Fuck you, KFC. I want the round sporks back, demmit. This square thing is functional and the black is stylish but…really, wtf. I can’t stand deviation, it makes my panic riddled brain start spinning like a zombie hamster is on a wheel seeking brains….
Yeah. THAT kind of week. It was nice someone bought me lunch, but to get a square spork…So traumatizing. Actually it was just an eye roll as I was square spork deep into my mashed potatoes. Ugh. I am such a disloyal sell out.
I am also trying to use humor because things really haven’t improved and I am scared my never ending depression is causing me to be shunned in the blogosphere. It has to be my fucked up perception, but no self respecting mental health blogger would ever mistake a black depression for someone simply being negative, right? Oh, that’s fantasy land, this is reality. Ya know, the place where even my own parents tell me to grow up because depression is totally maturity related. I am sick of it myself, but wtf am I supposed to do? I see the doc Wednesday and I fear I am not just gonna be condescended to but also reprimanded. I never did get the blood work done for the lithium (if they wanna provide transportation for the ten mile trip, it’d have been done, broke doesn’t mean non cooperative). I’ve already started tapering off the Cymbalta (30mg every other day) because if I don’t get off this shit, I am gonna take a fucking cheese grater to my damned brain. Which means another med and more disappointed expression doctor and….
Oh, well. This is my normal, lather, rinse, repeat.
What is NOT my norm and was all done without my damned consent and has me infuriated even though I am supposed to be rolling in gratitude…My dad went and bought a Grand Am for two hundred bucks. It doesn’t run. He made a deal with R to do the diagnostic and see if it can be revived. AND GUESS WHO IS GONNA BE ON THE HOOK REPAYING ALL THIS MONEY? Yeah, me. No one fucking asked me. I was gonna transfer the Chevy and drive it til it fell in the road. Instead, I am now in debt. To two of my least favorite people to owe. I had to serve six dish hours yesterday as “Payment” for R to have this piece of shit car towed to where it can be worked on.
“But you can get us paid back now that you’re going to get child support.”
NO, YOU COCKWEASELS! I wanted a chance to get my feet under me, get our budget figured out, maybe be able to take my kid to Six Flags since she wins a ticket for her reading every year and I can never get her there…I thought maybe I could get some lamps as the place is like a crypt and you can not see to read. Or a hey,a toaster cos I haven’t had one in six months. The cats are gonna need that flea stuff which is a hundred dollars,I am not losing them all like I had to endure last year…
It’s just like, NONE of them talked to me and yet now I am on the hook for the money, for being eternally grateful, and all the stuff I had to try to balance out has to take a backseat. Not to mention, R will never consider us square cos he can’t hang out alone so if he spends a dollar on this piece of shit car, that’s six hours of my life I am gonna be expected to hang out at the shop to “repay him.”
I don’t think I’d be this furious if I had been included. Instead I was left out of the loop and all this was done “for me” by two men who seem to think I am below average intelligence. I admit I know fuck all about cars. I’d have gladly accepted a repayment agreement and advice and all this HAD I been consulted at all. But one day my dad mentions seeing a car, two days later I’m informed by R that I now own a red Grand Am that does not run. (I fucking hate red cars, too conspicuous, too “look at me!”)
It’s not ingratitude, I swear. It’s not the bipolar. It’s being excluded. I am 43 years old and their well meaning actions have reduced me to feeling like nothing but a special needs teenager. I tried to express this, calmly, and got hit with the lack of gratitude thing yet again.
It’s like I am screaming at the top of my lungs and no sound is coming out. And when I am not giving free will and a choice, I want to climb on a ten foot tall stack of Marshall amps and start screaming like a fucking banshee.
Ugh. It almost feels like financial rape. Before I can even get a single support payment these asshats are out spending the money. May as well just sign it over to them because no doubt like the last Not so Grand Am R said was a solid car and died within 18 months…this one will be a money pit. Every time I think I can see light at the end of the tunnel…
Every time I think, look, I didn’t think I could do this, but I am doing it…(Trip to Aldi, during which I had a massive panic attack and my legs started wobbling uncontrollably, had to bend over and grab for leverage.)
I’m doing it.But I am one step closer to not doing it every single day. I haven’t showered in like six days. I barely remember to scrape the flesh out from between my fangs. I try to muster up my give a fuck and it’s missing in action. Meanwhile I am doing the best I can with my kid and she reminds me daily it’s not good enough. I give her a dollar for a Smencil. “You should have given me two dollars!” I let her watch youtube for two hours. “But mommy, that’s not fair, I wasn’t done with the neverending elsa audio ipecac playlist!”
I remind myself she’s just a child. I used to be the same way. I am taking it harder because my disorders are kicking my ass.
Doesn’t make it any easier. She stayed at mom’s last night and I was still in bed by 9 p.m., too wiped out by the week to have any will to do anything else. It goes way beyond being an exhausted single parent in a depression. I think depression was surpassed some time ago. THis is “end of the road” territory. I am practically an inmate ready to give up, be beat up daily, and just trudge through with acceptance and not even the energy to be bitter about it.
Ok,I am done being ranty and stuff.
Until the next time…if you can’t beat ’em….arrange to have ’em beaten.