Archive for paranoia

Spazzing Out

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

Not an hour ago I posted about an episode of sudden, unexplained anxiety bordering on panic.

Well, I waited wayyyy too long to take Xanax. I am now in panxiety territory-where panic and anxiety meet and explode.

What if your heating assistance grant isn’t approved?

You haven’t gotten notice about an increase in food benefits since losing child support, what if there is some issue and you’ve been denied? It never takes 2 weeks for a decision…except that time it took a month but this MUST mean something went awry and now I can’t fucking feed my kid!!!!

Your kid came home spouting off about ‘bad juju feelings’, what the hell have you done to this child with all your psycobabble talk and superstition based ‘bad juju feelings’????

The weather is supposed to be changing, what if you can’t get to town to buy Thanksgiving food or the car breaks down and is fucked up for good?

What kind of mother lets the home run out of toilet paper so you have to swipe a roll from family and you’re still running out with a week to go before the check comes?

Oh, fuck, what if the check doesn’t come for some reason and you’ve got no grant to cover heat or food or Christmas or to buy toilet paper, the sky is falling, you’re a complete fuck up and failure as a mother, worthless!!!

My mood turned from bleak to black. I can’t even enjoy the show I was previously sort of getting into. The panxiety has stormed the castle and panic ninjas are coming at me from all sides with their paranoia laced throwing stars and panic enhanced swords…


I’m scared, I am really, really scared.

And what the hell kind of loving family can’t spring a buck to buy us a pack of toilet paper, for fuck’s sake???? Considering I took half my day to help them out last week when stepmonster needed a ride and accompaniment to her medical procedures…

Oh, and what about that so called good friend R who can’t even be bothered to drop ten bucks into my paypal account to help out til I can pay back when my check comes?

Oh, and what kind of loser ends up in this shitty position?

Oh, right. The deadbeat flaked on child support for the 4th time in 3 years and I can’t do a fucking thing about it because no one knows where he went (or he swore them to secrecy) and he doesn’t even update his address for court records, as he is supposed to do under law, being ya know, foreign….

My bad for relying on child support to support my child. What an irresponsible flake I am.

Oh, man, to be 20 years young, a hundred pounds thinner, and I’d so be doing internet webcam porn for a living. I don’t have pride when it comes to caring for Spook.

I also don’t have a computer with a working mic or webcam so even if I could find a fetish niche for fluffy nearing-50 ickiness, I couldn’t pull it off.


Society wants the disabled to get off the dole and be contributing members but when it comes to mental health disability, they do nothing to make it more accessable for us to use our skills without worsening our conditons…

Oh, wow, I just went off the fucking reservation…Total panic. Oh, and now I am kicking myself for the reservation comment as it is culterally insensitive…

Bloody fucking hell!!!!!

I REALLY wish this goddamn hell hole of the midwest had axe throwing or Rage rooms. I need some REAL fucking therapy that involves breaking shit and relieving pent up aggression and fear and paranoia.

I miss my voodoo doll (bawling emoji here) He was lost in the move. How it healed my spirits to stab him with knitting needles or bashing his head against things. It only sounds fucked up, I swear. It’s a bloody mass marketed doll, not specific to anyone. Just…shitty things life throws at me. I want another voodoo/dammit doll.

Of course, right now, I’d settle for $20 to refill my meds and buy some toilet paper and put gas in the car.

Okay, the Xanax is finally kicking in…Sanity is peeking in, waving at me shyly, seeing if it’s okay to return, I suppose. Not even the crazy wants to live my super crazy.

Though from my sci-fi show Lost Girl, they called a sucubus crazy and she pointed out, “The proper term is mentally unstable.”

I myself am fond of ‘sanity challenged’.

But it all leads back to society’s perception of crazy.

Fuck society and its collective ignorance when it comes to mental illness. Oh, behavioral health.

That term needs to die in a fucking fire.

The Mental Chaos Tipping Point

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The “plan” for today was to get my kid to town for her sleep over at her grandmother’s then come home and start kicking ass around the house towards cleaning and organizing.

The mental health gods started laughing and here I am…the tipping point of mental chaos.

Paralyzed with panxiety, ie;paranoid anxiety, and feeling very unsafe, unbalanced, and like…nothing matters and so what if it did.

My dad has already stalked me by phone 3 times today, STILL on my ass about hauling the stuff from my shed. Which I still don’t know how it is any of his fucking business. Last spring, we took an entire pick up truck load to the city wide dumpster, what is left are odds and ends, some I plan to haul up there in my car, half which either won’t be accepted or I am not prepared to part with. I try to tell him this and still…just when I think “Okay, maybe he finally got it and will piss off’…he comes back at me.

And I think it was that third call, followed by a nerve racking plot twist in season one’s ending of Van Helsing, that sent me over the edge into mental chaos.

Sad but true. I get panic attacks even from things I love, like vampire/zombie/medical/crime/horror shows. I know it is fictional but…when my mental state is whittled down enough, I am easy pickings for the anxiety and panic to take over and the mood to crash. I think if my dad had just left me the fuck alone, as he had last week and this week before the rain, when he was busy working, I might have stood a chance at accomplishing something. But him constantly butting in, invading my space…it’s not cool. It’s not something I can easily let slide off of me cos ya know, I am not made of Teflon and assholes DO GET TO ME. I made an offhand comment to him about Spook being scared of a neighborlady who yelled at her for petting one of their cats and my dad said, “she needs to get over it”. I said, “And some people are just fucking assholes.” Which lead to him lecturing me that yes, people are assholes and he deals with them every day and me and my kid both need to grow up.

Um…If they don’t end up with a shovel upside their head, that is me being a grown up and dealing with it. There is NEVER going to be a point where I, or my child, gleefully accept that people can be assholes and we have no recourse. Maybe we can’t stop them from being assholes but we have EVERY right to hold a grudge when their asshole behavior leaves a dent in our psyches. Of course, my dad has zero emotional quotient, so nothing gets to him. He was put down from birth by an abandoning drunk bio dad then adopted by a physically abusive dad who made him start working when he was 6 years old. They treated him like shit, gave him zero affection or encouragement or even a fucking occasional hug and so..he is who he is, therefore the rest of us must also be loveless dead inside redneck assholes who just accept that the world is Asshole-a-palooza.

I look at the ‘socially acceptable’ ‘likeable’ people like my dad and stepmonster and R and think man, if I have to lower my enotional IQ that low and cease to feel that drastically just to be considered part of ‘polite society’..fuck that shit. Because being nice to people;s faces then trash talking them behind their backs and criticizing their every move does NOT make you a good person. It just means society,as a collective, is…Asshole-a-palooza. And I am NOT okay with that and maybe my only recourse is to rant and bitch and make sure I don’t assimilate like the fucking Borg. I will never join their collective, even if it just adds to the ignorant stigma of my mental health diagnoses. If not wanting to be an emotionless robot makes me defective and it’s a personality disorder cluster…so be it. Least I am being honest, with myself, and with others.

I miss my kid already. Which is pretty sad since she hasn’t spent the night at her grandma’s in 3 weeks since their kitchen fire. It signals to me maybe I am too dependent on the mom identity and somewhere, maybe I have lost myself as an individual, outside being Spook’s mom. Though were it not for the current extreme states of my depression and panic, I doubt it would feel that way. Mothering her is the only thing I ever feel like I do moderately well. I cling to that. But when I am not in a depression and clawing my own skin off from anxiety…like if I am stable or manic or writing…then a night kid free feels normal and healthy. I was hoping for that this time around but…the forces have decided otherwise.

And no, I am not delusional, thinking some Star Wars fictional forces bullshit. It just takes a lot of things aligning simultaneously for my mental state to be in a ‘good’ place and my toxic father invading my space 5 times in under 18 hours sent me into a downward spiral. The delusional fuck even said he wished the landlord would sell this house to him cheap then I could just rent from him and stepmonster. Oh, dear fucking god, they’ve all but enslaved me just because they haul away our trash, I don’t even want to know the strings of ownership on us they’d claim if they did buy this house. Think Spook and I’d rather live on mom’s sofa.

Oh, but that leads to another stresser. Technically, my mom doesn’t even have a house. Her roommate owns the house they all live in and since their homeowner’s insurance is balking at the $9000 damage the fire mom caused, the roommate is now saying that my mom should have to cough up the four grand deductible insurance won’t pay. When my mom is already paying for pretty much everything, including my nephew’s car and insurance even though he’s 20, married, and doesn’t live there. So there’s a whole other level of drama going on there, my mom said earlier when I dropped Spook off she didn’t even have $20 to her name. So if she can’t pay for the damage she caused, even if by accident, I wonder how long this roommate will play nice. Never mind it’s my sister’s mom in law or that they have all lived together over 21 years at various places…this one the roommate alone paid for in cash and owns, so…I can’t even say we could go live at my mom’s cos my mom…owns nothing.

I am spinning out with panic. Total freak out.

Normally I can distract myself with fiction but…the turn the last episodes of Van Helsing season one took have left me a little off kilter. I do get anxious when it looks like the bad guys are winning and the good guys are losing or turn out to be treasonous backstabbers…Ermagod…spinning out sooooo bad.

I’d say I prescribe for myself a couple of mindless but enjoyable TV sitcoms on tonight but again, that depends on if the antenna is pulling in the right station and…the weather has that acting all fucked up, too.

I had such big plans for today, this evening, for the morning.

Why can’t my dad just leave me alone???? Other than help with the trash haul off every week, I ask NOTHING of them. They are always asking me for shit, though. Walk our dogs, take our man child to work, fetch our man child from work, do our dishes, fill out this paperwork cos your handwriting is better….I ask them for NOTHING. I feel like I am in a fucking prison.

And my mom and sister make it seem so easy. “Tell them to fuck off.”

Yet I remember how hard it was on me and my sister when my dad displeased his parents and they stopped speaking to us for over a year. It hurt us kids cos we loved our grandparents and didn’t understand the adult bullshit and drama and opinions. I don’t want to do that to my kid. I don’t want her to feel that if she loves her grandpa she is disloyal to me. Though she is coming round on her own, finding out now that she is out of the cutesy single digits, they are more harsh on her and far less affectional and gifty. They yell at her, insult her, and she is seeing the truth. Which I have tried to discuss with them and they just call us both big babies and tell us to grow the fuck up. Charming people, my dad and his woman.

At this point, I’d sell myself into servitude to an employer as housekeeper,cook, driver, book keeper, grounds keeper, dog walker, babysitter…if it meant them relocating us far far far from this hellhole near all this family drama that is…about to drive me to a nervous breakdown.

But if I can’t even keep my own house clean and lawn mowed, I don’t suppose I am of much use to anyone right now.


All I really want to do is get under the warm covers and shut out this suck ass reality.

When Spook is here and my job is clear-be her mom- I can keep tying knots into my frayed rope and hang on. Without her here reminding me why I keep fighting what seems like a losing battle against my own father and my own sanity…

I am fucking freaked out.

So much for a productive clear headed calm kid free night to recharge my mom battery.

Everything I read about these days concerning mental illness says that taking control is the answer, controlling the situation so you can feel more…in control. My question is…how can you do that when your own mental chaos is holding you hostage and preventing you from the clear thought you need to regain control?

Sweat And Struggle

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 2, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I got worked up into a sweaty lather over a non event, essentially. I didn’t read our meal tickets right and it was carry out only, so there was no need to brave crowds and stay there to eat. We drove there, got the premade plates, and drove back home. Of course, logic does not apply to panic disorder. I put on a T-shirt 40 minutes before we left and by the time my kid got home, I had pit stains and had to change again because cold sweat was running down my sides. This is how I can tell normal sweat from anxious sweat, not that sweat is pleasant to discuss either way.

I was furthered frustrated by the fact that I can’t help a 5th grader do math. This common core math is so much utter rubbish. Ten steps to do what I learned to do in two or three steps. How am I supposed to help her with concepts never taught in my day? I can’t attend class with her, the teacher can’t seem to explain it to her, so she started having a hissy fit, the first of many cos some kid on the bus ‘framed’ her for some drama and she was back on the wanting to hear music rant (HEY DON’T BREAK EVERY CD/MP3 PLAYER YOU GET, YOU DESTRUCTIVE UNGRATEFUL SPAWN!) and she absolutely refused to hear me when I tried to talk to her about long division and the teacher saying we need to work on basic facts and how to do the math itself and carry numbers. She has become so unreasonable and it is so stressful.

Then no sooner than we’d eaten her pain in the ass fussy friend was at the door, wanting to come in and um, NOPE. I don’t have room for them to bicker and I can’t handle the anxiety, anyway, not to mention him pointing out all the stuff he has that she doesn’t so she gets pissed at me and it creates drama…I told her she could go to his house for an hour and 15 minutes. Which became an hour because she had to dig her bike out of the shed rather than just walk there. If he’d been riding a greased pig, she’d have insisted on getting one, too. Then she gripes about not having more playtime. Everything is my fault and I am not handling it well. And yeah, I know what a freak it makes me to not allow her friends inside the house. I didn’t used to be this way prior to my Xanax dose going down and being replaced with utterly useless Buspar. Frankly, at the trailer park, we were all pretty much broke and using bedsheets for curtains so there was no ‘keeping up with the Jones’ stress with those kids. These Armpit kids have life a little cushier and aren’t hesitant to point out the house is old, the floor is ugly, the rooms are too small, their TV is bigger…I just don’t need the added anxiety and I don’t need my kid putting more pressure on me financially.

I am already on her shit list because there’s a geo club of some sort that meets once a week at the school but going into winter with heat bills, I can’t commit to having enough gas in the car-and weather and roads permitting- to say she can go every week and I can fetch her. Because I can’t guarantee it. She is disappointed and pissed off and I don’t blame her, but this is reality. She goes to church and their after school program, that’s more than I got to do at her age. I survived.

But I am struggling and the anxiety and self loathing are taking a toll on my self esteem. My kingdom to work from home and be able to afford all the stuff Spook wants. Hell, she is selling pies for a school fundraiser and the cheapest thing in it is $12 which I can’t swing and I talked to our family and none of them can afford it, either. So I battle my mental health issues, I battle my improperly medicated tempestuous child who feels deprived, I battle the money issues…Is it any wonder I am exhausted by 8 p.m and crave only the nothingness of sleep?

It really sucks to try your hardest and still feel like you’re not doing your best. Sucks more when your kid is friends with one of the ‘haves’ and you have to explain why they are one of the ‘have nots’.

Truly heartbreaking, though, is that my child is a bit of a snob and has been putting down a kid at school because he is a ‘nerd’ who likes math and likes to read and isn’t into all the popular stuff. Yet she cozied up to the snotty kid even though he goes out of his way to remind her all he has that she does not.

Okay, maybe that’s my issue but…it bothers me tnat she prefers snobs and uses words like ‘nerd’ as if it’s a bad thing. Being smart and liking math and books isn’t nerdy. It’s courageous to do your own thing without caring what others think. Or so I keep telling myself so maybe one day I will truly believe it. Because on most stuff, I do buy it but when it comes to my failings as a mother-real or perceived- I do care when it seems I am failing her in comparison to the kids who have more. But what I lack in ability to spend on stuff she doesn’t even appreciate and just breaks…I give her my time. That’s gotta count for something.

I hope.

The Reality Of Irrational Fear And Paranoia

Posted in anxiety with tags , , , , on October 2, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am back to that place of paranoid anxiety, AKA panxiety, where I can barely move from my spot on the bed. I went into the kitchen and I am pretty sure the fridge is making an unusual not good sound. But I can’t be sure because I am so sensitive to noise, just the normal sounds of a working fridge freak me out. Let alone something I don’t recognize. Guess it isn’t fear of the refrigerator itself, but the fear of it breaking. Because honestly, short of living off powdered milk and micro mac and cheese, who can live without a refrigerator? And my landlord does not cover it so should ours break, we are out of luck.

I live in terror of the car breaking down. Water lines freezing or bursting. It brings on paranoia and panic attacks and while I know it is not rational…It does not make it less real or paralyzing.

Fear of going into the bathroom and kitchen lest something be going horribly awry. It sounds ludicrous and yet it…is my reality. Rational thought takes a back seat to panic and paranoia. So many think it’s funny or ridiculous and yet…this is my life. Been awhile since I’ve had this severe a reaction, though. The days I am glued to my spot, as if they will prevent bad things from happening, come and go but when they stick around the entire day…It wipes me out. And the fact that my mind is so cluttered that I can’t recognize normal refrigerator sounds from catastrophic warning signs…It disturbs me. Kinda like driving and never knowing if I have a low or flat tire or if the road is just worn and bumpy.

I am trying to talk myself off this particular edge but I am failing today. Not even TV is distracting me from this heightened awareness of things that could be going wrong as I write this. Purging seemed my last coping option. Sometimes by putting the irrational thoughts and panicky fears into words here, I can reread it and see the distorted thoughts for what they are.

Does not seem to be working today and I can’t help but think it is related to our planned outing for the school chicken dinner later. This is why it is so hard for me to do normal stuff-work, date, go out with others, socialize…It leads to so much anxiety and anticipation (negative) that I basically become a deer in the headlights. And this deer feels like she is about to become roadkill if she doesn’t move out of the way of the oncoming headlights but…frozen. Paralyzed.

I hate panic disorder.

Twitching Roadkill

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

In the aftermath of the brief but mentally destructive exchange with my father last night, I am feeling like roadkill. Only I’m not quite dead, still twitching. Lovely mental image but the metaphor is fitting. I am battling the gut goblins, hives, and an utter lack of motivation to do anything but sit or lay in bed and feel completely worthless and overwhelmed. A normal person, I suppose, would spring into action and try to find the offending odor and clean top to bottom through the whole house. A depressed person just goes further down the rabbit hole of depressive inertia and is filled with too many feelings of worthlessness to fight back.

Earlier I had this awful thought about poisoning my dad. Because even though he is 72, his mother is still alive at 92 and 20 more years of his oppressive presence in my life seems fatal to my mental health. And I don’t really do the sadistic thing, anyway, it sickens me, so it was one of those fleeting desperation born thoughts, no serious intent. I keep trying to put things into perspective because a couple months ago when he and stepmonster came to put my AC unit in the window, I was using Gain scented wax melts and they were coughing and choking and had to go outside to breathe because they said it smelled too bad. So the bottom line is, NOTHING I do will ever satisfy them. Torturing myself is not going to help.

I still haven’t gotten to town to get groceries or Spook’s new script. I had planned to do it over the weekend but it would seem whatever oomph I had was drained when I did the dishes Friday, followed by the internet outtage. Then the Dad debacle. I don’t see a trip to town today, not with the gut goblins twisting my innards and sending me to the bathroom repeatedly. So I can feel shitty about not getting shit done. Depression is a sadistic disorder.

I had no idea typing could be so exhausting. Maybe because I am forcing the thoughts when my brain just wants to ‘go away’ to anything but my thoughts. I hate feeling this way. HATE it.


Posted in anti depressant side effects, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I couldn’t think of a better title except for the incessant annoyance of a cricket somewhere inside chirping. Metaphor for my mental health issues. Can’t find the root, can’t make the noise stop, can’t seem to fix the problem so I just live with it and grow increasingly more irritated and pissed off. Crickets.

Yesterday was a testament to strength in the midst of a breakdown. Just traveling the extra 20 miles to fetch my kid from Armpit school and get her to town for her dr appointment was harrowing. Surrounded by nothing but corn fields and stretches of road, literally in the boondocks. Every sound the car made, every time it shifted too slowly or whatever, my heart began to pound and I became convinced the car was going to break down. On top of that it was scorching hot and I was melting in sweat. My kid didn’t have her pill in the morning so by the time I fetched her and gave it to her and we got to the doctor office…she was loud and busy…then the doctor saw her and she’d barely speak and pulled the shy hiding behind mommy bit. Makes me livid. They kept us waiting for almost a half hour and she went through so many topic changes (a ten year old discussing the illuminati,wtf?) and she colored pictures and she wreaked havoc on some sort of toddler toy with the colors and shapes and bars you slide them up and down. I was getting seriously irate by the noise. It was ADHD in its most primal form. And instead of the doctor getting to see what I have to deal with daily…my kid puts on her halo and instead acts like a social misfit too scared to speak up. Lovely.

After that, we had to go to the pharmacy because the doctor switched her to Focalin and the pharmacy didn’t have it so we gotta wait til tomorrow, or longer, if insurance puts up a fight even though it’s allegedly on their formulary. Then we had to get cat food and I had to feed her and we came home…And it was like I’d run a marathon. All that fear and panic and paranoia, all the while trying to maintain my calm and force the social smiles that say “I’m not a danger to my kid or child, I love being a parent and am awesome at it”…Exhausting. To come home to what has become my nightmare crypt of inertia with the hopes that ‘a good night’s sleep will help and I will kick ass tomorrow on all this housework.” Not happening today.

I finally filled out our renewal for food and medical assistance on line. About 11 days late but within the window. Waiting to find out how much getting child support fucks our situation as opposed to helping it. Because like it or not, if the cash you have coming in has to go for food from losing food stamps, you’re not getting ahead, you’re just getting dragged further down. The system is just lacking in logic. I wish I had the answers. Um, reward people for effort, maybe, instead of punishing them. Truthfully I wish I didn’t have to deal with any of it. I want a job that has benefits that can keep us comfortable, nothing more, nothing less.

Unfortunately, I am pretty useless right now even to myself. Yesterday was the first bat I’d had since last Thursday and I only did it because my hair was gross. Feeding myself is stressful. Choosing clothing is tear inducing. The ONLY thing the Zoloft even at increased dose has done is help me sleep a little more consistently at night without multiple wakings. It has done nothing to ease the depression, anxiety, or energize me. I keep hoping, praying, waiting for ‘something’ to give and things to be different. And I am TRYING. I am washing a load of laundry right now to go hang out on the clothesline.

Which brings me to another issue I am debililtated by these days. Going outside. Hell, even out of my bedroom makes me feel unsafe and shaky. Going outdoors where people can see me…It feels wrong. I can’t explain it, but it’s like the old agoraphobia is coming back and I do not want to go back to that shit. I have to be semi functional for my kid, ffs. What kind of psych professional hears the med isn’t doing a thing for your depression and says, oh stay on it, it’s a low dose, we’ll just double it. I think a month even at a low dose should have given me some relief. Instead it has made me regress. And I can’t talk to this woman, she twists whatever I say because her agenda is monotherapy, period. I wonder how much of my year has been wrecked because of her unwillingness to entertain a dual therapy.

God, I want to work. I just…I can’t even manage enjoyable things. I am in bed at 8:30 every night because it’s my only true safe space, in bed, in the dark. This is not normal thinking. And I told the nurse and she just does not hear…

So here I am in my hamster wheel with my crickets, waiting for the seasonal depression to swoop in soon and make it all the worse and I don’t have any fucking answers. I am seriously starting to think I took the wrong path along the way. I should have just said fuck therapists and shrinks and become a functional alcoholic and pothead. I don’t see how it could have possibly made my life turn out worse than my current mental space.And addiction is considered a disease so there is less stigma and more empathy.

Trying to do the right thing…sucks.

Anxiety, Like Climbing Ivy

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on September 4, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was asleep by 9 p.m. last night, which pissed my kid off because I sent her to bed a half hour early. I told her she could read or watch TV for an hour but she was in prime Spook tantrum mode and stomped off and slammed her door. (I can see the tween and teen years and I don’t think I am gonna make it out alive, the kid is gonna chew me up and spit me out.) But once I finally nodded off, I slept pretty well in spite of multiple wakings. It’s a happy waking if I see the clock and know I have several hours before I have to be up. 🙂 See, an optimistic note, even if about a symptom of severe depression. Also happy is a wake up in which I am able to get right back to sleep as opposed to sitting up or tossing and turning for hours while losing my mind to frustration. Those nights are rough.

I thought going to bed early would enable me to get a fresh start today so I set my alarm an hour earlier. 5:30 is not an hour I enjoy seeing unless I haven’t been to bed yet. So I hit snooze about seven times, but by 6 a.m. I’d had enough of the drone of the televangelist garbage that airs between 3 and 6 a.m. when I am too groggy to notice or change the channel. Law and Order came on, the light was coming up, so I said fuck it and got up before 7. I thought last night, hey, if I set the alarm that early, I can still get in my snooze button love affair AND have time to get a quick bath and start the day off on a good ‘let’s get going’ note. Hmm…it didn’t work out that way. Because my mental state, while out of ‘kill me now’ territory, is still looking around at the actual facts-I need a cleaning crew to get this place in order properly-and the depressive distortion is insisting that this is beyond my capabilities since I can’t even focus and unscramble my brains enough to arrange forks, knives, and spoons in the damn drawer…Needless to say, it’s almost 8:30 and I still haven’t gotten that bath. And my hair feels gross so it needs to be done but…hygiene takes a lot of spoons and since I also need to make a trip to town to pay rent and fetch food and such…Just don’t know if I have the available spoons.

So I am writing this while an episode of “The Fix” is playing in the background. Hoping my mind clears and my gears shift into some semblance of focus.

STILL having the battle with insurance to cover Spook’s meds. She is on day 5 without and she is back to incessant jabbering and topic jumping and mood swings. She nEEDS that script. But the doctor didn’t get prior approval and they are fucking about, the insurance company is battling back that she doesn’t need it even though the doctor says she does BUT HELL YEAH, SOME PENCIL PUSHING PENNY SQUEEZING INSURANCE COMPANY HACK KNOWS WAY MORE THAN SOMEONE WHO WENT TO SCHOOL FOR DAMN NEAR 30 YEARS TO BECOME A DOCTOR. Man, this country’s healthcare system is not just flawed, it’s fucked. My sister has her own insurance battle going on where she’s had irregular menstrual bleeding for 3 straight weeks which could be very serious but she hasn’t met her deductible so they won’t even sign off on an urgent care visit for her. She’ll bleed to death before they sort it out. This is why people get sicker and end up costing more in medical bills, by being denied necessary treatment in the first fucking place. While I am not a huge fan of the ACA because of all its flaws (like fining people for choosing to have shelter over health insurance, or ya know, doing without food to get this so called ‘affordable’ insurance, though coverage for pre existing conditions is the ONE stellar aspect I loved about it, and no doubt the current regime will fuck that up.)…I just believe if the politicians got out of the pockets of big pharma and insurance companies and let the damn doctors do their jobs and treat their patients equally without regard to who can afford the best insurance…Yeah, I live on planet utopia and no doubt will face backlash for my naive idealism…But the system IS broken and until the decisions are made by medical professionals and NOT politicians and insurance companies and lobbyists…it will never improve.

Oh, it kind of feels good to go off on a tear like that. I needed to get pissed off to distract from what this post was going to be about in the first place before well, ADD brain and shiny objects.

The anxiety started rising right out of the gate and within an hour, I’d already had 3 panic attacks which cost mega spoons!!!! But it gave me this visual of ivy climbing a trellis, upward, bigger and thicker and curlier. That is my anxiety. Normally I love the sight of climbing ivy, I find it pretty. But when it amounts to panic attacks, paranoia, and every nerve ending on fire with fear I can’t explain…Maybe I should find another description and not ruin my love for ivy. For now it’s the most apt description I have.

Now…trying to get my ass moving and accomplish stuff. Wish me luck. I am gonna need it since the lovely ivy is choking me out here.