Archive for pms


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

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

I cannot regain equilibrium.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Topsy fricking Turvy

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on April 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I just talked to my dad on the phone. I made a comment about how that animal kennel job is still posted but I haven’t even gotten a nibble. Then he pointed out that by the time I paid for gas (it’s 35 miles one way) and racked up miles on the car, it wouldn’t be profitable. I was still despaired to not even get a call or something. He actually validated me FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE, EVER, and said, “You’ll find something eventually, you’ve just been out of the employment market for so long, it will take time.”

I thought I was gonna faint. Then I pondered if stepmonster was feeding him animal tranqs.

It was a nice change, don’t get me wrong, but it’s akin to Satan offering to install AC in Hell. It just doesn’t happen so when it does, it blows your mind.

I did not sleep well last night again but at least I slept some and got up this morning. More cold and gloom so my motivation is nil.

The Abilify gave me another skull crushing headache last night, the kind where even slivers of light make it throb worse, so I was laying in bed at 7:30 p.m with a thick blanket over me eyes. My daughter came in and told me I looked scary but, it wasn’t yet dark and even with my crypt-y dark room the hint of sunlight was causing me great agony. I hope this side effect goes away. It sucks.

I just realized I made a dentist appointment for Spook tomorrow after school since i missed her six month check up- and my check won’t come til Thursday so…I am gonna have to reach out.

Anyone spare $20 for gas and some cat food?

That is our paypal direct deposit.

I offered to take my brother to work and walk the dogs to earn the money from my dad but he said they don’t need help and they don’t ‘have the money’, told me to cancel the appointment and reschedule. Without 24 hour notice, insurance gets billed then I catch hell from them…

So, um, yeah…We would be super grateful. Anything leftover I’d use to buy stamps, there are some job openings with her school for next school year but you have to submit an actual letter of interest through the mail. I think I could be a lunch lady or bus monitor. Though as usual, that damn misdemeanor on my record will likely bite me on the ass. I can still try and hope, though.

To everyone who has been so kind to us, thank you a million times. I truly am sorry that I keep asking to raise funds for stuff that is my own baggage. My dad is constantly making comments about ‘at least I don’t go expecting handouts’. A friend once told me the fundraisers weren’t asking for a handout, they were asking friends to help you in a tough situation where your best efforts have failed to let you help yourself.

I’m gonna go with what she said.

I am still looking to work from home. So desperate I signed up for ‘take surveys from home to earn money’ and now it’s fucking Spam city.

Next month is mental health awareness month so prepare to hear all about it and also, the end stigma commercials for those who don’t grasp mental illness. Let’s all mention that as much as possible during the month of May in an effort to educate and spread the word. Maybe if there wasn’t such stimga I’d already have been hired for a job by now. Mentally disordered doesn’t mean useless or dangerous. Let’s work together to drive that point home and become warriors in this battle.

Ya know, if everyone can stop watching and talking about Game Of Thrones long enough;)

I only said that cos my sister texted me at 9 last night and told me she needed a Xanax cos GOT was too fucking good and she was getting too hopped up and yelling at the TV.

I don’t get it but to each their own. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone bonkers for several shows that way. I just can’t remember right now with the gloom goggles on.

Tuesday Bluesday

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

I slept like crap last night. Kept waking up with a pounding heart and a racing mind. The bad dreams have become so realistic I can no longer tell them from reality at times. Once Spook was off to school, I curled up under the covers and tried to just rest and not immediately head for the painkiller since my cramps are shredding through my belly to my spine. The cats kept knocking stuff over and I was yelling at them and getting so damn aggro…Sleep was welcome because when I get that upset and am this hormonal, it just leads to scenes of Linda Blair and pee soup and comments about maternal figures performing lewd acts in hell.

I feel a little better now, having napped. But we went from 80 degrees and sunny down to the low 60’s with gloom and wind, so my feet are freezing and I put on pants and a t-shirt as opposed to wearing a tank top and shorts yesterday. The weather up and downs are such a mindfuck for me. Cramps so painful they hurt my spine fuck with my head,too.

I was going to recharge then hit the job search again but I gotta write that letter to the current job for some sort of dispensation indicating I did all the right things and have met the court burder to rehab myself. Then I need multiple character reference letters from non family. Then I have to type up a statement of ownership about my crime and what I have done to better myself. Then I have to send it all to the state, at which point they can choose to reject it all.

Hard to get excited to get on that. And in my current emotional state, I can’t say I wouldn’t write up a ‘fuck you’ statement because it was a misdemeanor charge and I am going through this process like I robbed a bank or murdered someone. This is bullshit. Let go of your past. Wait, you did something wrong once in 46 years, so your past keeps you from moving forward. You jump through these spiked flaming hoops and don’t cry, we might consider you improved. Then again maybe our spouse pissed in our Cheerios the morning we read your documents and decide you’re still a loser.


Last week I was high functioning, even if I had to work in brief bursts and just keep hammering away.This week, I feel so drained and aching, I can barely work up the energy to feed myself even though my belly is growling. That high functionality costs a lot, for me, and the price versus what it gives back, often does not come close to balancing. That isn’t about gratification, it is about expanding what few spoons you have for the week and being left with nothing for the rest of the week. Things should nourish you so you at least retain half a spoon or can regain one or two.

I sound mad as a hatter, but it’s a thing, spoon/spork theory.

For now, I think I am going to put on socks cos my feet are cold and then…Maybe I will hit the painkiller mix of Tylenol and Motrin so the cramps and backache let up and maybe I can accomplish one or two things around the house. But if I am saying I am in pain and feeling lousy, it’s not an affectation or excuse. Ten days every month this is my life and I can take a joke and tee hee at the pms jokes but…there is nothing funny about PMDD, which is PMS on steroids and meth. But hey, what the hell, Carol Ann shared a link to this one yesterday and it made me smirk. Some days that is as close it I get to a laugh or smile.

And The Shit Show Gets Shittier

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

I was having trouble getting my mind to slow down last night in spite of antihistamines and melatonin and now that my Xanax has been cut to 1 mg for the entire day and night…it was miserable. Round and round my thoughts went. I heard a text come in and ignored it, knowing if I so much as looked at the time, I’d be drawn out of ‘mental prep’ for sleep and back to the rat race…After a half hour of toss and turn and stewing anger at this doctor who has never met me yet has robbed me of the only peace of mind I’ve ever gotten from these craptastic meds…I sat up in frustration and looked at my phone.

My heart sank. My brain cried NO NO NO, LET THIS BE A BAD SICK JOKE, NO NO NO.

The dog that my daughter loves so much at her grandma’s house got hit by a car. 😦

Chelsea did not make it, in spite of beating a year long battle with diabetes and sugar levels nearing the comatose point…she got loose and a car speeding down the street just..ran her down. It was going to happen sooner or later, they had that dog 2 years before I even had my kid, so Chelsea was an old pup. And dumb as dirt. But my daughter loves her so much. We just saw her the other day and she was cheerful and playing with Spook and my kid spent more time gushing over that dog than her grandmother. A few days before, my sister was being a goof and dressed all the animals up. This is our last pic of Chelsea rocking a punk rock outfit.

I was sick the rest of the night and had to take more melatonin, more benadryl, more Vistaril. Whereas a single 1 mg Xanax would have likely combined with the melatonin and gotten me out of my panic stupor…I’ve been elevated to taking even more pills than I was before. Now that kids have figured out how to get high on Benadryl, no doubt they will soon take that off the shelves and I’ll be in some skanky alley trying to score heroin cos that is way less dangerous than prescribed benzos…Dogressing.

I did not wake Spook. I did not tell her this morning. When I tucked her in, she was actually happy and looking forward to school today. They do this 100th day of school celebration and she hates this place so much, I could not crush her with this heart breaking news, not when she finally found a little moment of hope and happiness. Spook’s pretty detached when it comes to people or cats dying, but she had a very special bond with this dog. I fear how hard she is going to take it when I am forced to break her heart and tell her that her best friend is…gone forever. I am not looking forward to that conversation. I weighed it heavily, for hours, since I could not get my mind to quiet last night, and as much as I try to respect her with the ugly trust and not exclude her even from the sucky parts of life…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her and deal with the fall out. Let her have her fun day at school. One thing life makes plenty of time for is suffering.

I should be in town paying the rent. Once again, I find myself addled with cramps and a low mood but nerves so jumpy it’s like my own brain has a taser it keeps poking me with. Let the landlord come to the door, let him evict us. I am just so damned exhausted. I am not up to a trip to town. Maybe tomorrow. Which is what I’ve said for three days. Would have been much easier if I could have paid it Thursday when we were in town but noo, paying a day early confuses the landlord on the dates and it becomes this whole debacle so I try to only pay on the first, never before. Unfortunately, battling my current shaky mental state, this often leads to me not paying til the 4th or 5th. He’s not said anything nor does he charge more than a buck a day after the tenth, but it bothers me. I was always on time or early with the trailer park slumlord. (He apparently says NONE of us there paid rent on time, which how can people not wonder why we were allowed to remain there for ten years if we didn’t pay???Idiot negates his own argument.)

I started some laundry, emptied some trash, refilled ice cube trays, put on clean clothes. Still not worked my way to a bath. More than being dirty, it’s having greasy gross hair and scalp that really bugs me. I can use Irish Spring and wet wipes and lotions and perfumes to smell nice but the hair…ugh, that’s always the thing that breaks me. Even that is taking longer and longer than these days.
Cripes, every sound makes me jump. I feel like if I leave this safe spot in my bedroom something bad will happen. I know it’s not rational but it’s very real for me. Why don’t the professionals give a damn about quality of life? And I was thinking, these people don’t give a damn about the patients getting hooked on drugs or suffering withdrawal. If that were legit, that doctor would have taken note of me being yanked off Prozac cold turkey after being on 60 mgs for months. They don’t care that I suffered through that, they just want to cover their asses legally over ‘addictive’ substances. It need not be addictive to alter your brain enough to cause withdrawal. I swear these people got their degrees from a Cracker Jack Box.

I know, I need to stop harping on it and either accept it as my doomed fate or try to find a new office..Again, though, it goes back to crap insurance no one accepts, plus transportation since the only other psych docs are a 110 mile round trip from my house…and I’m driving on two tires showing belts so…

GAH. My kid is the only thing that is saving me from myself these days. I blame this osych center and their good intentions. Well intentioned people are the bane of my existence cos their good intentions are usually for their own self interests and it means I suffer for it.

I guess today is just gonna be spent in mourning over a family member lost (we love our animals that much) and ponder how best to tell Spook and comfort her broken little heart. The rest of this stuff is static, noise, and it may push me over the edge in the end which is why I am going to harp the hell on the topic. The system failed my sister’s brother in law, hospitalizing him for a couple days, sending him home with nothing more than a script that he couldn’t afford to fill and he hung himself two days later yet they were never held accountable…I got some mega issues with the psych pro community and they’re just getting worse.

What I know from experience, though, is that these medication zealots come and go and if I can just hunker down and survive a few months, chances are I will either get a better doc or even go with telepsychiatry. It may change nothing as far as the benzos go but if I walk out of that appointment feeling supported, hopeful, and worthwhile, that would be a wonderful upgrade from what I am dealing with at this time. It is truly upsetting because I’ve read so many blogs where people have these great psych nurses and counselors and doctors and I WANT THAT.

The midwest is all 9 circles of hell. Dante’s Inferno indeed.

R.I.P Chelsea pup. You were and are loved and I am so sorry your life ended this way.

Such a shit show.

Hormonal Livewire, Defused

Posted in depression, pms with tags , , , , , on February 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Things went from bad TO EVEN WORSE with psych nurse but I’ve been so hormonal and angry, feeling like it’s a fever burning me up inside, that I have avoided writing lest it prove to be an irrational rant of so much swear words and insults towards those I view as oppressing me. 4 days I’ve been on boil, tick tock, everything making me feel so mad, so betrayed, so helpless, so hopeless, so ready to just…end it all and get the fuck out of this shit show called my life. Today…the curse arrived and with it came sudden mental clarity. I am still very irritated by it all, mind you, but for the first time in almost two weeks, it doesn’t feel like a fever coursing through my veins, burning me alive. I feel objective. I feel a sense of clarity. I still have no answers and I am still plenty pissed off with the entire debacle they have forced upon me but…I’m no longer a hormonal livewire. The relief that came with waking up to this mental clarity for the first time in 2 weeks was immense.

So..they lowered my Xanax again. Now the new office wide edict is no more than 0.5 twice a day for ALL patients. Of course, they blame the opiod crisis but that is bullshit. It boils down to a bunch of irresponsible doctors getting a bunch of people hooked on pills they never should have been given in the first place and those of us who need a medication for quality of life and have done NOTHING but use it responsibly get punished. I did not, however, have the luxury of truly going off on nurse doc M that day as for the second day of the polar vortex, my kid was again home from school so I had her in tow. I did not want her seeing me go ballistic in a hormonal rage so I plastered on my fake face and pretended to be irked when in fact, I was furious. This nurse did not even apologize for the confusion in no one returning my call. She is so clinically detached, she could be robot under the hair and skin, for all I can discern. No, it is not lost on me that I seem to find fault with psych nurses in general, but I’m two for two here. They spend more time clacking away on the computer keyboard than actually talking to me, listening, and asking questions about how I am feeling and managing. I don’t know how that isn’t supposed to make one depressed as well as angry.

I tried to engage this woman by mentioning a brain stimulator device I saw on line that is alleged to help far more with seasonal depression and anxiety than meds and therapy. She’d never heard of such a thing, in spite of it being approved by the FDA back in 1990, and apparently successful enough that Maine’s medicaid system covers it. I asked if we could raise my antihistamine to pick up the slack from coming off 3mg xanax down to 1mg for the entire day and she said she could increase it to three. I WAS ALREADY AT FOUR 25 MG PER DAY so that is a decrease. I called the pharmacy to explain it to me, they said she only approved a 2 week refill, then lowered my dose so I called the office to raise hell as it’s like she wasn’t even reading from my file. The psych office eventually called back but I haven’t had the guts to check the message they left on voice mail. It will probably make me so damn mad I’ll smash the phone with a hammer. (I did that once, to a smart phone my kid got so hooked on she wouldn’t even put it down to go pee, so I made her watch me smash it with a hammer. I’m a bloody monster, whatever.) But again, as I seethed inwardly and she made no mention of the issues I had spoken with her nurse about moments before the appt. I was more focused on not letting my kid see me have a meltdown of any sort, I feigned calm, cool, collected with a modicum of irritation.

Honestly, I thought the first doc nurse was too clinically detached but as it happens…she atually radiated warmth like lava compared to this chick. Perhaps this detachment is necessary for them to keep their own sanity and establish boundaries with patients who might become too clingy but I can’t grasp why all the doctors I have seen at this practice have managed to come across professional yet empathetic except these nurse practitioners. Even my least fave doc they’ve had, and mainly cos he doesn’t even believe in the validity of his own chosen specialty, radiated more warmth than nurse doc M. But I know if I raise the subject they will yet again tell me to get a counselor for hand holding. Cos a good bedside manner and not making your patients want to die is definitely an unreasonable ask. I just…not so much as a ‘I’m sorry you went through Prozac withdrawal, I should have paid more attention to your chart” cos it’s there from every doc I’ve seen since 2005, I have bad withdrawal from these meds…She barely acknowledged it had happened, just said to take half a Celexa for a week since I’d ‘had had some withdrawal from these meds’. Had she spent more than a cursory two minutes with my file this would have been very clear. The one size fits all approach is not working for me, and it’s actually damaging me to the point I am ready to just quit taking meds all together.

Four days now the surging hormones have been doing battle with the depressive inertia, the inability to organize my thoughts, the anxiety stemming from having a noisy child who is testing boundaries to the breaking point…And honestly, if this psych center remains a factor in my life, I am not going to get well. Taking my Xanax down so low is reprehensible when it’s a quality of life matter. How am I ever going to manage to work if I can’t even get through the noisy days with my kid? I’ve developed all the coping mechanisms I am capable of. I told the receptionist when I was making my next appointment this new regime makes me miss talking to the doctors on TV screens. That’s saying something, cos I was never all that comfortable being treated by people who had never been physically in the same room with me. Now…it seems like I lost a pretty damn good thing compared to this new hellish regime.

I wish I could just ‘snap’ out of it. I’d never taken another psych med or see a psych professional again in my life if I hadn’t learned over and over that I have a legit disorder that requires these meds. But much like I had to get away from R’s negative impact on my mental state due to his political extremism and criticisms, I may have to excise this cancerous growth known as ‘psychiatric care’ for my own sanity and safety. Getting help is never supposed to make you feel this hopeless, this doomed, this desolate…And what really burns me up is, if I went to a store to buy gas or groceries and was made to feel this bad about myself…I’d have every right to complain to management, to seek another store, have the offending employee disciplined…But these people with their degrees for whtaever reason aren’t held accountable, we’re just supposed to take what they dish out as our due and never complain cos we’re the ones with the problem.

So I’m still in stewing process, where I have zero answers but way too many negative emotions and too little positive to counter balance it. I’ve got to figure out a way around this. Knowing this center’s instability, I should probably just wait a couple of months. There’s talk about going back to telepsychiatry but that introduces problems of its own. Like ending up with someone worse than you had, which is how I feel right now. I went from a couple of caring doctors who saw I was struggling and trying my hardest and they had empathy and made me feel like they were on my side. Now I’m back to seeing someone I’d probably avoid if she worked a cash register cos I just respond better to friendly, warm people as opposed to the removed cold detached types. (I swear, I have done soul searching and this isn’t about the Xanax, this is truly about how she presented while in the presence of Dr. T during her first few weeks then how her demeanor frozw over once she was allowed to see patients alone.)

For now…even though I am in physical pain from cramps and bloating, my mind does not feel as if under siege by hormone aliens, so I’m going to call this day ‘better’than the last few but far from victorious. At least we survived the polar vortex with little more than missed days of school and a frozen toilet. Now we’re in the fifties. It’s freaking maddening because we’re going to be back down to 11 degrees next weekend.

I should run a pool on what will drive me over the edge first. The insane weather impacting my seasonal affective disorder, or the lackluster psych care that makes me contemplate suicide whereas before, I wasn’t thinking that way.

Bad juju all around. I need some major exorcism mojo.

People Make My Skin Crawl…With Anxiety

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on January 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

They had school today, even though yesterday they dismissed early due to extreme temps. I fail to see how 21 is worthy of early dismissal yet 4 degrees is fine school weather but whatever…I’ve already a call from my father and it’s set me on edge to the nth degree. He said he’d bring some corn by for the squirrel my kid calls Nutty and we feed him by the tree. Just this simple act of expecting someone to pierce the veil of safety I’ve constructed for myself here at home is enough to make my skin crawl. I have tried to retrain my brain so this is viewed as normal behavior, not some threat to my psyche, but alas, it’s been an epic fail. Some stuff is just a trigger.

I have cramps, as well as skin crawling anxiety, and this upcoming polar blast thing facing the midwest has me edgy as hell. I won’t get my money til after it’s in the deep throes of negative 15 temps and my dad has already appointed himself my protector and insisted if I must go to town in this cold, one of them will drive me cos they have better vehicles. Now, NORMAL people, especially girls, I guess, would see this as a caring fatherly gesture.

How do I see it? His big cowboy boy stomping on my independence. I cannot imaging a worse fate than being trapped in a vehicle with them on a day I need to make multiple stops to pay bills and fetch groceries. I can barely stomach it with my kid in tow and she’s at my mercy. I am just a loner, always have been. So his act of caring, in my warped mind, feels like an act of oppression, like infantalizing me when I’m nearing fifty freaking years old. Rather than my norm of taking it out on him cos I am a trainwreck, though, I am just keeping my mouth shut and staying home til I have my nurse doc appointment Thursday. It’s early enough that I might make it out of town without that cowboy boot on my throat. (He once kicked me in the thigh wearing those shit kickers cos I got a speeding ticket, so I have EVERY reason to view them as threatening.) Temps are still gonna be in the negatives when I need to get to that appt. but I didn’t tell him what time, just that it’d be during the day when it warmed up. Yeah, yeah, sin of ommission, not a lie. Is it so wrong that I want to take care of myself in whatever ways I am capable of because so much of my disability means counting on others for certain things? Instead of my independence being a good thing to him, though, he seems to think I am a kamikaze. Gah. The whole family’s a trainwreck.

I’m pondering going to the gas station and talking to the manager about giving me some credit towards a few things that way if the car won’t start in the cold, we have what we need. I just don’t like using ‘credit’ even though I’ve always paid him every cent owed. It seems a wise preemptive strike. I can’t ask my family for a ride to the gas station without them lecturing me on every item I purchase being unnecessary, frivolous, overpriced…FFS, leave me be, I’m a grown ass woman. Idk, I’ll wait til one o’clock or so. Then again they might dismiss early today, for all I know. The weather policies in this area, in town, too, have always boggled my mind.

At the moment my focus is on simple survival and not getting a potato peeler and removing my own skin. (That’s an exaggeration, fyi, I am a pain wuss, I would never do that.) Though the news informed me this morning that there’s a potential bill in the state that will allow the powers that be to scrub all your social media in the vetting process before allowing you to get a firearms card or gun. Dear God, if I hadn’t been disqualified already by my stay in the rubber ramada (due to a med interaction, not like I even had the luxury of a batshit meltdown!), I guess all my nail gun and Z Whacker statements would doom me. But I know me better than anyone, I am the chick who puts grass hoppers outside rather than kill them. I prefer live traps for mice. I once threw a fit cos a possum got loose in the stairwell of our apartment building and the owner wanted to shoot it,so I called animal control to bring a humane trap so it could just be rehomed elsewhere. I have an active imagination and would love to Z Whack some zombies, for sure, but I’m actually a softie when not in a bipolar or hormonal state. It’s the quiet ones like my brother in law who constantly say shit like, “I’m gonna blow your head off if you piss me off” and have a fucking arsenal and ammo to make the threat realistic. Hell, I don’t even have staples for my staple gun.

I honestly thought as I got older, I would grow to trust people more, view socialization as a good thing, but the opposite has happened. I think much of it is because I’m just spent from caring for a hyper child and juggling my disorders and neverending money problems…I just don’t have the energy to socialize in a positive way. But hey, I spent 25 years thinking hair metal was the only metal music, now I can barely stomach the bubblegummy sweetness of it, I need harsh, angry music and by 46, you’re supposed to be listening to like Doobie Brothers or Yanni or some shit. I’m just a hot mess.

And because it was hysterical and I saw no usual readers seemed to see it (possibly because I forgot tags and category, then went in to fix it after the fact) but I can’t not share it again. A reblog just isn’t doing it justice.

So, I’d be the last person on Earth to claim to like musicals. Yet my friend Bex visited in 2014 and she introduced us to Chicago’s “Cell Block Tango”, it quickly became a fave for me and Spook even after she had left. While she was here, she taped this.

Yesterday I stumbled on this parody and laughed so hard I thought I broke a rib. I’ve watched it like six times, it’s so damn hystericasl. Unless you’re a Trump fan, then you probably won’t think so. My kid and I have wicked sense of humors, though, which is why we can love even that which bashes what we love, not just loathe. She is, after all, half Canadian, and she still thinks Weird Al’s “Canadian Idiot” is hilarious. People just get too damn bent over stuff that is supposed to be funny. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have, and am.

And if that doesn’t make you smile, try this.

I ❤ alpacas.

992 Followers, 5 Likes, and No Patridges In A Pear Tree

Posted in depression, Mental Health Disability, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , , , on October 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I normally try not to focus on the cobwebs gathering on this blog because, hey, that’s my decor style anyway and I have a strong dislike for all things popular but…


I am in for the fight of my life with the onslaught of current seasonal affective disorder.It’s a battle to get through each hour, let alone each day. I’m still sleeping in spurts. My kid is still channeling Satan. We still have kittens who are dying because even formula and me being up every 2 hours with them isn’t saving them. I’m ready for bed at 6:30 p.m. when the sun goes down, I am sweating but cold and still having monthly cycles and dysphoria so not sure if that is menstrual-pause or what. Everyone keeps asking “Why don’t you just get a job to make up for the child support (not being paid)?”

IF I WERE STABLE ENOUGH TO WORK THE DOCTOR WOULD SIGN OFF ON IT AGAINST MY WILL AND I’D BE CUT OFF AND PUT TO WORK! Or as is common theme even for the able minded here, the search for work cos everything is dying off again. (THey just closed my fave pizza place, Marco’s, which I kept telling everyone was gonna happen but nooo, no one will listen to me, I am just paranoid and pessimistic except, hey twonks, during a brief stable period before my brain damage, I worked as an assistant manager and I can tell when too little business means buh-bye!!!!)

Never ceases to amaze me the disparity between how society holds a father responsible for his children and what is expected of the mothers. (Reverse, as well, lots of good single dads out there.) They get to be flakes and keep their homes and cars and have date nights with their s/o and give zero thought to if their child has what they need for a day, let alone the whole time they’re not paying a cent. The law is supposed to be there for the children, but truth be told…it’s there for deadbeat parents.

There was a time the donor heard I was calling him a deadbeat and he railed against the term but even if I shut out the child he and I have together….He failed to pay for a daughter up North and a son out west, so it ceases to be an issue with me or my child. It’s about him being a selfish ogre. Okay, not ogre, that sounds insulting to Shrek and that dude is cool. Pattern of behavior. And considering that his child support amount, by state law, maxes out at 20% of his after tax income…This is a pattern of monstrous behavior on his part, not greed on baby mama parts.

Somewhere this post went haywire but my brain is too chaotic to figure it out. The empty place across the road is being wired for Dish or something and the van in the drive is blasting radio gunk so loud I feel like I should endorse WKRP in Armpit-inciatti. I was so determined to be dignified and coherent on this post but… bucket of fail.

I guess I’m just feeling a lil whiny cos even though I have my big girl panties on and I am trying-to my own detriment-to be mom and dad to a 9 year old- it’s overwhelming. And she makes sure I never get underwhelmed with all her demands and blaming everyone but herself for her tantrums. Suppose it’s karma cos before I knew I was bipolar, I blamed my mood swings on other people upsetting me. But it’s no excuse. You gotta own how you are feeling, even when others are complicit in making you feel that way. SO I OWN MY OWN WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER AND BULLSHIT AND WHININESS.

It does not, however, diminish my devotion to my daughter. Maybe who reads this blog doesn’t like the writer, but maybe,too, they have a heart for little kids who didn’t ask for a disabled parent and a shitty one. Not saying it’s anyone else’s responsibility but I am saying..we all come to a juncture where we can be greedy or we can pay it forward in some way…which is why I’ve been babysitting the neighbor kid even though they don’t even offer me a dollar. Because I want to be good, to do good, and I want it to come back on Spook and me in a good way.

We’re the least abled to be doing things for free or giving away for free but…I feel good doing it and if it means Spook and I have a bit of luck and good will come our way…Yayness. But I really do like just being nice. It’s only when people take advantage that I get venomous.

Now I have to steel myself for a shrink appt tomorrow plus a parent teacher conference and the riddle of how to get money to buy cat litter and food til next Friday. All the while this cockweasel van person is across the street blaring their radio and hammering on shit to distract me.

This is one of those days where I feel like maybe,just maybe, shock treatment might help me.

But then I think of our fearless leader Blahpolar who subjected herself to it and she still lost her battle to bipolar depression. They claim by her own hand but I will always blame the mental disorder. Ulla was a beautiful person who should have lived another 40 years to share her positive (without being nauseating) thoughts with so many of us running this gauntlet.

992 ALLEGED FOLLOWERS for this blog and barely 3 likes a day. Is it neediness? Is it a popularity contest? Or am I just disappointed that the world has devolved into a place where a pancake vaguely resembling Mother Theresa can get 700.000 likes?

No patridge in a pear tree here. Just pegacorns.Lots and lots of pegacorns.