Archive for seasonal affect disorder

9 Days Til Cryptmas Stops Seeping Through My Walls

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on December 16, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

As usual when my kid goes for a sleepover,I came home, did fuck all, and fell asleep…because I am just drained constantly due to the interrupted sleep, the raising her alone thing, the money stuff, family drama, oh, and let us not forget TRYING TO GET MY TREATMENT RESISTANT DEPRESSION TREATED. I always end up guilt tripping because I am supposed to take my kid free time and turn into some manic cleaning whirlwind and it almost never happens. And it’s ok, I apparently needed to recharge.

I would have been cool sleeping through the night but I woke up at 1 a.m. and my sister and her friend were drunk texting me and saying the spawn just finally went to bed. She’s gonna channel satan tomorrow for sure, tho she will undoubtedly save the grumpiest part for me. What woke me up, honestly, was the insipid background noise of some Hallmark-ish holiday movie. Ion has been forcefeeding the garbage to me since Thanksgiving and while I am sure it is all very heartwarming…ENOUGH. Last weekend I was sick and was watching the holiday gruel simply because I was too sick to do battle with all 13 of our stations. This weekend…I fell asleep to Dateline, but woke to change to IOn when the news was on, nothing to knock you out like holiday shows and…really. Enough with the damn holiday fare. Spook and I’s agreed upon radio station in the car has played nothing but holiday songs since turkey day and it’s maddening. If this is their attempt to get me in the holiday spirit, all they’ve done is make me more irate and bitter and ready for this crap to be over with.

So I got rid of the helliday movie and am watching my usual 2 hours of Major Crimes. Amazing how I somehow am awake at this time everu Saturday, like my body is programmed to wake up in time for this show. It’s a good show, but I’ve seen every episode. Idk, the interrupted sleep thing has become the new norm, annoying as it is. At least the last week after our guardian angels helped make sure we get through the holiday season, I have been sleeping better now that I’m not sweating every morsel of cat food or fretting about Spook having nothing on Christmas morning. Now if I could just STAY asleep six solid hours a few times a week, I think I would feel so much better.

Plus side, the child isn’t home so even if I don’t get back to sleep til dawn, I will be able to sleep past 7 a.m. Oh, wait, probably not, my ass trash father will probably be calling me or doing a surprise drop by to yell at me for not answering the door in a timely fashion…He’s like a plague I can’t escape and living here has made it spread to all my extremities so I can’t find comfort in what used to comfort me. He won’t allow it. I mean, I served my half hour on the phone with him today, listening to him put me down and prattle on about their happenings, you’d think I’ve been punished enough. Since moving here…I walk on eggshells waiting for them to darken my phone line or doorstep because it is never going to result in me feeling better about myself, or even feeling the same. They have to go out of their way to insult me and point out my failings. I’ve been dealing with it 46 years now, you’d think I’d have thicker skin, but…not during the depressions. It’s like my spine hibernates and I’m this floppy spineless creature who allows others to dictate my self worth.

Which is not me. at all. Even removing my ‘validation whore’ label, I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about people liking me. But perfect strangers rarely walk up to recite a litany of my worst hits like my family does…

Has this made any sense?

Oh, whatever. I am feeling the stirrings of joy and relief, not for the holidays but because…in nine days it will all be over for another year and I can breathe. It’s just not what it should be. Immediate family, modest gift exchange, a meal. No, now it’s a bunch of my sister and her husband’s friends and their kids and then there are the meth heads who occasionally appear and, oh,egad, we’re coming up on a year since K hung himself in their basement so even going to their house comes with a certain sadness.

Just make it stop for another year.

I don’t even get excited for gifts because it’s rarely what I asked for and then I end up feeling like shit because I can’t reciprocate…I do this thing out of family obligation and for my child, not for myself.

Nine days. I feel giddy.

I’m the Grinch, I can live with that. Hmm, since we moved, I haven’t seen my green Grinch shirt I usually wear for the holidays…Or my Grinch earrings…

Guess I will just wear my middle finger earrings and my shirt that says ‘I bite.’

Now can I go back to sleep where I don’t have to think about any of this stuff? Holidays make the nightmare about being murdered seem pleasant.


Tis The Season To Hate And Berate…Myself

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on December 15, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I had a sleepless night because we had to be in town first thing today and when I have stuff looming overhead…well, I may have taken my meds at 7 p.m. but I was still awake at 9:30 because, anxiety. My spawn woke me before it was even light outside today. I adapted to this Mon-Fri 6:30 a.m. ish school daywalker thing, but when it’s not even 6 a.m. and I’m awake but not because I haven’t yet slept…Ugh. I told her to go back to bed but she didn’t. I had ninety minutes left before the alarm so I did go back to sleep…for 40 minutes, but she was so excited to go to town and about sleeping over at grandma’s, I was doomed no matter what on the ‘sleeping in’ front.

So we got our task over with and I dropped her at Grandma’s, so Grandma could tell her that I am a good mother and she should be grateful to me, only in the next breath to criticize me and say it’s my fault for ‘letting’ my kid behave rudely. HUH??????? I ground her, take away electronics, put her to bed early. The only things I don’t do is use food as punishment or spank her. The kid has a mind of her own, always has, and this ‘we don’t let her get away with that sort of thing’ is bullfuckingshit. But hey, they’re the ones who don’t mind going hungry as long as they spend money on ‘fun’ stuff and what 9 year old is going to mind for the fun people they only occasionally see yet be an ass to the party pooper fun stomping full time parent. Blarggg.

I can only take so much of my family, and especially my mother. She’s got early stage dementia so I try not to be too harsh but I also remember how she has critiqued me my whole life without any regard to my mental disorders so…I stay away from her and my dad, both, every therapist who ever met them told me and my sister they were toxic and to be avoided for our own mental well being.

I thought coming home to peace and quiet would be a nice change.

Then my dad called. And he got in on the berating, claiming no one in town will rent to me, which is asinine. We had 2 weeks to move, I didn’t exactly have time to interview landlords, not that a reference helps when you don’t have the bloody money. But he started in on me and went on for 20 minutes…and this is how self absorbed they all are, I’ve half tuned out and just occasionally mumbled, “Hmm, uh huh…” and they don’t even notice. The only time it is about me is when there are criticisms and insults to be made. Otherwise, my place is to shut up, take the abuse, and listen to whatever they have going on without mentioning my own situation because HELLO WE ALREADY COVERED THAT NIKI DOES NOT MATTER OUTSIDE BEING SPOOK’S MOTHER.

The only saving grace now I can pray for is that both factions are done berating me and making my hate myself for this day. I am serious, when I fall into these depressions and the anxiety reaches fever pitch as it has recently…I cease to be a woman about to turn 46 who isn’t reliant on any family faction for anything and suddenly, I am a helpless 13 year old again, with no choice but to put up with their insults and if I defend myself it will make things worse and tuning them out is only effective half the time but then I get to stew over their words in my own head for hours and days…These are people I’d probably wave at, maybe say hello to, but sure as hell would not CHOOSE to associate with because they’re ignorant and say stupid racist shit like ‘he’s nice for a black guy’ or ‘she’s nice for a lesbian’ and oh, yeah, dad’s faction flies the confederate flag and my sister is essentially a damn handmaid only her job is to serve mom and her own husband as opposed to having babies so hell to the fuck no am I down with that domestic goddess clean freak thing…

So if they are so different from me, and so toxic…why does it hurt so much when they put me down? Why, at my age, do I still give even a minute fuck? And therein lies the rub that not even 33 years of therapy has managed to explain aside from that whole genetic bond family love (gag with a spork, ugh!) thing.And the truly insulting thing is that I care more at 46, relying on neither parental faction for anything, than when I literally was a child at their mercy. But again, ONLY when the depression soaks in and turns me into this whiny weak fragile thing that I despise so thoroughly. Because this is a small facet of my personality. I didn’t survive being a metal chick in the country music redneck pit of hatred by being a shrink violent who allowed others to dictate her self worth. Is it possible that as I become more mature and evolved by society’s standards, it is actually a process of devolving for me?

How I wish all the times I escaped from this state I could have been stable enough to afford to stay away. Because if I only had to deal with my family a few days a year and had a chance to miss them, well, then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling like the sniveling little bitch I am now. Oh, I’m nearing 50 and my mommy still calls me a bitch, boo hoo…Actually, that’s a bad example because bitch is totally complimentary to me. Oh, but when she rags on my parenting skills…EEEEVIL woman. Like the joke about the southern bells who put you down just by saying, ‘bless your little heart’.

I need all this garbage out of my head. I need to remember who I am, who I have always been, I’ve been so focused on growing up ( not that a man walking out and leaving you with a small child to care for really gives you much choice) that I think I’ve inadvertently quashed some parts of ‘immature’ me that were in fact quite badass and mentally healthy. So while the parental poison circulates through my system today, I think I will also give myself the best gift possible:

Forgiveness for being such a screw up that my parents are so harsh on me. I forgive me. I’ve tried to do my best, I continue trying to do my best, and frankly, pleasing these people is never going to happen so…

Maybe one day I can get their toxixity out of my system and…learn to like myself a little more.

Because hey, I’ve made some good friends on line who see me as more than, well, whatever derogatory term my family is hurling at me today. Maybe they see something in me, through my writing, that my family never will because…they consider being forced to read a punishment.

2019 resolution: try to get back to being me, including the good parts who aren’t afraid to say, “Go to hell if you don’t like it.” That 13 year old girl I used to be had moxie.

She was also an idiot who frequently got crushes on gay men without a clue as to why that wasn’t really going to work out.

So I’ll keep the mature stuff but if being able to stand up for myself and say ‘fuck you’ means learning to like and accept myself as a flawed but semi decent person…

I think I’m on the right track.

Still wouldn’t turn down the option to relocate far, far away from here. Just sayin’.

Depression’s Hideous Truth

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on December 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I am accustomed to the seasonal affective depression that comes with fall and winter and the weather extremes the midwest os prone to. I will face off with the fact that not having a dime to buy my kid’s Christmas or feed my cats, was messing with my head and making me very black and bleak. I have tried with all my might to find joy in the small things, gratitude in the amazing kindness people have shown us, and I have tried to shut out the misery of too much sensory input from both my child and my family.

The bottom line is….

It’s. too. much.

I am in a depression, be it seasonal or clinical or financial or whatever other asinine label you want to slap on it. Of course, I am thankful we are in good health, we have a roof overhead, food in our bellies, and super kind generous friends whom we treasure very, very much. I’m sorry if the smile never quite reaches my eyes. It’s depression. Depression is an ungrateful, unhappy high strung bitch who can find fault with everything and everyone, especially in myself.

I had this wondermous dream last night where I went to court with a different legal rep and got a different judge, who looked at the evidence of absenteeism in the child’s life so the judge agreed he gave away the priviliege of being a father so no rights for visitation but total financial responsibility til she’s 18. It made me wonderfully gleefully happy and waking up was a bummer. And it is necessarily punitive or hateful towar the donor. It’s just that I have so little validation in my day to day life, THIS is the one area I know I haven’t messed up or failed at. I never walked away from our child, never checked out with a trip to the hospital or ditched her with family so I could go ‘find myself’ minus all the stress. I’ve been here since day one and no matter how many pieces I break into, every single piece remains with Spook, for better or worse. And I think getting ‘good ole boy’ country lawyer who goes out of his way to seek out the donor cos ‘I’d hate to see him charged with contempt of court’ and this pissy half narcoleptic judge (seriously, what judge says here, have visitation, even if you haven’t seen the kid in 7 years and they don’t know who you are, no trauma there!), I just feel invalidated, betrayed, ignored, stomped on. Having a dream where two different legal entitities validated the strength and hard work it’s taken for me to remain with my child in spite of my own own mental health issues…it was magical. How sad is that?

Though on the heels of the dream where I was trapped in a small town bar with my sister and her friends and no money even for a soda and no way to leave thus totally trapped and out of my element…I suppose the bar for ‘good dream’ wasn’t set too high.

I don’t know when I became such a whore for validation. Maybe when the ‘like’ button became the internet’s way of letting your know if you’re relevant and worthy. I used to give very few fucks. Then again, maybe being a mom suddenly made me think I should at least half ass care what others think as they are the powers that be who could deem me unfit.

I just want to go back to when I was a depressed mom whose every thought revolved around ‘is it bedtime yet’…and I didn’t feel like a monster for it. Because a few months later once the seasons shifted, I came out of it and bounced back to life, so I know it isn’t forever. I guess living in Armpit, above our current child support-less means, makes it seem hopeless and eternal.

This isn’t to diminish the kind things that have been for us, at all. Depression simply doesn’t care if you think it’s pretty or smart or interesting or grateful even. What it does is tell you repeatedly every hour you are awake is that you are unworthy of any kindness or generosity and that the only thing you have to forward to in the future, is death. At which point the world will throw a parade and I won’t even be there to blow up their floats with a sarcastic middle finger 😦

It’s 3:12 p.m. My kid’s been out of school for almost 3 hours and 90% of that time she has had company. There is a lull in the bickering at the moment but I walk on eggshells waiting for my respite to end. Waiting until she becomes so controlling toward her friend and disagreeable that I have to be the bad guy and say playtime’s over for the day.

That there is another thing people don’t consider when you’re the primary caregiver of the children. There’s no good or bad guy parent, you are both, and you get far more grief for being the bad guy than credit for being the good guy. Doesn’t always make you feel loved even when you know deep down you are doing the right thing.

So…4 hours mimimum til I can begin to think about bedtime. I am ready now. I got my kid off to school and home, she’s had playtime, she’s been fed, and my dad chewed me out over…something, I’ve just been tuning out…Now, I get to eventually go to sleep and hope at least 1 phase of my sleep is pleasant even if 99% is nightmares.

My favorite dream is the one where I’ve started writing again and am deeply engrossed in new characters and a new storyline and….life feels like it’s worth a damn.

They call it a dream for a reason, I guess.

Sinking Ship, Scurrying Rats

Posted in depression, mental health with tags , , , , , , on December 14, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Not that I celebrate anyone being bummed out, but a fellow blogger recently confirmed what I had thought all along: it doesn’t matter how many followers you have, if you stop writing juicy content for the mindless sheep to chew on, they scurry like rats on a sinking ship. I was willing to think perhaps it was just me, because I’m not known for juice content, just lots of foul language, depression, anxiety and occasionally I am funny. Acquired taste, so to speak. But it made me feel less crappy to know that IT ISN’T US BLOGGERS AS MUCH AS IT IS PEOPLE BEING ADHD SHALLOW READERS.

I write an angry yet inadvertently humorous post, I am told I am entertaining. I write about how financial constraints are turning me into a basketcase, snooooooze, whiny bitch, hand out queen. I ooze how much I love my kid and cats, ugh, too cutesy and mooshy and ‘attempting to manipulate with cute pictures and heart string tugs.” I write a disdainful-of-famous-people post and I am both offensive but entertaining. People say ‘keeping doing you’ but then I see who my hardcore followers are, the same 4 or 5 names who bother to click like several posts a week and while I don’t expect anyone to hang on my every word or even half ass follow my often rambling incoherent posts…The die hard readers have let themselves be known and the ones who may not be able to read all the time, have let me know, in email or otherwise, that they care.

It is THESE people I write for. Maybe it’s hit or miss, but it’s always for real. That being said…

I solved my bad my mom blues dilemma the other night by falling on my sword and asking if we could get a ride with dad and stepmonster. This lead to them harshly criticizing my child and me for our anxiety issues, our fashion choices, and my dad even saw fit to go on a tirade about the state of my back yard. Which honestly I haven’t seen since the season of leaves, rain, snow, ice, and mud began 2 months ago. The darkness and traffic reminded me why I was willing to fall on that sword, just sitting in it had me panicking. Then a gym full of hundreds…I took out my MP3 player and popped one ear bud in, hoping my badass metal music would make me feel less like a deer trapped in headlights and more, well, bad ass. I was also using my phone to take pictures, and record the program since mom and sis couldn’t be there…

Only to get home and find out I had no pics, no video, THANKS TO MY ASS TRASH FAILING MICRO SD CARD. I was both mad and sad because I’ve always gotten at least a pic (I only had a flip phone til last year) of my kid’s holiday program and yet I came home with nothing. “Media server failed.” “You can’t access this video.” “SD card is corrupted.” GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. I braved the madness, the panic, the parental people, and didn’t even get a pic of my kid. Oh, well, at least I got to go to sleep that night with my mom dignity in tact as opposed to the self flogging I would have given myself had I said fuck it, let’s not go. (I don’t think she would have minded, a friend sent her a bunch of Magic Tracks and magnetic toys and such and she’d have been happy staying home to play with them.)

FYI, If you read this and I have referenced you as a friend yet not linked to your blog isn’t rudeness, it is because I just don’t know protocol for this sort of think. Some want to remain anon, some don’t mind a plug and picking up a new reader or whatever. JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT THE LINK. Happy to do it.

So… our wondermous friend who sent Spook the toys in the mail and has also been helping feed and litter our cats, has no idea how wonderful her gift is. She said she hoped my kid didn’t mind it being used but um, we live off yard sales and auctions, so we kind of like used stuff better. And my kid is so mega creative and I am so pun-ishingly punny…

I was feeling goofy (hey, a week without your meds when you’re bipolar kind of does that) and every time the little LED cars rearended each other, I’d yell MAYHEM and ask if she had Allstate insurance.
Without me ever suggesting it, she started playing with the magna-whatevers,magnetic toys…and she made A BLOODY TARDIS WITH THE DOCTOR INSIDE!!!!

I guess just having a Tardis poster on my bedroom door inspired her. Oddly, when I was a kid, I had a Freddy Kruger poster on my bedroom door and it only horrified my sister.

I am still fighting the depression, but every day closer to the holidays means…I am a day closer to being rid of this yearly misery! The saving graces have been the kind actions of people who donated or sent us things we had to have or both. You guys are the most awesome friends Spook and I could ever hope for. And those in our boat who can only offer up words of support, you can’t know how much that means to us, either. I think my big pressure right now is just all the family bullshit and infighting and backstabbing. Oh, and my sister, who lives in a house with 7 other people, all combining their income, so of course, her and mom get to spend exorbitant amounts on my kid and their own gifts to each other. (Oddly, I’m never included, but being an acquired taste, it’s ok, I did’t want what I actually asked for, anyway.HUH?)

I have been battling acid reflux lately, which only serves as a reminder of my age. 45 may be the new 25, but I can’t have food after 6 p.m. without agony, apparently. Though yesterday it started after I ate at 5 p.m. so maybe it’s holiday stress related, Idk, I am just not used to being in physical agony for hours and begging my child ‘hit me hard enough in the back that I burp, it hurts so bad!” Humbling and humiliating.

In a shocker, I stumbled across two pics of Spook when she was small that I thought were lost forever cos I tend to save to hard drives and then of course, it dies, the phone is outdated, and stuff gets lost. These pics were taken at the trailer when she was 4 and omg, I love my daughter so much, but I occasionally miss that innocent age. When she hated me on tantrum, not principle.

My beautiful picture

First day of Pre-K before she ever got glosses or had her hair chopped off (her choice on the hair, tho not til years after my dozens of lice battles, grrr.)

My beautiful picture

She gets out early today, like 4 hours early. Not sure what we are gonna do with the weekend. I HAVE 4 trips to town next week I have to make for appointments and such. At some point, I need to get her Christmas presents bought. Oh, and clean the house, put up the stupid gargantuan tree. Oh, fuck, bathing. I miss my fucking shower, this bath tub thing sucks. Especially since I had to knock the thermostat down 5 degrees in hopes of lowering the heat bill.

I need one of these things.

$299. LMFAO. As if. But hey, entering menopause, never able to be quite warm enough or cool enough…I wouldn’t say no if the company wanted to give me one to do a review on its efficacy. Unless it does that creepy GPS thing that relays what position I am in and what transportation I am using at that moment.

But then again,if given one for free…

I’d probably be so paranoid I’d put it on the cat and say, here’s your data, bitches. Wonder what the location for ‘popping in the litter box’ translates into.

Wake Me When 2018 Is Over

Posted in depression with tags , , , , on December 11, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

So, ya know how TV does these ‘year end wrap up’ shows to cover what all happened during the year? I’m gonna do that, with this post. Because I want everyone to know that 2018 has been a bitch and kicked my ass on numerous fronts so if I am a bummer to anyone, well, too bad.

New Year’s Day 2018-my sister found her brother in law had hanged himself in their basement during the night. AFTER spending two days in a so called ‘behavioral treatment’ program at a hospital because apparently, depression and bipolar are all now lumped with kleptomania and aubstance abuse and it’s behavior related as opposed to the fact it’s because of AN IMBALANCED BRAIN. They kept him two days, sent him home with a script, knowing he didn’t have a dime to his name and couldn’t get it filled til after the holiday, anyway, and he killed himself. He was only a couple of years older than me. His mother’s health has declined to the point that she just talks frequently about making sure his ashes are buried with her when she passes. No one can bear to go to that basement, they still live in that house.

Around the that time we were told, after months of me asking the landlord of rumors of him selling out to a big corporation were true and him saying absolutely not…they did indeed sell out and we were left with a couple of weeks to find a new home, after being there 9 years and never once paying late. But we couldn’t buy in to the newly forced ‘ownership’ only set up so…we ended up in Armpit. Only the original place we agreed to rent, the elderly landlord ‘forgot’ and rented to someone else. So there we were on a cold rainy Sunday with my old Buick on its last legs and dad’s pick up jammed with half our packed belongings…and we had nowhere to go, thanks to the ditzy landlord.

So we ended up with another one of his properties, though when it was shown, it had been abandoned by the prior tenants and they had left behind dirty litter boxes and rotting food so I didn’t see it as salvageable. And I wasn’t happy because it cost 1/3 more than the place we had seen and wanted and he rented out from under us. But we got this place and I had the Salvation Army willing to donate $100 toward rent to help us out but the landlord refused to fill out the paperwork and said, “No, once you let people do it once, then they start using it all the time.” Um, NO. And he wouldn’t go with the income based rent due to the place not passing inspection without him doing mega repairs so…

The donor had not paid support in months. Then it started again. Then it stopped. Then it started. Then it stopped and meanwhile, I am juggling all these bills, trying to keep my kid fed and clothed, and battling my third mental health practitioner because my center can’t keep help. None of the meds seemed to be helping. Gabapentin made me feel stoned and sickly, Effexor caused suicidal thoughts. And living so close to my dad and their intrusions was playing hell on my anxiety disorder. My kid was miserable, transferring to a school that while in the boondocks, their curriculum is pretty strenuous so she’s a C student with only 2 friends whereas in town she was an A student with a dozen little friends around every day.

Oh, and during all of this, my dad got us a different car cos the Buick was just on her last leg. They paid for the fees and everything, and I accidentally cracked their windshield using their vehicle during the move, so I’m indebted to them for about two grand and they don’t ever let me forget it. They were on my ass all summer because I am not as obsessed with lawnwork as everyone else in this place is. I swear my dad had a ruler, measuring when my lawn got an 1/8 inch over city ordinance and he’s not even on the town board, he’s just a fucking lawn freak.

Our air quit during the height of summer.

The car had to have a brake job.

And the donor stopped paying again, stopped communicating with the lawyer, won’t even sign off on the visitation paperwork for the court.

I started doing ok towards September. By the third week of October, my seasonal affect disorder came in like a band of ninjas and kicked my ass. The abrupt weather changes, 64 on December 1rst, yet we’ve already had two school snow days…GRRRRR. I can’t get my feet under me.

I dared to broach a topic on text with my sister last night about something that was bothering me. Well, she brought a third person in on it, and it turned into a whole family drama in which I had been told wrong by my dad and them and they were just trying to start drama, so I ended up feeling like a total asshole…I really love my family but honestly, they are all so two faced and backstabbing, it’s like living in a fucking soap opera. I’m waiting to see how just venting to my own sister is going to further bite me on the ass. Because she brought the third person in, and then the info I was given came from dad via stepmonster and OMFG, why do I even bother trying with this bunch?

I just got my current power bill. $249. How the fuck am I supposed to pay that by December 28th when I don’t even get my check til after??????I thought this place would cost less to heat (and it was 3/4 gas costs, not electricity) than the uninsulated trailer. I was freezing when I woke up but when I got to thinking about that bill, I turned the furnace down 5 notches and now I am REALLY cold in spite of long sleeves, pants, socks, etc.

The state still shrugs cos they claim they have no records of the owner being back to work. I would like to know how he’s kept an apartment and a car licensed and insured going on 4 months if he doesn’t have any income.

We’ve had a lot of kind people make some great donations/gifts and we are so grateful for you guys doing this. But due to this heating bill and still no child support, I am still going to keep the fundraiser going. Maybe next summer if it comes to fruition and they actually open a restaurant here like they say they are, I can get in on the ground floor as a server or something. I’m not stable but I am not unwilling to try to help myself by working for extra income. I just can’t really afford any more bad references cos this is a small area and I’ve burned so many bridges, I need a boat. And oddly, it was only during my depressive bouts during winter when I fell apart and my work ethic died. The employers are happy to comment about my awesomeness during mania. But they have to mention that every six months or so I pretty much stop bathing or being focused or finishing things in a timely manner and I get down sick with my nerves and miss work…THUS being granted disability, even the powers that be could see I’d suffered brain damage after the Nardil incident and was no longer qualified even for things I’d been doing my whole life. No excuses. Just fact. And within the last month we’ve both been down with coldbola and flubola, and I had my PMDD and…2018 has just sucked. EMPATHY, not sympathy. I know people without mental health disorders or money issues who would have fallen apart going through half of this shit we have dealt with in the last 12 months. I may only be running on 3 of my 8 cylinders, but it counts.

I would still like to raise at least $65 more dollars so the cats are fed and littered til the end of the month and my kid has a few chintzy things under the tree and we have gas in the car but honestly…I am over 2018. And this is all without even mentioning politics, dear God, if I include that, I’m going to go down some fucking bleach.

Spook and I have been through the wringer and it shows no sign of letting up any time soon. So not sorry if I am a bummer. That I have any humor left at all is what should be commented on.

Wake me when 2018 is over.

Though January 1,2019 is going to be tough for the family, anniversary of K’s suicide so…

Damn it, could one or two things just go right and maybe give us a little hope?
If you can help, PLEASE. If you would share, PLEASE.

I’m going to put on another layer of clothing. Just knocking down the heat 5 degrees really made it get cold in here. Brrr. May be time to dig out my footed pajamas.

YES. I’m about to turn 46 and I still will wear footed jammies if I am cold. I rock the purple ones like a demented Tinky Pinky. 🙂



While writing this, a surprise donation came in that took us over the top of our whole goal!!!!! We are so grateful, and feeling so blessed, and I’d love to say I will never reference Slipknot’s “People Equal Shit” because I’ve seen there are some great ones out there…But I am me and I will grumble inevitably. Just over the bad apples, though. Spook and I are so thankful!!! We can have Christmas, care for our cats a little longer, and even get a headstart on that backbreaking heat bill.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love everyone who reads my writing, who has commented, who has shared our plight, who has donated. We are so blessed to have you all in our lives! And yeah, me and Spook are a package deal, so it is our lives. ❤

Still going to leave the fundraiser up. I’m looking for a new lawyer to deal with the donor, that requires funds, who knows. That this miracle happened for us…I’m starting to think I might just see a sleigh and reindeer Christmas Eve.

Words cannot express our gratitude. Much love to you all.



And a partridge in a pear tree (but not Bonaduce)

Posted in depression, mental health with tags , , , , , on December 10, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I was going to write but instead, I ended up going with this. I won’t hold grudges if you can’t bear another 4 minutes of my grumbling, but honestly, after 4 attempts to make a video only to have my Droid tell me ‘out of space’ or ‘media server failed’…Be grateful I bothered to post at all. When I am aggravated, all I want to do is stomp on things with my stylish yet fierce combat (so my mom calls them) boots.

A pair of $39.99 boots from Amazon have lasted 4 years. Longer than $1250 worth of cars. Not that I ever had that much for any car, but a wreck that paid off got me one for $750 then there was the $100 dad gave me and the $400 my car mom gave me. I’m on car 5, but still these boots. Gotta say, this manufacturer and seller rocked the casbah, but then I didn’t ‘drive’ them every day. 🙂

Meaningful words later. Promise. Maybe a cute but short Spooky video.

For now, you get me and Godsmack and at least she’s pretty.

I named my cat Godsmack, so what? Good band. Awesome cat.

9 Degrees, The Joy Of A Cordless Phone Battery, And I’d Kill For A Dr. Pepper

Posted in depression, mental health with tags , , , , on December 7, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, the spawn has recovered from flubola and returned to school. I dared step outside and the single digit temperature about knocked me on my ass, now my sinuses are draining and of course, I am out of my prescription anti histamine pills that help but…this week I have actual tissues, yayness! I was starting to feel like a weirdo keeping a roll of toilet paper in my bedroom and living room. The sudden drop from 20 degrees to 9 degrees also explains why I felt so damned chilled during the night (traumatized by the trailer, of course, I went to make sure the furnace was actual working). At least we didn’t get any more snow and ice. I still haven’t chiseled out the car from what we got yesterday.

Santa visited us yesterday, in the form of a package from a friend. Thanks to her Spook will have one toy for Crhistmas she likes, I will have the bedsheets that don’t make me break out, we will be well Melatonin-ed and…FINALLY GOT A CORDLESS PHONE BATTERY. I’m not a phone person but it was actually cheaper to get the bundle of phone and internet and for months, I barely used the damn thing but then my dad starts calling two, three times a day, wanting to yammer on and on and on, and I had a 40 foot cord so I could move around while half listening to him drone on but I kept tripping over the cord and it was honestly irritating as hell.

Inside the box was a note from our friend that said, “Have a battery, how exciting.”

S, you have no clue how excited I was to get that battery! I hate being given perfectly functional items then not being able to use them cos I can’t buy a battery. I was really very excited! Also the cordless has caller ID so it will be way easier to dodge telemarketers and my dad. Woo hoo! Some of us really do value practical gifts, though if my dad gives me another ice scraper this year, I may smack him with it. I want a magnetic screwdriver, I don’t have one of those 😉

So to our friend, S, our personal Santa who made a very awful day less awful…we love you and appreciate you more than words can say!

I was asked why I always have to have certain bedsheets, not brand, but texture, and it’s because all my skin allergies mean these ‘faux satin’ sheets are the only ones that do not aggravate my skin. And I only get them once a year or once every two years, and black, well, I am the stainmaster 3000, so I avoid pale colors for my own good. It’s not being a princess, it’s just a matter of comfort. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you crap about thread count or if sheets are made out of Egyptian cotton. I just know this fabric does not make me itch and that is why I always ask for them for Christmas. Merci, S, you’re wondermous! Yeah, my family isn’t known for listening to me, they give me what they think I should have, which is why I have about 2 dozen forks and butter knives but only six spoons. When someone actually listens to me saying “I need/want this” , it means a lot. I’m just so accustomed to being blown off, being ‘heard’ really feels amazing.

Dr. Pepper. Yes. Want. I can’t stand coffee though I am drinking Tetley British Blend ICED tea (I can feel the British people recoiling in horror at ice in the tea) but…I would kind of kill for a Dr. Pepper, or maybe just bitch slap someone. But the change I keep on hand for my weekly soda has to go to buy a money order to pay my water bill because apparently Armpit village officials are too fucking stupid to handle cash. WTF? And I know soda is a silly little thing, but ya know, when you’ve given up your other vices, can’t afford your prescriptions, and just feel like, Ugh, can I die already…The cheer of a fizzy yummy drink can often help. At this point I’d settle for generic soda left uncapped in the fridge overnight. On the soda thing, I am spoiled, I guess.

On the grand scale of things to be spoiled by, I’m like not even a blip on the screen, when you consider people who have to have phones and game systems that cost hundreds of dollars. But society is going to make me feel bad for any little vice that brings me joy (except maybe pot, now it’s legal so many places, it’s frowned upon less than having an actual cigarette). I’d just rather have my meds for the month, they don’t lower my IQ like my past dabbles with pot did.

I have a ton of housework I should be doing. But until we get these foster cats rehome, I can’t see putting up that monstrosity of a tree only for them to knock it over and tear it apart. I’ll set my small goals, like bathing, and the rest can…fester, I’m just glad my kid isn’t suffering and I am not cleaning up her suffering.

Holy shit, this show is demonstrating an Android, not connected to any network, and just by agreeing to their TOS, you’re allowing them to track your movements, down to what transportation you’re using, even a bicycle. This is so Orwellian. I was creeped out enough when I went to Walmart and my phone alerted me the wifi network there is open, then for three days I was given Walmart ads on everything. Is this truly necessary? I find it frightening and am seriously going to rethink my permissions, do I need to know the weather forecast so badly that I’m gonna agree to let Google know if I am upright and walking with my phone or laying down tilting my phone sideways..Only comfort is, maybe the $29.99 prepaid models don’t have such fancy tracking features…

I am more and more leaning toward the notion of taking my kid to some remote part of Africa where we can commune with leopards and monkeys off the grid. This Orwellian culture is not healthy for someone with paranoia issues. My kid was like, “But, mom, the leopards could kill us!”

And I’m just like, “Hey, the leopard is running on instinct and survival, I’d rather die by leopard than have some ignorant biased human use a gun to kill me cos I don’t agree with their politics.”

I never denied having a very…unique…perspective on things.

Like then fact I think I’d have a better chance reasoning with a leopard to save my life as opposed to certain political fanatics.

I went there. Not sorry.