Archive for sleep disturbance

Sleepless In Armpitopia

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on March 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I should not have been surprised, let alone so aggravated, when after yesterday’s napping reboot and the ensuing all around good mental state…I slept from 10:45 p.m. til 2:15 a.m. and then I was awake until 5:30 a.m. I took .25 mg of xanax but as I am out of Ataraz and low on melatonin, it was just a waiting game. I counted backwards by odd numbers at least five times. I tried counting forward in even numbers. I sat up. I paced. I laid back down. I tried my soothing sounds machine. Total darkness and quiet. (Except for the fucking endless trains that go through this hellpit day and night.) It just made me more angry and frustrated. At wit’s end I put an Unsolved Mysteries playlist on the laptop and last I looked at the clock it was nearing six a.m. and I was dreading the alarm going off at 6:30. I slept til 7:10 then spent 40 minues trying to get my kid out the door. She did her job of griping and fighting me tooth and nail.

I thought then I could get some rest. I was listless, nervous, just agitated as hell for no apparent reason. Other than the obvious that the genius healthcare here misses. Lack of quality restorative sleep. I was unable to get warm so climbing back under the covers was pleasant. But much like the night my mind would not slow down. Counting backwards was doing nothing. Sound machine was doing nothing. (Nothing drowns out the damn trains.) Sit up, lay down, pace a bit. Lather, rinse, repeat. Maddening. Like hack people up with an ax maddening. I don’t think anything has ever frustrated me as much as being totally exhausted yet unable to get back to sleep. I even rationed out a tiny dab of Xanax and a melatonin. NOTHING. Finally said fuck it and took the trash to my stepmonster’s and got to hear how much my brother loves working at McDonald’s. He worked a single 3 hour shift and ended up sweeping and wiping tables because he couldn’t get the hang of burrito rolling. Not that I could. But then he is a different person from me, he kind of thrives on anxiety and immersion therapy. Stepmonster told me all about how his psych nurse (the first FAIl I had with nurse practitioners) said working would be good for his depression and moods and yes, anxiety.

Dear God, I am screwed if I don’t make a miraculous recovery soon. Because like I’ve said, this place is no longer about individual treatment, it has become one size must fit all and of it doesn’t, you’re the problem. This is terrifying. Not because I think working would be too hard, I’d kill to get my self esteem back. What is hard is pretending to be stable when you’re simply not and then everyone clucking their tongues when yet again you fail. The well meaning simpletons actually cause many of us to push ourselves too hard and we fall on our faces. That’s what happened with me helping at R’s shop. Even 16 hours for 3 months just to get a different car…I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had emotional shrapnel flying, I was constantly edgy, I felt imprisoned by his demands that extended far beyond simple shop wench. If I failed a friend who is now reporting that failure like a character flaw as opposed to the true issue of my mental health stability(and I went through it all and did not get the car,so it was that bad for me.)…well, I fail to see, much as I need to work, how adding more local bad references can do anything but hurt me. (Which is why I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE A WORK AT HOME GIG, I WOULD BE AN AWESOME VIRTUAL ASSISTANT!!! I excel if I don’t have to leave home and I love computers!)

The first psych nurse asked me how I’d know when I was ready to go back to work full time.

I told her if I’d been on a stable cocktail for six months-during the seasonal depression between October and March, and remained completely functional and not melting down or flaking out…I’d declare myself ready to do battle at any job. I’ve not had any such recovery during a winter period in 7 years. In fact, the last time I ‘recovered’ was right after the donor left and I tried so hard to push myself to just get out there, get a job, and take care of my kid. I pushed myself so hard that I was showing up at the shop even when in the middle of a toxic reaction to one medication that locked my muscles up. I was toughing it out to my own detriment to prove I could. So when I did go splat, it was a splintering of my entire identity, not just anxiety, not just the bipolar or depression. It was a catastrophic system failure. I overestimated my capabilities based on what others expected of me and what I wished myself capable of. And she was complicit by enouraging me to keep at it even when I admitted feeling like I needed hospitalized to escape R and that whole situation. Rather than have empathy or make an effort to understand, she used the one size fits all mentality and rather than submit a proper letter of resignation I let it go on until the man texted me on the weekends after 10 p.m. literally calling me stupid for not sharing his political views…and I snapped and said fuck it, not coming back. If that woman had shown me an iota of individual compassion and assured me a little time away wouldn’t hurt anything instead of pretending to know me and my abilities…Ultimately it is on me, though I doubt it would have gone down so horribly if I’d had adequate mental health support.

That’s a terrifying thing, having your ability to make even basic income for shelter and such in the hands of someone who spends 15 minutes with you every six weeks (15 minutes IF you’re lucky) and can’t even discern from your state of disheveled unbathed sickly appearance and manner that you tried and you’re just running on empty. I thought she was harsh. This new one is ten times more detached and by the book, she will never give me an ounce of empathy or true support. She seems to have therapeutic empathy and support confused with coddling and hand holding. I’m not asking for a thing I haven’t received from pretty much every other doctor that has come through that place. If I were trying to turn her into something that I wanted to create out the ether, that’d be delusional. I just want the same standard of care maintained. She ain’t it. And I’m stuck til June. At least.

So again…virtual assistant needed anywhere? Work from home is the ONE thing I’ve never been fortunate enough to try and since I manage to cope with all the madness involved just in daily life as a mom here…If I don’t have to leave the house and it’s not a rapid fire noisy type thing, I could flourish. Of course, I am coming to understand that work from home jobs are a scam. Pegacorns wrapped in leprechauns and pots of gold and rainbows. I can still dream.

I really went off the rails there. I think the point I was going to make was, the interrupted sleep, lack of quality rest to even catch up, rendered me pretty useless today. I am short tempered, hypersensitive to all the noisy trains and trucks and tractors. My kid is playing with her friend and even though they are out on the swingset, they keep bickering and I have to referree every five minutes and it’s getting on my last nerve. This will not be like last night when I wasn’t praying for darkness and the sleep of the spawn so I could escape the pressure cooker inside my own head. I want darkness NOW but it’s two hours away at least. And if they’re bickering chances are it means she will spend the night complaining that he picked fights, he was all the problem, and it was my fault for not ‘making’ him play what she wanted…Oh, the drama literally makes me feel physically ill.

For the record, I checked on my status for the fast food jockey position. My references were not favorable. Also, a friend of R’s daughter who disliked me from day one is in management so even if my references had been good elsewhere, something tells me I’d have not had a chance anyway. Much as small town people can be real friendly and loyal, they can also be narrow minded, judgey, cruel, and they have zero problem using their personal differences in a professional capacity. But hey, maybe I’m just paranoid.

Still feeling unemployable. I am willing to TRY at least. But you don’t walk in with a machete and say, “Hire me, I’m awesome, don’t make me cut you…” Geesh, I wish it was the fucking easy.

So in closing…this day has sucked. And the only thing that made any different than yesterday is…lack of sleep. I’m exhausted and it makes me cranky and heightens my anxiety while lowering my tolerance and coping skills. Apparently I am never gonna know if the meds are actually working because without proper sleep, they don’t do shit for depression and anxiety. And proper sleep is the ONE thing 10 doctors have been unable to ‘fix’ in me. Then again they haven’t tried Lunesta or Ambien because they might have to pick up a phone and be put on hold and do a little battle with my insurance to pay for it. Dr. M and Dr. B went that extra mile for us patients. The new regime tells you the drug isn’t covered then you call to raise hell with the insurance people and they inform you there was never any inquiry made by the doctor’s office. But without a script and specific doseage, you yourself cannot get the medication preapproved so you kind of need the doctor’s help.

Uh oh, the kids are quiet, that’s frightening. One of them could be beating the other up with a hoola hoop. Don’t underestimate things kids can turn into weapons.


And The Shit Show Gets Shittier

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 4, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I was having trouble getting my mind to slow down last night in spite of antihistamines and melatonin and now that my Xanax has been cut to 1 mg for the entire day and night…it was miserable. Round and round my thoughts went. I heard a text come in and ignored it, knowing if I so much as looked at the time, I’d be drawn out of ‘mental prep’ for sleep and back to the rat race…After a half hour of toss and turn and stewing anger at this doctor who has never met me yet has robbed me of the only peace of mind I’ve ever gotten from these craptastic meds…I sat up in frustration and looked at my phone.

My heart sank. My brain cried NO NO NO, LET THIS BE A BAD SICK JOKE, NO NO NO.

The dog that my daughter loves so much at her grandma’s house got hit by a car. 😦

Chelsea did not make it, in spite of beating a year long battle with diabetes and sugar levels nearing the comatose point…she got loose and a car speeding down the street just..ran her down. It was going to happen sooner or later, they had that dog 2 years before I even had my kid, so Chelsea was an old pup. And dumb as dirt. But my daughter loves her so much. We just saw her the other day and she was cheerful and playing with Spook and my kid spent more time gushing over that dog than her grandmother. A few days before, my sister was being a goof and dressed all the animals up. This is our last pic of Chelsea rocking a punk rock outfit.

I was sick the rest of the night and had to take more melatonin, more benadryl, more Vistaril. Whereas a single 1 mg Xanax would have likely combined with the melatonin and gotten me out of my panic stupor…I’ve been elevated to taking even more pills than I was before. Now that kids have figured out how to get high on Benadryl, no doubt they will soon take that off the shelves and I’ll be in some skanky alley trying to score heroin cos that is way less dangerous than prescribed benzos…Dogressing.

I did not wake Spook. I did not tell her this morning. When I tucked her in, she was actually happy and looking forward to school today. They do this 100th day of school celebration and she hates this place so much, I could not crush her with this heart breaking news, not when she finally found a little moment of hope and happiness. Spook’s pretty detached when it comes to people or cats dying, but she had a very special bond with this dog. I fear how hard she is going to take it when I am forced to break her heart and tell her that her best friend is…gone forever. I am not looking forward to that conversation. I weighed it heavily, for hours, since I could not get my mind to quiet last night, and as much as I try to respect her with the ugly trust and not exclude her even from the sucky parts of life…I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her and deal with the fall out. Let her have her fun day at school. One thing life makes plenty of time for is suffering.

I should be in town paying the rent. Once again, I find myself addled with cramps and a low mood but nerves so jumpy it’s like my own brain has a taser it keeps poking me with. Let the landlord come to the door, let him evict us. I am just so damned exhausted. I am not up to a trip to town. Maybe tomorrow. Which is what I’ve said for three days. Would have been much easier if I could have paid it Thursday when we were in town but noo, paying a day early confuses the landlord on the dates and it becomes this whole debacle so I try to only pay on the first, never before. Unfortunately, battling my current shaky mental state, this often leads to me not paying til the 4th or 5th. He’s not said anything nor does he charge more than a buck a day after the tenth, but it bothers me. I was always on time or early with the trailer park slumlord. (He apparently says NONE of us there paid rent on time, which how can people not wonder why we were allowed to remain there for ten years if we didn’t pay???Idiot negates his own argument.)

I started some laundry, emptied some trash, refilled ice cube trays, put on clean clothes. Still not worked my way to a bath. More than being dirty, it’s having greasy gross hair and scalp that really bugs me. I can use Irish Spring and wet wipes and lotions and perfumes to smell nice but the hair…ugh, that’s always the thing that breaks me. Even that is taking longer and longer than these days.
Cripes, every sound makes me jump. I feel like if I leave this safe spot in my bedroom something bad will happen. I know it’s not rational but it’s very real for me. Why don’t the professionals give a damn about quality of life? And I was thinking, these people don’t give a damn about the patients getting hooked on drugs or suffering withdrawal. If that were legit, that doctor would have taken note of me being yanked off Prozac cold turkey after being on 60 mgs for months. They don’t care that I suffered through that, they just want to cover their asses legally over ‘addictive’ substances. It need not be addictive to alter your brain enough to cause withdrawal. I swear these people got their degrees from a Cracker Jack Box.

I know, I need to stop harping on it and either accept it as my doomed fate or try to find a new office..Again, though, it goes back to crap insurance no one accepts, plus transportation since the only other psych docs are a 110 mile round trip from my house…and I’m driving on two tires showing belts so…

GAH. My kid is the only thing that is saving me from myself these days. I blame this osych center and their good intentions. Well intentioned people are the bane of my existence cos their good intentions are usually for their own self interests and it means I suffer for it.

I guess today is just gonna be spent in mourning over a family member lost (we love our animals that much) and ponder how best to tell Spook and comfort her broken little heart. The rest of this stuff is static, noise, and it may push me over the edge in the end which is why I am going to harp the hell on the topic. The system failed my sister’s brother in law, hospitalizing him for a couple days, sending him home with nothing more than a script that he couldn’t afford to fill and he hung himself two days later yet they were never held accountable…I got some mega issues with the psych pro community and they’re just getting worse.

What I know from experience, though, is that these medication zealots come and go and if I can just hunker down and survive a few months, chances are I will either get a better doc or even go with telepsychiatry. It may change nothing as far as the benzos go but if I walk out of that appointment feeling supported, hopeful, and worthwhile, that would be a wonderful upgrade from what I am dealing with at this time. It is truly upsetting because I’ve read so many blogs where people have these great psych nurses and counselors and doctors and I WANT THAT.

The midwest is all 9 circles of hell. Dante’s Inferno indeed.

R.I.P Chelsea pup. You were and are loved and I am so sorry your life ended this way.

Such a shit show.

The Depressive Rabbit Hole

Posted in depression with tags , , , on January 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve been on auto pilot for days, just trying to survive the snow and make ends meet barely. Now it is all hitting me and sending me down that black rabbit hole of depression where light cannot reach me. I rail against it, fight it off, but it is dragging me under like being sucked into quicksand. I am edgy, nervous, twitchy but too paranoid to move out of my spot lest the world implode, and even things that I find interesting seem lackluster. It’s odd how depression taints even the best things in life.

There’s this misconception that depression only impacts the things we don’t like doing. For me, it is all encompassing, right down to my ability to enjoy favorite shows like Supernatural. I’ve not watched an episode this season because I don’t want my depression coloring a show I love in negative light. I MUST protect what I love the most from being touched by depressive abyss and this includes music, as well. Music is what kept me alive my whole life so to lose the joy of it due to my mental disorders, it is a harsh, painful blow. You may as well put a pillow over my face and smother me because either way, I feel like I am dying. That’s not being overly dramatic, either. Unable to enjoy music, unable to create in my writing, unable to even score a piddly part time job waving at people curbside…And then I read the news and how the shutdown is impacting everyone and I get to live knowing my own father is cool with it now that he knows his tax refund won’t be delayed….It’s so disheartening to be surrounded by people who society views as upstanding yet know their mentality is pretty fucking scuzzy.

(Oh, for those offended by my swearing:A professor of Cognitive Science at UC San Diego named Benjamin Bergen recently published a book entitled “What the F: What Swearing Reveals About Our Language, Our Brains, and Ourselves.”
In it, this cock-sucker posits that cursing could be linked to higher intelligence.”It turns out that on average, the ones who swear the most also have the biggest vocabulary overall,” Bergen wrote.He also suggested that, “swearing might be cathartic and can relieve anger and aggression.”

I feel so unsettled today. Bad juju feelings abound. Maybe because I had a rough night of wake and sleep, and woke for two hours, tossing and turning with a headache and cold sweat, so by alarm time, all I really wanted was to stay in bed sleeping. I don’t get proper rest. My so called good nights are the ones where I wake ten times but can fall back to sleep within a half hour. The bad nights outnumber the good ones, though. Now that I’ve been hobbled in my medication doses, waking up so many times every night and having to ride out the pounding heart, sweating, racing thoughts, over and over, is excrutiating. It may sound insane but I take LESS Xanax when I am prescribed the 1mg three times daily. I no longer have that safety net and the 0.5’s barely take the edge off so the stress of knowing I ‘can’t’ take an extra half a pill or I’ll be ‘overdosing’ weighs heavily on me.

I am trying to ‘shake off’ the depressive darkness but it’s not working. It’s apparently gonna be one of those days, where I set a tiny goal, meet it, and give myself permission to flail about in the abyss. Today’s “Behavioral Health” craze would frown upon this coping mechanism, but I learned it from a therapist in the 90’s and it has served me well over the years. If it ain’t broke, I ain’t fixing it. And what the hell is with changing terminology on mental health, anyway? Psychiatric Disorders. Depression. Personality Disorder. Mood disorder. Now it’s behavioral disorder. Because we absolutely choose to go manic and burn every bridge around us and we adore going down the rabbit hole where our only company are the dark thoughts telling us how futile it all is…TOTALLY A CHOICE IN BEHAVIOR. What the fuck?

I’m ready for bed. I feel so unsafe during the day. Not like physically endangered, but there’s just so much activity and noise even in this tiny town, only at night can I find calm and peace. Much as my depression responds favorably to setting the clocks forward, it also means my anxiety will be in hyperdrive since daylight is a big trigger. We barely get ten hours a day now. Soon we’ll be getting 12, 14,17 hours of sunlight daily…And the thought terrifies me. I act so high strung as it is, even if my mood goes up, I’m going to be too jumpy to enjoy it. Fuck a fancy fucking bag.

See? I’m fucking bloody brilliant, damn it! Not really but the writer dude was onto something with swearing to relieve stress and aggression. I might offend with my foul language (yet Americans love President Trump’s ‘street talk’, huh???) but you’d be way more offended if I went around slapping people with a dead fish like I’d prefer to do. Swearing is a therapeutic,lesser evil for me. Now that’s behavioral health, swearing because it makes you feel better. Again, ain’t broke, don’t fix.


Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , on December 1, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I had a kid free night as Spook went to spend the night at my mom and sister’s. Figured it’d be a good night to catch up on some sleep and maybe wake up around midnight and kick ass around the house with cleaning and organizing. Instead I took 25 mg Seroquel with 3mg melatonin and…accomplished the closest to a waking coma as one can do. I kept waking up, thinking I should check on my kid, then remembering she wasn’t here…I needed to go to the bathroom but my body felt leaden and I just stopped moving around to put my discomfort on the backburner. I had no clue what time it was, but if it was light out I didn’t want to risk being awake at 6 a.m. The cats needed food and are used to being fed at 7 a.m. so they were rioting, knocking stuff over, biting me on the face, chewing my hair…and still…I couldn’t seem to get up.

Then I drifted back off for what seemed like a split second and I swear I heard so clearly my kid calling, “Oh, mom…” And I say bolt upright, disoriented and panicked, and said, “Yeah, babe?” But she’s not here.

It was a little after 8 a.m. by then and the bladder was done being put on ignore and the cats had knocked over the trash and I needed some water or whatnot to drink as my mouth had been bone dry for hours and I had been too comatosed to move. The alarm was set for 8:30 anyway so I dragged myself out of bed, and it was made easier because the sound of my kid calling for me was so real, my heart was pounding as if I’d run a race. I tended to the bladder, the cats, got my beverage, and the phone rang but I ignored it, figuring it was probably my dad calling to criticize me for the day, as usual. It was a number I don’t recognize, the telemarketers are becoming rabid, I told one yesterday I didn’t have a warranty on my ’01 car so I didn’t need his services and hung up on him and he called back 5 times after that. I didn’t answer. It’s pretty fucking close to legalized stalking. And assault because NO MEANS NO, fuck off.

I don’t like Seroquel, at all.I’ve only taken it a few times in the last month and one night my kid described coming to me with a tummy ache and she said I started talking about pillow fights and wouldn’t get out of bed and she said is scared her. What scares me is I have NO memory of it, period. And that was always a huge part of my high dose Seroquel, it would obliterate my lucidity, keep me down 14 hours, and occasionally, I’d even drive over my to my mom’s, in my pajamas, and visit with them-only to have no memory of having done so the next day.

My friend wrote how she still loves her Seroquel.

I am happy that it works for her in a way that is more positive than terrifying but this drug simply isn’t for me. Not even when my kid is gone. Any other time I’d have gotten up and fed the cats before they wrecked the place instead of being leaden and deadened. I could have dehydrated cos I was too blitzed to even get up for water (I popped a mint mid sleep cos they were on the night stand and my mouth was sooo dry, but I had to chomp it down fast lest I nod off and choke to death on it.)

I’m kind of tired of being made to feel like me and meds are a ‘princess and the pea’ situation. I simply want meds that allow me to be functional even at hours normally aren’t functional hours. I’m a single mom with pets and I can’t deal with a med that leaves me with no memory of shit like my kid waking me to be comforted only to find a pillow fight babbling coma patient with memory blackout. Unacceptable. Instead, it is viewed as me not wanting to get well very badly or non compliant. I think admitting this med causes weird shit to happen to me that could endanger not just my kid, but myself as well, so it’s just a bad fit and it’s very mature and responsible for me to recognize the dangers it presents.

Now I’m going to try to shake off the headache that they leave me with while my sinus pressure makes my head feel like it may implode. Joy, joy, joy.


Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on November 15, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Ok, so it was more like 3 inches of snow, but it was enough that I got a 5 a.m. call saying school was canceled. I was a bit relieved because I’d been anxious for hours, looking out to see if it had started to snow yet. I was still wide awake 4 hours after I took the dreaded Seroquel and I could take it no more so I addded 75 mg Benadryl and eventually, nodded off. Only to wake at 2 a.m. and feel head achey and hungover yet I could not get back to sleep. I halved one of the few melatonin left and tossed and turned some more. I had just nodded off again when I got the call canceling school. Once that was resolved, I took another 25mg Seroquel (bottle says 1-2 tablets as needed so no overdosage), thinking I could sleep til 9 or 10 at least. Only to be wakened again at 7 a.m. by my dad wanting to know if there was school, which is kind of stupid since they don’t have small kids and it has no impact on them, but I then again, it’s long been a way midwesterners check road conditions. If school gets cancelled, it isn’t good. Pfft, I went back to sleep again…

Spook woke me after 9 and asked if it was time for school. I told her school was off, go play in the snow, I’d be up in a few…She woke me again at 10 to let me know I needed to get up and she’d already had a chat with our neighbor about how I was still in bed and I better not sleep til noon…I told her to make herself some hot cocoa and a cinnamon roll and I’d be up shortly…And I had every intention of getting up, I had no desire to sleep til noon. And yet..That’s what happened. She finally came in to berate me that it was noon and I HAD to get up. And thus begins another day of self loathing, and why? Because I can’t sleep and the meds they give me to help fix this fuck me up this much.

So I got up with a throbbing headache and felt dazed and confused (Seroquel has always made me feel out there, like I missed a day or something, off the planet) and while she continued to berate and nag me, I realized she’d been up the entire time without even watering or feeding the cats so I had to do that while trying to swim into consciousness. She was more self sufficient as a 4 year old than she is now and is grosses me out, honestly. I already have a 23 year old brother who operates at emotional level of 10 and most of it is learned because dad and stepmonster decided he was a simpleton and they’ve kept him that way. I want my child to blossum, to become independent, to become self sufficient and help out more because honestly, at her age I was ten times more mentally mature and responsible so maybe I am too tough on her for that reason but…At the same time I don’t think it’s cool that she stressed me out less when she was only 2 and totally dependent on me for pretty much everything.

I am coming out of the haze, but my sinuses are still fucked up so the pain remains in that area and my body feels achey and bruised, which means I apparently got too much sleep even if it was in 90 minute increments. I guess I’d be better off if I could just 4 solid hours. Idk. I just know I’ve been a single mom for 7 years and no matter how many depressive cycles, I’ve never felt like such an utter failure as a mother as I do when I take Seroquel and I can’t fight its sedating properties or pry myself out of its grip. I think I’d feel less guilty if I was hungover from a booze binge, because then I’d have brought it on myself by choosing to drink. To feel this shitty by simply taking a prescribed medication-one,mind you, that millions of other people take daily without incident, this is unfuckingcool. My disorders may interfere with me being a happy fun ball mom but it’s never kept me from getting up to feed my kid. The ‘treatments’ for the disorders do though.

I just want a new bottle of melatonin, I can’t handle the Seroquel hangovers on a daily basis. As I recall it was that and the oversleeping that made me go off the crap in the first place. While I would love to stay asleep as much as possible cos even my nightmares are more positive than my reality, I cannot be on a med that even low dose makes me unable to be a parent. That to me makes perfect sense yet to the medical professionals it is considered non compliance. Because hey why should you expect to remain lucid on meds, you should absolutely need a babysitter on call for when rendered useless.

I know I am negative nelly these days and I don’t like it, either, but the one thing I swore I’d never do in this blog is put up a front. This is me in my true ugly depressive form.The ‘how can anyone have this much bad luck,for real’ chick. 2018 has been a non blessed hellride with no signs of looking up. It boggles me that six weeks ago, I was actually in a decent place. Not perfect, but not a medded out zombie, not a ‘not bathed in over a week’ lump. The depressions that come with season change are like ninjas attacking from all angles. The only up side is that my anxiety is lower so I don’t need as much Xanax. Again, one of those catch 22 treatment things. If you take the full allowed dose per day, you’re abusing it or using it as a crutch. If you don’t take max dose, then you’re hindering your own improvement…

Something’s got to give, soon. The house smells like a big litter box because I’ve scooped as much as I can but I was lead to believe I’d be getting money for babysitting except their job fell through so mine did, too. We’re all in suckageville, I guess. I don’t feel rested, at all, if anything, I feel more tired than I did when I woke at 2 a.m. So if sleep isn’t the answer, trying your best gets you nowhere, and praying to every deity available for some clarity as to how to help yourself fails…

The old me would me have probably obliterated reality with any pills inducing sleep because, well, I could and had no reason not to. Now I have a kid counting on me and even if she’s being a butt munch, I owe it to her not to fall to pieces or become an overly medicated drumpf. I’m going to keep hanging in there, and do some more praying. There’s got to be a way to survive this outside of hospitalization.

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This Just In…

Posted in mental health blog with tags , , , , , , , on October 30, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

After 3 dismal days of barely functioning…I had a good mental health day today. I tackled the chore of dishes, mowed a patch of lawn, and straightened up the Halloween decor for trick or treaters.(As if the local yokels will allow their precious redneck snowflakes to come here, it’s been 7 months and they only let their kids play with mine if she is at my dad’s house…never mind how many times I’ve tried to get the moms to contact me about playdates.)

All in all, though. I wasn’t up or down or in the middle. I was just living my life. Kicking myself for not accomplishing more yet trying to pat myself on the back for what I did get done. My kid changed her mind a 4th time on her Halloween costume, though it’s going to be raining both days and nights so I don’t suppose it matters.

I am crossing my fingers that my check deposits early so I can get her shoes to wear to the daddy/daughter dance where I will be serving as dad Friday night. Otherwise, she has nothing but tennis shoes and hideous cowgirl boots to wear the beautiful (used) black satin and velvet dress I got for her to wear. What I’ve learned the last couple of months is that ‘receieve your direct deposit up to two days early’ really isn’t written in stone. More like asking a Magic 8 ball. So since I need it desperately to try and find her some decent used shoes at a thrift store…chances are I won’t get it til after the dance. Which will mean fashion hell for her so she’ll hate me for going in boots and getting laughed at or she will be mad at that we didn’t go…

I can’t win, tired of trying. I’m just gonna do my best and hope it’s enough to not traumatize her too much.

I am gonna try to skip Seroquel (scary-quel) tonight, see if maybe I have less trouble getting up in the morning. We’ll see how long the melatonin lasts, if it even kicks in. Money has me so stressed, and Halloween which is supposed to be my happy time yet just becomes even more stress…Grrr. But for three days I felt so lethargic and leaden the morning after Seroquel, I just can’t see myself living in that kind of stupor. And it’s so easy to get attached to sleepers as a crutch, a way to hasten sleep to escape a reality that isn’t pleasant…I did that for a couple of years before my kid was born and I swore I’d never go back to it.

Maybe I will just ‘date’ Seroquel on weekends when I don’t need to be up at the crack of ass and functional immediately.

None of my problems were solved. I didn’t accomplish as much as I’d wanted. But…it was a good mental health day and those come rarely so raise the metaphoric glass. You celebrate the tiny things when they are in fact huge things for you. Only tiny to people with normally ordered brains.Disordered minds…good mental health days are to be celebrated and embraced.

992 Followers, 5 Likes, and No Patridges In A Pear Tree

Posted in depression, Mental Health Disability, seasonal affect disorder with tags , , , , , , on October 23, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I normally try not to focus on the cobwebs gathering on this blog because, hey, that’s my decor style anyway and I have a strong dislike for all things popular but…


I am in for the fight of my life with the onslaught of current seasonal affective disorder.It’s a battle to get through each hour, let alone each day. I’m still sleeping in spurts. My kid is still channeling Satan. We still have kittens who are dying because even formula and me being up every 2 hours with them isn’t saving them. I’m ready for bed at 6:30 p.m. when the sun goes down, I am sweating but cold and still having monthly cycles and dysphoria so not sure if that is menstrual-pause or what. Everyone keeps asking “Why don’t you just get a job to make up for the child support (not being paid)?”

IF I WERE STABLE ENOUGH TO WORK THE DOCTOR WOULD SIGN OFF ON IT AGAINST MY WILL AND I’D BE CUT OFF AND PUT TO WORK! Or as is common theme even for the able minded here, the search for work cos everything is dying off again. (THey just closed my fave pizza place, Marco’s, which I kept telling everyone was gonna happen but nooo, no one will listen to me, I am just paranoid and pessimistic except, hey twonks, during a brief stable period before my brain damage, I worked as an assistant manager and I can tell when too little business means buh-bye!!!!)

Never ceases to amaze me the disparity between how society holds a father responsible for his children and what is expected of the mothers. (Reverse, as well, lots of good single dads out there.) They get to be flakes and keep their homes and cars and have date nights with their s/o and give zero thought to if their child has what they need for a day, let alone the whole time they’re not paying a cent. The law is supposed to be there for the children, but truth be told…it’s there for deadbeat parents.

There was a time the donor heard I was calling him a deadbeat and he railed against the term but even if I shut out the child he and I have together….He failed to pay for a daughter up North and a son out west, so it ceases to be an issue with me or my child. It’s about him being a selfish ogre. Okay, not ogre, that sounds insulting to Shrek and that dude is cool. Pattern of behavior. And considering that his child support amount, by state law, maxes out at 20% of his after tax income…This is a pattern of monstrous behavior on his part, not greed on baby mama parts.

Somewhere this post went haywire but my brain is too chaotic to figure it out. The empty place across the road is being wired for Dish or something and the van in the drive is blasting radio gunk so loud I feel like I should endorse WKRP in Armpit-inciatti. I was so determined to be dignified and coherent on this post but… bucket of fail.

I guess I’m just feeling a lil whiny cos even though I have my big girl panties on and I am trying-to my own detriment-to be mom and dad to a 9 year old- it’s overwhelming. And she makes sure I never get underwhelmed with all her demands and blaming everyone but herself for her tantrums. Suppose it’s karma cos before I knew I was bipolar, I blamed my mood swings on other people upsetting me. But it’s no excuse. You gotta own how you are feeling, even when others are complicit in making you feel that way. SO I OWN MY OWN WEAKNESS OF CHARACTER AND BULLSHIT AND WHININESS.

It does not, however, diminish my devotion to my daughter. Maybe who reads this blog doesn’t like the writer, but maybe,too, they have a heart for little kids who didn’t ask for a disabled parent and a shitty one. Not saying it’s anyone else’s responsibility but I am saying..we all come to a juncture where we can be greedy or we can pay it forward in some way…which is why I’ve been babysitting the neighbor kid even though they don’t even offer me a dollar. Because I want to be good, to do good, and I want it to come back on Spook and me in a good way.

We’re the least abled to be doing things for free or giving away for free but…I feel good doing it and if it means Spook and I have a bit of luck and good will come our way…Yayness. But I really do like just being nice. It’s only when people take advantage that I get venomous.

Now I have to steel myself for a shrink appt tomorrow plus a parent teacher conference and the riddle of how to get money to buy cat litter and food til next Friday. All the while this cockweasel van person is across the street blaring their radio and hammering on shit to distract me.

This is one of those days where I feel like maybe,just maybe, shock treatment might help me.

But then I think of our fearless leader Blahpolar who subjected herself to it and she still lost her battle to bipolar depression. They claim by her own hand but I will always blame the mental disorder. Ulla was a beautiful person who should have lived another 40 years to share her positive (without being nauseating) thoughts with so many of us running this gauntlet.

992 ALLEGED FOLLOWERS for this blog and barely 3 likes a day. Is it neediness? Is it a popularity contest? Or am I just disappointed that the world has devolved into a place where a pancake vaguely resembling Mother Theresa can get 700.000 likes?

No patridge in a pear tree here. Just pegacorns.Lots and lots of pegacorns.