Archive for mental illness

Untitled-All The Good Post Titles Were Taken

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Sadly, I have noted that a catchy title gets a post more views. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but I went back and retitled a past post and it went from two measly views to 13…No added content. No added tags or a change of category or fancy pictures or prose. Just a stupid title change. An idiotic title, no less. I liked the original title because it truly spoke of how I felt in that post and yet it gathered moss untitle I dumbed it up with some catchy idiotic title. Pfft. Mind you, I often give my posts wacky quirky titles intentionally and that is all me and if people read them, so be it. But it really chafes to know the SAME FUCKING POST gained 11 readers all because I gave it a cutesy title. Having said all that…I am grateful for every view and especially grateful if it resonates enough for a like. This may come as a shock to y’all but it wasn’t until I printed out ONE of my posts that I realized just how long they are. 3 bloody pages and an entire squid milked of ink, geesh, I need an editing app for my brain.

Today has been stressful to be so uneventful. But no day where my dad calls at 7:45 a.m. ordering me to get out in the yard and start picking up limbs knocked down by last night’s storm is going to be a good day. The ritziest house in town still had all the limbs littering their yard hours later, they weren’t spazzing out over it. I don’t know why he does. Guess cos he and stepmonster have appointed themselves the yard police of Armpitopia. I honestly don’t get why people like them so much except maybe they don’t have to spend much time with them. If you did, then reality would kick you in the face. They are conceited, they are narcissistic, they are controlling, and they’re stuck up when it comes to their own agenda. They give zero damns if you have a knife plunging out of your skull, their blood sugar numbers (usually brought up high because they don’t eat right, they just talk about doing it) are more relevant. Them them them. I find it…overpowering.

No, irony is not lost on me. I have a blog and do nothing but talk about me me me me, I, me. Sometimes Spook and the cats. Butmostly me. Because I can’t speak for anyone but myself and this blog is sort of centered around MY struggle with mental health issues so it’d be downright bizarre if I talked about everything and everyone but me. I assure you, in my real day to day interactions I am not so ranty and complain-y. This is my space to be that way, so forgive me if sorry, not sorry.

I finally got a break from my needy tantrum throwing screaming spawn but never knowing when they might swoop in to bring her back and make some demands on me doesn’t lessen the stress. Already, dad is ordering me about, saying he will put gas in the car and give me the flowers to go put on my mom’s family’s graves since he can’t stand going to that town. (Yet, he can’t understand why Spook and I are so unhappy in this town, it’s like the ability to draw a parallel is not in his skillset.) I told him I was just gonna go Friday or Monday when my check comes and i can put gas in the car. Nope, Not good enough, he wants it done tomorrow. But rather than give me money for gas, no, like a child, I have to meet him at the gas station so he can watch me pump it, see how much goes in, then he will go in and pay for it.

I don’t know how not to be offended by that but it’s the way he has treated me and my sister since we were kids. Yet his man child son gets to keep his entire paycheck, not even drive himself to work or pay for gas, not pay for rent or food or expenses of any sort…I don’t know how not to be offended.

I am thankful for drafts, I will say that. Earlier I was all hormonally dysphoric and went on some tear about anxiety and fury towards the psych nurse (I swear, I fantasize about slapping her smug overly made up face!) Thankfully I lost my train of rage thought and just saved it to drafts and started this one fresh. Bet it’s still too fucking long. I need that editing app for my brain, damn it. I think it’s called Focalin, but my craptastic psych nurse won’t prescribe it. God forbid we should have meds that enhance our quality of life.

Anyway, high anxiety, low energy, total situational depression and hormonal rage feelings. That has been my day. One thing I can say, aside from sorry for the squids that had to be milked for 3 pages of printer ink for that post I wanted a hard copy of, is…with some editing, it was a well written piece and I might even send it to psych nurse’s supervisor, the one who oversees the actual medicine, not the clinic director. She was useless toward getting M’s bedside manner to lose the ice cubes and spikes. I doubt the benzo nazi will even blink but it was well written and heartfelt.

First do no harm absolutely should apply to psychiatric care providers.

Or the title that got the attention, Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care or some shit like that.

My heart feels very sad for mankind when bubbleheaded titles trump well written ones. Our communal ADHD as a country is showing and it is not flattering.


Quackery Daiquiri Mental Health Care

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

So the video of me spazzing after my nightmare nurse practitioner tag team assault yesterday can be found here on my youtube channel for those who like to watch as they drive by car wrecks and can’t look away.

I went in, feeling ok. Not up, not down, just a bit ashamed I hadn’t worked up the energy to properly bathe and my hair was still greasy cos I am too damn broke to afford shampoo that actually lathers and cleans…Then I was hit with a student accompanying my already iffy practitioner and she was my age, and my nurse…sort of deferred the entire appointment to the student. The two of them talked more to each other than to me, like I was not even in the room. I felt off balance, cornered, and when they decided next month they’re taking me off my anti depressant, I went BALLISTIC. I said I’d be doing much better if they’d STOP SCREWING WITH MY MEDS WHEN I FINALLY GET SOMETHING THAT WORKS. They’re talking taking away xanax, wellbutrin, buspar and just leaving me with Lamicatal (cos it helps with depression and anxiety, according to them, and newsflash IT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT FOR ME), Abilify and some antihistamine for anxiety.

I felt like a terrified cornered animal snarling and baring my fangs. I walked out of that office feeling so minimized, so infuriated and frightened and ignored. It was awful. I went right to the desk girl and demanded to know how long til the tele psych thing will be functional. It’s gonna be months and my NP is my only option. I raised more hell and she said it wasn’t my NP’s fault she couldn’t prescribe higher xanax and it’s like ARE ANY OF YOU EVEN LISTENING TO MY WORDS? sHE’S TALKING ABOUT TAKING SOMEONE WITH BIPOLAR TWO AND SEASONAL DEPRESSION OFF THE ONLY ANTI DEPRESSANT KEEPING ME AFLOAt!!!!!! This has to be stopped, this cannot happen, because I will go down the rabbit hole again. My God, one measly month of feeling better on the Abilify and all these nurses can focus on now is getting me on fewer meds. Not giving me time to adjust and max out and come to the decision myself. Just handing down blind edicts without regard to me as a person or individual.

So the desk girl says I have to see my NP next month but two weeks after that in July I get a one and done audience with the benzo nazi. Oh, me and her are gonna have a talk. Hopefully by then I won’t be menstrual and she won’t make me feel like a cornered feral animal. I still can’t believe how they talked to each other like I wasn’t even there. And my NP kept her back to me, AGAIN, to clack on the computer. She looked at the student nurse to address her, though. This is NOT acceptable but I know how it plays out. I am the psych patient, I am hooked on pills, I won’t do therapy, I am to blame for the Lindburg kidnapping. I;ve told them to waive their counselors fees and I will gladly see one of them. Nope. I asked for Lunesta or Ambien for sleep. Nope. That student even had the audacity to suggest Remeron- the stuff that made me sleep 15 hours a day to the point my first husband and his father moved our entire house while I was in my pill induced coma. HELL NO. And I said exactly that.

It is unfathomable how low this NP makes me feel about myself and my progress. One month is not an accurate gauge, especially when increasing to the max dose, to go yanking out all the other meds, even if the high dose Wellbutrin is causing me more anxiety. That should be my choice, IF I feel secure enough to go without a net. And I don’t. She wants to try a different antidepressant that doesn;t heighten anxiety, I can roll with that. But to completely remove bipolar two patients from singular anti depressant therapy is borderline malpractice. I feel doomed having to see this woman. I am ready to just throw in the towel, do without meds, and let my manic flag fly even if it lands me in jail.

It’s not worth it to go in every month and walk out feeling minimized and mute.

So I couldn’t write when I got home, I was too pissed off, terrified, motified, just…she really did a number on my head and with the student there, it felt like a tag team full on assault.

I took 2mg Xanax and slowly my mind calmed. I did dishes, I did some laundry. I change cat boxes. I checked the fluids in my car. I mowed another third of the lawn. I cooked a decent meal for our supper. Anything to keep from having to think about how awful that nurse and student had made me feel. They make me want to go back to drinking because I may as well be a slobbering drunk for all the input I am allowed in my care. For all the lack of encouragement I receive. Her bedside manner sets off every panic and self protective sense I have. You can;t progress properly when you have to face this adversarial non supportive situation each month.

But as I don’t have a choice right now…at least I have 4 weeks before I have to endure her again.

It’s not nearly enough time to recover from what they made me feel like yesterday.

I wish I could sue them just for the emotional suffering. It takes a LOT to turn me into the cornered animal that way, especially when I am in a decent mind frame. But talking all those changes when I haven’t even fully stabilized for a month or two…They are in the wrong here and maybe I handled it less than perfectly but I will not lie down for this. I will advocate for myself. And if talking to the benzo nazi doesn’t help and they still don’t have the tele psych going…I foresee myself going off my meds, taking up CBD oil or weed and booze, and just slamming the door on the whole thing. Because shabby mental healthcare is more depressing and stressful than depression and anxiety disorder.

The Bramble Shamble

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I won’t be making much sense today so it’s definitely gonna be a brambling post that just shambles along from whatever random thought is currently stalking my brain…

I see the psych nurse in less than 2 hours. I am not enthusiastic. I HATE the way she spends the whole appointment with her back turned to me. If her memory is so bad that she can’t save the computer notes til the final ten minutes, maybe she needs psych help. It’s unprofessional and rude and…

I am a broken record, no wonder I get so few views. And here’s a kicker- I get more views than I get likes and I almost never get comments so one has to wonder why I bother blogging…Except it’s my therapy and a labor of love. Prior to that idiotic like button I wrote for the joy of it, the purity of putting emotions into words. I wanted others with mental issues to stumble upon a post that resonates and know they aren’t alone…Now it’s become a popularity contest I can’t win because I don’t know how to manipulate and work social media and tags and all of that garbage. It’s insulting to have some well written posts barely read yet I ramble on about little of substance and title it pink cacti and it’s gets two dozen likes…

I got a good night’s sleep, but after a week of barely getting 3 hours a day, it was a crash and burn situation. I got up at 6:15 in a decent enough mood. Then I got the message reminding me of my appt and my kid was her usual jackass morning self and it all started going to shit. Not to mention the house is biohazard ten but I still don’t have the mmmph to make it look better. The shame feeds the guilt and vice versa. This is the ONE thing I need help with, and it is the one thing I cannot get help with. I hate people touching my stuff, so if I am willing to say I need help…it’s got to tell you something. If I had a better family, my sister would remove her nose from her husband’s ass a few hours and come over to help me. But if it isn’t him, it’s her friend the horseface interloper who insinunates herself into every aspect of our family yet has no ties to any of us… She cleans for a living so if they’d come help me even once a year…But no, I don’t have family and friends like that.

Not to mention their gossipy judginess, they’d have it all over ten towns about what a disgusting pigsty I keep.

I can’t believe how quickly my mental state went to shit.Dealing with your psych professional and your child should not leave you this distressed.

Yet here I am, it does, and this is my reality.
I put on deodorant and washed my nasty hair. That is my contribution to hygiene. I will throw on a t-shirt and leggings toward time to leave. I just don’t have the energy I thought I’d have after getting ten hours of sleep. Maybe it has something to do with my anxiety level shooting so high my heart is pounding and I feel paranoid and panicked. I have got to locate my spine and voice and speak up today and ask if they are getting their telepsychiatry set up. It’s no longer just about a low xanax dose, this is about how much this provider stresses me out every single appointment. And I turned her in and it didn’t do any good. I have to get away from her for my own sanity but damn my parents for programming me not to rock the boat and ‘be a good girl’. Because God knows standing up for yourself makes a bad girl, can’t have that.

I hope I don’t screw my kid up to that extent.
That new pediatrician is on top of everything, she’s already got my kid in with a counselor June 4th. Guess when the state went with managed care for the medical card it brought half competent care and coverage with it. Though it has me spinning out a little because it costs gas to get to town and god knows what Spook will tell them cos she’s got a drama llama issue, if not an outright pathological lying problem. She has flat out said that by moving her to this ‘awful’ place I am abusing her. That will go over well with a kiddie counselor, I am sure.
You’d think you could count on them being bright enough to not get snowed by children but our prior experience with a kid psychologist proves otherwise.
I washed my hair but I didn;t get the soap out, or more likely, the shampoo I used didn’t lather so the roots are still gross. The faucet was making a funny sound and since it erupted like a volcano thanks to hurrican Spook breaking it, I don’t want to tempt the fates by using it too much. I do not think it will matter much longer.The landlord’s son in law is gonna be taking over the rental properties and that’s gonna get us thrown out simply because we have more than one cat. I try to keep them out but they tear the screens to get in.ld f
Oh, well. It’s like my brain is bent on pointing out all the reasons I should feel fragile and panicked right this minute. Not that the psych nurse gives a flying fuck. She is really awful at her job. But I guess I am the only one who thinks so I must just be awful as a patient. I wonder how she’d feel if I stood in the corner with my back to her mumbling where she couldn’t hear me. Cos it’s what she does to me.

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.

Family Matters-I could use some advice

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

If you follow this blog even sporadically then you know I am caught between a rock and a hard place. I am still very much disabled by my mental disorders but thanks to a deadbeat parent being $5000 behind in support, I can’t get caught up on the bills. I have to supplement income. That means a job. In rural midwest when you’re close to 50 and haven’t worked in 17 years and have horrid references due to your mental instability…Let’s just say, it’s not going well for me. The only nibbles I had were in home care and thanks to some draconian state law, I am prohibited from working in that field due to a mistake I made nearly 20 years ago. Misdemeanor, non violent, I did everything to get straightened out, and never made the same mistake again. No matter, it keeps negatively impacting me daily. To the point I almost kick myself and think, man, I should have gone for a felony and at least had a good time and beaten the hell out of someone.

Right now, aside from my kid having a fundraiser cos loser mommy can’t get her a vacation for summer, my biggest issue is that my redneck father the workaholic is up in my business, pressuring me to work at the place where my brother works on the same shift. And that is purely their own self interest, cos if I had to go, then he could ride with me and they wouldn’t have to take him. (He’s almost 24 and can’t be trusted to drive to town, wtf?) I want my dad to butt out. I have told him, politely, and angrily, to fucking butt out. (I was aiming for no swear words, but fuck it, that ship has fucking sailed.) I applied cos yeah, I gotta support my kid, but I purposely aimed for a different shift, more suited to my abilities and childcare arrangements and he chewed me out and told me I need to work whenever I am told to. You’d think he’s the hiring manager, the way he carries on. And while he has always been a buttinski (read:giant fucking jackass) it’s gotten more extreme the older I’ve gotten. He just butts in without regard to my privacy, my independence, my mental health disabilities.


I’d say avoidance cos it served me since I moved out at 17 but we had to move to his armpitt-y farm town last year so there is no escaping him, he lives right down the street and shows up unannounced, calls constantly to talk about himself or bitch that my yard is not mowed properly or it looks trashy or I did this wrong or that wrong…I have tried to remind myself, hey, he’s 72, he isn’t gonna be around forever, just bite your tongue. Thing is, I’ve bitten holes through my tongue. I am seething right now, ten hours after this latest scene where he was up in my business about the job. He doesn’t pay for my rent or power or water or gas or, well, anything. NOTHING. Yet he feels he has the right to butt in, then constantly berate me as ‘wanting a handout’ when I offer to work any time I ask for so much as help mowing my huge lawn.

It is not a nice place to live mentally, waiting for your dad to keel over because he truly makes your life this miserable.

And yeah, sure, I’m weak for letting him get under my skin, but if snapping, “you’re not a diaper, get off my ass about it, I’ll deal with it myself!”…and still there he is butting in…GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

So wordpress people…anyone got some ideas for me on how to handle this nightmare? I’m hanging by a fucking thread between the winter depression and current spring hypomania. I am ripe to go off in a very bad way and burn bridges that just barely got rebuilt. I’m a livewire and that man, that that that…idget…is worsening my mental health and dampening what would otherwise be an ok life with my kid. We’ve always been poor but we have the necessities (sometimes) so…I want my fucking life back and I shouldn’t be driven from my own home, that I am paying to live in and he does not own nor contribute a dime to, so…

Not that it will do any good because no one ever interacts with me on my blog, I guess I must frighten them or something, but I AM UP FOR SOME UNBIASED INPUT, I could use some perspective. Please?

And just to be a decent person could you heart my daughter’s fundraiser page or give her a share on social media? She didn’t ask to be part of this shit show and she’s got rednecks at school making fun of her for being too poor to afford new clothes and properly fitting clothes and she’s miserable which makes me unhappy and round and round we go…just shoot me. No, just click the bloody like or heart button or whatever and brighten her day. Please with pegacorns on top?

From Hypomanic To Splat In 20 Seconds Flat

Posted in bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , on May 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was reduced to going to a wordpress forum trying to figure out this new editor v the old one and I got lots of ideas. None of them worked. So I just searched my own blog ‘not sucky old editor’ and damned if my prior issues come up along with the solution. Blah may be gone, but she is still helping me. Miss ya, lady.
Chiseling. It’s not just for sculpture art. When you’re stuck between depression and hypomania and being flat out exhausted from lack of sleep and strung out on unexplained anxiety…you start doing little chores that have snowballed over days or weeks or months. And for each spot you chisel, you look up and realize…this is gonna be a long project, definitely not done in a few hours or a day.
So I just chisel away at the stuff and try not to be too harsh on myself. I’ve had the place looking spotless and still people griped about something so I may as well go at my own pace. Others disagree and tell me i just need to rip off the bandage and get it done with now. Well, for me, that energy has been depleted by my hours of chiseling during the morning after getting less than 4 hours of sleep.
It will get done. Eventually. Since I have no one offering to help, this is what it is. Chiseling away at the stone snowballs the size of VWs that were born of winter depression and inertia.
Splat is coming at me like a speeding train.
I am to the point where my chisel hand is exhausted and I just need to rest. Like, sleep. I got so little I find myself looping off for a moment then wondering why I’m in the dining room…except I’m not in the dining room, i just lost track of time. Like micronaps, I suppose. I don’t like it. But the plus side to Splat following a hypomanic bout is that I should sleep fairly well tonight even without melatonin or benadryl.
I won’t hold my breath, however. Sleep disorders don’t just get cured cos you’re tired as fuck.
A friend…
send me some Pepcid since I’ve been having so much trouble with reflux and my stomach. That was just a kind as hell gesture. It means a lot to me, when people listen to me. My sister heard me griping that my feet hurt cos the insoles in my shoes had come out and I was griping about my sleep mask coming off during the night, so she got insoles and a snug fitting sleep mask. That means the world to me, when people give the ‘little things’ credence.
Just like my first husband. He picked out a $1000 diamond ring but I told him I wouldn’t be caught dead in it, too gawdy. The one i liked had a heart shape and three small stones and only cost $499. He surprised me by buying me that one and it meant so much to me. I’m used to people deciding their tastes should be mine. So when someone listens to me and respects that I know what I like and want…It gives me warm fuzzies.
Is fresh hell. I despise this shit, just did dishes yesterday, now got another sink full. I should have at least enjoyed the meal I cooked to dirty all the dishes but I didn’t and I fed the leftovers to the cats cos the baked chicken was bone dry and gross.
Then I don’t need to make decisions, worry about dishes, and be nagged about not being stick person thin.
I fucked up earlier…
Because I am just so tired and such a space case, I posted my random blog to my mental health blog. I’m too lazy to remove it, though, even if people scurry away cos for whatever reason, they prefer my pissed off woe is me rants about being a head case.
I am giving up on trying to figure out people, it’s pointless, like trying to figure out what tags make people read your posts. It’s so fucking random every damn day, I…I just quit.
I am soooo
thankful it’s half sunny and sixty and dry out today. That cold wet gloom was driving back into the rabbit hole. Least today I’ve been up and about, around the house, anyway. I’ve been blogging, I put in a job app (and pray to god they don’t view it as some sort of affront, I couldn’t remember if they said my app would be on tile 6 months or a year. My thinks it’s the 60’s where pestering people with apps and pop in visits actually makes them want to hire you. Sometimes that level of aggression is actually frowned upon, not that he will ever accept that reality.)
My brother finished my lawn for me. I burned him 2 cds so he kind of owed me. I did 3/4 of it. Him helping with that has enabled me to do a few things inside that I’ve been wanting to do but just couldn’t push that particular boulder up the hill. Today I did some stuff, not as much as I had wanted, but considering how tired and spacey I am, it’s amazing I got anything done. I could have just gone back to sleep after Spook went to school. But trying to sleep when hypomanic is like banging your head against a wall. It hurts and it only hurts you so just stop. Eventually exhaustion takes over and you’ll nod off, on purpose or by accident. This morning I got that last extra 90 minutes after taking a double dose of Buspar with some benadryl. I just faded away…It was quite lovely. Until the godawful alarm went off.
And I like that Icon For Hire song that is the alarm tone. I just fucking hate mornings.
Chiseling some more…
I just remembered that one of the big jokes the kids made at my expense in school was that I needed a chisel to remove all my make-up. (To which I told them it wouldn’t do any good, I sealed it in polyurathane.)
Here I am, washed out, no make up, chisel in hand, each hour a slab of granite for me to chip away at never to create anything, just to survive.
I’m hella bleak. Cool.
Ignore the typos…

I am going to, I wrote it on wordpad then pasted it once I got my precious (said like Golem) back then pasted it. I don’t have the energy to correct it. I am a human typo, deal with it.
Oh and the title…
is a misnomer as the hypomania has lasted over 24 hours so I didn’t splat in 20 seconds, I just thought it sounded cool. Peace, out.

Spooky Sockhands could use your help, Guys. Just a click of a button or mouse….

Manic Monday, Chapter Two

Posted in bipolar disorder, depression, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms


Bedtime at 11 ish. Up at 1 a.m. Awake til 4:45 a.m. Up with alarm before 7 a.m. This has become my new despised normal but this week…it’s not grueling and I am not exhausted because…hypomania. My dad called first thing, then came over to gripe about my yard needing this and that done to it, and I didn’t even get panicked when he decided to come inside and use my bathroom then insult my housekeeping.

I think this is a point most people don’t touch on much. Bipolar people have pretty strong psyches. It’s not like we’re shrinking violets who submit because someone says we have to and we don’t want to displease them. Half the time we are in such a fragile state, we will do whatever it takes to avoid the paranoia and panic attacks that make us feel more vulnerable and weak. But when we are ‘up’, everything changes, right down to, yes, perception of things that usually make us fall apart so fast emotional shrapnel flies. Today I feel strong and solid mentally and so I cope better. I know this is part of the manic depression cycle so it will come and go but I do love when it visits.

It also kept me from throttling him when he started in on my about getting a job at McDonald’s. No, not a job, but  THE SAME SHIFT AND SAME DAYS MY BROTHER WORKS SO THEY DON’T HAVE TO DRIVE HIM AND HE CAN RIDE WITH ME. I told him I want overnights. They only run drive thru after 11 and I think two nights from 8 to 10 pm ish I could deal and Spook would only need a sitter for when she was sleeping. I don’t worry about when I will sleep. I haven’t been working the last 2 and a half years and I still don’t get decent sleep so catnaps work for me. What I do NOT want is working 5,6 days a week for 3 hours a day. With my anxiety, it is best if I go in and get the work week over with so I can breathe and regain equilibrium. I am just so fucking sick of him telling me what to do when I am damn near 50 years old. But I am also feeling pretty shitty cos half the people I know who got jobs ended up getting fired or quitting, and already even with a bad current reference, they are getting hired for new jobs within a couple of weeks and I am getting nothing.

Thing is, even if they hired me tomorrow, it won’t help me right now. The cats are running low on supplies, the water bill is due, the car needs gas…Not like my dad will help me on any of that even if I paint their shed or whatever to earn it. That’s why I post our paypal link, in hopes some kind soul will help out with five or ten buckets to help keep us afloat. I know it annoys people and it makes me look like a money grubber scam artist but I am pretty much an open book. I mean, 9 years of blog archives so my story is consistent. Facts always are. I post my disconnect notices, my account numbers (I was hoping since I did that someone would have helped with Spook;s school pics since they could have just ordered them and not need to give a penny in cash). I am transparent as I can be. (And I also accept directly sent stuff, so I’d suck as a scammer unless cat litter was currency.)

I did this video last night because muggles have asked me what mania is like. Now this was hypomania, not full blown, but same idea. Ten feet tall and bulletproof except with hypomania you’re too scattered to remember where you put your Kevlar so eventually you’ll take a hit and it will likely be mortal to your hypomanic good mood.

And no, I am not giving up, I am gonna keep supporting my kid’s dreams of a vacation and all I beg of you is, just share it on social media. Help this kid get something she wants out of a life.

Mania is wearing off, I am gonna be one tired little ghoul here soon. But the ride was good while it lasted. Think it means my Abilify needs increased, though, dual mood stabilizers usually murder the hypomania if they’re working right.

Have a great Monday. Play me off… (And for the love of pegacorn, could someone do a METAL version of this song THAT DOES NOT SUCK?)