Archive for money problems

Yep, still..fundraising…latest update

Posted in depression, fundraiser with tags , , , , , , , on April 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I updated today.

The update explains why we are still seeking donations. Legal fees, school fees, pet flea treatment, and yes, my 9 and a half year old daughter has never once been on a vacation even 2 hours away to Six Flags when she reads to earn her own admission ticket. It is awful when I say no we can’t go, because I can’t buy my own ticket, put gas in the car, then have enough to sleep in a motel overnight due to my poor night vision.

So please go check it out

She saw a vid of St Louis’s Six Flags Screamin’ Eagle and now she just reallt wants to go. Please help me make her dream come true and help prevent flea bite hell for the cats and their allegy laden human. (me)

Thanks. Happy Tuesday.

The flea stuff we need  for the cats


Me and Spook’s paypal direct account


Trust me, with my daughter, everything is ‘ours;. Except for the bills, those are all mine, but we get ‘our paycheck’, we get ‘our child support’ (I wish!). This is totally team mom and daughter.


Depression, Anxiety, And Poverty Should Be Considered A Viral Epidemic

Posted in employment with tags , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Happy Sunday.

We woke to blowing snow and 32 degrees on April 14th. I shut the heat off as it was in the 60’s yesterday. My kid was unamused to wake up with icicles on her toes.

Today is Doomsday. Not looking forward to a 20 mile drive into town and if the donor is a now show, then I’ve wasted what little gas money I have and will have a despondent child on my hands. If he does show up, it will take every bit of me fighting my own nature to call people for being blatant phonies and liars.

I’d like to say thanks to the people who have helped us a little toward our fundraising goal to keep our power/heat turned on. You guys know who you are and how much it means to me and Spook.

Direct donation or gift through paypal here.

If you want the sordid story and a heartfelt video, that is here on gofundme.

I bathed this morning for the first time in 9 days. I may be a worn down depressive busk and basketcase but I’m not giving the donor the satisfaction of seeing me that way. He’d take credit for ‘destroying’ me when fact is, the depression and anxiety have been plundering me for so long, and with the money problems of him not paying support, and Spook being such a volatile kid…That is what has worn me down this far. Not him. My psyche isn’t so weak as to be deterred by romantic rejection. Been there, done that, keep buying the t-shirt every few years then burning it.

I need to jet by mom’s before our meeting today, she has some black dress flat shoes I can use for my job interview tomorrow. I only own tennis shoes and combat style heavy metal rocker chick boots, so…thank god me, mom, and my sister all have the exact same large ass foot size.

Pretty nervous about the interview tomorrow but the lady told me there could be an issue with my past even if it was over 15 years ago but she’d like to talk to me anyway. If I go in expecting little, I won’t be disappointed to be told ‘thanks but no thanks.’

I’m getting pretty disgusted with the flaming hoops involved in just applying to flip burgers or serve subs. Personality tests, audio clips to grade the customer/employer interaction, video clips in which you get 5 seconds to reply to a hypothetical situation coherently…Starting to feel like you gotta be a brain surgeon to be ‘sandwich artist’ material.

Fonal thoughts…

Yesterday there was a brief moment in which I felt sort of happy with our lives. I get left to my own devices, she has some friends, I get along with parents in a civilized way, we have a home, a car, she has a swingset and a bike and scooter and we have our cats…It’s not always bad. It’s just scary when you think how close you are to losing it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. If I could make my gratitude go viral and infectious, I would.

I have met some amazing kind and generous friends through wordpress and I love you all for being my support system, my friends, and sometimes, even my ‘panic button’ to text when I start crumbling. You guys are pretty amazing and I may not always feel I deserve it, but I sure as hell appreciate it.

There’s the family you’re born with and anyone who reads my blog knows mine is not supportive or very helpful.

You guys here on wordpress are the family I have chosen because you are supportive and helpful and you seem able to cut through the layers of gruff self protection I’ve encased myself in…and you see the troubled but basically decent person inside and you accept and appreciate me for it.

You will never in a million years know how much this means to me and I thank you and send you all the love in the world.


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on March 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

That title is by no means self pity. It is simply an honest expression of how I am feeling today after being dealt a series of nerve racking mishaps. I am trying so very hard and getting nowhere. I need money to keep the rent and power paid, but I can’t get employment. If you’re tired of hearing about it, imagine how tired I am of living it. Trying your hardest and getting nowhere is one of the most daunting things life can throw you at you. Especially after a lifetime of ‘work hard and you can accomplish anything you want’ being forcefed down my throat and into my brain. That, well meaning but ignorant people, is a phallacy.

The cats have been physically attacking each other today, tearing the house apart, knocking stuff down. I have yet to hear back from that clinic director. I got my monthly curse and am in physical pain as well as operating from a dark mental space (dysphoria.) I kept hearing water running in the basement and I forced myself down into the hell pit and found water was just gushing from a black plastic hose. I’ll be damned if I know what it goes to, my washer has a separate drain hose. I got soaked in my sock feet battling this cracked hose, in full panic mode cos if it kept up it could easily get to the furnace not to mention damage to the house foundation itself. By the time the landlord remembered to get her from in town, the place could have flooded already. So I just messed about with it and crammed the two pieces back together and into the drain pipe in the wall. Right or wrong, the water isn’t gushing out anymore. I know it needs fixed properly but that is a future me problem. Today survival is the name of the game.

I let Spook’s little friend to come over and play. I was starting to feel pretty lousy about never feeling up to it because of my anxiety and lowered Xanax dose. As long as they play nice and don’t stress me further, I can take one for the team so my kid gets some happiness.

I still did not make it to town for groceries. We aren’t starving but we could use fresh fruit to avoid the spawn getting scurvy. (J/k) I just can’t seem to force myself to do it, and I think this, too, is tied into my lowered Xanax dose. Last time some well meaning idget did that, I became agoraphobic for the better part of a year. I fear it is happening again as driving on the interstate with tires showing belt and the cost of’s just terrifying to me. Then I hit the traffic in town and come unglued. If this agoraphobic leaning doesn’t improve with better weather conditions, I am really going to be scared.The fact I’ve heard nothing back either from the director or even a receptionist to say, we’re referring you out, or we found you another doctor…I think I burned that bridge. Which is crap as I’ve been going there over 15 years and only ever had two complaints about their revolving door of docs. This NP has been there 6 months. Somehow I don’t think the mental patient will be given the benefit of the doubt. Not self pity, no pessimism, just fact based on experience. That there has been zero effort to contact me on their part in days after I returned the call and left two messages…it’s kind of the writing on the wall.

I just feel so beaten down, so defeated. It’s like if I can’t even find a job to keep my kid housed and with electric and heat, well, what good am I to her? Some of this is hormonal distortion, some is anxiety, some is depression, but what it all amounts to is…I am exhausted. I fight and I fight and I fight. This may make me a warrior by some standards but I am tired of warrioring, tired of adulting, tired of constantly complaining. I am ashamed to keep reaching out to people for help, I am a grown woman, I should have the strength to pull myself out of this financial depressive hole.

I just don’t, some days. Today is one of those days. I feel weak as a newborn kitten in every way. And what has being strong gotten me anyway? Some deadbeat owes me $4000 in support, my state is useless at hunting him down, and we are going to lose everything because I was such a screw up with past employments when I am fighting for my daughter’s well being…I am frustrated. I am angry. I am filled with self loathing. I applied for something called Task Rabbit today but the nearest jobs they have are near the state capitol-a hundred mile drive for me on bare tires if I were to even have someone interested in my services. I don’t come with stellar references. R was my most recent one and he has painted the entire thing as me hating his politics and simply being spoiled, lazy, inept, and volatile. (So am I told, but if I don’t include my time there, I’ve got no reference since 2002.) Round and round it goes. I am about to break.

I even entered PCH sweepstakes. I am desperately trying to fight for us.

Just not sure how much strength I have left. Everyone has their breaking point. Failing my kid would most certainly be mine.

Oh and I found out there’s not even room at my mom’s ‘commune’ as they are already house two former methheads and my nephew’s friend who just got fired from his job…Dad doesn’t have room for us. I have shuffled, robbed Peter to pay Paul, sacrificed. I don’t know what else to do. And if I could just get this damn heat bill paid off (only $78 of the monthly $360 bill is electricity, it’s all the gas for heat that is killing me.) I think maybe we could see a bit of daylight and if I keep trying to find work, even applying for stuff I cannot do ( you don’t want me assembling furniture, trust me, I am not good at it)…Maybe if I just keep trying…

But we are running out of time and I think that has my gut twisted into knots and I am terrified but putting on a brave face for Spook, and just…feeling like someone’s punching bag. No sooner than I get up, they knock me down again. We all have a breaking point. I thought last year’s move was going to be mine. Now…I think my inability to support my child is going to be what sends me over the edge.

I’ll think positively on a day I am feeling less bruised and beaten down. Today I own my feelings, I accept them, and just pray to the sacred pegacorn that the money comes through, that I find a good doctor, that I can get work, that I have more strength left in me. It’s easy to bolster someone’s spirits and assure them they are strong.

Less easy is being in our shoes and feeling this weak and tired and hopeless. It does not breed self confidence or optimism. Not that I have the energy for either.

Problem for ‘future Morgue.”

Even The Wicked Occasionally Deserve Some Rest

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

I thought it was bad enough when the earpiece broke off my glasses last week.

Today I found the rest of them…but not til after they’d been stepped on outside. Knew I lost them somewhere. No fixing them now. Even if I got an appointment at the eye doc tomorrow, it’d still take 3 months for my insurance to process it, and another month before I got them. Frick.

Really glad I have that hoarder instinct and kept my old glasses from 4 years ago. They’re bifocal and not as strong as I need now days and they give me massive headaches but…better than nothing.

Could Spook and I just catch a break at some point?

Abject Failure Leaves A Bad Taste In Your Mouth, Bad Juju in Your Bones

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I failed my daughter thisweek in a major way and it’s taking days to figure out how to live with myself. Yesterday I was under the post Seroquel haze and everything was pissing me off and I just wanted to sleep, except it was the day the clocks went back so that meant another hour of conscienceness. I skipped the shit last night but I woke six times and always had to add more melatonin to get back to sleep. Least this morning I didn’t need a tow truck to get my ass out of bed like yesterday. I was awake 90 minutes yesterday but not even a full bladder overcame the Seroquel haze. (And yet I have a friend on 300 mg and she’s doing wonderfully at functioning, wtf?) I’m just finding my mind overloaded now that I got the Seroquel haze out of my system, though in light of failing my kid, I suppose numb and pissy was better than being all tearful and self pitying.

I guess on the level of parental failure, I didn’t let her down any more than many parents have let down their kids, due to financial constraints. I did the math ten ways to Sunday but I couldn’t keep the monthly bills paid AND swing tickets to her dance, the photographer, the snacks, new dress shoes…I had to tell her I couldn’t take her and while she didn’t go as batshit violent as I expected, she was putting on a brave face saying it was okay. It’s Not fucking okay that her deadbeat dad gets away with zero responsibility and zero guilt and I have to shoulder all of it while trying not to lose my damned mind. I really did want to take her to that dance and show that even if you don’t have a dad active in your life, one good parent can make up for having a really shitty one. FAIL. I am not even good at begging for money through fundraisers, what a hoot. I can’t find work, can’t get the court system to work for her and make his ass trashiness pay, I went NINE days without a bath and just finally broke this morning…

I know a couple of readers appreciate my honesty is just how nasty depression is but for those who just cringe and think me lazy…Fuck you. I am fighting my hardest here. And it’s not helping that even doing my best results in failure and feeling like I should just do the kid a favor and off myself…Except what good would that do her, what, suddenly the donor will give a damn about her if I am dead? And hey, if that is the case, then that fucker’s more mental than I will ever be.

Which today I am feeling pretty mental, the house is a mess, my kid is at grandpa’s but it’s cold, windy, and pouring rain so snapping out of the depression (god i hate that’snap out of it’ bullshit) isn’t likely gonna happen.

I bathed and put on clean clothes, it’s just gonna have to be enough and I am gonna have to find a way to make up to Spook for the missed dance except…I’m just trying to keep the rent paid and heat turned on here and there is no self pity, just utter fucking frustration. WANTING to work and earn money is not the same as someone giving you a job to do that and help yourself. Not that the world cares that small areas like this one are not reaping the so called economic growth of the job market that some poltiical entities want to spew…

Not to mention my own doctor wouldn’t sign off on me being stable enough right now but again, no one cares, it’s just me being lazy and not trying hard enough.

I can live with letting down my family, friends, the world at large…but failing Spook, that’s a deep wound I can’t live with well. Telling a 9 year old you did your best is about as useful as telling society you’re doing your best.