life on track and not some…darker reason. But I still have his beautiful words, his amazing artwork, his stark naked thoughts and feelings that he chose not to just share on line with me, but to pay postage and send to me.

Of all the things found during the move…it’s his letters that I treasure the most.

It is difficult for me to bond with people but when I do…it’s also hard for me to unbond.8 years without a word and I still love that boy like he’s my child. What others see as words on paper, I see as a beautiful treasure I can keep for the rest of my life. Knowing at least for a bit, someone cared as much for me as I did for them.

But technology has changed everything. Much as I love the internet…I am sickened by ebooks. I want paper, ink, pages, bookmarks, I want the entire writing and reading experience sometimes. It may make me a relic but this is who I am. These are the things I treasure when I am not overly focused on money and depression and anxiety and just trying not to fail my kid.

My family was non demonstrative of any feelings except anger and hatred.

So I’ve spent my life searching for someone who feels things deeply, like I do, not just the negative. These feelings, when put on paper with pen, become a thing of everlasting beauty.

If this makes me hokey, so be it. This is me, stripped emotionally naked. I am not a money grubbing bitch beast under it all.

But since letter writing has gone the way of landlines and social media basically turns everyone into 160 character simpletons…what I value most is what I cannot have. It is sad but I am trying to change with the times.

I will never forget this is who I am, though. Retro, relic, old school, nerd-whatever label you wanna slap on me. Some values should never be trends, they should just be who you are deep down.

The Free Floating Anxiety Chronicles

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on December 30, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

I am not fond of posting multiple times a day but when something has me so out of sorts…it really helps me work through it if I vent so here goes…

R’s appearance, uninvited Wednesday night (to his credit, he did text first for the first time in weeks, but when my lackluster response was met with ‘since you’re so disinterested…and I didn’t reply otherwise, yet he still turned up, no desire to talk or listen to me, yeah, he’s digressed to the elitist narcissist he always was, money changes people.

Since then, I have gone back to high anxiety, paranoia, and a dark cloud of anxiety over my head. It’s impacting my sleep whereas the four days R free days I had, I was starting to feel calmer, more at peace. What this proves to me is that while much of my anxiety is indeed free floating and often without a discernable trigger…this ‘friendship’ has become toxic for me.

He will never cede to this, he will remind me how good I’ve got it, how he fixed the furance, fixed my car, gives me the credit card to put gas in the car…He will flout every kind thing he has done for me in an effort to make me feel guilty and like I am betraying him. I know this because it has happened a few times before. Do his bidding or you are disloyal and a user.

This is the very definition of a toxic relationship. The man calls himself my friend, but didn’t offer me a Christmas ‘bonus’ of $20 bucks so help with my kid’s Christmas. When I even mentioned it, he scoffed indignantly and said, ad nauseum, “I’m buying you a car, what more do you want from me?” Needless to say, this hurt. And after six years trying to atone for how poorly I treated him 20 years ago when being given the wrong diagnosis and meds…It was plain insulting. Cruel, even.

He never asked me if I wanted him to buy me a car. He just deemed mine too old, too ugly, and I AM BUYING YOU A CAR. What no one realizes is if I go for this seemingly ‘good deal’ I will never escape being under his thumb. His acts of kindness are just that, until I displease him, then I get flogged with them and made to feel like an awful ungrateful monster.

This is the epitome of a toxic situation.

I honestly thought with his wife home from her job I’d be free of his visits for the better part of a week. Oh, and before you say, Just tell him no…Yeah, last time I did that, he got huffy then spent the night texting me about needing this part and that part, even though I told him I didn’t feel well and was tapped out. If I don’t perform, be it him not wanting to be alone or jumping thru hoops to do his bidding…He turns on me. In true narcicssist form he cannot see the err of his ways. He never will.

A year or so back he demanded I come into the shop and mostly it was to fetch lunch and keep the phone from bothering him but I was crying and told him, “I have a sick cat at home, she may die and I’d like to be with her.” To which he said, “I should think you’d rather be here than watch that.”

WTF? It wasn’t about my comfort because of course I don’t want to see an animal sick or dying. But it was important to me to be there so the cat didn’t die alone and he just could not relate because his emotional IQ is so low. And yeah, EQ is just as important as IQ. Smart but soulless does not work for me. I should have abandoned ship then and there.

Instead I have let the situation metastasize and now I am at a loss how to bow out gracefully without bringing his wrath down on me. You may wonder why I care, once I am out from under his thumb, I will be free. But R seldom lets it go, he will bully me or simply write me off as if I betrayed him. It’s scary thinking just to save my sanity and lower my anxiety I have to risk blowing up a friendship. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not a friendship, not really. He doesn’t even send a birthday or Christmas text, treats my kid like an annoyance even in her own home. When he got this ‘real’ job and started making good money and now that he knows the shop is merely a side project to line his pockets…Throw in the forcefed political bullshit and it’s become an unbearable situation for me.

The fact that his reappearance, even in a social situation where he didn’t even mention the shop, is setting off alarm bills. He once bailed on me because he felt my mental health issues were dragging him down but he will never accept that the same is now true for me in this situation. So how to be diplomatic, calm, fair, and cause as little turmoil as possible…I tried to tell the psych nurse how it was breaking me down, but she could not have cared less. That leaves me on my own and just handling the whole thing has me panicking.

Top that with inexplicable free floating anxiety…I have to save myself at all costs. If he won’t accept polite, then…burn the bridge. It’s not worth it anymore being treated like the poor relation forced to do his bidding while he lords his well paying job and this magic car promise over my head.

Personally, a true friend to me would be someone who while not pleased with my choice to walk away would at least be understanding and supportive.

Sadly that has never been the situation with this person, except when he was the one ditching me for being too erratic and stressful.

Toxicity personified.

-Cidal

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on March 13, 2017 by morgueticiaatoms

The last couple of weeks have bestowed upon me so much anxiety provoking stress that I’ve run the gamut from patricidal, homicidal, suicidal…To say I don’t process the normal stress of life gracefully is an understatement. But it’s classified as a DISORDER for a reason, ffs.

One night a couple weeks back R showed up at my door with his friend J in tow. I like J fine, he’s cool,if  a little persnickety in that military way. What threw me for a loop was being surprised. Just…showing up. And my house is of course biohazard four.  Feeling like a cornered animal, I guess I was less than hospitable. Then R complains how cold it is inside and oh…the furnace went out again, YAY. He spent another two hours working on it even though I told him not to bother, this broken shit thing is defeating me on every front. But he fixed it and it’s been wondermous having heat.

Not so wondermous being called a jerk for, well, maybe being a bit of a jerk, but ANXIETY DISORDER. I don’t like people in my inner sanctum, especially clean freaks who judge me and gossip (oh and they do, trust me, well meaning or not, yet none of them are offering to buy me a week of maid service to help me get caught up). I don’t like being caught off guard. I go feral. I don’t want to be that way, but…No amount of Xanax and therapy have managed to break that fight or flight response to deviation and invasion of my space.

Then the brakes on the car failing…Oh, more fun. R tried to fix them Sat night, waiting until it got dark, of course, figuring it’d be quick and easy as he’s done so many brake replacements over the years. Well my beloved bucket of bolts, Aubrey, just had to be difficult and it took an hour to get the tire off only to discover…the rotor was pretty much rotted to nothing. MORE MONEY, yay! But he didn’t have the right tools so it was “drive home slowly and hope the brakes work a time or two more.”

Talk about living on a prayer!

Let me just say this…I am neurotic to the nth degree when things I need are broken, be it car, internet, heat…My entire focus becomes the one thing that isn’t working and I  literally cannot think of anything else. I feel hobbled, panicked, and until it is fixed…I am just stuck in an endless panic loop. Cranky, depressed, anxious, snappish. I try to fight those impulses but being put in the position of helplessness, as in not being able to keep my kid warm or get her to school…I freak.

It’s the cornered animal factor. Brings out the feral in me.

Not to mention how nerve racking it was to basically not be able to go anywhere (didn’t even have bread to make my kid sammiches cos the stupid cats got in the cabinet and ate my bread, fuckwads) for 3 days. Waiting for R to contact me about fixing the car, scared to take a shower lest he beckon, unwilling to risk starting to cook a meal lest he call, just…my entire being was on hold. And of course, he’s so obsessed with the shop he was there all weekend and sent me a text about needing some fuses for an amp and charming beast I am, I texted back: :”Coincidence, I need a car with working brakes.”

When it’s his needs, do it now. When it’s my needs…whenever he gets to it. That is the bitch of having people do you favors, being at their mercy and not even having the right to say, hey, I have a life, too that is being hindered…

And three days being hindered made me a very depressed nasty person.

The patricidal urge came after a ten minute call from my father informing me I have no right to ever complain about the car because I got it for free and it was only $400 and I’ve gotten a year out of it. Um…I can never say “this is broken and it sucks”. Nooo, not with my saintly asshole father. He says everything I say is accusatory to him, even my floors caving in. Um…how is asking for a few boards to put on some soft spots accusing him of being at fault?

Then he started in on how they just bought a new pick up at auction for $1600, bringing their vehicle total to 5. But he won’t loan me a car because he says I don’t brake properly thus the failed brakes on Aubrey were my fault and I don’t do this or that right and…

Oh the knife twisted further when he tossed out, “At least I’ve never expected handouts, I’ve worked for everything I have.”

That could not have been more below the belt had he physically kicked me in the shin. He damn well knows it, too. Me and my nitwit pension, humiliating him. He has to mention “well-farers” every time he speaks to me.

By the time the call ended, I wanted to utilize a Wednesday 13 verse on him: “I want a car, to run over your head, I wanna kill you, dig you up, and do it again…”

Oh but noooo. Instead I go all pathetic teenage girl chewed out by daddy and start tearing up and thinking I probably should just kill myself since my own father thinks so little of me.

But I let a few tears escape, then I told myself NO, you will NOT give him the power to do this shit anymore. Took a Xanax, rubbed on some mood lifting oil, and…it was better. I’ve decided not to take his calls unless forced to. And furthermore, he only ever sees me drive when he is at moms and I pull up or leave so what the fuck does he know about my “bad driving”? He’s a senile cockweasel who is only ever happy putting others down.

And it occurred to me I might be more like him than I want to admit as it seems I am always on Spook, don’t do this, stop that, you won’t listen..,.I try to praise her when it is warranted, let her know I love her, but damn.,..I’ve become the gloom mongering “no” (meaning you can’t do anything right) momster. But then if I don’t teach her right from wrong…I will be a failure as a parent, too.

My  brain is about to implode.

Alas, the car was taken to R’s son in law’s last night where the right tools were and it took them 90 minutes to swap out the one bad rotor and put on the two front brake pads. Thank the sacred pegacorn. R said I was damned lucky because one more trip on the bad brakes and likely it would not have stopped until it crashed.

Not being hobbled anymore really helped my mood and lowered my anxiety.

And not a day too soon cos we got 2 inches of snow last night, can’t fathom driving those old brakes on snow.

It was still dark when we had to get up this morning, wtf is that since we got the extra hour of daylight? Or is it just the gray gloom? I don’t like it.

This weather sucks. Two weeks ago, I went to my first yard sale of the season as it was in the sixties. Now we hit the 20’s and snow a week before spring begins. WTF, midwest?

Every time I think the seasonal depression might be nearing an end, this mother nature weather crap has to kick me in the shin.

I can only hope now that the car is fixed (muffler can wait, too many bills right now, to worry about it sounding pretty) my anxiety will quiet down a bit. I mean, when the xanax isn’t even helping at max dose to ward off the feral fight or flight responses…you’ve pretty much reached the end of your rope.

What galls me most, perhaps makes me feel homicidal, is just how ignorant everyone around me is. They don’t want to see the patterns, see the disorders, recognize that maybe dealing with me differently would get a better result. My idget dad says I sound accusatory so I say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I will work on that.”

Yet he gets to remain the same heartless rude bastard he;’s always been, he never has to improve or apologize.

Am I just too emotional and high strung or are most people emotionally wired like sociopaths????

If my own family can’t work around my disabilities…I have little hope an employer ever will.

Guess it’s time to start looking into that home fetish porn site thing again. Let Daddy go brag how his daughter’s not on a nitwit pension anymore, she’s on the internet sloshing her feet in cream corn for some fetish site.

That makes me smile. He makes me miserable and I want to take him along for the ride.

And ya know, throw him under the bus, run over him,  put in in reverse, and do it again…

I know, I am terrible but Wednesday 13 is just such an amazing poet….

What It’s *Really* Like To Have An Anxiety Disorder

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on November 21, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

The masses will all generalize things like, “I know how you feel, I get so nervous giving public speeches”, or “I’m terrified of heights, I get it.”

Actually, you really DON’T get it.

Because an anxiety disorder, complete with panic attacks and paranoia, is not related to a particular trigger at all times. Many times, it comes on without a trigger, without explanation, and boggles even those of us who suffer from them.

Imagine, if you can, the sensation of a bug flitting across your bare skin. An ant, a gnat, a roach, whatever insect of your choice. Your instinct is to shudder and shake it away or swat at it. Gross! Seconds later, even though the bug has been dealt with, you can still recall how it felt on your skin and you shudder again. But then you forget about it and move on.

Anxiety disorder is like living 24-7 with a thousand bugs crawling over your skin, in your hair, under your skin, inside your veins. You feel like you are losing your mind because, obviously, there are NO bugs. It’s “all in your head”. The sensations, however, are very real. Terrifying. Discombobulating.

You start to feel fragile. Like you are under attack from every outside stimuli. Like you have a target on your front and back and head and EVERYTHING around you is armed with a gun.

You tell yourself to “grow up”, “shake it off”, “get over it”. To no avail.

Anxiety can be triggered, sure. Often, it is not. Often, it is like a band of ninjas and by the time they strike, you’re caught unawares that you can’t do battle properly.

Just fathom living this way EVERY SINGLE DAY OF YOUR LIFE.

Imagine that fear of public speaking or heights or spiders or whatever not merely being a trigger that you can avoid or power through, but A CONSTANT COMPANION RESIDING IN YOUR OWN MIND AND YOU ARE NOT ARMED PROPERLY TO FIGHT IT.

Furthermore, think about what it’s like for those of us with anxiety disorders and the stigma and lack of understanding society deals us.

Do you consider that minor? Silly? Immature? Weak?

Ignorance, thankfully, is not contagious and CAN be cured by educating yourself on the matter, rather than making ignorant assumptions and judgments.

Trust me, judging, mocking, teasing, assuming- none of this helps us. If anything, it makes the anxiety worse and we retreat further into ourselves. Desperate for comfort, to escape our own demons for a moment or two.

Two out of four days this last weekend I was convinced I had bugs crawling everywhere. I survived a couple of hours in the dish on Friday but it was grueling. A firetruck siren went off. I felt terror pierce my entire being. Oh, my home is on fire, it could happen, it’s happened before! Oh, no, a ringing phone, what do I say with all these bug like sensations making me feel absolutely insane?

To recover from this, I did not leave the lot for the entire weekend but for a brief trip to a convenience store.

Today, the bugs are almost silent.

Almost.

But I don’t know how better to explain it than bugs on your skin, bugs everywhere.

Maybe tiny electric jolts going off under every inch of skin and tissue at random intervals. Or maybe a giant stack of amps outside your window blaring the most heinous music at all times.

Living this way is not fun and no amount of medication or therapy tricks make it any easier.

THAT is what it’s like to have an anxiety disorder.

If it still seems funny and mock worthy to you…You are  far more ignorant than I could give any human being credit for. And I pity you for your emotional intelligence stagnated around age ten.

If you want to see strength, intelligence, fortitude…

Look at those of us with anxiety disorders, including a myriad of other chemical misfirings in our brain…WE are the soldiers doing battle without weapons, without an army. WE are brave and strong and though suffering, we keep fighting.

Fighting an invisible enemy 24-7 is far more exhausting than anyone can fathom unless they live it.

Freshly Stressed

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , , on November 14, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Tough night staying asleep. I woke pretty much every hour on the hour. I think it’s because I got six bizarre ranty texts from R on subjects I never even broached. Think he was both drunk and feverish with whatever ailment de jour his wife gave him. (And by the way, thanks fucker, for coming over with your illness and putting me and my kid into your petri dish range, thoughtful.) It’s hard enough for me to sleep but when you keep being wakened by disturbing pro Trump texts and topics you didn’t even mention…It’s distressing as hell. Every time I’d nod off, another would come in.

This election has changed people, and not for the better. R has always been arrogant and judgmental but until The Donald fiasco, aka our future as Americans, he never once called me stupid but reinforced how intelligent I am. For months now simply because I don’t like people with Trump-esque personalities and politics…He’s called me stupid, a moron, etc all. And I blame Trump’s spewing of hatred, it’s intoxicated otherwise smart, decent people. And frankly, I don’t know why I’ve become R’s whipping boy when in fact I’ve been quite vocal about HATING ALL POLITICIANS.

And all this came after a very tough day with my kid. She returned from her grandma’s with an “I can do whatever I want and I’m telling your mom and she’s gonna be mad at you” attitude. Because I said she had to wear  a sweater to play outside, brutal me. It went downhill from there. She hit me, I sent her little friend home. I tried talking to her. She hit, kicked, threw a remote at me, the droid, hit me some more. I gave her cool off time in her room, tried once again to talk calmly. Nope. She started making threats to call the cops and tell them what an abuser I am cos while defending myself from her hits, my fingernail scraped her.

Is it possible for a parent to be abused by a 7 year old? Because I am starting to feel like an abused spouse, only my tormentor is my kid. Nothing works with her. Not a swat on the butt, not time outs, not taking stuff away. Nothing works. She flips on a dime and I realize…she is what makes my life overly stressed and miserable. When she’s good, it’s all good. Even when she’s a little bad, it’s ok. But when she goes feral like she did yesterday and becomes violent…I feel like a prisoner. Call me weak, pathetic, remind me I am the adult and she is feeding off my fear and insecurity. Walk in my shoes then readjust the “I would never ‘let’ my kid get away with that” attitude.

But as I said…turn on a dime. She calmed down. We had reheated bow tie pasta for supper, I got her into the shower. Things were fine then. I had her clean out the cat boxes and she at least earned back her dvd player. But it’s gonna be awhile before she plays with friends or sees that droid again. Forget an allowance.

First thing this morning after me barely getting any solid sleep…She screamed at me because I dare suggest she wear warm clothes. No, those are ugly, you want me to look ugly. Then I told her she couldn’t wear tights as pants cos you can see through them and she tossed this little Shopkin thing at me…

I am starting to see why I am so stressed and down most of the time. The kid’s behavior is unacceptable. Especially when chances are, one little ADHD pill a day could fix it but none of the professionals or insurance companies will even listen to me on that matter. Saturday night, home alone, relaxing…Got a good night’s sleep (except for the waking up to cough out a lung and pound of sinus drainage). Sunday morning I had tea/coffee/conversation with Mr. M and Bex in chat room, it was lovely.

Then I did dishes, swept, vacuumed, took out trash, made the beds…My mood was good, I was semi calm.

Only to have it shattered by bringing back the one person I love most in the world who has turned me into an abused animal waiting for the next kick to my ribcage. And mind you, it’s not a fear of saying no and making her unhappy that makes me fearful. It’s all these threats to lie to the school and cops about how abusive I am. I mean, this day and age, that fingernail scrape, even if I was defending myself, could land me under DCF review. I am terrified not of the child so much but of the broken down system.

And then the R fiasco and I am sooo close to telling him to fuck off but I want to talk to Mrs R first, get some insight. Maybe I am just so stressed and seasonally depressed I am misinterpreting his zealous advocacy of a man he believes in…I am at least humble enough to question my own mental state and that maybe I could be wrong.

He was sickly last night and ordered me “answer your phone tomorrow in case I need to take off.” Um…I am not your damned servant. Especially after being called a moron for having my own views contrary to your own. It’s called being an adult and agreeing to disagree.

I am just…stressed. Overly stressed. And I see no relief in sight with the holidays coming up and money problems and family bullshit. Not to mention whatever disaster the new presidential regime will bring for those of us who are mentally ill. I expect a mass mailing of “no more disability checks, suck it up” letters. Maybe I am being all ‘the sky is falling’. Or maybe I, and millions of others, have a legit reason to be scared.

I hate having so much up in the air and coming at me.

On a better note…While my chat meet and greet was an epic failure, not one new visitor…I’d like to thank the usual suspects, Sass, Mr. Mumple, Bex, Ava, for stopping in and chatting. Means a lot to have people there to simply interact with on a level without judgment.

I think my purge is complete.

Now I am gonna go hork up my other lung and maybe  a pancreas. Can’t be too sick since it all clears by noon. Just like my dad’s same condition does.

Yay for Junk DNA.

 

More Deviation Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , on November 10, 2016 by morgueticiaatoms

Me, who is normally ready for bed by 9 p.m. (thanks for sucking the life out of me with tantrums and demands, spawn) and unable to drag ass out of bed til 5 mins before I have to drive her to school…

Was up multiple times through the night, sending text msgs to my bank for  balance alerts.

Not that being up many times during the night is unusual, it’s my norm.

This time, however, it was with cause.

I recently got fed up waiting for our ass trash postal system to deliver the child support checks in a consistent fashion so I filled out the paper work to have it direct deposited to my debit account.

Now, my disability checks have been direct deposited for 8 years, no problem. But that’s FEDERAL.

Trusting my state government, one of the most infamously corrupt states not to mention inept, in the union…That was a leap for me. I just KNEW something would go wrong, leaving me and Spook up a shit creak.

Not even the text alert I received confirming my  next support check would be electronically deposited assuaged my anxiety. Because…deviation.

Just like every month I check my balance first thing to make sure the deposit went through on my disability check…I kept checking all night for the support deposit.

At 5 a.m. I sluggishly sent the text inquiry for my balance. And IT WAS THERE! Yayness. For once, it didn’t get botched.

BUT all the anxiety caused me to remain awake rather than enjoying two more hours of sleep so I was up at 5 a.m., watching Designated Survivor and drinking sweet tea. Not normal for me.

Every time my disability is reviewed and they ask stupid shit like “how does your condition impact your ability to function normally every day”…THIS. I want to point out shit like this. The anxiety. The depression. The exhaustion from when I do venture into the dish.

I can’t commit to planning a meal lest my mood crash or nerves get frazzled. So how am I supposed to tell any employer, oh, yeah, I am reliable and solid.

This mental shit, to my chagrin, does impact every facet of my live, including the ability to have a meal in public or go to a concert in spite of my love of music. (Last concert I went to was um…in the 90’s and it was with R to see Styx so it doesn’t even really count cos that was HIS thing and only many wine coolers got me thru it.)

I HATE that I am not always able to power through it all. That I have let my mind become my jailer. I fight with everything I got and it’s never enough for those around me. Now that Trump will be taking office, I worry that being so rich and judgmental, the first thing he’ll do is cut disability for people like me. Because mental illness isn’t real, we’re lazy freeloaders, blah blah.

I mean, I hear it several times a week from R, he’s always on about “people on wellfare” and “lazy people my taxes pay so they don’t have to work.”

Like that daily assault on the self esteem isn’t a high enough price to pay for a measly disability income.

Point of this diatribe is…

Every tiny thing impacts my “normal” existence and it is no affectation, no weakness of character.

I can no more will myself mentally healthy than a diabetic can skip insulin and convince their blood sugar levels to behave.

Until the world at large grows a brain and comprehends this fact…

Mental healthcare will never improve and we will always be pariahs.

Which in my opinion just shows who the truly mentally fucked up people are. Because part of being mature and intelligent is having empathy and a willingness to understand.

Things we with mental issues already have.

So…who’s really mentally disadvantaged? Us, fighting with all our might, taking pills, doing therapy, doing every damn thing to get better…

Or the so called social elite normals who can’t grasp the concept of mental illness because half are sociopaths without a conscience.