Daily Archives: May 14, 2015

Just In Case You Wondered, This Is What Depression Is.

Written in 2014. In a brief depressed phase.

DSCN3011

How much should I tell you, how much should I disclose? How much of myself should I give away? How much of the façade should I let crumble? I feel sick, awful, teary, bad… yes depression is on its way…again. The pictures I post on Facebook with smiles on my face, happy, normal looking, that person is gone again. I know it doesn’t make any sense. But this is what bipolar d/o does. One day, you are fine, enjoying life, smiling, thinking about things, and then the next day, you are basically a lifeless statue, expressionless, thought-less, emotionless. All the positives gone. And you feel nothingness and pain. There is a weight on my chest, hard to take a deep breath. My muscles ache, my heart aches. My mind feels dull and empty, no happy, positive thoughts, no ideas, no plans. Tired, so tired. Don’t want to get out of bed in the morning. Don’t want to do anything. Can’t publish this. Don’t want people to know how much of a wreck I am right now. Can’t give it all away. Don’t want everyone to see me deconstructed. Have to keep up some pretense of who I am. Fine, look at me, see this mentally ill person in a depression. See me and count your blessings you were not born with a mental illness.


Update from the Boondocks of Bigfoot

    Hey there my Sasquatch lovin’ friends, I’m in a goofy mood, which comes at a good time after my Facebook Fiasco. a.k.a. the unfriendings over the past week. After I published my last post, I received fantastic comments … Continue reading

Mid Month Check-In and Dear Mom

may calendar

wet t-shirt

How entertaining is that title? Sounds so titillating (now there’s a pun to conjure with), but the truth, sadly, is prosaic. tl;dr – went for a walk, it rained.

(scheduled post)

Friends, Romans, pluviophiles and petrichor sniffers, lend me your queers.

It’s lovely when the weather fits my mood, but as with most things, the dark stuff stands out far more than the light. I needed wuthering weather and I got it. The day began with sunshine, my first beach walk was a rather sweaty one. The second one started off cloudy and rapidly progressed to pissing it down. I loved it. There’s that fresh air feeling that the rain  brings and the odd elation of striding along a foggy beach.

Night fell and it rained harder, a lot harder. I battened the proverbial hatches and settled in to enjoy the sound and feel cosy and then, as usual, I checked my privilege. I forget every single time, that I live in a country full of ‘informal housing’ (shacks) and too often they’re on flood plains and get hit hard. While I’m warm and comfortable and fussing about so that my possessions don’t get damp, fuckloads of people are very cold and wet and hoping their possessions don’t disappear for good. I’ve probably said it before, but charities are mostly an inefficient way to help. Better to help within your own community amirite? Well, assuming there are shacks or homeless people anyway. Read Robert Calderisi’s The Trouble With Africa if you don’t believe me. In fact, read it anyway.

I’m skilled at leaping from a soapbox on to a hobby horse and ranting/digressing.

The following day the weather shifted a bit and I had the rainy walk in the morning and the sweaty one at the end of the day. I sat on a rock at the end and picked out tiny pebbles and pieces of glass. The bookshelf Buddha’s bowl is full of misty, smooth seaglass now, I’ll have to find something else to do with the future findings.

A walk in the rain on a beach in a warm country is a lovely thing. Whatever the Mood is like at the start of it, it will be at least a little calmer at the end. It’s the perfect place and time for weeping too. Mister Neruda wrote the poems I love best about the rain and the sea (and a hell of a lot of other things besides). I’ve already blogged two of his sea poems, so here’s a breathtakingly beautiful one about rain.

(My mother spent a day on Easter Island; I say things like that with pride, as though I’d done them myself. She visited Neruda’s house in Valparaiso too, and brought me back a local business leaflet, Neruda Shoes. Me and digressing, we’re inseparable, but there’s a reason for this one…)

I fucking love this poem, even when it makes me want to fucking cry.

Rain (Rapa Nui) by Pablo Neruda

No, better the Queen not recognize
your face, it’s sweeter
this way, my love, far from the effigies, the weight
of your hair in my hands. Do you remember
the Mangareva tree whose flowers fell
in your hair? These fingers are not like
the white petals: look at them they are like roots,
they are like stone shoots over which the lizard
slides. Don’t be afraid, we will wait for the rain to fall, naked,
the rain, the same as falls over Manu Tara.

But just as water inures its strokes on the stone,
it falls on us, washing us softly
towards obscurity down below the hole
of Ranu Raraku. And so
don’t let the fishermen or the wine-pitcher see you.
Bury your twin-burning breast on my mouth,
and let your head of hair be a small night for me,
a darkness of wet perfume enveloping me.

At night I dream that you and I are two plants
that grew together, roots entwined,
and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth,
since we are made of earth and rain. Sometimes
I think that with death we will seep below,
in the depths at the feet of he effigy, looking over
the ocean which brought us here to build and make love.

My hands were not ferrous when they met you, the waters
of another sea went through them as through a net; now
water and stones sustain seeds and secrets.

Sleeping and naked, love me: on the shore
you are like the island: your love confused, your love
astonished, hidden in the cavity of dreams,
is like the movement of the sea around us.

And when I too begin falling asleep
in your love, naked,
leave my hand between your breasts so it can throb
along with your nipples wet with rain.

(Trans. Anthony Kerrigan)

And here is my favourite cover of a song from my favourite film…

Food Pantry Day

So today for the first time in a long time I get to go to our local food pantry at church and distribute food.  I’ve been scheduling badly and scheduling appointments on my second Thursdays and not being able to go.  But this month I made sure that I could.

We pass out nonperishable goods such as soups, dry goods, canned goods, anything you can think of to pass out.  We sometimes have fresh foods courtesy of the government food bank, such as potatoes, eggs, frozen meats, tomatoes, etc.  We currently holding a food drive because summer is a high-demand time for us and we need more food than usual.

We have some sad cases.  We know some details about their lives, but not many.  We serve a good many grandmothers raising grandchildren, sometimes up to four or so at a time.  We serve single people who are surviving on disability payments and need food assistance.  A lot of older people who are alone without support.  We also take walk-ins if we have food available–people who have heard about us that we don’t normally serve month to month.  We do our best not to turn anyone away.  We’re very blessed in that we are part of a computerized system of food banks and other benevolence ministries in that we can check to see if someone is receiving assistance from multiple places to cut down on people trying to take advantage of us.

When Bob and I were having trouble, I envisioned having to go to this place and get food assistance if we did break up.  I’m gad to be a part of the ministry and hope that we can continue to help people in need like I almost was.  I no longer live in that fear, but I’m glad to know that if something happened to Bob otherwise, that there are places like this one that someone like me can go to for help.


The Babies I Never Had. The Child I May Never Have.

Warning: This IS long. Partly because I tend to ramble, and partly because this is a post that has been in the workings for six months, and a difficult post to write. There is also no pretty picture. I did consider including an X-ray image of my uterus but figured Hubster might get miffed it he saw I was posting pictures of my womanly parts online. 

About six months ago, after several days of waking up and immediately wanting to puke I realised, with a fairly abrupt shock, that I was late. Now, I’m never late for work, I’m never late for deadlines, I’m never late for social engagements, and I’m sure as hell never, you know, late. So this could only mean one thing.

I hot footed it down to the shops and grabbed the first test I could see. When I got home I knew what the result would be before it even showed up. When the two lines appeared I burst into tears and then promptly had a panic attack.

An hour later I tested again, just in case I had gotten some weird designed-to-really-freak-you-out bum test. Yep. Still positive. I think the word that first came out of my mouth started with “F” and sounded a lot like “Duck”.

Totally unexpected. Totally not the plan.

Because of all my health problems any pregnancy I have will be high risk and will need to be closely monitored. Because of the medication I am on I have been told to go straight to a doctor if I ever find out I”m pregnant. There is absolutely no playing it cool, and just seeing what happens with me. It’s a giant pain in the posterior.

So I went to see my GP, brandishing my test and asking her if she thought it was a positive result (because apparently I need a medical doctor with worse eyesight than mine to confirm the presence of a second line). She laughed and said yes. Booked me into the hospital, gave me my due date, lectured me about folic acid, and sent me on my way to have a batch of bloods done (and a rather unexpected pap smear that I wasn’t informed about. The fun just never stops).

Then I had to break the news to Hubster. When he came home from work he found me sitting solemnly on the couch.
“I need to tell you something”. I started.
“Oh god. What?!” he asked rushing over.
“I can’t say it.” I told him, covering my eyes.
“Just tell me! What!”
“I’m…pregnant.” I whispered.
He looked at me incredulously. “That’s not possible.”
I handed him the test, and then he was all “What?! How?!” and then “This was not what I was expecting” (apparently he was expecting me to tell him I was dying. Gee thanks Hubster. Let’s not get too excited here ;)) And finally, in a rather stern manner, “Rachael. This CANNOT happen.”
“Er, well. It’s a bit late for that speech.”
Then we both looked at each other and burst into laughter. He gave me the biggest hug and told me we would work it out. We would be ok.

And then I was happy. I figured it was pretty much the ONLY real good thing that had happened that year. The baby was due on Hubsters 30th birthday, which has gotta be a good sign right?

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a good sign.

The next morning I tested again. And once again, I knew what the result would say before it did.

Negative.

Hubster rolled over as I came back in our bedroom and asked how it went. I tossed him the test and told him I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I didn’t cry. I can’t say I was dreadfully upset. I wasn’t even surprised. Because it was the eighth time this has happened. I get pregnant easily. I just can’t seem to hold on to them.

Although the pregnancy was unplanned the whole event made us reassess our situation. We decided it was the right time to complete our family. I saw a doctor about the strange early losses, I was referred to a fertility specialist. We liked him instantly. Mainly because he looked like Dr. Who (though, sadly, not David Tennant).

This week, after weeks of being poked and prodded, hundreds of dollars worth of investigation and another failed pregnancy we found ourselves back in Dr. Who’s office. There are a few issues at play really. My physical health has, clearly, been less than ideal for a long time. But I heard myself being told that my ovarian reserve was diminishing. That at 28 years old I was essentially running out of eggs. What the actual flip? I had imagined all sorts of scenarios that were preventing us from having a viable pregnancy. This was not one of them. I’m not even 30.  I thought I had all the time in the world.

So the next few months are make or break for us. We will try two cycles of injections and hormone treatment to try and fall pregnant. If this doesn’t work it is on to a round of IVF. The doctor told us that it would be a good idea to freeze some embryos. Because I am running out of time. Awesome. I keep imagining my ovaries as having white perms and zimmerframes. Retiring early. Thanks girls!

So here’s the thing. Technically I am diagnosed as having had recurrent miscarriages. But I’ve never been really able to see them as that. It all happens so incredibly early. I feel I can’t compare a late monthly and a few positive tests to the horror of losing a pregnancy at a later stage. After seeing a heartbeat. After feeling movements. After knowingly carrying an unborn child for weeks. We almost lost Master D several times. I know these early losses don’t compare.

But I am at the crossroads now. I am beginning to realise that it is quite possible that Hubster and I will not be able to have another child. And that I spent the first year of my Master D’s life psychotic, depressed and in hospital. Then the third year of his life, psychotic, vomiting and in hospital. I have missed so much. I will never get that time back again. And I may not get another chance. Master D may grow up without having the experience of a sibling. In a way I wish I had never seen any of those positive tests. I wish I had never been aware that I was pregnant for that very short time. Because I start to feel grief over the babies I never had. Over the life we may not be able to have.

At the end of the day I know I will be ok with whatever happens. I am fortunate enough to have had the experience of being a mother – turbulent though it has been. I DO have a child. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Another child would be an absolute blessing. But my body is tired. The treatment is stressful and invasive (not to mention expensive). I’m not willing to cycle after cycle indefinitely.

I want to give the treatment a go. I know we would regret it if we didn’t at least try. But at the same time I need to put my health, and the child I already have before a child I may never have. I have no idea how pumping myself full of medication and hormones is going to affect my mood or my physical wellbeing. Master D has been without me enough. Theres a limit. And at this stage three cycles of treatment is our limit.

I feel strangely relaxed about the whole thing. I have suspected for years that there is something very wrong. There has been so much angst and worry and frustration. But I’m at the end now. This is now largely out of my hands. What will be will be.

In a few months I will be pregnant, or I won’t be. And I know I will be at peace with whatever the outcome.


The Babies I Never Had. The Child I May Never Have.

Warning: This IS long. Partly because I tend to ramble, and partly because this is a post that has been in the workings for six months, and a difficult post to write. There is also no pretty picture. I did consider including an X-ray image of my uterus but figured Hubster might get miffed it he saw I was posting pictures of my womanly parts online. 

About six months ago, after several days of waking up and immediately wanting to puke I realised, with a fairly abrupt shock, that I was late. Now, I’m never late for work, I’m never late for deadlines, I’m never late for social engagements, and I’m sure as hell never, you know, late. So this could only mean one thing.

I hot footed it down to the shops and grabbed the first test I could see. When I got home I knew what the result would be before it even showed up. When the two lines appeared I burst into tears and then promptly had a panic attack.

An hour later I tested again, just in case I had gotten some weird designed-to-really-freak-you-out bum test. Yep. Still positive. I think the word that first came out of my mouth started with “F” and sounded a lot like “Duck”.

Totally unexpected. Totally not the plan.

Because of all my health problems any pregnancy I have will be high risk and will need to be closely monitored. Because of the medication I am on I have been told to go straight to a doctor if I ever find out I”m pregnant. There is absolutely no playing it cool, and just seeing what happens with me. It’s a giant pain in the posterior.

So I went to see my GP, brandishing my test and asking her if she thought it was a positive result (because apparently I need a medical doctor with worse eyesight than mine to confirm the presence of a second line). She laughed and said yes. Booked me into the hospital, gave me my due date, lectured me about folic acid, and sent me on my way to have a batch of bloods done (and a rather unexpected pap smear that I wasn’t informed about. The fun just never stops).

Then I had to break the news to Hubster. When he came home from work he found me sitting solemnly on the couch.
“I need to tell you something”. I started.
“Oh god. What?!” he asked rushing over.
“I can’t say it.” I told him, covering my eyes.
“Just tell me! What!”
“I’m…pregnant.” I whispered.
He looked at me incredulously. “That’s not possible.”
I handed him the test, and then he was all “What?! How?!” and then “This was not what I was expecting” (apparently he was expecting me to tell him I was dying. Gee thanks Hubster. Let’s not get too excited here ;)) And finally, in a rather stern manner, “Rachael. This CANNOT happen.”
“Er, well. It’s a bit late for that speech.”
Then we both looked at each other and burst into laughter. He gave me the biggest hug and told me we would work it out. We would be ok.

And then I was happy. I figured it was pretty much the ONLY real good thing that had happened that year. The baby was due on Hubsters 30th birthday, which has gotta be a good sign right?

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a good sign.

The next morning I tested again. And once again, I knew what the result would say before it did.

Negative.

Hubster rolled over as I came back in our bedroom and asked how it went. I tossed him the test and told him I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I didn’t cry. I can’t say I was dreadfully upset. I wasn’t even surprised. Because it was the eighth time this has happened. I get pregnant easily. I just can’t seem to hold on to them.

Although the pregnancy was unplanned the whole event made us reassess our situation. We decided it was the right time to complete our family. I saw a doctor about the strange early losses, I was referred to a fertility specialist. We liked him instantly. Mainly because he looked like Dr. Who (though, sadly, not David Tennant).

This week, after weeks of being poked and prodded, hundreds of dollars worth of investigation and another failed pregnancy we found ourselves back in Dr. Who’s office. There are a few issues at play really. My physical health has, clearly, been less than ideal for a long time. But I heard myself being told that my ovarian reserve was diminishing. That at 28 years old I was essentially running out of eggs. What the actual flip? I had imagined all sorts of scenarios that were preventing us from having a viable pregnancy. This was not one of them. I’m not even 30.  I thought I had all the time in the world.

So the next few months are make or break for us. We will try two cycles of injections and hormone treatment to try and fall pregnant. If this doesn’t work it is on to a round of IVF. The doctor told us that it would be a good idea to freeze some embryos. Because I am running out of time. Awesome. I keep imagining my ovaries as having white perms and zimmerframes. Retiring early. Thanks girls!

So here’s the thing. Technically I am diagnosed as having had recurrent miscarriages. But I’ve never been really able to see them as that. It all happens so incredibly early. I feel I can’t compare a late monthly and a few positive tests to the horror of losing a pregnancy at a later stage. After seeing a heartbeat. After feeling movements. After knowingly carrying an unborn child for weeks. We almost lost Master D several times. I know these early losses don’t compare.

But I am at the crossroads now. I am beginning to realise that it is quite possible that Hubster and I will not be able to have another child. And that I spent the first year of my Master D’s life psychotic, depressed and in hospital. Then the third year of his life, psychotic, vomiting and in hospital. I have missed so much. I will never get that time back again. And I may not get another chance. Master D may grow up without having the experience of a sibling. In a way I wish I had never seen any of those positive tests. I wish I had never been aware that I was pregnant for that very short time. Because I start to feel grief over the babies I never had. Over the life we may not be able to have.

At the end of the day I know I will be ok with whatever happens. I am fortunate enough to have had the experience of being a mother – turbulent though it has been. I DO have a child. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Another child would be an absolute blessing. But my body is tired. The treatment is stressful and invasive (not to mention expensive). I’m not willing to cycle after cycle indefinitely.

I want to give the treatment a go. I know we would regret it if we didn’t at least try. But at the same time I need to put my health, and the child I already have before a child I may never have. I have no idea how pumping myself full of medication and hormones is going to affect my mood or my physical wellbeing. Master D has been without me enough. Theres a limit. And at this stage three cycles of treatment is our limit.

I feel strangely relaxed about the whole thing. I have suspected for years that there is something very wrong. There has been so much angst and worry and frustration. But I’m at the end now. This is now largely out of my hands. What will be will be.

In a few months I will be pregnant, or I won’t be. And I know I will be at peace with whatever the outcome.


The Babies I Never Had. The Child I May Never Have.

Warning: This IS long. Partly because I tend to ramble, and partly because this is a post that has been in the workings for six months, and a difficult post to write. There is also no pretty picture. I did consider including an X-ray image of my uterus but figured Hubster might get miffed it he saw I was posting pictures of my womanly parts online. 

About six months ago, after several days of waking up and immediately wanting to puke I realised, with a fairly abrupt shock, that I was late. Now, I’m never late for work, I’m never late for deadlines, I’m never late for social engagements, and I’m sure as hell never, you know, late. So this could only mean one thing.

I hot footed it down to the shops and grabbed the first test I could see. When I got home I knew what the result would be before it even showed up. When the two lines appeared I burst into tears and then promptly had a panic attack.

An hour later I tested again, just in case I had gotten some weird designed-to-really-freak-you-out bum test. Yep. Still positive. I think the word that first came out of my mouth started with “F” and sounded a lot like “Duck”.

Totally unexpected. Totally not the plan.

Because of all my health problems any pregnancy I have will be high risk and will need to be closely monitored. Because of the medication I am on I have been told to go straight to a doctor if I ever find out I”m pregnant. There is absolutely no playing it cool, and just seeing what happens with me. It’s a giant pain in the posterior.

So I went to see my GP, brandishing my test and asking her if she thought it was a positive result (because apparently I need a medical doctor with worse eyesight than mine to confirm the presence of a second line). She laughed and said yes. Booked me into the hospital, gave me my due date, lectured me about folic acid, and sent me on my way to have a batch of bloods done (and a rather unexpected pap smear that I wasn’t informed about. The fun just never stops).

Then I had to break the news to Hubster. When he came home from work he found me sitting solemnly on the couch.
“I need to tell you something”. I started.
“Oh god. What?!” he asked rushing over.
“I can’t say it.” I told him, covering my eyes.
“Just tell me! What!”
“I’m…pregnant.” I whispered.
He looked at me incredulously. “That’s not possible.”
I handed him the test, and then he was all “What?! How?!” and then “This was not what I was expecting” (apparently he was expecting me to tell him I was dying. Gee thanks Hubster. Let’s not get too excited here ;)) And finally, in a rather stern manner, “Rachael. This CANNOT happen.”
“Er, well. It’s a bit late for that speech.”
Then we both looked at each other and burst into laughter. He gave me the biggest hug and told me we would work it out. We would be ok.

And then I was happy. I figured it was pretty much the ONLY real good thing that had happened that year. The baby was due on Hubsters 30th birthday, which has gotta be a good sign right?

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a good sign.

The next morning I tested again. And once again, I knew what the result would say before it did.

Negative.

Hubster rolled over as I came back in our bedroom and asked how it went. I tossed him the test and told him I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I didn’t cry. I can’t say I was dreadfully upset. I wasn’t even surprised. Because it was the eighth time this has happened. I get pregnant easily. I just can’t seem to hold on to them.

Although the pregnancy was unplanned the whole event made us reassess our situation. We decided it was the right time to complete our family. I saw a doctor about the strange early losses, I was referred to a fertility specialist. We liked him instantly. Mainly because he looked like Dr. Who (though, sadly, not David Tennant).

This week, after weeks of being poked and prodded, hundreds of dollars worth of investigation and another failed pregnancy we found ourselves back in Dr. Who’s office. There are a few issues at play really. My physical health has, clearly, been less than ideal for a long time. But I heard myself being told that my ovarian reserve was diminishing. That at 28 years old I was essentially running out of eggs. What the actual flip? I had imagined all sorts of scenarios that were preventing us from having a viable pregnancy. This was not one of them. I’m not even 30.  I thought I had all the time in the world.

So the next few months are make or break for us. We will try two cycles of injections and hormone treatment to try and fall pregnant. If this doesn’t work it is on to a round of IVF. The doctor told us that it would be a good idea to freeze some embryos. Because I am running out of time. Awesome. I keep imagining my ovaries as having white perms and zimmerframes. Retiring early. Thanks girls!

So here’s the thing. Technically I am diagnosed as having had recurrent miscarriages. But I’ve never been really able to see them as that. It all happens so incredibly early. I feel I can’t compare a late monthly and a few positive tests to the horror of losing a pregnancy at a later stage. After seeing a heartbeat. After feeling movements. After knowingly carrying an unborn child for weeks. We almost lost Master D several times. I know these early losses don’t compare.

But I am at the crossroads now. I am beginning to realise that it is quite possible that Hubster and I will not be able to have another child. And that I spent the first year of my Master D’s life psychotic, depressed and in hospital. Then the third year of his life, psychotic, vomiting and in hospital. I have missed so much. I will never get that time back again. And I may not get another chance. Master D may grow up without having the experience of a sibling. In a way I wish I had never seen any of those positive tests. I wish I had never been aware that I was pregnant for that very short time. Because I start to feel grief over the babies I never had. Over the life we may not be able to have.

At the end of the day I know I will be ok with whatever happens. I am fortunate enough to have had the experience of being a mother – turbulent though it has been. I DO have a child. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Another child would be an absolute blessing. But my body is tired. The treatment is stressful and invasive (not to mention expensive). I’m not willing to cycle after cycle indefinitely.

I want to give the treatment a go. I know we would regret it if we didn’t at least try. But at the same time I need to put my health, and the child I already have before a child I may never have. I have no idea how pumping myself full of medication and hormones is going to affect my mood or my physical wellbeing. Master D has been without me enough. Theres a limit. And at this stage three cycles of treatment is our limit.

I feel strangely relaxed about the whole thing. I have suspected for years that there is something very wrong. There has been so much angst and worry and frustration. But I’m at the end now. This is now largely out of my hands. What will be will be.

In a few months I will be pregnant, or I won’t be. And I know I will be at peace with whatever the outcome.


Epic Manic Battles of History…Begin!

 

Yeah, okay that is my fave ERB and I had to put it on here because in my head, I keep hearing the title of this post recited the way they say EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORRRRY. (For the record Beeth-Oven totally wipes the floor with Bieber’s ass.)(Yes, I am still on the Bill/Ted/Excellent Adventure spiel.)

Except I don’t rap. I’m hypomanic. It’s almost midnight and I have not retreated. In fact, the mania has replenished my spork supply which was in the negatives after a call from R-sole. I am trying to be objective but that man goes on the defensive when he knows he’s been offensive but can’t admit he’s anything less than ideal and everyone else is shit. It was all I could to do be civilized with all his snarky comments about me not stopping by or me not doing what he wants done or me causing the decline of western civilization. What the fuck ever, McDouchey. Then he kept getting really bitchy because he said I wasn’t paying attention and fact was, his cell kept cutting out, my kid was yapping, the two dogs next door were tied out, barking…I couldn’t hear fuck all. But it’s all about me mistreating him. The man who’s so important and busy yet I am to blame for everything.

The beer is pickling his brain. He was on about how I’ve been “out of it” and “messing things up” and I warned him up front I was starting a new med that could render me loopy. Hell, I had employers who actually paid for my time who were more understanding when I needed a few days off in a row to see how a new med was going to affect me. R is just a dick. And yes, I have to toss him down the elevator shaft from the 13th floor (Thanks, Chris.) Just not yet. I can’t afford a mechanic and considering how old my car is and decrepit…I have to suffer for car repairs. Tomorrow is my penance for asking him to take ten minutes out of his important busy life to put a car stereo in my dash. Yet oddly when I said I’d have someone else do it, he snapped, “No, they’ll fuck it up, I’ll do it, least I can do it right.” Idget.

I am not looking forward to it. I should be in bed, sleeping working up my ability to not choke a bitch. Instead I have gone hypomanic and I am scanning all my computers for malware and viruses and I transferred a bunch of files and watched Arrow (YOU SUCK, OLIVER, AND YOU BETTER COME BACK!!!!) My kid has wakened twice and thrown a tissy because I am not in my bed so she can’t climb in with me and had to back to her own room. The child has night terrors, has since she was an infant, and I always joked it was the result of living in my hostile womb all those months…But the donor had night terrors, too, and I wonder if it’s some genetic propensity. Weird part was, for almost two years she did sleep all night in her own bed. And then she didn’t. I don’t know how to make her feel any safer. I’m less than twenty steps from her room. I leave my door open so I can hear if she cries out and needs me. I am lost. I don’t want her going to school and saying she sleeps in mommy’s bed thus inviting some “well meaning” idget to make perverted assumptions, or worse, think I am using my kid to avoid being alone. I looove sleeping alone. I’m up and down so much that sleeping with others has always turned into this nasty battle of “will you stop getting up, you keep me waking me.”

I am fairly certain the abrupt stop of the Latarda is responsible for the hypomanic bout. Haven’t had one since early March but coming off a med cold turkey…That’ll do it. But damn, the rage was too much for me to handle. I’m venomous but I was getting furious at shit that didn’t make sense. Of course, following the mania will come the crash crash burn and splat. Which will probably happen tomorrow in R’s presence so he can berate me some more cos ya know, he and his psychologist daughter agree mental illness isn’t real, it’s just behavior. I looove having meltdowns with an audience, they’re always so supportive and empathetic. NOT. But I am willing to barter to get what I need and it’s not like he pisses me off any more than my family does. Least he doesn’t lecture me about drinking alcohol like my parents do. 42 years old and still judging me like a child. Fuck off.

I know I need to cut it loose. Maybe not entirely sever ties, because I do like Mrs R and our Mangorita nights…But for this moment, I am in limbo with the disability review, this Latard fail, struggling with the tiniest things due to money…I can only make so many changes at once and deal with so much shit at once. But…it’s coming, unless things changed. Last time I stopped speaking to him for six months and his wife was the one who came to my door and asked me and Spook to start coming back over on weekends. So I did. And he was on his best behavior after she read him the riot act. Unfortunately, he’s right back to his old shit and…

“13th floor…Ladies lingerie, luggage, and a fall straight into hellfire and brimstone.”

I gotta pick my battles. For now. I think I am starting to wind down. Or maybe it’s just dread at dealing with R tomorrow when he right off the bat went on the defensive like I somehow wronged him when he blew me off for five days. Then said I didn’t wave at him in traffic. No, I don’t do the grinny face Queen Elizabeth wave. I’m busy not having a car wreck, dumbass. I give a nod or half wave or tell my kid to wave at him for me. He just totally went after me on that call and I have no idea why.

It put me in a high anxiety pissed off mind frame. But then I went hypomanic and realized…We will never mesh because I have a soul and emotions and he doesn’t. Least not for anyone outside his bloodline or “worship me” circle. I have messy feelings that get hurt, ewww, ickkky. Waste of my fucking time. But I gotta do what I gotta do…(Meaning, I am almost out of smokey treats and if I go to the shop, I can at least sneak a couple of his, muhahahha.)

Okay…Final note…This one is a writing prompt from Tessa.

I guess I just write the prompt and go from there…

I often wonder…Oh, so many things. If I had been a boy would my dad have loved me more? If I didn’t look like my dad would my mom love me more? And what if I’d gotten to be the thin blonde blue eyed “fun” sister instead of the book wormy chubby smart sister. What ifs are a part of life.

I often wonder..Had I not gone through being bullied and having all this mental stuff, would I have turned out to be an absolute shit person lacking in empathy?

And most often I wonder…How did it come to this? What happened that sent me into a downward spiral of instability that held me back from my goals, dreams, the things I enjoy. At what point did my soul calcify to the point I can no longer feel true joy?

I know the answer. I tried. I tried hard as I could, given the mind frames, meds, side effects, personal circumstances…I did try. I just keep failing because my mind never sends me the right messages consistently.

I wonder what it would be like to be able to trust your own thoughts and emotions without suspecting them lies and distortion.

I often wonder…


35 Symptoms of Perimenopause

Maybe my portrait is at odds with the list of symptoms. Maybe not. Mostly been feeling irritable. Sick of being irritable. Sick of having to warn my husband that I’m in a bad mood. Ready for menopause. Ready for this…