Daily Archives: May 2, 2017

George Washington and Baby Steps

If you’re reading this right now, you’re alive.

Well, unless literate ghosts are real. What if someone really famous is reading this over my shoulder right now, like George Washington or Tupac?! I hope it’s George. He knows a lot about revolutions. We need a revolution in the way society treats mental health. We’re headed there, we’re baby-stepping, but it’s time for that baby to learn how to run.

As I was saying, if you’re reading this then you’re (probably) alive. For some people, that’s the biggest accomplishment they’ll make today. Staying alive is a lot harder for some people than it is for others. For those of you staying alive today, I salute you (no offense, George).

I recently had a talk about mental illness with my sister (she’s a junior in college majoring in neuroscience). She mentioned that every time she gets to choose a research project, she tries to do something dealing with bipolar disorder. Unfortunately, she said, cutting edge research in mental illness is overwhelmingly on anxiety and depression, and diseases such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia get put on the back burner.

She’s thinking about going to grad school to do research on less common mental illnesses. She also wants to help break stigma when it comes to those. “Everyone wants to break stigma for anxiety and depression,” she said, “because it’s so common now. But you’re bipolar? Well, you’re not just crazy. You’re super crazy. People are still going to be freaked out about you.”

Ah, the things she says. Thanks a lot, baby sister.

Behind the somewhat offensive explanation, she has a point. It’s great that people want to break stigmas for mental illness so that more people will go get the help they need, but how often to we hear testimonies normalizing schizophrenia? Multiple personality disorder? Bipolar disorder? They feel few and far between compared to the ocean of people posting to social media about “This is what it’s like to live with my anxiety disorder.”

It’s true that our diseases are rarer (more rare? rarer?), but I want to be invited to the party! I want my illness to be seen as acceptable too! I want people to research wtf is going on in my brain so that they can fix it!

I’m not sure how to make that happen.

I don’t want people to make jokes about bipolar disorder. I don’t want people to be freaked out by me when they learn I have it. I want to feel like I’m okay as a person even though I have this illness (because if you’re under the delusion that all illnesses are socially acceptable, you’re wrong). We need a revolution (George! Are you reading?! Go haunt some people about this).

I’m encouraged by what I’ve seen in the normalization of certain mental health issues, but we still have a long way to go. You, reader, are in this blog community because you need support and/or because you’re supporting the rest of us. Thanks for that – it’s one step in the right direction.


The Term ‘Mood Enhancer’ Needs To Die In A Fire

Today’s inane title stems from something I heard on a TV show weeks ago and it really pissed me off because calling anti-depressants mood enhancers is like calling cancer a ‘mild’ disease…JUST SAY NO. I have been shoveling the so called mood enhancers for oh so many years and guess what…mood. not. enhanced. At best, they keep me from garling bleach on some days. So whatever moron came up with the correlation between anti-depressant medications and the term ‘mood enhancer’ should be Z-Whacked. Not a thing, idgets.

And that completely random rant was brought to you by THE SUN ACTUALLY CAME OUT AND IT STOPPED RAINING TODAY SO I DON’T WANT TO DIE Morgue’s mind.

Yesterday it did not rain but it was gray and cold so that was bleach drinking territory, topped off with ‘money’s gone in the bank on the first every month for four months so let’s assume it will be there, OH FUCK IT ISN’T AND I AM OUT OF CIGARETTES, JUST KILL ME NOW, I AM A SELFISH AWFUL PERSON FOR THINKING THAT’ chaser. Deviation is evil. If you build a pattern for me and establish it, it should not deviate. EVER. It’s not just the boo hoo, I have to puff on an e-cig I used a coupon for and only spent a buck fifty…It’s how deviation plays with the mind of a bipolar depressive still stuck in the undertow of seasonal depression BECAUSE THE MIDWEST DOES NOT GRASP THAT IT IS FRICKIN’ SPRING AND SHOULD NOT BE 40 DEGREES OUT!

Sorry about all the CAPS yelling, bad netiquette, bad Morgue, but…I am a little hypo manic today. Not the irate “wanna choke you for existing” hypo, just the ‘thoughts racing a little too fast so let me speak rapidly and come off as a crazy person’ hypo mania. Which includes a lot of caps lock and seeming irrational and irate when in fact…

I am actually NOT murderous or even pissed off today. At all. Not even traffic made me scream and curse. I ran several errands and…it was okay. Why? Because it stopped raining and the sun came out and I am not wearing six layers of clothing. I even showered and it’s not yet 1 p.m. So mental health professionals who think a light is going to help seasonal affective disorder issues…Bite me. Not in a sexy way. If the weather is good, I do better. If the weather is shitty…the depression makes me its bitch, fancy sunlight simulating lamp or not.

I have even kept writing through all of this bad weather, even if I was maxing at 5 pages (counts double because I switched to single spacing, 1.5 spacing just seems puny to me even if editors frown upon it and ha ha ha, let’s be honest, I am never gonna submit this shit to someone who likely can’t write thus they edit and by edit I mean shred someone else’s heartfelt work. Except for Stephen King’s editor who still hasn’t taught the man a novel doesn’t have to be 900 plus pages to be good.) Maxing out on the parenthesis there, aren’t I? Whatevs. I digress. Still writing. Though the weather had such an abrupt negative impact on my mood I am fairly sure everything I’ve written for two weeks has been utter garbage and will embarrass me when I re-read it during a more solid mental space.

STILL WRITING. That is all that matters, creativity makes me want to stay up past 8 p.m. and sort of get up in the morning. I only have a few more weeks of spawn free daytime focus writing left before school is out so I want to treat it like an alcohol bender and get wasted off my ass. Does that make sense to non creative types? Or types who don’t smother their depression and anxiety with alcohol?

Meh. I would worry but I’ve had whiskey in the cabinet for weeks and not gone near it. Sometimes you want a drink, sometimes you wanna climb into the bottle or can, other times…you just don’t. I’d make a lousy alcoholic. And our local treatment center is being closed down so I probably shouldn’t take that as a challenge.

Are we having fun yet? My old counselors loved manic Morgue. They literally told me so repeatedly. They found me upbeat and funny and not even rapid fire switch and ADHD topic changes made them less amused. Too bad the idgets around me assume manic means drunk, they are missing out on semi happy fun ball me. Fuck ’em.

In other news, I hazarded a trip to Aldi yesterday and well fuck, ran into my dad’s crew. I tried to be all upbeat. My dad asked if the heat got fixed yet. Then got pissy because he offered me some old heaters and I turned them down because his auction buy heaters are always so old, they throw my breakers. Now the newer ones like the landlord loaned me during winter, not once was a breaker thrown. But because my dad is an assclown with a thick skull and zero logic, he told me my house is a fire hazard just because his old ancient heaters don’t agree with my place’s wiring. And there went upbeat and started neurotic, “He’s basically calling you a shit mom who is endangering her child because his antique junk isn’t rated for the trailer’s wiring.”

I so don’t give a fuck 99% of the time because my parents are nuts and critical and without reason. And when I lived alone and everything was broken, my dad didn’t care, literally, if I died in a fire. My uterus and other bits push out an adorable spawn, suddenly he cares. Fuck you, too, donor of sperm. Why I let them get to me I will never know. Every counselor ever who has talked to me or met my parents agrees…I may be chemically imbalanced but they have the personality issues and are actually pretty nasty toward me thus to be avoided. Stupid small town and its limited store options, bound to occasionally run into the asshats.

I thought that was the worst of my day. NOOOO. My kid comes home, I allow her to have ONE friend inside to play…I think okay, this kid is quiet and not demanding food so cool. Then I start smelling what I think is nail polish remover and ask Spook if she spilled some and she tells me no, absolutely not. I go into her room to put away laundry and all over table is a huge glob of silver nail polish she did indeed dump. I guess I overreacted because semantics, she didn’t spill remover, just the messy shiny polish itself. And then her little friend, in addition to not even saying thank you for the snack offered, left the open package on the couch with half the cookies remaining and crumbs all over the place.

I called it quits at that point, sent the kid home, and my kid started spazzing out when I tried to discipline her by grounding her from her friends a few days. I open my home, give my trust even when my mood isn’t great and once more I get stabbed in the back. Uncool. The piece de resistance for her was when she whipped out her church/religion logic on me because I agreed to let her attend Sundays as well as Wednesdays. Suddenly, I have ZERO parental authority because the church says so and she is going to tell them I won’t forgive her every tiny mistake like God does.

My one caveat to the church thing was for her to not preach to me and bam, she preaches at me. If they are teaching her that God dictates no consequences to poor behavior, I am being usurped by the bloody church and I don’t think she needs to go, she is obviously not old enough to grasp their message in a logical way. God may forgive your mistakes, but I’d like to think whatever deity there is (God, Budha, flying spaghetti monster) they all agree you shouldn’t be a dick and when you do dick things, you have to stop doing them to earn the forgiveness. I could be wrong but damn it infuriated to have a 7 year old tell me the church was going to chastise me for trying to teach her consequences to her actions. Like LYING, which while my grasp on religion is kind of loose, is a Bad Thing listed in the Bible.

Wow, so did not intend this to be a tirade. My bad.

Anyway…today’s not sucked so much.

On a final note…Oh, it soo would not be a Morgue post without some R bashing. I spent days looking for a part for him using every bloody search engine, every part and model number, every country’s sales sites…to no avail. I checked at 6 p.m. and came up snake eyes. He called me at 9:30 and informed me, snottily I might add, that he just found it on ebay. That tone that says ‘you didn’t even try.”

I bashed my head against the fucking wall over that damned part. And because he is such a moron he didn’t see the heading NEW LISTING! where it had been posted after the last time I searched…He cops an attitude like I didn’t put forth the effort. I never thought I would say it but I can’t wait til he fixes my car muffler and shuts down that place because I am tired of pegacorn hunting only for him to make me feel useless and stupid. A friend wouldn’t do that. Hell, I had bosses who wouldn’t even do that. And since wifey came back from her university job, he’s not once sent a text or called in which it did not involve me finding a part. Not a how are you and Spook, nothing but HIM HIM PARTS PARTS. Yet when I call him on it he turns the tables, essentially says I’ve got it all wrong, and makes me feel shittier.

Maybe it’s not always me being dysfunctional and moody that kills my friendships and the like. Novel idea…maybe some people are just cruel self absorbed cockweasels who aren’t worthy of my wonderfully quirky moodiness.

And on that, I leave you with a t-shirt I totally want.

“I can’t go to Hell until the devil has that restraining order lifted.”

Morgue…OUT.

(Spork of fortitude if you finished reading beyond halfway.)


Trying to Get My Act Together

I didn’t accomplish anything yesterday except grocery shopping at the last minute.  I just stayed in bed most of it.  I just feel so tired.  And defeated.  And I don’t know why.  I guess my middle one graduating is getting to me more than I thought.  I have a lot accomplished but just need to push forward and finish up the last bits–turn in my final project for Nonfiction Workshop and get ready for the Residency.

I found out my youngest one will finish school two days before I leave.  That for some reason was depressing to me.  By the time I get back, my oldest will be gone for her internship and we will only have a few weeks to rearrange the middle one and the little one’s rooms before my middle one goes off to college.  That’s going to be hectic.

I just feel kind of out of control–like my life is careening on a track that I can’t get off of or stop on. I keep trying to settle down and life won’t let me. I guess this is a warning that I’m not as healthy as I hoped to be by this time.  I don’t need to take on a lot of extra stuff I suppose like trying to work or anything like that.  That makes me feel bad to type.  I hate admitting how fragile my recovery seems to be.  The middle one having that wreck seems lie it really threw me off.

Pray for me that I’ll get better. I need to be better to face what all is coming.

 

 


The 11th Hour

I start my new job tomorrow after a 2 month layoff. We negotiated my position back in January/February. Its a smaller company and I was concerned they couldn’t handle my need for time off. I chose to be completely upfront with regards to having Bipolar disorder. This particular executive team believes in having cameras in the offices to monitor employee activity. It was a little off putting in general, but for me it would easily breed paranoia. I asked for an accommodation of no camera in my work space way back during negotiations. Didn’t seem to be a problem. I was told they were discussing which office made the most sense.
Well, got a call today from my new supervisor and was told the executive team changed their minds and they weren’t going to implement this accommodation after all. At the 11th hour, I’m just a little confused. Makes me concerned I don’t really have their support after all. A little disappointing.