Archive for work from home

Insomniac Lounge- 2:45 a..m

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 25, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I stayed up til 10:30 p.m., thinking if I didn’t crash too early I might stand a better chance of sleeping through longer. I’m funny. Because it was an epic fail. The melatonin cocktail took hours to kick in so I took another half pill…Only to wake, again, every hour on the hour. 11:30 p.m. 12:20 a.m 1:15 a.m. 2 a.m. I got up at two out of frustration. Plus side, at least minus Restoril I am not stumbling around to get a drink or use the bathroom and falling asleep standing up. Negative, I’ve had less than 3 total hours of sleep and I feel like one should feel- tired and damn frustrated.

The anxiety kicked in yesterday when I got the reminder call that I have a shrink appointment at noon today. I have always had ‘anticipation anxiety’, be it work, an appointment, someone else’s work or appointment, my kid’s school schedule…I find it impossible to truly calm down and relax with things looming overhead. My neuroses over driving 20 miles to town and back has metastasized as the car is reaching 226,000 miles and continues to have dashboard wiring issues. It’s making a funny new noise, which has me convinced it is about to keep over. Is it neuroses and panic or is it legit concern? Panic doesn’t allow logic to enter the picture. It just sets off fight or flight mode and I genuinely dread every trip to town. Should the car break down, I have no one to call for a ride home, no money for a tow. On the interstate in the boonies is not a place anyone wants car trouble.

Then there is telling the doctor that Restoril doesn’t work and the hangovers kill me. He was absolutely clear last night that whatever I was experiencing with it was simply not possible because it’s not how the drug works. Oh, how many times have I heard that crap. It’s less about what the drug should do or does do for a million other people. Because my system responds differently to medications. Then I also have to tell him that 6 weeks at the max Cymbalta dose does not have me feeling less depressed, so another med failure. The doc is a nice guy but like every other doc that glances over my collegiate dictionary thick file, they take on that exhausted and baffled tone, “We’ve tried A to Z, I don’t know to do next. Niki.”

Like I do?

Well, I have an idea, but thanks to ass trash insurance companies, it is a no go. I did okay on Abilify last year, but I couldn’t handle the side effects. They have since introcuded a second generation of a similar drug, but they’ve tweaked it to have fewer side effects. Bitch of new meds is, big pharma can jack the prices to whatever they want and this med…is $1490 a month for 30 pills. That offends my sensibilities even if wouldn’t all come out of pocket. And the preapproval process could take weeks only to be denied, then of course, they say you can appeal, and that takes a ton more paperwork and time, essentially placing you in limbo without a secondary med and the appeal gets turned down every time. I fought to get Spook’s Concerta because it was the only one that worked for her ADHD without making her feel hazy but insurance would not even approve the appeal with the doctor on our side. And Concerta is under $400, so what shot do I have at getting something close to $1500? Sooo bloody frustrating.

Guess it’s back to the drawing board. Maybe I could give Lexapro another try, perhaps my body chemistry has changed since I tried it 6 years ago. It gave me akathesia like Abilify, which is constant movement without intention to move, your body just starts twitching and trembling and having all these tics you can’t control. Not a good side effect. Maybe try Celexa again?

The illogical thing is that every time a med fails and I have to tell the doctor-I always feel like I’m letting the doctor down. It isn’t my fault my body chemistry doesn’t respond to the meds or can’t handle the side effects, so why should I feel that way?

Maybe because I’ve tried over 31 antidepressants over the last 27 years and I can feel the doctors get frustrated with me, like I just want to try a new drug every few months for giggles. I can assure them, there are zero giggles involved when all I want is not even to feel good, I’d settle just for feeling okay. I want it more than my next breath. Unfortunately, medication resistance has become more common that the psych community would like people to know. Big pharma def does not want people to know, lest they start buying into the party line about all psych meds being bad and they don’t work. It’s not that I have faith in big pharma but I do have faith in myself and I know I’ve had successful med cocktails over the years. Maybe they didn’t last more than a year at a time but I know I can feel better than I do right now with the right meds.

I am so not going to want to get up with Spook when the alarm goes off if I don’t get to sleep soon. Then again I rarely want to get out of bed at all during winter. Just gotta remind myself with each passing day I get closer to the season change and with it comes a sort of switch being thrown in my body and I’ll feel much better with warmer temps and more sunlight. I HOPE. Depression has a way of mucking up what is your ‘norm’ sometimes.

For now I think it’s back to Fort Blankie, I am freezing and my hands are like ice cubes. I will either nod off eventually or I will be awake and getting more irate by the hour and drop off ten minutes before the alarm goes off so I can just get pissed off all over again. And it’s not even real anger, it’s frustration.

On a last note, I finally spoke up and asked about that money my stepmonster promised me for doing her bidding last week babysitting their neighbor kid. Rather than wordlessly send over $5, he says, “We’ll discuss it and let you know.”

So if you find me less than warm and fuzzy, consider that this is the man who spawned me and ‘fathered’ me. Compared to how cold he is, I am damn warm and fuzzy. He’s such a jerk. And I feel a cold coming on around Thursday thus I don’t think I should be babysitting lest I make the kid sick….

They want to fuck with me, they’re gonna get fucked with right back. Play fair or get out of the sandbox, idgets.

Ass Trashery

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 24, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

‘Ass Trash’ is a term coined by Becca many many years ago to reference stuff that sucks or people who are, well, assholes. Ash trashery is the act of everything being ass trash.

I retired to Fort Blankie last night around 7 p.m., waiting for melatonin, benadryl, and one 15mg Restoril to do its job and put me to sleep. Which it did after a bit of time. THEN I kept waking up. 8:10. 9:30. 10:20. 11:30. 12:15. 1:25 every bloody hour on the hour. Lots of bad dreams. I woke with my monthly PMS on steroids (sorry if talk of my hormonal issues make male readers squeamish but it plays a huge role in my mental health.) Cramps, backache, and combined with the Restoril hangover, it was all I could do to stumble awake long enough to make sure my kid was awake and getting dressed. Then I returned to Fort Blankie and continued to nap and wake cycle til 11 a.m. at which point I fought with everything I had to force myself out of bed and into consciousness. I am in pain despite taking Tylenol and my giddy up and go has a dead horse at the helm so I am giddying up and going nowhere today.

I did dive into my email and blog and community notifications. I am devoted to my writing and participating in the community, even when my mental state is ass trash. I answered all the chat room questions, posted my meet link to Becca’s blog, and read up on how to improve my writing and it would only cost $497 for a month. I shall remain a mediocre writer.

I need to make an apology to anyone who felt my multiple posts yesterday who found it flood posting or spamming. I was trying to schedule posts to be spread out and um…I don’t get along well with military time so rather than schedule properly, some of them published instantly and I am sorry for that influx. Though the a couple of posts that got no real exposure since I’ve been playing around with categories and tags, I sure would appreciate if you’d go back and take a read if you missed them or skipped them. When my creativity flows on hyperdrive, I get real needy, wanting to share it and be at least able to give someone a giggle or a ‘wtf??” So expect more Babylon Files and some Beautifully Random links and pondering on here.

Once again, I cannot get warm,big shocker. I have on two thick pairs of socks and still can’t feel my toes. I cannot believe winter in the US based on the calendar length is only 89 days. It feels like 89 years.

Okay, so that is all my foggy brain has for now.

It would feed the pegacorn’s soul if a few people wandered over to check out the community. We cannot grow if people do not show up to participate.
https://bloggingexposure.wordpress.com/

Working The Quirk

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Someone described me as weird today and I think our wires were crossed because she meant it in a good way and that was how I took it but I guess my tone was off or something. But yeah, in school, that was how people described me. “The weird girl.” And they were not being complimentary. It took awhile for me to come to terms with being different thus weird in their eyes. I didn’t feel like anything was all that wrong with me. Not weird, like wearing a tutu with clown shoes while shampooing my hair with mustard. I mean, that would WEIRD. But it was a rural community and I wasn’t doing the denim and flannel thing so yeah, I was bound to be the misfit everyone tortured with name calling and insults. Eventually, though, I realized I wasn’t weird, they were all just the same and that is worse than weird, that is plain boring and sheeple mentality. So I started thanking them for calling me a weirdo, sometimes even giving a smile and a curtsy.

Bugged the hell out of them when I stopped crumbling at every insult. I took back my power. By using my super power, sarcasm.

Being diagnosed with multiple mental health issues and doing therapy has made it clear I have some sort of personality disorder but the thing is…everything they consider a disorder are things that make me HAPPY, not depressed. And if I like to wear skulls and decorate for Halloween year round because it makes me happy, who the hell are they to tell me no, it’s part of your depression. NO. I am just a quirky person.

Before the diagnostic manual became the holy grail of psychiatrists creating new disorders, people were allowed to be eccentric and have quirks.

So…some things about me others may find freaky weird but I find adorable little quirks…

1.) I have been playing games on Neopets for 20 years. Yes, I have a virtual pet and all that jazz. I don’t, however, interact with anyone on the site as they are primarily children and that would make me look weird in the wrong way. But I am addicted to this one word scramble game and I just can’t give it up no matter how old I get.

2.) I still have posters of my favorite rock bands on my bedroom walls. I’ve been told to grow up and stop being a teenager but…my mom’s room is plastered in Elvis merch, so whatever, we do our own thing.

3.)I talk to myself. A lot. If it’s just me and the cats, and something goes wrong, I will start muttering, “STOP SUCKING, BLOODY FUCKING HELL!” I do now, however answer myself, so I think it’s cool.

4.) During summer when it gets too hot, I have zero qualmsm plopping in my kid’s plastic kiddie pool. NONE.

5.) When I take my kid to the park, I swing with her and climb on all the jungle gyms and such.

6.) I like to lick the powdery nacho cheese off Doritos then pitch the actual chip.

7.) I talk to my cats. Often. They’re great listeners and they don’t judge me. Sometimes they will even let me pet and hold them and they will nuzzle me and purr. Nothing gets me higher than the sound of a purring cat, that is like a happy drug for me.

8.) I like men with long hair and have since 5th grade. I don’t know why, but it’s my thing. I walk up to random strange men with long hair and ask if I can touch it. You can be the best looking guy on Earth but that short hair thing…sometimes doesn’t work for me. In all fairness, I also don’t like short hair on women.

9.) I cannot stand coffee. I used to serve it when I waited tables and the semll alone makes me gag. I love soda. Yes, it is bad for me. But joy in a cup comes from a fountain Dr. Pepper or vanilla Pepsi.

10.) I am a shameless carnivore and refuse to eat pizza if it doesn’t have at least two meat toppings. I like all meat pizzas best. Carnivorous though I may be, I still will not eat goat, snake, deer, sheep, duck, goose, kangaroo, elk, etc. My palate simply isn’t that curious about how adorable animals taste.

Lack Of Sleep Yet Hypomanic Thoughts

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I eventually drifted off, as I suspected, towards 5:30 a.m. Idk what is going on with me but the longer I lay there, waiting for sleep, the more my anxiety ramped up. At one point the only thing I could focus on was how fast my heart was beating and how I could feel and hear it in my ears. It took a LOT of deep breathing exercises to bring that level of anxiety down.Then every time I came sooo close to nodding off…for no good reason I’d get a jolt and it would wake me up and get the anxiety going again. Very bizarre, been like that the last few days. I tried to go back down for a power nap after Spook went to school but in spite of utter exhaustion and depressive inertia…

My mind decided it wants to be intellectually hypomanic today. Hypomania is an abundance of energy, be it mental or physical, where you feel driven to be productive. For me, it is with my writing. I post one thing, then another idea pops up, then another, and another…Yet the housework, pfft, the world won’t implode with six dishes in the sink and the floors being a little gunky.

My seasonal depression has a lot to do with the physical inertia. I just can’t get warm or comfortable. It’s in the high twenties and sunny but it’s still bloody cold. Cold does not motivate me. 4 more weeks til the start of spring, oh, I hope that freaking groundhog was right and it’s an early spring. For the midwest that means temps moving into the 50’s and not waking up on Easter morning to snow. Yes, it has happened before, snow in April. On Easter. Once the weather changes, it is like a switch inside me is flipped and I become more active, have more stamina. Of course, longer days means my anxiety is prolonged because it gives people more hours to be out and about making noise and bugging me with phones and knocks on the door but…everything is a trade off, it seems.

On a happy note, my mental health post on the blogging community has been accepted with warmth and welcome, which IS the whole atomosphere of the community. So when I am asked, are the people on there nice, ar they friendly? Yes, yes, they are. Because if you know me through my blog at all, you know I would never be part of something if people were net trolls or bullies or rude. I have been treated with nothing but open arms, acceptance, and respect and that is what the community offers everyone.

Not such a happy note, my kid was disappointed because I had no money to give her for the book fair. Apparently, they have a Minecraft book she really wants but there’s just nothing I can do about it. By the time I put gas in the car to get to town, pay our copays for meds, and get her the hygiene products she needed, I am just tapped out. Naive idget I am, every week, I check my account, thinking miracles can happen, maybe the donor has been forced to start paying again…Never happens. All the applications for work I fill out on line? Rejections with polite form letter thank yous for trying. Which may be my fault, the shrink agrees I am really not stable enough for normal job stress so I might be able to do 8 hours a week. (And if I do, I lose my assistance paying Medicare fees so I would actually have less money as opposed to more, it is frustrating AF.) I can’t even get on with a temp agency, they all say I need current long term stable references. Tried the work from home route but my equipment is too outdated and my DSL internet doesn’t have the cable speed they require. Turned down for in home product tester. I’ve been doing whatever come my way for a fiver or whatever, dog walking, dish washing, but opportunities for informal cash paying jobs are slim.

My dad says I am a lazy snowflake, I should just do what my brother does and clean up the lobby at a packed fast food joint. The shrink agreed with my fear of crowds and panic attacks, that would be a recipe for disaster. And again, the manager said I needed more current references and dad, the know it all, says no, you’re just making excuses and avoiding work.

If I were avoiding work and lazy, I’d have stopped trying to make sure Spook and I have our own home and just moved in with my sister, paid a fraction of what I do now. If I were avoiding hard work and responsibility and just lazy, I’d have been out the door 9 years ago when the donor walked out on us. I am disabled. Some stuff I can do-like write. But that doesn’t put clothes that fit on my kid and right now, that is a huge concern as she has grown 2 inches taller since December and now all the clothes she got for Xmas are too small. A ten year old should not look like she is wearing belly shirts and capri pants in winter, but what else am I gonna do? Meanwhile, my dad has $59,000 grand coming in, plus what his woman and their son bring in, but yeah, let them gripe at me that my kid’s clothes don’t fit right.

I am pondering, at some point, consolidating all 3 of my blogs to this primary one. Experience has indicated no one is interested in reading random thoughts and links or poetry on this blog but I am thinking if I could organize it properly so you can choose to read what interests you, it might be better received. I don’t know, I didn’t start blogging for popularity so all this tag and category and stats stuff is kinda gobbledygook to me. But honestly, my beautifully random posts are often packed full of interesting and quirk links to stories, it’s not just me babbling incessantly.

So..should some random humor on pop culture appeal, please check out my latest post there.

And maybe poetry might appeal? There’s an app for that. Oh, not an app, but my poetry blog.

I personally am more fond of my older poetry but feel free to just wander if poetry appeals to you.

I won’t call it my finest work but it was written about my dad’s job-and others who work the same job-so it comes from the heart and it was published in a trucker magazine. I wasn’t paid, but I was published and my dad still has that poem framed on the wall and tells people about it. Not because he is proud of me, but because it was about him, but I’ll take it.

Midnight Meltdown

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

Neurotytpical (those without mental health diagnoses) people wake up to use the bathroom, get a drink of water, or have a midnight snack.

Neuroatypicals (those whose brains operate differently due to mental health disorders) wake up…to have a midnight mental health meltdown.

After my brain allotted me two measly hours of sleep after an hour battling to get to sleep in spite of enough drowsy inducers I should have been out all night…I woke up, acutely aware my bedroom is freezing thus I feel cold from the inside of my body to the outside. This is a kind of discomfort I can’t even put into words. No one should be indoors, covered in clothing head to toe, and still be shivering uncontrollably. Yet I am and I was. I got up to drag a heater into my bedroom, then had to mess with stringing the cord to the outlet in the dining room, because this house is so ancient each bedroom only has one outlet and you don’t want to fry an outlet with TV, speakers, lamps, and computer already plugged in by adding a heater, so you have to get creative in making the outdated tech meet your needs. Anyway, dragged the heater in, wrapped myself in my plushie robe, and I am typing this even though my hands are so cold I may as well have been outdoors all night. I keep trying to tell my psych doc that part of my seasonal depression isn’t merely less sunlight, it’s because I am always freezing and I can’t think clearly when I am shivering and living under blankets. But that symptom isn’t in their handy dandy Diagnostic manual so it can’t be relevant.

Since I was jarred from sleep and the process of dragging the heater and turning on lights to run a cord woke me mentally, I checked my email.

PANIC ENSUED.

I need not be reminded a simple email of basic communication and request for clarity is not a legit cause for fight or flight sensors to go on red alert. That would be why I am diagnosed with a panic disorder. My wiring senses the tiniest things as threats that require fight or flight.

Nothing is a bigger trigger than overly organized super functional people rattling off the mind boggling list of all they have going on in their lives yet they’re still willing to take on more to juggle…

Meanwhile, I manage a trip to town once or twice a week, bathe once a week, and do my dishes eventually…I think I’ve been super busy and super successful.

Even if you can manage to escape your own tendancy to compare yourself to others thus sparking the self loathing and feeling inadequate…the world is always there to remind you of your inadequacy in its own way. My father being example number one. His entire existence seems to be based around on upping everyone around him so if his neighbor works ten hour shifts, he has to spend 12 hours driving his truck, hauling things to the grain elevators. So anyone who doesn’t have his one up mentality is a slacker and he isn’t even politely silent or taking vague digs, he is very blunt about his thoughts on anyone who does not meet or exceed his own standards. Which is why I complain so much about his phone calls. He sucks the soul and the life out of me with that bullshit.

Comparing a fully functioning neurotypical brain to a neuroatypical brain is like saying someone in a wheelchair can make the same marathon race time as someone with two functioning legs. We are at a disadvantage and rather than be given any leeway, we are held to the same standards of others, even those who are overachievers thus we end up failing to meet expectations. This endless cycle of perceived or forced comparison grind down your self esteem and self worth. The sad thing is, most people are not simply jerks like my father. They are intelligent, successful otherwise kind and empathetic people who simply…cannot grasp the severity or limitations of those with multiple mental health diagnoses. They’re juggling 15 watermelons, they think you should at least be trying to juggle ten and sometimes…our mental health disorders render us unable to hold a single aople, let alone juggle watermelons. We want to do it.We simply do not have the ability.

So yeah, a simple email sent me into a tailspin, and this is the second time in a week that it has happened. I know it is most likely my neuroses to a large degree but signs have been shown that my mental health disability argument isn’t exactly considered legit so I can’t help but feel I am being viewed as inadequate if I don’t get to juggling some watermelons real fast. I do not blame others for my issue. Well, except for my dad, because his indoctrination and bullying have been going on 47 years now. He could work for the government brainwashing foreign enemies to turn against their country and work for the U.S., his brainwashing techniques are so damn good.

Watermelon juggling. It just isn’t going to happen and I accept that. I am doing my very best at this time. All things considered, I think my best is pretty damn good considering the depressive hellscape of my mental space. And ya know, the fact that a silly email can send me into a midnight meltdown, indicating that I am in a somewhat precarious state as far as anxiety goes. Yet I am still here, still reaching out, trying to become involved, to participate, to keep doing what I do best-writing.

And the one thing people need to accept about me as opposed to considering it a sign of my mental disorders is that…I am a loner. I don’t need to go out all the time and have ten friends and a constant stream of incoming texts and calls. I have not withdrawn, I am not disengaging or isolating myself. My own company-and my friendships on line and my writing- really are all the socializing I need most of the time. I’ve been this way since childhood. If I want company, I will seek it out. Otherwise, why would I invite people to hang out if I am just going to reading a book or eyeball deep writing? I don’t need an audience and I am sure they have much better things to do. Being comfortable with your company and activities-being an introvert-is not part of my mental health disorders. I know the psych community has been toying with the idea for years of making introverted personality some sort of disorder in their manual but if they do that, then they need to add extroverts, as well. People who need constant companionship and constant activity are pretty disordered to me.

I am starting to calm down, the more I write and that is blog benefit number one-venting and gaining clarity by letting it all out on the page. And the xanax and buspar I took probably helped, too. Heater and robe helped warm me up significantly so my brain is thawing out and my blood no longer feels like ice water pumping through my veins. Now I can take a deep breath and approach replying to the email without spazzing like some maniac.

That may perhaps be one of the hardest things for people to grasp about those of us with mental health disorders. Our perception is often altered so while you may say something with zero malicious intent, our minds may take it as some sort of ultimatum or challenge or threat. That causes us to lash out irrationally in a sort of fight or flight panic state. We simply do not always perceive things as they are, only how are chemically varied brains perceive it. Medication helps but sometimes the crossed wires and heightened, altered emotions can lead to…undesirable interactions we immediately regret. That is why blogging is just so crucial to my mental health. If I need to spew an hour long post on all the illogical shit my brain is telling me at the moment so later I can feel clearer and handle things more calmly…this is cheap therapy and I don’t have to listen to bullshit about cognitive behavioral therapy and mindfulness. Those are two very popular therpay practices these days but both failed me miserably so I have an attitude about them. More power to anyone who it has helped.

Unfortunately, I am now not sleepy at all. It’s nearing 2 a.m. and scumbag brain is wide awake and ready to party. Literally ready to do anything but ya know, accomplish something and be productive. Mainly it just wants to keep me spinning and filled with anxiety and self doubt and confusion. Have you ever tried explaining to a very organized person why you can’t even do basic math to schedule a post properly? I used to be good at math, I was in advanced placement courses. Then I had the drug interaction with an antidepressant and the local hospital sent me home so proper treatment was delayed a week and I spent a week in a psych hospital, not lucid, and they weren’t sure I was going to make it. When I did come out of my catatonia, I noticed mental deficits immediately. I was no longer so quick to learn or remember. Basic concepts I’d known before now sounded like gibberish. I became numerically dyslexic, often inverting even the numbers in my own birthdate or address. When I complained to the doctor about my new deficits he said, “Well, you should be thankful you are so intelligent and you had the IQ points to spare.”

YES, a doctor actually said that to me, as if it was a good thing.

Since then my brain has been scrambled eggs. I do the best with what I have and if it isn’t good enough for others, well, unless they know how to reverse brain damage…tough luck.Accepting my limitations does not mean I am limiting myself. It just means I am not arrogant enough to say I can fix a car when in fact, I can do little more than check the oil and fluids of a car. I don’t overestimate my knowledge or my ability to ‘keep up’ with people who aren’t neurotypically diverse. I am driving in the slow lane, and I’ve come to terms with that, so speed on, pass me by, it’s cool. Just don’t expect me to try to catch up to you.

Oh, man, writing this has been semi cathartic. Reminds me of a movie I once watched where this old tattoo artist quoted some alleged asian proverb.

“Where there is choice, there is misery. Where there is clarity, there is no choice.”

To me it tells me to stop, breathe, take a step back, and wait until I am no longer confused by choices but am filled with clarity on what to do next.

I got a red tiger tattoo from that movie based on this proverb, though I think it was fiction. It was just something that resonated with me back in 1995 and I waited 20 years and…the red tiger came to signify a hell of a lot more than a movie. My friend paid for me to get it, and I’ve not regretted it once. It’s like my built in constant reminder that sometimes choices can be misery and clarity is what sets you free.

At least that part of my midnight meltdown has been clarified.

What to do about being awake after 2 hours of sleep while the clock keeps ticking toward the alarm going off…I am ready to let someone hit me in the head and knock me unconscious if it means being down for more than 2 hours and popping up like some demented jack in the box. Least today I have no plans outside the house. Housework needs to be done, my hair could use a dye job and I found a box in the bathroom storage cubby so I could do that…Or I can get caught up on sleep. I have options here and that is what is needed. The clarity is in knowing I can make a choice on this matter. Sleep…isn’t so much a choice as it is a blessed gift from the sacred pegacorn and sandman gods.

It would mean a lot to me if you all would pop into the blogger community and check things out. My first article for the mental health safe space was posted (my scheduling was off, but math and brain damage don’t work well together) and I am open to feedback and questions.

bloggingexposurecommunity

My article
I Need Help Is The Hardest Conversation To Start

Everyone is welcome, the community is full of great people, and mental health is featured but it’s more than that, it is blogging tips, meets, shares, chatroom questions and a wonderful chance to meet new blogs and bloggers as well as share your own. I’ve gained 16 followers in the 3 weeks since I joined, and started following at least ten new blogs. It is a great community so stop in, say hi, have a looksee out the banter we share. Not your thing, cool. If it appeals, get in the ring and join us.

Now back to butting heads with Mr. Sandman so he will turn on his magic beam and bring me a dream. Or dreamless sleep, nightmares, anything that involves SLEEP.

Fried Chicken Legs, Dishpan Hands, and More Toxic Family Bullshit

Posted in anxiety, depression, insomnia with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on February 18, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I was not amused today when my dad called and said, “You wanna come over and do the dishes? She’s working and she’s got a hell of a head cold, she could use the help.” Thinking of the mountain of my own dishes still to be done, I defended my right to have plans that didn’t include cleaning his house. I mean, he was home, my brother was home, is there a reason they can’t do dishes? Oh, right, that’s ‘woman’s work’. Then maybe only women should be allowed to eat the food that dirties the dishes since men are too dainty to wash them. He kept needling me. I kept standing my ground. He said he’d pay me. Ok, so maybe that perked my interest. But only because they pay my sister $40 to do dishes. Stepmonster has this awful habit of letting them pile up in the sink, on the counter, and on top of the deep freeze and it takes forever to do them…He offered me ten dollars. That’s not even minimum wage, considering the time involved. And I am just sick of them bugging me. Saturday it was ‘walk our dogs’, sunday it was ‘take our man child to work’, today it’s ‘come do our dishes’. For fuck’s sake. Oh and he traps me with, “Well, if you want to do that for us, come on over.” Like I have a choice that ends well. I say no, he has a tantrum. He gives the illusion of a choice.

But I got mine done with a minute amount of help from Spook then we went over there. It wasn’t as bad as usual, but it still looked like a restaurant after a busy lunch hour. Dishes piled everywhere, caked with food, reeking cos they’d been sitting there so long. Every coffee mug, every piece of silverware-kid you not-was dirty.(And dad judges my housekeeping???) I bribed my kid with soda and chips and candy and she washed all the silverware and mugs. Then I took over and did the bulk of the filthy caked dishes and pans. It was, as I expected, my brother vegetating on his video game griping how tired he is from working 15 hours a week. Dad blathering on and on and on and on. Starting in on how people aren’t working and it means he has to pay more taxes. His digs at me do not go unnoticed, though I protest the term ‘nitwit pension’. Mental health disability has nothing to do with being unintelligent and you gotta jump through so many hoops to get it granted here, it means you have legitimate chronic mental health issues. But no, he just kept ragging on and on about it.

I was waiting for him to whip out a huge MAGA sign and beat me with it.

We were there almost two hours. For ten bucks. And for those who say, well ten dollars is ten dollars, you are missing the point. I went and did them to earn the money, I’m not lazy. But he was just bragging how he made $59,000 last year and they always pay my sister $40 for doing their dishes but I am only worth ten? I can’t help but find that insulting.

Came home, cooked chicken legs for my kid with my dishpan hands. (I must have washed 500 pieces of dishes today.)

I called to check on stepmonster and her illness, just to be polite. Then she tired out of talking and dad got on the line and ya know what? I trolled him. Every time he started to segue into needing to get off the phone, I just talked some more. And some more. And finally, exasperrated he said, “I have to go” and hung up on me. They like to dish it but they can’t handle a dose of their own medicine. I was interrupting their evening family time with inane chatter and it irritated them but they can’t draw the parallel between that and what they do to me every single fucking day.

I know there have been a few comments about cutting off the toxic ties but that is the bitch of it with my family. Just when you’re ready to hit the dark web and hire a hitman to take them out, they do something decent so I am the jerk if I keep protesting their shitty treatment.

They bought me and my sister a dozen roses for Valentine’s day because I have no man and her man would never think to buy her flowers so they were being kind.

Well, fuck.

I love yellow roses so they hit my weak spot.

But ya know, it’s like, “Hitler was kind to animals.” That does not wipe the slate on murdering 6 million people.

My family, though, they can treat me like shit 364 days a year and the one time they do something decent is supposed to make up for it.

Bloody hell.

I barely slept last night. It’s 3:20 a.m. so obviously I am not sleeping tonight. I even took a Restoril and it didn’t keep me down. I feel like a demented Jack In The Box, popping in and out of sleep all night long. And it leads to me being draggy and tired all day, every day, on top of the depressive inertia and the gray rainy day, I just feel drained. So why won’t my brain shut up and let me sleep?

At this point my bloodstream must be more melatonin and benadryl than actual blood. I am sick of having to take one to fall asleep, then another one when I wake up so I can get back to sleep, then another and another…

How anyone can say mental disorders aren’t a ‘disability’ apparently hasn’t read the Americans With Disabilities Act. Anything condition that inhibits your daily ability to function normally and continues year after year is considered a chronic conditon thus a disability. Just not getting proper sleep alone is enough to make a person clinically insane. On top of everything else…I’m two steps from running naked down the street in a tinfoil hat shrieking about the aliens eating my brain.

Today should suck properly. I have to go to town and finally pick up both our meds and get groceries. Dealing with traffic and stupid people on their damn phones while driving is the bane of my existence. Put the phone down, it’s a car, not a phone booth, dumbass.

Guess I will try the sleep thing again. Though something tells me I am in for a repeat of last night-still being awake at 5 a.m. watching vintage Press Your Luck and cheering on the whammy. Sometimes that’s all I can do, just keep going until my brain finally caves in and I nod off. Odd how it only caves about 45 minutes before the alarm goes off. Then I either can’t catnap after she is at school or I do catnap then feel lazy and full of self loathing all day. Sleep should not be this difficult.

And yet…this is my life.

My Family Ties Are Choking Me

Posted in anxiety, depression with tags , , , , , , on February 16, 2020 by morgueticiaatoms

I thought I’d have a fairly pleasant post for the day since last night, for the first time in weeks, I managed to get a good six hours of sleep. I woke up and did not feel tired or scrambled or aching. I felt lucid and rested. Little surprised I slept until after 10 a.m. but I didn’t crash til after 2:30 a.m. so it’s not like I went full blown sloth. There is a BIG difference in functionality and mental clarity when you do get solid sleep as opposed to when you do not. I’d be okay if 5 hours a night became the new norm. I can get by just fine as long as I am getting the sleep consecutively.

The plan was to wait til the tablet dies then get my kid started on Mt Dish Olympus. She can wash some cups and silverware,ffs, I did it at her age. I wouldn’t think to make her do any really stained dishes or pans, god knows she half asses things and we’d get food poisoning if I trusted her with that. But I’m not like my dad, I don’t crack the whip. I just think anyone who live together at a certain age, you become a team sharing space therefore the work is shared, too. With her starting dishes, I could get the cat boxes swapped out, sweep the floor, and start some laundry to get hang drying then I could take over the dishes.

That was the plan.

Thought I dodged a bullet when my didn’t call and wake me at 8 a.m. to start ragging on me. Ha ha, wrong, Niki. He did call at 10:30 and started berating me for my political beliefs and not liking Trump and democrats are stupid and have ruined the country and ugh…I HATE FUCKING POLITICS, I NEVER WANT TO DISCUSS IT, like religion, it is very personal, very volatile, and just not my thing.

What NO ONE can get through their idiotic skulls is that my mom raised us on National Enquirer and Star tabloids as kids so I spent a lot of years back in the 80’s and 90’s reading all about The Donald’s affairs and sleazy behavior and shady dealings I and couldnt’ stand the man then. Even if I didn’t consider tabloid reporting gospel as my naive mom still does, there was enough written-and on video- to tell me this man is an egomaniacal dictator personality from his own words and actions and I didn’t like him then and I like him less now. So for me, it’s like finding out the most unintelligent immoral bullying member of your high school class has been elected President and people want you to say yay?

Not gonna happen.

But yeah, dad kept in on me about my liberal leanings and yes, my values align more with democrat because I am not a conservative old boys network person. But as to what I identify with, right now, I am thinking gun, knife, noose, all choices lead to your painful death so hey, let it go, topic change. He started calling me “Donette” and laughing like a donkey and I said, “Oh, fuck off, Melania.” And that was how that conversation ended.

(If it shocks people to learn that my family communicates via blatant swearfests, this is all I’ve ever known to interact with them…Say “I love you” they get mean and uncomfortable. Tell them to go fuck themselves and they laugh. Idk.

But I took my second bullet when my brother called and asked me to give him a ride to town today for his job and oh, I will give you $5 for gas money. It costs six bucks to get to town and back, not to mention me dropping everything I had planned, gah, grrr. But they have important plans and I’m just a stay at home mom trying to work on her writing endeavors that could lead to a career, so if I say no, it starts family war. These people are so petty if I were to say no without a legit reason, like being dead, they’d stomp over and say, we gave you this birdfeeder, we’re taking it back, since you’re too good to help us out and take your brother to work. My brother is 24 fucking years old with a vehicle and a state rendered license, yeah, he is a shitty dumbass driver but they are so busy telling me how I am too lenient with my 10 year old…and they can’t even get their adult child out of the damn house. HYPOCRITES.

But yeah, dad got me a car when mine quit last year ($450 car, don’t go thinking it’s all modern and perty) and since…I’ve been indebted to them, plus I broke their car windshield using the SUV to move so…I’m not gonna be off the hook til my sixties. Thing is, I offered cash payments to them and they refused Much more satisfying to feel they own me.

But aside from all this garbage…it is a dry sunny day and the temp is nearing 50 and I can feel the edges of my seasonal depression starting to curl up. Just a few more weeks. And having reconnected with my brit friend, I am feeling pretty upbeat. If I can just keep up with it all, the blogging community, the mental health guest posts…I am easily overwhelmed so I am glad Caz and I are doing that together, she already talked me off one panic ledge, bless her heart.

So my plan to clean house and fry chicken today has has a monkey wrench tossed into the gears and I will adapt. But I don’t have to do it quietly. I find venting my anger here actually prevents me from making things worse by exploding on people IRL. It gives me a chance to gain clarity and identity if the problem is their behavior or my perception. This is a healthy thing for me.

So have a great Sunday and if anyone knows a hit man off the dark web who will work for home cooked meals and deal with my family problem for good…

Oh, come on, it was a joke, damn it. Sorta.