- Getting Ready for the Trip
- Homelessness Avoided…Still In Limbo
- Is Time on my side?
- Saying Good-Bye Well: Part 2
- When Panic Arises From Basic Stuff
- “Crazy and insane” comments from an NRA spokeswoman
- Still Trying
- Two Bipolar Chicks Accused Me Of Hacking Them And That’s Not Cool
- Penny Positive #61
Daily Archives: April 12, 2017
I literally just want to blow my fucking skull off my body. My head has been pounding. I feel sick. I hate taking pills. I fucking HATE men. And I just want to run away. Yes it’s about Mark. No he’s not gone. Fuck. My. Life.
Snowtrooper at St. Andrew’s Catholic Church in Roanoke, a gorgeous fall Sunday morning. The winding roads that unfurl before us. We rode them on this trip to Roanoke, descending from the top of Mill Mountain to the stately St. Andrew’s…
Spork of fortitude to anyone old enough to get that title reference to the Judy Blume book, Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret. I’ve not read the book since I was 12 but I have been binge watching Supernatural from season one and there was an episode called, Are You There, God? It’s me, Dean Winchester. Since it’s been days since anyone’s blog post made it into my email inbox…Really….Are you there, readers/bloggers???
I am in a state of hellish flux. Due to intrusion of people (and by that, I mean R, who only contacts me when he needs something or wifey is out of town and the cool kids are too busy to hang out and entertain him)…My writing has hit a fucking cement wall. I feel hopelessly blocked and it’s not been a full month. I am disgusted, frustrated, pissed off and desperate to find any way back into creative mode I can. It’s not happening.
Much of which I blame on the stupid fucking weather, which still hasn’t gotten the memo that it is spring so I should not be shivering under a damned blanket still.Two days running the cold has made me exhausted and lagging. Sleeping after I drop Spook at school, shunning even good company (ie, no strings attached sex) and not being able to write. SUCKAGE. The outside world needs to stay the fuck away when I am in write mode. Unfortunately, the confrontation complication means I don’t often feel justified in telling R no, I don’t want company and I don’t want to come to the shop to juggle iguanas and amuse you. Because manipulative narcissist he is, he plays it off like I am rejecting bitch or some shit. When in fact he is the selfish insensitive asshole texting me every ten minutes even though I said I had a killer migraine.
I also missed meds for 2 days so I may not be entirely on kilter. Why did I miss them? I dreaded the nausea so much, I couldn’t bring myself to risk it. Sometimes it happens, sometimes not. When I am in freefall due to cold weather and in a depressive rage when the writing blocks…NOT the time to pile on med induced nausea and barfing.
Aside from finding some new bands I totally dig (Motionless In White, I Prevail) and some newer stuff by bands I’ve loved for years (Adelitas Way)…My life remains joyless as I brave Easter weekend with the spawn home 4 straight days and pegacorn knows what drama on Easter itself. I see the doctor the Thursday after Easter but I am not hopeful. For a disorder serious enough to be granted disability, it seems a disservice, and downright insulting, to not be able to get an appointment more than once every 3 or 4 months. Maybe if he didn’t constantly leave me waiting for med changes, I might make some goddamn progress.
Neither here nor there. I am just pissy because the writing has gone away. It could be a days long respite while my brain battles seasonal weather issues. It could simply be end of the road. I guess what counts is that I am still here, trying, fighting, kicking, clawing…Though sometimes I welcome death because I am just…fucking tired. Not being a wuss, just being brutally honest. I mean, if I can’t have any quality of life…What’s the point of living?
Makes me sometimes think whatever deity exists…is a damned sadist. That’s just me, though. And I am often whack-a-doodle.
Easily the most common question I hear in response to things I post on this blog is “why would you post that?” This is, of course, the stigma of mental illness. The reason I write what I write is very simple: it is true. And the reason I post the things I post is also […]
I got news yesterday that a short story I wrote, Bass-Ackwards, has been published at zanyzygotereview.com. Tiny, tiny little publication but a publication nonetheless.
My middle child is still hurting from her accident; she didn’t feel well at all going to school today, and I have a call in to a doctor about how her ear is still ringing. But she has to keep going to school for another month to graduate so she can’t miss much more of her work. But it will all be worth it once she finishes and then goes on to college this summer. She is so looking forward to this time in her life.
It will be very strange having only one child at home next school year. Especially as old as Rachel will be. The last time we had only one child at home the oldest was three. So it will be a bit of a different world.
I have an appointment to meet up with a guy looking to sell his recumbent bike. He wants a lot for it, but it’s only half of what he paid for it and he says it’s hardly been ridden because his granddaughter was too small for it when he bought it, So I see him Friday to see if I can ride it once he’s adjusted it. So hopefully I can start exercising and lose some of this weight without tripping over into mania.
This and the last post are closer than I’ve been in a long while. The wellbutrin has me motivated I suppose. I’m not unhappy. Still terrified of everything. It seems like all I can do is think of the worst scenario for anything. My brain never goes to the positive side.
I did walk to the mail box by myself today though. So that’s a huge accomplishment, specially when I have the flu. I did think a lot of negative things on the way there. Often times if keeps me from going though and this time it did not. This gives me some hope for myself and freedom from this prison I’ve created for myself. Tonight’s also the first time I’ve been high in a week. Which was a choice not because I ran out! I’m getting better at being recreational.
Anyhow I think that’s all I wanted to say.