Archive for pms


Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Psych professionals make mention frequently of compartmentalization. They, of course, utilize this concept in a healthy, proper way, as opposed to the compartmentalization, say, a sociopath would utilize. It’s sort of like this society driven division, not of personality, but of behaviors that are acceptable in certain situations. Of course, at work, you are going to be professional and work hard and whatever else your position requires of you. At church, you might genuinely believe or be a hypocrite and fake being pious and a believer. At a party, you might drink too much, or get too loud with the dirty jokes or bubbly personality. With your kids, you will be firm, loving, and consistent.

This is a healthy, normal thing, as long as it is all well balanced.

With the level of mental illness I am currently experiencing, it has ceased to be healthy compartmentalization and become a splintered psyche of insecurity, fear, paranoia, sadness, frustration, and a complete upheaval of every solid personality trait of positivity I’ve ever possessed.

I feel fractured on a daily basis. I never know if I am going to feel up and strong, or determined and energetic, or if I am going to be in that meek, terrified paranoid space where everything is perceived as threat and I can’t make sense of the alphabet even though I know it by heart but…I’m unable to organize my thoughts and recall it correctly.

This is compartementalization, exploded. I no longer have the luxury of solid little behavioral blocks, knowing how to behave in X situation versus Y situation. I no longer have the clarity to know right from wrong because it’s become so subjective, so fluid, and prey to my varying levels of mental illness. Parts of me have even started to reject traditional ideas 0of right and wrong, which isn’t exactly new for me, I’ve always rebelled against ‘the norm’ but I am in this place where “is it wrong to steal a loaf of bread” has become a confused multi part question of, “Is it to feed your kids? Because stealing is wrong but if you did it because your kid was starving, well, that’s different motivation than doing it for a thrill.” And I believe whole heartedly that like felony charges, intent should count toward misdemeanors. And it doesn’t matter if I am right or wrong or if polite society and the law agree, this is my mental space. I CANNOT DISCERN RIGHT FROM WRONG PROPERLY WITHOUT IT LEADING TO CONFUSION.

Killing someone? Wrong. But hey, were they trying to kill you first? Were you in fear for your life? Did they threaten you and you got tired of looking over your shoulder and just panicked to end the fear?


One day I am extroverted and make an effort to interact.

The next day I feel everyone is out to get me and like a threatened, cornered animal, I am on red alert, ready to slash out with words or claws or an inflatable orca.

And these mental states are so damn real, so convincing, that even when I am trying to convince myself it’s all irrational and distortion and mental illness…I’m not buying into the self pep talks anymore. I want to because deep down I know it’s logical. My current level of illness does not care about logic.

One thing I had going for me my whole life was that I could to an extent compartmentalize enough to ‘fake it’ for jobs, for social events, for family get togethers, for basic polite society.

Now I am so disturbed that it’s a perpetual struggle trying to put all the splintered pieces of myself back together enough to regain ‘me’.

I am not insane.

But I am battling a very severe bout with my disorders right now and my judgment is severely impaired, my logic MIA. Beyond the bare minimum to care for my child and keep the bills covered…I got nothing. No thoughts for the future, no hopes, no joy. Anhedonia has become the only constant in my life. That and paranoid paralyzing panic.

I feel like a shattered mirror and no super glue can put the shards back together to give anything but a splintered reflection.

May this be a temporary situation. If this is the new norm, I’m not gonna make it out alive.



Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My brain has become a scary place for me. I just feel so low, so depressed, so utterly unhappy..But I can’t pinpoint anything truly making me feel so hopeless and dark. It is the very definition of clinical depression. That raise in Lamictal dose seems to have had the opposite effect and made me feel more depressed than I was.

Earlier, I was in such a dark place, I had this fucked up thought. If you were to ‘accidentally’ trip on some concrete steps and aim to land on your head hard enough, you’d never have to feel this way again.

This is NOT normal for me.

It is terrifying that it would even occur to me.

There is no intent, so not to worry. But the thoughts stirring in my mind are honestly scaring me. I honestly don’t know when my next pointless nurse appointment is, and it doesn’t matter because she has zero interest in helping me. Or that is how I perceive her ‘back to me’ detached manner with the only goal being having me on as few meds as possible. And THEIR policies are why I am taking two drugs for anxiety as opposed to the one that worked so damn well on its own.

I guess this could add to my depression but it’s more irritating, frustrating, and hopeless than it is depressing. I’ve pretty much had lackluster psych care my whole life. The good ones are very rare. Oh, the joy of rural life and being poor. Somehow this means I deserve subpar care from apathetic providers as opposed to someone with good insurance in an urban area who can get their dream doctor and make positive progress. I started going downhill during the raise in Abilify and the halving of Wellbutrin, all of which she did simultaneously, as well as increasing the Lamictal. Then the next appointment she refused to do more than one change and refused my input completely. She has played a part in making my summer very difficult and unhappy and there will be no consequences for her, those are all for me to pay for her ineptitude.

It would help if you could be honest with the providers without fear of being committed against your will or being deemed dangerous to your child just because your mind is in a scary dark place. I have no ill will toward my child. I feel I owe her an apology for being such a high strung depressed mess.

I keep telling myself I’ve been in this dark space many times, and the bad thoughts have occasionally wormed their way in. I just have to hold fast, stay strong, and not buy into the depressive distortions. This,too, shall pass. Just not fast enough to make me feel like I am not losing my mind.

At this point it’s such a useless cluttered dark place, I wonder if I’d be losing much of value.

But that is depression talking and I MUST REJECT whatever negative input it is giving me as best I can.

Which is easier said than done.

Especially now that I am in hormonal purgatory for two weeks and still pining for that dream work from home job since all my problems seem to be ‘out there;, trying to fit into a mold I simply do not. If I had physical disabilities, the world would be empathetic and break their backs to meet my abilities and not penalize me for my limitations. But nope, that’s not the way it is with mental illness. Sometimes even those who blog about mental health issues don’t come across as all that empathetic and supportive because they have stabilized and it’s sticking. Yet I remember these same people at their worst and remember how I extended myself to them even when I had little to give…The same is not being returned but by a couple of harcore supporters. I don’t know why I expected differently. Life is not fair, things are not always reciprocal, and while a large percentage of people with mental health diagnoses do have remission and reach stability…

I am not one of those lucky people and I guess people just get sick of hearing about it. For that I am truly sorry, I don’t like sounding like a broken record.

I don’t like living life like a broken record, but I don’t get the option of walking away because I am ‘too negative’.

I should be so lucky.

Physical Trainwreck

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on June 29, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Rough morning so far. My ovaries have developed a pulse of their own so they are throbbing like a beating heart being alternately squeezed in a fist. I am halfway through a box of tissues from horking up sinus drainage and allergy symptoms. I can barely breathe. I am a jumpy bunny cos I never know when my dad’s crew is gonna show up with their weirdo lawn mowing fetish and demand I jump into the fray. Well, I do NOT work well under screaming criticizing pressure, it gives me stomach aches and sets off panic attacks. I am already an emotional livewire thanks to pms, I don’t need them in my face.

Simple thing would be to mow the lawn myself. But until it dries from yesterday’s 3 hour rainpour, it is a futile effort, it just clogs the mower with wet grass and mud. I am not magical like the lawn nazies who can mow at any hour with optimal results.

I’d hoped today would be better cos yesterday was kind of a black hole mood day. My mood isn’t as low but I am having trouble breathing, leaking like a faucet, and my entire abdomen feels like oompa loopmas are stomping on it. Maybe one day I will feel good mentally and physically. This ain’t that day.

A ghoul can dream.

404:Will To Live Not Found

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on June 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’m up and dressed, what more do you want?

I was a raging bitch beast to my kid this morning because she keeps doing the same stupid things I tell her not to, ya know, being a fucking kid, and instead of being irritated, I felt white hot anger. It wasn’t til a half hour later I realized the anger was not proportional, entirely, to the crime. I am hormonal. PMS on stereoids, courtesy of my body’s own fucked up hormonal rages. I apologized to her more than once, profusely, and tried to explain but she had already moved on by then. Mommy being upset took a back seat to babbling about friends and toys. Thankfully, I guess. Though I know my grudge holding spawn, it will eventually come back to bite me on the ass, no matter how effusive the apologies.

I was wakened briefly after six by an incoming text. Instant panic. But it was a good text, telling me we are now getting child support. The amount is greatly reduced but so are his hours and wages, something is better than nothing. At least he has been held accountable financially. About all she is ever going to get out of him, it seems. Maybe she’s better off. Someone who goes through a job, gf, and home every year or two is less stable than me. He likes nomadic life. Enjoyed being homeless. Definitely not the better parent here. I made sure she has a home even to my own detriment. My needs come in dead last. He wouldn’t know what it’s like putting someone else that far ahead of himself. Even his seemingly selflessness has an agenda. I lived it. He was all about love if he was in like with me, but if not…I was one of the window lickers. Class AF, the donor.

To my credit, I just thought he was a denial laden emotionally broken man child from the word go. I never wavered when we were together or apart. It’s either a gift or a curse, seeing people for what they are in spite of how I want them to be. That includes myself. Whereas others view me as this mouthy badass bitchbeast, I know deep down, that fierceness is only a rebellious streak. I’m pretty docile and avoid confrontation. Like going to my favorite store now that he is working there. I just…can’t. I went there three times and he was only working the one time, for all I know he quit or got fired again. He isn’t ever going to change, though the fact he can get fired over and over and still get management positions with bad references in such a small town, that attests to how good a liar and how gifted he is with the fake sincerity. Good for my kid, I guess, he’s supporting her half ass. Wish my responsibility ended at $55 a week.

No, actually, I don’t. The reward is in watching her grow up, evolve, become more mature, and living vicariously through her zest for life. That’s worth a lot more than money. But the responsibility is crushing at times, any parent who says otherwise is in deep deep denial. Being so responsible for another person’s existence when you can barely manage your own rudimentary existence…that is terrifying and it takes one hella strong person to do it.

I’m still not feeling this life thing. I ran a couple of errands and cleaned my laundry room/cat box area, but beyond that, I haven’t done much. I got one of agonizing stress stomach aches and had to lay flat for the better part of a half hour. Hate that shit, but thankfully it only happens once or twice a month, to that extent. You just learn to live with the gut goblins after awhile. It doesn’t add to the quality of life, that’s for sure. It’s just survival.

The biggest joy in my life these days are the days I don’t take Abilify and when we watch Rob Gavagan’s videos on youtube. He has strange stuff, crime stuff, plus some humor, he’s just funny as hell. He has the personality and charisma I wish I had but simply do not. I don’t agree with everything he says but he never says anything in a way I can’t push it aside and still like him. That’s rare. He makes me and Spook both laugh with his ‘why would you put that on the internet’ series. Making fun of social media fucktards is hysterical. These people either know how ridiculous they are or they are blissfully clueless. I simply cannot fathom anyone being that stupid or unaware, even someone with a detriment so severe they have to wear a helmet. And I would never make fun of the legitimately mentally disabled. But chicks showing pictures of what came out in their pee or people talking about how seeking attention on social media is idiotic, then asking for attention….

Those people make me feel pretty damn good about myself.

Which in the current depressive mental hellscape is no small feat.

If you do check him out, be warned. He swears a lot in some videos, like me, so avoid if that gets your panties in a bunch. We wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s fucking fragile feelings. Or would we…That’s the thing with Rob, even when he’s being offensive, you don’t exactly feel offended, just amused.

Yeah, 404 is about right today. But as long as I can find some Rob Gavagan videos, all is not lost. There is always someone out there more pathetic than my depressed ass and they don’t even have mental illness to explain it.

Cake Balls And River Dancing Oompa Loompas

Posted in anxiety, depression, pms with tags , , , , , on June 5, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My night fucked up my day yet again, so I am running on about 4 hours sleep. Normally this would be adequate for a day or two, but during PMS week (the week after the PMDD cranks down), I am in pain, I am altered, and I am bone weary exhausted. I don’t choose to be, it just is. My back is killing me, like a thousand oompa loopmas river dancing on it. Sitting up or laying down, it just hurts. Sudden movement in any direction makes it worse. I’ve been trying minimal activity since it allegedly helps with cramps, but it ain’t working. NOPE. Today is not going to be a high functioning day, physically or mentally. I was awake for 6 hours during the night and growling into my pillow by hour six with no grogginess and the looming clock where I need to be up with my kid. That is the opposite of restful. Throw in those oompa loompas and again, NOPE.

This physical detriment add to the mental clouds and climbing anxiety. Because I know I should be up and doing stuff but I just can’t work up the wherewithal to put myself in a situation that brings on more pain. This seems logical to me, not lazy, but there are factions who simply won’t back off the notion that movement alleviates the pain. This is one case where the opposite is true. So nope, very little is going to be done today, unless the ibuprofen starts performing levitation and other magic tricks, like being a painkiller.

Spook and I met with the counselor yesterday and for once, the kid clammed up and would barely talk. So I had to kind of take over the entire thing and it made me feel overbearing. I can only imagine what the counselor thought. She goes on maternity leave in a couple of weeks which leaves only a male counselor and Spook is fighting against that hard. The lady wants to play some games with her so they can discuss how to handle the overwhelming emotions that cause her to meltdown or become violent and aggressive. There was talk about oppositional defiance, but I did the research and it just doesn’t really fit. She only rebels against discipline. If she is in cooperative mood, she’s not oppositional at all. But I am sure they will borderline me, and tell me no, the symptoms don’t have to be there all of the time, it can be a part time disorder…Pfft.

My connection keeps cutting in and out, grrr, damn wonky data plan. I better publish before the entire post perishes. Or worse, goes to drafts and gathers cobwebs because, nope, I just don’t have the energy to finish it.

Egad!!!! My dad gave us some ‘cake balls’ a neighbor gave them. I took one bite and it was like sugar overload. Yet I can put down a two liter of Dr. Pepper no problem. Weirdorama.

On a plus note, we have our first weeks’ gas to get Spook to day camp and enable me to seek work. Negative side was gas came first so we’re living on $9 worth of groceries the next two weeks.

Please share, even if you don’t believe in donation. We’d be just as happy with a gas giftcard to one of the chains in town. I just need her to have one good summer of memories and I can’t force anyone to hire me. I am trying my best.

fundraiser boop glasses

Final self depracting yet proud moment of pure narcissism. I took a selfie, and I almost never like them, digital is not kind to people with large pores…But it turned out so good, I am gonna share. I look like a demon off Supernatural and that is way cooler than being pretty.


Oh and meander over to my other blog for some random AF jokes and observations. This is today’s post.

Orange Vanilla Coke, Kid-Free Break, and What Constitutes Narcissism?

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on June 3, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I guess the highlight of my weekend, sadly, was getting to try the new orange vanilla (or vanilla orange) Coke. It was like an orange Dreamsicle in cola, honestly. I enjoyed it, as a change in beverage flavor. I guess it attests to how lackluster my life is that I’d consider that a highlight.

Well, that and I found a new band I like by listening to 98.9 The Rock out of Leavenworth, Kansas. (A station the donor turned me on to, but hey, I keep what is useful from every relationship and do away with what didn’t work for me, it is a pattern.) My sister, of course, has satellite radio in the car she drives, so she’d already heard of Ghost. Leaving me to wonder, why the hell didn’t you tell me about the, bitch? Maybe because the last time I had any true zest for music was 2016 when we started getting into Motionless In White. Since then I’ve been pretty high strung on anxiety so music heightens it and isn’t as enjoyable. Well, neither is doing dishes, so I turned on the radio station. It was worthy burning through the data just to find Ghost and Bad Wolves. Hell, even that Greta Von Fleet song is growing on my like a green stinky fungus. That and when we’re in the car and our ‘agree upon’ station poisons me with repeated examples of audio ipecac called Maroon 5. I am being assimilated, at least to not cringe when Levine starts his girl-like caterwalling.

Oh, yeah, the PMDD is in week 2, so we’re easing into what others would just call severe PMS. The claws are out, and being bitchy is in. Or bitchier than my norm. I’m okay with this.

Yesterday I was met with a rather icky situation which once upon a time, I would have hormonally gone off the rails and started cursing and using bold type and insults and acting like an immature twit. Instead, I spoke clearly and without being Trump-esque and got things sorted. I ended up feeling proud of myself for NOT spazzing out as it means I am growing as a person and learning new ways to cope. Does this qualify as narcissism? I am never sure because my uber insecure low self esteem ridden mother programmed me to think that confidence is conceit, so I was never permitted to take pride in my victories without a guilt trip and lecture on being stuck on myself. That woman did a number on me, for sure. And she still continues to get her digs in except now she has dementia and is facing a breast biopsy so I have to be ‘understanding’ and not get hurt or pissed off when she calls me out for saying inane shit like, “I’m rocking this single mom thing.” She never did get sarcasm. Of course, I am NOT mom of the year, I let my kid sing along to Coal Chamber’s “Sway”. Like she’s never heard the word motherfucker.

Speaking of the spawn…she spent two nights in town with her grandma and aunt, leaving me to my own devices. I did a little housework,but more triage than accomplishing anything beyond some dishes and laundry. I know it’s ridiculous to so dread dragging out that hell machine called a vaccuum, but I do. It doesn’t seem to matter how many models I get, I loathe them all. Noisy, clunky, I get tripped on the cord, I yank the plug from the wall and thus a ten minute task becomes a half hour of cursing and battling the hell machine. It needs to go back to the pits of hell with its maker, Satan.

Today the spawn will return, though I am not sure if sis will bring her back or if I am to go get her. I am trying not to use gas any more than I have to for excess trips to town but it doesn’t always work in my favor.

Which brings me to what I posted about, vaguely, the other day. Now I try to mind my own business, right up to the point something negatively impacts me, then I tend to rant. Well, this time, it was my useless pothead antisocial (he has tons of friends but his entire attitude is fuck everyone but those who kiss his ass and buy him shit) brother in law. He got some guy he works with to cosign a loan on a $15,000 motorcycle, even though their house has a caved in room upstairs and it was why their son moved out. His entire bedroom was caved in and water drained in during every rain. They cried they couldn’t afford to fix it. Never mind there’s 5 people in the house making at minimum one thousand dollars a month. That’s over six grand more than even my dad has coming in every month yet they still can’t even get groceries regularly. Probably because they have to have new vehicles bought on credit and superfluous shit like brand name clothes and satellite radio.

I digree. Last year, when we moved, I had my internet in my sister’s name since the donor left me with a big bill when he left and I couldn’t get cable net in my name. (I was still in my high horse ‘hell not to dsl’ snob phase then.) During the move, I used my phone as a hotspot since we didn’t have internet the first two months here, and I thought I disconnected service at the trailer. Turns out, you HAVE to do that by phone. By the time I realized this (I was soo out of it last year during the move and after it.) they had left the service on and the bill was over $230 plus the fee for the modem. My sister got a notice and they started harassing her by phone and it took her credit score down 70 points. Rather than handle it discreetly, she dragged the whole family and her friends in on it, so I had them all guilt tripping me for them not being able to afford the roof repair. I busted ass for two weeks budgeting ( I was getting child support then) to repay that and return the modem and get things straight. I felt absolutely terrible and shitty and low as pond scum. And she just kept feeding it, texting every day how I kept them from getting a roof.

A year later, they still have no roof, he’s got his dream motorcycle (“He was so tired of working for nothing, we were afraid he’d quit his job so maybe this will make him keep it.” OMFG, could she be more of a doormat for this so called man?) Omg, I get NOTHING out of life outside the occasional yard sale find or a dollar lipstick from China or dollar tree. I’m not giving up. I have my own place, I am providing best I can for my child, sometimes, life is this way and just because you work or have an income does not mean you get to have whatever your dream is. Losing our internet was my nightmare but you do what you gotta do. And having fundraisers to the point that even friends start turning against me was NEVER my intent but it is what I’ve sank down to doing. It doesn’t seem to do any good, but I didn’t stay afloat in all the depressions by lacking in tenacity.

But yeah, that was why I went off the deep end, him getting his dream motorcycle after she dragged me through guilt hell over an honest mistake I busted ass to correct. She had me feeling so goddamn low…Yet he can put them in debt for the next 5 years for a crotch rocket when he had been driving someone else’s Harley for several years. (His buddy was hiding it there to keep his ex from claiming rights in a divorce, these are super shady people, probably up the donor’s alley.) But yeah, when it negatively impacts me I get bent. Now I am just gonna butt out and watch the cookies crumble. Because even when he gets his way, he gives up on responsibility and work. He was so fucking lazy he couldn’t even get disability despite having an antisocial personality diagnosis and doctor to sign off on it. He thought it was too much paperwork and too hard.

So my sister wonders why I have such an attitude about his bullshit and her catering to him, but before she met him, she was my little sister, but she was a badass, and my idol. I looked up to her, as much as she did to me. It’s hard to see her giving into the misogynistic gender rules where men are superior to women, we used to fight that mentality tooth and nail. Then comes along Romeo Deadbeat and she gives up her guitar, her artwork, and spends her life raising his kid, caring for the elderly moms (though she gets paid for that, wish someone would pay me for taking care of who I already live with) and sometimes going hungry so he could have Code Red, Marlboros, weed, and his video games. It sickens me even if it is none of my business, but mostly because it took her identity from her in such a profound way.

At least in my case it wasn’t men and failed relationships that changed me. It’s been the depression and anxiety and manic episodes. I’m still me deep down. Whereas she allowed herself to be convinced she was no good at art or guitar but surprise, she really was talented. I will never be okay with any man so selfish as to turn a woman into a husk of her former self.

Then to top it off, I tried to text my sister but ended up with her little friend texting me, telling me how they bought this for my kid and that for her, and they got her take out and happy meals and clothes. Meaning once again, my name is mud because I can’t buy her love. Thing is, I don’t want to. I grew up rough. One year I owned two pairs of pants and even though laundered daily, I earned the nickname of Stinky cos they said I didn’t wash them. It was hell. But it didn’t kill me. By the standards I had as a child my kid has it better or at least status quo. So let them buy her affections. Because I know them and in spite of having more money than me, every two weeks or so, they are broke and can’t even say they have cabinets full of food to ensure she eats. I still remember my nephew eating dry cereal as a kid because they couldn’t buy milk yet had soda, smokes, and weed. So…

What am I competing with again?

Either growing up poor-ish will make her stronger or ensure she gets a good education and a good job so she never has to be broke again. It’s sort of win win either way.

Crap, my sister is bringing Spook home but she is gonna have mom with her. Hope they don’t want to come inside cos the living room is a mess, shit on the couch, stuff in the chair, un-hell machined…Maybe I can keep them outside. I just hate letting people into my safe space, they taint it. I know, I am weird as hell. Weird is better than being an instruction manual with legs. Because that’s how some people come off to me. A book without a personality or soul. And that’s me being a judgey bitch but we are entitled to say who ‘does it’ for us and who simply ‘doesn’t’.

I’d give a kidney if I could just stay on topic and write shorter more succinct posts. But then I wouldn’t be ranty lil me if I had an editor in my brain. Being ranty kind of makes me who I am.

Next rant: 18 job rejections in 2 weeks. How do I have any self esteem left?

Burned Up, Burned Out, Just Burned

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health with tags , , , , , , on May 28, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Good news? Burnout is an official medical diagnosis. Bad news? It only applies to job burn out, not the uber legitimate simply burned out from the struggle of life. Because only a job can burn you out. Not a child who is never pleased, who bellows mom mom mom mommy mom mom constantly, complains incessantly, and on top of it all, dealing with asshole family members, inept psych care, and a deadbeat ex who won’t contribute a dime to his daughter’s existence yet goes around telling everyone what a good man he is…

Nope. No way could anyone legitimately burn out and break down from all that. Only a demeaning or demanding job. Pfft. Utter bullshit.

Well, yesterday was bare minimum functional day. I did what I had to but beyond that, I was just exhausted. Start and stop sleep 7 days a week takes a toll and you get bone tired and don’t even have the excuse of hard work to use. So it leads to self loathing and feeling lazy and then I have plenty of people around me to confirm this is how they view me and round and round we go…

Again, no legit burn out from this, either.

Today I have started a load of laundry, washed dishes, put on clean clothes, and fed my kid a very browned omelette cos Julia Child I am not. Now I have 6 baskets of clothes to fold and put away and a football sized lawn to mow by myself with just a push mower. Yay. My kid has been out of school 4 days and one day she spent with my dad til bedtime yet I am already feeling the strain. To my chagrin, she was glued to me and being so overwhelming, I broke down and let her use my tablet even though she just broke her THIRD one. I am scared she will break mine but it would be taking one for the team, so to speak. She still ain’t getting near my laptop or desktop, computers are sacred. Tablet is newer with more bells and whistles but…I grew up on an actual keyboard, not a touch screen, so this is my wheelhouse. I will leave touch screen tech to her generation though she needs a bloody tablet made by the Tonka Tough toy company, she’s a bloody menace.

I am back to focusing on little more than going to sleep. Thanks for that, psych nurse. She stressed me out with all this talk of taking away the one antidepressant that helps. Now I can’t focus on progress when she’s weaning my dose downward and it’s dragging me down with it. I have searched my soul on this matter, trying to find a way to make it my fault, to make her the good guy, and me the overly demanding mental basketcase. It just isn’t true. She is not a good fit. And not having any options speaks volumes about the psych center, doesn’t it? They can’t get good help, they can’t keep the mediocre help they do get, and on the pegacorn occasion they get a great doc, they can’t keep them either. I can think of only ONE good thing about this current psych nurse and that is at least she stopped the revolving door of providers I was going through. Not by choice, mind you, they lost 3 doctors last year alone. But if I could look forward to an appointment or at least not dread it…That would be worth some instability.

What makes me the maddest is not being treated like an individual. This girl is so young and inexperienced, she thinks the book stuff is gospel and she allows zero room for individuality. That is upsetting. Frankly, it pisses me off. She has been the worst of the bunch on this issue and wow, after 9 providers in 15 years, that is saying something. She is a bad fit. I want to call her filthy names and vent my rage but it won’t help my cause. It only makes me look like the bratty bad guy. And I am not. Not this time, anyway. I can be irrational and unfair but this time…I’m not in the wrong. Maybe she isn’t either. Maybe it’s just a very very bad fucking fit. There, I swore a little, all better.

Um…Nope. Still bone weary and exhausted and burned out. I can’t think of a single positive in the next 3 days. Just more of the same. Wake up, get mommed and I’m bored-to death and more housework and cats that are hungry for actual cat food which I have none of. Today they got ramen. I am doing what I can, I didn’t say I liked it.

Now…chill out and wait for the grass to dry enough so I can mow. Before my dad starts in on me about lowering property values cos my lawn looks shitty. Geeze, he doesn’t even own a property over here and my landlord has never said anything to me about it not being mowed within an hour of a rainstorm making it grow half a inch. My dad is a freak, like Hank Hill, only he doesn’t sell propane and propane accesorries. Still a lawnmower obsessed redneck.

No, I don’t have anything good to say about anyone. It’s called PMS. Everyone should have such a severe case every month and then tell me how nasty I am. This is me holding in the nasty. If I let the real venom out to play…I’d lose all 4 of my regular readers.