Archive for single parent

Mom Fail A Million And Counting

Posted in anxiety, depression, parenting with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I managed to get to town today to fetch my kid’s gift from the summer camp people…

And only on the way back about 4 miles…

did it occur to me…

I FUCKING FORGOT WRAPPING PAPER!

And between buying her Christmas, trying to keep the heat on, my ass trash bank hitting me with 3 months’ ‘service fees’ at once and gas in the car…I have 22 cents in the bank.

There I thought I was doing so well.

Someone pointed out I could use newspaper. Um, I can’t afford the subscription so I have no newspaper.

I asked my family if they had any to spare or could lend me ten bucks…

No go.

So I guess come Christmas morning, she will have gifts but they won’t be wrapped. 😦

I am agitated with myself, getting so caught up in all the stress and drama and good intentions, which frankly, mean fuck all when your brain is ten thousand leagues under the sea of depression.

I know I pondered buying wrapping paper a few times, then thought, nah, I have time.

What I did not see coming was the delay on my heat assistance grant and all those bank fees. I mean, I leave $20 in the account for ‘just in case’ then my bank basically drains the account for ‘service fees’ for three months. WTF? Not even a head’s up about it.I go to check my balance and woohoo, 22 cents.

I am thoroughly disgusted with myself.

I suppose it’s a snotty ‘first world problem’ and I should count all the blessings we have but Spook specifically asked this year that her gifts be wrapped and not all just piled into a couple of giftbags. (What can I say, I suck at wrapping and I phone it in, I suck.)

Since she has been so harsh on me lately with her behavior and cruel words, the thought of failing her again has me very stressed.

How could I forget something so basic?

My brain really could use cruise control, like cars have. So it’d run a constant rate of speed instead of being all over the damn place resulting in me doing things or not doing them all willy nilly.

Hope Spook forgives me. Doubtful. She still brings up me not walking her to the bus stop on ice when she was 5.

Kid is a master at holding grudges. Which means I am gonna be on a perpetual guilt trip between her, my dad, and my mom.

I want a new travel agent.

Failing At Momming

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on September 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Thursday of last week I told my daughter she could have a playdate with her friend on Saturday or Sunday. At that time, my mental state was more determined. What I failed to foresee and factor in, however, was how exhausted I’d be between the 24-7 rain of the weekend, being dispatched to fetch my pain in the ass brother (five bucks for two trips to town and two hours of my time, ffs!), and the start of the premenstrual dysphoria pain. Yesterday I barely opened the computer and literally just lay in front of the TV all day. She wasn’t amused with me not keeping my promise. Nor was I. But I simply didn’t have the strength to get the place in order and I don’t have the tolerance for kids running in and out or being inside whining and bickering. I thought a good night’s sleep would help but alas, I woke again today with the spine crushing cramps and every cell of my body screaming in protest of every slight movement. Which meant my kid didn’t even have season appropriate clothing ready, she wore a tank top and it was chilly out and she couldn’t find her hoodie…Which is why I preach nightly for her to lay her clothes out ahead of time. Last night it was all I could do to fight her into taking a bath, let alone worrying about morning…Not that it helped either of us get to sleep quickly,she was still wandering at 9:30 and until I know she’s down, I can’t calm myself enough to sleep so an early bedtime just meant more painful tossing and turning and mentally torturing myself. FOR NOT FEELING PHYSICALLY WELL. As if this disorder is a choice, as if it is something I can just shake off and stop being a big baby over…The PMDD and periods themselves are more agony than LABOR was and this is every fucking month for ten days. I am not saying every month is this severe but when it hits…it really knocks my body down ten pegs and when my mind is already down and out…

I am failing at the mom gig. Big time. She’s bathed and fed and off to school but now I feel lousy for not washing her some t-shirts. Though she told me she had clean ones. I know better than to trust a word she says. Her world revolves around the fucking tablet and games so she’d be sitting right next to a fire in the room and tell me no,mom, you don’t smell smoke, nothing is burning…Sometimes I curse the day I even got a tablet and let her near it. She’s on her 4th one, she is so destructive. And even though she is now ten, she is needier, more dependent, and less helpful than she has ever been. I never thought I’d miss the toddler days but honestly, it was easier because she didn’t have the abilities to care for herself. Now she does and that she is so damn needy, well, it disgusts me. And that;s another sign of my failure as a mom, expecting her to be the independent child-adult I was, so I feel shitty about that, too. And I feel fucking despicable for some of the angry thoughts I was having this morning while she piddle poked getting ready and yapping and my brain was screaming OH JUST SHUT UP FOR ONCE FOR GOD’S SAKE. Now, mind you, I didn’t say this, didn’t raise my voice, but I recognized that surging, seething anger inside that always signals…hormonal rage. It’s like being possessed by a damn demon, it’s so at odds with who I am and how I normally feel.

At least the weekend is over. Saturday sucked. I thought I was off the hook once I got my brother to work and brought Spook home. But nope, that fuck waited til 4:45 and asked me to drive all the way into town to get him because his mom and dad were busy and he didn’t feel well. So off we went in a downpour so heavy I couldn’t see two inches in front of me, so enter panic. And my stewing anger at how living in Armpit means I get stuck taking care of my dad’s goddamn mistake. And yeah, he had an affair with a teenager girl while married to my mom, and made this precious son of his, and this 24 year old man child should NOT be my fucking problem. I took care of him when he was little, I did my fucking time. Least when he was little he was likeable. Now he’s just a carbon copy of my redneck racist MAGA dad and being around him makes me feel disgusted. And not five minutes after picking the idiot up, I had to abruptly keep pulling over so he could open the car door and puke in the road. Because he refuses to take his psych meds with food so he pretty much pukes like that every other day and it’s been going on for 10 years and the doctors say nothing is wrong except him not taking his meds with food. But he won’t change his ways. And they just yell at him yet let him get away with being a man child while expecting me to be some sort of super woman.

Once we got rid of him, I returned home to find my cell phone missing. I’d not gotten out of the car except to head to town and back which meant…my phone was laying out in the yard somewhere in the pouring rain, having fallen out of my purse while we made the mad dash to the car in the rain. And all I could think was, how the fuck am I gonna afford another phone and what about my contacts and all my pictures…I got soaked to the core looking out in the massive back yard til I found the damn thing. I got lucky. The case landed up so it kept it from getting ruined. I dried it with some rice and it still works but IF THAT STUPID BROTHER OF MINE HAD JUST LEFT ME THE FUCK ALONE IT NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED. How am I responsible for THEIR idiocy?

It ruined my entire fucking Saturday.

The PMDD pain ruined Sunday.

Today the pain and irrational hormonal driven anger are ruining it for me.

I had ONE job. Be a competent mom. And I am failing. And I am having all these angry thoughts towards everyone which, yeah, I do have angry thoughts, but this is demonic possession level and I am barely keeping it contained in writing. No wonder in the past I’ve had physical outbursts. In hindsight, I wish I’d just hit some people instead of merely screaming and crying. Maybe getting some aggression out would be healthier than ending up with it all boiling over from being bottled up. But people with mental health issues don’t get to blow up like normal people who reach their breaking point. No, if we do that, then it is a symptom of our craziness. So bottle it up and pray it doesn’t devour you from the inside…

I’m not even making sense to myself anymore. I hope this illustrates just how altered hormones can make your thought processes and emotions. What is annoying or angering suddenly seems like a fury inducing calamity and the more you try to shake it off and talk yourself out of it…the angrier you get because it seems like you are never ever allowed to feel…what you feel.

Except I don’t even want to feel good things with this level of depth, this hormonal emotional knives in a blender flurry of feeling. This is…overwhelming. If I weren’t so depressed and athletically challenged, I’d say axe throwing may be a beneficial way of venting my aggression.

But with my lack of any athletic prowess, it’d turn into an assault charge so…maybe I should just get a voodoo doll. And stick knitting needles into it.

Now to talk myself into hang drying the laundry I ran through the washer. I can barely go outside to feed and pet the cats, the anxiety and depression are so bad.

I think this is the worst it has been in 8 years. Fully medicated and yet utterly heading to a breakdown…

But all I can think about is how to fix my failing status as a mom because, well, damn it, I’m a good mom and the depression can not take that from me. I have got to find more strength to fight somewhere. I’m not going out like this, feeling like my kid would be better off without me because my mental illness has reached fever pitch…this isn’t working for me.

Happy first day of fall, the seasonal affective disorder has arrived. I can tell because the glimmers of hope I had a few days ago…are gone. I am in big trouble.

A Bouquet Of Kittens-ADORABLE 3 WEEK OLD KITTENS

Posted in cat and kitten pictures, depression with tags , , , , , , , on October 3, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

The kittens are almost 3 weeks old and plump as Butterball turkeys. Tabbytha is a great mama.

Soon, she will start trying to wean them and honestly in our current situation…this fundraiser needs to gain momentum, in exposure, shares, donations. I’m gonna have a kid and 4 kittens having a throwdown over who gets to has a cheezburger.

Just read our story before writing us off as another internet scam.

I may use humor and cutesy kid and cat pics but fact is, I am terrified that I am going to fail them because someone else did us wrong. Asking for help is difficult but random acts of kindness make it easy to be grateful even when pride has to be put aside.

My kid and kitties make me happy as they fill me with so much love. It kills me to think that I am failing them in any way when none of this was in my control. So consider a kind gesture like clicking share. Such a simple thing to do and yet so very valuable to those in need.

Survival Of The Scared Shitless

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well, I had a couple of ‘decent’ days. Spook and I had a decent prepaid meal at the park the other day.
She managed to eat two cheesesticks before declaring that she was bored and it all sucked. I enjoyed it, but then, I’m used to boredome and everything sucking, I truly do appreciate the gift of a pizza Mr. M bestowed upon us. Made me feel kinda….ugh, hopeful, like perhaps I’m not a complete waste of space.

I had two days of being functional. I swept, mopped, did laundry, cleaned cat boxes…which is difficult for me as every part of me feels coated in dried concrete 24-7. I treasure the days I am in the mind frame-and body-to get shit done. I wish I felt that way more often. Some people are all too happy to give advice on what works for them and makes them a high functioning superhero but…sadly, it’s never worked that way for me.

Today seemed not so bad but then SPLAT. I learned that my sister got slapped with an old bill from our old address and it damaged her credit rating. I was paying on the bill (I thought) albeit slowly, only to learn…I was using the wrong account number and paying on a bill that belonged, well to The One Who Shall Not Be Named. I fucked up, big time, and I am humiliated and now on the family shit list and further in the hole. I will fix it, I made the mistake (however unintentional) because my sister was helping us by putting that bill in her name when we found ourselves abandoned and fucked on that front…My last wish was to do something to screw her over but…here we are. And of course, she will tell the entire family, so I will be persona non grata and maybe that’s what I deserve for being a screw up. I could make a dozen excuses and explanations and they’d all be valid, honest, and for real. It doesn’t change anything though. Until I fix it, I am gonna be on the ‘evil bitch’ shitlist with the entire family. And even then, I’ll remain there as her credit as impacted.

The level of embarrassment and shame are enormous. Worse, my kid is staying at their house tonight so who knows what venom they’re spewing to her about me. I’ll have to pick her up and face their wrath and since I am mid-curse, hormonal, and have to also face the donor in court Monday…It will be a miracle if I don’t end up on lockdown in hard restraints. I am just to that point where I have tried so damned hard and I still can’t get it right or be cool, calm, and collected…and I am not whining, I own my screw up, but my precarious mental state kind of goes without saying. In my family, “sorry” and “I will fix it” count for nothing. Everyone is out to tear everyone down. And it is infuriating because my sister has been married to “Beavis” for 20 years, he doesn’t work, doesn’t even mow the damned lawn, and she thinks the sun shines out of his ass.

He idolizes Hitler and Charles Manson, and in a way, that’s how I view him. He’s so charismatic, to a certain faction of gamers and wanna be bikers, he has people willing to pay for weekend white water rafting trips and they loan him $10,000 Harleys to drive but he can’t be bothered to help around the house, EVER, and while he can always wheel and deal for money to take care of their cats or get weed and Marlboros, he’s never given a damn if his kid had no milk for cereal or the whole house was starving. I have nursed my dislike and resentment for 20 years, trying to respect my sister and her ‘he’s my true love, no one else gets me him like I do” but…Honestly, what kind of dickbag has his son come home all proud that he made the honor roll and says, “So what, anyone can make the honor roll these days.” And pretty much EVERYONE in the family hates him, but his mom owns the house my sis and mom and nephew live in, so of course, all lips kiss the ass of the queen. Who enables Beavis to do nothing and yet my sister is constantly having to clean our dad;s house to earn money for food….

So yeah, I fucked up and I will fix it, and I feel positively like shit, but what about that fucking lump? No one holds him accountable, ever, and she preaches his awesomeness and he has a dozen friends who all but worship him but then, that’s his base, the fellow people who when fired from a job sign their final paycheck “fuck you”. So I wouldn’t want to really be accepted in that crowd because, well, douchebaggery isn’t cool even if it is prevalent. So’s Katy Perry and Lady Gaga on the radio, doesn’t make it right or mean I have to endure it.

I’m sure it all sounds too stupid to be true and I just sound bitter cos I fucked up and now I have to own it, but I was feeling this way long before today. Beavis dared to say something about how I don’t take good care of my cats since we had to rehome some of them due to the move and my brain about popped out of my skull. Those cats went to live on like ten acres of farm land where they are fed and watered twice a day and have tons of room to roam and catch mice. I didn’t rehome them out of choice but at least I had the decency to make sure they went to a good place where they’d be cared for. The man has homed several strays I found over the years and they’re all healthy and plump. So to have that p.o.s who doesn’t do a damned thing but play video games all night and piss into empty soda bottles kind of sent over the edge. I’m not making him a caricature like some Mike Judge cartoon, he really is just that….awful. And I hate feeling that way because I love my sister and I don’t want it to come between us, we’ve always been pretty close and on cool footing. But I can’t help but feel the way I do and I’ve felt that way for 20 years. My turning point was when they were doing meth and he actually took her dentures, put them in the toilet and pissed on them. Maybe she can forgive that shit, but man, I’d probably be in prison if he’d done that to me cos I’d have bashed his head against the toilet.

BREATHE.

I’ve never given my blog link to anyone I know in person because years ago, I made that mistake and my sister read some of my thoughts on our fucked up family and she was very hurt and didn’t speak to me for awhile. I don’t want that but bottling it up is poisoning me. Besides…her and mom were pretty smug about knowing from the get that the donor was a fake who would walk out on me and Spook. They have their judgments, same as me. Difference is, I admitted they were right when they were proven right. I’ve been proven right a hundred times about Beavis but I end up being the villain. So much for self awareness and objectivity. I don’t need to be loved that much that I would put up with that shit. If a guy wants to be a house husband and stay home to do housework and child care while the woman works to make money, cool. But a guy who makes the woman work and take care of the kid and take care of the house while he plays video games and rides motorcycles with his wanna be MC…Just writing it makes me need to vomit.

Anyway…Before this all happened…I was having mega anxiety attacks because I realized…OMFG, Spook’s 9th birthday is August 7th. Plus she needs some school clothes plus school supplies…and I can’t do it all and keep the bills paid and now I have this new thing on me….So survival of the fittest and the scared shitless. YEP, another fundraiser. But this one….Just check it out, it’s short and sweet and based on Spook’s own words. I get bogged down with her defiance and anger but the other day when her little friend was here and acting up, she tried to calm him and said, “Listen to my mom. She’s a good mom.”

It’s those little moments you live for, but if I want to keep the power on, it’s not going to get her a Minecraft cake. This one matters a lot, guys, it’s for a little girl who never asked for any of this. She just wants to have a happy birthday and go to school wearing clothes without stains and holes. With all the mindless political fundraisers going on out there..surely a 9 year old girl is worth a $5 donation. Not for me. For Spook.

Pretty please with pegacorn vomit and unicorn farts on top?