Archive for mental illness

People-ing Is Draining

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on January 26, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve not left the house since a quick trip to the mini mart Friday and yet, I still feel people’d out. My dad’s incessant calls then a surprise visit from a friend (to his credit, he called first) and my brother tromping into my house this morning to take my kid to church, then text messages…I am not in the mental state necessary for all of this interaction. It’s weird because I can write half a dozen posts a day, read twice that many, click, swap comments, exchange emails-none of that bothers me, it feels nourishing to my soul and psyche. But when I am forced to deal with the mental health muggles-those who do not have our magical mental disorders therefore they can’t understand it- it sucks the life out of me.

But, yeah, R visited last night and brought my birthday gift. I was fucking blown away. I asked for a $30 optical sound bar for my TV. He brought me this huge set with a sub woofer and blue tooth and it was no $30. My immediate instinct was to say, “Oh, no, this is too much, take it back.” Because that’s who I am. Cheap and I feel undeserving. But honestly, it meant a lot that he remembered even if it was a few days late. He even brought me a 12 pack of baby Mangoritas. I am grateful but hey, he’s making $17 an hour so it’s not like being nice to me is gonna break him. I just know with him, strings usually apply and I never know when they might appear. And he absolutely gives zero fucks about what state my mental health is in, if he feels he is owed, then…I do it or there is a shitstorm and I have to go into hiding to avoid the onslaught of insults.

He stayed a couple of hours, mostly yakking about Trump and stupid democrats and all the money he is making while loudly playing Angry Birds on his phone. Sitting in the living room, putting on smiles I did not feel, rolling my eyes when I was really feeling that (You ever seen those K-pop fan girls? He is like that for politics and I just…can’t.) I just do don’t do this social thing and frankly when people are always on their fucking phones, what is the bloody point? Not to mention one of the main reasons I moved from the living room to my bedroom crypt is because of the noisy fucking trains. I counted TEN of them in less than an hour last night and every time, I’d jump a little at the whistle thing. We’ve been here two years and when it is one or two trains, it’s annoying but you stop noticing. But that many trains in such a short time span emitting such noise? I just remember feeling jarred, unsafe, and hoping he’d leave soon so I could return to my safe bedroom crypt. Away from all the noise.

I finally slept. Horrible nightmares but based totally on shit that has happened with people I know so…Give me a good chase with a knife wielding maniac over backstabbing gaslighting friends any day. I kept waking up, scared to go back to sleep, but too cold to get up and get a drink or something, maybe restart my heart from ricocheting off the walls of my chest. This repeated right up til dawn and I nodded off again, only for the alarm to wake me to get my kid up for church. And I still hit snooze three times, banged on the wall to wake her, and stayed under my cover, awake, unmoving. Not ready to face another day in shitty mental space. After she left I had every intention of just curling up under the covers and pretending the world out there forgot I exist. Then my brother stomped in and my dad called and it’s like GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. And I am still supposed to get to town to get the veggie soup I half paid for that my sister cooked and I…The thought of driving all the way to town when I just have to do it again Tuesday for my shrink appointment seems like too much fuss. It’s like, yeah, I want that soup, but it sure would be nice if like since they are gonna be in town anyway, dad and stepmom would stop and fetch it for me. They’re always reminding how many miles my car has on it, after all, saving me a trip would be both kind and wise.

Kind and wise are not words I use in reference to them. Even on the phone stepmonster was in the background listening to our call and I said something to dad about always being cold and she’s mooing in the background STOP YOUR WHINING! Then dad made a comment about me being closer to 50 than 40 and I said, what they never tell you is that even if your body is that age, in your mind you’re pretty much the same as 20 year old with more wisdom. And again that fucking cow is mooing in the background about me growing up and stop crying. HUH? I can’t make a simple statement- even a positive one- and that bitch has to butt in. Yet in the last 5 months she’s seen 6 different doctors, had upper GI, colonoscopy, a Gyno, a ton of bloodwork cos her iron is low and her diabetes numbers are off….If anyone needs to stop whining and being a big wussy, it’s her. She’s two years younger than me, for fuck’s sake. Sometimes I swear she is just competing with dad to see who is in poorer health and the sad thing is, he’s 73 and still not at the doctor’s as often as her. We have all tried to tolerate her for the last 20 some odd years but honestly, she needs a fucking mute button. I can’t have a simple phone conversation with my dad without her insulting me and I am just burned out. Shut the fuck up, you fucking redneck TRrump loving cow. Oops, sorry to bovine kind. Kinda hard for me to find an animal I dislike enough to liken her to. Maybe a maggot or a slug.

See, all this people-ing has me ready to implode. When it feels like my doors are being stormed and I am under attack, I become quite like a cornered animal ready to attack. Except I am too damn tired. And cold. Yet sweaty. I have no idea what is going on with my body anymore. But I sure as hell am not gonna run up a $20,000 insurance bill for ten different doctors and dozens of tests because I’m hormonal and can’t get comfortable in my own skin. It doesn’t matter if insurance would cover it all, it’s the fucking principle. If you’re that fucking sick, go into the hospital and shut the fuck up, you hypochondriac. See, I am giving her all the empathy and respect she gives me. Which is none.

I know the point of this should be, hey, the witch brought you some sweatshirts so you won’t freeze and R brought you that kick ass speaker rig. People care about you, shut up, Niki.

I’d give up all monies and material gain if they’d validate my mental health issues instead of treating me like I imagine them.

Yes, I got more lectures from dad about the job thing. Yep, haven’t bathed in days, house is biohazard four, I lose my shit when people crowd me even by phone, and I can’t string two coherent thoughts together. I sound like an awesome, reliable employee for sure. WTF? Oh, right, he doesn’t want to validate that my mind ain’t right because somehow that would make it about his genetic code being flawed and that only applies to the males on his side of the family. My brother ‘has problems’. I am just lazy. Well, my brother may sweep the floors 15 hours a week at a burger joint, but he’s under their gaurdianship at age 24, can barely sign his paycheck, and has the emotional IQ of a third grader. I, on the other hand, maintain a household, keep the power and water on, the car licensed and insured, I am raising a kid, caring for pets, budgeting, banking, driving in town, shopping for groceries and making sure my daughter and I both have our meds refilled on time and make doctor appointments. Who seems more capable there?

Guess that is his point, if I can manage this much, then a job would be no big deal. They never are until about a month in when I start losing my shit from the pressure. Manic-dream employee- Depressed-resign or be fired. I am in no hurry to get back on that merry go round. When I go back to work, I want it to stick. Sadly, the only things I seem any good at are ranting, writing, spelling, and sarcasm. Not a big job market for those skills.

This turned into a disjointed clusterfuck real fast.

I am going back to Fort Blankie. My mind is racing too much to find any peace but sometimes just the ritual of staring blankly at the TV can slow things down in my head. Quell the rage. Dull the anger and hatred toward cruel people. Give me more time to think up reasons why I suck and am a terrible person. The usual.

Hopefully this hormonal hell ride will pass in the next day or two and I won’t be so…vitriolic.

And pray to the sacred pegacorn my shrink appointment goes well and something is done about my med regime because the Cymbalta ain’t doing shit. Oh, how I dread that glance down at my file, pages turning, and that resigned, “Well, Niki, you have tried so many…” As if I am not painfully aware of my medication resistance.

My goal for this week: get the house cleaned up, my new sound bar set up, bathe, and oh, write a semi positive rainbow spewing post. The latter is probably gonna be the hardest thing of all to do. Debbie Downer is kind of my writing brand, positivity is going against everything I stand for.

Challenge accepted.

I Don’t Like Myself Today

Posted in depression, mental health with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 25, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

That title is just one of those things that make go ummm…. But it is how I am feeling and I have no idea why. It’s not like I took a Z-Whacker to a baby seal or robbed a bank or did anything that would spark self loathing. I just feel it. It started about 45 minutes into watching stand up comedy on youtube in an effort to bolster my sagging spirits. By 45 minutes, I was no longer even smirking at any of the comedians and I just felt like someone pricked the bubble around me and let out all the air. I can’t even find comedy funny, what is wrong with me? Now there is that itty itty rational part of my brain who says, hey, maybe your hormones dipped, or you haven’t eaten in 30 hours, you need food to get your blood sugar up. Or hey, novel idea, maybe those comedians just didn’t do it for you?

Ha ha ha. Depressive brain can kick rationality in its ass and skull and deny any plausibility.

I took my meds. I am drinking water. I ate. I still think I suck. Hell, I even snuggled a kitten and am pretty sure I still can’t fucking stand myself.

This is the part of depression people don’t really talk about. For every manic episode in which you showed no conscience for your actions, there will be depressions that you feel guilty and self hatred for no good reason. And when your mind gets bored hating you for no reason, it will dredge up the most heinous things you have ever done in your life as examples of why you’re a waste of space who doesn’t deserve to live.

Never mind you’re doing meds, therapy, changing bad habits and past behavior that contributed to your issues. NOPE. Self betterment is NO excuse to suddenly start liking yourself or feeling good about yourself. YOU STILL SUCK.

Part of me wonders if I didn’t set myself up for this mood crash by watching comedy. I tempted the fates and wanted to prove I am more than all my depressive writings and that I can be fun and funny and laugh and not be consumed by pessimism. But deep down maybe I knew it would end in self defeat thus giving me a real reason to feel like a loser other than ‘just because my brain says so’.

Self sabotage is pretty common in depression. But if that is what I did, I think I did it all wrong. I mean, if you’re wanting to feed your negative feelings and have a reason to feel sad and hopeless, wouldn’t you watch some rom-com or something so the happy ending results in your feel inept and a lost cause? Nope. I watch comedy and…end up depressed. WTF, brain?

All I can think about is bedtime. The forecast is for 6 straight days of gloom and that is so not gonna help lift my mood. Sleep is my only escape even if last night’s dream du jour involved a female street gang trying to murder me because one of their boyfriends said hi to me. (And if you think that’s not based on fact, the joke is on you, it happened. They didn’t try to kill me but they were hunting me down and my only crime was be polite and say hello to someone who said it first.) But bad dreams I can wake from.

This self hating darkness enveloped space is like 24-7 in lockdown where they leave you naked with no bedding and a drain in the floor as a bathroom and the walls and doors have been fitted so not a single drop of light can reach you. (I was watching a documentary on Alcatraz earlier, it stuck.) But I imagine this is a bit of what solitary confinement would feel like. Trapped with only your own thoughts without hope of a break or escape. Swatting all the self hating thoughts away like swarms of flies only for the self loathing to sneak in and sting you like a thousand sweat bees to remind you…you are a piece of shit.

I do not believe this, of course. I am cognizant enough to know this is a symptom of my depression.

But somnetimes what you know has zero to do with how you are feeling.

And today…I fucking hate myself and I have no fucking idea why.

I can take comfort knowing my daughter just came to me with her tablet and a word game, asking me to utilize my excellent spelling skills so she could win. And I nailed it, she got 20,000 points.

If only I could get a job that paid me for spelling well and knowing useless pop culture trivia.

Who am I kidding, I am loser no one will ever hire to even mop up at a peepshow booth.

REALLY hate the days I hate myself.

I am getting on my own nerves.

Depression: When Life Leaves You Behind

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on January 25, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I got an email today from someone who used to be like my sister but then things went to shit and since then it’s just been a mass of apologies and of course, me trying to keep in touch, and her basically ignoring me. And to be honest, I don’t know how to reply to this email. Because obviously her life has moved on beyond our old chats about how much it sucked to battle depression and anxiety and yet…Mine has not. When we started talking she was a teenager. I’m pushing fifty now and she’s a woman in her 30’s. Whatever bond we had seems…gone. I don’t want it to be and I surely will reply when I come up with something non depressive related to say but…It just highlights my entire life as far as friendships go. One friend I thought I would always have ended up befriending R-through my introduction- and he still interacts with R to this day but can’t even text me. Because apparently, all I do is embrace my depression and anxiety and it bums people out.

My first instinct is to apologize for being a bummer and do the requisite, “It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t wallow in my depression so much…”

But that is utter bullshit. None of us chose this. And one of the biggest backstabs on Earth is friends you bonded with because they were struggling with mental issues same as you but then, their life got back on track when the bouts lifted and stayed gone and suddenly, all the times you were there when they needed you…cannot be reciprocated. Because your condition is chronic and runs in cycles of good, better, worse, face plant in the gutter, back up…And it’s too much work to maintain the friendship when one person is seeing the good in life and the other-me- can’t see the light of day because I am so far down the rabbit hole. For me, it’s never been about abandoning ship for struggling friends just because I have a mini-remission. This is not reciprocal in my experience and it’s just fucking sad. Fine, I bring you down, don’t expect me to want to go out and have a fun time, go with someone fun. But to just shut me out entirely is cruel.

But then that is me making it about myself. For all I know maybe these people have had their own shit going on, didn’t want to confide in me, and came to realize they were just jerks and knew I wouldn’t like them anymore. Or I am a jerk, depression or not, so they don’t like me.

It’s such a clusterfuck, trying to maintain friendships when you’re trapped on this bipolar coaster from hell. And worrying about the friendships when you can’t even keep yourself bathed and your house tidy because depression is devouring you, it does get to a point where you give up trying to live ‘out there’ and retire inside your own mind.

Let’s face it. It’s great when others get the right med combo, therapist, and land on their feet. We are happy for them. But also…we’re in the review mirror, waving, and they, and life, are passing us by and moving on. And we’re just stuck in place, every fiber of our being yearning to be free of this albatross that distorts our every thought and we never seem to be the ones moving on. That has been my experience, anyway.

With winter depression, it’s even harder because you know at least 4 months of the year, even with working meds, that your mind is going to wind up in ‘bummerland’. People tell you to get out, go have some fun, stop living in your own head, and the harder you try to do this..the worse it gets because depression isn’t some foul mood you just snap out of after watching a comedy or eating ice cream. It isn’t just a case of ‘the blues’ that you can fix by putting on some nice clothes and ‘going out’ with others. Try convincing others of this, though, and you find out fast who your true friends are. And ha ha ha, it seems I don’t have any IRL.

Which honestly once I discovered the internet and realized I could interact with others without actually having to worry about bathing and being a shiny happy people, this has been my happy place. Friends I have made on line have shown me more kindness, generosity, and compassion than any person in my actual life. That has to be some sad statement about the people I have in my life. And that statement is, they either don’t believe mental illness is real, or because their problems were situational and not chronic, they just can’t have my ‘toxicity’ in their lives.

I’ve got enough toxicity in my own, so I understand that too well. Difference is, I tell the people in my life when something they do is bothering me. (Like my dad telling me on the phone today all about watching someone kill and eat goat brains, um, STOP, it may have happened but it just upsets me, STOP!) The people in my life don’t tell me when I am bringing them down, so I carry on obliviously rather than try to be more upbeat or know it’s just time to keep to myself til this dark cycle passes. The inability for others to communicate is the bane of my existence. Just like my dark humor. If you don’t tell me it offends you, I don’t know to curb it in your presence, and yes, I am willing to do that because I’m not a fucking monster. Maybe it feels a little like not being accepted for who I am but then my dad’s racist slurs and confederate flag are who he is and I am constantly in cringe mode trying to accept he is just bigoted and redneck as fuck. He sure as hell does not try to tone it down for me. And I don’t want to be like him so…Yeah, if one on one my dark humor is too much, speak up and I will just save it for the people who appreciate it. Wasting brilliant dark humor on those who don’t get it is tragic.

I know I will spring back, at some point, out of my Fort Blankie depression of the last few days. Cold weather and snow and 24-7 lockdown with my child aren’t exactly bolstering my spirit, nor are my hormonal issues and physical pain brought on by those issues. The spring and summer will come and even if my meds aren’t working, I will be in a different mental space for awhile…So why does it still feel like life is passing me by and everyone is moving on without me? And why is it suddenly bugging me when for the most part I’ve made peace with it?

Oh, right, hormonal dysphoria. Right now, not even Baby Yoda could give me the warm fuzzies. Just angry feelings of WHY DIDN’T I GET A BABY YODA FOR MY BIRTHDAY?

So much of my life is spent cycling through bipolar, depression, anxiety, and hormonal issues, I need to focus on survival mode. Social butterfly was never in my genetic make up, depression or not. I’ve always been a loner and quite content with it.

Still…much as you want to be happy for when your friends are feeling good and moving on…

It sucks that you feel left behind.

The First Random Babble-On Post Of 2020

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 1, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I haven’t done a “Babylon” post in quite some time so why not start off 2020 with my influx of random as fuck bouncy ball thoughts. Buckle up, the topic changes will give you whiplash.

It occurred to me today that with my center doing telepsychiatry all I ever see is my doc from the shoulders up. How do I know he’s even wearing pants???

Still off and on binge watching Pluto’s Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders:Making The Team and honestly, this beauty/eye of the beholder thing really is, well, a thing. Some of these girls they consider pretty just have ‘horsey’ faces to me. And some are just plain Jane to me. Then they start in on the girls being ‘too heavy’ and while I understand you gotta look good in the uniform and be fit and toned and stuff…Their idea of ‘too heavy’ boggles my mind. I doubt even the tallest girl in camp weighs more than 130 pounds. My God, you could use their bellies as a washboard and they’re still ‘too heavy’. That is simply an ideal I do not agree with. And this muscle bound G.I. Joe trainer they have creeps me out. I am sooo not into that beefy Lou Ferrigno build, it’s gross. Toned and muscular, ok, but when you look like you’re the hulk, you lose me.

Another thing I ‘get out’ of watching a topic that would normally bore me into a coma (cheerleading/competition) and I guess this may be the ONLY good thing about high def TVs…You can really sort out the girls who have unique, beautiful eye colors. I have always hated my brown eyes cos, well, they’re just blackish brown, nothing unique, not even a gold fleck. But this show really highlights all the shades of eye color people can have. My favorite is always gonna be green, I just had no idea how varying the shades can be. Nor did I realize there’s a distinct between blue eyes. Some of these girls have ice blue eyes, some have deep blue, some come close to aqua. Even some brown eyes kind of stand out because they have flecks of amber or gold. And wow, I used to think hazel eyes were bland, but some hazel eyes are gorgeous.

I mentioned in the day’s earlier post about the horrid side effects I had with lithium and next thing I know…I get a headache, nausea, and feel like I am gonna throw up. Did I psychosomatically cause myself to have flashbacks and become ill? Doubtful, I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday except for cheese cubes. I’ve noticed sometimes when I feel kind of sickly it usually means I need to eat. But man, depression makes it so hard to even choose what to eat, let alone put forth the effort to cook. My listless level today is, “Ugh, sixty seconds in the microwave for corndogs, then I gotta get the ketchup, it’s too much bloody effort…” Damn you, depression. This is why I usually keep bags of beef jerky on hand. Quick, doesn’t need cooked, and 2 or 3 pieces makes me feel full and less sickly. But alas, no jerky at the moment.

And speaking of jerky. It isn’t simply a price thing. I TRULY prefer the Dollar General Clover Valley generic jerky over brand names like Jack Links. It tastes better to me and it’s tender so I don’t have to make like a caveman with a whooly mammoth bone to get at the meat.

One of the things I miss most about living in town, aside from it costing a fortune in gas, is getting pizza delivered. Not that we could afford it very often but it was so nice to know we had the option. Not in Armpit. All we have is the minimart and sure they make pizzas but they don’t deliver and they close at 9 p.m. There isn’t even a damn soda machine anywhere in town so whatever you need you either hope the minimart has and you’re willing to pay 4 times higher price or you gotta have gas in the car to make the 30-40 mile round trip to town. Just inconvenient.

Ya know how sometimes you see an actor or musician and you don’t know them…But you just LIKE them for no good reason? I feel that way about Christopher Titus and Rob Lowe and Harry Connick Jr. (No music from him, though, def not my cup of tea.) It’s just weird to like someone for…no discernable reason. Wish I had that kind of charisma. Then again, I can barely stand being around the few people in my life now, I would melt down if I had dozens of people vying for my attention. When I was 14, all I wanted was to be famous. Now, all I want is to have my writing recognized and the rest of me kind of left alone. I won’t say I wanna blend in, cos obviously anyone who wears all black in rural midwest is bound to stand out, but…people tire me out. Trying to control my wild inappropriate emotions and thoughts, trying to remember basic social graces, trying to come up with mutually appealing topics and hold a conversation…Stressful. I had a brush with popularity when I went to Job Corps at 17 and what I found out was…it sucked. Girls turn on you real fast when you’re the fresh meat their men are looking at and they never blame the men, it is somehow the girl’s fault for being ogled. Ladies, wtf kind of logic is that??? People-ing too much, hard pass.

I get ONE set of bed sheets and use them for the entire year. I did not get them for Christmas this year like I usually do so I will either have to deal with my old cat clawed scratchy ones or…eek out $24.99 for a new set. And this is where some people get the wrong idea about me being some kind of bedding snob. I am actually not. The reason I always ask for the exact same sheets is because I have so many problems with my skin and allergies and itchiness. The faux satin just feel better, they don’t agitate my already dry flaky itchy skin. I know nothing about thread count and brand names. I just know what is most comfortable for me and faux black satin works. And not just some ‘goth’ black thing, it’s because the cats occasionally barf on the bed and I don’t want stains.

I got my ears pierced the first time when I was in first grade. By 5th grade, I got them pierced a second time. Then in my teens, high from watching an Alice Cooper live tape, I numbed my ears with ice and jabbed this 3 inch needle in and created two more holes. I mention this only because the piercing I had done professionally when I was younger tend to close up yet the ones I did half assed at home I have no trouble with. My skin even rebels against following a norm.

Also not a soda snob. I love my Dr. Pepper but I am just fine with generic cheaper stuff. Except when it comes to Stars and Stripes cola. It tastes like rye to me. And I don’t like rye flavor. It actually leaves a diet-soda aftertaste. I think my taste buds were traumatized when I once grabbed a bottle with a red label and assumed it was cola but it turned out to be rock n rye and I didn’t notice til I went to drink it. PUTRID. From time to time I miss Jolt cola but no place in town sells it anymore 😦

I abhor ‘reality tv’. Just watching promos for shit like Jersey Shore or Floribama Shore or Teen Mom gives me the heebie jeebies. Just gross. Seriously, if your personality is so irritating I’d rather watch shows about serial killers to avoid watching your show…America would consume arsenic if someone on TV told them to, such sheeple.

I love the scent of Gain laundry soap. Budget wise all I can afford now is the dollar store $1 big bottle so the clothes really don’t have a’fresh’ scent. I don’t know what it is, I just love the smell of Gain. Very few brand name products really impress me but Gain, Dawn Dish Soap, and Febreeze scented oil wall plug ins are just superior to me. Can’t always afford superior but I can appreciate it.

I am having one of my ‘fuck it’ days. Where so much needs done around the house but I just…can’t deal today. Sometimes ‘fuck it’ therapy actually results in me ending up accomplishing stuff because I gave myself permission to just say fuck it. Takes pressure off, lets my guilt tripping brain rest a bit. I think one of the hardest things when you have mental disorders is self care. Society frowns on it and assumes you’re lazy or giving into the depression or whatever. We deserve to cut ourselves some slack and indulge in whatever self care we need at that time.

I do not like this ‘thigh gap’ craze. It creeps me out to see a woman with a thigh gap. Unless you were born that way, it’s unnatural and it does not look healthy nor attractive to me.

It occurs to me I likely have ‘resting bitch face’ simply because I get so lost in my thoughts and the anxiety never leads me to feel relaxed and smiley. They told this girl on TV she had resting bitch face and I was just like, she doesn’t look bitchy, she looks nervous and tense or lost in thought. But yeah, call me Goddess of Resting Bitch Face, I accept that.

One of our cats’ fave foods is…potato chips. They don’t care if it’s salty, bbq, tortilla, doritas, sour cream and onion…May as well be holding a 2 pound steak the way swarm me when the chip bag comes out. Godsmack really really digs the original yellow bag Lays. My favorite too, outside nacho cheese Doritos.

The world’s obsession with BMI and weight and carbs and blah blah blah…really pisses me off. So I am just gonna throw netiquette out the bloody window and put this in all caps. PEOPLE DO NOT EVER GO TO EAT, THINKING YESSS, I WANT TO BE FAT AND UNHEALTHY AND HAVE CLOGGED ARTERIES SO LET’S DO BURGERS AND FRIES AND PIZZA AND PASTA.
I think the world would be surprised by how many of us would choose healthier food IF it tasted as good to us as the ‘unhealthy’ food. Some are lazy but most of us…just want things to taste good.

And because I got bored with writing this hours ago and am having one of my sweating but shivering episodes, I am just gonna end it there. Spook is not feeling too well today. I hope it is the food we had yesterday maybe making us feel sickly and not a sign of oncoming flubola.

Don’t let my rays of black sunshine stab you, I’m a pessimist/optimist/realist rolled into one lump of a mentally fucked up dumpster fire that confuses even me sometimes.

And sometimes, what we find most frustrating about ourselves can actually endear us to others so…If I manage to endear myself to even one like button for this post, I will feel my weirdness has been validated as simply being awesome in a special way.


Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 1, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Nothing say Happy New Year like a kitten a sparkly gold hat.

Or Deadpool and Spidey hanging out. Lurve Deadpool, not so big on Spidey. Though that movie with Venom kind of rocked but maybe cos Venom wore all black and I am all about the black.

So…I totally went freebie queen, downloaded Sirius XM to my TV apps, and signed up for a FREE 3 month trial. The interface confused the hell out of me since I am a computer based person and having a TV that is basically a computer with no keyboard equals scrambled egg brain. My sister has it in her car so I texted her to ask what the best metal stations are…And off and on all night I went back and forth between TV shows and rocking out. Heard some new bands I liked. Also found some vintage 80’s pop rock stations. Think that was the coolest thing I did all year, downloading the freebie app to my TV. It’s like I still haven’t been able to conquer my music anxiety with my desktop MEGA BASS speakers but listening on the (crappy) sounding TV, I can maybe slowly overcome whatever has my brain so FUBAR when it comes to sound. Music has always been my life saver and now it’s…a little uncomfortable and painful at times. And it’s been going on for years now. I’d think it psychosomatic if I weren’t also so uber sensitive to normal ambient noise- loud truck engines, motorcycles, trains, voices, even the normal sounds of the washer or fridge can frazzle my nerves. Oddly, it is not something the shrinky people have ever given a second thought to even though it hugely impacts my quality of life and the ability to be ‘normal’ and not spaz out in the petri dish.

I was a bad girl yesterday. I bought myself a birthday gift. I found the boots I wanted 1/3 cheaper on ebay as opposed to Amazon and I just clicked BUY NOW. No, I didn’t suddenly come into money. My car insurance runs in a 9 month on/3 months off schedule and I am this month so…Badass boots ordered. From China, probably won’t come til blood February but happy birthday to me. I told my mom about them and said it was what I wanted from her and my sister and she LAUGHED and snorted at me. Okay, so the $65 ones were iffy. Thank pegacorn for ebay and lower prices from China. I feel guilty for splurging on myself but oh,well. I haven’t had a new pair of boots sans $12.50 dollar store ones that split in less than 6 months in eight bloody years. And zero fucks are given about who likes them or hates them. They are totally me in every way.

I just hope they fit. China’s idea of American sizes can be iffy. Tiny people with tiny feet do not comprehend that not all of us were blessed with perty lil feet. My kid is 10 and already wears a ladies size 9. We do not come from a small footed maternal line.

Of course, we could have gone out for New Years but everyone forgets we live in Armpit and it’s 30 miles from our door to theirs and we already had made a trip to town so by the time the invites came…I was like fuck it. I survived ten different stops and nearly got hit by other cars 3 times, I was done with the petri dish. I got 2 Mangoritas with a wallet full of quarters I never used on the icky laundromat. Spook got party poppers and those lil gold hats.And we stayed in and had a Skype insult fest with each of us in seperate rooms and devices. It was fun. Then we watched the ball drop and both of us were tapped at 12:30 a.m. All in all, not a bad New Year’s Eve. I actually woke today, turned on Sirius, and thought…I feel happy.

Of course, a lot of that is because for the first time in 5 days, the sun actually came out and while I hate the brightness and want a dimmer switch put on it, sunlight does improve my mood. Cold wet dreary days just suck the life out of me.

But that happy feeling has deflated, probably because I took my meds so novacaine for my emotions, I am back in level territory. And while I know I NEED mood stabilizers, I still find it annoying that in sixty years of psych medication progress they can’t make a mood stabilizer that does not dull the good feelings as well as the hypo/manic feelings. But Lamictal is still way better than lithium, side effects wise. And it was like emotional novacaine, I couldn’t feel any emotion, I couldn’t cry, and half the time when I took lithium I was throwing up a half hour later. Way too harsh even if it is hella effective.

The kitchen is a mess. My kid spread catnip all over the floor now I gotta clean it up. Kittens were unimpressed but Godsmack started rolling in it like a madwoman. But now my floor is a biohazard zone and I honestly just do not want to deal today. Which after stressing for 2 days about getting my check, then getting it and having to get to town for our med refills and rushing about the petri dish with idiot drivers loose…It takes a lot out of me. Especially with the seasonal depression, it’s like my entire system is working at 40% power where as during the spring and summer I can pull of 75% some days. Feeling groggy and sluggish makes me guilt trip myself but…My New Year’s resolution is to STOP beating up on myself for exercising self care. When every fiber of your being says it is time to step back and just zone out and rest…The world will not end if you follow through on that. I spew it often and tell other people to self care, but myself…I fight through the travel agent for guilt trips called my brain. I think me and my brain are frenemies.

It is so bloody frustrating when all you want is to feel like yourself and not feel all this negative stuff and so drained…yet your brain won’t cooperate. I can make pro/con lists til the cows come home and end up with more pluses than negatives and still…I don’t feel energized or fortunate because my mind does not accept that the good things outweight the bad things.

I’ll leave on, what I consider, a positive note. The Friday the 13th calendar mom and sis got me for Christmas. I think it’s adorable that the pic for my birthday month has Jason loving me so much he wants to chop me up with an axe. And for anyone who finds that ghoulish or terrifying should try watching true crime shows. The real monsters are humans.

Mr. Sandman Is A Sadist

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I think the longest I have slept without waking in the last three days is 45 minutes. Waking up that many times every night does lead me to feeling rested and pleasant. I am aggro as fuck. Happy bloody New Year’s Eve.

My check still hasn’t deposited and I am allegedly supposed to get my money two days earlier than everyone else based on my online debit bank. The cat food bucket is at the bottom, for fuck’s sake. These pig cats went through 34 pounds of cat food in a month. A friend sent a bag of Meow Mix and suddenly these cats are eating machines. I am putting them back on dollar store or Walmart gruel. They eat (and barf less) when I keep them on el cheapo food. They sure did enjoy the Meow Mix, anyway. But it ain’t in my budget. And if my check does not deposit soon I will be down at my dad’s groveling for a coffee can of their cat food to make it til Thursday or Friday. Fucking holidays fuck everything up.

I’ve been awake an hour and am still clearing cobwebs from my brain this…super bitchbeast. Spook has already screamed that she hates me cos I made her clean her pigsty of a room. Oh, well. Candy wrappers and dirty clothes stuffed between the wall and mattress aren’t gonna fly, little girl.

I got some housework done finally since she was playing with her little friend. Vaccumed, swept the kitchen, hung some laundry, scooped the cat boxes, took out trash. THEN I went to do dishes and son of a bitch…the hot water heater pilot is out AGAIN. I followed the directions taped to it like ten times and I still can’t get it to fire up. And R is super busy and disinterested since wifey is home and he doesn’t need my low class company to avoid boredom so chances are nil to get him here. Which leaves me boiling pans of water indefinitely or, egad, asking dad and stepmonster to come look at it. It’s just button pushing, not like you gotta disassemble anything and mess with actual flames. I am not technically inclined. Every time I think I am making a dent in things…something else goes wrong.

The car is on E again. $89 on gas just for December alone. It’s 20 miles just to get to the turn off to town and back to Armpit and I must have made 30 trips plus the trips to Dopia school which adds another 15 miles round trip. I am so sick of putting gas in the damn car. I am sick of not having a gas gauge that works. Sick of hoping my mileage estimation is correct. In town, I spent maybe $30 on gas for the entire month.

I haven’t bathed in 5 days and my hair feels nasty. Now I gotta boil water and freeze my ass off just to get semi clean.

And I am also sick of people with their fussy little, do you ever have anything good to say?

I am just reporting the facts and feelings, I can’t help it they’re downers. Welcome to my life.

But yeah, I can say some good stuff. But I’ve already said it multiple times in previous post how grateful we are to our friends on line who helped us survive the holiday season and at some point, it just feels like I am trying too hard to seem grateful. And like someone who says “I love you” a thousand times a day, it just starts to feel insincere, played out, and honestly…Fake.

I am deliriously happy I got to put up my 2020 Friday The 13th calendar. I am elated that a friend sent us a few things from our wish list that we desperately needed but did not get for Christmas. I am thankful to our friend who mailed us a big box of stuff she was getting rid of.

I’d be more thankful if someone would spring ten bucks so I could have a few drinks tonight and actually ring in the new year. I usually just feel so depressed and hopeless about the new year, I am in bed by ten. 20 year old me would be disgusted with 46 year old me. I’ve all but waved the white flag and let depression take over.

I saw the shrink yesterday. He increased the Cymbalta but did not want to add too much so I am waiting to see him in another month, then we will discuss Trazadone. Which is odd cos when I started seeing him he changed like 4 things at once. But I guess he just wants to be sure that if my mood lifts, it is the Cymbalta and not Trazadone, vice versa. Fair enough. I really do get worked up about these appointments to the point it gets me physically ill and I don’t know why now cos I truly like this shrink. He’s a nice guy and seems to care. (My brain is screaming, well, duh, he gets paid to pretend he cares!)

The weather has been abyssmal. Three days of rain, a day of blackened gloom. From 64 degrees down to 32. I am reeling. Just trying to remind myself there are only 89 das in winter, it is gonna be a long 89 days but after 36 hears battling this beast…I’ve got this. Or I don’t. Everyone has a breaking point.

Mine could well be whatever is going on with my kid. I have ten people telling me what a great kid she is, perfectly behaved, no mouthing off. She comes home to me and in 5 minutes she is in a screaming blubbering fury towards me. She doesn’t seem to know how to do anything but yell. And only at me. It’s exhausting. I am busting my ass for this kid and she just…I am gonna go in with her at the next counseling appointment. She has got to figure out why she’s flying off the handle only at me. If she did it to everyone else her “puberty’ excuse would be legit. This is a choice to only come at me. And of course, she has my dementia riddled mom winding her up about how I don’t do this right or that right and I’m not patient and I am selfish…My mom has always been a borderline scream-then-cry-sorry type but everyone’s noticing how quickly the dementia is progressing. She says things that aren’t true and 6 people can be there saying it is true, you just forgot, she still keeps pouting and insisting only she is right. I’d like to have more empathy for her but to this day she thinks me taking meds is just being weak and mental illness is a choice so…

I told Spook often sometimes the hardest part is liking the people you love.

Now I may get dressed, if only cos my fave skull jamma pants have a scratch waist band and it kinda hurts. Maybe a miracle will occur and my check will deposit.

So I thought yesterday, checking my balance like 16 times.

What can I say. When the cats are in danger of not having food it really rattles me. Of course I am so high strung running low on anything gets me bent. Ermagod, the dish soap is at 1/4th bottle, freak out!!!! Down to one stick of margerine, PANIC!

More proof that my mother and others with her mentality are just ignorant.

No one would CHOOSE to be this way.

Hopefully the check will come, I can replenish cat good supply, pay bills, and finally relax enough to get a good night’s sleep. I won’t hold my breath because that sandman is a fucking sadist. But one can always have hope…

Morgue Van Winkle

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am currently in an argument. With myself.

I finally have a 2 day kid free weekend.

What have I done?

Watched TV, same old shows on Pluto, same episodes I’ve seen a dozen times.

I’ve eaten.

I’ve taken melatonin and Trazadone.

I’ve slept. I went to bed at 10 last night and slept til 9:30 this morning when my dad called. I was up several times during the night, bathroom or thirst or just the sobering reminder the house did not feel like ‘home’ because Spook wasn’t home. Or the maddening kittens who have been going stark raving mad, tearing through the house like a herd of cattle, fighting each other on my bed to where I am in the middle and they are sinking claws and teeth into my back. They also like to wake me with eyeball licks and nibbles of my eyelashes. But in spite of waking up so many times, I was able to get right back to sleep.

Wicked weird dreams ensued. Man, I wish I had a way to transcribe my dreams into a story outline so I’d remember it more vividly. I sometimes get flashes of memory but it’s often vague or splintered or just plain hazy. But I have some pretty elaborate fucking dreams involving shit like sinking in the Titanic, being a hitwoman who shoots people, being a murder victim, having my guts ripped out, being on some sort of space mission where terrorists attack…What the actual fuck, right? I’d happily trade these dreams in if I could just ‘get’ back the spark that my fiction writing comes from. It’s been gone 5 years now and I am terrified it won’t be back. But my writing has always come in cycles and gone in cycles and I always think it means I’ve run out of talent and am nothing’s usually stress based or tied into my meds not working or situational. My brain is always creating and seizing on ideas. It’s just being able to sit down and get them on the page that eludes me. That has to be a special place for star, moon and sun to align and ‘magic’ to happen.

So dad called and woke me at 9:30. I don’t even remember what he babbled about. I got myself some soda and watched more Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders:Making The Team. At this point I’ve pretty much seen every episode of every season but IDK, sometimes I get into shows I’d otherwise scoff at watching. In the 80’s it was Matlock and Diagnoses Murder, 90’s it was Saved By The Bell, 2000’s it was King Of The Hill, the last two years it was whatever was on Ion channel, and now I am on binge watching whatever catches my interest on my TV’s Pluto app. Think after I got stuck in the middle of aeason six of TWD and my anxiety won out and I could not watch it anymore…I’m just looking for background noise. Something mindless, familiar, or like cheerleading, something that I would not be interested in therefore it can’t be infected with my depression or anxiety.

All morning all I thought about was, what if I just went back to sleep, there’s a Trazadone right there on the table you didn’t need last night, you don’t really HAVE to do anything and you can always sleep til evening and get stuff done after dark…so I took a melatonin and a Trazadone and waited. Ate something. Waited some more. I was shivering and could not get warm. My brain would not slow down. The kittens would not stop fighting and clawing me in the back. I finally kicked them off the bed and just snuggled under the bedspread and…I slept.

I woke and it was dark out. Clock said 5:30. I felt guilty for sleeping. Yes, my go to feeling for sleep is guilt. Long story involving my former mother in law but yeah, guilt from sleeping. Might as well be out committing felonies if I am gonna end up feeling so guilty. I wasn’t awake a half hour and dad called. Again. Geesh. I still couldn’t get warm so I dug out an ugly but heavy sweatshirt that was a handmedown. It’s 55 degrees out, the furnace is barely kicking on, and I was freezing. Dad warned me it’s a sign of some ‘mini flu’ going around. I was expecting the usual ‘suck it up’. He even offered to bring me a plate of their leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I was grateful, kind of took the whole ‘what to eat’ decision out of my hands, thankfully. I finally opened my laptop for the first time all day, which is NOT my norm. I get alerts on my phone for emails and that was causing me anxiety so I went into avoidance mode. Weirdness. Finally read my emails, answered one. Answered a couple of texts. Still never ceases to amaze me how some people can one minute run so hot and act like they truly care about your well being, then the next they don’t reply for days and come back with something so blah they could have been sending out a mass reply to everyone who asked them about Christmas.

SERIOUSLY. I am supposed to make myself more available and open to socialization but others can be distant and “I’m busy” is good enough answer? And a good friend pointed out, validly, that some people truly are just *very busy* and it isn’t personal. Has some credence. Except when you know someone so well and have witnessed them purposely avoiding returning calls and texts cos they just don’t want to and truly aren’t *that* busy they can’t fire back a 10 second reply of “all is good” “Fine, hope you are too.” What gets me bent the most is that this busy person is the one who was always getting pissed and having tantrums if I took longer than 10 minutes to reply to a text or missed his call. PLAY FAIR OR GET THE HELL OFF MY PLAYGROUND AND STAY OFF! How is this unreasonable thinking? I just want to be treated with some fucking respect and fairness. But I suppose this is karma, pointing out with my manias and depressions, I’ve left dozens of people wondering how anyone could run so hot and cold to the extreme. Yay, karma, now stop biting my butt cheek and piss off.

Now it is 10 p.m., I have not so much as bathed or filled an ice cube tray and all I can think about is…SLEEP.

And the truth is, I have so much trouble with insomnia and sleep disturbance, I NEED the sleep when I can get it. This napping/sleeping too much thing is not daily or normal, I rarely get to indulge my need for more sleep. So why the hell am I feeling so guilty about it? Spook won’t be home til 5:30 tomorrow night so I will have all day Sunday to clean the house (I have GOT to run the hell machine, the carpet looks icky even to my low standards)…So this is the argument I am in with my own mind. Do I say fuck it and allow myself to just get some rest in the aftermath of a very stressful holiday month? Or do I try to at least drag out enough energy to fill ice cube trays and bathe?

But I don’t wanna bathe, I finally got warm, then way too warm and sweated through the neck and hoodie of my sweatshirt so I had to change into something lighter…Now I am just in between hot and cold, I don’t want to be cold again.

Question is, will I have any more energy to get stuff done tomorrow?

I never really know.

I just know I’ve slept way too much and yet…I still want more sleep because I run at such a deficit.

I am also reminded I have got to start living on Pepcid cos getting heartburn and reflux no matter what I eat is painful and annoying.


Methinks the ‘fuck it’ rule is being called into play. I take my sleepy meds and if I sleep…yayness. If I don’t…maybe by saying fuck it, I will suddenly find energy to ‘do something’.

Or maybe I will just amuse myself with the fact I can control my Pluto TV app right from my phone without an app. Not being an app queen and never using any digital assistant, it’s kind of a novelty that I can view the channel line up, scroll through, change the channels, right from my phone’s browser onto my TV screen. It’s neat. And I am apparently easily amused. Or easily amazed because in spite of having my $29.99 ZTE smart phone for 5 years, I am still learning of the things it can do.

My kid wants an Alexa. I do not. Though if I ever did get one of those smart speakers, I want the one that has Samuel L. Jackson’s voice. Hells yeah!

Now if they start offering robot assistants cheap and they can do dishes and sweep and vaccuum…

I want one.

I don;t remember what show it was but the property inside was guarded by these robot ‘dobermen’ dogs. That was creepy.

But a Rosie from The Jetsons?

I’ll take two, but make them men. I’m big on defying the whole gender role thing. Men doing housework makes me giddy.

I am letting my freak flag fly very high tonight.