Archive for pms

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.

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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…

GET WOKE TO MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES,PEOPLE.

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.

The Gauge Is On E

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on October 22, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday was a tough one. I didn’t feel well physically and mentally I was in a gutter. Genius I am, I still let Spook have a friend come over and play for 3 and a half hours, most of which they argued. Getting through til 7:30 p.m. when she declared herself exhausted was a challenge. I made myself do some stuff, wrote it on my tombstone shaped chalkboard and it looks like I did a lot…But for me, just feeding my kid and my cats and myself makes the ‘did it!’ list.

I woke 4 times during the night. Idk why I can’t stay asleep. I don’t know why I am having such vivid horrifying dreams, either. Return to my childhood where there was no escape from my soul crushing parents?That is way worse than drowning at the bottom of the ocean or having a masked dude machete me to death.

Woke to get my kid off to school, discovered another kitten died. Tried to tell myself I can do this, I got this, I’ve been here in the rabbit hole a million times before…

I even agreed to get the nighbor’s kid off the bus and babysit for 90 minutes because damn it, this depression is NOT gonna define me and I am not just surrendering.

Truth be told…I don’t think mind over matter is working here. I am terrified. I have to keep the fundraiser going since it could be months, if ever, before the donor pays support again and honestly the ONLY fat to trim from our budget is our internet access and we tried that for 2 months after moving in, trying to catch up on things and make sure the child support income was steady. It’s all we’ve got and the fuckers jacked my bill up $13 plus a late fee when I paid them on the 2nd but their ‘express pay’ option didn’t process til the 5th…I’m drowning.

And I am scared. Failing my kid isn’t an option and yet all I can do again today is countdown til bedtime. This seasonal stuff kicks you in the gut like an invisible ghost and you’re gasping but no one understands why you’re down and out.

The gauge is on empty and I am…scared. More scared than I’ve been in the 7 years since the donor walked out because this move meant living to within 98% of my means but we had no other choice and…

I just want to go to bed. The chalboard isn’t getting filled with accomplishments today no matter how silly they might be.

I just want to sleep. Sometimes I think I want it to be permanent sleep.

Wtf, depression, that’s not me!!!!

And yet with the tank on E right now…I guess this is me.

When The Molehills Actually Are Mountains-depression rant

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on September 2, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Once a month when my PMDD is at its worst, I have one day where it is damn near impossible to drag my butt out of bed. I am lethargic, sleepy, weighted down. It’s almost like my brain has shut down and I should sue it for non support. Today was that day for me. In a rare instance of shut down, I didn’t even get up with my kid to see her off to church. NOT my norm. But I kept nodding off and before I knew it, she was saying bye cos her ride was here. So I went back to my coma and stayed there til damn near noon. At which point my bladder was about to burst so I didn’t see much choice in the matter. No doubt my kid is at my dad’s telling them how I ‘always’ sleep in and ‘never’get up with her. Ever the drama llama, if it happens once to Spook then it’s always and never. I feel shitty enough about it but I am literally moving mountains here just being upright, fucked up as that may sound.

I have yet to do my dishes and they are starting to reek. I still have 1/4 of my lawn that needs mowed. Laundry remains clean but piled up, unfolded or put away. My only success today has been to bathe the kittens (Creeper is probably not going to make it, but I have tried so hard to help him, damn that shit mama cat to hell for weaning them too soon.) The TRULY insurmountable molehill/mountain was…I BATHED. And I know that’s just normal and all but for me, it’s huge. First time in like 5 days. I think part of it is no longer having a shower, I despise baths, it’s so laborious. It didn’t used to be like this. Only the last the couple of years did basic hygiene become so difficult. It doesn’t really scream ‘my meds are working’.

People without mental issues take the little molehills for granted. THey think it’s no big deal because for them, it really isn’t. But those molehills are mountains when battling depression. I am already exhausted knowing my kid will be home all day tomorrow due to the helliday. You’d think it would simply be irritating to hear “I’m bored” and “mom mom mom mom mom mom”. No, for me and my sensitivity to noise…it’s exhausting and daunting. I just survived 3 months of the daily rant and now I get another day of it. Yayness. This has nothing to do with impatience or not loving my kid enough. It has everything to do with her gnat sized attention span and how nothing is ever enough to hold the boredom at bay. And I didn’t apply to be entertainment director, I was always on my own with my friends or dollhouse or music or whatever and I suppose I got it in my head my kid would be as self sufficient. Nope. She’s the needy beast who must be entertained at all times and if she is not, it’s my fault somehow. Exhausting.

I must admit, I do feel better having bathed. But considering we’re in day 3 of high humidity and high 80’s/low 90’s and the AC is konking out…Bathing, pain it is, is better than marinating in your own sweat. I can’t get my equilibrium with the wonky weather. Last week we had a few days that got so cool I had to get out the heavy blankets and hoodies. Now we’re back to sweltering. And people can scoff and snigger at how trivial a complaint that is but honestly when your own mind won’t give you a moment of balance, having outside triggers that keep you off balance makes the molehill/mountains metastasize.

I guess the point of this rant is that: people with good mental health need to check that privilege at the door when dealing with those of us who are mentally disordered. Your ‘snap out of it’ pep talks are counter productive and not at all helpful. You got lucky and your brain behaves and sends the proper signals so you can respond appropriately. Some of us don’t have that luxury but it doesn’t make us weak or lesser than those without imbalances. We just ask for some empathy, a little support emotionally, and for the love of pegacorn…stop telling us to ‘suck it up’. Your privilege is showing and it reflects poorly on you. If you had mental disorders and a lifetime of therapy, you might realize this and feel kind of bad for it.

Your molehills are my mountains and even though you may view minor accomplishments as silly…For me, it’s like reaching the top of Everest and yeah, I am gonna plant my flag and pat myself on the back. Because it means I’ve survived to fight depression another day. And that’s something to be proud of.

Dick Pics, Uninvited Sexting Attempts, and WTF Is Wrong With People????

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on July 29, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well the donor left 7 years ago and while he’s had a revolving door of chicks he’s shacked up with and gotten engaged to…my dabbling at ‘dating’ has been few and far between because I am surrounded by mentally deficient man children whose idea of asking me out is, “Maybe we can get together when you’re not busy doing the kid thing.” Not.busy.doing.the.kid.thing. Like being a mom is a fricking hobby. LOSERS. So I gave up and purposely started sending out ‘fuck off’ vibes the last few years.

But it’s been forcefed down my throat by therapists and family and friends that I can’t get a life if I’m not willing to put myself out there so today, I did just that and gave my number to a guy who’s a cashier at a store I frequent. He’s been checking me out and chatting me up for 2 years and I just rolled the dice.

Within an hour…without my indicated ANY interest in such a thing…he sent me a picture of him with his pants down and offered to send more.

OMG, what the fuck? I know I am old and out of it but when did this become civilized, just sending a pic of your junk to someone whose number you’ve had all of an hour????I don’t parade around in skimpy clothes, I am always with my kid, I don’t go around endorsing porn and talking about how awesome sexting is (cos it’s so common it’s actually become pretty lame, especially for people over 40 to be doing it randomly)….On what planet did I send out a vibe that I wanted a pic of his junk???????

I am far from a prude. I was always the crotchless panty thigh high stocking girl in the bedroom when I was comfortable with someone and had some feelings. I am not afraid to get my freak on.

I am, however, and always have been, put off by porno movies, nudie mags, and yes, pictures of people’s junk. I like imagination, I like the routine and ritual of getting to know someone (or at least getting wasted first). I am more into erotica, things left to be discovered. Sensuality over skankiness. Maybe my age is showing but I’ve been this way since my teens when my sister was oggling an issue of Playgirl with naked rock stars and I was just like, ugh, don’t wanna see. Not that I don’t appreciate good looking men (or women) but like I said, sensuality and a little mystery over skankiness.

And this guy just kept going on about how he thinks I am sexy and have nice ‘titties’ (god I hate that fucking word) and I made it clear I was uncomfortable, put it out there that I don’t do the naked pics thing, and….not a word since. And I think I am relieved more than offended. If this is what putting myself out there amounts to, then fuck it, I will die alone. He claimed to be a shy person but um, no, I don’t think sending a dic pic an hour after you get the number is shy. Maybe my dictionry hasn’t been updated to the current skanky standards. I wasn’t expecting roses and romance, but dear god…a dic pic an hour out??????

Needless to say that wrecked my mood and I am already pms-y so I am again counting hours until bedtime. My kid has been at her grandpa’s all day (they go around and tell everyone she’d rather be at their house than home and she spends all her time there when in fact, she’s there maybe ten hours a week, delusional fucks) but I can’t sleep, I just feel so damned naive and silly giving out my number only to…be assaulted with something I didn’t ask for. And he didn’t warn me or even ask if I’d be interested so it was an assault on my eyeballs. Shame, I thought he was a nice guy. Maybe he is and I’m just too damn retro to fit into the current sexting hook up culture. But I am not changing for anyone, this is me, fuck off if you don’t like it.

Adding insult to injury, I wanted to make a trip for groceries and scraped up 50% in coins for gas money but my car only gets 26 miles hwy so I needed to be able to put a full gallon in the tank. I asked dad and stepmonster if I could borrow ONE DOLLAR, for gas, and they said no, if I needed to go so bad, they’d take me. OMG, I’m 45 years old, I don’t want to be carted around like a child. And how is them spending $6 on gas to town cheaper than giving me a measly fucking dollar?

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

It could be the hormones but it all makes me want to cry. Because the state of humanity is so sad but I’m the one made to feel like I am so prudish freak with a stick up my ass simply because porn-y stuff has never been my thing yet it’s in now so must become sheeple…Fuck that.

And fuck every single person who told me to put myself out there and take a chance on people because they might surprise me. All he did was reassure me that my initial impression is that people suck. Think I may change my phone ringtone to Slipknot’s “People=Shit” as a reminder to keep to myself and give no one the benefit of the doubt. And to avoid my ass trash family like the black festering psychological plague they are.

Spook’s birthday next Sunday is going to be one of those occasions I need a damn biohazard suit to keep from being infected.

I TRIED, counselors. I tried putting myself out there. Maybe since it’s all so innocent and shiny and happy in your world, I can give him your number and he can send YOU dick pics.

Humanity makes my soul cry tears of blood sometimes.