Archive for hormonal dysphoria

Untitled-All The Good Post Titles Were Taken

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

Sadly, I have noted that a catchy title gets a post more views. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but I went back and retitled a past post and it went from two measly views to 13…No added content. No added tags or a change of category or fancy pictures or prose. Just a stupid title change. An idiotic title, no less. I liked the original title because it truly spoke of how I felt in that post and yet it gathered moss untitle I dumbed it up with some catchy idiotic title. Pfft. Mind you, I often give my posts wacky quirky titles intentionally and that is all me and if people read them, so be it. But it really chafes to know the SAME FUCKING POST gained 11 readers all because I gave it a cutesy title. Having said all that…I am grateful for every view and especially grateful if it resonates enough for a like. This may come as a shock to y’all but it wasn’t until I printed out ONE of my posts that I realized just how long they are. 3 bloody pages and an entire squid milked of ink, geesh, I need an editing app for my brain.

Today has been stressful to be so uneventful. But no day where my dad calls at 7:45 a.m. ordering me to get out in the yard and start picking up limbs knocked down by last night’s storm is going to be a good day. The ritziest house in town still had all the limbs littering their yard hours later, they weren’t spazzing out over it. I don’t know why he does. Guess cos he and stepmonster have appointed themselves the yard police of Armpitopia. I honestly don’t get why people like them so much except maybe they don’t have to spend much time with them. If you did, then reality would kick you in the face. They are conceited, they are narcissistic, they are controlling, and they’re stuck up when it comes to their own agenda. They give zero damns if you have a knife plunging out of your skull, their blood sugar numbers (usually brought up high because they don’t eat right, they just talk about doing it) are more relevant. Them them them. I find it…overpowering.

No, irony is not lost on me. I have a blog and do nothing but talk about me me me me, I, me. Sometimes Spook and the cats. Butmostly me. Because I can’t speak for anyone but myself and this blog is sort of centered around MY struggle with mental health issues so it’d be downright bizarre if I talked about everything and everyone but me. I assure you, in my real day to day interactions I am not so ranty and complain-y. This is my space to be that way, so forgive me if sorry, not sorry.

I finally got a break from my needy tantrum throwing screaming spawn but never knowing when they might swoop in to bring her back and make some demands on me doesn’t lessen the stress. Already, dad is ordering me about, saying he will put gas in the car and give me the flowers to go put on my mom’s family’s graves since he can’t stand going to that town. (Yet, he can’t understand why Spook and I are so unhappy in this town, it’s like the ability to draw a parallel is not in his skillset.) I told him I was just gonna go Friday or Monday when my check comes and i can put gas in the car. Nope, Not good enough, he wants it done tomorrow. But rather than give me money for gas, no, like a child, I have to meet him at the gas station so he can watch me pump it, see how much goes in, then he will go in and pay for it.

I don’t know how not to be offended by that but it’s the way he has treated me and my sister since we were kids. Yet his man child son gets to keep his entire paycheck, not even drive himself to work or pay for gas, not pay for rent or food or expenses of any sort…I don’t know how not to be offended.

I am thankful for drafts, I will say that. Earlier I was all hormonally dysphoric and went on some tear about anxiety and fury towards the psych nurse (I swear, I fantasize about slapping her smug overly made up face!) Thankfully I lost my train of rage thought and just saved it to drafts and started this one fresh. Bet it’s still too fucking long. I need that editing app for my brain, damn it. I think it’s called Focalin, but my craptastic psych nurse won’t prescribe it. God forbid we should have meds that enhance our quality of life.

Anyway, high anxiety, low energy, total situational depression and hormonal rage feelings. That has been my day. One thing I can say, aside from sorry for the squids that had to be milked for 3 pages of printer ink for that post I wanted a hard copy of, is…with some editing, it was a well written piece and I might even send it to psych nurse’s supervisor, the one who oversees the actual medicine, not the clinic director. She was useless toward getting M’s bedside manner to lose the ice cubes and spikes. I doubt the benzo nazi will even blink but it was well written and heartfelt.

First do no harm absolutely should apply to psychiatric care providers.

Or the title that got the attention, Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care or some shit like that.

My heart feels very sad for mankind when bubbleheaded titles trump well written ones. Our communal ADHD as a country is showing and it is not flattering.

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32 Pennies In A Ragu Jar

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

“Got 32 pennies in a Rago jar, that’s all I got to my name…”
—-Warrant

Technically, I don’t have a Rago jar and I only have about 27 pennies but sentiment is the same. I have $2.39 cents on my debit card and about half a gallon of gas in my car. I am also completely OUT of cat food. Since I stood up to my dad about his bullying me because I can’t make anyone HIRE me, he has told me to fuck off on all fronts that might involve him being anything but a dick. Even if it punishes my cats. I thought maybe I could surreptitiously get some out of their outdoor stash while they were gone, then say later, hey, I got some food for the cats…But that was empty. So…

What to do. The minimart sells a six dollar bag of Tidy Cat but not even a can of Nine Lives and I have hungry cats. I can’t even get to town to pawn anything. And my wonderful father is digging in his heels all because I pointed out the obvious, that I can’t force someone to give me a job. All I can do is keep applying, go to interviews when called, and keep showing an interest. I can’t bloody well stalk them. My nephew took their advice about calling the hiring managers when he was looking for work and they actually yelled at him for bugging them and said if he was hired, they’d have called. But dad and stepmonster are living in the 50’s when being such blatantly in your face was a positive thing. To them my lack of stalkerish behavior is a slacker trait.

This is adding to my situational depression, of course. I guess I can feed the cats mac and cheese, it is the only thing we have like a case of to eat for the next week.

I am cramping off and on. It is humid as fuck. My kid is home for the first full day and it was all I could do to get her to stop running in and out and mom mom mom mommy mom mom…I am ready to bloody scream.

I am hormonal as hell and not sure whether to be happy just to spite everyone or to be teary eyed just cos I feel like it every half hour or so.

I am ready for bed. I thought yesterday was an oddity, that a half ass night’s sleep would help and it did. I was up at 5:30 a.m. though so it’s making for a super long, super sweaty day. Not even being able to run to town where my sister would give me some cat food and toilet paper cos I can’t put gas in the car…I’d like to say it was lack of planning on my part but you can’t have extra when you got more going out than coming in, it’s not possible. And meanwhile, everyone is beating up on me for not being hireable but no one is doing a damn thing to hold the donor accountable for his child. Hard not to feel bullied when even the lawyer gives zero fucks and my dad can’t be arsed to even LOAN me twenty bucks til next Friday. I am trying, ffs.

I am trying to see the positive here but there’s nothing happy about hungry kitties.

I am missing the days when things got like this and I could just drop out til the check came in by popping my prescribed coma pills.

One thing that’s better today is the anxiety level. It’s lower, but that could be the xanax and buspar I took this morning when I felt my skin starting to crawl off my bones.

I looked into some work from home jobs that I am actually qualified for and ya know what? None of my tech is current enough, I can’t afford the necessary software, and I don’t have a quiet place to work because a train goes by 15 times a day and drowns out everything inside.

Optimism is overrated and positivity is not catching on.

I wish it was but reality is what it is and mine…blows a herd of goats. Ask me when the horror-mones aren’t rioting in the street and I can at least feed my cats and get to 15 miles to town and back.

Being stranded and failing kitty cats does not bring out the best in me.