Daily Archives: May 7, 2017

“Nobody Dies For Lack of Health Care”

From the “Please tell me I didn’t really hear this” files, a glimpse into the outlandish minds of the Rich And Powerful Right:


Reblog – Thought for the day: 8 May 2017

Originally posted on sanctuary5014:
This is so true. It wasn’t until I accepted who I am and all my “flaws” that I could start working on erasing them. And the funny thing is, once I accepted them, the flaws weren’t all that bad! sanctuary5014 … Continue reading

I Think I Have Given Up

Much as I fancy myself a fighter and too much of a stubborn bitch to stop battling my brain demons…I honestly feel I have reached the point of giving up. The sun is out today, it’s not real cold, and still…I just don’t care to keep going. I want to die. Sounds ridiculous, right? Lovely depression has decided to ninja drop kick me because I thought it was all seasonal affect but…Not even an increase in Wellbutrin has helped. And now I don’t even get to see the doctor because I am not that urgently in need of help, I guess. Yeah, yeah, they’re booked solid blah blah it’s not all about me, the nurse practitioner can get your meds yada yada.

I don’t even want to bother going. This has been a pointless exercise since I was 20 years old. I am never going to be cured or fixed or ‘right in the head’. Please don’t mistake this with self pity. I don’t even like myself enough to pity myself. This could change at some point during the day or night or in a couple of days…But until it does this is where I am trapped.

Since R got his dream job and the shop is going to be his hobby, at least that major stress inducer will be no more. I have to give up cigarettes, boo fucking hoo. That’s what I put myself through it for, gas money, smokes, to buy things for my kid. It’s worth making sacrifices to be rid of the albatross. During my good mental states it wasn’t so grueling. During these down periods when I am barely staying afloat and placed in the position of helping a friend or failing them thus causing confrontation and tension which also makes me freak out…This has been hellish. I am ready to kiss it goodnight.

</strong Making matters worse is my phlegm in the chest problem has returned, allergies I think, and I can barely breathe but I am choking on the damn sinus drainage.

New kids moved in down the road so my daughter’s friend circle has tripled. They all play together so now I am dealing with 8 kids on any given day but thank pegacorn they prefer playing away from my place in a large patch of grass near the other kids’ homes. Of course, my kid is a drama llama and playing with more than one person means constant bickering and boo hoo my feelings got hurt. She thinks people not doing what she tells them to do or not agreeing with her equals bullying. I got my hands full with this little sociopath. And YES I can call her that because without years of social programming all kids are sociopaths and sadly, a lot of them just become adult sociopaths. One more thing I have to stress about failing at. But hey, she’s uber friendly to every single person, so maybe I can balance out the sociopathy fear with my terror that she’s gonna take candy from a stranger and get into their creepy van because she likes people.

I have some sick kittens, think they aren’t gonna make it. Cleo’s first litter and she is so petite I am wondering if having five maybe the bigger ones are taking all the milk so I have a couple of puny ones who aren’t thriving. Sick cats just take me back to when I lost Abby and my god, two years later I still tear up thinking about it. Funny how the brain doesn’t mind forgetting good stuff yet can never seem to let go of the bad.

The money issue is in play again as I realize all my fans are pretty much broken. In a tin box during heat, you gotta have fans because a window AC isn’t going to cover each room. Last box fan I used was acting funky but I said oh well, I’m too warm and next I know there’s a bad smell and the cord is brown. Maybe my dad is right, I am gonna die in this place. IDK.

It’s all just shit. Even my writing has gone to shit. I am still pushing boulders up hills but it’s garbage and I know it’s garbage. Prior to R pulling me into the dish for those friend favors, I was doing okay on the writing. Now…I’ve lost my flow and soon, I may not even have the garbage. Just in time for the summer with my kid home and all her friends asking for food when I can’t afford to feed my own. Stellar. Something to look forward to with out of control depression, right?

Whatever. I just needed to vent. I don’t see any good in my future, ever. I am living for my kid and cats, beyond that I am just…done. I have zero hope. I am filled with self loathing. Every tiny thing feels too difficult. Hell, I just went four days without a damned shower, how nasty is that. I took one this morning to shake off my grogginess but really, four fucking days. And my shrink said I was doing so much better but that was on THAT DAY AT THAT MINUTE. Now I am circling the drain and I get to see a fucking nurse. Thanks a lot, life. Fuck you.

This charming post was brought to you by the wonderfully dickbag symptoms of depression and is not really affiliated with the true beliefs of Morgueticia but unfortunately she is depression’s bitch right now and is going to write a lot of gruel, feel free to disregard.


Surprise parties are fun for everyone, right?


While many people enjoy the surprise element (probably the guests do more than the honoree), even neurotypical people can shy away from the practice. Coming home to a darkened house, only to be greeted by bright lights and loud noise, can be an alarming experience.

For a person with bipolar depression, autism spectrum disorder, PTSD, or other mental conditions, it can be a nightmare.

My husband once decided to throw me a small surprise party. We and another couple were cleaning up an old house while a few friends gathered back at home.

One of the people had actively discouraged Dan from having the party. Robert had experienced depression and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), and knew how difficult such an event would be for him. He also knew about my depression and some of the incidents associated with birthday parties in my mind.

For instance, when I was a young teen, my “best friend” and I were supervising a party of younger children. During the game of Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey, while I was blindfolded, she kicked me in the ass. Literally. In front of all the kids.

It was the occasion of my first major meltdown. For years afterward, I would not even admit to having a birthday, much less let anyone celebrate it.

Robert had experienced similar traumas involving groups of children, humiliation, and abuse. He was not able to cope with surprise parties and thought I might freak out as well.

Fortunately, decades had gone by since my traumatic party experience. I had been diagnosed and properly medicated and counseled about my issues. Dan knew me well enough to realize that I could tolerate a small, low-key surprise party. And so I did.

Still, Robert was right to be concerned.

Common events at surprise parties are triggers for many people. My friend Joanie has panic attacks when there’s lightning. Would flash photography set her off? I don’t know, but I don’t want to be the one who finds out. If the party is held in a restaurant, a person who hates being singled out in a crowd of strangers may have problems. People hiding in one’s home could cause flashbacks of a home invasion. My startle reflex is hypersensitive and could easily be triggered by sudden, unexpected shouts of “Happy birthday!”

Even opening presents in front of others can be difficult if one is weak in social skills, appropriate facial expressions, or spontaneous conversation.

So how do you give a surprise party for someone with certain types of mental illness?


If you think you must, ask the person what kind of party he or she would prefer, and abide by those wishes. You can suggest a surprise party, with the time and place being the surprises, but again, abide by the person’s wishes.

Prepare a small, low-key surprise rather than a party. Give a present a day or two before the actual date. Pack a slice of cake in the person’s lunch. Or take the person out to lunch. (Warn the restaurant personnel not to march around singing and waving balloons, if you mention that it’s a birthday lunch at all.)

Do not have party games, unless they are non-threatening ones such as mad-libs or trivia. Forget ones involving physical contact like Twister or ones that involve sensory deprivation like Blind Man’s Bluff.

You may wish to avoid serving alcohol, especially if the honoree is on anti-anxiety medications. Booze-fueled parties tend to become loud and rowdy.

Make it short. Personally, spending an hour with a group of four or more, even if they are all my friends, is about all I can take. And then I want a lie-down afterward.

Personally, I could live my life happily without ever having another surprise party thrown for me (even though the one Dan threw would have to be called a success). Nor will I be upset if I never get invited to another surprise party. I’ll be too busy worrying what it might be doing to the honoree to enjoy myself.


Filed under: Mental Health Tagged: being overwhelmed, childhood depression, friends, mental illness, my experiences, parties, psychological pain, social skills, triggers

GUEST POST: Why it’s Important to Talk to your Children about Mental Illness by Sherry: POSSIBLE TRIGGER

AA032300It’s  important to teach teenagers who aren’t having any problems at all what mental illness can look like when it first starts? Some of the signs:

  • Moods that are extreme and don’t match the circumstances
  • Moods that shift quickly
  • Pervasive thoughts that don’t go away and are different
  • Seeing or hearing things that no one else reacts to
  • Changes in relationships with people you’ve been close to forever.

My parents didn’t know to talk about it, and my friends’ parents didn’t know to talk about it, but college is where so many kids break for the first time. I wrote this like a story so it would stick with people, but it’s exactly what happened to me:

They were a group of students at a nearby table in the T-Room at MSU, and they were passing the time between classes reading the “Murray State News” campus police report aloud to each other. When they got to the part about the student who overdosed and was taken to the hospital by her boyfriend, I forgot about everything else going on at my own table. They were reading about me and they had no idea.
The hospital sent me home because they thought I was just trying to get attention, since I didn’t take enough to even hurt me. What they didn’t know was that I didn’t take the whole bottle because I was afraid I would vomit the contents before they could do the job, and I thought what I took was enough. I was only 20 years old and really sick, and knowing how to effectively overdose had never been on my list of things to study. But I knew my name, and where I was, and what year it was, so they tried to “teach me a lesson” by making me unnecessarily drink the charcoal concoction, and then they sent me home. They treated me like some stupid, attention-seeking kid and they had no idea.
But they did at least schedule an appointment for me with the campus counseling center.
The counselor asked me why I did it and why I didn’t tell anyone. Were there problems at school? At home? I told him, “I have the perfect boyfriend. I have the perfect family. I have amazing friends. I love school. I’m a great student. I just pledged this sorority and I have all these new and wonderful friends and experiences. How was I supposed to tell anyone all that, and then tell them that I wanted to die? They’d think I was crazy.” I was so sick that I had been having suicidal thoughts without even showing any other signs of depression, and it all happened so fast. There were warning signs but none of us recognized them because we weren’t educated about it. We had no idea.
If you have children in college or going off to college, talk to them about mental illness. (If you don’t know what to say, there are great resource sites out there such as www.nami.org, etc.) Bipolar disorder especially usually rears its ugly head in the late teens or early twenties. Sometimes it is triggered by a traumatic event or difficult experience, and sometimes it isn’t. It’s not always hereditary, either. So please don’t think that your well-rounded, nearly-perfect kid with his or her nearly-perfect life is immune to bipolar disorder or other mental illnesses. Talk with your child and your child’s friends while you still have the chance. You don’t want to be the parent crying and saying to the police officer or ER doctor in disbelief, “I had no idea.”




Another Hospital Trip, Another Purple Dress

Daily Prompt – Better I am late to the party on this daily prompt word (it is from Saturday). However, when I finally checked it I couldn’t resist as it is the perfect word on so many levels. On Friday … Continue reading

Warren Buffett Weights In On Health Insurance

“Buffett calls Obamacare replacement ‘a huge tax cut for guys like me'” – http://www.reuters.com/article/us-berkshire-buffett-healthcare-idUSKBN1820RI

Yep, tax cuts are for the super-rich.  Buffett knows the ropes and isn’t afraid to call the fattest of the fat cats out on their plans to eat the poorest of the poor.  

If I could get a word with Mr. Buffett I’d ask him, “How come, when it’s clear as day that the source of the problem is corporate health insurance, do we hear exactly nobody talk about regulating that industry?”

Oh!  Regulation.  Bad for business, saith Mr. Cruz.  Nope, can’t throw a noose around an industry that, in its 40 year trajectory, has become a millstone around the neck of employers and working people alike.

It’s instructive to see what Mr. Buffett says, because he is a man who literally has nothing to fear from speaking out.  He’s outlandishly wealthy, at 74+ billion, and yet, unlike some who claim to admire him, he’s not shy about telling the truth, when it comes to the real purpose of tax cuts to programs that help the not-so-rich.  Do read the article.