Archive for mental health

Cold Rain and Brain Drain

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

Here it is, 3:27 a.m. and I’m awake, have been for an hour now. The clock is ticking. Trains are roaring by. The icy rain is pounding against the metal air conditioner unit in the window. It’s 48 degrees and a dampness in the air has me wanting to do nothing more than curl up under the covers and sleep. But I don’t dare take more melatonin because I have to be up by 8 to call the school and tell them Spook will be late. Then I have to get us both ready and I am NOT getting into a bath when the house is this damn cold. My hair is gross so I thought I could just wash it in the sink but again, it’s so cold, I feel it in my bones and in my veins, coursing through me head to toe as if transfused with ice water. The pressure is on. My kid’s doc appt is 9:45 but we have to be there by 9:30. Then I have that job interview scheduled for 11 a.m. so I need a bunch of stuff to go off without a hitch so I can get her back to school and make my interview on time. I also have to make sure I look presentable but when it’s cold like this and all my warm clothes are packed away (it was 90 last week, I thought we finally had hit spring) I don’t want to leave my warm jammies. I don’t care if I get the job.

Because this is exhaustion and depression and it will pass by Thursday once the temps rise back up but right now, it may as well be dead of winter. My mental states are that fragile when connected to the weather. I fight it but it doesn’t do a bit of good. And this job has all sorts of training and involves going to public places which of course, with my fear of public places and people, probably would be worse for my mental health. Not to mention 14 other candidates being interviewed and they are still running the help wanted ads and I’ve that old charge to bite me on the ass and it’s religiously affiliated and I don’t exactly scream Christian in my darkened identity…

If I could have just slept through the night, woke with the alarm, it might have been different.

But since I woke up in the middle of the night, the weather is awful, and I am in a time crunch plus racking up mileage and using gas in the car going 80 miles in one day…It’s overwhelming me. When overwhelmed my instinct is to retreat, hide, avoid. I am fighting that urge because even if I don’t have a shot at the job, every interview is practice and gives me a chance to see where I excelled and where I need work in my interviewee skills…

Mainly, I am ready to get it all over with so I can come home and maybe get an hour nap in before Spook gets back from school. Not that I can sleep during daylight, at least not since the season changed.

I think it’s Fort Blankie time, I am freezing. Is it so wrong to want some bloody warmth when it aids so drastically in my mental state being more positive? Turning on the furnace would not help, plus the pilot light is out and I am currently back in my ‘terror of the basement’ mindset. I’m also hormonal and hope I don’t start bawling in public for no reason or worse, get hypo manic aggro.

I am so sick of how many suns, moons, and stars that have to align for me to be in a good mental state and be high functioning. And I don’t think I can take another cold fall and winter here, it;s killing me, mentally at least. But I continue to be trapped like an inmate, my freedom hinging not on a parole board but on the financial means to flee.



The Day and Night Clusterfuck

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, insomnia with tags , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I have lately been doing several posts on how not being able to properly sleep at night impacts your entire day and any plans you might have made. Mainly because prior to Abilify, I had insomnia cranked to 7. Now it’s cranked above 10 and the best my psych nurse can say is take 10 mg melatonin. So I do and it gets me maybe 90 minutes before I wake again and I need more melatonin and then sometimes, even tripling the dose doesn’t make me sleep. I feel aggravated, pissed off, and plain exhausted.

Life does not go on hold just because you didn’t get your proper zzzzs. No one cares that you spent more time awake than asleep so your focus is off, you awareness is clouded, and your physical and mental states are just plain foggy and exhausted. They cut you zero slack. My dad keeps telling me about one of his trucker buddies who kept working at a grain elevator in spite of a broken leg. I can’t fucking compete with that. But there is a bit of difference between a broken leg and the anxiety/panic physical symptms I am experiencing that require multiple rushed trips to the bathroom doubled over in agony. The broken leg may be more of an impairment but you can’t crap your pants every time you get panicked and expect to keep jobs, friends, romantic relationships…I’d call that a major hindrance to functionality.

Right now, it’s not yet 3 p.m. and all I can think of is bedtime. For awhile, I’d shaken that. But today I am truly tired cos my total sleep last night was about 4 hours and that was in increments. I’m bloody tired, man. I am a space case. My body feels bruised and aches. It was all I could do to mow 1/8 of the lawn. I had thought I might make it to town to do the open interviews for fast food hell but…I need a bath and I am just too damn drained. PLus, I submitted an app over a week ago, my brother directly addressed his manager with my name, and I haven’t even gotten a pity call for a pity interview. They just don’t want me and I don’t blame them. I am overqualified intellectually, yet due to my panic attacks, underqualified to deal with their massive rush crowds of petri dish dwellers. Maybe them not calling me is the universe sparing me from more failure and bad references, idk.

I just know I can’t get to sleep to take a power nap so I have at least 5 more hours of consciousness with ovary oompa loompas, spine devils, and the agony of being conscious when I am too tired to even breathe or blink. This is my daily life. If I am lucky, I get one day that is not like this.

But yeah, sure, employers, I am totally ready to work and stable and cured and I won’t let you down.

I want a chance to see if I can prove even myself wrong but if I were rich and a betting person…

I guess I wouldn’t put my money on me, either. Exhaustion plays hell on self esteem, too.


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

3:10 a.m. and I am awake, been awake an hour now. I didn’t go to sleep until midnight. Woke up needing to pee and was in so much pain, it took 3 tries to get myself up out of bed and on my feet. For all the jokes about PMS, it’s no joke for those of us who have premenstrual dysphoric disorder. (P.M.D.D) Ten to fourteen days every month of bloating, cramps, backache, headache, irritability, unexpecting tears and knee jerk emotional reactions that make no sense…So in addition to being bipolar, I am also a hormonal wreck. This leaves me 15 days a month free of pain, with what could be considered lucid thought, but if my disorders aren’t nailed down with proper meds, rest, and a low home stress level…

I cannot regain equilibrium.

I get put through the ringer by my own mind, then my body, then the people around me with all the emotional intelligence of bellybutton lint and the tact and empathy of an empty chair chime in and tell me what a grouch I am or what a big whiny baby I am.

There is nothing about P.M.D.D that is affectation. This is not some excuse to be bitchy or erratic. It, for me, is a lot like when I was pregnant and the hormones soared and I had no idea why I was crying or why I was pissed off or why everything seem so hopeless and hurt so bad. It’s a very real disorder that isn’t mainstream enough for people to have a basic understanding. And what people do when they can’t make sense of something and it makes them uneasy…they lash out against what they don’t understand. That ends up being me.

I don’t relish discussing the topic or harping on it every month but it is a huge part of my life, like it or not, and it has an immense impact on my physical and mental functionality. I discuss it because it is relevant and because maybe by being open about the topic, others who suffer the monthly dysphoria will realize…they are not alone.It is not all in your head, you are not lazy or whiny or weak. This is the real deal, debillitating and cruel. Every monthly cycle survived feels like scaling a mountain and you plant your flag at the top…only to wake up 15 days later at the bottom of that mountain holding a new flag and you gotta climb back up again. And there is no ‘let’s get this over with’ where you can just buckle down, rip off the bandage, and move on. You’re pretty much at the mercy of the hormones until they cycle back to some semblance of normal.

I also discuss this because I am told if I am to get a job, it is likely to trigger an automatic disability review. I want documented records of my mental states through each month, especially during the P.M.D.D because I may HAVE to work for money but I am still VERY much struggling with a disability. I am not cured, I am not stable. I am just up against it all and I have to risk another bad reference IF I ever can get hired even, because that’s what you do for your kids. I won’t be quoted or have it mistakenly assume that my love for my child and desire to keep a roof over her head meaning I am some malingerer or that I am all cured.

I am far from cured, far from stable. Even if the meds are working better, two weeks a month they cease to have any real impact on the hormones.

It is, truly, a horror show, that I must live month after month. I am going to keep mentioning it and discussing it until my damn psych providers start listening and work with a Primary doc on a way that would help me balance this monthly horror show. I am sick of both factions individually shrugging me off. One says to talk to the psych, psych says talk to the primary, and I am just in the middle of it all, getting NO real help from either of them.

Now I am going to lay back down even though I’m hurting too bad for sleep to come too easily. My back is sore from sitting up, though. I just wanted to jot this down while it’s happening and fresh in my mind and I have a modicum of lucidity to put it into words. It is high time ‘women’s problems’ stop being some ‘icky’ or ‘shameful’ topic we simply don’t discuss in polite society. When a condition-for a man or woman-impairs your monthly functionality this much-on top of already being disabled- it’s time to start having open honest discussions. It;s time for all our docs to get on board and work together to help us, not make us feel pawned off and ignored.

It is time women’s health issues got at least a quarter of the attention and discussion that men’s little blue pills get. Because we are not the lesser gender and we are tired of our problems being little more than a punchline while men get all this sympathy due to their sexual gratification being impaired.

Health issues need to be treated as equally serious regardless of gender. Hormones are nothing to mess with. They literally dictate the operating systems of our bodies so when they are imbalanced hormonally…we are imbalanced, period. Male or female. Let’s start an honest discussion about that. Because hormones do play a big role in mental health, as well. Time for psych docs and GPs and GYNs to get on board with how much of an impact it has for many of us.

Mommy Sneerest and YMCA

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My mom was in prime form today. Her dementia has gotten worse and with the potential cancer lump lurking, she was locked and loaded for nastiness. All of it aimed my way, geared toward putting me down for ‘having that disorder’ and ‘taking too many pills’. It’s almost like my being bipolar and taking medication threatens her, otherwise, why would she take it personally? Just because she decided depression is normal life and chose not to do therapy or meds, the rest of us should do so as well and if we don’t…hell hath no fury like Morgue’s Mom. Who over the years earned nicknames like Hateful McNasty, Bearilla, and Pit Viper. Because she is mean just to be mean and it’s only gotten worse with the dementia. Then she forgets she was mean and everyone is lying about her or exaggerating. I honestly don’t know how my sister deals with living with her, I’d already be in jail for trying to throttle her. I don’t have patience, it’s a curse.

The wedding was beautiful, if a little haphazardly put together. It did NOT rain. I actually did tear up which with two mood stabilizers, I did not think was possible and yet…I maintain I must be hormonal because honestly, it is the only time I truly tear up, I truly am THAT medicated. There were no fights, no drama, the wedding went off without a hitch. I was accused of being dressed for a funeral, which isn’t shocking. I don’t know why people think black is only for funerals but it happens to be 98% of what I own. I wore a light gray shirt the other day and all it did was draw attention to my middle where I carry most of my weight so I like the way black hides my not so sexy curves. Fat-o-flage, I call it.

The whole time we were there, I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t stop thinking about when are these mandatory dances going to be over, when are they gonna get that cake served, when will they finally open the bloody gifts…I sometimes wonder if my constant need to be home is more a combination of anxiety and A.D.D. Because I just can’t get absorbed in things. I become restless, distracted, and my mind just wants to go home. Not because anything is waiting at home but because here I do have things to help me be half focused.

My kid danced up a storm. I did not. Without some darkness and a drink or two, especially with a bunch of prissy people I don’t know, yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. But I was helping her change from her flower girl dress in the bathroom when they plated “YMCA” and I couldn’t help myself…I started singing “It’s fun to kill S-T-A-N…” from the movie Stan Helsing. Awesome parody. May have been the only true smile I had on my face all day. Not that I wasn’t happy for my nephew, it is just…me trying to fit into a world I simply can’t connect with does not nourish my soul. Stan Helsing and that rendition of YMCA nourish my soul and tickle my funny bone. It starts at 46 seconds.

My dad did buy me a sandwich afterward because they always go out to eat and I just happened to be riding with them. Woohoo, a sammich I didn’t have to cook. Very nourishing.

Some pics I took, it wasn’t very sunny out so the lighting is crap.

Sleep Is The New Orgasm

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Inappropriate title, you say? Meh.

I sent my kid off to her grandmother’s around 4:30 today and shortly after, I zonked out. I slept until 8:40 p.m. I was exhausted because in spite of the phones being at my bedside…I didn’t hear either of them ring when my dad called. It makes sense, though, since I’ve been running at a sleep deficit for so long. Sometimes, if I know Spook is safe and I am ‘off mom duty’, I can sleep quite well. It’s still usually in 3-5 hour increments but I sleep hard and well, for the most part. It doesn’t keep me down, I’m still a joke in a box but…

I needed the sleep after 3 nights straight of mostly being awake and only cat napping.

The sad fact is, at 46 and with a dating pool I would need a hazmat suit to venture into, my libido is quashed by meds and sheer lack of intellectual stimulation.

So getting good sleep is my new orgasm and I want multiples.

Tomorrow is my nephew’s wedding. I guess my stepmonster already made a scene and pissed everyone off at the rehearsal dinner tonight. The bride to be’s ‘nana’ is a wealthy uppity type and we are, well, hillbilly-ish white trash with some class. Mostly, we tell it like it is and a lot of fussbudgety people do not like that. I just want to go and get it over with. I wish my nephew and his bride the best, truly but if it stresses me out, I need it to be done with.

And make no mistake how much it stresses me out. I know where the shindig and all is going to be, but I can’t handle traffic in town anymore and so I asked to ride with my dad and stepmonster. THAT is how fucking far down I’ve sank since the benzo nazis took my Xanax. While buspar seems to dull the generalized constant anxiety a bit, the panic attacks I’ve had since they cut my Xanax dose 75%, I can barely bring myself to leave the house beyond Armpitopia’s minimart. Driving in town is harrowing and fills me with terror. Forget socializing. If I can’t drink and I have no sane pills in the strength I need…Funny how the edict of ONE person who has never met me has fucked up my functionality so drastically. I don’t know how she sleeps at night.

Final note- Rest In Peace, Grumpy Cat. 7 years is far too short a time for the joy you brought many of us.

I nominate my Godsmack to be the new internet cat meme. She lives in a dollhouse, bathes her human, plays fetch, and is utterly an It Girl Kitty.

The Stench Of Terror And Rejection In The Morning

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My heart is still shooting around my chest like a shiny metal ball in a pin ball machine. Oh, panic attacks. I got a call from a temp service I refistered for on line and got ten minutes in and by the second time he asked if I gave notice, I realized…I’d failed to give notice to my last ten jobs cos I usually went manic and saw no consequences or went down the rabbit hole and saw no consequences cos I saw no future. It does sound bad and it reflects badly on me, but I can rewrite history. I can only do my best not to repeat it. But in all fairness, I didn’t give notice to R when I ditched his ‘friendship’ and his shop wench helper monkey thing. Once I hit my breaking point, fight or flight.

Then I was told that they won’t assist anyone without at least a current reference within the last 4 months.

My heart was pounding so loud the whole time, and I felt so much guilt and shame for not giving notice so many times. No wonder my name is literally mud, with employers. I always had this immature notion that because I was a good worker, that would somehow negate my bad judgment toward the end when my disability caused me to crash and burn. You can’t live down your past in some cases. In my case, I fucked everything up so bad from so many angles, legal, professional, skillswise…If I ever get hired again it will truly be a miracle. I’ve said until I had a year of medication stability under my belt, even I wouldn’t hire myself because I don’t think a two or three month stretch of ‘decent mental space’ means the seasonal affective won’t come along and kick my ass and make me flake out all over again.

Had to put my legs up, they are trembling so bad coming off the panic attack I about dropped the computer. Damn, I hate panic attacks. Phone calls should not make you feel this terrified but it does, for me.

It is all snowballing. The home health aide rejections, the fast food rejections (my brother even gave me a direct verbal reference to the hiring manager and I can’t get an interview to sling fries!), now temp services won’t touch me. I am toxic. I never set out to be. I don’t know how to fix it except find a way to work for myself where the meltdown cycles don’t cause income to come to a screeching halt. I don’t feel like I have many other options. I got an update about a hotel maid job and there are 56 other applicants for the same position. I have zero experience in that field so I am pretty much out of the running. I still haven’t heard from the day camp and I am wondering if they ran my background and I’m out for that, too.

It is very frustrating and disheartening. I honestly though by now I’d at least have found something ten hours a week, housekeeping or something. Now my water is going to be turned off and that means the hundred dollar deposit my dad coughed up gets kept by municipal utilities…But I had to pay power and rent and buy food and gas and…

I don’t understand why people are so hard on me, yet no one is rioting at the donor’s door. No one is terrorizing him for not working and not supporting our kid. It’s all on me and it isn’t right since i am the only parent making an effort. I don’t expect an award but it’d be nice to be seen as finally doing the right thing by taking care of my kid. I could have come unglued and blamed my disorders and just let someone else raise her while I drowned in my depressive sorrows. I have changed for the better even if I am not cured but no one gives a damn.

I just gotta keep pushing ahead, there’s no other options. But I really find it insulting to be looked down on for having fundraisers when I am putting every cent of my monthly $835 into the household- $400 rent, $220 power and heat, $70 water, $47 car insurance…if someone wants to add all that up then include feeding and littering the cats, two tanks of gas for the month, plus toiletries and extra food when needed and explain to me how to get blood from the proverbial stone…I am listening. What sickens me most, I think, is the fact my kid hasn’t received a single cent for her fundraising project for the summer. That’s bloody cold. But it’s my fault for not utilizing social media. I feel bad for using my blog for personal needs that way but…it was a follower who told me I should raise funds when needed….

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I’m pretty dejected now and already in a state of half panic so I guess it’s time to make a trip out into the petri dish. Fuck a fancy bag. I didn’t get back to sleep til 5 a.m. so I’m having one of those endless days/nights for a second day and it’s really got me space casing. Hopefully I can focus enough to drive and get groceries.

Then once my kid has left for grandma’s I can assume the fetal position, and sob uncontrollably because everything is such a mess. I have only myself to blame. Though I blame bipolar and anxiety and that isn’t too negate my own responsibility. I just maintain that my behavior stems from the information my brain is sending out so at the times I fucked up and flaked out….I was just doing what the firing impulses in my melon told me to do.

I fucked up my life and now my kid is suffering for it and I can’t get anyone to give me a chance to prove how much I have changed. The one thing I never had when I was bouncing job to job was mood stabilizers. They have made such a difference in my life, I would like the chance to prove it. But I understand why no one wants to take a chance on me.

I probably wouldn’t put my money on me, either, if I had any.

Cremated Uncured Bacon, A Bath, And A Literal Cat Nap

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I despise burned bacon. I do not even like it crisp. So starting my Thursday with a wasted package of bacon turned blackened dog chew toy tough sucked. Plus side, uncured bacon does not taste that much different than other bacon. I managed to feed myself before night time, that’s a rarity. I was disappointed, though, because I watched it closely and checked it every 5 minutes but still, my ass trash ‘too old to even have numerical thermostat’ oven ruined it. Even the cats rejected it.

I bathed, that time of the week, ha ha ha. I am actually bathing 2, 3 times a week now since Abilify/season changes. It’s still not ideal but it’s improvement. Though the sense of accomplishment was accompanied by the thought, “Ugh, fuck, I’m just gonna have to do this again Saturday before the wedding debacle.”

I suffered through restless mind syndrome some more, too tired to even get properly sleepy. Then I did get properly sleepy so I curled up in bed and before I knew it, I’d nodded off with two kittens on either side of me and one asleep on my leg. The literal and proverbial cat nap. Waking up and trying not to roll onto them and get up without crushing them was like a geriatric game of Twister.

I even got a bit of a giggle out of the day when putting the spawn into the bath. She wanted to shave her legs since she is wearing a dress as flower girl for the wedding Saturday without tights. As I supervised her, she asked me, “Do you have to comb your leg hair if you don’t shave and it grows long?” Ermagod, that made me laugh, hard. She is so bloody funny without meaning to be. Those are the mom moments that balance out all the hellish battles, the tantrums, the mood swings, the fussing, the hypochondria…She then asked me why men don’t shave under their arms and shave their legs and I told her because society is misogynostic on such matters though some men, like cyclists and swimmers, do shave their body hair. Personally, I think all men should shave to an extent but there are some women who dig the Yetti thing. Eww.
2:11 a.m. Friday 5/17

I’ve been up since 11 p.m. I’m just doing catnaps now, it seems, so my days feel like they are neverending. But until I am good and sleepy and relaxed, trying to force it stresses me out worse and makes it more impossible. I would love 7 solid hours of sleep. I should have gotten it as I took 10 mg melatonin, 0.5 xanax, 50 mg Atarax and 100 Benadryl. If that doesn’t put you down and keep you down, well, it certainly attests to it being a sleep disorder as opposed to some personality issue. And when I get soooo tired and sooo sleepy that I nod off without meaning to…

That is a beautiful headspace. Beautiful also is waking up and feeling slightly recharged rather than like I’m only a third way through the marathon.

Today is grocery day. Aside from Jonesing for a fountain Dr. Pepper and take and bake pizza, I have no major enthusiasm for a trip to town. My kid will be spending the night in town with my sister so they can gussy her up for the murder, er, wedding, Sat morning.

I’ve been wondering if everyone’s been yapping about, “Oh, I hope Niki doesn’t wear anything to weird.” Because yes, a t-shirt and leggings is totally weird. I do love being underestimated, though. If they assume I am not bright enough to discern appropriate clothing then they’ve earned the disdain with which I view them. I even printed out a mantra for my wall reminding me they have the self awareness of an empty chair and I need to stop giving them permission to make me feel inferior. I’ll let you know if it cures me, kinda like when god gives you lemons but…

I saw that on a t-shirt before my mom’s bad mammogram came back but it still applies. Optimism does not cure illness.

I am gonna try to pawn some DVDs today so I can buy a bag of cat food. There’s only one shop though and he pays like a quarter a disc so even my 16 disc Forenisc Files set won’t get me too far IF he’d even buy it. My dad asked me why I don’t sell my electronics. Hmm, well, because they’re so old and outdated, they are literally worth more to keep than try and get a dollar value out of.

I’d like to ask why I can’t manage a successful fundraiser to get my kid her vacation and get my own ebay storefront going, using all the loot I find secondhand. I think I could rock that casbah but they don’t give small business loans for it and they wouldn’t give me a loan anyway as my credit score more resembles a euphamism for the daily time to get high. The more I think about it, though, the more the ebay thing appeals to me. I’m running into walls and bleeding out trying to fit into society’s cookie cutter system and that one mistake keeps fucking me over…Being my own boss would be about perfect. I have the retail skills. I know I could make a go of it if I could keep the monthly bills paid and focus solely on the business. That is my dream, people. To sell shit on ebay.

You say pathetic, I say desperate not to be a cog in a wheel that does not even want me…

It’s 2:30 a.m., I took another slow cocktail of antihistamine and melatonin but my mind is not slowing down an iota and sleep seems like a far away mirage. However, the cats napping on my bed are very real. Someone may as well lay in it and sleep.

I sure as hell ain’t able to do it.