Archive for seasonal affect disorder

I’d Give Anything Not To Feel This Way Anymore

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

I have been struggling to get to sleep at night. It’s been taking longer and longer. Sleep is my only solace. Of course, I have been waking at 6 a.m., unable to get back to sleep, so I climb out of bed with dread, thinking, “Damn, at least 14 hours til I can go back to sleep.” This has been my mental state off and on for so long now, it’s become frustrating and a source of its own depression. There was a month or so on the Abilify that I was starting to ‘come out’ of that mind frame, but the side effects made it impossible to stay on it, even with the pending good result. That was a tough call to make, too, choosing whether I wanted to keep feeling better, or if I simply could not handle all the side effects impacting me physically. Having to make such a choice is a hell of its own.

Today is passing in snail time. My kid seems to be doing well on her new ADHD med and she is super excited for her birthday Wednesday and her party on Sunday. She is super amped up on her current slime obsession. I love hearing her be so happy but I can’t help but feel lousy that I don’t exude the same joy. I try to plaster on the happy face, be a supportive, loving mom, but I feel like I fall short. She deserves better. But I can’t do better right now, I am only 3 days into a new med, and 3 days in to coming off a med that was at least getting me out of bed, now the nurse has yanked that rug out from under me. It could be weeks before I notice a difference IF it is going to make one, even.

So I am in this hellish limbo. My nerves only calm down after dark, but by then, I am so exhausted and it takes so long to slow my mind enough to sleep, I start stressing over not being able to nod off because morning comes quick with a young child. It’s like there is nothing in my life right now not causing me some level of stress and anxiety.

I truly would give anything to not feel this way anymore. To feel so helpless, so hopeless, to have a mind so dark and cluttered, to spend every moment dreading being awake, breaking out in hives with anxiety, experiencing gross physical effects brought on by the stress and panic…

It’s not so easy as rubbing a magic lamp and asking a genie for your wishes. It’s not as simple as people telling you to grow up and bullying you out of the mental state.

I am TERRIFIED of the way I am feeling now that we are nearing a season change next month and that is usually when my seasonal affective depression kicks in and takes me down a rabbit hole for months. And the conservative psych regime does not care, less is more for them. They are ruining my mental health and my life with their good intentions. I am not even excited for Halloween, which normally by this time of year, I am already dragging out the decorations to see what is still reusable. Not this year, I don’t even know if I will decorate. Halloween is my happy time and this damn depression and anxiety are robbing me of that.

Why do people think I choose to feel this way? Why would anyone think you’d want to feel this way? Or that you’d pass up any opportunity or method to stop feeling this bad? Are they that ignorant or simply out of touch with the reality of how serious mental illness truly is?

For now I sit frozen in my safe-ish crypt, unable to accomplish anything because my anxiety and pranoia are so high and I can’t sort through my own thoughts. Hell, I couldn’t even help my kid make slime because the instructions confused my already baffled mind. This is hell on my already tenuous self esteem. I look forward only to my evening routine when it nears dark and I can stop fearing the phone, the door, the unannonced hellish family drop ins, the ringing phone…I can’t even check voice mails anymore, it causes too much panic. Answering the phone if I don’t know the number? NOPE. And sometimes even if I know the number, I’m just not in the shape to have a lucid conversation because my thoughts are so dark and distorted, I think no one could be calling for anything good…

I hate living this way.

All I know how to do is survive.

What scares me is if the day comes when my will to survive is outweighed by all the mental dysfunction. That scares the hell out of me.



Posted in anxiety, bipolar depression, bipolar disorder, disability with tags , , , , , , , on July 30, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve only had my disability claimed reviewed like 3 times.(Probaby be up for it soon.) Which is stressful to the max. But the ONE part that always gets me is when they ask how does your condition impact your daily life to the point it disablws you?

Well, let’s see. There is this from yesterday, a simple trip to Wal-Mart.

My kid has a doctor appointment today and I AM THE ONE WITH ANXIETY, on pins and needles.

My every day starts out with one hour of consciousness before I am counting the hours til bedtime because I can’t stand living in this hopeless dark space.

I no longer feel safe, even in my own home, so I am never calm or reassured.

I have unchecked paranoia born of this anxiety, convinced even the cats are sometimes out to ‘get me’.

It’s omly (nearly) August and I am already in dread and meltdown mode of the upcoming seasonal affective disorder and its crippling months long depression. Which considering I haven’t even managed to conquer the depression during the summer months, normally my happy time, I am PETRIFIED of the darkness I may be facing.

I don’t date. I don’t socialize. I don’t really enjoy much in life. Everything is a fake out, plastering on the smiles and forced conversation so others don’t feel uneasy and don’t think I am an unfit mother.

I am STUCK with a psych nurse who is so inept she can’t even make eye contact with me and does not listen to me, at all. That is disabling in and of itself because that is the ONE person whose responsibility it is to make you feel better, not worse.

See, it’s not any one thing. It’s the whole mish mash combination of situational depression and anxiety on top of the disorders that do hinder my progression in life.

For anyone who does not think this is a disability is ignorant.

How does it impact my life…

Easier question would be, how does it not muck up my life. It’d be a very short list because I can’t even be trusted to practice proper hygiene when I am in these mental states. I already feel emotionally naked, so I guess the thought of being truly naked and bathing and being vulnerable is too terrifying, not to mention exhausting.

My kid has the appointment, I am breaking out in hives.

I am going swimming Friday with her day camp as it is the final day and picnic and they are paying. I will have my curse by then but I will buy the necessary product and I found a swimsuit in the closet that fits and I am terrified of the public but I promised my daughter because it means a lot to her. It will take a lot out of me but..failing her in big ways is not an option. I fail her daily in so many little ways. Like not being happy happy joy joy mom. By always being so jumpy and nervou that she can’t even play a ‘boo’ joke because she knows it sends me into panic meltdown.

Next Sunday is her bday party at the pool, which took some tooth pulling to get that date. My mom was hell bent on it being the Saturday before her bday but my sister is the organizer and we both agreed we don’t want to go on a busy Saturday where Spook might not have much fun with it so packed. I consider it a victory that my sis and I agreed and vetoed my mom. Not like mom will swim, so I don’t know why it matters if she sits at a picnic table on the outside looking in.

Returning to this pool for the first time since I was 13 is going to be tough. They were the idiots who wouldn’t let me in because my legs were covered in flea bites, I had a doctor note saying so, and they said I was contagious. I was humiliated and never never went back. But hey, I’m damn near fifty years old, time to suck it up and let it go. Unless they do it again, I do have a few bites on my ankles but mostly because I am very allergic to flea bites. My kid gets a bite, she has one mark. I get a bite, I get all over red spots that itch so I dig in with my nails and…You get the gist.

Anyway…How does it impact my life?

I think this diatribe says it all. Some people just won’t listen because it would require them to open their minds and let go of longheld biases.

My family being the worst of that lot.

Yes, doubters and haters, mental health disability is a legitimate problem and until you’ve walked around with distorted thoughts and felt utterly black inside for no discernable reason and are convinced you are unsafe even in your own home…

Your input is pointless and unwanted.

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.

Wait List

Posted in anxiety with tags , , , , , on June 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am on edge, due to waiting for my kid to return from her grandfather’s. Dad already called me to see if I was still in town so I could fetch her at the auction they took her to, she’s antsy. Ha ha, welcome to my world, bitches. I somehow got roped into driving my brother to town since they weren’t home and I just think it’s fucking stupid. He’s about to turn 24, the state gave him a license, they bought him and a truck and insured it…Let him go be a grown up so I can stop being unpaid Uber. Yes, that’s right, they decided since they helped mow the lawn that all he has to contribute is occasionally buy my kid a burger or fries. Nothing for me, just a burger or fries for her. For $15 a week in gas.

Yeah, I guess I have reason to be edgy. I’d wanted a break from going in town but I didn’t get one and it cost me gas money. What a waste.

He said they bought her a few ‘tubs’ of stuff, which I am dreading because we are already in too little space chaos (no one understood why we had a 3 bedroom trailer when it was just us, well, THERE, we needed the storage space for all the crap they drag over to us). I just want her home so we can resume our normally scheduled programming. Sure, it’s stressful the way she talks non stop and is always fussing about boredom, but it beats never knowing if they are going to crash my door dragging in more stuff I don’t have space for. (A house with no closets does not have ‘storage’ space.)

This waiting leads to panic attacks. I’m already a dose in to my sane maker, so I can’t really take another one for awhile. The last of the daily stingy allotment courtesy of the benzo nazis. I know it seems disrespectful to call them that but it’s fitting. Hitler targeted people due to their faith and his perception that they endangered his idea of a master race. This center and their doctor are targeting Xanax because some idgets are hooked on opioids. Same fucking mentality. Oh, and I am not belittling addiction to painkillers, I know it’s a serious problem and people deserve empathy. But my empathy dries up when their choices dictate my medication dose as opposed to it being dictated by my needs and my own ability to monitor my usage. So, yeah, benzo nazis it is, sorry, not fucking sorry.

When I am edgy, I get ranty. I don’t like it, it makes me feel like Ms Meanie Pants. If I am being a bitch it should be true anger, not anxiety. But until they return my spawn and our regularly schedule programming resumes, I’m a breath from a panic attack, ready to climb walls cos…I hate waiting. For anyone or anything. Because it caused anxiety and I fucking loathe anxiety.

Zero fucks are given by those around me.

One day they will pay for their skepticism. I believe in karma. One day all their doubt about the severity of my disorders is going to bite them on the ass, somehow, some way, someday.

IU’ll work on trying not to gloat, but no promises.

Brainwashed: Wait a minute, I’m not Lazy or Immature, I am disabled!

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on May 31, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It just hit me when I had a wallowing moment over not being able to get hired for the most menial helper monkey job…I am not stable and ready to work, there’s just no choice since the law won’t hold the deadbeat responsible for Spook. I contribute every cent of my disability to her upbringing, he contributes nothing. Yet I am the one everyone comes down on for not doing well enough, for not being a great provider, for not being happy go lucky and kissing my kid’s butt. All these critics repeating the same things year after year after year…has amounted to brainwashing. I know myself, I know my situation, and I know I am trying with all my might. So how do these idgets get under my skin and in my head to convince me I just need ‘grow up and stop being lazy’?

How does anyone get into our head?

There is rarely ever a concious choice where any of us say, “Hey, this person is really rude, but their word is gospel, I truly am a bad person because they think so.”

Nor is there a moment where we relinquish control and allow them permission to belittle us or make us view ourselves in a negative light.

These people who critique those with mental health disabilities are not salvageable. They lack the emotional intelligence to open their mind to the fact that, if we are indeed on disability for our mental health issue, it isn’t because they hand it out easily. It’s because we spent years and years fighting, filling out mountains of paperwork, and failing job after job and racking up bad references due to our instability. By the time our disability claim is ‘won’, most of us have burned through relationships, rental agreements, credit card debt during manic episodes…What we experience isn’t ‘lightweight disability’. It destroys every facet of our lives. And if you are unfortunate enough to also have an anxiety and a panic disorder, which are NOT considered legal disabilities, well, life becomes a minefield and everywhere you step blows up. It’s just a matter of how big the explosion.

Society on a whole needs to be chastised for these ignorant views on mental health disability. They are harsh and cruel and they simply cannot grasp the reality of it.

Disability, by legal definition, is any condition that hinders the ability to lead a productive life due to mental deficits and support oneself reliably.

I still can barely drive in traffic and spend 3/4 of my life in a depressive state because of seasonal depression and geographical location.

I am not cured. I will likely never be cured. Best I can hope for are periods of remission, but even that is going to require the job interview-like process of looking for a better psych center. (Seriously, here, they ‘interview’ you then call you back to tell you if they will take your case on or not, just like winning a job!)

What I am NOT is immature or lazy. I was left a single disabled mom 8 years ago by a man who didn’t care if our child had food after he was gone. He just assumed ‘the system’ would cover his income loss and take care of her. But you know what? Other than food and medical, it’s been all me the whole time. Me knowing how to eek blood from financial stones, me who goes second hand every chance I get, me who has to be the bad guy and tell my kid, no, I can’t even afford five bucks for the book fair, hun. If I were immature or lazy, I’d have walked out like he did. Instead I am still here every day, trying to be a decent mom, trying to love my child and encourage her and support her and make her feel safe. None of which would be done by a lazy or immature person.

So I reiterate…how do these assholes get into our heads?

It’s kinda like how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop…we may never know.


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on March 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My slowpoke child fights me every morning when I remind her of the time, saying I am ‘pressuring her’ and it makes her scream at me. I say bullshit. She knows this is going to happen and still she piddle pokes and alternates between “I can read the clock” and “I don’t know how to tell time!” She is exasperating to the nth. Every. Single. Morning. You’d think if even cats and dogs can be trained through repetition a 9 year old could learn, too. Nope. She is stubborn as hell. Her parting gift to me today was to not tell me she loved me and scream at the top of her lungs because the bus was two minutes out and I dared remind her to hustle. It’s almost like living with the donor again, where he told me to remind him cos he forgets, then screamed that I was picking on him by reminding him. WTF, Canada? Is this inbreeding, tying the hands together so every situation is a no win? And I don’t even expect a win, just coopration and civility…

I did not post yesterday because I started the day out in a bad mental space. I took a melatonin, thinking I could sleep through it. It took 4 hours to kick in. Thankfully I set my alarm for 3:15 because I never know if my kid’s Tuesday after school church thing is going on or not so I make sure I am here. (The lady that runs it will text or call my dad’s house and tell them, but not me, wtf rednecktopia?) Good thing, cos she decided not to go as she had a headache.

We actually had a good evening. She offered to help with some housework and mopped the kitchen then did dishes. The downside was it didn’t free me up any or lower my stress level as she kept overfilling the sink and sloshing water everywhere on the floor which highlighted the areas that the mop didn’t really clean. So in a way, her helping makes three times the work for me, but I can’t bitch that she won’t help if I don’t give her the opportunity. She got a bath while I cooked supper, we ate together at the table (a rare thing since she almost never eats what I do) then we watched some Mash and Frasier together. I was amused by the look on her face when I explained the draft to her to explain why the doctors on Mash were in Korea. She was like, did they make girls do it? That may be the only plus of being considered the lesser gender, they underestimate us so they discount us out of good and the bad. Which enables women to be ninjas and the patriarchs never see it coming. I LOVE being the lesser gender.

I put her to bed at 8:30 then tucked myself in. For the third night in a row since getting the melatonin with B6, I slept the entire night, waking only once or twice. And I couldn’t be bothered to get up, even for a drink or to use the bathroom. Come alarm time, I only hit snooze twice and was up reading email at 6:50. I guess that’s a sign that the seasonal depression is starting to (oh so sloooowly) lift. The ensuing screaming match, which I didn’t scream, I just used my low channeling satan voice, so it was her screaming, really didn’t set my day off in a good space. I guess I am going to have to start getting her up earlier, which punishes me. I can get dressed, brush my hair, feed the cats, and out the door in 20 minutes, tops. That is how much of a morning person I am not. Anything to get that extra push of snooze.

In my email was the usual Wednesday Psych Central newsletter. I open this every time with trepidation, wondering if something I read will result in my demoralization. Occasionally useful information is there, but today was not one of those days. Instead I get “Little Things That Can Get You Through Depression.” Oh what a simplistic world this writer must live in. And while she may be telling her story, it is not everyone’s story. If anything, I found her article belittling to those of us who endure months long clinical depression.

Do any of us want to go out in public looking like something the cat horked up? No. There are just days when putting on clean clothes and running a brush through the hair takes up all your spoons/sporks. The ability to hold a job with any stability is something I admire and wish I could pull off but no matter how many times I try, it takes more spoons and sporks than I have to spare. If my mental state were static, this might not be the case. But I rapid cycle so no sooner than the mania comes on, the depression sets in and I am no longer myself but a husk, unable to enjoy the simplest things. I haven’t watched my favorite shows in weeks because I cannot focus or get interested and rather than taint them with my distorted depressive views, I just say, another time. Depression without wonderful people surrounding you? What a fucking joke. Bottom line is, some of us don’t have a support system and sitting in a coffee shop or going to smile at the cashier simply isn’t in our current skillset. Self isolation isn’t always a symptom of the depression, but a choice to not spread the misery. Key word, being ‘choice’ and studies are now saying choosing isolation (in teens, anyway) is very different than the depression/angst devouring you.

I did agree with the having a pet to care aspect. In my case, I have a child and pets and I function for them alone some days.

I am, however, infuriated by the thought this will be read by people in a truly crippling depression and lead them to feelings of self loathing and despair because their experience is not her experience. (Just tied some hands there, didn’t I, you have the right to speak but if I disagree, it’s dangerous..How…Trump of me…ewww.) But for those in a similar state it could be a beacon of hope. Wtf, sunshine spewing counselor, how do I not see everything in shades of gray? I’m so busy trying not to invalidate others than I never validate myself.

Well, the hose in the basement snapped and I have no idea what it goes to. I don’t dare call the landlord or my family lest they see just how cluttered the place truly is. I need to figure out a self fix and figure out where the water is coming from. We haven’t had snow or rain. There are no things upstairs leaking water so it has to be some sort of drain and aside from bathtub and washer, I can think of nothing that would still be draining the next day…Ugh, I hate this fucking place. It’s too much for me to manage on my own. I have a football field of a yard that I have to first detwig before I can even think of mowing this summer. It’s all overwhelming and I miss our little trailer that was overwhelming, too, but on a different level. This is my dad giving me a reference and me fucking it up. Which should be all the motivation I need for getting the landlord in to fix this leak but the sump thingie is helping it from flooding and it just looks like a repair to a plastic hose. Though why anyone would have a flimsy hose to drain things that hold gallons of water is beyond me…

I hit on an idea last night. A place to go where the seasons wouldn’t be so grueling, the job market is more open, and it’s just big and small enough to suit our needs. I have a friend of 20 years who lives there, he might be willing to provide reference or what not, though not likely. He was more interested in talking music and sex than anything of substance. Nothing bad about him, he’s a great guy, just a little single minded and I’ve evolved into what I am- a 46 year old woman with fluctuating hormones and a ton of libido killing meds. Still, it’s not a bad thought. It’s far far from my family. I’ve never spent more than a couple of months somewhere else and always due to money, not me giving up and wanting to come back to this hell hole. If I were to do things right and go there with a job and place to live already lined up, with plenty of money on hand (ha ha ha as if that will ever happen) but…just the notion, for the first time ever, of where we could go, seems like a light at the end of the tunnel. My kid wants California but that is just too expensive no matter where you go. And that Earthquake thing. Ha, says the woman living in tornado country.

But yeah, I am back to wanting to just primal SCREAM in a therapeutic way and I’ve given myself permission to sleep through this lingering winter depression if that is what it takes to get me through. No guilt, no shame. I have tried toughing it out conscious, but some of my worst depressions were worked through with excess sleep. That I still get up and care for the kid and cats and do minimal housework and bill paying and such, that’s what matters. Not how I deal with the depression, just that I find a way to deal. Right or wrong, survival is the name of the game. Everyone has a method, this is mine right now. Next cycle, it could be my old standby of refusing myself the privilege of much sleep.

I see the NP tomorrow. Not looking forward to it. You have to have someone willing to meet you halfway for compromise to work and this woman ain’t giving an inch. I am going to push them on the anxiety issue. Surely they don’t deem Buspar an evil as it takes weeks to truly kick in. But it would be better than antihistamines that do fuck all to quell anxiety. I am trying to compromise my own standards and quality of life to be compliant. I hate every minute of it, of course, but I am fucking trying.

Okay, busted hoses. Ugh, can’t I just go back to sleep? Oh, wait, I gave myself permission so I guess it’s an option. Though after several nights of decent sleep, the melatonin is due to stall out. All meds do, even supplements. I find it so curious that 10 mg pills without B6 do nothing to put me to sleep yet 3 mg, with B6, helps me sleep quite well for awhile. My system is ten kinds of fucked up in how it processes stuff. If I am that sensitive to an herbal, this professional impatience when I don’t respond typically to their pharmacopia is easily explained.

I just know I need this winter/spring combo weather to stop. I am sick of being cold all the damn time when my kid is running around in a tank top and shorts. I am sick of sixty during the day, 29 at night, so I can’t even turn off the heat and anticipate lower costs. Though in a week or two it isn’t gonna matter but I am not gonna prattle about that shit. Today, anyway.

Okay, xanax time. Never a good sign when you need it right out of the gate but that’s what it’s there. Because it is needed, not because it gets me high. It calms me to mellow so it’s the opposite of a high. Too bad I have such ignorant psych care.

How Wicked Can One Woman Be?

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on March 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

That whole No Rest For The Wicked thing (awesome Ozzy album, also)…How bloody wicked can I be to deserve such torturous interrupted sleep even when completely drained? I was awake every ninety minutes last night and then up at 7 a.m. shivering in this ice box of a house to feed the insistent cats. I stayed up because Beakman’s World was on. Yes, that’s my shameful Sunday secret, I am 46 and enjoy Beakman’s World. (Bill Nye is a little staid for my tastes, I like goofiness.) The spawn is at church and seemingly less grouchy than yesterday.

Apparently when she stayed at my sister’s the roommate former methheads had company over (they don’t even pay rent, wtf) and it was pot party central upstairs so my sis took Spook out of the house for awhile and didn’t get her to bed til after 1 a.m. Some kids can do the late nights and little sleep thing, I always could. My child…NOPE. And I gotta say, without seeming like I have a stick in my ass, I am very uneasy with all these people unrelated to us who live there and smoke pot with my kid in the house. I’m satan if I have a cigarette, but it’s cool to go Cheech and Chong these days? I’ve always been uncomfortable with that aspect of my mom’s and sister’s home and associations. Personally I say tax weed and let people fry their brains. But the mom in me spazzes out at the thought that my kid’s getting secondhand weed smoke from the ventilation system and she could pop positive on a drug test. It bothers me. But I smoke a menthol and I am unfit. The world has gone topsy fucking turvy. And no lectures on the benefits of pot versus cancer sticks, I get it. I’m not on my high horse. Ha ha ha, see what I just inadvertently did there. I really am funniest when not trying to be.

I should be doing housework. Instead I am binge watching Unsolved Mysteries. Or trying to, I think I’ve been through 7 episodes and haven’t watched a single one to the end. I am bad about that some days, it’s like I am so inwardly restless I can’t finish things outwardly. It helps if you can get 7 solid hours of sleep at least once a week but since they lowered my Xanax that has been a pipedream. I have more trouble slowing my brain and relaxing my body now. The Atarax doesn’t do a thing for that stuff, just helps with the anxious itchiness. Which I have tried to tell the NP from the get and she won’t listen. Maybe since I spoke with the director things will improve. Waiting til June just to see a telepsychiatry doc seems like a very long time but my complaint wasn’t issued formally or by name so hopefully I can just maintain the status quo with this nurse. If nothing else maybe she won’t spend the entire appointment with her back turned to me typing on the computer. That’s just rude.

And I’ve come to expect it in this area. We were standing in line at Aldi the other day, me and Spook both with our arms full cos we didn’t have quarter to rent a cart and there was one lane open with four people ahead of us with cartfuls of stuff and we kept dropping things and they opened another line. The chick behind us, with a cart, darting over to that line while we were still shuffling and picking up stuff. That was when my volatile gene erupted and I said, “The people in this place are so fucking rude!” Chick wouldn’t even look our way. Rudeness is just not something I respond to with any grace. Mainly cos I fail to see any reason for it. Please, thank you, excuse me, here, you go first since you don’t have a cart…Basic human niceties. My outburst wasn’t my finest moment but she had it coming.

I know, what am I teaching my kid? Well, please, thank you, excuse me, unless you want mom to start channeling satan.

I increased my Lexapro to 20 mg yesterday. I honestly thought as we neared the official end of winter and start of spring my mood would start lifting. But all this cold wet gloom really isn’t conducive since my bigger problem is always feeling cold as opposed to lack of sunlight. In a couple of months I will be rioting because I am marinating in sweat. I swear there is something wrong with my body’s perception of extreme heat and cold.

Ok, that’s about all the half ass focusing I can do right now, it only took 90 minutes to do this post. And I ended up saying nothing of substance. To quote Marilyn Maonson, babble babble, bitch bitch.