Archive for insomnia


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

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.


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.

No Idea

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

Last night’s trip to the carnival was an epic fail. For once, it wasn’t my fault. Spook got motion sickness from the big rides so I shelled out all that money to stand in the heat while she got on toddler rides. I tried to be sympathetic but she was putting on a drama llama spectacle and nothing I said comforter her, she just kept sobbing I WANNA GO HOME. Thirty minutes later at home, she was just fine. I am starting to think it’s her way of exerting control. She never pulled that crap when my dad and his crew took her to a similar carnival with the same rides. I honestly think she wants to establish dominance even if it’s by making a public embarrassment of herself. There were kids younger and older who got motion sickness and they were sitting down, drinking ice water, head between their legs, breathing..all the things I suggested and she rejected. She HAD to have a sobbing screaming mimi. At one point I told her, “Tnere’s a trash can, puke if you need to.” Well, apparently sticking her head in the garbage was distasteful so she just spit on the ground and said, look, I puked. Um, coughing up phlegm and making yourself more sick with sobbing is NOT the same as being legit sick.

I must sound like a monster.

Except she pulls this shit with me EVERY time I manage to stave off my panic or work through it and do something for her that is supposed to be fun for her. School carnival, fairs, christmas activities…If it’s with me, even when I am cool as a cucumber outside, she has to turn it into a spectacle.

I was soo proud of myself managing to (medicate myself to the gills) drive there, park, handle the crowds, get on the rides at the risk of my own terror and motion sickness….And with her multiple tantrums she robbed me of being proud of myself and I tried to regain some dignity by being a kind supportive mother but she was having NONE of that, either. There simply was no pleasing her and she pulled a similar act when my dad and them took her out to supper the other night (at a place I wish someone would pay for me to go to cos it’s pricey!).

Anyway we came home and then she was all lovey dovey and hunky dory and I was licking my wounds cos I really was all dedicated to her having a good time. She ended up riding the pink elephants for toddlers. AFTER insisting we would humiliate her with her friends if we dared take her to Chuck E Cheese for her birthday. This kid is gonna make my brain implode.

Today I’ve just lolled about the house, unable to work myself into, well, any housework. I got a different TV which was cheap cos it was used but, hey, no remote, which makes even a cheapo used smart TV a useless paperweight. Finding a universal remote that accesses the apps is damn near impossible. Which is why I am planning a trip to the shop if R is there, he has a stash of dozens of various remotes, maybe he will sell me one for this TV brand. Or let me buy him beer in exchange. He’s not unreasonable though I am betting his wife would kick my ass for buying him another heart attack, er, I mean, beer. But he does it anyway so let her beat up on him, he’s nearly 60, ffs, not my job to babysit. I have my hands full with the drama llama from hell.

I did not sleep well. Kept having bad dreams, waking with panic attacks. I was awake for over 2 hours at one point, then when the alarm went off, I hit snooze five times. That’s how I know I’ve been drained. Usually once I wake and it’s light out, I am up for the day. If I fall back to sleep even after 5 snooze calls…I’m tapped.

Now I have to brave the trip to town to fetch her. Yay. Then wait for my brother to give him a ride home and he won’t even buy us an order of fucking french fries, he’s so cheap. Whatever. Maybe tonight I will sleep well.

Or to go all Wayne’s World, monkeys might fly out of my butt.

Monkeys or sleep, whatever, I’m chill. Monkeys make me laugh.

The Witching Bitching Hour

Posted in insomnia with tags , , , , on July 6, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s now after 3 a.m. I’ve been awake since 1:40. Prior to that, I woke pretty much every hour on the hour. I had hoped going off Abilify would keep my two night good sleep streak going but alas, it has not. I am feeling tired, frustrated, and already dreading the day. This interrupted sleep thing exhausts the body and mind. To the point that I didn’t even hit one yard sale this weekend, and I can’t even muster the enthusiasm to shop on line for my kid’s birthday and school clothes. It’s like something just sucked the life out of me. Could it be NOT GETTING PROPER SLEEP?

Unless you have stone cold insomnia and stay up for days on end, the psych pros don’t seem to put much stock in other sleep disorders. It’s aggravating because waking every hour or two and never sleeping through, over the last 3 years, has taken more of a toll on me than I like to admit. In my teens and twenties I could run on little sleep and feel fine. Now…And it doesn’t help that the anxiety and depression are so unbearable, sleep is my one respite. To have it denied unless I take melatonin and benadryl to fall asleep, then can’t remain asleep…demoralizing comes to mind.

So instead of tossing and turning I am sitting up with the lamp on and I am going to browse for her clothes and Minecraft stuff she wants. Bloody hell, Minecraft stuff is expensive. I don’t suppose it matters what I do, my mom and sister will always outdo me. Like it’s some sick competition of who spends the most loves her the most. August is gonna be a trying month between her birthday, their shenanigans, and the start of school. I dread it every year. I dared to speak up and it turned into a damn family war so now I just defer and let mom and sis take over. I’m not a good party planner, anyway.

I can’t even organize my socks and underwear properly, let alone a birthday party. Mental chaos simply won’t allow it. Nor will it allow me to sleep well.

3 years of this shit. One day it’s going to drive me over the edge. The body and mind need proper rest and I am not getting it. It’s like I am behind before I start. The meds can’t make me well rested and energetic, only sleep can do that. Man, in my teens and twenties it was all ‘I can sleep when I’m dead.’ Now mid forties, it’s ‘Oh, god, is it bedtime yet, my brain hurts…”

Wind Up Doll Depression

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

Most days, I feel like a broken wind up doll. I can only wind up so much and patter about so much then I just stop. Nothing I do gets me further, the wind up is broken at *that* point. There was an anti depressant commercial showing someone as a wind up doll and I think it was probably for one of the meds that have been the side effect laden bane of my existence. But as far as commercial accuracy goes it was appropriate.

My kid has wind up toys that she has somehow broken or bought broken and sometimes the wind up function works, sometimes it only goes a few seconds, and other times, it will flop about like a pair of chattering teeth for a full sixty seconds. This reminds me of myself in a major way. It doesn’t matter how much you may want to run and run and run. You can only go as far as your wind up allows and some days, it’s two seconds, other days it’s a full minute and some days, it isn’t at all. Very accurate.

I woke in the middle of the night for the third time and could not get back to sleep. The sun was coming up and it was 70 minutes til alarm time when I drifted off again. I hit snooze but managed to force myself up before it went off the first time. I just don’t feel energized in the current heat wave. If anything, I feel gross cos even in the AC, the humidity makes my hair limp and my skin moist and when you have a furry cat crawling all over you, it does not feel good to end up wearing as much of their fur as they are. Godsmack had decided right now is the purrfect moment to get in my face and deposit her fur up my nose and all over my skin and it’s Benadryl time cos now I am all itchy as well as uncomfortable.

I got my kid to summer camp. Managed to drag my ass into Hellmart to cash that check the bank wouldn’t. I grabbed a few things, and even inside, I had sweat drenching my thick hair. Stepping outside turned me into a soaked mess in the car. (The AC does not blow right so the car is warmer with the windows up and that on than if you just crack a window.) Got home and already before 10 a.m. it was nearing 90. Gave the cats fresh water, with ice cubes, since I am keeping the lot outside. They just wouldn’t litter train and I can’t have that, even if people think I am a monster. They have a cool dog house, shade on the porch, cool under the porch, the basement…I keep them fed and refresh their water so it stays cool. I am TRYING to make all the moving parts of my life work but when I can’t get decent sleep and can’t wind up properly to get shit done…

It’s exhausting.

And people like a store manager I know make it worse. I said something to my kid the other day about being the ‘want’ monster and this random woman decided to treat us to her tough love ‘I work for my money so my kids have been working for theirs since they were three years old and I made them start doing chores.” Yes, drill sargeant, ma’am! I hate rigid people. She seems nice enough but people who take such a hard line are not people you can reason with. I pity her husband, my god. Which is not to say she is wrong, my kid does need to do more to help me out considering how much she expects of me. I just prefer the more civilized ‘will you help me’ as opposed to the demonic drill instructor YOU WILL HELP ME OR YOU WILL NOT EAT SUPPER! Yeah, I’m not great at tough love and discipline, but she hasn’t gotten arrested or maimed anyone yet, so I will take the win and accept I have a lazy kid. When it matters most, she will reluctantly help. Like being made to scoop cat boxes for the privilege of taking her lunch to camp cos ‘they make you eat everything on the tray and it’s gross.’ Being a picky eater myself…I empathize. Sometimes. Other times, I think she’s being a princess. Oh, big deal, they don’t put sugar in their sloppy joe’s, suck it up. Now being forced to eat hominy and sprouts…I’d opt to puke it all over the counselors.

Yeah, amazing she’s such a spitfire, I have NO idea where she gets it.

I am already dreading the trip back to town in this heat. Praying for the threatened rain shower. Yes, please. A break from the sun and heat makes it easier to deal with traffic and a fussy kid and a caterwalling brother. Sadly, it is supposed to rain tomorrow afternoon which quashes a lot of people’s happy plans. We don’t have any, but some people do and it’s a bummer for them. Man, a couple years ago, I would have really enjoyed their parade getting rained on. I’ve evolved, egad, next I will barf rainbows.

I vaccuumed. That was my big chore for the day. I set my little goals, met them, now if I wind down and can’t go…I don’t have to beat myself up as harshly. Hell, I don’t really need to beat myself up at all, when there are random cashiers in town to make me feel like shit for being a lenient parent and not working.

Six months. I just need six months of meds working into the seasonal shift and holiday trauma and…

And I will still be a trainwreck wind up doll but maybe I will be one who can hold a job without having a mental breakdown. I just want a med combo that works. I have a better chance of winning the lottery without buying a ticket. My faith in psych pharma is pretty shaky these days, after the Abilify side effects. Why oh why do I always get the rare but severe side effects? And the head shrink who saw me seemed disturbed by how many doctors I’ve seen there and it was like, where have you been? I’d have stayed with Dr. B, Dr. H, and Dr T had any of them ya know, remained employed there. I never wanted the revolving door of psych care. It is a big threat to my stability. Though staying with one who makes me feel so shitty negates another change, even if it could be for the worse.

Amazing the risks I am willing to take just to get a doctor who faces me when I talk as opposed to me talking to their back. That woman could kill someone in the waiting room and they still wouldn’t fire her cos no one competent wants to work there. Bloody hell.