OH, NO, NOT ANOTHER NEGATIVE WHINY POST FROM THIS BITCH!!
To which this bitch says, be on your merry way into the land of cotton candy clouds and frolicking unipuppies.
Truth be told, I’m feeling less venomous and more just frustrated. Death, death, death. No money. Too hot. Rashes, itching. Buried under housework. Everything is a fucking disaster and I don’t even know where to start or if I just wanna light a match and let it all burn the fuck down…Lock me in a fucking rubber room ‘cos this “independent living” is absolute shit.
I must admit, I’m not really a pyro cos once you’ve wakened to firemen pulling you out of a burning building, fire just becomes a trigger rather than any sort of high…But when things turn to shit and I am flailing and feeling fed up and week..I have these fantasies like that end scene of “Heathers” where Winona Rider’s character blows up the school and lights a cigarette and walks away…I just wanna grab my kid, my cats, my puter, and blow it all the fuck up and walk far away. It’s not a real desire ‘cos I’m not really destructive that way (thank you, Lamictal) but it’s nice to have fantasies, ya know.
(And yes, I know there are people who have it way worse, but I’m still gonna bitch.)
I slept. Only to wake at 3 a.m. And have all these thoughts about hey, let’s just stay up and do stuff while it’s still cool out, then you can sleep through the heat of the day…It didn’t happen, though. Arsenic kept trying to love on me and I didn’t ignore him but I kept my distance. I can’t get more attached only to lose another one. As it already is, Oleander is acting sick today and I don’t know if I am just so panicked that I am mistaking heat lethargy for something fatal or what.
So I slept til 10 a.m. I’ve showered. That’s about it. I need to tackle Spook’s cyclone of a room but I have zero energy. I’m gonna try her out sleeping on the top bunk for awhile which means a complete overhaul of the entire room and closet. In 93 degree heat and her room having only a fan…It’s gonna be miserable. I have great timing when I decide I want to do these things then my brain laughs at me and says, nope. I HAVE to make an effort. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but I have to get some order going on so she can get her school clothes on and get out the door before noon.
Last night I had all these thoughts on what to do today and now, I’ve got nothing. I needed a couple of things from Dollar Tree to do the organizing and now…Blank. Nothing. My memory has become laughable. Spook will ask, “Really, Mommy?” And I will have absolutely no clue what she’s referring to even though I said it like five seconds before. I just have gaping swiss cheese holes for a memory. The doctors say the meds don’t cause this but prior to all the meds, I had an impeccable memory. Oh, but wait, it’s age…I am starting to hate doctors more than I ever have.
When they picked Spook up last night my dad asked what I was gonna do while she’s gone. I said, “Sleep.” He went off and said, “Now why would you need sleep? And I thought you were going to clean her room…And I wake up at 5 a.m. every day and I don’t go to bed before 11 p.m. so why do you need sleep…”
He’s always been that way but in my current “burn it all down” state I just want to smack him over the head with a shovel. He has no idea what my life is like cos all he cares about is his own shit. Sleep is a rare commodity for me. Hell, being able to go pee without the kid in tow is a rare commodity. He’s an ass.
I did my forced dish thing yesterday while Spook was still home. We just hit a few yard sales nearby, nothing major, and I eventually cracked ‘cos the traffic was too much but I made myself get out. So why am I not cured? I need to run out today but it will be brief, and that’s IF I even remember what it was I needed at Dollar Tree. Fuck.
In an effort to “battle” the depression I’ve been trying to play music. I can handle it about a half hour before my nerves are frayed. This pisses me off to no end because music was always my shelter, medicine for my soul. To have that impacted by this mental shit is vomit inducing. I’ve never been one to go out or party, I am an introverted homebody, so not wanting to go out and all…The dread and anxiety are depression but mostly, I’m okay at home. But not being able to enjoy music…That is just absolute ass trash. Seems like this depression has cost me more than any other I’ve been through, as far as being comforted.
Because there is so much sunshine spewage out there and I am all about self awareness I’ve been soul searching lately. Am I amping up the mental thing? Am I just a lazy naturally miserable person? Am I just in denial of that?
I don’t think so. I am bright enough to know the difference between situational depression (broke, relationship broke up, car broke down, etc) and a chronic clinical depression. Not being able to enjoy music…That’s not my norm. That’s part of the illness. So let the sunshine spewers go run ten miles, drink a gallon of water, pray to a god that likely doesn’t exist and proclaim themselves happy and cured. Their story is not my story and I am becoming resentful of the “one size must fit all” shit anyway. I may never be a chipper “top of the morning to you” person but I know who I am and I am not a miserable person. I’ve found contentment and happiness even when things were absolutely shitty. Because my mind wasn’t sick, it was being maintained by functioning meds.
Right now…I’m gonna cling to “let it all burn”. Because some stuff is just shitty and telling myself otherwise makes it worse.
Now excuse me while I root around in the blob of swiss cheese called my memory and try to recall what it was I needed at the store. I’ll try not to burn it down, I promise. I haven’t perfected my burst into flames glare yet anyway.