Archive for sleep disturbance


Posted in anxiety, depression, seasonal affective disorder with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

This week is Thanksgiving thus next week, December 3rd, is #Giving Tuesday. This is a time to be thankful for what we have, not necessarily monetary stuff. Even though my daughter and I are in a very dire financial situation due to the donor screwing us over on child support,again, (an on-line friend put money into our paypal account so I could refill my meds and buy toilet paper til next week, WE ❤ YOU, CAROL ANNE!)…I have been pondering how to ‘give back’ in whatever way I can. At this time, I have zero cash outside 24 cents in my wallet and $1.18 on my debit card so…

My contribution will be for Thanksgiving, as usual, buying and cooking chicken and noodles with what little is left on our food card. Idk why everyone from my mom to my sister’s husband’s friends go gaga when I bring noodles, I don’t do a bloody thing special, frozen noodles and a boiled chicken, but…people actually get disappointed if I don’t bring them so…It’s the only thing I can do. Maybe on #Giving Tuesday, I will offer to let my kid’s friend come hang out at our house thus giving his parents a break. It’s a little silly, I suppose, but I don’t even have gas in the car to go into town and like, volunteer at the pet shelter or soup kitchen. (Oh, and FYI, when you have even a misdemeanor theft charge on your record from nearly 20 years ago, even volunteer work often results in rejection, because ya know, much as society thumps its chest on ‘correction and rehabilitation’, they never truly believe anyone can change and become better versions of themselves minus prior bad acts.) And for anyone who thinks I am just making excuses, you are welcome to drive my ailing car on its low fuel and prove me wrong. If desire to help counted for anything, I would be considered a major benefactor.

So let’s do the thankful, first, and pardon me if it seems a little thin compared to my aggro issues but…it is what it is…


my daughter and I having a roof overhead, heat, electricity, water, and food in our bellies.
our cats, whose furry loving and purring make me feel like there’s light at the end of the very dark tunnel.
for my fucked up family who drives me insane, yet at least we have a place to go for holidays, which is more than so many people have.
our good physical health. We could be sick like so many others so this, too, is a gift to show gratitude for.
Good friends, IRL and on line, who help with a donation here and there and always offer their love, support, and encouragement. You guys are awesome and we love you.
My healthy, beautiful, smart, creative daughter. She drives me to lunacy but she has helped me become a less selfish, more grounded, and better person. I am grateful for her and to her.
My $450 car which is still running 18 months later, even if ailing at this time and wanting for fuel. It ain’t shiny or particularly pretty, but it has done us good and my dad bought it for us, so to car and donor dad, we are thankful.
our landlord. Who, unliked our prior landlord of 9 years who so often left us for weeks without heat during winter because he was too cheap to fix the furnace properly…Our current landlord fussed over the cost and it did take a week due to a part needed ordered from out of state, be he got it fixed and did not evict us, so we are grateful.
To R, for fixing our water heater free of charge not once, but twice. He is rude and thoughtless of our feelings, but when he is around, he’s pretty giving even if I have to grovel for that giving. Twenty plus years of friendship, bad blood, and we can still stomach each other. Big deal for me.
This laptop. A freebie from my days at R’s shop, 4 years later it is still going, even if the screen backlights are going out and the fan needs cleaned.
My nephew who installed Win 7 on this laptop and all the drivers and got it running 4 years ago.
My sister, who remains a badass metalhead like me, in spite of the forces around her draining the life and freedom out of her.
My mom, whose irresponsibility in making sure they can eat for the month goes out the window to buy my kid all the Christmas gifts I can never afford and am too responsible to throw caution to the wind to appease a fickle child.
Music. Even if my anxiety disorder dictates that it makes me panic…It has always been an oasis for me, anyway, when I am strong enough to cope with the anxiety it causes.
TV shows. Forensic Files, Unsolved Mysteries, True Blood, Buffy, Angel, E.R., et al…My fictional escape from the drudgery of depression and anxiety have been a calming blessing.
The on line friends who have moved on or passed, whose presence in my life, in whatever capacity, for however long, helped me survive some shitty stuff. Tyler, Becca, Kat/Kitty, Blah, Sass, Leslie, Andrew, Deon, Carol Anne, Patty, Kathy, Paul, Jason, Adrienne, Jennifer, and a few others whose blogs I read and they follow me but we’ve never really exchanged real names…YOU ARE ALL VERY IMPORTANT TO ME AND I LOVE YOU ALL IN MY OWN FUCKED UP WAY. If I have ever seemed ungrateful or bitchy or neflectful, you have my sincerest apologies. You’ve all made a huge difference in my life, as well as Spook’s and words defy the affection and gratitude we feel for each and every one of you.
Programs like SSDI, SSI, Food Stamps, Food pantries, Toys for Tots, Heat Assistance, Shop with a Cop, Angel Tree- for those of us in precarious situations and often at the mercy of cruel, flaky exes who contribute little to OUR children…The help is not merely viewed as a handout and we do not feel entitled. We are thankful for anything that helps us when we need it and this year…WE NEED ALL THE HELP WE CAN GET. And I truly am tired of saying it, but this is three years in a row the donor has quit/lost a job and left us high and dry on child support we desperately needed. I have high hopes that one day the help we receive, I will be able to pay forward.
My new telepsych doc, who has helped me more in 2 appointments than the NP did in a year. I won’t say the new combo has me wanting to live life to the fullest, but a return to the higher dose Xanax and the dual therapy as opposed to monotherapy, has helped considerably.
Kind people who understand not everyone chooses to be in a shitty financial/mental sitation and help out, even with a spirit lifting card, a thoughtful email, or a $5 deposit on paypal. You are who I wish I had the means to be because the kindness is in my heart, just not in my bank account. I ❤ you.


Meridian RX Insurance. I made a trip to town today to get my kid’s 20mg Metadate refilled and the insurance company refused OVER ONE FUCKING DAY EVEN THOUGH TOMORROW THE PHARMACY IS CLOSED. So my kid has to do without her meds cos one month had 31 days but the script is only for 30 and insurance won’t fucking cooperate. YOU SUCK, MERIDIAN! And IL state, too, for all their constrictive laws on ADHD meds and forcing kid care into an HMO hellish ordeal. If the doctor’s records indicate a refill is needed and they sign off on it, that should trump a bloody ass trash insurance company.
The fact that we had 70 mph winds last night and I woke up in the middle, unable to turn off my panic and paranoia because the wind was whipping so hard the windows were rattling in their frames. BUT I thought it was midnight and I had plenty of time to get back to sleep only to later realize…The phone says it’s 4:30 a.m. which means my alarm clock bedside lost power briefly and reset at 12:00 so I have two less hours to get some fucking sleep.
My brain for refusing to get to sleep, even with melatonin, until after the 6:30 a.m. alarm went off. Then I hit snooze four times and managed to nap in those increments, only to have to PRY myself awake and bellow for my child to get up cos I had no energy to move.
ME, for going back to sleep after my kid went to school, even if I truly was due the extra sleep. My plan for the day was to head to town by 9 a.m. Instead, I didn’t wake up and leave until 11, by which time I was mentally flogging myself for being so weak as to need more sleep.
Our kitten Ember, who for some reason, peed on my blanket. When you have no dryer and can’t hang things out to dry and no money for a laundromat…Dirty laundry, especially big heavy blankets, become an ordeal.
Public Aid, who is in no hurry to raise our food benefits, even though we have gone 5 weeks without a dime of child support. Kids can’t just skip eating, and I can’t just skip paying rent to buy food while red tape is processing. Frugal as I am, evem I can’t feed two people, especially a never full kid, on $150 for six weeks.
Rarely ever feeling warm enough, even under two covers or two layers of clothing. Whatever is wrong with my body’s thermostat needs to be FIXED.
Wind chafed lips. I have something going on with my mouth that signifies too much drool and wind exposure so my lips are red and chafed and I look like an infectious monkey. HATE.
My attention span, or lack of it, which hinders my ability to focus on functioning, let alone enjoying life.
The doctors who confuse me by saying yes you are A.D>D and need Focalin, then those who say no, artifact of bipolar, and oh, the ass trash insurance comapny that won’t cover the medication at all even if it makes me more functional and more productive.
Living in Armpit where the only businesses are a grain elevator and a minimart. Where the minimart only sells toilet paper by the roll and it costs $2.39 for ONE roll of T.P.
Living in Armpit, period. If gas was 99 cents a gallon circa 1989, I’d likely not have an issue. But nearly $3.00 a gallon and I need a gallon and a half for every trip to town where you can get anything, especially affordable things…It makes me feel isolated and not in a good way.
My desktop computer that keeled over even though I had it less than 6 months and barely used it. I NEED TO TO FUCKING WRITE AND I NEED MY DESKTOP TO DO IT, TRAITOR!
Myself-for not having the inner peace to write outside a desktop computer. But how many laptops have to be fried from overheating because my writing jags can last 18 hours? How about a laptop with a battery that lasts longer than 90 minutes and has enough fans to avoid overheating? Oh, right. That costs MONEY. But then again, the business model is to make them flimsy as possible so people have no choice but to replace them with a new model every couple of years. Ass trash.
Family who lives to insult and run me down, all the while wearing a smile and going, why do not want to hang with us?
Two faced people. Like my stepmonster offering me toilet paper, but then my dad is there and she says, ‘ask your daddy’ and he says, dead serious, ‘here, use this newspaper, was good enough when I was a kid.’ WTF, bitch? You brag that you wear the pants in the family then tell us to be submissive to our ‘daddy’ full well knowing he will say something negative…Two. Faced.
Myself. For not having the fortitude to stay awake the last few days and get housework done so that it is heading back to biohazard zone after how hard I worked to make it decent.
Myself. For having a sadistic conscience that cuts me zero slack no matter how awful I feel. I beat myself up so much, I may as well be a punching bag.
Society. For the newfound ‘victimhood’ tag that pretty much invalidates any emotion one might have as some sort of pansy snowflake weakness of character. I keep blogging but I am ever mindful of all the ‘snowflake’ and ‘victimhood’ bullshit that saturates the internet.
Social media. Once upon a time, the internet was a semi safe space if all you wanted was to type your feelings and be amongst people who would understand and empathize with your words. It felt mature, it felt legit, it felt…wonderful. Then came Facebook and Twitter and now…the internet has become an ugly, hostile, name calling junior high school. I opt to stick my mental health blog clique as opposed to joining any social media site where I would likely become a target from trolls. I am not saying trolls didn’t exist 15 years ago. I am just saying that even when the ‘leader of the free world’ is Tweeting 20 times a day and posting pics of his head pasted onto a muscle laden movie star chest while insulting anyone who dares to disagree with anything he says…HELLO, JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL????
Mental health issues. I didn’t ask for this and I am tired of people acting as if it’s a choice I made to inconvenience them.
The term ‘behavioral health’ that has replace mental health in the medical community. It invalidates any sort of thought disorder, making even schizophrenia come off as ‘bad behavior’. It is a disservice to patients and professionals alike and I’d like to Z Whack whatever fuckhead coined the term and managed to transform an entire field to a different terminology that is a falsehood. Hey, I wanna rename brain surgery, “zombie apocalypse preparedness surgery”, can I, oh, please, oh please? ASS TRASH!

I will leave it there because honestly I could go on forever about all that pisses me off. And I know, it’s my issue, it’s on me, I am my own worst enemy. Blah blah blah. But my only self edict in this blog has been to be true to myself and simply tell my truth…no matter how irrational, discombobulated, unfair, ridiculous, self involved, delusional, paranoid, vapid, redundant…

This is me. This is who I am.

And if you can’t make it through one of my long posts without an eye roll or a hard pass cos you just don’t have the time…IMAGINE HOW I FEEL HAVING TO LIVE THIS WAY.

You get to click a box to ignore, close, move on.

And honestly, I envy you.

But it is what it is and this is my fucked up sanity challenged personality disorder laden reality.

And ya know what?

I AM GRATEFUL THAT WORDPRESS AND THE POWER OF THE INTERNET ALLOW ME THE LUXURY OF VENTING ALL MY INSANE FEELINGS HERE TO SHARE WITH OTHERS. Then in a way, I do get to click an X and exit the page and go…somewhere else. Even if the mentality remains the same, at least I have purged and moved onto a different page.

It ain’t much but I will take what I can get.

I am needy. Not greedy.


Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on November 26, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am feeling extreme anxiety today, to the point of a churning stomach and hives. I can’t explain it because nothing has really triggered it. I even managed to go to my dad’s without too much trauma. Yet…here I am, at the corner of anxiety attack and panic episode. I am reluctant to take a Xanax because my once bountiful stash has dwindled and can’t be replenished if I don’t restart my hoarding and self discipine, ie: self punishment and withholding of what could make me feel less…like a cornered animal. I will get to taking one shortly but man, that last psych center benzo nazi regime really got into my head and now I feel shitty for taking more than their low dose even though the new doc put me back where I need to be. Talk about conditioning. Not that it’s anything new. I’ve come across several people in my life with preconceived notions that anyone who took xanax at all was addicted and needed rehab to fix their problem. Yet they saw how altered my behavior and demeanor were once xanax was on board, they changed their tunes, amazingly. Well, not one of them, but that’s a sordid password protected mind fuck of a mess from 11 years ago.

Conditioning, ick. I like to think myself as unmalleable but it seems I put myself in a supplicant position,personality wise, a little too often. Not often enough for anyone to mistake me for a doormat but often enough that they play on my psych diagnoses and corner me, making my every reaction to their shitty behavior about my mental issues. Cos saying, ‘sorry,I am being a jerk’ is just asking too fucking much from neurotypicals. I should apologize for things I can’t control but they never have to be sorry for a damn thing. They haven’t conditioned that outrage out of me yet. Sooo bloody tired of being the one to get therapy and meds and make changes and grow as a person while those around me prove to be immovable objects. On an evolutionary scale, this is disappointing, even in my new ‘woke’ state about my own contribution to my social and emotional issues. Maybe I don’t always recognize when I am being a bitchbeast but when I do, or it is pointed out, I have the decency to say, “I’m sorry” instead of going on the attack and saying shit like,”Don’t be so sensitive” or “learn to take a joke”. Or I wait til after I apologize to go sarcastic. Because I truly DO feel bad when I behave badly and make others feel shitty. Good thing I have a strong psyche because apparently all the conscience lacking in those around me has been instilled in my mind…cos I even feel bad for them for being such jerks and not even being smart enough to know they are being jerks.

My mind is such a clusterfuck.

So…another morning where I could barely get up with my kid. I could not get warm. I went back to sleep as soon as she was on the bus. This napping thing has become daily when she is not home and it’s pissing me off. I started staying up later and taking melatonin at the last minute in hopes it might help me stay asleep but…all it has done is bring about the naps. I really don’t want to go back to going to bed at 7:30 so my brain is calmer by 10 p.m. I am trying to wean myself from the benadryl and melatonin, cutting the dose 3/4 in hopes of not being groggy in the morning and going back to sleep. I just want to sleep sans pills for a change and yet…if I do that, I am still awake at 3 a.m. I have had this sleep disturbance for 20 years, I can’t explain it.

I couldn not fix the stepmonster’s laptop because the problem is with her ten year old router and her Win 8 OS not playing nice together. They weren’t too awful, aside from calling me and waking me from my guilty nap and guilting me into coming over. Though maybe my dad contributed to the anxiety. The conversation:

“Your car is making a bad sound in front, if you keep driving it that way, you’re going to tear it up.”
Me: “So what should I do?”
Him: “Keep driving it. Next time you go to town, stop by afterward so we can feel if you have any hot spots near your tires.”

BRAIN IMPLOSION. Keep driving it, tear it up. Hey, go drive it. What the actual fuck?????

I need to go to town tomorrow to get stuff to make chicken and noodles for Turkey day. Maybe that impending ordeal of two trips in tow days is adding to my anxiety. That and my kid’s pain in the ass friend who cannot get it through his head that when he calls and I say no, she isn’t hanging out today, it does NOT mean ignore me and come to the door so I have to tell her no again and bring about her wrath on me because you’re a spoiled, apparently deaf brattleaxe. He really stresses me out. And it’s not like I don’t feel for the kid, he is on the spectrum and has zero friends, but man…annoying as fuck. And being told no only to show up anyway and act hurt that I said no again…I don’t want to have to talk to his mother but it may come to that. And he is two grades ahead of Spook so I don’t even get the peace of mind thinking, hey, worry less, she is with an older kid…In this case, the older kid is less mature than my kid.

Okay, so maybe I do have things to explain the anxiety but hives and a burning stomach ache? Seems extreme.

Doctors ran tests and it was always the same conclusion: you internalize stress and it impacts you physically.

Bloody lovely.

I guess as it nears time for the moody return of Spook, I think it may be time to take a Xanax. And ego check myself for calling her moody when it’s a pot-kettle-black situation.

Self awareness fucking sucks.

Blah Blah Blah

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

Couldn’t come up with a decent title. I am so drained and low today I would swear I went on a bender last night except I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. Welcome to the monthly PMDD. When combined with the inability to get to sleep until the wee hours, then waking multiple times, and having a love affair with the snooze button through a mental haze so thick a machete could not slice through it…As soon as Spook was on the bus, I went back to Fort Blankie, intent on getting more sleep. I had cramps so bad I knew the day was doomed, anyway.

I slept until almost noon, and have been kicking myself because of it. But I have zero energy or motivation. This gloomy weather is really causing the seasonal affective disorder to kick my ass. On top of hormonal issues, it leads to living dead girl syndrome.

I am super stressed about tomorrow. I am supposed to take my stepmonster to the hospital at 9 a.m. so she can have her 11 a.m. colonoscopy and I have to stay and drive her home after they put her under…Then I have to take my kid to her first band concert in a packed gym, driving after dark in mega traffic..All this on top of being dysphoric and plain exhausted…Filled with panic and dread, almost wishing a bolt of lightning would take me out. People-ing is hard on me, drains me, stresses me to breaking point.

How I want to write again. I have been proofing some of my older stuff and dear god, it will be 3 years soon since I sat down and got absorbed in my fiction. But I don’t know how to make it work without a desktop computer. The laptop overheats easily and has so many externals I can’t just drag it around…I am super frustrated with this. WHY couldn’t ONE fucking thing, one positive fucking thing, go right? Even if I were to ask for a used tower for Christmas and my family would pony up, by then my creative urge could well be gone. So I try to tell myself to downscale my writing process. But unless I can do it a certain way, in my protective bubble, without fear of burning up a computer or losing data because it’s not on external hard drive, plus music to create the ambience…I know I am being neurotic and should just…do…it…Even with pen and paper. Just fucking do it.

But my creative process does not work like that. I have to be in a static bubble with my external accessories and I can’t even sit the laptop on the kitchen table safely because the cats walk all over the keyboard. It’s so maddening. Or I am just super hormonal. I got to thinking back over the years to some of my worst blow ups and tearfests-some of which lead to fights, others lead to me being asked to leave because I was hysterical (as if people who truly love you would want you driving a car in that state, ffs, what is wrong with people?) but…I can tie pretty much every one of those episodes to the PMDD. Because outside that 7-10 day cycle, I almost never cry or have aggressive urges to fight or get dramatic. Doesn’t excuse my idiocy, but it explains it. It also tells me all I need to know about the people in my life and their emotional IQ’s. Hormonal surges are no more my fault than bipolar is. I need understanding and an effort to soothe me and calm me, not people telling me to snap out of it and grow up. This PMDD every month is like a neverending pregnancy state and people cut pregnant ladies lots of slack cos it’s not their fault their hormones are fucked up…Not that my family or ex or anyone ever cut me any slack for that either, but I have heard others have experienced the understanding and support so it’s out there…

Shit I went off on a diabtribe. Fuck. I can’t stay focused. Right now, my back and belly are hurting and I just want to sleep some more but then I feel shitty for sleeping but…even if others lack the decency of understanding and cutting me slack…maybe I should do it for myself. Self care. Allow myself to feel all the stress, endure the pain and confusion, and know like a storm it will pass and the sun will come out and I won’t be hurting or as…powder keggy.

But thanks to a bunch of thoughtless emotionally stunted assholes in my life, instead of being able to give myself some TLC and slack, I have their chorus of discouragement and judgement screaming in my head that I am weak, that I am immature, that I won’t take responsibility for not being able to control my emotions or suck up the pain and lack of energy.

It truly is not a wonder why I self isolate and have learned to self soothe, even if through layers of self loathing placed on me by others. Their ‘love’ is toxic and I am sane enough to not want to be poisoned further.

90% of the time I am okay with being a lone wolf.

But I’d be a liar if I didn’t say 10% of me wishes I did have at least one person in my life who would accept me, and ‘my bullshit moods and neuroses’ and love me in spite of it all and be there through thick and thin. Friend, lover, refrigerator repair man, I don’t even care anymore. Just one fucking person to make the effort to understand not everything I feel and do is poor character or a personality disorder. I don’t control so much of what goes on with my mind and body. I understand it intellectually and I know when to avoid situations that could set me off on the tearfest or ragefest but…Every once in awhile it would be nice to just have a person I could cuddle up to and cry on their shoulder and have my hair stroked and be told it’s okay to be sad or hate the world.

Last week when our kitten Pasha died, the ONLY person I told who even bothered with an “I’m so sorry for you” was my sister. My mom, my dad, stepmonster, brother, so called friend, even my kid…They didn’t offer a condolence, a hug, NOTHING. Just an “Oh,” or a “Hmm” then back to talking about some inane bullshit. And I am supposedly the heartless bitch.

Tearing up. Oh, wow, I can’t wait for menopause. Because 46 years of not being able to control my bipolar and hormonal issues being extended another ten years is something to look forward to.

I have to return to regularly scheduled anger and sarcasm because all that mooshy shoulder-to-cry-on shit makes me feel like a wussy. I logically know it is just a human need to feel connected and comforted but thanks to all the assholes around me teaching me that denial or anger are more acceptable than tears and true emotion…They have passed on their emotionally stunted toxins like an antibiotic resistent STD.

I am better off alone.

So why does that 10% of me still have hope of one day finding my ‘person’? Oh, right. Because I am a lowly human and have human feelings. Even if everyone in my life seems hell bent on convincing me that my needs are unimportant and make me weak. Maybe that 10% of me is what is left of my humanity they haven’t tainted and rather than view it with resentment and feel it is a weakness…maybe I should be grateful their negativity hasn’t entirely robbed me of my hope even if it is pie in the sky.

Scrambled Eggs All Over My Face

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

Okay, so the title is, of course, from the Frasier theme song but yesterday it became quite literal. I’m not fucking Betty Crocker and I can’t get omelets to turn out, like ever, so I do this “slomlette” thing for my kid when she bothers to eat breakfast. I nuked some eggs and went to stir them mid way and…they exploded upward and onto my face, into my hair. So I wiped my scalded skin and finished her breakfast and ya know what? I didn’t even eventually get to bathing to wash egg bits out of my hair. I think I am on day 6 without bathing…Yeah, gross, but hey, wet wipes and a bar of irish spring with some deodorant can hide a multitude of depressive hygiene failures. Though three days in the same clothes is getting iffy. Great thing about wearing nothing but black, no one ever really notices that sort of thing.

Last night was garbage. I never did bathe or mow the lawn or do the dishes. I did finish season 4 of The Magicians and came out feeling utterly depressed and dejected because they killed off my favorite character (assholes!). I caught the season premiere of AHS 1984 and was underwhelmed. About the only chore I accomplished was to wash and hang dry a small load of laundry out on the line because my kid was running out of shirts. I tell her, over and over, the clothes aren’t going to get washed in your bedroom basket, you gotta bring them to the washer…then she waits until she has nothing and I am supposed to find a laundromat open at 9 p.m. to do her bidding which wouldn’t be necessary IF SHE JUST COOPERATED A LITTLE DAMN BIT. And she is not being cooperative on this Focalin. She is moody, combative, she says it does not help at school and she starts yelling at me and becoming angry…Like it’s my fault. I get her frustration but this is ALL ON MERDIAN HEALTH INSURANCE THROUGH THE STATE. They refused to pay for the med that was proven to work so now she’s on this medi go round of shit that doesn’t help. YES, MERIDIAN, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR UPENDING MY CHILD’S WORLD BY BEING CHEAP FUCKING BASTARDS. I had a sweet focused kid when she was on Concerta and now she’s just surly and hyper as ever and knowing that one med made it better but insurance won’t pay and I can’t, well, now she’s just a ball of hostility and I can’t entirely blame her.

My night was further wrecked, thus fucking up my day, because I took my melatonin benadryl cocktail but was still awake at 1:30 a.m. And I was getting so flustered and just pissed off because today was The Day. Kick myself in the ass, get this lawn mowed so dad will get off my fucking back, do dishes, get the house in order (ish), enjoy a break from being a mom for the night…Instead I got about 4 hours of sleep and it was all I could do to pry myself out of bed by third snooze alarm. I am sleepy, I am achey, I am grouchy, I am pissed off. But we’re about to get 4 days of rain and my yard is the only one not manicured to perfection so I have got to get it done to keep my dad off my ass. He’s been working this week which means his exhaustion turns into pure vitriole toward me if I don’t meet his standards. I am so sick of him being in my business. If it’s a problem, come mow it yourself and shut the fuck up, you’re not my landlord. But it’s like walking on a minefield and just turns into him screaming and cussing me and confrontation sets off my already red alert alarm bells.

There are times I wish to fuck I had a physical condition that people could actually empathize with. This mental health bullshit is just way above the grasp of some people and it is exhausting trying to live up to their standards when I must think ten times a day that ‘you can’t live forever, it has to end sometime.’ I’m not excited for upcoming Halloween, MY holiday. We have 2 week old kittens and that doesn’t make me feel anything but more burdened with responsibility. Frankly, the responsibility of it all does get to me sometimes. Truth is, for all my bluster, some days I am just terrified that this child is counting on me and I can barely keep the milk in the fridge from being expired. And meanwhile the donor is telling his coworkers how because a court order means they take support out of his check that it makes him a good dad who takes care of her. 8 years without so much as a birthday card. He stood her up the one time he claimed he did want a visit. I get all the responsibility and I get to be the bad guy. That’s just fucking awesome.

As is sitting here with the gut goblins playing trampoline on my innards, brought on by the anxiety of this whole lawn mowing-dad thing. They will be returning my trash cans soon, no doubt, and I never know if it will be a silent exchange or if they will scream at me and order me around about how my lawn isn’t up to snuff. Last year, avoiding their attacks was what got me out there mowing it myself (that and half ass functioning meds and adequate xanax so I wasn’t ya know, afraid to leave the house)…This year…much as I want to go kick ass and take names so I could bask in my accomplishment…I am battling the depressive inertia. I can’t even fucking make myself bathe,ffs. Feeding myself has become about the maximum I can do and even that is iffy because I can never choose what I want, or if it will upset my belly, or if I have the energy to even nuke something. It’s been a long time since the depression and anxiety got this bad. I always thought at the times that it was rock bottom but I think this truly is worse than that. What is below rock bottom?

So I am going to force myself off my ass and try to mow the lawn even though it would be wiser to wait til later when it dries and won’t clog the mower but I am so pissed off about my dad being such a dick, about my sleep being so fucked up last night, and my kid being so off the rails, it’s not like I can truly focus on anything else until I get this shit done. But it’s gonna take 3 hours at least with a single push mower, it is a huge lawn, and I FUCKING HATE LIVING HERE AND NEVER WANTED THIS HOUSE AND THIS FUCKING LAWN BECAUSE I KNEW I COULDN’T KEEP UP WITH IT ALL. I had no choice other than homelessness and they tend to take your kid away for that sort of thing so…here we are, stuck in a place neither of us much likes, and I am trying to puke rainbows to convince my kid it’s not that bad when…it is. It’s not our town, it is my dad’s. This house was not what I chose, it was what was forced on me as an only option. Spook hates it here. What’s not to be depressed and pissed off about?

It boils down to money, though. Last time we moved in two weeks with no wiggle room and it was sheer hell. And now that we’ve been told if we choose to leave her, dad and them won’t help us move…Can’t help but feel trapped. No medication is going to fix that. I do know, however, that the proper combo could help me perceive it less negatively.

I’m ready to try CBD oil, lick a hallucinogenic toad…I need out of this mental space but alas, the Zoloft just makes me more depressed and the nurse’s idea of help is to raise the dose. I surmount after 6 weeks and 3 dose increases and the fact I am MORE instead of less depressed should signal a change of course. But hey, she has the degrees and I am just the lowly patient whose life she is destroying by being so unreasonable. Damn sad when illegal substances start to seem like a viable option because your provider is making you worse instead of better. We’re a pot culture now, so hey, I’d likely be more accepted if I were just a stoner.

My tombstone is gonna be marked with “Death By Frustration” because this shit is gonna make my brain implode.

The 7 Day Disconnect Ends

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

Our internet is fixed finally. Sorta. It keeps going up and down and the tech told me it could just be the weather, we had a wicked thunderstorm this morning. But the phone is working and the internet half ass works, it is never down more than a minute or two. Annoying but better than what we for 7 days. NOTHING. Oh, I had my phone data but all my kid does is stream youtube so that would have burned 2 gigs. I allowed myself only to post prewritten posts to spare the data. (Geesh, it’s gone down 5 times since I started TRYING to write this, wtf Frontier????)

I’d like to say a 7 day net purge cured all my mental issues but alas, it did not. I am battling them more than ever. Waking up multiple times a night. Constant anxiety and paranoia. Hitting snooze in the morning because getting up is too hard. Barely the energy to refill ice cube trays and run minimum errands in the petri dish. I thought last year was my worst year but this year is quickly surpassing it, mental health wise. If this NP doesn’t put me on a double antidepressant regime before the seasonal depression sets in, I am probably going to end up hospitalized. No one can shut down this much without it biting them on the ass eventually.

To my credit today, I bathed and cooked a meal for my kid and myself. That was a battle. I still need to feed the outdoor cats again and take out trash and get her into a bath. Once again, I am looking forward to bedtime. Which won’t hold because I am almost out of melatonin with B6 and the only place to get it is where the donor works. That’s a powder keg situation for me, especially after Spook drew me a picture of a heart with a hole in it and I asked why and she said that was where her dad used to be until he left…Knowing how much he hurts her really enrages me. He thinks it’s all about him and me and that has NOTHING to do with it anymore. I was over that about 3 weeks after he bailed. But I never let go of my hope that at some point he’d grow the hell up and be a father to her. Proof I am borderline delusional, I guess. I know I shouldn’t let his presence psych me out. Hell, 6 weeks ago I was in a better mental state and went in there even though he was working. I don’t think the NP has a clue how fucked up things have gotten for me over the last couple of months. And her resistance to dual therapy kind of tells me she doesn’t much care about my progress, just impressing her overseer with how few meds she prescribes. That’s a sad statement about a psych care center, ain’t it? More worried about pleasing your boss than doing your patient some good? Not like I want more pills to take, but I do need to get out of this black haze that covers my every thought.

I guess I didn’t wear a good enough mask at the family thing Sunday night. My dad called and asked if I was pissed off cos I looked mad. Well, bees were buzzing near my eyelashes and bugs were eating me alive and I was itchy and covered in welts and it was hot which makes me sweat and my sweat makes me break out and itch more…I wasn’t thrilled about being there, no, but I tried to put on the fake mask and get through it. I suppose I failed. I asked my sister if I seemed mad to her and she said no and agreed it was just annoying with all the bugs and bees.

My mom has spinal stenosis and is waiting to hear back from the spinal surgeon. She is terrified she is going to end up paralyzed. I hope they can at least get her out of pain, she’s already talking about wanting to die rather than live in that much pain.

Which of course makes me feel shitty for worrying about my ‘head problems’ because according to the entire field, it’s just ‘behavioral health’ now, implying that behavior modification can somehow fix mental health disorders. That is what the term says to me. Whoever came up with it needs smacked with a rotting mackeral. It’s as bad as any stigma. Surprises my ass trash center isn’t using that title. Thankfully it’s still psychiatric health. Though the current regime may change that, especially since they merged with the big hospital from the state capitol. I think calling it behavioral is going to keep a lot of people from admitting they have a mental health problem and a lot of people will avoid getting help because they think it’s their fault their thoughts are distorted. Very dangerous. I admit some of my behaviors could be changed, it might make a minimal improvement, but for the most part…I am chemically imbalanced and no amount of behavior modification is going to change that or help it. Implying otherwise is downright cruel and ignorant.

Did anyone miss my long rants? I know, I posted a few, but this one is coming to you live, not hours after the fact. Live insanity for all to enjoy.

I used to say I don’t suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it. Now that I an inching closer to true insanity, I am not so sure about that.

Babylon Files-weekend edition

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , on August 18, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Friday August 16th
Feeling high strung. Again. Hives, indecisiveness, inability to even feed myself when I am hungry. Saving grace is at least my current med regime does not make me sick if I take it without food. I have zero desire to revisit the lithium nausea and pukefest days.
Itchy ear again. Who is talking about me? Damn my mother for tainting my brain with idiotic superstitions. It’s fucked up that I embrace the number 13 and black cats without superstition but these idiotic nose or ear itches drive me paranoid.
I settled on microwave scrambled eggs with cheese for brunch. That took a lot of energy out of me, believe it or not. Making choices is exhausting.
I am so jumpy the cat knocked a box over and I jumped, literally. When I say I am sensitive to noise and easily startled, I am not being dramatic.
I feel like I am crawling out of my skin with anxiety. It borders on perpetual panic. My ONLY TRUE PEACE comes after 8 p.m. when I know I am free of phone call threats and potential visitors. The main threat being my father and his unannounced visits and lectures. The man is gonna drive me to the looney bin even if I haven’t heard from him in almost 5 days. He’s still pissed I defended my kid against his ‘idiot’ insult. Sucks to be him, the silent treatment forever would suit me fine.

3:18 p.m. and I am dying to rid myself of the torture device called a bra. The unannounced visits from family and my kid’s playmates are why I don’t even feel comfortable in my own home doing my own thing. I used to. Moving to Armpit under daddy gloom monger’s thumb changed that. One thing about winter. You’re under so many layers people don’t notice a lack of proper undergarments and you can skip them if it suits your mood. Tank tops…not so much. And yeah, he has said something about me revealing too much. My question is, why is my dad looking at my boobs? Eww.
Irrational thoughts, 101. Paranoia just to go around the corner to the bathroom off the kitchen. It’s out of my safe space but also, it seems every time I go to the bathroom, the phone rings, someone knocks, or Spook beckons. Amazing the tension and anxiety even have my bodily functions still, well, functioning.
Sat August 17
Little bits of happiness. I got an alert to and article about Motionless In White and Halestorm performing with Alice Cooper. I love all three of them. Even though my anxiety levels have made it damn near impossible to enjoy music, I enjoyed the article and the live clip. Lizzy Hale’s story about a slumber party where her music failed to impress her pop loving friends and it just…made me nostaligic. I was metal as fuck and few others were so I didn’t fit, that was for sure. And it didn’t matter because I loved the music that moved me, not just what was popular and everyone liked it only for that reason.
TV time
Been binging the hell out of NCIS:New Orleans since the internet went down. (7 fucking days for service, ridiculous FRONTIER!!!!) It amuses me because the actor who plays LaSalle was on American Gothic as a kid, Caleb. it’s funny seeing him all grown up now. It was cool when Paige Turco appeared as Pride’s wife. She fought to become “Caleb’s” guardian on Gothic.
I met Scott Bakula once. When I was waiting tables and he was in the state visiting his wife’s family. He was very nice about signing autographs on the back of the paper placemats the restaurant had. I was the only with the balls to approach him. Figured worst he could do would say go to hell. Prediagnosis and proper meds, I wasn’t so high strung and fearful of everything. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for how helpful getting ‘professional help’ was for me. Now I am scared of everything.
Not to wear out the TV talk but I gotta say one of the things I love most about CSI and NCIS franchises is how they have these small but like family close teams. It’s like family, only you choose the people you can tolerate. I am envious of that, as much as I do like to keep to myself. I always wanted to find my tribe. It could still happen, I suppose. Ya know, if I ever get an actual doctor who can get me off the panxiety train and on a dual antidepressant regime. The conservative nazis are NOT helping me. Hard to make friends when you’re terrified of people because your brain is sending red alerts 24=7 that everything is a viable threat.
Sunday August 18
Watching NCIS:New Orleans season 3 finale. My anxiety climbs with suspenseful shows with characters I like in peril. This was the reason I had to give up horror movies and soap operas. But I am too curious about the ending to let the anxiety stop me, even if it means sporting hives.
Also have a cookout at my dad’s tonight to celebrate my kid and her cousin’s birthdays. Not looking forward to more lectures by my dad about people without jobs. He doesn’t believe anyone is too disabled to work, it’s all character flaw. I get so sick of hearing it. These family shindigs would be much easier if I could go drunk and stay drunk but with a kid in tow, I can’t do that. So I will suffer through it, even if it throws off my evening soothing ritual of watching MASH. And they are starting it so late in the evening that it will throw off my kid’s bedtime, too. Being at the mercy of others is misery.
My stomach is rioting, my anxiety skyrocketing. Less than an hour til the family shindig and I am filled with dread. Frankly, I just don’t feel like talking to people or well, seeing people. My entire focus will be on choking down the food, ignoring the gut goblins, and surviving til we can gracefully bow out and come home for bedtime. I keep thinking things are going to get better, at least how I feel mentally, but it’s not happening so I have to question the Zoloft. Of course, I am only on week two at the higher dose and it’s not maxed out but my hopes for it helping with my sleep and anxiety are shot to hell. I woke up four different times last night, in panic attacks, barely able to breathe, thoughts racing.
It really gets old feeling beaten down by your own mind on a daily basis.

Babylon Files: Back To School

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , on August 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Something as insignificant as having my phone 2 feet away on the charger throws off my equilibrium. I am accustomed to the phone being less than 12 inches from my hand when I am in my safe space. I keep reaching for it and it isn’t there which gives me a moment of panic until I remind myself it’s across the room. I could use usb to charge it in front of me but that takes three times longer than electrical charging. Unfortunately there is only one outlet in my bedroom so I kind of have to work around that which means charging across the room. The tiniest things shake me up.
In a prior post I mentioned seeing my kid at the bus stop and having what seemed like a break from reality. Not exactly a break but an overwhelming thought that damn, I’ve got her to fifth grade on my own, but it’s been hard and what if I start flying apart with emotional and mental shrapnel because it doesn’t seem real that she is already ten…It was disconcerting and it’s happening more frequently, where reality seems to much to grasp and I feel hazy and scared I am going to crack my lids.
I put my bra on inside out. That is a testament to how altered my mind is at this time. Attention to detail gets lost in the mix. Least I figured it out before I finished dressing. Okay, I am still wearing the pants I slept in so I am half dressed but wearing a bra is huge for me. I will take the backwards win.
Some days forcing myself beyond the mail box is impossible. Sometimes it is very difficult but I am able to do it. I never know what is coming my way is the big problem. I can’t predict how high my anxiety level will be or why.
I don’t get people who get ‘high’ on caffeine, chocolate, sweets, etc. I can drink a 2 liter of soda and still not feel any difference. I wish it was that easy to boost my energy and focus.
Sometimes I curse the silly superstitions my mother instilled in me. Or installed. My nose itches, I hear her voice telling me someone is going to call or come by. My ear itches, someone is talking about me. Today my ears are super itchy which is making me super paranoid and anxious. It is illogical but I can’t shake it off. Back to anxious inertia in my space safe since leaving it heightens the sense of the other shoe dropping. This is what I mean when I say my thinking is very altered. I am always high strung and expecting the worst but this is extreme even for me.
Bio trackers…my god, tech is getting more terrifying by the day. You could ingest them unknowingly with any food really and then your body becomes the tracking device. Of course, this is off TV but I have little doubt it’s out there or in the works. TERRIFYING. And no, I don’t buy that bullshit ‘if you have nothing to hide, you have no reason to be paranoid.’ I am truly a very boring safe person but the idea that someone could use my own body to spy on me creeps me out.
My kid is home safely, she had a good day, it’s after 3 p.m. and yet…my anxiety continues to climb. I have zero idea why, it makes no sense, usually as the day nears 5 p.m. the anxiety is tamed a bit. But I have been feeling pretty high strung and frozen in place all day so I guess this is just one of those paranoia panic ridden days I can never predict. At least I can look forward to bedtime…4 hours and 12 minutes from now. Egad.
My kid had a good first day at school yay. I was worried.
My brother picked up my trash then came back by to tell me my trash cans had bugs in them. So now I am in charge of the outdoors, according to my father. Ass trash. I might make it to town tomorrow and get a big thing of bug killer for out back. That man is a stain on my soul. And my kid is still smarting from him calling her an idiot. A 72 year old man picking on a 10 year old and calling names while telling her to grow up. That’s fucking rich.
7:45 My spawn is ready for bed, yay, school is wearing her out. Now I can take my father stained soul, my depression and my anxiety to Fort Blankie and bliss out on sleep. Sadly, the consistency of sleeping through mostly since starting the Zoloft is wearing off and I am back to the sleep wake hellish cycle. At least I can get back to sleep easily. To wake four or five times briefly. WTF is wrong with my brain?