Archive for generalized anxiety disorder

Flailing and Failing

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on August 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It was…a trying weekend. Mostly in part because my father called Friday night to INFORM me they’d be over bright and early Saturday morning to ‘help’ mow my lawn. Which meant I drained quickly and went to bed early but couldn’t stay asleep because I was living in dread. I told him multiple times, no, thanks, I will get to it…But then I remembered, my lawn is all about him and what people say about him because I am his daughter thus reflects badly on him…Geesh, it’d been one week, in spite of all the rain it wasn’t that damn bad. THe lady across from me let hers go a month, the mayor’s sister’s lawn is so overgrown her kids can’t even get to the swingset cos it’s waist high on them…So I slept like shit, I woke up filled with dread…

And I wasn’t wrong. First thing, in spite of me and Spook picking up the yard first, some shred of whatever got caught up in the rider so they yelled and tantrumed and had to take it home to ‘fix it’. They left my brother and his push mower and frankly, I did 3/4 of it by myself even with his help. Only for them to return with the rider and to start screaming that I didn’t mulch it up, I missed this spot, and that spot. Christ! Lawn nazis. If you ASK for help, then maybe they can bitch. If you insist you DON’T want help and they force it on you…then shut the fuck up. I was PROUD that I did so much of it with minimum help from my brother (though he did help) and they couldn’t even let me have that. Ass trash.

Meanwhile, my mother is still in agony with her spinal stenosis and her doc submitted the X-Rays to the spinal specialist last Monday, marked urgent…and it’s been a week, she can’t even walk or bathe or use the toilet alone cos she is in so much pain, so my sister has been busting her ass to take care of mom and her elderly roommate…And dad is all worried about my sis, but her and her husband left a friend in charge of elder care to spend the weekend at Six Flags….AFTER guilt tripping me about all their bills and how much mom’s anti inflammatory cost…


Family is another word for hell.

At least Spook and I are getting along. Even though she is getting rightly fed up with how low functioning I am. She wants her friends to come over and play inside and I just…can’t. Since they lowered my Xanax and yanked the Wellbutrin, leaving me only 50mg daily of Zoloft…I have gone down the drain. I have been trying to make it up to her by making it a nightly ritual for us to lay in bed and watch Frasier together and snuggle buggle…But of course, it’s picture time, it’s book fair time, now she wants to join band…and I can’t afford any of it. So I get to be the bad guy, yet again, while the donor drags his heels for the third straight year on signing THE FUCKING PAPERWORK HE PRACTICALLY GOT ME TO SIGN ILLEGALLY IN THE FIRST PLACE. Guess making it legal is too scary for the spineless wonder. Or he knows it’s pissing me off and it’s his last card to play. Which is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die, so yea, 187 IQ, my ass, donor.

I feel reality slipping away more and more each day. The anxiety never dies down, just climbs. The mental space never lightens, it just grows darker. I am at wits’ end. I am flailing and failing here. And failing my kid would break me, I’d never recover from that. She has already had high anxiety over those brats across the road accusing her of trying to kill herself when she was doing no such thing, but now she is terrified they could report it and an adult could report it and get her taken away…Every call, she asks, are they taking me away? I hug her extra and she asks, are they taking me away? I am failing, big time. Though we all only ever wanted to make her stop dramatizing and lying, we never meant to create an insecure basketcase. And the fact I’ve told her that her messy room is more likely to deem me unfit than all else and she still doesn’t give a damn to clean it…I think it’s a combo of fear and drama, and less us tainting her.

I see the NP this week. I am already in dread. I thought about skipping bathing for a week and showing up in jammies. But this woman is fucking clueless, she can’t even accurately figure up a month supply count of medication. And I am super pissed off that I am not able to accomplish stuff around home because I am just too high strung and mentally beaten down. Oh, and my lack of enthusiasm for Halloween…they might as well have stabbed me in the heart, gut, and skull. Their conversative menthods have SCREWED me over royally. I am doing my part. They are doing fuck all.

So yeah…I am trying but…I’m drowning here, flailing in a current I’m not gonna survive, and just trying NOT to fail at being a mom in the event I come out the other side. That feels like a big IF right now. You can’t always control mental health issues or nervous breakdowns. No matter what ‘behavioral health’ zealots claim.


Babylon Files: Back To School

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Something as insignificant as having my phone 2 feet away on the charger throws off my equilibrium. I am accustomed to the phone being less than 12 inches from my hand when I am in my safe space. I keep reaching for it and it isn’t there which gives me a moment of panic until I remind myself it’s across the room. I could use usb to charge it in front of me but that takes three times longer than electrical charging. Unfortunately there is only one outlet in my bedroom so I kind of have to work around that which means charging across the room. The tiniest things shake me up.
In a prior post I mentioned seeing my kid at the bus stop and having what seemed like a break from reality. Not exactly a break but an overwhelming thought that damn, I’ve got her to fifth grade on my own, but it’s been hard and what if I start flying apart with emotional and mental shrapnel because it doesn’t seem real that she is already ten…It was disconcerting and it’s happening more frequently, where reality seems to much to grasp and I feel hazy and scared I am going to crack my lids.
I put my bra on inside out. That is a testament to how altered my mind is at this time. Attention to detail gets lost in the mix. Least I figured it out before I finished dressing. Okay, I am still wearing the pants I slept in so I am half dressed but wearing a bra is huge for me. I will take the backwards win.
Some days forcing myself beyond the mail box is impossible. Sometimes it is very difficult but I am able to do it. I never know what is coming my way is the big problem. I can’t predict how high my anxiety level will be or why.
I don’t get people who get ‘high’ on caffeine, chocolate, sweets, etc. I can drink a 2 liter of soda and still not feel any difference. I wish it was that easy to boost my energy and focus.
Sometimes I curse the silly superstitions my mother instilled in me. Or installed. My nose itches, I hear her voice telling me someone is going to call or come by. My ear itches, someone is talking about me. Today my ears are super itchy which is making me super paranoid and anxious. It is illogical but I can’t shake it off. Back to anxious inertia in my space safe since leaving it heightens the sense of the other shoe dropping. This is what I mean when I say my thinking is very altered. I am always high strung and expecting the worst but this is extreme even for me.
Bio trackers…my god, tech is getting more terrifying by the day. You could ingest them unknowingly with any food really and then your body becomes the tracking device. Of course, this is off TV but I have little doubt it’s out there or in the works. TERRIFYING. And no, I don’t buy that bullshit ‘if you have nothing to hide, you have no reason to be paranoid.’ I am truly a very boring safe person but the idea that someone could use my own body to spy on me creeps me out.
My kid is home safely, she had a good day, it’s after 3 p.m. and yet…my anxiety continues to climb. I have zero idea why, it makes no sense, usually as the day nears 5 p.m. the anxiety is tamed a bit. But I have been feeling pretty high strung and frozen in place all day so I guess this is just one of those paranoia panic ridden days I can never predict. At least I can look forward to bedtime…4 hours and 12 minutes from now. Egad.
My kid had a good first day at school yay. I was worried.
My brother picked up my trash then came back by to tell me my trash cans had bugs in them. So now I am in charge of the outdoors, according to my father. Ass trash. I might make it to town tomorrow and get a big thing of bug killer for out back. That man is a stain on my soul. And my kid is still smarting from him calling her an idiot. A 72 year old man picking on a 10 year old and calling names while telling her to grow up. That’s fucking rich.
7:45 My spawn is ready for bed, yay, school is wearing her out. Now I can take my father stained soul, my depression and my anxiety to Fort Blankie and bliss out on sleep. Sadly, the consistency of sleeping through mostly since starting the Zoloft is wearing off and I am back to the sleep wake hellish cycle. At least I can get back to sleep easily. To wake four or five times briefly. WTF is wrong with my brain?

Tossed Salads And Scrambled Eggs Brain

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on August 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

(Yeah, I stole that title in part from the Frasier theme, it fits my mental state.)

I slept last night but I woke up so many times, the only saving grace was that I was able to go back to sleep easily. Only to wake again and again. First school day jitters should be my kid’s, not her mom’s. Geesh, she is in fifth grade and knows the drill, so why am I up in arms? Maybe because the school never answers the phone or returns messages so I couldn’t take her supplies over and she had to lug half it to the bus and it was heavy as hell. I didn’t know what bus number she was on or when it would be by so we went with last year’s schedule. She left to go to the stop at 7:30 and I became so neurotic I sat on the step to make sure the kids weren’t picking on her, plus I wanted to see the bus number and time they get here. And I’ll be damned it wasn’t two minutes before I forgot the bus number. Scrambled eggs and tossed salad brain. I hope she does okay and has a good day and didn’t get on the wrong bus. If she did it is their fault for not returning my calls or giving me new information. But the buses all go to the same place so I figured she’d find her way with a little help…Nerve racking.

I also had a briefd moment of ‘omg, I am losing touch with reality’ because I saw her standing over there in her new school clothes (she wore the Penney’s $45 outfit my sister got her, of course.Man, I get sick of them one upping me, but then again, their bills aren’t paid and mine are so I guess my priorities in being frugal are spot on. It still stings a smidge that she didn’t want to wear any of the stuff I got her. I am trying not take it personally but…I take everything personally. Right down to municipal untilities checking the water thingies this morning, but it was for everyone, not just us. The tiniest things send me into panic and paranoia meltdown.

Like being back in ‘I don’t have the energy to refill my ice cube trays or even feed myself.” Yesterday I had two pieces of ham and two pieces of beef jerky because I couldn’t muster the energy to cook. Spook lives on microwave meals so she isn’t hard to take care of that way. And I have GOT to shake off the paranoia and get my ass to town for groceries but I am scared if I do, then the internet people will have a cancellation, call while I am in town, and I will miss my opportunity to get our service up again. I am going nuts without my outlet to the outside world. I mean, sure I have my cell and am hotspotting these posts but it isn’t the same. And a kid without net access, geesh, you’d think it was life or death. Could she have learned this from me? My saving grace is that I have an asston of shows I never watched so I have something to watch for when the TV antenna isn’t bringing in anything watchable.

My gut goblins have already did a Rockette’s number on my innards. That is getting old real fast but it’s not anything new, I’ve battled a nervous stomach since I was 12. Internalizing stress four different doctors said. I wish I knew how not to internalize it.

Today’s plan is to do as little as possible other than force the ice cube tray refill. I did bits and pieces here and there for two days so…inertia day is in order, and not like I have a choice. Back to NCIS New Orleans. Oh, how I love the sights and night life and the entire vibe of that city. I always wanted to go there for one of their haunted city tours, see the Lalaurie house, visit Marie Leveau’s grave. Creepy stuff ghouls like me do. I mean, I wanted to honeymoon as the Lizzie Borden Inn because, well, I’m obviously operating on a tossed salad and scrambled eggs brain. But my ghoulish nature is the least of my issues, it is what makes me feel happy. Normal is overrated.

I don’t think I will ever have any worries of being normal. Normal is my bete noir, my anathema. Fuck normal. Fucked up is the new black.

Stop, drop, and panic

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My kid has a ‘stop and drop’ for school tonight to take her school supplies and meet her new teacher. I do not want to go. The parking lot will be a madhouse, all those people. All the grades are basically in the same building and teenagers creep me out. (Yeah, yeah, bullying doesn’t hurt anyone, you get over it…NOT, still hate those mean monstrosities because I know the cruelty and torture they can be capable of and it DOES scar some of us for life.) It’s only an hour, which means everyone, their kids, and probably their livestock will be there. Last year I convinced Spook to let me request a day dropoff so I could avoid the panic involved. This year, she wants to go.

Which means I am going to need a bath since I mowed 3/4 of the yard and am all grungy and sweaty. Picking out clean clothes, wearing undergarments, trying to get past the panic and paranoia, not get in a car wreck cos of traffic, and oh, plastering on the smile so I appear perfectly normal when in fact, I feel about as crazy as I ever have.

The paranoia and distorted anxiety induced thoughts are freaking me out. I’ve always had it to an extent, but right now, it has ballooned to ‘loss of touch with reality’ to some extent. Not to mention how this is going to throw off my evening ritual which is part of what calms me down for bedtime and soothes my frazzled nerves. Mash, then Frasier, then sleep. Last night, I had a mini meltdown and panic attack because it rained and our digital antenna wasn’t bringing in any stations. I was on the floor, unplugging the TV, channel scanning ten times, watching the clock because the normal routine was thrown off completely. Eventually I got the station I needed but man…This ‘routine’ rigidity is new for me. I’vw always needed some sort of structure but this is ridiculous.

I guess so many things in my life are out of my control, this is the only way I have of retaining any feeling of having control. It sounds wacky but it makes perfect sense when you factor in all my mental health issues. I’ve always wondered if I have a touch of Aspbergers (however it is spelled) because I have so much trouble making eye contact, instigating social connections, bonding with people, and the desire to just be alone because it is all so difficult…I mean, in theory, I’d love to have a small tribe of likeminded friends, but in practice…even friendships are too much stimuli for me. It truly is overwhelming and anxiety inducing. Not to mention when you have friends there are social obligations, like going out in the petri dish, and that just isn’t me, really never has been me aside from my rare manic or stable periods. Maybe it was all the bullying in school and the dysfunctional family dynamic that screwed me up, though the anxiety and depression do no favors, either.

I am debating whether to finish the last part of the yard. One thing about the pool water still clogging one ear is it lessens the noise of the lawn mower. Bad side, my kid has “Old Town Road’ stuck in my head in a loop and I just wanna scream. It’s like that damn Jonas Brothers song “Sucker”, it gets stuck in my head even though the first time I heard it, I thought, whoa this chick can’t sing, she sucks. I was stunned to find out it was by dudes. I hate loud pitched noises, it makes me need to pee, not to mention what it does to my hearing sensitivity.

I feel so damn broken. So often, especially when I hear about people who are actually contributing to society and having careers and lives, pass away for whatever reason. I ask, what the hell is my purpose here? I’m 46, I still can’t work, my mental health issues are just getting worse by the day…I am a useless drain on society while these talented people are dying WHY AM I FUCKING HERE? I guess it is to raise Spook, maybe she will make something of her life. I sure as hell didn’t, unless you count the sheer miracle of never trying to off myself and surviving the Baskin Robbins menu of mental health illnesses. I really need a sign that I am here for a bigger purpose. To write successfully, to help animals and less fortunate people, to DO SOMETHING GOOD.

Thing is it is damn near impossible to do anything for others when it takes everything you have to manage yourself and what responsibilities you have going on. It’s not a cop out or excuse, it is just plain truth. I need to get well, and stay well mentally, before I can be of use to others. I’ve tried doing it backwards and putting myself out there for others, but all it leads to is them moving on and me getting further behind.

WHY AM I HERE? I feel so…Ugh. Pointless. And reading the news every day is not doing me any favors. Now the dictator in charge is gonna ban immigrants without high paying skills, anyone who has ever used public assistance, blah blah blah. Oh, and let’s not forget this former phone company dude trying to censor the internet where anyone who disagrees with your beliefs can silence you on line. IT IS TERRIFYING.

Oh and one more thing to irk me. A show just said someone was diagnosed with manic depression and bipolar disorder. THEY ARE THE SAME BLOODY THING, DO A LITTLE RESEARCH, MORONS.

Nope, expending energy and getting active by doing all that mowing didn’t ease my anxiety, quiet my mind, or make me feel invigorated. I am still pissed off, depressed, and stricken with terror and panic. Man, I wanted to be one of those happy commercials where someone just takes up physical activity like running or whatever and suddenly they are cured of depression and anxiety. Except that isn’t reality for many of us. Certainly not bipolar two. You can’t give your all when you’re depressed 10 months of the year and barely keeping your head above water.

Incoming stress headache.

I hope my panic and paranoia can at least wait until after I have to take her to stop and drop. When the alarm bells go off and I start viewing everyone as a viable threat…well, the sweating starts, the gut goblins kick in, and…it isn’t pretty but it is nice and humiliating. Egad. Anyone who says I am not doing my best is a fucking moron. That I am still here and not locked up as a threat to myself or others is a bonafide fucking moron. And yes, gratutious cursing is necessary because…well, damn it, I am freaking out and cursing makes me feel better. Oh, fuck. One more thing to worry about tonight. When I panic, I tend to start cussing under my breath then out loud if it gets too bad.

One day I hope Spook can at least look back at all the things I have done for her benefit and think, hey, she wasn’t such a shit mom, after all.

Parenting With Panic and Paranoia

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

If you even read this blog occasionally, you’re acquainted with the basic facts. 1-I am a single mom, 2, my butt is being kicked by a myriad of mental health issues that seem to worsen by the day and my current psych care is less than stellar, or even competent.

Being a parent with mental health issues is tricky. You want people to see that you’re not doing well, but you don’t want it to seem like you’re unable to care for your kid(s) so they’re taken away, so you white knuckle it daily, doing what bare minimum you can when your disorders are at their worst. Some days, that means getting my kid up, dressed, and off to school. Other days I can whirlwind it like last week when I had to make six trips to town in two days and one involved being seen in public at the pool in a bathing suit surrounded by noisy kids. I am still paying for that level of functionality. Today, I managed to keep my word on the promised trip for her birthday to Chuck E Cheese but since our return home…

I’ve grown increasingly mentally tired. The sound of her friends outside, while giving me joy that she finally has made some friends here in Armpit, their boistery behavior wears thin on my nerves. I am half afraid to step outside as if these ten-12 year olds are viable threats against me physically and mentally. I forced myself to sit on the step for a few minutes and pet my kitties but then the boys started throwing rocks and I told them if one hit my car, butts were getting kicked. And I came inside. They are all too busy and noisy and it just, ick. Don’t get me wrong. Spook has struggled so hard since we moved here, I am very happy she has found some neighborhood friends to hang with. That is great for her.

My mental state, however, means what is great for her is pretty toxic for me. What kind of 46 year old woman has feelings of being threatened by kids who could not even care less about my existence? Isn’t that me making myself more important than I am? But it’s not like it’s limited to kids. I am in ‘everyone is out to get me’ mode. It’s not a pleasant mental state. And it’s not even a ‘hearing voices, feeling physically threatened’ situation. I know these kids aren’t out to harm me. Yet my mind is sending out red alarms and tuning them out has become impossible. So I stay inside, peeking out from time to time to make sure they haven’t maimed my kid or property, but mostly…I stay far from the fray.

This isn’t really me. I’ve always gotten along well with kids, and was always the fun parent at the trailer park which was why kids wanted to play there.

So I am here wondering, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?

It isn’t enough to recognize your thoughts and feelings have little to do with reality and are just distortions from mental illness. It should be that easy, but it’s not. One impossibility I have found in my 30 plus years battling a plethora of diagnoses is that no matter how hard you try, how driven and determined you are, you *may* be able to talk yourself ‘out’ of the distorted thoughts and feelings one out of ten times, if that. The harder you try to fight what you are feeling the worse it gets. Acceptance is just easier, and ultimately, healthier.

I guess the whole point of this ramble is to say, yes, I am a single mom and my kid is clothed and fed and had a good bday and is registered for school so…I’m nailing it that way. But day to day, dealing with simple stuff like her wanting to go outside and play with friends or ride her bike…My terror is causing me to become clingy helicopter mom and every waking moment is spent fighting my own fears. I just get this bad feeling in my gut that if she isn’t safely inside and within my reach, something is going to go wrong. This would have been more appropriate, and called for, 8 years ago when the donor walked out and left me with a kid to raise alone. She was still in a crib then. I have done battle for years with her social life, her school life, trying to keep her fed and clothed and happy and healthy…

It’s never been this bad before, where even letting her go outside and be a normal kid leads to me feeling a stress stomach ache, heightened anxiety, and rampant paranoia and fear. I am not nailing it right now.

I am hanging by a thread.

I live by only one edict: my damage must NEVER overshadow her having a normal (ish) childhood. She is aware of mom’s problems and weirdness and sometimes it impacts her negatively (like my ban of friends coming into the house, I just can’t handle the invasion right now) but I suffer in silence quite often in my effort to give her a normal childhood.

I only hope the times I succeed will shape her more strongly than the times I fail.

You can only do your best as a parent, but there are no doevers and you can’t return a sociopathic adult child to the hospital so…even if giving it your all bankrupts you psychologically…Anything less really is not an option.

Now I am going to go make sure the slime kit her friend just gave her as a gift doesn’t become a mad scientist situation. Not that I am much use with slime kits, the instructions are gobbledygook to my confused and scattered brain. Least I can make sure she doesn’t glue her hand to her face or eat Borax, I guess.

One day the inventors of slime are probably going to be sued when the long term use of Borax and glue for making slime is revealed to be toxic. Every kid these days is obsessed with slime so it’s gonna be a class action lawsuit.

Or is that my distorted paranoid thinking?

Parenting is hard. Parenting when your brain sends you wrong signals constantly…this is walking a highwire with no net. And my balance is shitty.


Posted in anxiety with tags , , , , , on July 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The panxiety (paranoid anxiety) has returned with a vengeance. I can’t explain it other than paranoid anxiety, this sense of bad things coming, feeling unsafe and vulnerable. Sometimes, I question my sanity because I don’t feel sane when it gets this bad. I don’t feel in control at all. And this is pretty much status quo 5-6 days a week. It is frustrating to try to explain to my psych nurse and her be so dismissive. If something is bad enough to disrupt your basic functionality and make you question your sanity because you honestly think “something” is out to get you, it seems it should be addressed by a psych professional. She refers feelings to counselors, as if they don’t play a part in my mental health treatment.

I am maxed on Xanax and Buspar and it’s not even taking off the edge. I don’t dare take more, though, they are making everyone sign these ‘pop urine test’ sheets for stimulants and benzos and don’t want to be caught ‘riding dirty’ so they think I’ve proven their benzos are evil mentality…This looming overhead adds to my stress because some days, I truly need to take an extra pill just to slow my mind and ward off the paranoia that has me convinced something bad is coming. I’m not superstitious, this is more insidious than a fear of black cats or the number 13.

I feel so helpless and hopeless. Maybe it will subside a bit once I’ve made it to town and back with my kid. I’ve noticed that all summer I have been under extreme stress from the trips to town and her being so far away from me (in my mind, 14 miles is far away) and I am just a neurotic helicopter mom…

I don’t feel I need hospitalized. I do feel I need an actual psychiatrist with an open mind on benzos who is willing to listen to me and not just refer every feeling I have to counseling. That would be the best thing to aid in helping my condition.

I have a better chance of finding a pegacorn.

The Fall After The Function: Vulnerability

Posted in anxiety, panic disorder with tags , , , , , , on July 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

All my life people have opted to focus on when I am functional, or half functional. They don’t want to know the reality so I appease them by putting on the happy face and feigning my way through it. It is excrutiating.

In my previous post, I spoke of a sense of foreboding that something was going to go wrong.

People scoff and tell me I am being ridiculous.

The dryer isn’t working. And I am not bright enough, or brave enough, to discern if it’s a simple blown fuse or something far worse. And it’s not like I can have people come in and look at it and see my dust bunnies and smudged walls and cobwebs. I try to get them all but inevitably, I miss stuff. And then comes the judgement and disgust. So I don’t like inviting even family in.

I just knew something was going to go wrong.

Now you would think it would be as simple as tidy up then get someone in to check out the problem.

I am afraid after a many months long depression and doing the bare minimum it’s going to take a major overhaul before I feel comfortable letting people see the worst of it. I know this does not speak highly of me but it is what it is. My kid has clean dishes to eat from, clean clothes to wear, she has food in the cabinet and fridge, she gets bathed and her social and educational needs are met. An unwaxed floor just doesn’t seem all that important to me. Except three months of spot mopping has, well, turned it into a hands and knees scrubbing situation.

People always ask, why do you let it get so bad?

I ask, why do none of you ever notice how hard I am struggling and offer to come in and help me keep it from getting so bad?

Their answers of course are, we’re too busy, you’re a grown ass woman, grow up,et al.

Their insensitivity to my life long plight is why they are not welcome in my safe zone.

I am feeling very vulnerable tonight. VERY. Like scared and unsure. I keep being told I just need to get a job, it will give me my self esteem back.

Every job rejection is a nail in my self esteem’s coffin.

I can’t look them in the eye and say I am stable because I am not. And above all else, they want a stable employee who will show up rain or shine or panxiety attack or depressive fort blankie moment. That person is not me.

I wish I could feel safe and secure and confident but the panic attacks and paranoia just play hell on every aspect of my life. The depression sucks the joy out of the most basic things that I normally enjoy. I try to force it. I push myself harder and harder. And this is the end result. A week of pushing myself to the breaking point and there are cracks in the facade…and I have no one here to turn to.

Meanwhile a little girl doesn’t understand why mommy is always looking sad or upset, no matter how much I try to explainto her that I had an illness before she was born and I still have it, nothing to do with her. I try to slap on some silliness and interact positively with her. I am with her every moment she’s not at camp, school, or with family. I am doing the best I can, at this time.

Still, the facade continues to crackle and split.

I just feel vulnerable and scared.

And I fucking hate it.