Archive for insomnia

Thorns In Paws

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I think ‘living with a thorn in the paw’ is a good metaphor for mental health issues. Except you have multiple thorns in all your paws and it hurts like a son of a bitch and every time you manage to pluck a thorn and stop the bleeding…more thorns become embedded.

Yesterday it was depressive inertia and paranoid anxiety. I didn’t accomplish a damn thing before my kid got home from school which lead to me feeling shitty about myself, yet I was not feeling well physically, so it wasn’t like I blew it off out of laziness or disinterest. Then our internet went down, AGAIN, and much as I was looking for a quick work around to the low cat food problem…the minimart does not sell even small bags and I couldn’t be arsed to deal with my dad and ask for a cup of food for the night so…I packed my kid in the car and we went to town. Four stops. Including Aldi, which I always hate and I don’t even know why because it wasnt really busy. It all just felt like such an effort but…the cats got supplies, we have plenty of food, and nothing catastrophic happened so…I will call the necessary trip a win for the day even if I didn’t do any housework.

I was asleep by 10:30 but then I woke at 3 a.m. and could not get back to sleep. It was almost six a.m. when I nodded off at last…only for my idiot father to call me at 7:45 and start in on me about city wide clean up and hauling all the stuff from my shed and I’d heard it from him last night already. I keep trying to tell him there’s just a few bags of old clothes and toys that I can get there with my car and he keeps butting in and saying, no, you’ve got too much stuff in the shed…yeah, well, they won’t take junk electronics and such for city wide clean up so…Idk why he can’t just fucking butt out. Get off my back. I think I finally drove the point home by his fourth call, but it really put me in a bad mental space first thing in the morning.

Last night when he called he was boasting proudly how his woman now has her commercial driver’s permit because she scored so well on her tests at school this week. And in the background, there is this 44 year old woman making “Neener neener neener, aren’t I great” childish sounds. She was all but hee hawing like a donkey, I kid you not. And hey, great job, good for her, but damn, some modesty and maturity please. Then this morning he brought it up again and started talking aout how hard her life has been and she had to give birth to their baffoon of a son and…ermagod. He has her so high up on a pedastal it’s nauseating. Long as she maintains the old country thinking of doing the woman work for him and my brother, he thinks she walks on water. This isn’t jealousy or sour grapes, either. They are just so abrasive and annoying and…frankly, a downer. I could get a college degree, cure cancer, and he’d ask why I didn’t also cure Alzheimer’s. Nothing I do has ever been good enough. She does what everyone in her class did as well, and suddenly she’s a goddess…Take pride, but for fuck’s sake, some humility…I can’t even give myself kudos for raising Spook alone and he has to bring up something to knock me down a peg yet their accomplishments are gold.

Play fair or get the fuck out of my sandbox.

The power went out briefly. I figured it’d be awhile so I started tackling the gross laundry room floor but then the power came back on and Spook has started in about going to Grandma’s and I am…all scatterbrained and unfocused. Maybe once I get her to town and get back my brain will slow down enough to focus on what needs to be done. Maybe not. But it’s do or die time, I have got to find out why that damn furnace won’t come on, which means getting outsiders into my safe space and…even when the house was tidy I was still ill at ease with that whole shebang. People in my only safe space has long been a thorn in my paw.

I am just tired of thorny paws and confusion and asshole family and plastering on this fakeness to hide how bad off I really am since it doesn’t matter as they wouldn’t understand or accept the truth. In their world, mental illness is not real. And maybe because in my world, mental illness is the only real thing, maybe that is why I simply cannot relate to or warm to them. They invalidate my entire existence and it’s less painful to just keep them as far away as I can. I hope the rain stops soon so my dad goes back to hauling corn. When he’s on the road, he doesn’t bother me. Now it’s been raining and they haven’t been hauling so I get called over and over on a daily basis and it’s…more than my mental health can handle at this time.

My family should come with a damn skull and crossbones toxic label. Because they mean well but they are so fucking toxic.

The Wrecking Ball That Is Mental Illness

Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, depression, mental health with tags , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yeah, okay, I,too, am not entirely comfortable with the term ‘mental illness’ due to the fact that it does come with some many negative connotations and stigma. I am also LOATHE to jump on this “behavioral health” bandwagon as the name itself invalidates legitimate mental health disorders and calls them behavioral issues. For the sake of this post, I am going to go with mental health issues as a term as it is fitting, DSM and political correctness be damned. But seriously, instead of a kinder, gentler world with more understand of mental health issues, the campaign to de-stigmatize has recently taken some blows-by the very people in charge who are supposed to be setting an example of the tolerance, understanding, and compassion.

Not to mention as of recent years any time someone goes on a shooting spree, the powers-that-be toss around “it’s just the mentally ill people doing this”. Which, FYI, is a fucking joke, considering the alleged background checks are supposed to track down psych hospitalizations and such, so if anything, the only guns the ‘mentally ill’ are easily getting are on the street and gee, whose fault might that be that illegal arms dealers don’t do background checks? Not to mention, most of the shootings have stemmed from militant hate filled people whose sanity, by legal definition, is pretty sound, or how else would they function highly and use guns as opposed, to say, going bonkers and grabbing a kitchen knife or an axe or some other readily available weapon ‘crazy’ people use?

Most of us who battle mental health issues are not violent or delusional. We have highs, lows, unexplained sadness, rampant anxiety. It is a wrecking ball to our ability to function normally. Not to say many don’t find the right drug cocktail and therapist and go on their merry way. It’s just not like that for many of us. And while we are battling all of this, we are surrounded by people who scoff and just want us to get over it and quit being such downers. If depression worked that way, well, big pharma would wither and die and hey, if we were all ‘in our right minds’, well, then who will be blamed for the mass violence next? People who eat chocolate obsessively? Coffee drinkers amped up on caffeine and sugar?

My mental health issues impact EVERY aspect of my life. My ability to be a good mom, to keep house, to pay bills on time, to feed the cats, make sure my kid and I are bathed and wearing clean clothes…It impacts my ability to forge bonds with others because I have tried and everyone gets sick of the ups and downs and the times I go down the depressive rabbit hole and become a paranoid anxiety ridden trainwreck. So I self isolate to protect not just myself from rejection, but to protect others because I know this shit show called my mental health could devour people with less strength, and it has. It’s just a giant wrecking ball that robs me of focus, robs me of sleep, robs me of joy, even in these I love. I try to rebuild, but before I can, I am having another bout, or stick stuck in one because my psych care is so lackluster.

My family says I am just making excuses not to try harder. They seem to think I enjoy being anxious and depressed and popping pills. I do NOT. One of the happiest times of my life-even though I was depressed and anxious as hell- was when I was pregnant and the ONLY pill I had to take every day was a prenatal vitamin. Opening the cabinet and seeing only one bottle as opposed to 4 or 5…it felt damned good. And I tried to do without meds, repeatedly. It always ends the same way. Me falling apart and things getting worse. So while my current meds aren;t doing a damn thing…I keep clinging to that wrecking ball, swinging back and forth, hoping when it stops…I can start trying to rebuild my sanity, my zest for life, my shattered self esteem and the feelings of rejection and isolation…

Make no mistake about it. Much like a wrecking ball used in building demolition, mental health disorders are every bit as destructive, stripping you down until you barely feel human. Until you feel like nothing you do will ever rebuild the wreckage left in the wake of manic episodes or depressive bouts.

The last thing we need are our supposed leaders labeling all mentally people as potential mass shooters. We’re traumatized enough daily by the stigma and the disorders themselves. Stop blaming the mentally ill for abhorrent acts of hatred and violence. Reap what you have sown, society, by accepting a culture filled with such hatred and so much division that these horrible acts occur. Get it through your head that because those of us who battle mental health disorders, we are more likely to throw ourselves in front of a bullet to save someone’s life as opposed to taking a life. That isn’t crazy or mentally ill. It’s called being a compassionate human being.

Something that is sorely missing in the UNited States these days,

Scrambled Eggs All Over My Face

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on September 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Okay, so the title is, of course, from the Frasier theme song but yesterday it became quite literal. I’m not fucking Betty Crocker and I can’t get omelets to turn out, like ever, so I do this “slomlette” thing for my kid when she bothers to eat breakfast. I nuked some eggs and went to stir them mid way and…they exploded upward and onto my face, into my hair. So I wiped my scalded skin and finished her breakfast and ya know what? I didn’t even eventually get to bathing to wash egg bits out of my hair. I think I am on day 6 without bathing…Yeah, gross, but hey, wet wipes and a bar of irish spring with some deodorant can hide a multitude of depressive hygiene failures. Though three days in the same clothes is getting iffy. Great thing about wearing nothing but black, no one ever really notices that sort of thing.

Last night was garbage. I never did bathe or mow the lawn or do the dishes. I did finish season 4 of The Magicians and came out feeling utterly depressed and dejected because they killed off my favorite character (assholes!). I caught the season premiere of AHS 1984 and was underwhelmed. About the only chore I accomplished was to wash and hang dry a small load of laundry out on the line because my kid was running out of shirts. I tell her, over and over, the clothes aren’t going to get washed in your bedroom basket, you gotta bring them to the washer…then she waits until she has nothing and I am supposed to find a laundromat open at 9 p.m. to do her bidding which wouldn’t be necessary IF SHE JUST COOPERATED A LITTLE DAMN BIT. And she is not being cooperative on this Focalin. She is moody, combative, she says it does not help at school and she starts yelling at me and becoming angry…Like it’s my fault. I get her frustration but this is ALL ON MERDIAN HEALTH INSURANCE THROUGH THE STATE. They refused to pay for the med that was proven to work so now she’s on this medi go round of shit that doesn’t help. YES, MERIDIAN, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR UPENDING MY CHILD’S WORLD BY BEING CHEAP FUCKING BASTARDS. I had a sweet focused kid when she was on Concerta and now she’s just surly and hyper as ever and knowing that one med made it better but insurance won’t pay and I can’t, well, now she’s just a ball of hostility and I can’t entirely blame her.

My night was further wrecked, thus fucking up my day, because I took my melatonin benadryl cocktail but was still awake at 1:30 a.m. And I was getting so flustered and just pissed off because today was The Day. Kick myself in the ass, get this lawn mowed so dad will get off my fucking back, do dishes, get the house in order (ish), enjoy a break from being a mom for the night…Instead I got about 4 hours of sleep and it was all I could do to pry myself out of bed by third snooze alarm. I am sleepy, I am achey, I am grouchy, I am pissed off. But we’re about to get 4 days of rain and my yard is the only one not manicured to perfection so I have got to get it done to keep my dad off my ass. He’s been working this week which means his exhaustion turns into pure vitriole toward me if I don’t meet his standards. I am so sick of him being in my business. If it’s a problem, come mow it yourself and shut the fuck up, you’re not my landlord. But it’s like walking on a minefield and just turns into him screaming and cussing me and confrontation sets off my already red alert alarm bells.

There are times I wish to fuck I had a physical condition that people could actually empathize with. This mental health bullshit is just way above the grasp of some people and it is exhausting trying to live up to their standards when I must think ten times a day that ‘you can’t live forever, it has to end sometime.’ I’m not excited for upcoming Halloween, MY holiday. We have 2 week old kittens and that doesn’t make me feel anything but more burdened with responsibility. Frankly, the responsibility of it all does get to me sometimes. Truth is, for all my bluster, some days I am just terrified that this child is counting on me and I can barely keep the milk in the fridge from being expired. And meanwhile the donor is telling his coworkers how because a court order means they take support out of his check that it makes him a good dad who takes care of her. 8 years without so much as a birthday card. He stood her up the one time he claimed he did want a visit. I get all the responsibility and I get to be the bad guy. That’s just fucking awesome.

As is sitting here with the gut goblins playing trampoline on my innards, brought on by the anxiety of this whole lawn mowing-dad thing. They will be returning my trash cans soon, no doubt, and I never know if it will be a silent exchange or if they will scream at me and order me around about how my lawn isn’t up to snuff. Last year, avoiding their attacks was what got me out there mowing it myself (that and half ass functioning meds and adequate xanax so I wasn’t ya know, afraid to leave the house)…This year…much as I want to go kick ass and take names so I could bask in my accomplishment…I am battling the depressive inertia. I can’t even fucking make myself bathe,ffs. Feeding myself has become about the maximum I can do and even that is iffy because I can never choose what I want, or if it will upset my belly, or if I have the energy to even nuke something. It’s been a long time since the depression and anxiety got this bad. I always thought at the times that it was rock bottom but I think this truly is worse than that. What is below rock bottom?

So I am going to force myself off my ass and try to mow the lawn even though it would be wiser to wait til later when it dries and won’t clog the mower but I am so pissed off about my dad being such a dick, about my sleep being so fucked up last night, and my kid being so off the rails, it’s not like I can truly focus on anything else until I get this shit done. But it’s gonna take 3 hours at least with a single push mower, it is a huge lawn, and I FUCKING HATE LIVING HERE AND NEVER WANTED THIS HOUSE AND THIS FUCKING LAWN BECAUSE I KNEW I COULDN’T KEEP UP WITH IT ALL. I had no choice other than homelessness and they tend to take your kid away for that sort of thing so…here we are, stuck in a place neither of us much likes, and I am trying to puke rainbows to convince my kid it’s not that bad when…it is. It’s not our town, it is my dad’s. This house was not what I chose, it was what was forced on me as an only option. Spook hates it here. What’s not to be depressed and pissed off about?

It boils down to money, though. Last time we moved in two weeks with no wiggle room and it was sheer hell. And now that we’ve been told if we choose to leave her, dad and them won’t help us move…Can’t help but feel trapped. No medication is going to fix that. I do know, however, that the proper combo could help me perceive it less negatively.

I’m ready to try CBD oil, lick a hallucinogenic toad…I need out of this mental space but alas, the Zoloft just makes me more depressed and the nurse’s idea of help is to raise the dose. I surmount after 6 weeks and 3 dose increases and the fact I am MORE instead of less depressed should signal a change of course. But hey, she has the degrees and I am just the lowly patient whose life she is destroying by being so unreasonable. Damn sad when illegal substances start to seem like a viable option because your provider is making you worse instead of better. We’re a pot culture now, so hey, I’d likely be more accepted if I were just a stoner.

My tombstone is gonna be marked with “Death By Frustration” because this shit is gonna make my brain implode.

21.5

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Last night, for the first time in possibly months, I did not succumb to my sleepy combo. Partly because I’ve been out of benadryl for a week and out of the B6 melatonin as long, as well, so the combo was altered. Amazes me how 8mg of melatonin does nothing but if I split up a 3mg with B6 and add 25 mg Benadryl, I can peacefully drift off. Not last night. I woke at 5 a.m., figured by 9 p.m. I’d be done for. I was still awake at 2:45 a.m. Growing agitated, more exhausted, yet more anxious and stressed out. So I was awake a little over 21 and a half hours with no end in sight of my mind slowing down. Until from out of nowhere it just did but there was no relief or joy. Because that damn ticking clock in my head was deafening, added to the fear of not knowing if I’d crash so hard I would be unable to wake up promptly for my kid’s school routine. Stress, stress, and more stress.

The last week or so, I have been struggling not only with crippling ‘why am I bothering, there is no hope for me, make it be done’ depression…But also constant panic attacks. I wake up ahead of the alarm most days with bolts of racing thoughts and lightniging strikes to the heart resulting in a pounding pulse, fight or flight fear responses, and inability to catch my breath. At night, unless I get my sleepy combo just right and timed right, I will be awake past 10 p.m. with the same racing thoughts, pounding heart, rising paranoia, influx of fears, rational and otherwise. It’s wearing me down. And the constant waking panxiety is making me mad as a fucking hatter. Last night my daughter noticed my lamp flicker and started her drama llama “i’m scared” bit…Which I didn’t really put much stock into it, it’s had the same bulb over a year now, probably just gonna need swapped soon, no biggie, right? No. She notices that my TV screen dims and gets bright (which is based on the over the air feed broadcast quality, not my TV) so she starts in like it’s armegeddon. Which stirs my barely contained panxiety and sent me down the rabbit hole to the Xanax bottle. Because yeah, she gets all dramatic and her fears become my terrors. Does the smoke detector work? Are we about to blow a fuse? Do I have more fuses? Do I even have a flash light that works? Oh my god, what if I can’t figure it out and have to call my dad or landlord and they see the shame of my procrastination and depressive destruction in all the undone housework? It was a chain reaction and since I couldn’t assume the fetal position under the covers like a crippling panic attack calls for cos I had to be the strong controlled mom figure, I took a pill and told her that she needs to calm down and stop dramatizing everything.

Because as much as my issues are mad hatter and perhaps influence her, much of this drama llama bullshit started years ago, long before the worst of my ‘benzo nazi’ maiming that turned me into a damn panic ridden basketcase. The kid gets a hangnail, she starts fretting about one drop of blood making her die and wants to go to the ER. I blame this on my mom caring for her at an early age. My mom babifies little kids because it makes them more dependent on her and it turns them into fussy fearful little twonks. She did the same to my nephew. And she feeds it by never drawing boundaries, taking Spook’s drama as the gospel, and not calling her on it and letting her keep doing it. One more reason I’ve limited their contact with her. I love mom and my sis but their lifestyle choices are not in keeping with what I want my kid to learn is right. It may be right for them, but personally, I’d rather my 40 year old daughter not still be living me with me in my old age. Which is about the same on my dad’s faction where they still let their 24 year old man child live at home for free so he can spend all his money on video games, which they then bitch and scream about him being on all the time. Here’s a thought: LET YOUR KIDS GROW UP, MOVE OUT, AND MOVE ON. IT IS CALLED BEING AN ADULT. But in my family, apparently I am the only child who took the opportunity to make an effort to be an adult.

Oh and they never let me forget it’s not legit because “you don’t work”. I can’t sleep properly, I can’t make a trip to town without immense panic and terror, I can’t keep myself bathed, and I must think ten times a day that my life is pretty much over outside of raising Spook. I am in the grips of depression and anxiety from hell and it is disabling and all I ever hear from family, and the media, and the trolls and right wing pundits, is how by not working I am ‘milking the system’. I watched some PBS documentary at 1 a.m. about industrial revolutions and they were talking about how the U.S. and their ‘safety net’ programs, such as social security disability, need overhauled big time. Because the limitations pretty much make it impossible for disabled people to work. Work, lose your benefits and medical coverage. Can’t make the bills? Too bad. Can’t buy food? Too bad. Can’t get your meds to stay stable enough to work? Tough. What choice do they leave? The system is what is corrupt and flawed. Most people on disability are legit. Not that I haven’t seen and been sickened by abuses by wretched people. Hell, it’s those people who make me ashamed to be disabled and have to be on disability. And what they were saying on this documentary about people being complacent to just ‘live off the dole and never try’ to work kind of raised my dander, though to be fair, they did present a contrary opinion who thinks that thinking is false. I don’t know a single person who would choose to stay in the same struggle zone unless the system basically forced it to be that way, no wiggle room, no accommodation for the kind of work you could perhaps do in spite of your disability. You fit the mold, you don’t, no in between. That is a bigger disservice than people in need who use the safety net programs.

Lately between the news and TV shows, I just grow increasingly disgusted by, and terrified of, the state of affairs in the country right now. Mass shootings our dufas in chief is blaming on the mentally ill, when it’s the gun toting xenphobe ignorant set that are doing it. Mental illness does not equal violence. And it’s coming to light how there were reports on several of these active shooters prior to their carnage where people TRIED to report their potentially dangerous behavior and it was…blown off. I guess it’s just easier to blame the mentally ill than face the fact that you’ve spearheaded an entire xenophobic hatred filled culture and people are just taking it to the next level. Though I must ask, when was the last time there was a mass stabbing? Knives are even easier to get than guns and since the mentally ill aren’t exactly known for having ordered minds to make all these plots with massive weapons, why haven’t there been dozens of cases were some mentally ill person grabs the knife from the kitchen they just used to carve a chicken and hit the schools or stores and started stabbing willy nilly? Scoff if you must, but it makes sense. The gun lobby does not want to admit its role in the current state of affairs. I am not some anti gun nut. I believe in the right to bear arms. And I also believe 90 percent of decent people are responsible gun owners with no intention to harm anyone. At the same time, I don’t know registered firearms are doing the most damage. Illegal guns-which are easily accessed by criminals more than the mentally ill- that seems a relevant culprit…

I don’t even know where I went there. My brain was puree over the weekend so I guess the dam has broken and now I am just spewing.One more thing I saw that literally ripped my faith in humanity and respect for the system to shreds was seeing a perfectly happy Catholic working couple who had a kid with a transplant-and they couldn’t swing his $9000 a month anti rejection meds so the only solution…they had to legally divorce so she could be labeled a single unemployed mom and Medicaid would have to cover the drugs. And these were deeply devout people and their kid was freaking out about them going to hell for getting divorced and it…ripped my soul out. I’m not religious, I’m not even fond of this antiquated notion on marriage for life and keeping families in tact no matter what. But this was a family forced to divide-to save their child’s life, for fuck’s sake. What kind of system does that????? And then the braintrust who created a system that forces this drastic desperation all go, well, they’re cheating the system. NO. They worked, they had insurance, they did everything right and it was screwing them over. No kid should die because of red tape. No family should have to be split because their parents are middle class but too high earning for extra help yet not enough disposable income to get their kid the care needed for survival. WTF, America?

Oh I also saw some tidbit on some idiot politician who blames the active shooters on single parent households and kids not having the traditional family and religion and all that bullshit.

Is it any wonder my depression grows worse instead of better? And people are like, oh what can you do, just deal. I am dealing. Every day I get out of my own bed instead of one on a locked ward, every day I take care of my kid, every day I go to sleep and wake up the next morning…I am dealing. But I don’t feel good about any of the evil crap going on right now and I keep thinking, wake me and tell me the last 3 years have been a fucking nightmare, this cannot be what this beautiful country has been reduced to…Yet there it is, day after day, the reality that this is our reality show. Yes, our country is one big reality TV show, scripted for the most drama, the most hatred and bickering and vitriole. It’s like Jerry Springer meets The Apprentice and I find both those things unbearable to watch. Yet it’s what we’re living.

Now I am going to try to assemble my thoughts into something coherent. I need to go pay rent, get groceries, do laundry, do dishes, do this…and all I want is to get the sleep I missed out on last night. Sleep is the most important thing for good health, I keep hearing this everywhere.

Day after day I talk about the difficulty with my sleep disorder and still…I have people going, why are you tired, you don’t even work…Why did you stay up late and not get enough sleep?

Kind of like hey, why do you choose to be depressed, it’s much more fun not to be. DUH.

Idiocracy. Just…I want to give people the benefit of the doubt and say they’re just ignorant but…they don’t want to learn about mental health issues. They are choosing to remain ignorant and that to me…is idiocy. So…disdain earned, tirade over.

Otiose Ramblings From A Life Anhedoniac

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on July 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

otiose-pointless
anhedoniac-one who does not receive pleasure from normally enjoyed things

My daughter was horrified when she looked over my shoulder and saw ‘word of the day’ in my email inbox. She asked why anyone would want to have that. As if learning new words is as horrific as a man wielding a chainsaw while demanding you eat brussel sprouts. Sadly. this is an attitude I have faced my whole life. Any attempt to better myself outside a formal classroom setting is viewed with distaste, horror, and of course, the inevitable accusation that I use big words to make those around me feel dumb. I learn new words because it interests me, aids in making my writing less repetetive, and learning isn’t contagious so they can piss off.

I was watching the show “Instinct” and the lead male character informed his female cop partner that she was a ‘music anhedoniac’ because music did not light up the pleasure centers in her brain therefore she did not receive pleasure from it.

That was when it hit me that I have become a life anhendoniac. Most likely the depression but also the sheer monotany of trying my best and always coming up short. Things that should make me feel good, should light up my brain’s pleasaure centers simply does not. It all feels like a big chore, a draining task that is joyless and misery inducing. Am I the walking posterchild for depression or what?

I woke at 1 a.m. For no good reason. I was still awake at 5:30 despite throwing Xanax, melatonin, Benadryl at it. My Brain would not slow down and shut up. I was screaming into my pillow at one point. Night after night this happens and by the time the alarm goes off, I feel like a walking dead girl. I stressed out all that time knowing I needed to recharge so I would have the energy to get my daughter to day camp…only she informed me her “Boyfriend” isn’t there on Mondays so she didn’t want to go today. Seriously? Last night she was set to go. GAH! Not that I got to sleep in even a little between her yakking and my cat bathing my face incessantly.

I was gonna mow the lawn today. I don’t have the energy and it’s still so wet from early morning rain, it’d just clog the damn mower. Oh, and we had that windstorm last week so before mowing, we have to gather up all the twigs and branches…And the yard is half a football field so doing it with a push mower by myself is exhausting. Last year I’d started doing it simply because my dad’s ‘help’ stressed me out so much. This year I am so overwhelmed and worn down, I accept the help even though it truly isn’t worth the mental price. I wish I had the money to pay someone else to do it but the standard for a yard this size is $50. I ain’t got that kind of money. Besides, my neighbor across the street hasn’t mowed either, so if they say something to me, they damn sure best be on her case, too.

I saw the weirdest commercial on TV plus. It had this GWAR looking dude warbling heavy metal satan channeling lyrics about the evils of ecigarettes. And I was offended and amused at the same time. (If you don’t know who GWAR is, Google it, they are scary hilarious.) So now cigarettes and ecigs and vaping are all evil, but almost every state is adding some legal use of pot on the books. I’ve never really considered weed a hardcore drug, but I have looked down on stoners because seeing them stoned and minus many iQ points depressed me. Now everyone down to pre school teachers are entitled to light a doobie, get wacky, and it’s all good, long as you don’t smoke cigarettes or use an vape.

HUH?

I can’t wait til 20 years from now when they discover that pot causes penile cancer or some shit. The self righteous have really crossed some lines.

I am all for occasional use if it’s your thing. I am definitely all for it for people with illnesses that truly are helped by it.

But GWAR-ing me as if a heavy metal backtrack is gonna make me abstain from tobacco or nicotine is HYSTERICAL.

All this pot legalization also opens my already confused mind to questions like, “does this mean all the people charged with minor pot possession charges get their records wiped?” “What if everyone is playing bumper cars cos they are stoned?” “What if an employer bans the use yet the law says it is legal>” Total fucking quagmires. (Oh, dear, there goes that word of the day knowledge, how dare I!) Though my very old chatroom nickname was Kwee Quagmire. Partially after Scully’s dog from X Files and partly because mental illness is the definition of a quagmire.

I have washed dishes, refilled ice cube trays and water dispensers, washed aload of clothes, taken out trash. Now I feel drained. I still need to hang dry the entire load of laundry. Broken dryers suck. But I don’t dare spend the money to fix it because every two weeks I am just waiting for the child support to not be there because the donor just disposes of girlfriends and jobs like Kleenex. And sometimes, I swear he does it just to fuck with me and hope I have some sort of psychotic break. Of course, that would be giving him too much credit. For all his “I have a 187′ IQ bullshit, I seriously doubt he’d have the brain power necessary to play any real mind games. Then again, I have underestimated his penchant to be cruel and immature and maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss his potential to play mind fuck games. Because in his head, it’s all about me getting his money, he doesn’t even think about his child. To say he has woman issues is underfuckingstatement of the year. I don’t think it’s mathmatically possible that every woman he has been involved with/related to has been some sort of soul sucking mentally abusive monster. The odds are just too astronimical.

My kid starts evening church camp this week. 6-8 p.m. My brother is going to take her. I still don’t understand why they’re okay with a 24 year old man hanging out with a bunch of kids. Kind of creepy pervy. I guess their thinking is he’s willing to help and mentally he’s about their age anyway.

The Focus Factor is NOT working, is it? I am all over the place here.

Well, you guys choose to read this, you get to walk away, so winner winner chicken dinner.

Except my chicken has salmonella.

Ray of fucking sunshine, ain’t I?

Just Another Day In Bad Mental Space

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

It does not feel like I am ever going to ‘get out’ of this current mind space. It’s just a dimmed place where the negative stuff is magnified and what little good stuff needs to be put under a microscope. I don’t like this. I have tried to ‘bring myself out’ of it in various ways. Eat some fruit, get some exercise, do something different than your routine…Nothing is working. Which just feeds the feelings of self loathing and self hatred and defeat.

I did manage to bathe today. First time in 5 days. I was gonna do it Sunday but settled for a simple hair wash instead then felt guilty for that.

I fetched my kid from day camp and she started in on me in an instant. She was hungry, their food was bad, she was starving and needed to be taken out to eat RIGHT NOW and she had a headache and the kids are mean and…

She has not shown an iota of appreciation for the lengths I have gone to to ensure her a decent summer. The sacrifices I have made to buy gas to get her there and back. The anxiety it brings because I live in terror of the car breaking down. None of it means anything to her. She just expects it. I look back and think, wow, me and my sister were like this, too, must be a kid thing.

Except this isn’t, this is a metastatic spoiling of a child from outside influences so I can’t discipline or deny her things and teach her a damn bit of gratitude or respect or obedience. I knew letting my mother into her life was gonna be a huge mistake. My mom, who was more fellow kid than an adult to me and my sis and our friends. To this day all she cares about is spending the most and saying yes the most and being liked the most. And I am reaping what she has sewn in the form of an entitled kid with no gratitude.

I can’t wait for school to start, regain some semblance of routine. At least then I know THEY are responsible for her safe transportation and I can CHOOSE whether to go to town or if I can afford the gas. I thought doing this summer camp thing would somehow bring us closer and she’d see how much I am willing to give up to make her happy but if anything, she is less grateful than ever. And before any well meaning person points out she’s a child and this is normal…it is NOT normal to this extent.She thinks everything is disposable. Break it, so and so will buy another one for you. Make mom cry, oh, well, make her feel bad for crying in front of you. Apologize for things that aren’t your fault, then completely blow off apologies when you know you’ve done wrong.

Wow, I sound like a bit of a monster but damn, I have sweat blood and tears for this kid and not so much as a thank you, just give me more, more, more, and oh it’s not good enough and this is wrong and that is wrong…

No, love, try living in a mind where even when NOTHING is wrong you still feel utterly sad and hopeless. THAT IS WRONG.

And I don’t see any change coming soon since I can’t get away from the psych nurse from hell. Guess I should have just been blatantly non compliant and refused to see her again but then, that would put me on the every 4 month list and…I can’t live in this mental space 4 more months. Something’s gotta give.

Do you know how truly torturesome it is to try and find out WHAT is so terrible that you’d feel this bad yet come up with NOTHING to explain it? Well, chances are, if you’re reading this blog, you’ve dealt with the lack of logic of depression so most of you probably do know.

I’m not taking her to day camp tomorrow or Thursday, her karma for acting like a whiny spoiled brat. Maybe by Friday she will have gained some appreciation and I will be in a different mind space. At least one where I can find a reason to keep living because today…I got nothing.

Prepaid Spoons

Posted in anxiety, depression, invisible illness with tags , , , , , on July 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

When one with ‘invisible illness’ speaks of spoons, they are often looked at like they’ve sprouted a third head and bug eyes. But it’s a valid way of explaining why some days we are ‘on’ and some days we are all but cowering under a blanket in a closet. Just because you see us out and about and ‘looking fine’, you don’t know what’s going on under that facade, what we are experiencing inside. I can only speak from experience here, and my ‘invisible illnesses’ are of the mental health ilk, but there are so many other disorders and illnesses that are ‘invisible’ that I by no means intend to be dismissive of them.

Anyone who is on a prepaid cell phone plan knows the deal. You pay a flat amount and you get X minutes of talk, X amount of texts, X amount of internet data. Sometimes you can afford only a $10 card, other times you can spring for the $50 unlimited. (Which isn’t truly unlimited, FYI, they put you in the slow lane after so much data.) But this is a good way to explain invisible illness. Except we don’t have the option of going to a store and saying, oooh, I can afford thirty spoons today. We wake up with however many spoons our illness has deemed us worthy of and that is it. So let’s say each day starts with 15 spoons.

For those of us with insomnia and interrupted sleep cycles, we’ve already spent two spoons before daylight by waking up and not being able to sleep through. Two more spoons to get up out of bed and get functioning. You’re at 11 spoons and you’ve yet to even get dressed. Some days that takes two spoons, other days it takes four spoons. Bathing takes four spoons, so that’s not even a daily possibility sometimes.

You leave the house, which costs a spoon. You drive and run errands, so each one of these things costs a spoon.

Nowhere to go or errands out there to run? No problem. Because even staying at home, just the act of refilling ice cube trays, washing dishes, or doing a load of laundry can take 4 or more spoons.

Feeding yourself? Therer’s another spoon or two. It’s only noon.

Have kids? Each part of caring for them is a spoon and it’s a long day so…

By evening you’re out of spoons, drained of energy, and all you can think about is bedtime. Except falling asleep requires a spoon, so wth do you do? You can;t just buy more spoons or run to a spoon ATM.

This is depression and anxiety. People can’t see it, they dismiss it, they call you insulting names and think you’re lazy. They don’t even try to understand. If your body works, then your mind must work fine, too.

Except mine does not.

I’m down to two spoons and I just yelled at my kid because she insists on waiting for the ONE moment of the day I am writing, then suddenly her needs must be met THAT MINUTE and none of it couldn’t wait ten minutes EXCEPT SHE HAS TO CONTROL EVERY ASPECT OF MY LIFE OR SHE DOES NOT FEEL LOVED.

I am in spoon bankruptcy now.

Now let’s say it’s a good day, which are rare and never give any warning, but you’ve got 50 spoons. And by days’ end, you still have 10 spoons left and feel pretty accomplished and happy. Except then you have to replay your actions for the day and make sure you weren’t just having a manic or hypomanic episode of psuedo happiness.

Five spoons left.

Phone calls, knocks on the door, kid’s playdates, cooking, cleaning, pet care….

Less than zero spooks left, even on a good day.

So the next time you see someone with an invisible illness and you make the idiotic assumption that out of bed and functioning equals able minded, check your mental health privilege. Because if you can’t graso how debillitating depression and anxiety are, you do indeed have a mental health privilege issue.

I would say I wish I had one, but my disorders make me more empathetic, less self absorbed, and more willing to keep an open mind and heart.

Lots of people have good mental health but none of those qualities.

I feel sorry for them. Which is more humanity than they show those with invisible illnesses.