Archive for mental health

Getting Down With The Sickness

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on February 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It was bound to happen. Before my kid even got well-ish, I got hit with the cold-bola. So I was trying to nurse her back to health while praying for my own demise out of sheer misery. Three days of fevers, violent chills, sweating, coughing, runny nose, clogged nose. You’d think the one time I could get some sleep sans meds would be while sick. Nope. Actually slept less, and that sucks, cos sleep is about the only thing that comforts while sick. We are finally on the mend but our appetites are still very low, we’re both still coughing and achey, and we just want to lay in bed and zone out in Fort Blankie and wait for sleepy time. This has got to be one of the worst colds I have ever had. Usually for me a cold is a few days with a runny nose, a cough, and maybe a few chills. I don’t do sick with any grace.

As for the title of this post it is doubtful anyone else will get it, guess you’d have to be a die hard metal music fan as it is a song by the band Disturbed. One of my favorite things about my sister is that we’re both lifelong metalheads so she gets my music references and finds them funny. It takes great skill to maintain even a minute amount of humor while wishing for death.

Like I said, this was no ordinary cold. This is like the death cold, because my eating machine child is still barely eating and doesn’t even want chocolate. Not that I feel any different, I forced myself to choke down frozen pizza yesterday but it may as well have been cardboard. While the garbage disposal called Spook shows her true level of illness with having no appetite, it became very clear to me how sick I was when I didn’t even open the laptop for 5 straight days. Mind you, I wasn’t actually off line, I was reading email from my phone but the damn thing has so little space I can’t do much else cos everything needs its own fucking app so hey, I’ve been reading your posts, just couldn’t comment from Tracfone hell.

I went drastic last night in an effort to get some sleep. Ran out of melatonin and my antihistamine so the slow cocktail method has been out. I tried Trazadone 100 mg the other night, I was awake within 3 hours. Fortunately, I didn’t have the hangover. Unfortunately I was up til 5:30 in the morning and just nodded off when the alarm went off and that made me angry. Last night I dug out from the ‘fail’ stash which is what I call the meds that either made me sick or didn’t do a damn thing. I am too disorganized to turn them into the pharmacy so I just stockpile them. I had 30mg Temazepam so I took one. Two hours later, not so much as a yawn. It’s supposed to be this mega benzo yet it did nothing, a Tic Tac would have at least freshened my breath. I dug up some benadryl and took 100 mg Trazadone (yeah, yeah, mixing all these meds is stupid, I am desperate for sleep, damn it) and…I honestly can say I slept, hard. Not sure if the massive cocktail was the cause or if after 5 days of little sleep while being so ill I just hit the wall. I had a nightmare about the psych nurse. I have to see her next week and it’s been stressing me out big time. I have this sickening feeling that my Xanax is gonna be cut again and it infuriates me. It is so unfair of them to penalize me for the idiocy of others. Xanax is a legit medication that legitmately helps me and I underuse it, if anything. One size fits all treatment will never sit well with me. I want to be honest with this woman and just say we’re a bad fit but aside from Dictator Anti-benzos, it’s just the two psych nurses on staff so unless I am prepared to go medless completely, it feels like I have no choice.

Thing is, having nightmares about the person who is supposed to be treating your issues, is not a good sign, ever. It’s not just the cutback on benzos, it’s how damn detached she is. I’ve had so much miscommunication with this woman over my meds and refills and she clacks on the computer more than she interacts with me. I get more warmth from the dude at the gas station. And that was how I felt with the other psych nurse so I guess the problem must be me. I just don’t think so. I’m just one of those people who would rather have a B rate doctor with a great bedside manner than an A rate asshole. What baffles me is how many doctors I’ve been through (because of their high staff turnover, not my choice) and I’ve never had problems with any of them aside from osteopath ‘run up and down staircases, buy a sun lamp, and only 3 drugs should be on the formulary cos they are all the same’ and that wasn’t cos he was a jerk, he was a pleasant guy, he just has very narrow views and I need someone with an open mind. I think this new nurse is the worst I’ve ever had to contend with and I thought the first one was bad but maybe it’s cos she has been there for years even prior to getting her master’s and Michelle is just a noob to the area and practice. I don’t take well to people easily, it’s a process of building trust, warming to them, having a rapport. I don’t have that and I am the one suffering for it. She seems me once a month for 15 minutes (yet insurance always gets billed for 25) so she doesn’t have a damn bit of skin in the game. She gets paid whether I get better or get worse and I think I am sleeping far less now so it’s definitely gotten worse with her.

I’m just not a mean person and I loathe confrontation. Also, I have been programmed to constantly question myself and while I don’t entirely buy into it, I am still that ‘good little girl’ my parents raised who knows not to question people more educated than me. I question everything. Myself, authority, professionals, the cat when he’s wearing a fishy expression. I’m bloody Fox Mulder, Trust No One. Trust but verify, anyway. I am at a loss how to handle this situation but my frustration is about to boil over and that is where I get myself into trouble. I let it build and build and play the good girl and then I just erupt and come off as overreactive, erratic, and irrational. But I am rational. This psych nurse makes me walk out feeling worse rather than better and rather than raise too much ruckus, I just hastily leave to get away from her. I told the receptionist this and she was supposed to figure out a different arrangement but alas, their staff issues mean I am punished. I have this ‘bar’ I hold myself to, since I do have imbalances that taint my view of reality. If I am just overreacting or being tantrum-y, I will generally lose that fire in my belly in a week or so. It’s been 5 months with this nurse and the fire has become a festering inferno instead of burning out. And I swear it is not just about the benzos. This is truly bothering me and it haunts me even in my sleep. I don’t want to have to see her. Ever. I think I’d feel better about it if she was plain rude as opposed to apathetic and distant. Because her attitude comes off as ‘get a counselor to hold your hand, it’s not my job’. It is her job however to make me feel enough at ease that I trust my care to her professional opinion and I simply don’t.

Woo. 5 day purge. Not interesting but necessary. Besides, if people can do nothing but spew out writing prompts in half dozen increments everyday and it’s found interesting, well, then I guess I don’t want those people reading my blog cos their taste is iffy. Yep, I’m on the mend, I got my bitchy snark coming back. So I’m gonna go old school metal Skid Row and get the fuck out…of this post.

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Aggro=worried

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

My child came home from school yesterday complaining she did not feel well but the school had checked her and she had no fever so they did not let her leave or give her medication. She came in, took to her bed, and kept crying out because she had a headache. Today, she pepped up for a bit after some Tylenol but that respite was brief. She’s flushed bright red and I am doing what I can to get the fever to break and make her comfortable. This is where being a parent with mental health issues becomes very dicey and very terrifying. Because if you run them to the doctor or hospital over every fever, sniffle, or barfmaster episode, you will quickly get labeled with Munchausen by proxy. Yet if you don’t stay vigilant and worry enough, you run the risk of waiting too long to get them to a doctor so they label you neglectful. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. And it’s like this for all parents, parenting kid’s in today’s bubblewrapped snowflake climate is scary, period. Yet when your brain costantly sounds the red alert bells, conjuring up the worst case scenario and putting you in fight or flight mode…It’s like until your kid feels better and is on the mend, you yourself are on a terrifying, paranoiad ride of illness, too.

I’d be a liar if I said her illness doesn’t have me freaking out. My kid is never sick (or she never used to be, she’s been sick more in the year we have been in Armpit than she was in 9 years in town at the trailer park) and that she is so warm, so flushed, and so sluggish…I am concerned. Do I take her to outpatient? Do I wait it out? Am I panicking because I do tend to do that but at the same time, what if I’m discounted my own mom instincts too much and my kid will suffer for it? Round and round it goes and it will not stop til her fever breaks and she is back to being her bubbly self. I don’t have a fever but I still feel as if I am covered in a cold sweat. Nerves manifest physically far more than is given credit, especially when some jackass psych center cuts your Xanax dose 75%.

Prior to this worry, however, I surprised myself yesterday. No I did not bathe, no I did not do housework. I did however run the hell machine called a vacuum and finished a project in my bedroom that I’ve been putting off for months because it was too physically taxing. I got it done, yayness! It left me spent, of course, and it was really just a simple thing most people could have done in a half hour, swapping out coffee tables. It felt like I had climbed a mountain.

Today has been iffy. Much to my chagrin, we’ve been dragged out twice into the cold to walk the dogs at my dad’s house. Nope, they give zero fucks about dragging a sick child out, all that matters is that their plans weren’t disrupted by piddling dogs inside. I could have, should have, told him to kiss my ass, after the way he was so cruel the other night. But what the psych central site is helping me realize is, I cannot change these people as their base personality is narcissism and they don’t think anyone is better than them so there is nothing to change. What I CAN change, however, is my reaction to their bad behavior. Just because they are thoughtless, mean spirited jerks does not mean I have to become one, too. My mom and sister call this ‘kissing his ass’. I call it, being true to who I am. I have nothing against the dogs and they had to go potty. Saying no would have been mean to them and besides, I think for the brief period we were outside, Spook actually felt a little better with the fresh air. No, I cannot change the people who are assholes to me. I can only change how I react to that and I will not betray myself to avoid my mom and sis calling me an ass kisser. I’m just not a confrontational mean spirited person. I am, however, reserving my right to call people on their bullshit over something truly major. Like them forcing my kid into hideous green cowboy boots to accommodate their redneck-i-ness when her style is totally different. Oh, and this school not letting her come home when she was so sick she skipped recess…I’m gonna have to read them the riot act, too, though I will temper my, well, tamper, cos I know all too well that Spook is always complaining about something and the cry wolf bit has kind of bitten her on the butt when it comes to actually being sick. Still, I wasn’t cool with the school I went to as a kid keeping us there short of fever or puking, and I’m not gonna accept it from this school.

Even though I was up repeatedly last night checking on Spook, making sure her forehead had a cool cloth and she had water by her bed…I actually slept pretty well. Not hard, not in long spurts, but I slept well. I was in a fuzzy melatonin space where I was sleeping but not dead to the world like I am with Seroquel and Trazadone. I had fucked up dreams as usual but that’s just my cross to bear, I guess, to remain alert for my child even though the psych nurse gives zero fucks, I am just ‘non compliant.” Hate that fucking term. I am non-conforming, there’s a difference. Give me a medicine that doesn’t render me a drooling brain dead zombie with a headache, I will conform and comply. (Really, the rebel in my find it painful to use words like comply.)

Hopefully she will feel better soon. If not by Monday (no school) I will definitely take her to outpatient but I’ve learned how quick I am to panic and try to rush things so I am not so stressed out (sick kid, and it’s all about me, me, me…except without me who is gonna take care of her, kinda got a legit reason to want to be calm myself) so I get anxious if she runs hot 12 hours. It hasn’t even been 24 yet but when she takes to her bed and doesn’t want to play…She’s ill. And until she’s better, I am ill, too, as in worried sick. Because we with anxiety disorder do get physically ill from worry and stress.

One thing about it…I’ve not thought much about how depressed I have been.

Maybe once she is better, I will hit my writing stride again. I hope I hope I hope. Just the simple act of writing 5 pages made me so happy, I felt like a soaring eagle. Okay, that is a little lame, but it felt good, okay? Can’t blame me for wanting to feel like that again, especially since it was a totally natural high.

Back to being Florence Nightinghoul to the spawn.

Signs Of Life, Signs Of Aggravation

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on February 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s not even 10 a.m. and I filthy. Literally. I just spent 20 minutes playing Twister with a vaccum old enough to be, well, me. The bag wasn’t attaching so of course, it was spitting everything out. As I am not mechanically inclined, I had to stumble about trying to make sense of the contraption. A bagged vac, geesh, is it 1979? (I remember this year only cos it was the year my sister was born and my briliant mother bought a thousand dollar Kirby from a salesman and dad went fucking batshit. Nice memory to retain from childhood, eh?) Anyway, I think I have the bag locked in place but I wanted to do some tight spot stuff so I snapped it into three pieces and just hope I am bright enough to reassemble it. I honestly don’t understand why people need such complex vacuums. I don’t understand housework at all, it seems.

Spook gets out early today and has no school Monday. I am looking for ways to keep her home because if she goes to my dad’s that means I have to deal with them. Yeah, I need a break, but dealing with them is too fucking stressful to make it worthwhile I was talking to my sister about some of their antics, like sending Boop homem in clothes cos she got hers wet, then making her strip and change while her uncle waits to take ‘their’ clothes back to ‘their’ house. And stepmonster who tells everyone that she feels like she has a daughter now with Spook. Um, fuck no. Maybe the woman can rebuild engines, farm fields, and balance a checkbook but she isn’t very bright unless delusional has suddenly become a synonym for that. When Spook was a toddler she had curly hair and my stepmonster-two years younger than me- went around telling people that Spook had gotten her curly hair. WE ARE NOT RELATED BY BLOOD AT ALL. It is scientifically impossible but farbeit for her Trump loving ass to let something as silly as science get in the way of her delusions. Point being, after my dad tearing into me the other night, I’d wrestle a gator if it meant a chance of avoiding their toxicity.

Though after some calm thought and reflection, I find it telling that my dad went off on me so extremely. Saying I want everyone to be like me is just ridiculous. I like people who are different though sure, I tend to gravitate towards rock and roll fans as opposed to people rocking Roy Acuff. I never could afford to stay in the other places, but I’ve been to L.A., San Diego, Baltimore, Dayton- all very large cities and I was able to make friends there. That debunks him saying I can’t get along with anyone. It is he and stepmonster who expect everyone to be like them, and while they claim to hate big cities, I think they’re aware of the fact that they wouldn’t fit in anyplace larger than Armpit with their fellow rednecks. So while at the time I was shellshocked that my own father could be such a monster (why am I always surprised? Idiot.) now I’ve realized that it was transferrence. He put off on me all his own flaws and again, rammed that conformity bullshit down my throat. I find conformity boring and I have no respect for those who don’t have the guts to just be themselves. So I guess I’ve picked up apart every venomous thing he said. He won’t ever change but fortunately, I can change how I react to his idiocy. (This clarity was inspired by a psych website a friend turned me onto, you can get those details in this post.)

Damn it, I need to bathe, I am covered in, well, all the stuff that didn’t go into the vac bag and exploded on me when I opened the case. I hate bathing. Well, baths, literally, hate em. I envy people who can slow down their mind and take a relaxing bath. I cannot. It is just one more chore I don’t have the energy for.

I think that *may* be about to change even though I quit the Trazadone so I’m wing and a prayering it with just Wellbutrin. I can usually feel the shifts in my mental state as winter starts to zoom toward spring. I usually have a manic day or two and it is wondermous because now, I’ve had so much counseling, I recognize the warning signs of bad mania yet can manage the good hypomanic bouts.

I WROTE LAST NIGHT.

I actually just sat down with the laptop and…wrote. I decided to keep it short. 5 pages. Based on an old idea from 20 years ago inspired by Skid Row’s song “18 and Life.” I tried to print it out today but my printer is fucked, of course, since I was given replacement ink cartridges now it won’t feed the paper. I guess I am just gonna have to use Spook’s that a friend sent her for Christma.(Mine is so old it won’t connect to Android and she has to have Mincraft pictures, dammit.) Sigh. Nothing is perfect. It is all quite aggravating. Take on step forward, get knocked back ten steps. Blah.

But I wrote!!! It made me feel alive and happy and hopeful. Proud, even. I want so badly to post it for people to read but after sleeping on it…It’s not ready. I need to work on it. And usually by working on a short story, I expand it to novel length and…Oh, please, please, please, creativity gods? My writing has been my lifeline when reality just started sucking so bad there was escape. I could always go to my beloved characters and get lost in their story. I hadn’t written anything creative fiction til last night since 2017 spring. Signs of life returning are a good thing. Still gotta survive a few more weeks of suckage, then a few more weeks of rainy spring suckage, but…just being able to write again reminds me I ain’t dead yet and hey, I am a decent writer. I do however suck at editing but editing for those who can’t write. (Snotty? Moi? Nooo.)

So I’m gonna take a break, then try to commence the housekeeping thing, at least vaccuuming, then maybe bathe. Mostly, I just want that feeling of creativity to spark again. Outside manic episodes, I’ve never felt more alive than when a story idea is fleshing out and DEMANDING that I write it. Think the only other times I felt so happy were going to California both times and my daughter being born. Such joy, such zest for life…

I’ll take that in pill form, IV, edible, or smoke it. Feeling alive is way better than wanting to not be alive.

So I Took A Personality Test On Line Today…

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My friend Jen introduced me a newsletter she sometimes reads at Psych Central. I signed up and I am 3 issues in and while I usually find psychology asinine due to their insistence on discount psychiatric illness…I actually find some of the stuff on that site useful.

So this ‘personality’ test was multiple choice, Jungien, and basically a ‘gotcha’ repeating the same questions with a couple of words changed to catch you answering differently to the same question (ha ha, saw it coming). I’m not sure what saying “I prefer tests that are multiple choice” has to do with my personality, nor am I certain what bearing it is that 70% of my answers were ‘somewhat’ versus agree or disagree. I was being honest. Is it easy for me to yell at people? Hmm. Am I in the middle of PMDD? Did they cross a line that set me off? Is my anxiety skyrocketing? So many variables involved that I cannot give anything but shades of gray answers on some things. (So much for the therapists who said I can’t see shades of gray, just proved you all wrong, I apparently see it a lot more than black or white.”

These were my results (and allow me to perpetuate the site disclaimer *for entertainment or self improvement purposes only, not intented as a diagnostic tool.)

All in all, pretty damn accurate. I am introverted, I do ‘feel’ things more than I probably should. Nowhere however does it say that I am some sort psychopath or that anything is particularly wrong with me. I am just different than some. Different is not a bad thing. One of my fave quotes is, “You laugh at me for being diffrent. I laugh at you for being the same.”

In addition to this, there are a couple other things from the psych centra site worth drawing attention to. One topic I want to do a whole post around at a later date. For your consideration should you be curious: Being kind to yourself during times of anxiety, as well as ‘things that will likely ruin your relationship if you say them’. I am guilty on all charges here. Way too harsh on myself, and occasionally known to boil over with emotion and utter no-no phrases like, “You never…You always…I’m sorry, BUT…” Yeah, need to stop doing that stuff.

Today has not been an awful day, if you discount the guy across the street fixing up his empty rental property and treating me to hours long pounding of hammers.From Psych Centra, I looked up a lot of things as far as managing stress and anxiety and frankly, I’d prefer to forced to gargle with Drano that hear more about meditation and EMRD and the like. Do you know when these things are actually useful? When you’re not in the middle of a vicious panic attack. Driving down the interstate, trapped in city traffic, in the middle of your kid’s playdate, in a crowded store- none of these are places where you have the luxury to stop, drop, and assume yoga poses and focus on breathing techniques. I am not trying to disparage, just pointing out facts. At night in bed when I am feeling myself get too wound up, yes, I can often lay back and do my odd number count backward from a 1000 thing and calming breathing. As of yet, I have not figured out how to get an emploter, friend, or date to be put on hole so I can go off and self soothe at that very moment.

Like many things, though, you just gotta walk away with what works for you personally and leave the rest behind and not put yourself down for it if ‘one size fits all’ isn’t fitting you. There could be a thousand others who find that method useful and ya know what? YAY! We are so much luckier in this day and age versus those who came before us decades ago and were given such shoddy, often barbaric, mental health care. We have options they did not, and we even have civil rights against the barbaric methods being forced upon us, so really…we’re pretty fortune. Ya know, if you’re wacky enough to equate any form of mental illness as being fortunate.

My biggest problems are being in such a limited resource rurual area and having insurance that won’t pay for pretty much anything but talk therapy and medication. Forget magnet therapy, the pulse therapy, the eye movement thing, not covered by insurance. Light therapy? Expensive and ineffective, for me, so I get slapped with a ‘non complient’ mark in my chart. FOR BEING TOO POOR TO AFFORD THESE ALTERNATE METHODS. Seriously, I get punished for being too broke. I am compliant as long as it doesn’t mean starving my kid for six months to afford therapy de jour. Talk about unfair and totally ridiculous.

On a more positive note…I found some funny macabre Valentine’s images and I’d like to share them with my followers and let you all know that even if I can’t buy you Godiva chocolate and Cristal…I still love you all oodles.



XOXOXO, sporks and Z-whackers,
Morgue

The Scourge Purge

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on February 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well I predicted in yesterday’s post that I’d likely get a call back from my dad and he’d tear into me over me being on disability while he’s 72 and still works. Oh, it was sooo much worse than that.

15 minutes of him pointing out my every flaw, including from when I was 11 and wanted to dress more like Cyndi Lauper than Roy Acuff so of course, I got bullied because I wouldn’t change so I had it coming. (He even said I never could get along with anyone cos I expected them to be all freaky like me. Patently false, I NEVER judged people for just being who they are, all I wanted was to be allowed to be who I am and expecting not to be spit on at school seems a pretty reasonable request.)

I mean, all I wanted to do was be a nice daughter and wish him happy birthday. I got 15 minutes of character assasination and him basically saying, “You’ve done nothing with your, you didn’t even graduate, you’d don’t work, so Spook will probably never do anything with her life.”

THAT is crossing a fucking line. Don’t drag my kid into whatever critter crawled up your ass and made you such a hate filled monster. Actually, monsters are more pleasnt than him. Least they’d just kill me and spare me the lectures and assault on my self esteem.

I tried to end the conversation many times but no, he was on a roll. And it’s not even that unusual, he’s been like that since I was a kid. Go out, work his ass off in the elements, some home beaten down and exhausted, then just yell at all of us cos he was so miserable. I just didn’t think I’d still be subjected to it once I was 46 and no longer under his room. (FYI, living with him was so bad I moved out at 17, that’s gotta say something about the kind of man he is.)

He went on to say that it’s my fault that Spook doesn’t have a dad because all I ever cared about was getting the long hair cool guy. Well, fuck a fancy bag, I have liked men with long hair since I was 10, it’s just my thing. Kinda like some men (hello dad?) who get off knocking up their 18 year old girlfriend while carrying on an affair with her right in front of my mom then trying to lie their way out of it. That was impossible after the DNA test proved it was his son, and it was mom who paid three grand to prove it wrong cos she trusted him. How dare that motherfucker judge anyone? And he’s fucking senile, anyway. I always went for guys with a job or some source of income over their hair or coolness factor. My first husband was two inches shorter than me, wore a kid’s size shoe, and looked like Woodyn Allen. Saying I am hung up on looks is asinine.

The donor was a poor choice and while I may have been a little blinded by that long beautiful hair..I never bought his lies like dad and stepmonster did. They bought it lock, stock, and barrel, and could not fathom what I had done to make him leave his kid. Now their story has changed. They knew he was a loser, he was lazy when he did some work for them, they never liked him…Must be nice rewriting history. Maybe falling for his lies and trying to see the good in him were my failures but I always suspected something was off about him. They never did. But then again, they weren’t being gaslighted daily and convinced that nothing they felt or thought was legitimate. The donor is awesome liar, I think in part because he believes his own lies. If you think it’s true, then you’re not lying so everyone else must be wrong…

I’d call him a psycho but that’s an actual disorder whereas he just chooses to act like a dickbag.

14 hours after this awful phone call and I am still infuriated. I mean, really, what does my dad have to show how he did so great with his life? They own their house and vehicles sure, but they still live in Podunk with a 23 year old man child living there and not doing a damn thing to get a job. Dad’s work is feast or famine, and the stepmonster worked only half of last year and hasn’t found a new gig. So if that’s what an actual diploma vs a GED gets you, I don’t see where I am doing so bad. At least I don’t feel the need to constantly berate my child to boost my own ego. And to be fair, I understand to an extent why he expects so much more of me than my siblings. I was an honor student, advanced classes, all the jazz. I guess I had potential but my mental health issues sent me into a downward spiral and I’ve never been able to get back on my feet, mentally speaking. And that Nardil incident caused irreprable damage to my brain so I became even more disabled and muddled. You must adjust your expectations when the situation changes so drastically.

Not once in 8 years has he said, “I’m proud of how well you take care of Spook, in spite of everything working against you.”

Her bad behavior is my fault but her good behavior, somehow they take credit for.

I don’t like having evil thoughts cos anger does pass but I gotta admit, there are times my dad is so cruel, I just mutter under my breath, “Die already!” It’s logical that someone who makes your world a living hell would be on the shit list. Now I want very few people actually dead, I feel bad for hitting possums with the car by accident…But I wouldn’t have to wish certain parties dead if they’d just back the fuck off and love me for who I am.

I also made the mistake of saying, off handedly, “One day we might move back to town.” And he started laughing as if this was the most unrealistic thing ever said and asked, “How are you gonna afford that?” I pointed out how much the donor is behind on support so anything is possible. He stopped laughing and got really pissy and said, “Well, make sure you can afford a moving company because we are not helping you move ever again.” WTF?

Okay. I think I have successfully purged. I will write a better post later on because I actually found a topic that is worthy. Purging the scourge is important but not exactly in the mental health category. It sure as hell does impact your mental health, though.Toxic people should all live on an island together so the rest of us can stop being poisoned by them.

Let’s Get Ready to RAMBLE…

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on February 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yes, Ramble, not rumble. I recently got my ass kicked by a male cat for interfering with his attempts to romance our girls and ended up with multiple scalp wounds and a bloody face. My kid helped by screaming in my face at the sight of blood dripping from scalp to chin. I told her not to look. Point being, I’m not much of a fighter so no rumble. However, I am a master at rambling so let’s begin.

Trazadone was an epic fail again on putting me to sleep within 3 hours. And it didn’t keep me down, I was up probably six times. Very frustrating. And I even set the alarm an hour early so I’d have plenty of snooze time without causing my kid to miss the bus. I set it for 5:30. Even with snooze going off every ten minutes, it took me til 7:05 to drag ass out of bed. THAT IS the Trazadone, I don’t have that issue with melatonin or Xanax, or antihistamines. I cannot imagine living my life this way 7 days a week, it is just unacceptable. Of course, psych nurse will just say the dose is too low and I will be right back on that crazy train to 400 mg and still not sleeping yet still feeling hungover and unable to get out of bed. It’s damn near criminal the way they are so script happy as long as a drug isn’t known to be ‘addictive’ and cause a potential lawsuit against them.

Yeah, yeah, I need to get the hell over it or find a different place. Well, if I lived outside the 9th circle of midwest hell, that might be feasible. But the doctors that are so far away from me often only accept one form of my insurance and won’t accept me without cash up front for the non covered fees so…Too broke to get competent care. Sadly, it’s a common theme here in the U.S. as far as mental health care is concern. Or that idiotic term ‘behavioral health’ they are force feeding me.

Think about it. If mental health is little more than us behave in an abnormal way and we have the power through force of will and behavior modification, they have negated their entire field of practice cos…no one really needs medicated if they can just change their bad behavior. I don’t even get their logic. Though something tells me this change in terminology likely came from psychologists and insurance big wigs cos most doctors who practice this field actually believe it’s legit. I’m not buying it from my experience with osteopath docs and nurse practitioners lacking in empathy who spend all their time clacking on the computer keyboard. (It’s just irritating talking to someone on a computer making noise while you’re trying to look them in the eye and get across how crappy you are feeling.)

Spook had Sunday-itis after sis returned her yesterday. That is a condition in which every Sunday towards evening she starts feeling ‘sick’. Oddly it seems only to happen to this extreme on Sundays and best I can guess is, she just HATES the podunk school system so much it makes her sick with anxiety. Yet I have little choice but to make her go if she’s not burning up or throwing up. Having to repeat 4th grade at Podunk Elementary due to too many absences wouldn’t help her cause in the long term, just a short term respite. And she’s too damn smart to flunk out, having brought up pretty much every one of her grades from last quarter. My experience with a school I loathed resulted in slipping from honor roll to repeating biology and pre algebra cos I was too bullied and stressed to focus, not to mention it bored the fuck out of me. (Well, except for that time we had to dissect frogs and I made my friend Ryan cut it up, then we chased the cheerleaders round the room with frog innards. That was funny, though I still call bullshit on being forced to cut up any animal, I won’t make Spook do it even if it gets a failing grade. Then again, knowing my little ghoul, she just might enjoy grossing classmates out with frog innards like her mummy.)

I had bizarre dreams last night. Lots of murder, vampires, then one particularly vivid dream where we were back in town and R was in my face again. I recall feeling a false sense of relief cos I don’t like not getting along with people, but I also remember, even in a dream, feeling trapped by the prospect of him visiting constantly and driving me bonkers with his politics. See, I really do prefer being alone, friends are best when on line and unable to get on my nerves. Sorry, it may make me unlikeable but it’s true. I’m not good at relationships. I admit this. I also admit that being forced into so much therapy has made me hyper aware and quick to point out any neuroses others have. I mean, I’ve been forced to change so much about myself to make others feel comfortable, how come I’m a monster if I expect the same of others? Other than a couple of really great counselors, I think for the most part it did more damage than good in the big picture. Who wants to be friends with someone always psychoanalyzing their behavior and pointed it out for the bullshit it is? The donor used to yell, “Can’t you just let me have my denial?” Hmmm. NOPE. I am a merciless bitch that way.

Anyway, I woke from the R nightmare and felt soooo relieved that it was just a bad dream. I don’t ever wanna go back to someone having that much control over me for no other reasons that it was financially beneficial and I felt obligated. And people just showing up univited expecting me to entertain them and drop whatever I do or don’t have going on, that was never gonna end well anyway. See ‘merciless bitch’ admission above. I love love love having friends on line, it’s the perfect situation for me. I get to have contact, but from a safe distance, and I get to be my goofy (some say funny) self but never have to fear a drop in visit. It’s been my M.O. for 20 years and it serves me well even if the rest of the world disagrees. Like they have any right to judge me when they get together in groups then everyone spends all their time doing stuff on their phone and rarely interacting with each other. Been there, hated it, thought it was stupid. Mind you, I don’t care if people check their phones or whatever, we all do it. But to gather in a group of 8 and everyone (but me, cos I’m not rude that way) on their phones and oblivious…NOPE.

Waiting to hear if they’re gonna let school out early. Again. I was out earlier to get a money order and pay the water bill and the roads were slick in spots so more rain and below freezing temps will turn the interstate and back roads into an ice rink. I want my kid safe, of course, but I feel bad for the crib midgets (I’ll be saying that one a lot, get used to it) missing their entire spring break cos of this shit.

Okay, so I am gonna try to talk myself into some housework. I don’t need the Tragic H*te ball to tell it’s not looking good for housework. These cold wet gloomy days just drag me under then the sunny days that are cold set off my anxiety…At least with the warmth will come (hopefully) an end to being cooped up. Just in time to spend 2 months solid with my perpetually bored crib midget.

End Of Ramble…Or is it? Muhahaha.

Another Round With Me And Trazzy-D

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday’s trip to town was unpleasant but productive, I got stuff done, including finally getting my Trazadone that had been sitting at the pharmacy over a week. These igets at the psych office and insurance company won’t even make an attempt to coordinate so I am left having to get my scripts filled willy nilly at the cost of a 22 mile trip to town and back so it’s about $4.50 in gas, not to mention time and aggravation, oh and then them saying they understand but I still have to be compliant and take my medications as prescribed. Seriously? Here’s a thought: Let me sign up to have them sent in the mail, the only real controlled substance that would be an issue is Xanax, and insurance won’t cover but the bare minimum so no danger of too many pills. But these psych nurses simply don’t give more than 4 weeks of refills at a time even on antidepressants. And those two week refills ’til next appointment’ end up costing me twice because insurance won’t refill until my final two week fill is done, and there’s another $4.50 into town that I can’t afford. THIS IS WHAT I MEAN, THIS PSYCH CENTER HAS ME SO STRESSED OUT OVER SIMPLE SHIT AS WELL AS THE MAJOR STUFF, THIS IS NOT GOOD FOR MY MENTAL HEALTH!

But to the nurse’s credit, some of the miscommunications have been my own inability to comprehend and keep track of the right words so I will have to apologize for that. I won’t, however, apologize for being ticked off about their other ineptitudes, and I think for my own benefit, I will start recording each session on my phone. That way I can reference the conversation to know I truly didn’t get it as opposed to she misspoke but blamed me. And that sounds paranoid and daffy as fuck but gaslighting has become a constant thing because people do use my mental health issues as a reason to absolve their own shitty communcation or behavior. “She’s nuts, who’s gonna believe her anyway? Definitely can make her think it’s her fault.” If so many hadn’t done it to me (and I took to recording conversations those times, too, to prove to myself I wasn’t so nuts) I wouldn’t have such an issue of paranoia.

I digress. We went to 7 different stores yesterday and that is exhausting, but I am to the point where if I don’t stop at multiple places to get the best deal on items, then we’re not gonna have toilet paper, cat food, and also people food. It’s a delicate juggling/balancing act. It helped that the weather wasn’t so awful yesterday, just very very cold. Today I woke to 2 inches of snow and was relieved I got stuff done yesterday. If I were doing the same thing in this weather, I’d probably get everything at one store, blow my budget entirely, then be pissed at myself for short cutting it to avoid, well, stores and people and the elements.

Spook is still at her grandma’s in town, they are supposed to bring her back this afternoon. I gotta say, after six weeks of her being home every single day, I kind of needed a break but..I was a little lost within a couple of hours. You get used to even annoying stuff like hearing “Mom, I’m hungry!” every 15 minutes. Kind of like how used I was to that dog at mom’s house and being there now with Chelsea dead, it seems so quiet and lonely there. That goofy dog and her incessant barking and desperate need to love on people is really missed.

Me and Trazzy D…Last script I had for this stuff was in 2008. Once she came along, I couldn’t deal with 14 hour black out sleeps followed by two hours to wake up and shake off the headache hangover. So for 9 years I’ve basically lived on sleeping in 90 minute spurts and it is exhausting. I broke down and asked if we could try Trazzy-D again. Just starting at 50 mg (pretty minor if you consider my old dose was 400 every night) but daunting enough that I waited til a night my kid wouldn’t be home and I wouldn’t be required to be constantly alert or get up early and function. I took it at 6:45 last night, figuring that would give it time to kick in. I was still awake at 9 p.m. and pissed as hell. My own fault, I guess, trying to do with less pills. I took my usual slow cocktail of melatonin and antihistamines and last I looked it was after 11:30 and I was zonked. I got up only once during the night and got right back to sleep. Then came the alarm at 9:15 a.m. Ugh, bad flashbacks. I had to pee, I was thirsty as hell, the cats were stomping my head in a plea to be fed…and I still didn’t manage to drag ass out of bed til after 11 a.m. I was awake, but not alert, not motivated. HUNGOVER. And these hangovers are much worse than any booze hangover.

What has surprised me, though…I actually feel rested and calm. Whaaat? Of course, I also feel like my limbs way a hundred pounds and someone cracked me over the head with a Z-whacker but…Maybe this Trazadone thing is gonna be a good thing for me. Though I’m gonna have to set the alarm for 3 a.m. to accommodate the inability to come to and jump at it quickly enough to make her schedule. But…it is nice for once to not feel exhausted and…I am not even grinding my teeth today! Woohoo, yes, Virginia, there is Santa and a Sandman.

I feel pretty shitty that I have done nothing around the house. I was supposed to kick ass and take names on all this housework but ya know, 9 years of never sleeping more than 4 hours in a row…I guess I have earned some down time. The Trazadone side effects will lessen in a week or so once my system adjusts and if I don’t go bonkers on the high doses…It could be a good thing. Just gonna let myself breathe today. Though I am a bit embarrassed that my sister is gonna come inside and see how the place has gone to hell. She’s a clean freak and I can just imagine how she will report to mom who will then have a powwow with my dad over how awful it is that Spook has to live this way. (Last I checked, unfolded baskets of clothes weren’t a form of abuse or neglect, they are clean, just…not organizd.) I wish it didn’t bother me. It really used to didn’t but once Spook came along and they started throwing out the ‘they’ll take your kid away if you don’t become a domestic goddess’ (that was my interpretation, not their words, close enough) now even when things are great and caught up…I still don’t want people invading my safe space with their judgments and unfair expectations. If it’s so bad, how come none of them offer to help me out?

Because this family lives to growl and bitch and judge others while doing nothing positive to help. I’ve accepted this as who they are, I just don’t want it near me.

I hope the next week passes quickly and that the Trazadone headaches do fade cos…I ain’t liking the headache hangover thing. If I am gonna feel this way, I want it to be because I went on a bender and had some fun first.

I am grateful for the sleep, though, so very grateful, even if it took over 7 pills to get it done. And mind you, that is because the nurse gives me antihistamines for sleep but because of my allergies, I would require 12 benadryl just to get to yawn territory, let alone sleep. I’ve been on Benadryl since I was 7, ffs. If it don’t help, it’s superfluous, but it does help with my anxious itchiness so I stay on it. Just tried to make it clear to her that it does not help with sleep at all, not that she cares.

Okay, I am done being a ball of sunshine spewing pleasantness now. Maybe I didn’t inherit my family’s penchant for tidiness but they taught me how to bitch, moan, and criticize like a boss.