Archive for seasonal affect disorder

Kicking Ass, Taking Names, And Dreading The Aftermath

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on October 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Well last night’s meltdown into mental chaos resulting in a total cease and fetalize under Forth Blankie to recharge and regroup…I woke to a freezing house as it got down to 30 degrees overnight and our heat isn’t working. Last night I anticipated my dad gnawing on my ankle first thing in the morning so I purposely put the home phone in the other room and slept fairly well. And was pleasantly surprised when radio silence all morning and so far this afternoon. Of course, they are fetching my kid from her grandmother’s and Spook is PISSED as hell at me for that but they offered and I did have a lot to do…Then my mom got pissed at me, “She begged you NOT to let them pick her up, damn it!” She goes to their house, willingly, every week, so she is just having one of her fits. Plus, she has a tummy ache and they are very annoying and insulting but..I had to suck up FOUR calls from that asshole sperm donor of mine yesterday so she can suck up a half hour ride home. After all the candy wrappers and papers and shit I found stuffed into my sofa courtesy of her, I am not feeling too warm and fuzzy. How lazy are you if you can’t walk to a trash can? Even I can manage that and I can barely bathe more than once a week…

Anyway…I was out of bed before 8 a.m. even though I was frozen. I kept waiting with dread for the phone to ring from the gloom monger donor but every minute it didn’t…the better I felt. And the more I accomplished. I won’t say it’s spic and span or even close to done but…I am amazed how much I did accomplish. I even hauled a car load up to the dumpster already. I cleaned the living room, half of the dining room, did the dishes, wiped stuff down, cleaned up the yard…I am seriously kicking ass, even if my inner critic sees what is not done and thinks, of for fuck’s sake, SERIOUSLY? I am sweating my ass off (or I was til I sat down and now I can’t feel my feet despite warm socks and shoes)-or well, working my ass off, and it still does not feel ‘good enough’. Because all the idiots called my family are inside my head constantly, screeching that nothing I do is good enough. Part of why when I do go down the depressive rabbit hole and the house goes biohazard. It seems pointless when my best still isn’t good enough to please those dicks. Then I face palm and remind myself I am 46 years old, I pay all my bills, I rely on them for very little, so why do I let them burrow under my skin like toxic parasites? Is my character really that weak?

It didn’t bother me too much when we lived in town at the trailer. That was OUR domain. But since we moved here to Armpit to THEIR domaine, and they did help intro me to the landlord, and they did help me move and replace my car…I feel constantly indebted and obligated. There is never any even steven with them. I am always indebted. Always. I could give the man a kidney and he’d still be talking about the $1200 hospital bill he for in 1973 for my birth. There just is NO pleasing them, no chance of every being on even ground or earning respect or even fucking space. The man has been up in my grill for 30 fucking years. My mom is always asking why he is always pissed at me and putting me down. Like I fucking know. But the feelings are mutual, I can assure them both. I don’t know what happened to me over the last 20 years. There was brief time after my first divorce that I actually lived with dad and stepmonster and earned my keep by babysitting my brother and doing housework. It was uncomfortable and the second I got a bf, I kind of moved myself into his house without even asking if I was invited, cos I had to get OUT of Armpit and its reigning king and queen redneck idget but I don’t remember them being so harsh on me back then. I also don’t remember giving a fuck.

Then Spook was born and suddenly things changed. I got more of a conscience. I grew up. And so 35 years of manic episodes and rock bottom depressions and taking off out of state with people I barely knew and just abandoning everything…I started to feel bad for being such a flake. I started wanting to be a better version of myself and prove my parents wrong when they had that secret debate about whether I was ‘stable enough’ to be having a baby. Yeah, rather than talk to me about it, they discussed it behind my back and my sister told me about it. I was 35 years old, ffs, they could have easily broached the topic with me and gotten an idea where I was coming from. But NOPE, we don’t talk in this family, and surely not about emotions. Just yelling, cussing, critiquing, name calling…All the things I do not want my daughter to grow up surrounded by. Not that I haven’t occasionally told her to stop acting like a twonk or nitwit, but no one is perfect. I am trying to be better than my parents were and still are. And I guess that whole debate over whether I could parent in my shaky mental state is why I suddenly care about all this shit that never bothered me before. Lest they ever have some reason to swoop in and deem me unfit and take Spook away. Or try to. They’d have a fight on their hands. And yes, I do think my parents would do that simply because I don’t share their standards and beliefs. Not being able to trust your own parents, that’s something to go through life with, always waiting for the next put down or show of lack of faith. Next knife in the back.

I am also smart enoug to know that I am not at all weak. I’ve been a single mom for 8 years and managed to keep my kid sheltered, fed, clothed, healthy, and happy. But the depression and anxiety and panic, they all have a way of wearing you down and making you vulnerable to all those nagging doubting voices. It makes everything stick to your surface. Whereas when manic or stable, you have a Teflon coating nothing sticks to. So, no, I know I am not weak even if I have been feeling that way lately. Just what I have managed to do the last few days towards clawing my way out of my rabbit hole is enough to make me proud. Of course, my standards on what is tidy and clean often don’t match up with others so I am still leery of the landlord and his bunch tromping through, seeing a dust bunny or smudge on the wall I missed. I’ve been there before, a prissy landlord who threw me out for not keeping the place tidy even though an independent living advisor had come in and declared the place cluttered but well organized. (I think it may have been mainly me keeping a cat secretyly, thus breaking the lease, but he actually tossed me out for unfit housekeeping even though I was never late on rent once in 5 years.) So my paranoia about this sort of thing has been earned, it’s not just some depressive distortion.

Was kind of why I was hoping my sister could bring Spook home today and she could take a look at the house. If my sister, who spazzes at the sight of toast crumbs or cobwebs, doesn’t spaz, then I should be okay. But no, dad told me last night-though he offered it up as a barter for me taking the man child to work tomorrow should they have to work- to fetch Spook and I flat out told him, she begged me not to have you pick her up. That lead to him telling me we both need to suck it up and get over it. Yep, cos not wanting to be around someone who calls you an idiot is a fucking terrible character flaw. Can’t blame the kid, but by the time she called they were already on their way into town so I couldn’t have gotten there before them even if I could have gotten them on the phone. Had she called earlier I’d have flown into town to get her, I know how it is to not feel good and just want to go home. And the added bonus of mom going off on me for them coming to get Spook, oh, joy. But she wasn’t wrong in her tirade about how they butt into everything and about how they never just do something nice, it always has to be a case of them doing this, and me owing them that. It’s true.

All things considered, my current mental space-aside from the anxiety of dealing with them when they bring her home then him starting in on how I didn’t do enough work on the shed- well…I feel good about all I have accomplished. Ways to go but…Compared to what the place did look like…I don’t even think it’s biohazard one now. Or won’t be once I clean the floors. I should be able to feel good aout this. And now I won’t be so weird about Spook’s friends coming inside because the place looks better. The mild clutter and disorganization, well, deal with it, the place has no closets so storage space is non existent. I do what I can.

What worries me now is the aftermath. There is always a big price to pay in mental status when I manage to be super productive and feel good about it. But it will come or it won’t so maybe I’ll just take it one step at a time, as I have been doing, allow myself to rest and breathe a bit, and…if I get more done, great. If not…I didn’t slack off, I did kick ass, and I feel good about it. Even if it isn’t good enough for that idiot genetic material donor called my father.

I really really just want heat that works. I feel shitty that I had six months of spring and summer to get this shit done but waited til it dropped to freezing then went into frantic mode to deal with it all. Sometimes, that is the only thing that works with depressive inertia. You wait til the last minute and it’s do or die, no choice, and you kick into gear. There’s a price of course, but…

Oh and you wanna know the miraculous thing about all of this? I have only been taking 200mg Lamictal and my anxiety meds. I swore off Zoloft when the suicidal thoughts started. The prozac wasn’t helping. And that extra 100mg of Lamictal was just one extra pill to take with no benefit so…Yeah, the telepsych probably isn;t going to think much of me managing my own care this way but…I told that nurse. I TOLD her the Zoloft was making me worse at the higher dose so..she highered it more. Wtf? Hopefully this guy will be…more reasonable. Maybe have the ink dry on his diploma, that’d be a plus. The noobs know fuck all outside of books and their treatment shows it. With my history, I need a shrink with six degrees and 50 years experience.

For this moment in time…I feel good about my accomplishments. I am not happy or calm or ‘over’ the depression by any means…I am still struggling but…I am going to savor this rare moment of not being filled with self loathing and hatred and feeling like maybe, just maybe…that badass metalhead chick is still in here somewhere clawing her way out. Debbie Downer may be in the lead most days but…the old me is in there somewhere. And I am going to get back all the parts of myself the shitty nurse practitioner care left me stuck with by not listening and not being open to changing or thinking outside the book and box.

Tomorrow…Who knows. For now…There is hope. I will take what I can get, even if it is fleeting. I am putting in the hard work, being ‘mindful’ (how I hate that fucking term!), and taking it one step at a time. And when overwhelmed, like last night, I am taking a step back to recharge. It works more often than not so…I may be on the right track. Or at least a track that doesn’t lead to the oncoming lights of another train about to smash into me. You take the wins where you can find them.

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The Mental Chaos Tipping Point

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The “plan” for today was to get my kid to town for her sleep over at her grandmother’s then come home and start kicking ass around the house towards cleaning and organizing.

The mental health gods started laughing and here I am…the tipping point of mental chaos.

Paralyzed with panxiety, ie;paranoid anxiety, and feeling very unsafe, unbalanced, and like…nothing matters and so what if it did.

My dad has already stalked me by phone 3 times today, STILL on my ass about hauling the stuff from my shed. Which I still don’t know how it is any of his fucking business. Last spring, we took an entire pick up truck load to the city wide dumpster, what is left are odds and ends, some I plan to haul up there in my car, half which either won’t be accepted or I am not prepared to part with. I try to tell him this and still…just when I think “Okay, maybe he finally got it and will piss off’…he comes back at me.

And I think it was that third call, followed by a nerve racking plot twist in season one’s ending of Van Helsing, that sent me over the edge into mental chaos.

Sad but true. I get panic attacks even from things I love, like vampire/zombie/medical/crime/horror shows. I know it is fictional but…when my mental state is whittled down enough, I am easy pickings for the anxiety and panic to take over and the mood to crash. I think if my dad had just left me the fuck alone, as he had last week and this week before the rain, when he was busy working, I might have stood a chance at accomplishing something. But him constantly butting in, invading my space…it’s not cool. It’s not something I can easily let slide off of me cos ya know, I am not made of Teflon and assholes DO GET TO ME. I made an offhand comment to him about Spook being scared of a neighborlady who yelled at her for petting one of their cats and my dad said, “she needs to get over it”. I said, “And some people are just fucking assholes.” Which lead to him lecturing me that yes, people are assholes and he deals with them every day and me and my kid both need to grow up.

Um…If they don’t end up with a shovel upside their head, that is me being a grown up and dealing with it. There is NEVER going to be a point where I, or my child, gleefully accept that people can be assholes and we have no recourse. Maybe we can’t stop them from being assholes but we have EVERY right to hold a grudge when their asshole behavior leaves a dent in our psyches. Of course, my dad has zero emotional quotient, so nothing gets to him. He was put down from birth by an abandoning drunk bio dad then adopted by a physically abusive dad who made him start working when he was 6 years old. They treated him like shit, gave him zero affection or encouragement or even a fucking occasional hug and so..he is who he is, therefore the rest of us must also be loveless dead inside redneck assholes who just accept that the world is Asshole-a-palooza.

I look at the ‘socially acceptable’ ‘likeable’ people like my dad and stepmonster and R and think man, if I have to lower my enotional IQ that low and cease to feel that drastically just to be considered part of ‘polite society’..fuck that shit. Because being nice to people;s faces then trash talking them behind their backs and criticizing their every move does NOT make you a good person. It just means society,as a collective, is…Asshole-a-palooza. And I am NOT okay with that and maybe my only recourse is to rant and bitch and make sure I don’t assimilate like the fucking Borg. I will never join their collective, even if it just adds to the ignorant stigma of my mental health diagnoses. If not wanting to be an emotionless robot makes me defective and it’s a personality disorder cluster…so be it. Least I am being honest, with myself, and with others.

I miss my kid already. Which is pretty sad since she hasn’t spent the night at her grandma’s in 3 weeks since their kitchen fire. It signals to me maybe I am too dependent on the mom identity and somewhere, maybe I have lost myself as an individual, outside being Spook’s mom. Though were it not for the current extreme states of my depression and panic, I doubt it would feel that way. Mothering her is the only thing I ever feel like I do moderately well. I cling to that. But when I am not in a depression and clawing my own skin off from anxiety…like if I am stable or manic or writing…then a night kid free feels normal and healthy. I was hoping for that this time around but…the forces have decided otherwise.

And no, I am not delusional, thinking some Star Wars fictional forces bullshit. It just takes a lot of things aligning simultaneously for my mental state to be in a ‘good’ place and my toxic father invading my space 5 times in under 18 hours sent me into a downward spiral. The delusional fuck even said he wished the landlord would sell this house to him cheap then I could just rent from him and stepmonster. Oh, dear fucking god, they’ve all but enslaved me just because they haul away our trash, I don’t even want to know the strings of ownership on us they’d claim if they did buy this house. Think Spook and I’d rather live on mom’s sofa.

Oh, but that leads to another stresser. Technically, my mom doesn’t even have a house. Her roommate owns the house they all live in and since their homeowner’s insurance is balking at the $9000 damage the fire mom caused, the roommate is now saying that my mom should have to cough up the four grand deductible insurance won’t pay. When my mom is already paying for pretty much everything, including my nephew’s car and insurance even though he’s 20, married, and doesn’t live there. So there’s a whole other level of drama going on there, my mom said earlier when I dropped Spook off she didn’t even have $20 to her name. So if she can’t pay for the damage she caused, even if by accident, I wonder how long this roommate will play nice. Never mind it’s my sister’s mom in law or that they have all lived together over 21 years at various places…this one the roommate alone paid for in cash and owns, so…I can’t even say we could go live at my mom’s cos my mom…owns nothing.

I am spinning out with panic. Total freak out.

Normally I can distract myself with fiction but…the turn the last episodes of Van Helsing season one took have left me a little off kilter. I do get anxious when it looks like the bad guys are winning and the good guys are losing or turn out to be treasonous backstabbers…Ermagod…spinning out sooooo bad.

I’d say I prescribe for myself a couple of mindless but enjoyable TV sitcoms on tonight but again, that depends on if the antenna is pulling in the right station and…the weather has that acting all fucked up, too.

I had such big plans for today, this evening, for the morning.

Why can’t my dad just leave me alone???? Other than help with the trash haul off every week, I ask NOTHING of them. They are always asking me for shit, though. Walk our dogs, take our man child to work, fetch our man child from work, do our dishes, fill out this paperwork cos your handwriting is better….I ask them for NOTHING. I feel like I am in a fucking prison.

And my mom and sister make it seem so easy. “Tell them to fuck off.”

Yet I remember how hard it was on me and my sister when my dad displeased his parents and they stopped speaking to us for over a year. It hurt us kids cos we loved our grandparents and didn’t understand the adult bullshit and drama and opinions. I don’t want to do that to my kid. I don’t want her to feel that if she loves her grandpa she is disloyal to me. Though she is coming round on her own, finding out now that she is out of the cutesy single digits, they are more harsh on her and far less affectional and gifty. They yell at her, insult her, and she is seeing the truth. Which I have tried to discuss with them and they just call us both big babies and tell us to grow the fuck up. Charming people, my dad and his woman.

At this point, I’d sell myself into servitude to an employer as housekeeper,cook, driver, book keeper, grounds keeper, dog walker, babysitter…if it meant them relocating us far far far from this hellhole near all this family drama that is…about to drive me to a nervous breakdown.

But if I can’t even keep my own house clean and lawn mowed, I don’t suppose I am of much use to anyone right now.

I am TRYING.

All I really want to do is get under the warm covers and shut out this suck ass reality.

When Spook is here and my job is clear-be her mom- I can keep tying knots into my frayed rope and hang on. Without her here reminding me why I keep fighting what seems like a losing battle against my own father and my own sanity…

I am fucking freaked out.

So much for a productive clear headed calm kid free night to recharge my mom battery.

Everything I read about these days concerning mental illness says that taking control is the answer, controlling the situation so you can feel more…in control. My question is…how can you do that when your own mental chaos is holding you hostage and preventing you from the clear thought you need to regain control?

Thorns In Paws

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on October 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I think ‘living with a thorn in the paw’ is a good metaphor for mental health issues. Except you have multiple thorns in all your paws and it hurts like a son of a bitch and every time you manage to pluck a thorn and stop the bleeding…more thorns become embedded.

Yesterday it was depressive inertia and paranoid anxiety. I didn’t accomplish a damn thing before my kid got home from school which lead to me feeling shitty about myself, yet I was not feeling well physically, so it wasn’t like I blew it off out of laziness or disinterest. Then our internet went down, AGAIN, and much as I was looking for a quick work around to the low cat food problem…the minimart does not sell even small bags and I couldn’t be arsed to deal with my dad and ask for a cup of food for the night so…I packed my kid in the car and we went to town. Four stops. Including Aldi, which I always hate and I don’t even know why because it wasnt really busy. It all just felt like such an effort but…the cats got supplies, we have plenty of food, and nothing catastrophic happened so…I will call the necessary trip a win for the day even if I didn’t do any housework.

I was asleep by 10:30 but then I woke at 3 a.m. and could not get back to sleep. It was almost six a.m. when I nodded off at last…only for my idiot father to call me at 7:45 and start in on me about city wide clean up and hauling all the stuff from my shed and I’d heard it from him last night already. I keep trying to tell him there’s just a few bags of old clothes and toys that I can get there with my car and he keeps butting in and saying, no, you’ve got too much stuff in the shed…yeah, well, they won’t take junk electronics and such for city wide clean up so…Idk why he can’t just fucking butt out. Get off my back. I think I finally drove the point home by his fourth call, but it really put me in a bad mental space first thing in the morning.

Last night when he called he was boasting proudly how his woman now has her commercial driver’s permit because she scored so well on her tests at school this week. And in the background, there is this 44 year old woman making “Neener neener neener, aren’t I great” childish sounds. She was all but hee hawing like a donkey, I kid you not. And hey, great job, good for her, but damn, some modesty and maturity please. Then this morning he brought it up again and started talking aout how hard her life has been and she had to give birth to their baffoon of a son and…ermagod. He has her so high up on a pedastal it’s nauseating. Long as she maintains the old country thinking of doing the woman work for him and my brother, he thinks she walks on water. This isn’t jealousy or sour grapes, either. They are just so abrasive and annoying and…frankly, a downer. I could get a college degree, cure cancer, and he’d ask why I didn’t also cure Alzheimer’s. Nothing I do has ever been good enough. She does what everyone in her class did as well, and suddenly she’s a goddess…Take pride, but for fuck’s sake, some humility…I can’t even give myself kudos for raising Spook alone and he has to bring up something to knock me down a peg yet their accomplishments are gold.

Play fair or get the fuck out of my sandbox.

The power went out briefly. I figured it’d be awhile so I started tackling the gross laundry room floor but then the power came back on and Spook has started in about going to Grandma’s and I am…all scatterbrained and unfocused. Maybe once I get her to town and get back my brain will slow down enough to focus on what needs to be done. Maybe not. But it’s do or die time, I have got to find out why that damn furnace won’t come on, which means getting outsiders into my safe space and…even when the house was tidy I was still ill at ease with that whole shebang. People in my only safe space has long been a thorn in my paw.

I am just tired of thorny paws and confusion and asshole family and plastering on this fakeness to hide how bad off I really am since it doesn’t matter as they wouldn’t understand or accept the truth. In their world, mental illness is not real. And maybe because in my world, mental illness is the only real thing, maybe that is why I simply cannot relate to or warm to them. They invalidate my entire existence and it’s less painful to just keep them as far away as I can. I hope the rain stops soon so my dad goes back to hauling corn. When he’s on the road, he doesn’t bother me. Now it’s been raining and they haven’t been hauling so I get called over and over on a daily basis and it’s…more than my mental health can handle at this time.

My family should come with a damn skull and crossbones toxic label. Because they mean well but they are so fucking toxic.

I Feel Confused And Frail

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on October 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I did not sleep well. Nightmares plagued me and I kept waking with panic attacks. I don’t remember the nightmares, I just remember waking repeatedly, gasping for air, then assuming the fetal position and trying to calm my spinning mind over and over again.

To say I was not ready to greet this gray gloomy day would be an understatement. My allergies and sinuses are causing me to have trouble breathing and I am draining in fluid and coughing and sneezing. My general abdominal discomfort is either stress, nerves, or those pesky ovarian cysts that hurt right through to my spine. Bad enough when it’s just menstrual, at least then I get 2 weeks of normalcy. Now that it’s become more consistent discomfort in the general region it’s bringing back all the years I battled the damn things without relief no matter what the docs treated them with. The sad truth is, even when you have decent health insurance, getting surgery done when you’re not in immediate danger of death is damn near impossible because well, pain, no big deal, so they ply you with over the counter pain relievers and warm compresses and you just learn to live with it. That was when I had GOOD insurance. Now that I have the mandatory basic, I’d be hard pressed to get an ER visit approved to remove a machete sticking out of my skull. But the discomfort and frequency are getting hard to suck up and ‘live with’.

The current state of physical misery combined with my compromised mental state are not leading this morning to be productive. I need to run to town for cat food, I am out, and my kid is out of school early, and it’s just so much faster to run to town alone and grab one item. Taking the “I want” monster is misery, truth be told. And she is staying at my mom’s tomorrow night anyway so I will have to take her to town tomorrow and likely go fetch her Saturday when undoubtedly I am volunteered to be my brother’s Uber service….Argh. It all feels so far beyond my control and I know I am spinning out and perceiving everything as chaotic and threatening but…logic eludes me. I still have so far to go to get the place cleaned up so I can get the landlord in to fix the heat and I am out of time, the cold weather is here and staying….

So in true fashion I panic and spin out mentally and it does not make me move faster physically to just get this shit done. I am making small consistent efforts and whittling away but man…I really let it all get out of control this time. Being on the wrong medication really did more damage than not being medicated at all. I am filled with shame with how bad I’ve let it get. But at least I am trying to take responsibiliy and taking steps to get caught up.

I can’t control the fact that atm, I am physically frail. You can only deny physical pain and choke on sinus drainage so much, it knocks you back down whether you like it or not. And I don’t do physical sickness. Mental chaos is my bailiwick. Not being physically well sucks. So days like today I can’t even say, least I have my good health…Because something’s gonna have to change soon, I can’t keep living in this level of discomfort where it impacts my functionality which is already compromised and limited by my mental state. I am starting to feel hobbled. Hopeless. Helpless. And that is what the depression wants, it wants me to be weak and frail and let it take over completely.

So what I am going to do is…STOP. Just ride out the physical stuff for awhile, then try to work up the gumption to accomplish something. I am NOT going to flog myself, bully myself, or allow myself to become overwhelmed by the extreme feelings of despair and helplessness.

By refusing to beat myself up maybe I will bounce back. Or maybe I’ll just…breathe.

Hairbrush

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Obviously I am running out of attention grabbing titles after 8 years of this blog. So I just pulled out the most challenging thing I’ve faced thus far this morning: Brushing my hair. I have thick hair that tangles easily and honestly, it can be a painful chore. Sounds ridiculous but I do try to brush it every day. There was a time, prior to Spook’s birth, when I was between doctors, unmedicated, and I’d go weeks without brushing my hair then have to go to have my mom and sister help brush it out because it was such a mess. I say this with no pride, mind you, it’s just what happened in the past. Bad as things are now, as heavy as that hairbrush felt, as hard as it was to pick it up and cringe my way through all the tangles coming out…I managed it. Does not detract from the fact I went 7 days without a bath, though, that is indicative of how bad the depression is even ‘fully medicated’ by the NP’s standards.

I did bathe yesterday, though. I did a lot of piddly work around the house and got overheated, sweaty, and just felt gross so I FORCED myself to do it. Which when it’s cold amd the heat ain’t working, it is unpleasant AF.

Yesterday was super productive, not that on the grand scale of things I even made a dent toward making the place clean and tidy enough to appease others. But I was able to whittle away somewhat and I felt pretty good about it afterward. Then in spite of a good night’s sleep and little spawn drama, I woke today and whatever ‘got into’ me yesterday and got me moving…it ain’t there today. I feel overwhelmed, sluggish, low, paranoid, cold, my stomach’s wonky…Oh, and to top it all off, the internet went down again yesterday at 5 p.m. and just now came back up at 11 a.m. I FUCKING HATE FRONTIER COMMUNICATIONS INTERNET SERVICE, IT IS GARBAGE!!!!!

I finished watching season 2 of Absentia finally. I quite like the show. Thn again, I like anything that gets me out of my own head for awhile and shows me people with worse problems.

Of course, it also leads to me feeling so utterly useless, purposeless, and…not even alive. This mundane bullshit of midwest existence and normality, while probably better for my anxiety, really deprives me intellectually. Gotta drive two hours just to take my kid to a fucking museum or water park, ffs. Forget concerts. Forget…well, options. And yeah, it’s so simple to say, if you don’t like it, move. When I win the lottery that I can’t afford to play, I will def spend that money to relocate. I know I need out of cold weather but I am currently having some sort of mental love affair with the scenery of Maine. That seems like a good place. Bangor. (Thank you, Stephen King.) Water as scenery as opposed to corn stalks and tractors. I don’t much care for seafood or the smell of dead fish that some oceans have but…It’s a nice fantasy, to think of going somewhere smallish but still able to access more metropolitan places without so much hassle.

My mind is really off track today. The day is half over before Spook comes home and literally, brushing my hair is all I have gotten done. Sad. But it’s the ebb and flow of depression and the more I kick myself, the worse the inertia is. By letting go and letting myself just be…sometimes it leads me out of mental nomad zone and I find a path to walk. Until I forget where I was going and come to a grinding halt. The confusion that comes with panic and depression is frustrating. You just never have any clarity and it’s…not a good way to live.

Nor is being disabled and having people remind you constantly what a loser you are. When I did those dishes for dad and stepmom the other day for ‘trash service’, my brother made a remark about, “Least I have a job” and oh, I could have gone off but I said fair enough. He works 15 hours a week. He pays no bills. He has zero responsibilities. But yeah, sure, he has the right to make me feel shitty when I was more mature at 14 than he is at 24.

I must admit that I am feeling pretty low about myself, seeing all these people around me move on. Even stepmonster is going to school. The chronically unemployed potheads are all working now. I know right now my focus has to be on my child and my own mental health, but it does not change the fact that I DESPERATELY WANT TO WORK. I want my self esteem back. But the world out there, for someone with my disorders, it’s just not feasible. So I wonder, what kind of schooling could I get to enable myself to work from home via computer? I was always fairly book smart and got decent grades so it’s not as if I don’t have the intellect to get some sort of degree that would enable me to regain my self esteem, control, independence, and never have to listen to cruel insults from people who just don’t get it…But I don’t know what interests me other than writing or doing net research or music or TV. I’m willing to work hard. But if you don’t have a clue what your mental state will be an hour from now, how do you commit to a career choice, attempt to get that training, and then hope someone takes a chance on you? Because I don’t think I can attend anything but on line classes. I flail in those situations. I need to work within my limitations, not pretend they don’t exist, bully myself through it, then get all crestfallen when every time it fails.

The confusion…not being able to even feed myself…I haven’t had a morsel of food since Monday. I think about feeding myself then I can’t decide what I want or I forget…then I am too tired to bother. For now, I am bathed, hair brushed, my kid is at school, and…some days that’s as good as it gets. And temps will be dropping into the thirties this weekend so it’s only going to get worse as the seasonal depression kicks in. I haven’t even decorated an iota for Halloween. It’s hard to see success when you can’t even manage your happy place because there is so much confusion.

I think I need an episode of Van Helsing. It’s like Z Mation, with vampires instead of zombies, and I am warming to the idea of this apocalyptic future where it’s fight to survive or perish. Ya know, where people are too busy trying to ration out cans of soup for a week of meals to worry that your floor hasn’t seen a vacuum in weeks. Where rich and poor cease to exist because in an apocalypse, all that shit falls to the side and…survival of the fittest. Not sure I’d be the fittest but I’d be a hell of a lot less stressed if my world didn’t revolve around how clean others think my house is. I mean, sure, don’t live with trash piled up, wash dishes and clothes, try to leave clear walk paths but…why are cobwebs and dust bunnies such a bad thing? And why does it bother me so much when the old me gave zero fucks?

Oh, right, the old me didn’t have a kid some well meaning idiot could have taken away because they think dustbunnies make a home unfit. And yeah, there are people that fussy out there. Sometimes, I wish I could hire one of them to come do all this shit for me because my hardest still isn’t good enough and I have such limited mental resources…it would be a huge weight off my shoulders. And I swear that isn’t laziness talking. I really am a disorganized chaotic thinker and it reflects in everything-my writing, my hygiene, my housekeeping ability…I manage to do so much else and keep going…It would be such a heaven send to have help with the one thing I can’t do well and can’t maintain to anyone’s standard.

It is so not normal to watch shows like Z Nation and Van Helsing and The Passage and think…wow, the future is bleak as fuck but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about housekeeping, just keeping a axe sharpened…

It’s escapism. I don’t even own an axe.

Death Frozen Over

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 8, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I woke around 3:30 a.m. frozen and shivering. I couldn’t even get to the bathroom, I just found a heavy pull over hoodie and climbed back into fort blankie. Suffice it to say, the furnace isn’t coming on. And until I get the house cleaned up, I can’t let people come inside and see my shame. But my landlord insists on doing everything himself and with the wooden steps to the basement broken, the notion of him clod hopping around in his elderly demented state makes me nervous. I wish he’d just send a heating company but no, that is always the second option or third or fourth after he parades half his family through. I am going to HAVE to get my ass in gear but so far today it is not happening. I am riddled with cramps which have less to do with menstrual b.s. and more to do with my forever haunting ovarian cyst pain. It’s hard to focus on anything when you’re freezing and in pain.

Yesterday did not work out well for me. I got blackmailed and guilted into doing my stepmonster’s dishes because she’s busy working the fields and starting school for her CDL. Ermagod, every cup in the house was dirty. Dishes piled two feet high on the counter, in the sink, back on the deep freeze. And it smelled and they had a few bugs. And my dad didn’t even offer to throw a fiver at me, just said, “You know you owe use for a year and a half of trash service…”I can’t do my own shit but hey, bring in a bully with leverage and I concede defeat. They do not understand mental disability, at all. But yeah, I do feel lousy that I can’t afford my own trash service and yes, they do help us out, so…It took me almost 2 hours to get through that stinking massive pile of two week old dishes. I’m pretty gross and slovenly, but there is no need for a 3 person family to have over 50 dirty mugs and cups. Ridiculous.

By the time I returned…my internet was down. And it stayed down until around midnight. I am not fucking amused with Frontier and their shitty DSL. Hopefully the satellite links used for government ops is more reliable than whatever Cracker Jack Box $1.99 bullshit Frontier uses. So I started watching season 2 of Absentia on my computer and it briefly took me out of my own head…Then my kid came home and she was pissed about the net being down. She was like a tazmanian devil with the talking and gesturing and just….HYPER AF. I still have not heard a word back about insurance paying for her Concerta. Her grades have gone to shit because she can’t or won’t focus and I feel like I am failing as a parent but the kid refuses to put forth the effort. And I can’t help her with focus since I can’t even get my shit together.

I saw my neighbor putting up Halloween decorations yesterday and it made me realize how bad off I truly am. I want to be functional and happy and have a zest for life and yet…

I am sad, I am anxious, I am in physical pain, I am freezing…This seasonal bullshit is like whiplash, 92 degrees down to 41 degrees in less than 7 days. Then it goes back to the 70’s then back to the 40’s. Part of me can’t help but wonder if I were financially able to move to a different locacation with less severe shifts in weather if at least that aspect of my diagnosis might improve. Too bad a doc can’t write a script for that along with the check funding it.

On a show last night they were talking about how hygiene and living environment devolve with onset of depression but then the devolution of home environment causes the depression to worse so it’s a catch 22. You know getting things in order-taking control- would make you feel better….but the depression renders you impotent…I don’t even know what the fuck to do with that. Every badass fiber in my being wants to get moving, kick ass, and take back control over my home and my life. Yet a buidlung toppled on me and I am buried under all this heavy rubble that I can’t move by myself so…

I feel stuck.

Frozen in every way.

For now, I am going to ride out my physical symptoms and see how the day goes towards accomplishing stuff. Hopefully my panic attacks will be held at bay longer today since Spook has her afterschool church program today. Her constant babble and motion have really been setting off the panic attacks. The kid is driven like she is a motorized bunny. And I am the lady so nervous I had to remove the batteries from all my Furbies so their incessant Furby yak sessions would be silenced. Loud noise doesn’t just freak me out. It flips my equilibrium. Enter panic. And she can’t calm down because the problem is in her misfiring mind.

We have healthcare and neither of us can get the medications we need to help manage our disorders so you gotta wonder, what the hell is the point of healthcare at all?

I feel like death, frozen over. Except I don’t even have the numbness that being dead and frozen would offer.

Very frustrating.

Perpetually Propping Myself Up

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on October 7, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

The old expression “Hurry up and wait” pretty much sums up depression succinctly. I thought giving myself a few days to be low energy and not feel well would result in some miraculous whirlwind revival of my soul. Aside from waking 20 minutes before the alarm went off, I have accomplished nothing. My feet are frozen even though it’s really not that cold outside or inside. This is the seasonal affective starting. I’ve tried to explain to the doctors that the loss of daylight hours is only a smidgeon of what seasonal depression does to me but they don’t buy it. Which is their ignorance because if your body temperature never hits a comfortable zone for six months, it plays hell on functionality and mental space. Just last week I was marinating in my own sweat cos it was in the 90’s and I’d turned off the AC. Now I am freezing to the point of sitting still. Hurrying up. Waiting. Prop myself up, try to keep going.

I’m really exhausted from propping myself up.

I’m really tired of telling doctors about the severity of my symptoms and being blown off or told to give a med more time when after 3 months with zero improvement, I think the writing is on the wall.

I am tired of fighting to get to sleep, stay asleep, then forcing myself to get out of bed and prop myself up some more. All the while in my head I can see what needs to be do done but I can’t find the energy or mental organizaton.

All my life I thought the disorganization, borderline hoarding, and inability to keep up with housework were just my personality, but turns out…it is all just symptomatic of bipolar depression.

The doctors never told me that mania isn’t just feeling ‘too happy’ and spending too much money or sleeping around or whatever. I had no idea the heightened emotions and ‘ready to rumble’ bickering are part of mania.

How can I ever get a grip on all of this when even after 25 years, I am still learning-on my own- what is symptomatic versus what is just my lousy personality and weak character?

Of course, the solution’s always so easy, in writing. Tackle one room at a time. Finish what you start. Small consistent efforts. People who write this about depression and claim to understand depression are the scourge of my existence. If I had that kind of mental organization, nothing would ever get so far out of control that I could compete in a hoarding/clutter/disorganized contest.

I know how good it will feel if I can ever just ‘get my shit together’ and deal with so much of this clutterfuck that I’ve created…I can envision it. I CRAVE the satisfaction and pride of seeing it done. Yet…I don’t know where to begin. So I don’t. And sometimes, backing off actually helps me get into gear. Sometimes, it does not.

I am so bloody confused and fucking frustrated.

But at least my unstable daffy state enables me to amuse my kid into fits of laughter. She wanted to play a match game with cards last night. I stuck the card to my forehead and told her to give me clues on what it was. That made her laugh. Then she asked for a hug so I pulled her into one and she said, you’re choking me, and I said, hug, choke, hoke, same thing….She found that hysterical and now wants ‘hokes’. (Dear god, what must the guidance counselor think of the things she tells him about my dysfunctional parenting?) But ya know, making my kid feel good even if I can’t boost myself up…it’s worth a lot.

Least today I’m not physically ill. Just sore and cold and achey and ashamed for making it 6 days without a bath. I’m trying, even if it does not seem like it. I mean, I haven’t even decorated for Halloween so it’s not like the depression is just a card I play to avoid doing things I don’t like. I love Halloween. It;s MY holiday. And yet…my spirit is on life support. Making my kid laugh is about the best I have at the moment. Hopefully one day she remembers how hard I tried to make her laugh and feel happy no matter how bad I am feeling. I don’t always nail it, but…I keep trying. I keep surviving. I keep propping myself up every day.